Being greatly stirred,
I turn to where I heard
That whisper in the night;
And there a breath of light
Shines like a silver star.

– Urbiciani, Canzonetta c. 1250 AD



Claudia beamed a smile of satisfaction as she took her seat in the courtyard of the Accademia di Santa Cecilia. Moments before, an usher had guided her to the middle of the third row; a prime position which gave her an excellent view of the concert stage. The night was warm and still and fragrant with the scents of the countless flowers that she had admired on her previous visit. But chief of all these varied floral aromas was the rich scent of Gardenia. She shut her eyes and breathed it in as though it were a rare and costly Parisian perfume.

Low in the cloudless sky, a luminous full moon glowed. To Claudia, its melancholy visage always hinted at some unknown sorrow and on this night she was reminded of lines from the Rubaiyat:

Moon of my delight who know’st no wane,
…How oft hereafter rising shall she look
Through this same garden after me – in vain!

Claudia glanced around at the sea of varied faces. The concert seemed to be sold out as every seat within view was taken; every seat that is, except the one next to her on the right. She thought of Carlo for a moment but swiftly dismissed him; musically he was more rap than rondeau and probably would have found the whole performance a huge bore. She now looked around her at what some of the younger women were wearing. A sea of patterns, textures, cuts and colours greeted her. She had a critical eye and quickly discounted most of what she saw, taking note of only one or two outfits, faces and figures. Claudia herself wore a knee length, black sequined dress, cut and patterned to resemble one of the creations of 1970s designer Rudi Gernreich. She had this custom made for her three years ago and it was by far her favourite outfit – her little black dress.

The musicians had now begun to gather behind the stage. She could see Barricelli amongst them; dressed rather informally in jacket and cravat but looking every inch the maestro di cappella. The professor was busy giving last minute instructions and his enthusiasm, his easy charm and fatherly authority over his students were all obvious. Claudia smiled as he made several rapid hand gestures which the students found amusing.

She now became aware that someone had just sat down beside her. She straightened her body and glanced down to see a woman’s legs. Rather than ignore the stranger she turned to her and smiled,

“Buonasera.”

The woman turned her head slowly, as though she was quite used to being greeted by total strangers.

“Buonasera,” she smiled back.

She was about the same age as Claudia; in her mid-twenties, German or Scandinavian; with cascades of shimmering blonde hair and a dazzling smile. Her features were sophisticated and beautiful, her eyes bright blue and soft. But as she glanced at them, Claudia caught a fleeting glimpse of something remote in those eyes, something a little troubling. She dismissed this off hand and turned her attention to her program. She saw Barricelli’s picture and the portraits of some of the leading students. The performance was to begin with one of Alessandro Scarlatti’s concerti grossi then one of his chamber cantatas entitled Olimpia. Appropriately, Scarlatti was a native Sicilian and a great name in the 17th century. His works were followed by two of Vivaldi’s opera overtures, Vivaldi being always a favourite, then by Bach’s Brandenburg Concerto number three. The concert concluded with an orchestral suite by another 18th century German, Georg Philip Telemann. As Claudia scanned the various movements of this particular work the title of one caught her eye – Tintamare.

“Ah,” she thought, “This is surely a coincidence or it’s Barricelli’s idea of a joke or is he trying to flatter me? Probably the latter I’d say.”

The performers now took their positions on the stage and an expectant hush began to settle over what Claudia considered a particularly garrulous audience, then she remembered that she was in Italy. Barricelli finally appeared looking elegantly aristocratic in a white summer suite with royal blue cravat. He beamed and the spring in his step as he took his position at the conductor’s podium spoke volumes; he was firmly in his element. A swell of applause and quite a few cheers greeted him as he turned to the audience and bowed. Claudia turned her head to glance at her companion in the next seat. The woman clapped briefly then reached for her cell phone and switched it off. Further cheers followed as two of the soloists and the first violin took their positions. The atmosphere in the courtyard of the Accademia was at its convivial best and Claudia could sense that this was an event that the locals genuinely loved. The applause died down once Barricelli turned to his orchestra and lifted his hands. He was the very image of the magus; creating wonders out of the ether with every stroke of his hand.

Claudia quickly found herself relaxing and being transported by the music. Every bar, every line, every note, spoke to her of a vanished world of elegance, a world of optimism and discovery, a world of terror and beauty; lost for centuries and now brought back in an instant of time to flourish again as it had done at the moment of its original creation. Its creators were men long dead but through the ingenuity of their invention they too lived again. She found the entire program beautiful and diverting but one piece in particular delighted her and caught her imagination. This was Alessandro Scarlatti’s Olimpia.

According to the program, the cantata, for female soprano and orchestra was to be sung by one of the Accademia’s star pupils, nineteen year old Gianina Strozzi. Claudia’s attention was instantly captured by the flaming red hair, the poise, elegance and dignified stage presence of this most beautiful girl. She wore a flowing, sea-green silk dress with a long loose piece of the same cloth that wrapped around her back then fell between her arms and reached to the floor. Her composure was appropriate to the gravitas of the piece and she sang with dignity and pathos. Her opening aria was beautiful and she was accompanied perfectly by the Accademia’s strings and continuo. For this piece Barricelli himself sat at the harpsichord where Claudia could see the obvious emotion in his face as he played. Indeed, through some of the more stirring passages of the cantata, she thought she could see tears glistening in his eyes. She too was moved.

After a short recitative Strozzi sang the cantata’s concluding aria, Claudia loved its triumphant, martial air and infectiously buoyant rhythms. As Strozzi repeated the aria’s lines da capo, Claudia found her fingers tapping the notes and silently singing the words. The aria was a musical gem; a tiny, finely cut cameo of the 17th century and it perfectly captured the exultant mood of the evening. As the last notes of Strozzi’s pure soprano voice died away, Claudia’s neighbor turned to her and said,

“Bravissimo. We must congratulate her later.”

The woman spoke English with only a trace of an Italian accent and Claudia was only mildly surprised to hear her do so. After Carlo’s largely comic attempts at bilingualism, anyone else’s English sounded practiced and refined.

“Indeed we must,” she replied enthusiastically; glad that she would have the opportunity to meet Strozzi.

The Accademia played on into the night; with dexterity and élan; its dotted rhythms and astringent textures made on sparkling strings, complimented by the stately woodwinds and triumphal brass. It was a credit to Barricelli’s skill that all the various elements; vocal and instrumental, coalesced so effortlessly into an organic whole. His hands moved like the hands of a master magician; creating music as though he were conjuring beauty out of the air.

When she applauded, Claudia applauded from her heart and this night she felt herself a tiny but integral part of the great swell of appreciation. Barricelli took his bow and the applause went on. He honoured each section of the orchestra and took the podium once more for an encore. The orchestra played the concluding allegro from Vivaldi’s Winter concerto; three minutes and forty seconds of poignant beauty and the concert was over.

Now Barricelli beamed exultantly as he took one final bow and left the stage. He seemed very pleased and Claudia was glad. She got up after the applause was over and glanced at the woman next to her. The woman had left her seat and was walking away so Claudia followed her to the aisle. She was met by a smiling Julia Barricelli,

“Claudia, did you enjoy the concert?”

“Enjoy it? It was wonderful, I especially loved the cantata.”

“Good, well, there is a small reception and a few drinks with antipasto in the main hall. Would you like to join us?”

“I’d love to.”

Claudia looked around her but could not see the blond woman. She followed Julia to the main hall and as soon as they entered she saw the woman in a loose group gathered around Barricelli and Gianina Strozzi. There were ten or twelve other people but at the core of the gathering were the professor and his star pupil.

The contrast between the tall, willowy Strozzi and her short, rather portly teacher was distinctly comic; mainly due to the fact that Strozzi seemed to hang on the Barricelli’s every word. She was constantly dipping her head and opening her eyes wide to catch his every breath and nuance over the noise of the gathering. Claudia found Strozzi friendly, unpretentious and charming; instantly warming to her when she insisted that Claudia call her Gianina. She seemed impressed by the mention of the name Incarnata when they were introduced but said nothing. Instead she smiled, kissed and shook hands formally as though Claudia was some visiting dignitary. Claudia hated formality so she did her best to look relaxed, unassuming and casual.

The woman who had sat beside her during the concert was introduced by Barricelli as Sabina Da Gioia. Sabina smiled and kissed Claudia on both cheeks. She wore a honey scented perfume; a delicious scent which contrasted a little incongruously with her imperious Nordic features. She wore a dress which Claudia had seen before but she struggled to remember exactly where. Sabina spoke little after having offered her congratulations to Barricelli and Strozzi. There was a barely hidden air of melancholy in her eyes that Claudia did not fail to notice and she found herself strangely drawn to Sabina as the evening progressed. She waited until Sabina was alone and approached her, gesturing with an elegant sweep of her hand,

“Karl Lagerfeld?”

She caught Sabina momentarily off guard,

“Er…yes, yes it is.”

“Lovely design, it looks just beautiful on you.”

“Thank you, you are very kind Claudia.”

“Are you from around here, local?”

“Yes, forgive me.