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Authors: Beverle Graves Myers
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reception. Torani, I expect you there as well. Your job will be to describe the glories of this new opera to anyone you can buttonhole into listening to you.” Viviani gestured for one of his men to bring his fur-lined cloak and regarded us all gravely. “Let not one of you fail me. You will be sorry if you do.” With a parody of a bow to Adelina, he and his bodyguards swept off stage and out of the theater.
As soon as the nobleman was out of earshot, Orlando gave way to angry ravings. “Just compose a duet, just like that.” Orlando snapped his fingers. “He thinks he can order a composition like he commands his footman to have his gondola brought around to the door.”
Torani shushed the infuriated composer. “You fool! For the love of God, don’t risk letting him hear you. You need Viviani as much as we all do. Where would you be without his patronage?”
Orlando stomped out of the orchestra pit. “Patricians like Viviani have no idea what is involved in creative inspiration. On opening night, he won’t even realize what he is hearing. He will be holding court in his box and collecting compliments from a bunch of bootlickers. His triumph, but my music.”
Torani shook his head. “That’s the way things are. You must submit to the rules of society or starve.”
“It won’t be like this forever,” Orlando said, setting his jaw and hunching his wide shoulders.
“Are you mad?” Adelina asked incredulously. “Do you think you can sell your compositions from a stall on the street like the roast chestnut man or the fish peddler?”
“I don’t know, but society has to change. Artists are as sick as any man of having a nobleman’s boot on their necks. Someday composers will be at liberty to write what they like and sell their music where they see fit.”
I held my peace and regarded Orlando solemnly; he was spouting dangerous sentiments. We could all end up in trouble if the wrong ears were listening to his tirade.
Our director sighed. “Let’s leave the future in God’s hands. Right now, we need a duet for Tito and Adelina.”
Orlando nodded curtly. With a short bow for Torani and a bitter glance for Adelina, he left us with a promise to produce the duet by tomorrow morning.
Not wasting any time, Torani dismissed Caterina and Crivelli and turned his attention to finding the foreman of the stage crew. If the opera was to be ready on time, there was as much to be done backstage as in rehearsal. Crivelli appeared grateful for the unexpected respite and gave us a friendly wave as he went out the door. Caterina gathered her things and left the theater with many peevish flounces and evil looks directed toward Adelina.
Adelina shook her head as she slipped her arm through mine. “It’s really too bad. Caterina is so obvious in her ambition, in her likes and dislikes. If she could only learn to be more agreeable. There are times when you must hold your emotions in check and pretend affability to further your goals.”
“Your concern for your rival is generous,” I answered. “And a bit surprising. I thought there was bad blood between you.”
“No, Tito, not bad blood. And I don’t consider her a rival.”
I had to admire Adelina’s confidence but wondered if her assurance rested on faith in her theatrical abilities or on Viviani’s obvious preference. Either way, I thought she might be underestimating the threat of Caterina’s potential. Viviani was the type of man who would soon tire of his current favorite and move on to fresher pastures. Without his protection, Adelina would be just one more aging soprano fighting the years for her voice and her looks. Then Caterina’s ability paired with the advantage of youth might carry more weight.
Torani soon put the pair of us to work in earnest. Adelina was to review her third act arias while the director accompanied me through a pastoral air from Act Two. He was objecting to what he called my sobbing Neapolitan intonation when the foreman of
As soon as the nobleman was out of earshot, Orlando gave way to angry ravings. “Just compose a duet, just like that.” Orlando snapped his fingers. “He thinks he can order a composition like he commands his footman to have his gondola brought around to the door.”
Torani shushed the infuriated composer. “You fool! For the love of God, don’t risk letting him hear you. You need Viviani as much as we all do. Where would you be without his patronage?”
Orlando stomped out of the orchestra pit. “Patricians like Viviani have no idea what is involved in creative inspiration. On opening night, he won’t even realize what he is hearing. He will be holding court in his box and collecting compliments from a bunch of bootlickers. His triumph, but my music.”
Torani shook his head. “That’s the way things are. You must submit to the rules of society or starve.”
“It won’t be like this forever,” Orlando said, setting his jaw and hunching his wide shoulders.
“Are you mad?” Adelina asked incredulously. “Do you think you can sell your compositions from a stall on the street like the roast chestnut man or the fish peddler?”
“I don’t know, but society has to change. Artists are as sick as any man of having a nobleman’s boot on their necks. Someday composers will be at liberty to write what they like and sell their music where they see fit.”
I held my peace and regarded Orlando solemnly; he was spouting dangerous sentiments. We could all end up in trouble if the wrong ears were listening to his tirade.
Our director sighed. “Let’s leave the future in God’s hands. Right now, we need a duet for Tito and Adelina.”
Orlando nodded curtly. With a short bow for Torani and a bitter glance for Adelina, he left us with a promise to produce the duet by tomorrow morning.
Not wasting any time, Torani dismissed Caterina and Crivelli and turned his attention to finding the foreman of the stage crew. If the opera was to be ready on time, there was as much to be done backstage as in rehearsal. Crivelli appeared grateful for the unexpected respite and gave us a friendly wave as he went out the door. Caterina gathered her things and left the theater with many peevish flounces and evil looks directed toward Adelina.
Adelina shook her head as she slipped her arm through mine. “It’s really too bad. Caterina is so obvious in her ambition, in her likes and dislikes. If she could only learn to be more agreeable. There are times when you must hold your emotions in check and pretend affability to further your goals.”
“Your concern for your rival is generous,” I answered. “And a bit surprising. I thought there was bad blood between you.”
“No, Tito, not bad blood. And I don’t consider her a rival.”
I had to admire Adelina’s confidence but wondered if her assurance rested on faith in her theatrical abilities or on Viviani’s obvious preference. Either way, I thought she might be underestimating the threat of Caterina’s potential. Viviani was the type of man who would soon tire of his current favorite and move on to fresher pastures. Without his protection, Adelina would be just one more aging soprano fighting the years for her voice and her looks. Then Caterina’s ability paired with the advantage of youth might carry more weight.
Torani soon put the pair of us to work in earnest. Adelina was to review her third act arias while the director accompanied me through a pastoral air from Act Two. He was objecting to what he called my sobbing Neapolitan intonation when the foreman of
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