The Devil in Music (6 page)

"For
what, exactly?" asked Orfeo consideringly.

"For
conducting yourself like a common ruffian. For disgracing yourself
and me."

"I
can't apologize for that, Signer Marchese, because I haven't done
that."

Lodovico
drew in his breath. Don't, Donati pleaded silently, don't insult him
again, he won't stand much more.

"How
dare you?" Lodovico let fly. "How dare you defy me like
this? What would you be without me? A shreds-and-patches gentleman,
reduced to giving music lessons or accompanying rehearsals of

third-rate
opera companies! I found your voice going to seed and took you under
my wing gave you the greatest singing teacher in Italy! And you repay
me like this! You make me ashamed I ever took you up!"

Orfeo
said nothing. Donati knew by his laboured breaths that he was
fighting for self-command.

"I
want an apology for your rudeness and ingratitude," Lodovico
went on. "If I don't get it, I swear by the Madonna I'll send
you packing, even if it breaks my heart to lose your voice!"

There
was a long pause. Donati thought he would run mad with suspense. At
last Orfeo said quietly, "I beg your pardon for my rudeness and
ingratitude."

"Ah."
Lodovico let out a breath of satisfaction.

"May
I have leave to return to the villa to wash my face and change my
clothes?" Orfeo asked.

"Yes,
by all means. Get rid of all trace of this brawl."

"Yes,
Signor Marchese." Orfeo departed in the direction of the villa.

"As
for you" the marchese turned in Tonio's direction "you'd no
business fighting with your betters."

"H-he
started it, Excellency "

"I
don't care a dried fig who started it!" bellowed the marchese.
"The end of it is that you're dismissed. Pack your things, and
get out."

Donati
considered pointing out gently that Tonio was his servant to dismiss,
not Lodovico's. But really, it was just as well. He had meant to
sack Tonio anyway. "I'll give you a month's wages," he
promised. "And if you let me know where you're going, I'll help
you find another place."

"Thanks,
Maestro," Tonio muttered.

"Be
off with you!" said the marchese. Tonio took to his heels.

"Hadn't
I best go after him, Excellency?" ventured Matteo. "He
might run into Signor Orfeo again, and "

"Yes,
yes, I see. Go on. No, wait I've something to tell you first. You
may have heard from Lucia that I'll be staying at the villa tonight.
I'm giving you a holiday. You can spend the night up at the castle
with your daughter."

Donati
shook his head forebodingly. That would leave no one at the villa
but Lodovico, Orfeo, and himself hardly a congenial group, after what
had happened today.

Matteo
and Lucia murmured their thanks and took the path back

to
the villa. Donati had almost forgotten Lucia was here. She had been
so silent throughout this scene. He wondered what she thought about
it all.

"Well,
Maestro?" said Lodovico. "Shall we continue our walk or
go back to the villa?"

Donati
supposed he should not be surprised by the marchese's cheerful tone.
He rarely held grudges, once he had got his own way. "I'd as
lief go back to the villa, if you wouldn't mind, Signer Marchese.
All this has tired me out."

"Of
course, Maestro. This way." Lodovico gave Donati his arm. As
they proceeded along the path, he said, "You see, my songbird is
all the better for having his wings clipped a bit. He's a sensible
young man at bottom, and knows on which side his bread is buttered.
You'll see he won't be quite so saucy to me in future."

Donati
did not answer. Why? he kept asking himself. Why did Orfeo give
in? Not because he was afraid of Lodovico Donati was sure of that.
No: he had made a calculated decision to keep on his good side. For
his patronage? His money? Or for some other reason beyond Donati's
grasp? Whatever the cause, Donati guessed what that submission must
have cost him. And he suddenly knew that, in this clash of wills
between a powerful nobleman and a penniless singer, it was Lodovico
Malvezzi he was afraid for.

A
fleeting tranquillity returned to the villa. The marchese went back
to the castle till dinnertime. Orfeo changed his clothes and had his
split lip attended to by Lucia. He made no comment about Tonio's
dismissal, but Donati had an idea he was not sorry to hear of it.

Donati
was relieved to be rid of Tonio, but now he had no valet and
secretary to be his Eyes. The marchese had promised to send him a
servant from the castle tomorrow, but how would he manage tonight?
"Orfeo will help you," the marchese had said, but Donati
thought Orfeo had been humiliated enough for one day, without being
made a servant to his own singing teacher. In the event, however,
the problem was easily solved: Orfeo stepped into Tonio's shoes
without being asked.

In
the late afternoon, the marchese returned with a carpet-bag, having
left his horse at the Nightingale in Solaggio. Lucia had prepared
the largest and grandest of the villa's seven bedrooms for him. He,
Donati, and Orfeo all occupied rooms on the upper floor at the front
of the villa, overlooking the terrace and the lake. Donati's and
Lodo-vico's rooms flanked the main staircase; Orfeo's was on the
other side of Donati's.

Lodovico
took his carpet-bag to his room himself, refusing to let Lucia unpack
it for him. He, Orfeo, and Donati sat down to an uncomfortable
dinner. At six o'clock, Orfeo had his evening lesson. He sang as
well as ever, but Donati perceived it was costing him an effort.
When Donati questioned him, he reluctantly admitted that his split
lip had opened again and was bleeding profusely. "You ought to
have told me at once," Donati said severely. "How can I
teach you properly, when I don't know what obstacles you're facing?"

"I'm
sorry, Maestro. But if I'd been on stage, I couldn't have complained
to anyone. I should have had to go on singing as best I could."

Donati
was about to point out that a lesson was not a stage performance.
But he let the argument drop, because he understood what it was
really about. The young man would sooner have choked on his own
blood than complained of pain or difficulty in front of the marchese.

In
the evening, Matteo and Lucia departed for the castle. Lodovico
paced up and down the music room in an agitation Donati could not
account for. Orfeo played the piano and sang softly to himself.
Donati did not allow him to practise at full volume for more than two
hours a day, but he could sing a little longer in half-voice, to
develop interpretation and expression. He was working on one of the
old songs Donati loved:

"I
am all sorrow, I have only cares, A cruel pain is killing me.

For
me, the stars, fate, the gods, Heaven are nothing but tyrants."

"Do
you have to go on in that dreary vein?" snapped Lodovico.
"Can't you sing something more cheerful?"

Without
comment, Orfeo changed to Mozart's droll air about the advantages of
hiding under an ass's skin. Lodovico resumed his pacing. Donati was
profoundly relieved when the church bells struck ten, and Lodovico
sent him and Orfeo off to bed. As he ascended the stairs on Orfeo's
arm, he heard the marchese restlessly playing scales on the piano,
and wondered when he meant to go to bed himself.

Orfeo
helped Donati to wash and undress, his touch as gentle and patient as
a woman's. Donati could not imagine how he had endured Tonic's
ministrations for so long. He hated to raise a sore subject, but he
knew he would not sleep unless he did. "My son, there's
something you ought to know. Tonio made a vow to give up cards
during Lent."

Orfeo's
hands paused briefly in the act of tying Donati's nightgown at the
neck. When he spoke, Donati could hear the smile in his voice. "I
made a misstep there."

"Don't
worry, I won't tell the marchese. But, my son, what were you and
Tonio really fighting about?"

"Believe
me, Maestro, it was a matter of no importance."

"Then
why can't you tell me about it?"

"I
will, if you'll worry otherwise. But I give you my word, there's no
need."

Now
Donati was in a quandary. To insist would be tantamount to saying
that he did not trust his pupil. Orfeo was at an age when a man was
entitled to keep a quarrel private if he chose. So Donati asked him
nothing more. But when Orfeo had helped him into bed and drawn up
the covers, Donati said tentatively, "I was thinking "

"Yes,
Maestro?"

"I
know you and the marchese haven't been getting along of late. He
does care about you in his way. I heard the fear in his voice when
he asked if you were all right after the fight "

"I
think, Maestro," Orfeo said quietly, "you must know as well
as I do that Are you all right? really meant Can you still sing?"

Donati
sighed. "Well, anyway, I thought perhaps if you wanted to
continue your training and didn't want to be indebted to the
marchese, you might come and live with me till I find someone to take
Tonic's place. The work wouldn't be hard, and you could go on with
your lessons. I know it seems demeaning for a young man of your
background "

"Maestro,
it would be an honour! But my plans are unsettled. I can't say for
certain where I'll be or what I'll be doing in a week, or a month."

"I
don't understand. You would go away before your training is
finished?"

"Not
of my own choice. But it's possible, yes."

"Is
it something to do with your family in England?"

"In
a way. I'm sorry to be so mysterious. I would tell you if I could.
There: I've put your bell in the compartment of the headboard behind
you so." He Guidod Donati's hand to it. "If you need
anything during the night, you've only to ring."

"I
can't summon you with a bell!"

"Then
I shall have to sleep at the foot of your bed like a spaniel, so that
you can nudge me awake if you need me. I really think the bell is
more practical. Good night, Maestro. Pleasant dreams."

Donati
heard the door close softly behind him. He expected him to go to his
own room, but instead heard his footsteps descending the stairs. The
marchese would be annoyed if he caught him up and about he had seemed
to want him and Donati out of the way. But why?

Donati
slid out from under the covers and knelt on the chill floor beside
the bed. He said an Our Father and a Hail Mary. Then he pictured
Santa Cecilia as he loved her best, dressed in her bridal finery,
hearing musicians play at her wedding feast, while she sang to God in
her heart that she would always remain a virgin. He begged her to
bless both Orfeo and the marchese and to heal the rancour between
them. And he asked that, if Orfeo would not suffer by it, he might
remain with Donati and become the great singer he was meant to be.

The
marchese's fitful piano playing had long since ceased. As Donati got
back into bed, he thought he heard the front door open and close. He
lay still and listened, but all he could hear was the ceaseless,
sorrowing murmur of the lake. He fell asleep.

Donati
woke to the song of a lark. He reached up, feeling for the silken
watch-pocket that hung over his bed. His watch had no glass covering
on the face, so that he could feel the hands. He ran his fingertips
lightly over them. It was a little after six, the hour when he and
Orfeo were accustomed to rise. He took his bell out of the headboard
compartment and rang.

No
one came. The villa was strangely silent. Donati supposed Lucia and
her father had not yet returned from the castle, and Orfeo and the
marchese were still abed. Yet the bell was very loud it ought to
have awakened Orfeo, whose room was next to Donati's, and perhaps
Lodovico as well. Could they have gone out for a walk? No: Orfeo
would not have left Donati to shift for himself. Perhaps he had gone
to fetch water for washing and shaving.

Donati
waited a while, then rang again. Still no one answered. He lay
quiet, straining to hear footsteps or the opening of a door. Outside
his window, the birds were singing in chorus. But in the villa,
there was not a sound.

When
the church bells around the lake struck seven, Donati began to be
frightened. Orfeo would not have deserted him. Suppose he were
lying ill in his room, hearing Donati's bell but unable to answer it?
Donati scrambled out from under the covers and felt with his feet
for his slippers. That was when he heard the front door open and
close. He fumbled for his bell and rang it as hard as he could.