Purgatorio

By Bernard Kuckuck

The story is about the invention of opera in the Florence of 1600 and an enigmatic letter supposedly written by Beatrice addressed to Dante, involving a line for his Purgatorio, which inspires a young composer to use as central to his own dramma per musica.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9781503595347

Bernard Kuckuck

Authour's bio – Bernard Kuckuck I was born in 1938 not far from a little village called Klein-Reken in Westphalia, Germany and came to Canada at the age of 18, alone and adventure minded. In order to make a living, I at first worked in construction in Toronto, Ontario and as a miner in the Gaspé Copper Mine in the province of Québec. I then moved to Montréal where I started to work in a restaurant and a private club. By studying accounting and hospitality management part-time, I went on to have a successful career in the hotel industry. My passion though was philosophy, literature, history and classical music. Notwithstanding the fact that I took courses at Concordia University, I am mostly self-taught. I have also studied languages and am a prolific writer of poems, mostly in English, French, German, Spanish and Italian. I am retired now and live in Longueuil, Québec, married to a French speaking woman by the name of Dominique.

Book preview

PURGATORIO

A Novel by

Bernard Kuckuck

26 of March 2014

Copyright © 2015 by Bernard Kuckuck.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 09/10/2015

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Contents

Exordium

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Bibliography

My profound thanks to my wife, Dominique, for her encouragement;

to my daughters, Virginie and Christina,

for their many hours of selfless assistance; and to my son, William,

who helped me put the final

touches on my novel and more.

The author of this novel has a

predilection for philosophy, history,

and classical music, especially opera.

He is also a prolific writer of poems

in various languages.

EXORDIUM

For many centuries, Florence had been the center of epoch-making creativity. Facilitated and spurred on by the princely dynasty of the Medicis above all else, such giants as Giotto, Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, Machiavelli, Galileo, and Pico della Mirandola gave that Italian city an unparalleled status in every field of human achievement. I am not forgetting the literary geniuses Petrarch, Boccaccio, Guido Cavalcanti, and Dante himself—who has given my book the title.

The story I am telling concerns also another field of human artistic endeavor, the music theater. Opera was first created in this city with the composers Jacopo Peri, Giulio Caccini, Marco da Gagliano, Vincenzo Galilei, the great librettist Ottavio Rinuccini, and of course, my own invention, Filippo Oraiosieri, playing the leading roles.

The young music student overhears during a rehearsal of Euridice—the first opera ever performed—his maestro mentioning a letter that Beatrice had addressed to Dante but never sent. Zealous to discover the content of this enigmatic missive, in order to create a dramma per musica himself based on a truly Florentine mystery, he, in metaphorical fashion, enters a Dantesque purgatory to purge himself of his obsession with the virginal Aletheia, truth, and instead lets his imagination soar …

CHAPTER I

Fiorian Fiorenza in tutt’ i suoi gran fatti.¹

Dante Alighieri

The young musician opened the curtains of the window above the Via Guelfa in the heart of Florence. He saw a busy street with carriages pulled by elegant-looking horses, a merchant’s helper shouting from across the wide street. The city was bustling, with the sun almost reaching the middle of the perfectly blue sky.

He rubbed his tired eyes that in spite of obvious fatigue had a serene sparkle. The night had been enchanting, the evening an artistic success, and the morning most productive in preparing for the glamorous event.

The much awaited celebration of the wedding of Maria Medici to King Henry IV of France was to take place in less than a month. The always gleaming city was taking on an ever-growing degree of radiance. Nowhere else in Europe had the arts attracted so many accomplished and, above all, innovating artists. Architects, painters, goldsmiths, jewelers, and of course musicians had embellished this metropolis for many generations for able, glamorous, vain, eccentric, and egocentric princes.

In the field of music, a new invention took on such importance as to evermore outshine—or better, outsound all other communities dedicated to melodious pursuits. Filippo Oraiosieri wanted to make a significant contribution to what seemed to him the most engrossing of all creativity, and of course his special talents led him to believe that he must take in whatever he could of the great opportunity that presented itself right here to be seen, heard, and eventually even achieve that his effort could be touched, tasted, and consumed. His most venerable teacher and maestro di cappella of the church of Sant’Ambrogio, Lorenzo Stamezzo, had told him many stories about this ancient house of worship dating from the fifth century. He had let him appreciate his discoveries in old manuscripts, in libraries and archives, corroborated by living musicians who were still steeped in traditions of long ago, which testified to the rebirth of antique tragedies, vague memories of Robin and Marion by Adam de la Halle of three centuries earlier, and the moresca, a type of ballet that had its origin with the Moors of Sicily or Spain. Festive processions at court with magnificent, decorative executions still played a significant part in exhibiting the taste for showing up the grandeur, taste, and wealth of an aristocratic dynasty.

Toward the end of the sixteenth century, a group of artists whose members were filled with the spirit of the Renaissance were engaged in the rebirth of the antique tragedies that laid the cornerstone of opera. Solo singing, especially in the recitativo, was breaking with the ancient style of spoken dialogue.

Filippo Oraiosieri’s teacher, Lorenzo Stamezzo, who used to meet with like-minded colleagues in the house of Count Giovanni Bardi, was enthusiastic about the resurrection of the ancient tragedy. Such personalities as the composers Giulio Caccini, Jacopo Peri, and Vincenzo Galilei—the father of the famous astronomer—got together to join ideas, knowledge, and musical competences to compose canzonets and sonnets for the solo voice that led to what they called Nuove Musiche.

The dramma per musica, the most spectacular achievement of this newest trend in music making, had its birth in 1594 with Dafne in the house of Jacopo Corsi, composed by a Florentine aristocrat, by no other than Jacopo Peri, one of the closest friends of Lorenzo. Here the madrigale, a short lyrical poem made into an elaborate part song combined with profane songs of the people, used as cantus firmus to give expression to the revolutionary type of entertainment, which even used the hearty folk melodies of the town and country dwellers of Tuscany as one of the cornerstones of the development of opera.

Ottavio Rinuccini was highly regarded for his creation of pastoral poetry and asked to write a sentimental dialogue, which he accomplished with outstanding dexterity, moving the small audience to laughter and tears, and following this stunning success, he was again commissioned to supply the verses for Euridice, the well-known saga of the nymph that Orpheus tried to rescue from the realm of the dead.

They had assembled in the big hall of the Palazzo Medici to rehearse for the royal extravaganza by presenting the new opera to be performed for the most glamorous audience the world could conceive. Filippo, as a junior member of this most renowned gathering of enthusiastic artists who all sought to contribute to achieve a great success in presenting a most original type of melodic, dramatic entertainment, kept himself discreet as was expected of a student in the presence of his master.

Most of the talking and gesturing leading to intensive rehearsals by the stage performers was done by Ottavio Rinuccini, who with theatrical movements wanted to underline what was taught by himself and everyone else as great dramatic poetry to be accompanied by the music of the ablest composers of the new style the princely city of Florence had nurtured or attracted. He was a self-assured gentleman in his late thirties. His well-groomed beard, his sharp green eyes and prominent nose, his being taller than his average countrymen, and his colorful mantle gave him the appearance of someone sprung from a noble Florentine family. His education was that of a courtier with classical schooling and artistic exposure, which had made him a fine connoisseur of music. His constant intermingling of Latin expressions with his native Tuscan dialect gave the impression of social superiority. Andiamo, ora un po di musica was his often repeated appeal to give a little more decor to his impassioned verses. Ab inito, he then would say in Latin, not because the scene needed improvement, but because of the great satisfaction it gave him.

Filippo was to play the lyra that had to be struck by Orpheus himself, whose part was performed by the composer Jacopo Peri, who could of course play the instrument too, but he confined himself to singing and acting, to which he could thus give his total attention, and just pretended to pull the strings.

Filippo’s dreamy eyes had the appearance of a near smile as they wandered to take in the whole spectacle, but two of the alluring ladies present seemed to draw his interest far beyond the task at hand. One was the beautiful singer Vittoria Archilei, whose coloratura voice reverberated from the palace’s vaulted ceiling. She seemed to Filippo the perfect incarnation of the seductive water nymph Euridice, but when he turned his head, which he tried to do as furtively as possible, his heartbeat sped helplessly.

Beatrice Cortese was the young brown-haired niece of his master. Filippo had seen her on several occasions at the house of her uncle and had even exchanged glances and a few words and had the assured feeling that he made a positive impression on her. At times he thought to even discern a slight blush on her angelic face when her eyes briefly met with his.

The young musician had to concentrate of course fully on the performance and tried not to divert his eyes again as the playing of his instrument needed his undivided attention. Jacopo now got up from his chair and picked up a lyre and intoned his clear tenor voice, singing Orpheus’s aria, praising fields and forests, animals wild and tame, and ageless boulders glittering in the sunlight. Filippo, closing his eyes, accompanied this most enchanting solo number with total abandon, then put his lyra softly on the floor beside him, for it was now that the flute trio played a pretty interlude that introduced the dramatic turnaround: Dafne, as the messenger, reported the sudden death of Euridice, which was followed by Orpheus’s desperate lamento. Then the chorus entered consolingly. Venus urged him to descend to the underworld himself to ask Pluto to return his beloved. The last scene shows the lovers happily reunited. There it ends. Rinuccini refrains from mentioning the tragic result of Euridice’s looking back. The chorus’s cheerful songs and dances close the opera.

Now the ballroom of the princely palace took on the air of celebration. Apart from the performers, including composers and the librettist, there was a small audience of music and theater lovers, curious members of the Medici household, and even three or four ladies belonging to the ruling family.

The chairs were arranged to form a circle around the group of very fine musicians, consisting of the composer and friend of Jacopo Peri, who had also contributed by setting a few numbers—Giulio Caccini playing the cembalo, two lute players, of course Filippo with his lyra, and the flute trio, among other instrumentalists. All of them sounding together had made a particularly great impression. They were now ready to play for sheer joy.

As they started to perform a familiar folk tune, most of those present delighted in singing or humming the well-known verses. The atmosphere became even livelier, and when the musicians took a pause, most of them engaged in light and eager conversation.

A little later, uniformed servants distributed bottles of the finest wines made from the exquisite grapes of the Tuscan hills, and near the entrance of the spacious room, they left a cart filled with various kinds of bread, sliced cold meats, and fresh fruits.

As the evening advanced, under the influence of the potent wine or spontaneously, a few of the younger girls started to dance in step with the rhythms they heard produced by the players, who did not seem to tire to entertain the evermore animated group.

In a near corner, a little away from the merrymaking around a small table, to avoid being overwhelmed by the pleasing but loud playing and singing, were Ottavio Rinuccini, Jacopo Peri, Giulio Caccini, and Lorenzo Stamezzo, engaged in lively conversation.

Con molto piacere,² said Jacopo Peri. I would of course go to Napoli immediately.

Anch’io,³ added Giulio Caccini, who had led a pupil of his to take over the cembola.

"But I think that our Euridice would make an even greater impact."

"Però,"⁴ announced Ottario Rinuccini eagerly, "why don’t we create a new dramma?"