Venetian Mask

by Rosalind Laker

  “Get your cloak, Faustina,” the nun ordered.

  A gondola took the nun and the erring singers back to the Pietà. The girls had to wait outside the Maestro’s office until he returned. He was not in a good temper. The audience had not been fully appreciative, the early confrontation between the two enemies having left them unsettled. It was not unusual for people to walk about and converse during a performance, but never when he was on the podium. His pride was offended and his bad humor was exacerbated by the lack of self-discipline exhibited by the two singers. As they stood before him he upbraided them scathingly.

  “The Pietà choir has a long tradition of being perfectly composed in all situations and tonight you both failed me dismally.”

  Marietta spoke up. “I am the one you should blame. It was I who asked Faustina a question and my fault that she answered me.”

  “Bah! She whispered to you first,” he snapped. “Do you think I’m a fool, Marietta?”

  “No, Maestro. But it is only fair that whatever punishment we are to receive should be in proportion to what was done.”

  Faustina faced him defiantly. “Marietta is right. She is more guilty than I. And there were extenuating circumstances for me. It seemed as if bloodshed between a Torrisi and a Celano was about to occur and I was nervous.”

  “Silence!” he roared so loudly that she started violently. “Nobody else in the choir lost her head and not an instrumentalist in the orchestra faltered. I have suspected you of whispering many times, but it was not until this evening I knew for certain that I was not mistaken. You are suspended from the principal choir until further notice. Now go!”

  Faustina flew from the room on a sob. The Maestro turned his glare on Marietta. “How do you think it looks to an audience when a chorister cannot stop whispering? Bad, eh? You disappoint me, Marietta.”

  “I apologize, Maestro.” She had never been one to excuse herself from any misdemeanor and she did not intend to start now. Her innate dignity and self-respect would not allow it.

  He became calmer. “For the next three weeks you will be suspended from the choir and you will give up your leisure time to practice. Have you anything to say?”

  “No, Maestro. Not about that, but may I ask a question about this evening?”

  “Yes, what is it?”

  “How did it happen that a Torrisi and a Celano were invited to the same private function?”

  “Signor Manunta explained it to me with the most profuse apologies. Domenico Torrisi travels a great deal on diplomatic affairs and sometimes his wife goes with him. It happened that an invitation was sent to them, but when it was learned that they were expected to be away for another two months, an invitation was sent to Signor Celano. Unfortunately for Signor Manunta things did not go according to plan. Signor and Signora Torrisi arrived home unexpectedly today, saw the invitation and decided to avail themselves at the last minute of a chance to hear the Pietà performance. Unfortunately it created a distressing turn of events.”

  “I fear it was for all concerned.”

  He knew she included herself and Faustina. “I agree. Good night, Marietta.”

  She went slowly upstairs to her room. The lack of leisure time did not trouble her, except that she would have no opportunity to be with Bianca. Elena would have to explain to the child. But the suspension was shattering. She was furious with herself for having allowed some tenuous link with the gilded mask to get her into such trouble.

  As soon as Elena arrived home, she went straight to see Marietta, who explained what had happened. Elena was genuinely sympathetic, although it was easy to see she had something of her own to tell.

  “Did your solo go well?” Marietta encouraged.

  “Yes!” Elena clasped her hands together excitedly. “More than well, I dare to hope. The Maestro showed such faith in me. After you left he came to the anteroom and told me I was to take Faustina’s place and sing the love song!”

  “What a wonderful chance for you!” Marietta was delighted that some good had come out of the catastrophe. They had both sung that song many times and she knew how Elena could convey its tenderness and passion, which expressed her own yearning for love. “Was the applause exciting?”

  “It was!” Elena hugged herself with joy. “Marco Celano himself rose to his feet and came forward to applaud me! Did you have a good look at him? He is handsome, isn’t he? How quick he was to face Torrisi’s hostility!”

  “I couldn’t see there was anything to choose between them,” Marietta said frankly.

  “Oh, but you’re wrong,” Elena argued quickly. “Everything about the Torrisi was menacing until he backed down before the threat of Marco’s sword.”

  Marietta refrained from causing further argument. “So it is Marco, is it?” she teased playfully.

  Elena laughed happily. “That’s how I think of him. I’m sure he wanted to speak to me, but there was no chance.” Her eyes were sparkling. “I asked Adrianna about him and what do you think? He is the son who is permitted to marry and is not betrothed to anyone as yet.”

  “Oh, isn’t he?” Marietta knew, as did everyone else, of the harsh rule about marriage upheld by the Venetian nobility. Since the eldest son did not inherit automatically, one male offspring was chosen to succeed to everything and he alone was permitted to marry and carry on the family name. It was a practical way of ensuring that great fortunes and the power that such wealth controlled should not be dispersed and weakened. As a result it was the licentious behavior of countless bachelor noblemen in Venice that added to its reputation as a city of debauchery and vice. It was no wonder that the high class courtesan enjoyed a social position that was all her own. This rule, loathed by women of noble birth, reduced their chances of marriage and propelled hundreds of them unwillingly into convents.

  “Tomorrow Adrianna is going to tell me all she knows about the Celano family,” Elena continued blissfully. “Do come with me and hear everything too.”

  “Yes, I will.” Marietta wondered if she should offer a word of caution and then decided against it. Elena was so innocently joyous over the attention she had received from Marco Celano that it would be heartless to try to dampen her spirits, especially as it seemed unlikely that anything would come of this.

  “As for the young woman with him,” Elena declared with a snap of her fingers, “her yellow hair was dyed and a crude color compared with mine.” She shook her beautiful hair proudly and ran her fingers through it, wandering about the room as she talked, almost on tiptoe, as if it were difficult to contain without dancing the excitement the evening had induced in her. “I think I’m going to fall so deeply in love with Marco Celano that it will cast a spell over him and he will never be able to desire another woman again.”

  Marietta felt bound to speak out. “Elena! Please! Don’t build up such hopes yet. Wait and see what happens next time he is in an audience.”

  Elena paused, her face radiant. “Tomorrow he will send me flowers. You’ll see!”

  The flowers did not come. Elena waited in vain for several days, blaming the laxness of deliveries, the forgetfulness of family clerks entrusted with the ordering of bouquets, and even the temporary flooding of the Schiavoni parade and St. Mark’s Square. Eventually she ran out of excuses and for a few days was unusually subdued and quiet. Then her spirits revived and she made no more mention of Marco Celano. Marietta, in spite of knowing her so well, assumed mistakenly that she had put him out of her mind.

  In the meantime both girls had learned a lot about the Torrisi and the Celano families from Adrianna.

  “So the Celanos come here sometimes?” Elena queried for confirmation.

  “Yes, but never with a Torrisi.”

  Adrianna went on to tell them all she knew about the two great families. Throughout the centuries the Torrisis and the Celanos had been warriors and merchants, tax collectors for the Doge, bankers to foreign royalty, scholars, musicians, and poets. They had been suspected of murder and treason, been excommunicated wit
h the whole of Venice on two occasions by an irate Pope, been exiled, lost vast fortunes and made them again. They had always been represented on the Great Council of thirteen hundred nobles, who governed the Most Serene Republic under the statesmanship of the Doge, and had sat many times on the Upper Council of Ten. Far more sinister was the ruthlessness they had shown on the still more exclusive Council of Three in condemning those suspected of crimes against the state to the dungeons and torture chambers of the prison attached to the Doge’s Palace by an ornate bridge. Throughout the city there were ancient stone letter-boxes with lions’ faces set into the walls. Secret accusations against fellow citizens of disloyalty to the state could be slipped into the lions’ gaping mouths. These were investigated and placed before the Council of Three, who were feared to this day as they were in the past. Having heard all this, Marietta thought how fortunate it was that neither she nor Elena was destined to be involved in any way with either family. She hoped that Elena would come to see that the failure of Marco Celano to send a posy was a blessing in disguise.

  DURING THE THREE weeks of Marietta’s suspension from the choir Elena sang solo in public many times. Since Elena did not mention Marco Celano once, Marietta assumed that either he had not been present or Elena had failed to recognize him in a full mask.

  It was a relief to both girls when Marietta was reinstated in the choir. She had been back in routine practice for just a day when Adrianna sought out her and Elena with an invitation.

  “I would like you to come to the green reception room this evening at eight o’clock. The governors are holding a small party there for me.” An enigmatic little smile danced on her lips as she forestalled the question she knew was about to come. “Don’t ask me anything now. You will know why when you get there.”

  That evening when Marietta and Elena arrived at the green reception room, Adrianna, wearing a panniered gown of pale lemon silk, welcomed them in. Their fellow choristers and the lead musicians were there as was the Maestro di Coro, the maestri, the governors with their wives, and some people the girls did not recognize but assumed to be patrons of the Pietà. Glasses of wine were being served and slices of melon handed around. The room was noisy with conversation until eventually the head of the governors came forward and officially welcomed all present. Then he stepped back and bowed for Adrianna to take the place he had vacated in the middle of the room.

  “It makes me so happy,” she began, “to be surrounded by so many friends on this special evening when I have to tell you that I shall soon be leaving the Pietà, which has been my home for almost twenty-seven years. I know many people have wondered why I stayed so long, but I suppose I have always known that I would recognize the right moment to leave. Now that time has come and I have discussed my decision with our Maestro di Coro. I have every reason to be grateful to him, not only for his training but for his constant guidance and advice. I’ve always been proud to sing for the Pietà.” She turned to him. “If you please, Maestro, speak for me now.”

  He nodded and came forward to stand beside her. “It is no secret that I consider Maestra Adrianna’s voice to be the most glorious I have ever heard. The fact that she stayed with us at the Pietà, enhancing the reputation of our establishment to the far corners of the globe, is to be counted as the greatest good fortune for us. Now fame has been turned aside and Adrianna has followed instead the dictates of her heart. I have pleasure in announcing the betrothal of Maestra Adrianna to Signor Leonardo Savoni of Venice!”

  There was a moment of stunned silence before there came a chorus of congratulations, surprised comment, and general amazement at a secret so well kept. Then this gave way to applause as a square and solid middle-aged man with a portly girth, whom most of those present had thought to be a patron invited by the governors, came forward to take Adrianna’s hand. Somewhat thick-necked with a beaked nose and fierce black brows that did not seem intended for such mild brown eyes, he was a singularly ugly man, but Adrianna was gazing at him in utter adoration as he was at her.

  “I am the most fortunate man in all Venice,” he declared in a voice choked with emotion, and he kissed her hand.

  Elena, approving his elegant clothes of cinnamon-hued satin and his clocked hose, turned to Marietta almost defiantly. “You see! Adrianna has chosen an eligible nobleman before all else!”

  Since titles were never used in Venice, except in written matters, there was no telling yet whether Signor Savoni was a count or if he held some other high rank. Marietta and Elena joined those clustering around Adrianna to wish her happiness. When their turn came she accepted their felicitations with special pleasure.

  “Do tell us,” Elena implored, overcome by curiosity, “whereabouts is the Savoni Palace? Is it on the Grand Canal?”

  Adrianna shook her head merrily. “I’ll not be living in a palace, Elena. Whatever gave you that idea? Signor Savoni is a mask-maker. His house is on the Calle della Madonna. After our marriage I shall ask that you and Marietta are both allowed to visit us sometimes.”

  Elena was staring at her incredulously. A mask-maker! Then a sharp dig from Marietta’s elbow prompted her into covering up her astonishment. “Whereabouts are Signor Savoni’s business premises?”

  “His shop is only two or three doors away from Florian’s coffee house in the arcade on the south side of St. Mark’s Square.”

  “May we know how you met him?”

  Adrianna was delighted to tell them. “I have had a number of letters from would-be suitors, which I have disregarded, but there was something about Signor Savoni’s letter that touched a chord in me and I told the governors that although I could not consider his proposal of marriage I should like him to write to me again. We began to correspond regularly and his letters won me even before I met him. Then, when at last I did agree to a meeting, I knew I had found all I have ever wanted in his good heart.”

  “Then I could not be more glad for you!” Elena declared so fervently that Adrianna looked at her with understanding and put a hand on her arm.

  “May such love be yours too one day.”

  Elena’s eyes swam with tears. “I thank you for that wish.”

  Marietta realized with sudden insight that Elena had been affected by that brief moment of attention from Marco Celano even more than she had first supposed. Her friend was pining to a degree she had not even guessed. In compassion she thrust her arm through Elena’s. “Could we be presented to Signor Savoni now?” she asked Adrianna. And they went off to find him in the crowd.

  He greeted both girls most courteously, and during their conversation Marietta brought up the subject of mask-making, which gave Elena the chance to rejoin Adrianna, who had moved on again.

  “I used to help my mother in her workshop until I was twelve. She was an outworker for Signor Carpinelli.”

  “I knew him well. He has retired away from Venice and his son has taken over the business. What exactly did you do?”

  She told him of her skills. “I could take up that work again if ever the need should arise,” she said, not wholly in jest.

  “Ah.” He wagged a finger. “From what I have heard from Adrianna you have a delightful voice and your future as a singer is assured. But I agree about mask-making skills. Once properly trained one never loses them. My father took me into his workshop when I was young and gave me a grounding in the whole trade. I will tell you a secret.” He lowered his voice confidentially, although it was unlikely that anyone could overhear them. “In my workshop Adrianna’s first mask is being made. It will be silver tissue over white satin and sewn with pearls.”

  “Who is to sew on the pearls?” she asked at once.

  He eyed her quizzically. “Do I hear an offer?”

  “Indeed you do! Maestra Adrianna has shown me nothing but kindness ever since I came here. Nobody would object to my attaching the pearls in my spare time. I could carry out the task in my room and she would never know. It would give me so much pleasure to play a small part in the making of your gift.”
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  “Then I accept.” He had no qualms about entrusting her with this delicate work. All the girls at the Pietà, whether in the musical section or not, were taught to sew well and Marietta was already experienced in his particular field. Yet it was more than this that made him agree to her request. There was a bond between mask-makers and he recognized it in her. She knew, as he did, that through such hands as theirs passed the disguises that could make or break lives, bring romance to some and venery to others, cast aside social barriers and create a dangerous freedom. Masks also created the pure joy of Carnival as well as its darker shades, and the one he would be giving the woman he was to marry symbolized his own committed faithfulness and love.

  “Is there to be a veil to cover the lower half of her face?” Marietta asked.

  “Yes. I have some of the finest Burano lace, delicate as a cobweb.”

  She sighed in sheer delight at the thought of the beauty of such a mask. “Adrianna will be overwhelmed by such a gift. How she will treasure it! You will be able to take her to her first Carnival when she wears it, because, as she once said to me, those of us at the Pietà are ever on the outside of it all.”

  “She has spoken of that to me too. As soon as the mask is ready for the pearls I will have it delivered to you. Shall you have to explain the work to anyone?”

  “Only to Sister Sylvia. She will respect a good reason for innocent secrecy.”

  “Then all is well.”

  SISTER SYLVIA MADE no objection to Marietta receiving the mask, which came in a box from Leonardo Savoni. On the contrary, she was pleased to be in on the secret and studied with interest the design for the pearls that was sketched on a piece of paper. She was an excellent needlewoman herself, the most beautiful altar cloth in the Santa Maria della Pietà being an example of her superb craftsmanship, but never had she had any dealings with stitching a mask.