January 2013

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December 2012

Neither a lofty degree of intelligence nor imagination nor both together go to the making of genius. Love, love, love, that is the soul of genius.

-Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

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magazine

Collaborative, submission based magazine for the 21st Century Opera Enthusiast

Editor: Jennifer Choi www.operaswag.wordpress.com Editor: Kim Feltkamp www.kimberlyfeltkamp.com Contact Opera21 www.opera21.tumblr.com Email: opera21mag@gmail.com

Announcement The theme for the upcoming issue is great love in opera. We are accepting submissions at this time. Guidelines for submissions can be found on our website.

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Table of Contents Volume 1 No.3

3 Lost in Translation Emma Farrant An argument for translation in more opera houses

5 Oberto, Conte di San Bonifacio* Nigel McBain Light hearted discussion of one of Verdi’s lesser known operas

9 Come Scoglio** Kim Feltkamp Work of Work of historical fiction surrounding Mozart’s life at the height of his compositional success

*Featured series **Featured novella, in parts

Mozart

Lost In Translation Emma Farant Emma is a student and a writer attending Queen's University for Drama.

She has been an opera enthusiast from a wee age. You can find her at queensdramajournal.blogspot.com and attomufasado.blogspot.com.

In Amadeus, Tom Hulce’s Mozart makes the case for translation and localization. In a world where a majority of his audience is from the lower class and is illiterate, he fights to write operas with German libretti rather than the standard Italian. The concept is revolutionary for its time, and I feel this conflict still resonates today.

There seems to be a wariness about translating opera libretti into English, and in Canada, translation is rarely required in many of the opera houses. Criticisms are constantly leveled against subtitles, but I find that serious talk about translation, as a solution, is rare. The primary concern is that valuable content will be lost in translation.

Some people, however, do not even have the option of reading subtitles, and I can draw an example from my own life.

My little brother has a serious language deficit that encumbers his ability to express himself. At eight years old, he excels in math and is an endlessly creative artist, but he cannot read or write. When he speaks, it is sometimes difficult to understand him. I was advised not to show him any of my opera DVDs, even the ones that were kid-friendly, because most of them were in French, Italian, or German. It pained me that I could not

share most of the opera world with him until something wonderful happened.

Years ago, Julie Taymor directed a 100-minute English production of The Magic Flute at the Met that was targeted towards families, and I saw it in the movie theatre. A few months ago, in a fit of nostalgia, I bought the DVD, having forgotten that the production was in English. I popped it into my X-Box, and soon afterwards, my little brother joined me. He fell in love. Much to my excitement, he could understand the characters and the story. He even understood some of the lyrics.

The Magic Flute has become one of my brother’s favorite DVDs. He can recognize all of its music, even when it comes on the radio as Die Zauberflote. He sings it to himself, and it has sparked his new love for puppets.

It is estimated that 15% of the Canadian population is illiterate, either because of socio-economic or medical reasons. They are barred from the wonderful world of opera and the enrichment that it affords. The music carries most of an opera’s message, but in another language, audience members can feel excluded from the conversation, and opera companies should make a bigger push for translation and localization.

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Verdi

Oberto, Conte di San Bonifacio Nigel McBain Nigel McBain is a Australian composer and conductor. This is the second article is a series that explores father-daughter relationships in Verdi’s operas.

So we come to Verdi’s first opera, Oberto, first performed at La Scala, Milan, 17th November 1839 when Verdi was only twenty-six years old. Today, it is rarely performed, but not because it isn’t very good: the music is lovely, already showing Verdi’s grasp of lyricism and sense of drama. Opera companies probably view it in comparison to Verdi’s later masterpieces and say, well, the audiences won’t know the tunes and he wrote better stuff later on! The plot is a bit silly, largely concerned with aristocrats moping over who is in love with whom, and to be frank, there isn’t a great, stand-alone chorus or aria that everyone can sing in the streets afterwards. That does not mean, however, that it isn’t worth staging.

I’d argue that, in fact, this work should be done a little more frequently.

The music of it is full of vigour, if not rigour. It is quite an exciting score and really should be wider known. Like all of Verdi’s earlier works, it has a youthful freshness and the vocal lines display his early command of melody.

It properly stands within the Bel Canto tradition, being heavily influenced by Bellini.

The composition and first performance of a composer’s first opera

is usually marked with frustrations and difficulties (except perhaps for Mozart!). Verdi was in poverty for most of the time before Oberto’s premiere.

Verdi and his family had moved to Milan in the hopes of him having a successful compositional career.

Unfortunately, then as now, life was tough for an unknown, untried composer. The family struggled to survive, and in fact, before Oberto’s first performance, Giuseppe and Margherita had faced the deaths of both of their children. Stoic in their attitudes in the face of such grief, worse tragedy was to befall when Margherita too, died before the premiere of Un Giorno di Regno in 1840.

Father/Daughter Relationship – it’s brief and other things are going down!

The opera is in two acts. Oberto’s daughter, Leonora has been seduced by Riccardo, Count of Salinguerra, who happens to be engaged to Cuniza the sister of Ezzelino (not appearing in this opera) da Romano. Leonora is frankly a bit of a handful – way too much emotion and Riccardo probably regrets his dalliance, because she is ATTACHED to him now, despite the fact that he is getting married to Cuniza that evening, but hey, love hurts!

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Now for some reason, Oberto had been exiled. So, of course, tonight is the night he turns up somewhere undefined, outside the castle – not sure why Leonora is wandering around unprotected – or by what strange chance she happens to be in the same random spot as her father; but this is opera – fortune is fickle!

When Leonora happens unexpectedly to find herself face to face with her father, she starts wailing about what a darn rotter Riccardo is and how he has done her wrong. Oberto, being a rather hot-tempered older gentleman, immediately tells his daughter that she is a complete disgrace to the family, he basically calls her a “slut”. Leonora responds that she only wants vengeance. “Oh that is okay then”, says Oberto! This is exactly what he wants to hear. He loves the old vendetta stuff.

He swings right into action and agrees to back Leonora up in the matter and preferably bump off Riccardo – is there baggage from the exile?

Then scene two, and they are back in the castle again – no problem getting past the guards; I assume they got in via a sally port somewhere. There is much frivolity from the women of the chorus, jolly happy about the upcoming wedding, of Cuniza da Romano and Riccardo di Salinguerra (how these aristocrats love their long names!).

Cuniza and Riccardo are apparently quite in love, despite the fact that he has just had a bit on the side with Leonora (and she was a count’s daughter too! Is this soap opera perhaps?). Is it any wonder Cuniza

senses that there is something rotten in the state of Denmark, I mean, where are they again? Lombardy? Emilia Romana somewhere? Does it matter?

Will there be crying in the chapel?

Anyway… he says it’s all going to be smooth sailing! Fine, off we go!

HOWEVER! Oberto, who thinks he is a bit handier with a sword than he actually is, hides Polonius-like behind a curtain so he can hear everything – he is probably worried a little bit about the fact that he probably shouldn’t be in the country (whichever one it is) or in this castle in particular! Leonora comes in asking to see Cuniza, who then appears. Leonara tells her that Riccardo has done her wrong –shock-horror!

Though Cuniza did have that foreboding, didn’t she! She just knew something like this would happen!

So, out pounces Oberto – a bit silly, but hey, he’s a count and he likes a preprepared, well-set-up, yes-we-allknew-this-was-going-to-happen dramatic entry! He denounces the player Riccardo as a cad! All clear?

Great – though Cuniza is not really happy about the whole thing, understandably. Shocked and with a genuine feeling of total betrayal (I would think as much by Leonora as by Riccardo, but one can’t say for sure).

She sends this mad, old, parlour-game magician-like Oberto out – I mean he wasn’t even invited to the party/wedding anyway!

Riccardo comes in with everyone – I mean everyone, except Oberto - and Cuniza has a huge go at him, thrusting Leonora before him, like something the -6-

cat dragged in – I am making that up, she does no such thing! Of course, Oberto just can’t stop himself, so he hurtles back into the room, not from a curtain this time, and reads the Riot Act to Riccardo! End of Act I! Time for a glass of Valpoliccela to calm the nerves! There is some really great music in it, though – the overture is magnificent!

Bracing ourselves, we go back into the house, taking our seat and fanning our faces with the programmes. Is my cell phone off? On to Act II? Oh go on then! Again we have two scenes in this one.

Cuniza wallows in misery with her chum Imelda and all the other women in the castle. It’s a weep-in! Sad, sad, sad! Not “third-act” problem here – just misery! She comes up with a solution (or is it passing on the damaged goods?)

– or perhaps you might say “I’ve come up with a solution, but I’m half the problem!”. Riccardo should marry Leonora – he’s already had her, and really is he worth all the hype anyway?

He’s already cheated on her once – that she knows of!

Somewhere in the garden below, the whole sordid business has finally given the soldiers some gossip to wag about – about time too, since they’re all bored from not killing anyone right now – great, but they all scatter when they see Oberto coming – CHICKENS! – Nobody wants that kind of trouble!

Well, you wouldn’t believe the news Oberto has to tell the audience (there’s no one else around, we presume he’s talking to us – yes, he’s

challenged Riccardo to a duel – surprise, surprise! He goes on about it a bit in a rather nice aria and cabaletta (one of the really more famous pieces from the opera). The soldiers return, emboldened to do so by the news they bring that Oberto is officially not an exile anymore (since he is back in the castle, this is a great catch-up of bureaucracy in action – we think it might have been a hold up with some minor notary not filling in a form!), because Cuniza has had words with her (not appearing in this opera) brother, Ezzelino – from the beginning of the story – remember Ezzelino? Yes, I know you haven’t met him, and probably won’t; he owns this joint, see!

When everyone’s cleared off, he tells the audience (he seems to like us) that he doesn’t care, he is still really annoyed at Riccardo and is going to fight a duel against him regardless of anything anyone, including his daughter (the SLUT!), says!

Riccardo shows up and doesn’t want to fight the old guy. Fair enough, really, it is just embarrassing! Oberto taunts him – mocks him unmercifully, and, being a hot-tempered creature himself, Riccardo draws his sword. Of course, who should show up but Cuniza and Leonora – are they in cahoots? Why? Not sure! “Sisters are doing it for themselves!”

Then there’s a Quartet – now this is special. This is the precursor of other great Verdi Quartets (it is probably a bit more like the one in Luisa Miller than the one in Rigoletto, but it’s solid nonetheless!). Shame from Riccardo, -7-

Leonora – who, if she is going into the convent won’t need any of it (turns out only to bit a pair of old hose, a nail brush and a horse bridle! Despair, despair, despair – that’s it.

Personally, I feel sorry for Cuniza, except that she avoids everything and comes out in front, since she can marry whomever she wants to now and has got rid of the two-timing Riccardo. The father-daughter thing is completely over as soon as she mentions vengeance – does Oberto even notice anything after that? Not really!

A Lovely score! He wrote some more!

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Verdi

Lust from Leonora for Riccardo, selflessness from Cuniza telling Riccardo to make an honest woman of Leonora and pig-headedness from Oberto who just really wants to spill Riccardo’s blood and hang his daughter’s feelings - Love is fickle, she’ll probably get over it! So the quartet is really all about Riccardo – who keeps refusing to face the music!

Guess what, though, Oberto gets his way! He goes off and is followed by Riccardo and no surprise, they duel in the forest and the younger man kills him. This, sadly, all takes place offstage, so we don’t have the pleasure of seeing Oberto killed – I mean the dramatic interest, I mean the…oh is anybody rooting for Oberto, really? Really?

Cuniza feels something’s up – something is up – something is always up! She tells Imelda so. Yep when Leonora comes swooping back in (where did she go?), she is given a text message about the fact that her obsessed father is dead at the hands of Riccardo – lover kills father – sort of Oedipal a bit – anyway, what is she to do? She can’t really marry Riccardo, after all, he has killed her daddy and, well, she hasn’t the gumption to kill herself about the situation, so she laments (a lot!) and decides to end her days in a convent. Another text message arrives (on parchment you understand) from Riccardo. I mean, he could have stayed and told them all himself – but he’s fled Italy – a long way to go in five minutes, and about five centuries before there was an Italy to flee, and has left everything to

Come Scoglio A drama giocoso in three acts K. A. Feltkamp

“True genius without heart is a thing of naught—for not great understanding alone, not imagination, nor both together make genius—Love! Love! that is the soul of genius.”

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

About the Author Kim Feltkamp is a mezzo-soprano currently pursuing her MM at Bard College in Dawn Upshaw’s Vocal Arts Program. She has been part of the online opera community as OperaRox, providing interactive opera liveshows and contests to educate and unite the opera community. She is also a published writer. You can find her at OperaRox, Kimozart, and her professional website.

Note from the Author I wrote this story to depict, as closely as possible, the people and events in Mozart’s life when he was at the height of his compositional success. The people in this novella all really lived and had personalities close to the characters portrayed here. This is a work of fiction, but the goal was to remain as close to history as possible. I took the time to read countless letters, journal entries, autobiographies, and the like, not only to capture the true essence of the people in the story, but also to get all the facts and dates straight. Many of the things said or alluded to by the characters are directly from these sources. The one exception to this is the narrator, Louise Villeneuve. History tells us what and where she sang, but not who she was. Therefore, I have taken some license in regard to the narrator and her connection to the composer, especially in ways which strengthen the plot. In short, everything relating to Ms. Villeneuve is completely from my imagination. I have made educated guesses from what others said about her, which is very little, and from the music that Mozart wrote for her, which tells us a bit more. Therefore, this story is a conglomerate of sorts, as all fiction tends to be, but there is a great deal of truth in it. I hope you enjoy the ride and learn a little of who Mozart truly was and what he experienced as a composer and a man.

Overture June 19, 1789 “No, no, no, no, no!”

From his place behind the clavier, Kapellmeister Salieri waved his arms as though to wipe away the unsatisfactory image playing out In front of him. His voice echoed through the empty gold-laced interior of the Vienna Burgtheater, the hoarseness of his voice betraying his age—almost 50 by now—as his thin, tight mouth strained with the words. The prima donna, the Italian soprano Adriana Gabrieli (known all over Europe as “La Ferrarese”), gathered up her elaborate skirts and marched to the front of the stage to confront the Kapellmeister.

“What now?” she barked, hands on her rather large hips. She gave her signature pout and Salieri lowered his hands, shaking his head. He knew he had to be diplomatic. Lorenzo Da Ponte, La Ferrarese‟s lover and this opera‟s librettist, was sitting in the house. Salieri spoke softly, evenly: “You are Diana,” he told the soprano. “She is chastity itself. She would not be making such suggestive gestures at Endymion. At least, not yet.”

“Endymion,” the leading tenor better known as Vincenzo Calvesi, looked over at me and mimicked La Ferrarese‟s infamous pout. I attempted to stifle my laughter; thankfully I was standing in the wings where the Kapellmeister couldn‟t see me. He wouldn‟t approve of his new mezzo-soprano laughing while he was working.

“Very well,” La Ferrarese said, “if you want to make this production boring.”

“From the top of the number,” Salieri said, sitting at the clavier and beginning once again. The sweet melody from Martín y Soler‟s L‟arbore di Diana filled the house.

I watched Vincenzo work, marveling at the gorgeous sounds and expressive musicianship that flowed from him. I couldn‟t keep my eyes off his strong body that moved so confidently about the stage. He was completely comfortable with himself, with his part, with music in general. An admiration that I couldn‟t quell built up inside me.

Vincenzo was the first to extend the hand of friendship when I joined this company just last month. He hadn‟t raised his nose like La Ferrarese or set high expectations like Kapellmeister Salieri. He took account of the kind of person that I am and accepted me for it.

I shall never forget that.

After another half hour‟s work, Salieri shook his head and reached for the box of chocolates on his clavier.

“Twenty minute break,” he said between nibbles. I left my backstage haven to join Vincenzo in the house. The plush red seats were welcoming after a few hours‟ rehearsal. It‟s hard work to play a young boy, especially one as hyperactive as Amore.

But before I could sit down, I heard someone call my name.

“Mademoiselle Villeneuve!”

I turned toward the sound and saw Lorenzo da Ponte at the back of the theater waving - 11 -

me over. I shot Vincenzo a puzzled look and he just shrugged, sitting down. I was on my own.

It took time to walk the grand middle aisle of the theater from the front to the back. It gave me a chance to analyze the man standing with Signor da Ponte.

He seemed so small and thin beside his well-built companion. He wore a sky blue linen coat over blue breeches and slightly abused white stockings. He tapped his three-cornered hat against his thigh as though keeping count to some inaudible music. His brown-blonde hair was unpowdered and coming loose from its blue ribbon. He suddenly turned his attention to me and his large, blue eyes were intensified by his flamboyant blue ensemble.

I suddenly felt extremely exposed. I tugged nervously at my breeches—a vestige of my Amore costume. Amore‟s quicksilver staging demands something different from a dress and I hadn‟t intended on meeting anyone outside the circle of my fellow cast members, so I‟d worn the men‟s clothing without a second thought. Now here was a complete stranger and I was completely out of proper attire! I attempted to hide my embarrassment behind a smile. This is how I‟ve learned to use my acting training in real life.

“Mademoiselle Villeneuve,” Signor da Ponte said when I had reached them. “I hope we have not inconvenienced you during your one time to rest.”

“Not at all,” I said. Signor da Ponte went on to explain, “There is someone who wishes to meet you and I promised to arrange an introduction.

Mademoiselle Villeneuve, this is Herr Mozart.”

The name was familiar. Once a child prodigy, now a struggling composer. There were always stories about him floating about but I never listened too closely since it seemed to be just common gossip.

He was a small man. I‟m about five foot seven and he stood a good three inches shorter than me. Despite his vivacious blue attire, his face was pale and unremarkable. He had a strong nose and small-pox scarred cheeks. I would have thought him sickly were it not for the vivacious light in his eyes; I could tell from that alone that he had more life in him than the lot of us strung together. But something about him, perhaps his unimposing figure or the amused smile that always seemed to be lurk under the surface, made me think he had barely emerged from adolescence. I later learned that he was in his early thirties, just like me.

Herr Mozart put out his small hand and I took it. His hand was cold, but his grasp was incredibly strong. He had the particularly muscular hands of a serious clavier player.

He kissed my bare hand and said, “A pleasure, surely. I was very much impressed with your performance just now.”

“And Herr Mozart is a not man who is easily impressed,” Signor da Ponte said.

“Thank you,” I replied. “I apologize for my attire. It seems my lot in life to play the trouser roles.”

Mozart chuckled.

“And you do it well,” he said. “Have you ever seen my Figaro? There is a great trouser role in it, the pageboy Cherubino. I think you would enjoy that role very much.”

“Unfortunately, I haven‟t had the pleasure of seeing any of your works performed.”

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Mozart‟s pale features were suddenly full of life.

“This must be changed! A revival of Figaro is scheduled for August in this very theater.

You shall see a performance from my box.”

“That would be wonderful,” I said, wondering if he truly meant it. Was this man so impressed with the little bit of singing that he‟d heard that he‟d be so generous? It didn‟t seem possible to me.

“So, you‟re new here?” Mozart said. “What do you think of Signor Bonbonnière?”

“Who?” I replied. Signor da Ponte explained, “That‟s Mozart‟s nickname for Salieri.”

Mozart leaned close conspiratorially. He smelled of ink.

“Didn‟t you ever notice,” he said, “how he‟s always eating bonbons and yet he keeps his delicate figure? Very suspicious.”

I couldn‟t help but laugh. Mozart‟s eyes were bright with amusement. He continued, more serious now, “Da Ponte has told me that you were hand-picked by the Emperor himself. Is this true?”

I nodded.

“He saw me perform at the Teatro San Moisè in Venice and asked me to come join his Italian opera company here in Vienna. I couldn‟t refuse him.”

“Brava to you,” Signor da Ponte said. “The illustrious Joseph II considers himself quite the talent-scout. He loves to take long trips to hunt down new singers for his little Italian opera company.”

“And how do you find Vienna?” Mozart asked. He endowed a weight to the question—more than would have seemed necessary for something so basic. I answered honestly.

“I have been in Vienna scarce a month and already I feel as though I belong here. I believe it rather impossible to be an alien here. It is truly one of the most wonderful places in the world.”

Mozart smiled.

“I couldn‟t agree more.”

“Mozart!” growled a hoarse voice from across the house. Kapellmeister Salieri marched up the aisle toward us and when he reached us, he seemed almost out of breath. His stern expression and tight lips reminded me of a monk.

“Kapellmeister Salieri,” Mozart greeted the older man, “how can I be of service today?”

“Herr Mozart,” Salieri said, “this is a closed rehearsal.” Da Ponte stepped in with nearcomedic timing and said, “He was invited.”

The Kapellmeister grumbled something under his breath.

“Very well,” he said. “Just keep your volume to a minimum. I will not have you distracting my singers.”

“Have I ever been anything but courteous?” Mozart asked. I couldn‟t tell from his - 13 -

guarded tone of voice how he meant this. “Nevertheless,” he continued, “let me congratulate you on your fine cast. This run will be a success, especially if Mademoiselle Villeneuve has anything to do with it.”

“Thank you,” Salieri said. The four noticed yet another figure coming in their direction. It was La Ferrarese and she didn‟t seem to be in the best of moods. “I must return to my duties,” the Kapellmeister said, bowing. The men bowed in return and Salieri moved away.

And just in time.

“Caro!” Her voice screeched like an unoiled door through the theater. Signor da Ponte opened his arms to her.

“What is it, my dear?”

“That ungrateful man!” she said, stamping her foot. I suddenly wished that I‟d left with the Kapellmeister. “Did you hear what he said to me?”

“Every word,” her lover said. “Don‟t take it to heart, dearest. You‟re wonderful.”

“Everyone knows it,” she said. “He has the brains of a duck, that man. Ugh. He‟s fool enough to be courting that woman. He doesn‟t have to ridicule me as well.” I knew “that woman” was Caterina Cavalieri, her arch-rival. I‟d been here long enough to learn that. One hour was time enough to hear about that.

“Just ignore it,” Signor da Ponte said. “You‟ll do wonderfully and everyone will talk about how magnificent you are.”

Mozart was silent, but I could tell he was trying very hard to contain himself. Signor da Ponte continued, “Now, just focus on your singing. When this is all over, we‟ll celebrate your success.

The papers will be filled with praise for your work. „La Ferrarese‟ will be the name on everyone‟s lips. Trust me.”

Just then, Vincenzo walked by us, nodding politely. Da Ponte kept talking, but I wasn‟t listening anymore. I watched Vincenzo go to the back of the theater where a young woman in a modest dress waited for him. Her common clothes seemed so out of place among the gold and red extravagance of the Burgtheater. Her clothes, along with the basket she held and the fact that she was with child, cast a glow of domesticity about her. Her face was calm and happy, her freckles bright against her summer-flushed face. A toddler peeked out from behind her skirt and ran on unsteady legs to greet Vincenzo. The man took the boy up in his arms and laughter filled the theater.

Vincenzo put the boy down and took the basket from the woman, kissing her gratefully. Then the woman noticed me and waved. I waved back, smiling.

“Bonjour, Louise!” she called to me.

“Guten Tag, Teresa!” I called back, smiling. It seemed as though she wanted to come over and talk but hesitated to do so because of an unspoken social restriction. Instead, she smiled and turned her attention back to Vincenzo.

A few minutes later, I watched Vincenzo‟s wife walk back toward the friendly streets of Vienna as Kapellmeister Salieri banged away on the harpsichord.

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Act I June 27, 1789 I hardly had time to wrestle myself out of my costume before people were knocking on my dressing room door. I wanted so badly to take off my stage makeup but the insistent sound from the other side of the door would not permit such a luxury. I pulled on my ordinary clothes (what a relief to be in a dress again!) and attempted to calm my wig-inflicted hair.

Two bouquets of flowers had been waiting on my dressing table when I came in after the curtain call; one of them had a card from Vincenzo, but the other was unlabeled. I grabbed them before rushing to the door and opening it to the flood of people.

Vincenzo met me first.

“Brava!” he said, kissing my cheek. “That was one hell of a debut.”

“Thank you, but you deserve just as much credit as I do. You were wonderful tonight.”

He waved away the compliment.

“You received my flowers,” he said.

“Yes, thank you. It was very sweet of you.”

“And who sent the others?” he asked.

“I don’t know. There’s no card attached.”

“How intriguing,” he said. “Think: it could be the Emperor himself.”

I laughed at him.

“Don’t laugh,” he said. “I’ve heard more than a few rumors about the Emperor’s feelings toward you. I hear that his interest toward you extends beyond mere business and music…”

I laughed again.

“Don’t be absurd.”

“You’re too modest. After pulling off a performance like that, you should feel as though you can conquer the world. Look, I won’t keep you from your adoring public. I’ll come back in a little while to fetch you; the cast is going out for dinner and you’re invited.”

He was gone before I could say another word.

A sea of dresses and fancy suits came rushing toward me. Dukes and Counts and Duchesses and Countesses gave their words of praise and I humbly received them, offering my own words of gratitude. The crowd seemed endless. My feet hurt; more than anything, I wanted a comfortable seat and a glass of water.

All these things were forgotten when the crowd parted and Emperor Joseph II, surrounded by his emotionless entourage, approached. The people bowed in respect and I curtseyed instinctively.

The Emperor nodded for us to stand and the crowd obliged, backing up to create the ordinary bubble of space around him. The monarch focused his brown eyes exclusively on me as his imposing figure towered over my relatively-tall stature. I stood straighter and couldn’t keep from playing with a bit of my skirt. Not knowing what else to do, I bowed my head again.

“Magnifique,” he said, his tone forced as though attempting to sound confident when he didn’t feel so at all. He couldn’t keep his gaze steadily on me—it wandered nervously all about the hallway.

Were it not for his expensive navy blue coat and elaborate periwig, I wouldn’t have guessed that he ruled a country. I only recognized him from our first encounter back in France. He’d been just as shy then.

“Thank you,” I said. “I’m only glad that I did not spoil your reputation with a poor

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performance.”

“On the contrary,” the Emperor continued. “There will be a messenger at your door tomorrow with a contract for future roles. I hope it will return to me with your signature.”

I felt my face flush as elation spread through me.

“I don’t deserve your generosity,” I said.

“But you do,” he said. “That, and much more. Don’t discredit yourself, Mademoiselle.”

“Of course.”

“I look forward to seeing you perform again.” The Emperor took my hand, kissed it, and turned to leave. I nearly fell over from shock.

The crowd closed in on the vacuum left by the Emperor’s departure. The volley of words continued for a few more minutes.

Finally the crowd dwindled and two familiar men stood waiting for me. Signor da Ponte took my hand and kissed it. Herr Mozart followed suit.

“Welcome to Vienna,” the taller man said.

“Magnificent,” Mozart said. “Brava.”

“Thank you.”

“I know you are going out to celebrate,” Mozart said, “so I won’t keep you, but I wanted to invite you to my residence tomorrow afternoon. It’s an informal gathering—I have them almost every Sunday evening, you can ask da Ponte if you don’t believe me—and I’d love for you to come and participate in the music. I can give you my address…”

He pulled a scrap of paper and a pencil from his pocket. Some of it had a scribbling of notes on it. He tore that part off and wrote on the blank spot. Smiling, he handed it to me.

“It is always great fun,” he said. “Besides, I think Constanze will like you.”

“Constanze liking someone you bring to the house?” Signor da Ponte said. “That would be a first.”

“She is wanting for feminine companionship lately,” Mozart said. “I’m not enough for her anymore.” His last words were bitter. I noticed now, even though it had always been there, that an undercurrent of strong emotion ran beneath all of his words.

This man was complex, deep…intriguing.

“Then I will see you tomorrow?” he asked.

I hesitated.

I, too, needed companionship. I could vividly imagine the intense silence of my apartment after I returned home from the laughter and warmth of the restaurant. All that noise and friendliness torn away to leave complete and utter nothingness. Aloneness. How hard it is to return home to no one and nothing! The only people I cared about in all the world were miles away. Mother was back at home in France, sick and unable to travel, and all my other friends were equally distant.

Perhaps it is better to stay out in the world, in the womb of friends and enemies—of danger and triumph and music.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Good,” Mozart said with a smile. “Bonne nuit and, again, brava.”

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