when he explained to him that he must meet with the Venetian representatives.
“I don’t wish to meet with them,” Tonio whispered.
“This can’t be helped,” Guido answered.
As they assembled in the large ground floor office of Maestro Cavalla, Guido understood Tonio’s reticence.
These two Venetians, unknown to the boy obviously, entered the room with all the pomp one associated with the last century. Or rather, in their great wigs and frock coats, they resembled galleons at full sail proceeding into a narrow harbor.
It was with undisguised contempt that they examined Tonio. Their questions were rapid, hostile.
There was a slight quiver to Tonio’s eyes; he had gone dead white, and the hands clasped behind his back were working against each other. Yes, he replied, he had decided upon this course of action on his own, no, no one from this conservatorio had influenced him, yes, the operation had been performed, no, he would not submit to an examination, and no, he could not reveal the name of the physician. Again, no one of this conservatorio had had any knowledge of his plans….
And here Maestro Cavalla interrupted, furious, his Venetian dialect as rapid and sure as Tonio’s, to state that this conservatorio was made of musicians, not surgeons. Boys were never operated on here! “We have nothing to do with it.”
The Venetians sneered at this.
And Guido almost sneered at it himself, but he managed to conceal his feelings.
The interrogation was obviously over. And now an uneasy silence fell on all present and it seemed that the elder of these two Venetians was wrestling with some latent emotion.
Finally he cleared his throat, and in a low, almost rough voice, he asked:
“Marc Antonio, is there nothing more to this!”
Tonio was caught off guard. His lips whitened as he pressed them together, and then obviously unable to speak, he shook his head, his eyes moving off to one side where they widened slightly as if deliberately blurring their focus.
“Marc Antonio, you did this of your own will!” The man took another step forward.
“Signore,” Tonio said in a voice that was hardly recognizable, “it is an irrevocable decision. Is it your purpose to make me regret it?”
The man flinched as if what he had to say to this were better unsaid. And then he lifted a small scroll in his right hand which had hung all this time at his side. And in a lackluster voice, he said quickly, bitterly:
“Marc Antonio, I fought with your father in the Levant. I stood on the deck of his ship at Piraeus. It gives me no pleasure to tell you what you must already know, that you have turned your back on your father, on your family, and on your homeland. You are henceforth and forever banished from Venice. As for the rest, your family commits you to this conservatorio, in which you must remain, or you will receive no further support from them.”
The Maestro was beside himself. He was furious. He stared stupefied as the doors closed.
Then he seated himself at his desk, gathered up Tonio’s papers into a black leather folio cover, and shoved them to the side angrily.
Guido gestured for a moment’s patience.
Tonio had not moved, and when he did finally turn to face the Maestro, his face had a studied look of sheer emptiness. Only the red glimmer of his eyes betrayed him.
But Maestro Cavalla was too insulted, too outraged, too perfectly angry to sense anything around him.
He regarded the Venetians as utterly ridiculous and was muttering as much under his breath, with the sudden outburst that their lofty statements meant next to nothing. “Banishment! A child!” he stammered.
He emptied Tonio’s purse on the desk, noted the contents, dropped the whole into the top drawer which he locked as a matter of course, and then drew himself up to address Tonio.
“You are now a pupil of this institution,” he commenced, “and due to your advanced age I have consented that you shall for the time being have your own private quarters on the attic floor away from the rest of the castrati. But you shall at once put on the black tunic with the red sash that is worn by all castrati children. In this conservatorio we rise two hours before dawn, and classes are dismissed at eight o’clock in the evening. You will have an hour’s recreation after the noon meal as well as two hours of siesta. As soon as your voice is tested and—”