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"Honeymoon Evening" THE CONCLUSION
Rating: PG Description: CAUTION! There is an Old Italian waiter, a snoop, who is just snoopy enough, no more. (I told you: MY NARCISSISM!) THE ELIXIR OF LOVE, by Gaetano Donizetti, starts again. Act Two, Scene I CHORUS
Cantiamo, facciam brindisi
Come on, we all sing,
……………………………………… Act Two, Scene VII
Nemorino moves forward, slowly, on the stage. Okay! Lo and behold. The moment has come. This is the clue. Now I must sing the core of this Opera. The immortal melody. It's my honour. It’s my fear. I move forward on the stage, while looking for the right concentration, and while the first musical notes begin. Sweet. Languorous. Powerfully evocative. Almost instinctively my eyes rest on them. On the couple. I observed them during the Opera. They have watched always with constant attention, their hands always hooked. Now and then she turned her head towards him, talking softly, asking something. And he was softly talking in return, as if answering. Now her look is attentive. She stares at me, waiting. Her beautiful face still shows the same regal, nearly cool, expression. But somehow, it seems to me that there's something different. Her eyes are . . . wide, and I see into them a trace of . . . yes . . . of anxiety. Why? It almost looks like . . . trepidation. Is it the music, perhaps? The orchestral beginning of the piece, strongly allusive, overflowing with such a passionate sentimentalism . . . could it arouse in her a sort of . . . I don’t know . . . fear? As if… music could… emotionally… overwhelm her. I look at her hands. They are grasping a hand of the man. With force. He turns his head towards her; she does likewise; and he simply smiles, sweetly, tenderly at her. I see that immediately her face softens, her look simmers down, her grip loosens. What does all that mean, which lasted just a breath? I don’t know. But seeing this wonderful interaction, this evident deep connection, stirs something inside me. I… feel… that tonight my performance will be special. It’s my time. I start.
Una furtiva lagrima
A sudden furtive tear
She loves me; yes, she loves me; I see it!
For just one moment to sense
Heavens, I could die, YouTube Link “T’hai’la…” “Hon?” “This music… this music…” “It’s awesome, isn’t it?” “And the words…” “Did you understand their meaning?” “On the leaflet given us at our arrival there was a translation. I… have read it.” “Ahhh…” I wasn't wrong. Never have I sung this air in such a beautiful way! My eyes run along the audience. It’s a choral ovation. An uproar of “Bravo! Bravissimo! Bis! More!” The people are all on their feet.
Except for two persons. “T’hai’la…” “Hon?” “This… this furtive tear…” “Yes?” “This tear... is it enough for Nemorino?” “Love doesn't need words. A gesture, a motion,... a tear... are enough.” “But perhaps Nemorino could be glad, if Adina would tell him that she… loves him.”
“Perhaps.” They are talking quietly, their hands interlaced. I am unable not to look at them. “T’hai’la…” “Hon?”
“I… I love you. Infinitely!” And now? What is happening? The man has abruptly turned his face towards the woman, his eyes wide open. She has her face turned towards his, one inch from his. And she stares at him, steadily.
Her lips open to speak. “Yes, Ashayam… it’s so. I love you! I’m sure you know my… my love for you. I’m here, with you, as your wife, in this our Honeymoon. My actions, my words, my whole behaviour proves my love – yes, my love – for you, like that tear proves Adina’s love for Nemorino. I’m sure you know my heart, and that my absurd doubts, my foolish recalcitrance are totally passed by now. Evaporated, like the snow of your world does under the Sun. And I told you many times that I reciprocate your… love for me. But never I have uttered these three words… I… love… you. These words… so difficult to say… aloud… for Vulcans… like me. And, so important for every human, like you, to hear from his own… true love. Now finally, I have done it! And how… how easy it is to say these words to you! Ashayam, listen to me! I love you! I love you! I love you! Yes! Yes! Yes! I love you! I love you! I love you! I love you! I love you! I… I will love you… forever, my love! Forever! Forever! Forever!
Forever… my love! ” The ovation goes on. But I cannot remove my eyes from them. He slowly turns his head towards the stage, a stunned, dreaming expression on his face. She closes her eyes, and leaning on him, their hands intertwined, she lays her head on his shoulder. (*Okay, damned son of a bitch of a maître! You won!*) I lift my arms, to stop the ovation. I bow. Then I turn, nodding at the troupe, meaning that the spectacle must carry on. I blink stealthily at our trusty factotum, Antonio, who is watching from the backstage. He nods, immediately understanding what I want to say. My friend Lapo will be informed right now that his plan is approved. And that he must proceed. I slowly lower my arms, and, among the general silence, the spectacle begins again. But I can’t restrain myself from looking one last time at… my - (*Damn Lapo!*) - couple. They are yet in the same position. His expression hasn’t changed. Neither has hers. Only… now her eyes are open. They shine.
Like stars. Scene Three We are to the point. The air is damp and fragrant between the trees. In the sky, a bright full moon peeps out from behind a torn veil of light clouds, which are swiftly roaming, lacerated by many vast slits from which myriad stars sparkle like tremulous flamelets. Voices of the night's creatures fill the tenuous moonlit gloom, evoking an arcane sensation. There’s no breath of air. It's like things are suspended. Like they were waiting. Like me. This is NOT a playful game, in my mind. The others obviously don't know it, but I want to contribute to make a new road, for all that I can do. They... she... must understand that she... their love... is... the future's light. And that we, we humans, want this light. But… but what devil am I thinking? She doesn’t know that I know. She… and he… only might think we want to give them an Italian romantic homage. And nevertheless, someway I’m sure that they… she… will understand. I look at my mates in this conspiracy. They are waiting in silence, like me, hidden in between the trees. Well! Maybe the conspicuous mass of Vittorio will prevent him from going unnoticede, but no matter. Behind him, Amedeo, the fiddler, and Guido, the guitarist, are quietly holding on, ready to come into action at his beck. We’re under the veranda of the hotel-suite of my couple. They didn't enter already, because the signal has yet to arrive. Gosh! Unquestionably our… organization… works well! I brought here Vittorio and his mates in a jiffy, after I have carried them away from the… hug of the fans with no hindrance. I was ready at the side exit where we had fixed our appointment with our second staff car, smaller than the vehicle I had made available for the Commanders, and less comfortable, but quicker. A greeting, a nod, and we were aloft, bound for this place, while contemporaneously the other car was conveying my couple a little more slowly to the same destination, and — I smile mischievous to myself — towards their suite and... their night. And now we are here. Ready. Waiting. Beep… beep… beep. My mobile communicator whirrs. Three times. It’s the agreed signal. My couple is into their suite. The lift attendant, acting in accordance with instructions, is informing me that it has just been closed behind the occupiers' shoulders door of the suite of Mr. and Mrs. … Lovebirds. - Yes! Exactly so! Surely it must have been an idea of Commander Tucker. I would have wanted to see the face of his wife while he was notifying their name! I blink at Vittorio. He nods, in understanding, and motions to his mates, in turn. I lift my hand to warn them that we must await yet for awhile. I want that my couple let their hair down, before… the dance begins. Yet a few minutes. A few yet. One, two, three… Now! I lower my hand, and Vittorio nods again. He moves forwards, beyond the trees, stopping under the veranda, Amedeo and Guido some steps behind him. Me too, I move, following my friend, and stopping just a little past the trees, so that I can see and hear all. Vittorio beckons to his companions and they start. In the night's silence the first notes rise in the air of a very old song. An ancient melody…. a serenade… that lovers were singing to their loved long ago. A song that narrates of Florence, while it is sleeping, lost with its people into a charming, magical, love dream. And then we hear the beautiful Vittorio voice, which rises, strong and unmistakable, vibrating softly around us.
Firenze stanotte sei bella
Florence tonight you are beautiful, Some noises in the room, from behind the closed door of the veranda.
Nell’ombra nascondi gli amanti.
In the shadow you hide the lovers,
Light is turned on inside, illuminating the doorway. Intorno c’è tanta poesia. Around there's such a poetry. The door opens and a shadow is silhouetting in the doorway, against the light that comes from the room.
Per te, vita mia,
For you, my life, The figure moves forward, slowly. It’s… she. She is wrapped with a long robe, made with something that seems silk. A strange, uncommon and splendid silk. The robe hides and at the same time displays her shapely body. The moonlight lightens her face, showing and sweetening her traits, emphasizing with its soft light her charming beauty. A fairy! An enchanting, mysterious night's fairy! The chant, the music ceases. My friends keep silent, entranced by the sight of her. Like me. She advances to the railing. She leans slightly forward and lays her hands upon the railing. She lets her eyes rove quietly over us. Those immense, liquid, dark eyes. She gazes at me, not showing surprise. Then she turns her look on Vittorio. And she waits. My friend shakes himself, and begins again his song, as his companions restart the music.
It’s the refrain.
Sull’Arno d’argento
The silvery Arno Now there’re the two last verses of the refrain. Fraught with meaning. I purposely recommended Vittorio to sing this particular serenade. It's an old Florence's song. That's true. And it's an old love song. That's true too. But the last two verses of the refrain mean much more. Much more. I watch intensely the Vulcan woman, while my friend intones the refrain's end. He is singing in English. She… can understand.
Ma dietro ad un balcone
But, behind a balcony, Has a frisson that ran through her body? Has it? Are her hands holding the railing with force? Aren't they? (*A dark-haired madonna! Yes! That’s she! She's beautiful and ethereal like a florentine madonna of the Renaissance! And nevertheless, she's also so… so worldly, so bodily, so physical… sensual… carnal... just like those madonnas were capable of being. *) The second strophe begins.
Vittorio voice resounds strong and clear. Passionate.
Balconi adornati
Tonight balconies, A second silhouette in the doorway, against the room's light. It's big. Powerful. It's the Commander. Germogliano le serenate.
Serenades sprout. He moves forward. Toward his wife.
He halts behind her. Madonna ascoltate: son mille canzon.
Madonna, listen to: there're thousand songs. His arms enfold her from behind. Possessively. His hands firmly hook each other on her belly. Possessively. “You are mine! ”
That's what he means to say! Firenze Sogna. Florence dreams. She languidly leans backward on him. She lays her head upon his chest. Her eyes half-closed, she places her hands upon his. “I'm yours! ”
That's what she means to say!
Un vostro sorriso è la vita,
One of your smiles is life, Their embrace tightens, and - I swear - he tenderly cradles her to the beat of the music!
And slowly… her eyes… fully shut.
Sull’Arno d’argento
The silvery Arno The refrain has begun again, and I have closed my eyes, like she, relishing the moment. The refrain ends and I wait for the last verses of the song. I'm waiting.... Why don't they come? My eyes snap opened. I look at my friends. They are motionless and dumb. They are watching steadily towards the veranda. I swiftly turn my head, and... I see. The Commander and his wife are still in the same position, but… but now her head is turned backward, so that her face is looking at his, only one inch from his face, which is turned, it too, toward hers. They are staring one at other. Intensely. They… are reciprocally gazing, while, her right hand always upon his, her left hand is lifting her hair, displaying to the world… her Vulcan pointed ear! A maelstrom of thoughts in my mind. (*An Elf! Not a night fairy! A marvellous, effulgent, light Elf! *) And then . . . (*I’m a complete idiot! I’m here, overpowered with her intoxicating beauty, whereas I should be horrified by her reckless action! *) And… then… (*Her… action! I heard their conversation! I know their troubles! I’m aware of her… fear! No woman, ever, will make an avowal of love so… sublime… as this! *) My eyes turn again on my companions. They are observing the scene, and Vittorio, is clearly frowning. His look lays upon me. I know he has no biases, but he's a smart man. He understands I withheld the truth. He turns his head toward my… my two truelovers, and I ape his gesture. Nothing is changed, except for one thing. Now her left hand is no longer lifting her hair. Now this hand is sweetly placed on his right cheek. Tenderly, lovingly, caressing it! I… I feel I'm melting! Literally! I hear a choked sound that comes from my friends. From all three of them. My eyes turn quickly upon them, and I see… plainly.. that they are overwhelmed, like me! Why? But immediately I understand the reasons of their throated exclamation, of their astonishment. I know myself very well. I’m an Old Italian sentimental waiter, and I have always been abysmally tenderhearted. And then I have… gained knowledge of the awful story of my couple. Of their... incoercible love. Maybe my companions could be as sentimental as I am, but in any case they don’t know what I know. Nevertheless they are staying motionless, voiceless, their eyes stuck to the scene on the veranda. And… it’s no doubt… touched… very touched, as am I. Because… Because… in a few instants… all their ideas, all their preconceptions crumbled off. There, in that veranda, there’s the wide open gate of the future. She and he… - by now I’m not capable of calling them otherwise, because it seems to me that they are "SHE and HE", only that! - She and he aren’t simply a couple in love. “Here! Look at me! Look at the woman I am!” – This… she is crying out! “Here! Look at us! Look at what we are!” – This… she and he are shouting loud! (*Yes! You two are the first, and on your path other people will walk. You two are opening the way, with courage and with pain, driven by the force of your love. You two are the first stone of a jubilant bridge, whose end cannot be seen, because it's lost far, into infinity. *) And, in awhile, my friends do realize all that. Now they are aware of my true intentions. They know, now, that this is NOT a playful game. Will they understand? Will they follow my heart? Or the wild, dark side of the men will scream its crazy, blind rage yet again? While thinking, my look never left my companions. Vittorio tightens his eyes and his lips. Then, purposely, he moves forward one step and beckons his mates.
His voice rises, powerful, in the air.
Sopra i lungarni senti,
Over Arno's riversides you can feel I feel a marvellous warmth inside me, and, with my eyes moist, I look again at my couple. Now her hand is on his nape, after she has slightly turned her body, so that their faces can stay facing each other. That hand is drawing his head toward hers, as her mouth… is trying to reach his mouth. Her eyes shut. Their lips touch. They kiss each other. The sweetest love kiss I ever saw! I spring, hearing Antonio's voice that sings again. The serenade is ended, and these words are not a part of it. These are new words.
An added chant that my friend wants to sing only… for her!
Madonna bruna
Dark-haired madonna, She and he — Yes! SHE and HE. — break their kiss, and turn around, always enfolding each other in their arms, moving toward the door of their room. Her head upon his shoulder. His head upon her head. They go into their room, closing the door behind themselves, while Vittorio is singing once more the new verses.
Madonna bruna,
Dark-haired madonna, Finally, the music ends. The night’s silence wraps us, no noise under moonlight. We remain so, for awhile, watching the closed door, the window illuminated by the light coming from the inside. Then, we look one at another. Smiling. In silence. Who needs words? Vittorio nods to me, as his mates, and I return their gesture. They turn around, and move, going off, slowly. I follow them. I raise my head, looking at the sky. The clouds have disappeared, and the moon is shining aloft, a myriad of stars covering the heavenly vault. It’s late. °Where are you? Is this any hour to return home? Without saying anything to me? To your wife? ° The thought of my wife who is awaiting, awake, at our home, unaware of my… business, violently strikes me. I can clearly prefigure in my mind her angry words. °Do you have any answer? You are… ° °I’m a beast, I know. You are absolutely right. But I also know you are the most kind and understanding wife… ° °Don’t try to blandish me with your talkativeness! I won't swallow your bait! ° Why don’t I feel guilt? Why am I smiling to myself, thinking of our upcoming conversation? Maybe because I'm too glad tonight to feel worried. And also because, more simply, I well know how I will reply. °Sweetie, please, don’t be enraged with me! I… had to arrange a… serenade! ° °What the hell… A… a… serenade? ° °Yes. A serenade for a… Vulcan female. ° °What are you maundering? Crazy man! ° °I… am crazy? I’m not crazier than the crazy woman that you are, when you said what you said of a certain Vulcan female! ° °Do you want to stop speaking cryptically? I…° °You only must hug me. Tomorrow I will explain all. Now… – and I will sweetly smile to her, in telling her these words – Now I only want… to make love with you! ° I openly smile, well knowing how my wife will react to my words. She will smile in return, her rage faded, and she will embrace me. And I will bring her on our bed. And we will make love all the night. (*Yes. We… will make love all the night…*) And she will be lost in me. As women do when they are… in love. With that immense ability of the women to be… women! Human… or Vulcan. I halt. Abruptly. My head turns around toward the veranda. The light is still on. And, precisely while I’m watching, the light… goes off. My smile broadens, and the warmth inside me grows. Slowly, my look leaves the veranda’s dark window. I put the hands in my pockets, and sluggish I again begin walking. By now I'm alone. My friends surely have already left by the car that conveyed the Commander and his wife here. I walk slowly, in the fragrant and fresh air of the night, between the trees, under a sky of stars, in the moonlight. Now I’m at the exit. I stop, one last time. And, one last time, I look at the veranda, now slightly far, beyond the trees. All is quiet, perfect. How it must be. There’s a great peace, in the night… like in my soul. I sigh deeply, my eyes always on the closed and dark door of the veranda. Almost unconsciously, I start to speak with low voice. “Farewell, Mr. and Mrs… – I laugh quietly - Lovebirds. Farewell.” I return to being serious. “I’m proud to have meet you two, and… and…” I shake lightly my head, repressing a hint of sadness. Then, I speak again. “No. Not farewell, but goodbye. Yes. Goodbye. Who knows. Maybe someday our paths will cross yet again.” I look again, the last time, at the veranda. “But, for now, I only want to wish you two… goodnight.” I smile. “Yes. Goodnight. Goodnight, Commander Tucker. Goodnight… T’Pol of Vulcan, sweet, splendid… Queen of Love!” I turn around to leave. I walk away, a slight smile on my mouth, while I hum a sweet tune.
Dark-haired madonna,  . . . Something that is our own that may also be hers . . . A gift that is customary here to give a woman in love . . .
The End (of the first day of the Honeymoon Journey and Delights of Commander Tucker and of T'Pol, his Bride) Well! I hope you enjoyed the first day, because, in this case, I will be able to narrate the second day, and the third, and.... if you want! Anyway, if you think this story is... (I would like to be refrained from uttering the exact words), please, don't be angry with the maître. He is NOT a bad man! He loves Trip and T'Pol's… Love! Like me. Like all of you! |
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