For my one and only Tom
—J.S.
Contents
1. A Promise
2. Venice
3. The Pietà
4. First Lesson
5. Night Visitor
6. A Fight
7. Confession
8. Voice in the Night
9. A Search
10. The Contarini Palace
11. Paolina
12. Finale
Glossary
Historical Note
Cremona, Italy
1715
On a cold February afternoon, Anna Maria lay on her bed, crying. Snow fell outside the window. It covered the balcony and the narrow street below.
Sister Bianca, Papa’s nurse, came to the door. “Hush, child.” She had a frown on her thin face. “Your father wants a last word with you.”
Terror pierced Anna Maria’s heart. “Is Papa going to die?”
“He will enter the Kingdom of Heaven,” said the sister.
“No! I want him to stay here.” Anna Maria bolted out her door and hurried down the dark hall. The sound of Papa’s coughing came from his room. It was the same cough that had taken Mama away last year.
Anna Maria smoothed her blond curls back and wiped her eyes. Then she opened the door and looked in. A candle burned on the table beside the big bed.
Papa lay propped up on pillows. Anna Maria stared at the side of his face. His long, pointed nose was like a beak.
Then she ran to his bed. “Papa!”
He turned his head toward her and his eyes shone. “Annina, my angel.”
“Papa, don’t leave me!” She clasped his hand. It was rough and stained from making violins.
“You will not be alone, Annina. I have made a new violin for you,” he said. “Go and look in my workshop.”
Anna Maria did not move. She had to hold on to Papa.
“Quickly now, bring it to me,” he urged.
Anna Maria ran down the stairs and across the snowy courtyard. In his workshop, a new violin case lay on the bench. She picked it up and hurried back. Opening the lid, she lifted the violin out of the case. Its golden wood glowed as if lit from within.
“Oh, Papa, how beautiful.”
“There is an inscription inside,” he said.
She held the violin to the light and read.
For Annina
Play and you shall hear my voice
Nicolo Lombardini
Made in the Year 1715
“It is true,” Papa said. “I kept the violin here in my room for a month before varnishing it. And while I slept, my soul entered its body.” He paused to gather strength. “Sister Bianca will take you to live at the Pietà in Venice.”
Anna Maria shook her head. That was a home for orphan girls. “I don’t want to go, Papa. I want to stay with you.”
“You cannot stay with me, Annina.” He took her hand. “Your mother was happy there when she was a girl. And so was Sister Bianca.”
Anna Maria kept shaking her head while Papa had a coughing spell. She could not imagine Sister Bianca being happy anywhere.
At last he went on. “Antonio Vivaldi will be your violin teacher.”
“But I like Maestro Cavalli,” said Anna Maria.
Papa held up his hand for silence. “He is a good teacher. But Don Vivaldi is a great one. Do you remember when he came here to buy a violin? You played for him. He said you were a most talented child.”
Anna Maria remembered, even though she was only five years old then. Now she was nine, and everything was changing.
“But, Papa, I don’t want you to leave me,” she said.
“Annina, my angel. As long as you have your violin, I will be with you. And you will be safe at the Pietà.” He touched the violin. “Now, play for me. The largo from Vivaldi’s D Minor Concerto. You know, dum dee-dee dum.”
Anna Maria knew. After tuning, she tucked the violin under her chin. Then she closed her eyes and drew the bow across the strings. She let herself be carried along by the music and the sweet, clear voice of the violin. Papa’s voice.
After the last note, Papa reached out and touched her cheek. “You have such talent, Annina. Promise me you will go to the Pietà and study with Don Vivaldi.”
Anna Maria bit her lips together and nodded. Invisible hands seemed to be gripping her throat. She could not speak.
After Papa died, Anna Maria and Sister Bianca traveled across country by carriage. They left Cremona far behind and with it everything that was dear—except her violin. But even with Papa’s violin beside her, there was an ache in Anna Maria’s chest. It felt as if her heart had cracked.
She turned to Sister Bianca. “Papa told me you lived at the Pietà when you were a girl. What is it like?” Anna Maria asked.
Sister Bianca answered without looking at her. “You will be safe from the outside world.”
Anna Maria stared at Sister Bianca’s narrow face and tight mouth. “You mean the girls can’t go out?”
“No,” said the sister.
Anna Maria leaned back. “Then I don’t want to go there.”
“You have no choice,” Sister Bianca said. “You should be thankful to have Don Vivaldi for a violin teacher.”
It was Papa’s last wish. No matter how awful the Pietà might be, she must keep her promise. Anna Maria hugged the violin case. I will make my violin sing with your voice, Papa.
On the fourth day, they came to a fishing village at the edge of a wide lagoon. Several gondolas were tied up at the dock, waiting for passengers. The driver stopped, opened the door, and lowered the steps.
Anna Maria climbed out. She gazed at the island of Venice across the lagoon. The setting sun made it look like a golden lily pad sprouting domes and towers.
“Look, Sister, Venice floats on the water!”
“Don’t be silly, child,” Sister Bianca said. “It stands on thousands of posts set in the bottom of the lagoon.”
Anna Maria preferred the floating idea.
Sister Bianca held the violin case in one hand. “See now, you forgot your violin. You must be more careful.”
Anna Maria gasped and took the case. “Oh, how could I?”
“That is easy,” one of the gondoliers called. “You were dazzled by Venice!” He walked up and bowed. His dark hair curled from under his red cap. “Good day. My name is Francesco. Step into my floating palace, and I will take you there on a song.” His eyes sparked with good humor.
Sister Bianca gave him a sour look. “How much?”
“For you, half fare—only six lire,” he answered with a smile.
The sister nodded. “To the Pietà.”
“Sì,” Francesco said, “where the orphan girls live.” He paused. “You are an orphan, signorina?”
Anna Maria looked down.
“Ah, but you cannot be sad in Venice—especially during Carnival. It is not allowed!” He offered his hand to help her aboard. “Hold tight to your violin. We don’t want it to fall into the lagoon.”
Inside the cabin they sat on red velvet cushions. Anna Maria laid the violin case across her lap.
Francesco steered the boat out into the lagoon. “I promised you a song. So here is one to make you laugh. It is called ‘Macaroni Rain.’” He leaned into the oar and began to sing as he rowed.
“If macaroni rained down from the sky,
And the earth were covered over with cheese,
We’d use our oars as forks, you and
How jolly! Macaroni raining down from the sky!”
Anna Maria laughed for the first time since Papa died.
“Signorina, if you play your violin for me, this ride is free,” Francesco said.
Anna Maria could not resist. She took out her violin and
played the song back to him.
“Brava! Not many girls could do that,” said Francesco. “You will be Don Vivaldi’s prize pupil.”
“I hope so,” Anna Maria said, feeling happier already. “Let’s do the macaroni song again, together.”
This time he sang along with her. Afterward they both laughed. Even Sister Bianca smiled. Perhaps it is true that no one can be sad here, thought Anna Maria.
When they drew close to Venice, Francesco said, “Signorina, open the curtains. We are entering the one and only Grand Canal.”
Anna Maria pushed them back and looked from side to side. Marble palaces lined the canal. Chandeliers glittered in the windows. The gondola floated along silently. In the twilight it felt like they were no longer attached to the earth.
The Grand Canal wound through Venice and came out into a wide basin. “The Basin of San Marco,” Francesco said. He waved his arm to the left. “And there, San Marco Basilica, the bell tower, and the palace of the doge.”
“Hmph. The bell tower is not as tall as ours in Cremona,” Sister Bianca whispered.
But Anna Maria did not listen. She gazed at the sights—the domes of San Marco, the lacy arches of the palace, and the black gondolas swarming around.
Francesco rowed along the bank where there was a broad sidewalk. The Riva, he called it. People strolled to and fro, greeting one another. Many wore strange white masks with beak noses. Anna Maria shuddered. They looked like death heads. Still, everyone seemed happy. A few people were throwing painted eggs, and one hit Francesco.
He laughed. “It is only filled with perfumed water. This is Carnival, Venice-style.”
Soon they came to a tall pink building. “Here we are, signorina. Your new home.” Francesco tied the gondola beside the steps and helped them out.
Anna Maria stood holding her violin case and looked up. The Pietà was five stories tall. It stretched from one canal to the next.
She thought of her home on the narrow street in Cremona, with its friendly windows and balconies. Here the windows were tightly shuttered. No, this was not home.
Francesco picked up their bags and started toward the door. “Make way, my friends, make way for Don Vivaldi’s prize pupil!” he called.
A man wearing a cape of red feathers bowed as they passed.
The sound of a violin came from a window above the door. It was the most energetic, wild playing she had ever heard.
“Only two people can play the violin like that,” said Francesco. “Vivaldi and the devil!”
Anna Maria put her hand over her mouth to hide a smile. Can he teach me to play like the devil? she wondered.
Sister Bianca stiffened and glared at Francesco.
“Excuse me, Sister, but it is true.”
Then Francesco lifted the door knocker. He let it fall three times. The hollow sound made Anna Maria’s smile fade. She pulled her cloak tighter around her. It felt like she was entering a prison, never to come out again.
A young nun opened the door and peered at them by the light of her lantern.
“I am Sister Bianca, and this is Anna Maria, an orphan. The prioress is expecting us.”
The nun nodded, waving them inside.
Anna Maria picked up her bag and looked at Francesco. “Farewell, signore.”
“Remember to eat lots of macaroni and cheese,” he said.
Anna Maria tried to smile, but her lips quivered.
“If you ever need me, my station is there.” Francesco pointed to a bridge over the next canal.
Before Anna Maria could answer, the nun closed the door. She bolted and locked it with a final clank. They crossed the empty parlor, their steps echoing on the stone floor.
Light from the lantern flashed on the iron bars that covered all the windows. Anna Maria wanted to turn and run out the door. How could she ever be happy in this prison? Francesco was wrong.
A door opened and light poured out around a large, white-robed figure.
“Ah, you must be Anna Maria,” said the figure. “Welcome to your new home. I am Mother Elena, the prioress.” She embraced Anna Maria and then Sister Bianca.
“It is good to see you after such a long time, Bianca. Come, sit by the fire and warm yourselves.” Mother Elena turned to the young nun. “Sister Camilla, please have the kitchen send coffee and chocolate.”
“But, Mother, it is time for vespers,” said the nun.
“It’s all right. They need warmth more than the word of God right now.” Mother Elena’s smile and her plump, rosy cheeks made Anna Maria feel warmer already.
Camilla returned with a tray. Mother Elena excused her, saying, “Send Silvia to me after vespers.”
Anna Maria sipped her chocolate and listened. The two women talked of a time when they were girls at the Pietà together. The years seemed to melt away in the warmth of the fire, and they became young again.
By and by there was a knock on the door. A girl dressed in a red uniform entered. Her face was scarred by smallpox, but her dark eyes glittered like jewels.
“Silvia, this is Anna Maria, our new resident,” said the prioress. “Please show her to the dormitory.”
Then Mother Elena spoke to Anna Maria. “Tomorrow Sister Lidia will take you to your lessons. She is to be your guardian, or your aunt, as we say here.”
Silvia took Anna Maria’s bag. She led the way along the gallery that opened onto a courtyard. “You have your own violin?”
“Sì, my father made it for me. What do you play?” Anna Maria asked.
“The cello. It’s my best friend,” Silvia replied.
Anna Maria smiled. She liked Silvia already.
At the end of the gallery, they came to a spiral staircase. They climbed up and up to the fourth floor.
Anna Maria looked over the balcony railing to the courtyard below. “I’ve never slept so far off the ground.”
“It’s all I have ever known,” said Silvia, stopping at a door. “I think you’ll like it here, especially Maestro Vivaldi. Just don’t mind Paolina.”
Before Anna Maria could ask her who Paolina was, Silvia opened the door. The long room had two rows of beds. Nearby, a group of girls turned to look at Anna Maria.
“Are you the new orphan?” a tall, slender girl asked.
Anna Maria nodded. But the word was like a knife in her heart. This must be …
“My name is Paolina of the Violin,” the tall girl said. “What is yours?”
“Anna Maria Lombardini.”
“Ah! Did you hear that, girls? She has a real name—not an instrument for a name like the rest of us.” Paolina put her nose in the air. “That makes her better than we are.”
“No, that’s not true,” Anna Maria said. “I’m an orphan, just like you.”
Silvia took Anna Maria by the hand and led her past the group.
“You must be rich to have your own violin,” Paolina called after them.
Silvia stopped and turned. “You’re just jealous, Paolina.”
“Of what, scar face?” Paolina jeered.
Silvia’s eyes sharpened with hate, but she did not answer.
Just then the supper bell rang. Paolina and her group left.
“She’s worried that you might become Maestro Vivaldi’s favorite instead of her,” Silvia said. “He told us you were very talented.”
“She’s very cruel.” Anna Maria hated Paolina already.
Silvia nodded. “She has her following, but I’m not one of them. I would rather play my cello.”
“That’s how I feel about my violin,” said Anna Maria. “Playing music makes me forget everything else.”
“Me too.” Silvia paused and looked down. “I’m sorry you lost your father.” Then, looking at Anna Maria, she said, “I never even knew mine. Tell me, what is it like, having a father?”
Anna Maria could not think what to say. It was hard enough to lose a father. But never to have had one was even worse. She let her mind drift back to Cremona, to Papa in his workshop. Remembering brought a lu
mp to her throat.
“My father loved making violins.” She paused and swallowed. “But whenever I went into his workshop, he forgot them. As if I were his favorite violin.” Anna Maria blinked to keep back the tears.
“Thank you.” Silvia put her hand on Anna Maria’s arm. “Now I understand.”
At the far end of the room, Silvia set the bag down. “This is your bed next to mine—and a long way from Paolina’s.”
“Good,” Anna Maria said. She looked at the red uniform laid out there.
“That’s for tomorrow,” Silvia said. “Now it’s time for supper.”
Anna Maria put her violin case in the trunk at the foot of the bed. Then she followed Silvia out.
The dining room was on the ground floor between the front and back courtyards. Logs blazed in the fireplaces at each end. Candles lit the rows of long tables. A cheerful place, Anna Maria thought, but so quiet.
“No talking in here,” Silvia whispered.
After the blessing, everyone ate in silence while a nun read from the Bible. Anna Maria barely heard the words or tasted the bean soup. She wanted to be home, having supper with Papa. He would tell her about a violin he was making. And Anna Maria would tell him what she had learned at the convent school that day. Or about her violin lesson with Maestro Cavalli. If only everything could be like it was, she thought.
Later, all the girls knelt by their beds to pray. Then one of the sisters snuffed out the candles. Anna Maria crawled into bed.
From the Riva below she could hear the music and laughter of Carnival celebrations. Here in the dark room there were eleven other girls lying in their beds. But she was more alone than ever.
Anna Maria crept to the end of the bed and opened her trunk. She took her violin out of its case. Then she pulled the covers over the two of them.
At sunrise the chapel bell rang. Silvia and the other girls began to stir. They said the morning prayer as they dressed in the chill air. “Hail Mary, full of grace …”
Anna Maria slipped out of bed and put her violin back in the trunk. She glanced around to see if anyone noticed. Her heart fell. Paolina was watching with a smirk on her face, even while she said the prayer.
Anna Maria's Gift Page 1
