Playing by Heart

by Carmela Martino

  A thunderous boom shook the balcony. Green, red, and white lights exploded in the sky. As we oohed and ahhed, people streamed into the streets below. Some of them must have noticed the archduchess, for they began chanting, “Viva Maria Teresa! Viva Maria Teresa!”

  My heart joined in. Long live Maria Teresa! May she make all my dreams come true.

  Chapter Thirty-One: Montevecchian Wine

  Later that night, I sat in my room brushing my hair. Maria seemed quieter than usual as she prepared for bed, too. I wondered again if she might be jealous. Guilt clenched my heart. I knew too well the grief of feeling second best.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked. “You’ve hardly said a word all evening.”

  “I’ve been contemplating what I should do next,” she said, “now that God has confirmed the vision I had so long ago.”

  The beggar. Of course! In the excitement of meeting the archduchess, I’d forgotten about nearly running over the beggar woman. It was uncanny how Maria had foretold every last detail. I wondered if she’d inherited Mamma’s gift of prophecy.

  I set down the brush. “Did God speak to you today, as he did when you first had the vision?”

  “No, and I have been pondering that all evening. I’ve come to the conclusion that God didn’t need to repeat His message.” Maria sat down on the edge of our bed. “After completing the booklet of essays for Archduchess Maria Teresa, I felt at loose ends. I wasn’t sure what God would have me do next. By confirming my vision today, the very day of our meeting the archduchess, I believe God was saying it’s time to begin my true calling—a life of service to the poor.”

  “How will you do that?”

  “I will profess religious vows. Padre Gilberto has suggested I join the Turchine order.”

  “The Blue Nuns?” The order’s nickname came from their turquoise-colored habits, which made them easy to spot as they distributed food to beggars in the street. “Must it be the Turchine? Father might be more inclined to approve if you joined a less conspicuous order.”

  “God is calling me to serve the poor, not to monastic life,” Maria said. “The Turchine order is one of the few that allow nuns to do such work. I plan to speak with Father tomorrow to ask his permission to join them.”

  “So soon? Wouldn’t it be better to wait a little longer? He seems confident the archduchess’s influence will finally pave the way for his acquisition of the feudal property and its associated title. He’ll be in good spirits when that happens, and more agreeable to your request.”

  “He’s already in good spirits. And this evening, for the first time ever, he showed favor to you over me.”

  So she had noticed. “I’m sorry, Maria.”

  “I am the one who is sorry.” Maria stood and rested her hands on my shoulders. “The yoke of Father’s expectations has been lifted from me and placed onto you.”

  I thought of Vincenzo’s toy puppets, which were manipulated by strings attached to the shoulders. I waved away her concern. “You needn’t worry about me,” I said. “Once Father becomes a nobleman, Antonio Bellini will finally be able to court me.”

  “How can that be? Didn’t Lady Gabriella say Father would want to marry us off to noblemen? Bellini has no title.”

  I explained to Maria what Gabriella had told me about Marquis don Vittore Bellini. “So you see, Maria, all will be well once Father acquires the feudal property at Montevecchia.”

  “I’m happy for you.” Maria squeezed my left shoulder. “But I don’t plan to wait that long.”

  ***

  Maria was unable to carry out her plan, however, for we saw little of Father in the following days. Archduchess Maria Teresa and her party quit the city on the eighth of May and Father left shortly thereafter. Adriana told us he and his attorney were going to Montevecchia in the hope of finally completing the purchase of the estate. On hearing the news, I went to the chapel to pray for their success.

  Father returned home three weeks later. We had just sat down to eat when he strode into the dining room. He stopped before Adriana and said, “We have cause for celebration, my dear. Our purchase of the feudal property has finally been approved. At long last, we are the official owners!”

  Adriana jumped up and clapped her hands. “How marvelous!”

  Father took one of Adriana’s hands in his. “You must allow me to be the first to kiss the hand of the new Countess of Montevecchia.” He pressed his lips to her hand. “My lady.”

  Adriana giggled. Her free hand fluttered as she curtsied and replied, “My lord.”

  Father grinned. I couldn’t recall the last time I’d seen him so happy. “We must have a toast,” he said. “Where is that bottle of wine from the vineyards of the Montevecchia estate?”

  “I’ll have Naldo fetch it,” Adriana said.

  The kitchen maid put out a place setting for Father while Naldo went for the Montevecchian wine. But Father remained standing. Naldo soon arrived with a tray bearing the bottle and fresh glasses. He poured wine for all of us.

  Father raised his glass and said, “To our good fortune as the new Count and Countess of Montevecchia.” He clinked his glass against Adriana’s. Before drinking, he held the glass up. “Good color and clarity.” He swirled the burgundy-colored liquid, then sniffed it. “Fine aroma.” Finally, he tasted the wine. “Mmm,” he said. “I shall enjoy being owner of this vineyard.” He laughed then took another drink.

  Father turned to Maria and me. “Why aren’t you drinking, Daughters? Or I should say, Ladies?”

  I covered my mouth to keep from laughing out loud. It was hard to believe Maria and I were ladies now, as were Isabella and Paola, who sat across from us.

  “Drink up, Ladies!” Father said. “If not for your hard work, this might not have come to pass, at least not yet.” He held his glass out to us. “In fact, I must offer a second toast, to you, Emilia, for winning over the archduchess with your music. No doubt Her Royal Highness expedited our purchase of the estate.” Father clinked his glass against mine. “To Emilia!”

  “To Emilia!” Adriana repeated.

  Father’s praise made me blush. I lowered my head. But, inside, my heart leapt, singing, Alleluia!

  In my joy, I took a large swallow. The wine tasted sweeter than I expected. Almost too sweet.

  Between the wine and Father’s compliments, my head was spinning. I, Emilia, the second Salvini sister, had been the one responsible for our family’s rise to nobility. Not Maria.

  At that moment, I could not foresee the terrible repercussions of our change in station.

  Chapter Thirty-Two: New Furnishings

  A few days later, I was in the harpsichord salon working on a violin concerto when Maria burst in.

  “Oh, Emmi, I am heartbroken,” she said, her eyes wet. “Father said ‘no.’”

  “What’s happened?” I got up from the harpsichord and stood beside her. “What did Father say ‘no’ to?”

  “He will not grant permission for me to become a nun.” Maria seemed unsteady, as though she might collapse at any moment.

  “Come, sit.” I led her to a sofa. “Now tell me everything.”

  “Father said I cannot take the veil because he needs me here at home.” She swallowed hard. “I must continue speaking at his meetings, and the meetings are to be grander than ever. He said that being granted a title won’t be enough to earn the respect of Marquis Volpi and other high-ranking noblemen. We must prove we are worthy of our noble status by showing them how cultured and sophisticated we are. Father said he can’t do that without me, and you, too.” She blinked back tears. “We must dazzle the most elite members of Milan’s aristocracy.”

  “But that won’t take forever,” I said. “After hearing you speak a few times, even Marquis don Cesare Volpi will have to admit how extraordinary your talents are. Of course, he and the others will give Father all the credit. But, no matter, for then they will welcome him into their fold with open arms and Father can let you go.”

  Maria looked do
wn at her hands. “I had the same thought when Father told me his plans. So I asked him, after he was accepted by the elite, could I take the veil then.” Maria’s voice cracked as she went on. “Father said ‘no’ again.” She shook her head. “He said it would be a waste of my God-given talents and my education.”

  “But you can’t live here as a spinster forever. A noblewoman must either profess religious vows or marry a nobleman. To do otherwise would be scandalous.”

  A tear fell from Maria’s face onto her hands. Without looking up, she said in a hushed voice, “Father said he has already been approached by several suitors, but none of them have met his requirements. He wants to use my betrothal to align the Salvinis with one of Milan’s noblest families. He just doesn’t know which one yet.”

  “Oh, Maria. No.”

  Maria nodded. More tears fell onto her hands. She rubbed them away, but she was soon sobbing.

  I pulled her close. My poor sister. I wished with all my heart there was something I could do to help her.

  ***

  In the following days, Maria did not speak again of her situation. In fact, she hardly spoke at all. Her sad demeanor contrasted sharply with Father and Adriana’s good humor. In addition to finally acquiring the feudal estate, they had another cause for joy—Adriana was again with child. As soon as she recognized the symptoms, she sent for the midwife, who declared all was well. The midwife promised to monitor Adriana’s progress closely.

  Father wanted to host another academic meeting right away, but Adriana insisted the harpsichord salon required new furnishings first. With Father now Count of Montevecchia, she said the room needed to accommodate a greater number of guests. In truth, I think she wanted to update the decor to match what we’d seen at Palazzo Visconti.

  Adriana replaced our wide, heavy chairs with narrower ones much like those at Count Visconti’s. The new chairs had cushioned backs of pale blue fabric surrounded by finely carved mahogany. Adriana also ordered gilt-edged side tables inlaid with marble tops, and porcelain figurines to set upon them. And although the salon’s walls were already covered with works of art, my stepmother purchased two new paintings and several mirrors, all in elaborate gilded frames.

  I was practicing at the harpsichord the day the paintings arrived. Adriana had Naldo carry them into the salon. He set them side by side on a sofa near the west fireplace.

  “Don’t let us disturb you, Emilia,” Adriana said. “I merely need to decide where to hang these. Perhaps on this wall.” She walked around the sofa to face the fireplace. “Oh, dear. We’ll have to take something down first.”

  The painting of the cerulean Madonna holding the infant Jesus hung just to the right of the fireplace mantle. I couldn’t have Adriana removing that one.

  I hurried to the sofa to examine the new paintings. One depicted the Annunciation, when Archangel Gabriel informed the Virgin Mary she was to be the mother of Our Savior. Halos of shimmering gold encircled the heads of both the archangel and the Blessed Virgin. Archangel Gabriel stood on the left, his flowing, red robes trimmed in gold. The Blessed Virgin sat before him in a humble, attentive pose. She wore a rose-colored gown and a cloak of deep cerulean blue—the same color as in the portrait hanging beside the mantle.

  “What rich colors in this Annunciation scene,” I said, hoping flattery would help influence Adriana. “And look, the Virgin’s cloak is a perfect complement to the Madonna and child already on the wall.”

  Adriana came to stand beside me. She studied the Annunciation painting for a moment before lifting her eyes to the cerulean Madonna. “Why, they’re a perfect match!” she said with a clap of her hands. “Providence destined them to be together. We’ll hang the Annunciation to the left of the fireplace, equidistant from the mantle as the Madonna and child on the right.” She pointed to the spot where she wanted the new painting. “Remove that boring old seascape, Naldo. This wall shall be reserved for holy scenes.”

  Relieved, I returned to the harpsichord. I continued practicing while Adriana and Naldo hung the paintings.

  After they left, I inspected their handiwork. I glanced from the Annunciation scene to the Madonna and child, and back again. The two did indeed complement each other perfectly and not only in color. The painting of the Madonna and child depicted the fulfillment of the archangel’s announcement.

  I thought of the Magnificat and how I’d sung the Blessed Virgin’s song at the reception welcoming Governor von Traun to Milan. That day, I’d so longed to win Father’s favor, but Maria had outshone me. Now, two and a half years later, I was no longer the “second sister.” All because I’d helped Father finally acquire his title.

  I smiled and played the Magnificat again, singing,

  “My soul proclaims the greatness of the Lord

  and my spirit rejoices in God, my salvation.

  For He has shown me such favor–

  me, His lowly handmaiden.

  Now all generations will call me blessed,

  because the mighty one has done great things for me.

  His name is holy,

  His mercy lasts for generation after generation

  for those who revere him.”

  My heart swelled with joy. And to think—our family’s noble status would soon allow me to be betrothed to Antonio Bellini. Praise be to God!

  ***

  My joy would have been perfect if not for Maria’s unhappiness. No one else seemed to notice how rarely she smiled now, nor how little she ate. I hoped she’d heal with time, but if anything, she grew even sadder.

  One day in late June, I went to Maria’s study to express my concern. I was surprised to find the door shut on such a warm day. I knocked. “Maria, are you in there?”

  “Come in, Emmi.”

  Maria’s chair sat empty before the desk. I stepped inside and scanned the room. The door to the anteroom stood ajar. There, my sister knelt praying before a painting of Christ on the Cross. She made the sign of the cross then rose and joined me in the study.

  “Please, shut the door,” she said quietly.

  “But it’s hot in here,” I said. “Wouldn’t you rather have it open?”

  Maria gestured to the open balcony doors. “I have all the air I need.”

  “As you wish.” I shut the study door.

  Maria sat at her desk. I took the chair beside it. The usually cluttered desk was bare except for the inkstand holding Maria’s writing quills, inkpot, and pounce pot.

  “You’re not studying?”

  “For Father’s next meeting, I am to declaim the same ideas I put forth in the collection of essays for the archduchess. I know those well enough without studying, so I have been spending my time in prayer.”

  “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable praying in the chapel?”

  “Of course,” she said, “which is why I stay here. It is a greater sacrifice.”

  Her devotion amazed me, especially in this heat. I could already feel a trickle of sweat rolling down my back. “I’ve noticed you haven’t been eating much lately,” I said. “Is that part of your sacrifice, too?”

  She nodded. “I’m fasting in prayer that Father will open his heart to God’s will and allow me to take the veil.”

  “Be careful not to fast too severely,” I said, “or you shall make yourself ill.”

  Maria placed her hand on mine. “You need not worry, Emmi. God is watching over me.”

  Her words did not allay my fears.

  From Maria’s study, I went to the harpsichord salon. Instead of practicing, I gazed up at the painting of the cerulean Madonna and thought of Mamma. She’d been gone two and a half years, yet her spirit still comforted me often. Mamma had remained true to her promise. I had to find a way to keep mine. “How Mamma?” I said aloud. “How can I help Maria?”

  The Madonna’s expression seemed to say, “You already know.” I recalled the last time Maria had fasted too zealously. All I’d had to do then was bring the problem to Father’s attention. He commanded Maria to eat, and s
he obeyed.

  Things were different now. Maria took her commands from a higher master. The only solution would be to convince Father to allow her to take the veil.

  Maria’s life depended on it.

  Chapter Thirty-Three: Il Malocchio

  The next morning, I knocked on Father’s study door. He usually hated being disturbed, but today he actually smiled when he saw me. “Come in, Daughter.” He motioned toward the seat beside his desk. “Sit down.”

  Once settled, I noticed an envelope addressed to Father lying on the desk.

  “I have just received some most gratifying news.” Father picked up the envelope. “Marquis Volpi has accepted the invitation to our next meeting.”

  “Marquis Volpi himself? But he always declines.”

  “Indeed,” Father said. “He has always looked down his sharp nose at the Salvini family. However, now that we are nobility, he dare not snub us.” Father raised his chin. “Both he and his son will be here.”

  “I’d heard Lord Lodovico’s marriage had been postponed,” I said, “but I thought he was still in Austria, waiting for it to be rescheduled.”

  Father smiled again. “The marriage has been called off. Apparently, Lady Elizabeth has changed her mind, no doubt due to some misunderstanding. However, as there is no hope of reconciliation, Lord Lodovico has returned to Milan. He is once more an eligible bachelor. And I intend for him to wed your sister.”

  “Maria? But you can’t do that!”

  Father’s right eyebrow went up. Before he could say anything, I added quickly, “Forgive me, Signor Padre.” I fought to keep my voice calm. “Maria is the reason I’m here. I’m worried for her well-being. She’s fasting so severely I fear she will make herself ill.”

  “Fasting? This is not a time of abstinence.”

  I had to choose my words carefully. Father would not be pleased to know Maria was praying for him to change his mind about allowing her to take the veil. “She feels God desires her self-sacrifice. Since she is unable to serve the poor as a nun, she intends to help them through prayer and fasting.”