The Devil's Song

by Silvana G Sánchez

A grand Murano chandelier hangs in the center of the room, its crystal splits the amber light into a thousand beams that spread across the room scattering rainbows.

  A quick glance about the room is enough to tell me he’s not here. Disappointment lurks in my heart.

  He has not come.

  “Signor Grimani has kindly offered to join you with the harpsichord,” Bella says, gesturing towards the center of the room where the musical instrument has been placed. The man sitting behind the harpsichord hints a smile at me as his fingers spread over the black enameled keys.

  “Beloved friends,” Bella says with arms open in a welcoming gesture. “As you well know, I am a woman who is pleased with a single thing, and it is this: the best of everything at all times.” She gives the crowd a naughty wink and the laughter does not take long to come in rising waves. “Now you must believe me when I tell you that tonight I have brought to you the finest voice La Serenissima has ever produced.

  “A treasure discovered by our beloved Duke Contarini, she is the Scuola Veneziana’s prima donna, the prodigious Italian voice, Letizia Leone!” Bella’s hands join at the beginning of an applause that spreads across the room with astonishing speed. Every soul present in the room wishes to ingratiate themselves with Contessa di Viscardi.

  “Will you delight us with Lully, or perhaps one of Signor Purcell’s famous laments?” Bella asks, tilting her head as if hoping to pick my brain.

  “Whichever you wish, Mona.” My old-fashioned reply pleases her immediately.

  The names of several arias are thrown into the air like roses falling gracefully on my lap. But since Bella is the hostess for the evening, I patiently wait for her reply.

  “Oh, I know just the melody!” she says. “You must sing for us something from Signor Monteverdi! Sing for us Amore, Amore!” Bella studies the reaction amidst her guests, who appear pleasantly surprised.

  I give her a gentle nod and then move to the center of the room. Signor Grimani strikes the keys, playing the aria’s initial notes. An entrancing basso continuo quiets all surrounding murmurs, clearing the air for the moment when my voice casts the first words.

  "Amor", dicea, il ciel

  mirando, il piè fermo,

  "dove, dov'è la fè

  ch'el traditor giurò?"

  Miserella…1

  Where can he be? Why has he not come? Again and again, my gaze sweeps the room searching for that one familiar face—a hopeless deed.

  I believe Contessa di Viscardi is as close to Lorenzo as anyone can be to a Fallen Angel of God—they are equals after all. He would never have declined to Bella’s invitation, I am quite convinced.

  Perhaps he has chosen to distance himself from me. Mattia’s ill opinion of my character surely cast a deep impression in his heart. Is he lost to me forever? It would come as no surprise to me if he had left La Serenissima with the sole purpose of avoiding my presence.

  But how can a man unveil his heart from its secrets, give it to another, and then part ways as if nothing had ever occurred between them?

  Our love is real, or at least he made me believe so.

  I give another quick glance about the room just as the last verse is over, and there, I see him. Through the heavy drapes, he peers into the room once only to return to the balcony. A gust of wind filters inside, sweeping the drapes with a spellbinding cadence.

  “Magnifica!” Bella rises from the chair, clapping in a frenzy. “Did I fail to mention that her voice rivals the songs of cherubs?” she adds, addressing her friends who nod and clap with shared enthusiasm.

  The crowd surrounds me proclaiming words of praise, but I am quick to avoid the encircling horde and slip away towards the balcony.

  “You… Here?” I say, barely believing my eyes as they pick up every detail of his fancy attire. Dark blue velvet suit, vest embroidered in golden thread, the finest lace peers through his sleeves.

  “I am everywhere, carissima…” he says with a playful tone. “You should know by now, one can never be truly rid of me.” He winks.

  “Carlo Ricci at Contessa di Viscardi’s dinner party…” I muse with amazement. “Have you come here to sing as well?”

  Carlo shakes his head in a negative gesture. “I am merely here to feast their eyes with my beauty.” He sniggers. “A male soprano is a rare gem that heightens the quality of their event… No singing required.”

  “Exotic beauty…” I tease.

  “Am I not a handsome man, Letizia?” he replies in the same playful tone.

  “Handsome indeed, though not the humblest of men,” I say, folding my arms over my chest. “I suppose this work is as good as any given our present circumstances, what with the Scuola’s theater being closed.”

  “And on that note…. Carissima, I’m afraid I have some news to convey.” Carlo bites his lower lip.

  “News? What news?” I am intrigued.

  “The Scuola’s theater opens its door again tomorrow evening…” he adds, slipping his fingers over his smooth beard.

  “Tomorrow?” I ask, flabbergasted. “But, how can that be? I knew nothing of it.”

  “The newly appointed direttore, Signor Manetti… He’s a complicated man…” Carlo purses his lips. “He’s chosen Giasone for the season, and Syneca as Medea.” He pauses to consider his next words. “He believes Syneca is ready to return to the stage.”

  “Oh…” The sudden news hits me like a thousand blades. “And, is she ready?” I ask with a nonchalant tone.

  “I believe she is,” Carlo says, heaving a heavy sigh.

  “This is most inconvenient…” I muse in the lowest of voices.

  “What was that dear?” He steps forward.

  “It is most convenient that I have built a reputation out of making special performances such as this evening… If Syneca returns to the theatre, I know very well she would never share the stage with me.”

  “The situation is an impossible one,” Carlo mutters. “Surely you must know the pain this causes me, carissima.”

  “I’m grateful to you for the time we shared in L’Orfeo.” My hand lands over his. “I will miss you terribly, of course, I will. But I cannot say I am sorry not to return to the Scuola’s theater.”

  “You are meant for greater things, Letizia.” Carlo’s voice is reassuring as he presses my hand with his. “I firmly believe it.”

  “So must I!” I chortle a laugh.

  Carlo bursts into laughter and pulls me close to his chest. And as I yield to his warming embrace, through the window I see that devious man, standing by the water gate. Impatient, Mattia pulls a pocket watch out of his vest and gives it a hard look.

  “I must go,” I say, barely able to form the words.

  “Are you all right, carissima?” Carlo asks, looking into my eyes.

  “Yes, please do not worry. I shall see you soon, dearest friend.” A quick curtsy and I rush to the door.

  “Letizia, cara…” Bella stands between me and that door. I must cross its threshold and reach the water gate before it’s too late. “A few weeks ago I mentioned to you the Bonnemaison’s, do you recall? Monsieur Bonnemaison appreciates music and singing quite well…”

  “Indeed… How do you do?” I curtsy to the man, eager to finish this blunt introduction.

  “It is such a pleasure to finally meet you, Signorina Leone.” The man strokes his beard. “Your interpretation tonight was beyond my expectations. Contessa di Viscardi has spoken wonders of your talent… But in this instance, I believe her praise fell short from reality!”

  “Grazie, signore…” I say, looking out the window with as much discretion as I am able to muster.

  “It would be an honor having the pleasure of receiving you at our manor in Paris… Would you join us, Signorina Leone?

  “Of course.” Anything to finish this conversation. “I am most obliged…”

  “Good! Very good!” the man says, pleased. “My wife will be glad to know I caught you, Signorina Leone.” He pauses. “Where is my dear wife? Oh
, very well… I suppose I must do this without her.” The man takes a small felt bag in his hand and offers it to me. “A token of our appreciation of your talent.”

  My immediate reaction is to open my hand and receive his offer. When I discover how heavy the bag truly is, then I wonder. “Is that—?”

  “Take it, my dear.” Bella closes her fist around my hand. “You will need this now more than ever,” she whispers in my ear. “Though I hear your family’s debts have all been cleared… Congratulations.”

  “Marie? Is that you, dear?” Monsieur Bonnemaison dips into the crowd, oblivious to the scene he leaves behind.

  Bella and I lock stares in silence. My family’s debt, cleared? This woman has such a way with words—she always manages to shake the ground beneath my feet when I least expect it.

  Is that the reason for Mattia’s presence at Villa di Viscardi? Has Bella intervened on my behalf? Before I am able to throw these questions in her face, Bella has engaged with a woman in conversation. Both elegant females leave with arms locked, laughing and enjoying themselves like children.

  I am confused, but not so much that I would forget about Mattia. So I run downstairs, away from the piano nobile, and into the mezzanine.

  He stands by the water gate, impatient as once more, he pulls the old watch from his vest and reads the time.

  Abruptly, I stop at the foot of the stairs, gathering myself once more into the most collected poise. With both hands clasped over my gown, I move towards him giving slow steps.

  “Mattia…” What is he doing in Villa di Viscardi, and why is he so keen on leaving?

  He gives a quick glance at me over his shoulder and turns once more facing the canal. “Oh, look at you…” he muses, “radiant in your black velvet gown and golden brocade.”

  I stop inches away from him, welcoming the soft embrace of the evening breeze. “I did not see you earlier amidst Bella’s guests…”

  “Bella?” He sneers, slipping his hands into his pockets. “I suppose you must be friends then… Such a befitting pair. Tell me, have you not grown tired of the eccentricities that come with being an opera girl?”

  “Mattia, I must speak to you.” I will not entertain his scornful schemes.

  “You will have to be quick about it,” he mutters, eyes locked in the canal’s serene waters. “I am afraid I’m in a hurry, dear.”

  “I will be brief.” The coarseness of his manners is most displeasing, but I cannot ignore the goodness in his heart. After all, he has spared Fabrizio and me from certain destitution.

  “As usual…” Mattia sighs.

  “I must thank you for the kindness you bestowed upon me and my brother. Although I must admit it came rather unexpectedly, especially given the quarrel between us…”

  For the first time, Mattia turns to me, granting me his undivided attention. “Go on…” he says, seemingly intrigued. Though why he would be, I do not know.

  “I would like to discuss the terms of our payment,” I say plainly.

  Mattia’s stoic posture breaks when he furrows his brow. “Payment?” he asks. “What payment are you referring to?” As if summoned by a silent voice, he looks at the canal again, now gritting his teeth. “Where is that wretched man?”

  “I’m speaking about the debt you acquired from Signor Emanuel Baresi,” I add, hoping to gain his attention one last time.

  “Listen dear, that debt was paid this morning…” Mattia says with urgency, looking past the crowd that now gathers in the mezzanine. His special interest is fixed on the stairway, studying each face that approaches the water gate. Is he running away from someone? I cannot help the feeling that Bella has something to do with Mattia’s rattled frame of mind.

  “Paid, you say?” I press him on.

  “Yes, yes!” Mattia replies, batting his hand in the air. “It was paid in full by Duke Contarini. Did he not tell you?”

  A bolt of lightning strikes the pit of my stomach. “Oh, of course he did…” I say. “It must have slipped my mind.” I knew nothing of it, but why reveal that much to him?

  “Finally! There he is!” Mattia waves his hand high in the air, calling his servant’s attention as he approaches the dock navigating a small vessel. “Hurry up man! Hurry!”

  “I shall send Thomas with your furniture as soon as possible,” Mattia says, cane in hand.

  I am reminded of Monsieur Bonnemaison’s gift. Slipping my hand over the felt bag, I give it a quick pat. “That will not be necessary, Mattia,” I say. “Those chairs and tables are old. It is time for something new.”

  “Do as you wish, Letizia…” He hops into the vessel and quickly settles in it.

  As Mattia’s silhouette fades into the canal’s pitch darkness, my mind whirls with incessant questions. The manner of Mattia’s departure is most suspicious… But I would not wish him to return, so I do not entertain the thought longer than necessary.

  More than ever, my thoughts turn to the one whose generosity remained secret until this evening.

  “Lorenzo Contarini…” I whisper. “Where have you gone?”

  1 —Oh Love— she said,

  Gazing at the sky, as she stood

  —Where's the fidelity

  That the deceiver promised?—

  Poor her!

  —The Nymph’s Lament

  A single beat strikes again in the darkness. I open my eyes only to discover the sun is hours away from rising. But there it is once more, a solemn drum roll that echoes in the narrow calle. The ominous beat spreads a chill under my skin. My heart shudders as I step closer to the balcony, fearing the imminent scene that awaits my eyes beyond the window.

  A jostling horde moves along the street, covering its length with a hundred black-veiled faces. Men and women dressed in black garments follow the funeral cortège. At the heart of the crowd, six pallbearers carry a golden casket draped in royal red velvet.

  Stepping closer to the railing, I see her—immaculate pale face covered with a white translucent linen, lavender and rose petals frame her angelic face. Her delicate hands rest over her chest, clasping a small flower bouquet.

  This cannot be real. Am I part of the most hideous nightmare? I lean against the balustrade, gripping the railing tight. The cool wind envelops me, tangling my wavy hair. The freezing touch of the stone spreads through my fingers… This is no dream.

  The solemn procession marches towards the Piazza San Marco, and from there to the Chiesa d’Oro.

  Hundreds follow the solemn advance, thousands will gather in the piazza. Tonight, the prima donna takes her last stroll through the Venetian streets that now witness the birth of her immortal fame.

  My hand covers my quivering lips. A harrowing torment takes hold of my soul... God forgive me—deep inside, I recognize a gleam of sheer joy, and I hate myself for it.

  Syneca Fiori is gone. The light in her that once flooded the stage has disappeared. No longer will there be a point of comparison between our talents.

  The stage is mine alone.

  How can there be joy in the midst of sorrow? How can I rejoice in secret for what pains my broken spirit? I loved her from a tender age. I admired Syneca from the first moment I heard her voice. The memory of that voice raised me from the pits of despair when my parents died. It was she who inspired me to sing.

  “They found her body afloat in the canal behind the theatre.” Fabrizio’s voice is soft and gentle as he draws closer.

  “How can this be?” I mumble, my gaze fixed on the procession growing smaller in the distance.

  “Who knows? She could have tripped and fallen into the water…” He stops a few steps behind me. The subtle change in his voice’s pitch makes me wary of his honesty.

  “Tell me the truth,” I say with a heavy heart. Exhaustion seeps into my soul and I have no strength to quarrel with my brother.

  Fabrizio takes a deep breath and exhales sharply. “If you must know, word is she did it herself. After Giasone’s rehearsal, people saw her climb to the theatre’s highest
window… From there, she took the final leap.”

  “No!” I say in a blurt, turning towards him. “I refuse to believe it! She would never take her own life! It would be the gravest sin… She could not be buried in holy ground!”

  “Do not torture yourself with those thoughts…” Fabrizio sighs. “Carina was right. I should not have told you.”

  “Carina?” I furrow my brow. “She knew? When did this happen? Why would you keep it from me?” The questions build up in my mind until I am unable to retain them.

  “Last night. You were at that woman’s place—the countess.” He leans against the wall and takes a deep breath. “I wanted to tell you the minute you returned home, but Carina thought it would be best to wait until morning.”

  “And why would she believe that?” Grief and anger burn inside my heart, and the abhorrent gleam of joy breathes new life into those flames.

  “Dearest, do you not see?” Fabrizio’s hand lands on my shoulder. “The Queen is dead. A new world will rise by morning.”

  The Queen is dead. Fabrizio’s phrasing sends chills down my back.

  “The world has already changed,” I muse. “It mourns the loss of the greatest soprano who ever lived.”

  “Letizia,” Fabrizio steps back. “You must be brave.”

  But I am not brave. I am evil.

  Syneca is dead, and the horrid truth is that I’m glad of it. It might as well have been my hand that pushed her into the canal’s darkened waters.

  I readjust the shawl over my shoulders. Hugging my arms, I lean against the balcony’s door. My gaze drifts towards the mournful crowd and fixes at the end of the street even when they’ve gone.

  “Looks like the odds are in our favor…” I muse with a sullen tone.

  “Now you sound just like father,” Fabrizio says, standing by the doorway. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Have you not heard?” I say in the lowest of voices. “Our debt has been paid.”

  “Paid?” Just as he was about to leave, my brother reenters the room. “By whom? I only called on Mattia this morning, but he refused to see me!”