Naples, 16th of June, 21:30
Five days before the summer solstice
O Isis und Osiris, schenket der Weisheit Geist dem neuen Paar! Die Ihr der Wand’rer Schritte lenket, stärkt sie mit Geduld in Gefahr.6
The impressive performance of the baritone playing Sarastro resonated in the air around us re-assuringly as though it were a true prayer to the Egyptian gods. From the excellent seats kindly donated by our mysterious ‘friends’ from the IPSI club we had a perfect view of the beautiful scenery decorating the San Carlo’s enormous stage.
I had tried to prevent Àrtemis from coming, quarrelling with her until I could take no more.
“The invitation may have come from the killers, Àrtemis, do you understand that?” I had said before capitulating.
“Then we will face them together. I’m coming with you,” she had replied, putting an end to the argument.
When the lights came on between the first and second act, I had looked around hoping to see someone staring directly at Àrtemis and myself, but I was only able to see Andrea Kominkova in a lovely little black dress and the two policemen Oscar had sent Inspector Viola Brancato and Deputy Commissioner Vincenzo Amato, two old acquaintances. Oscar had managed to get them seats in a fairly central box in the second circle from which they had a good view of the whole hall. Andrea had a pair of opera glasses and was studying the audience. Occasionally she lent them to our Neapolitan colleagues, giving the impression that they were three friends who had come to enjoy Mozart’s masterpiece.
Auch dir, Prinz, legen die Götter auf ein heilsames Stillschweigen; ohne dieses seid ihr beide verloren. Du wirst sehen Pamina – sprechen sie aber nie dürfen; Dies ist der Anfang eurer Prüfungszeit.7
The opera was coming to its most mystical part, the trials to which Tamino and Papageno are subjected by Sarastro’s priests. I wondered if it was possible that the combination of the presence on the bill at the San Carlo of The Magic Flute and the Prague events were random or, more likely, Hašek's murderers had set all this up for some specific reason. Maybe I’d find out that night.
The opera reached its focal point, the subversion of good and evil. On stage there was Pamina who tried in vain to convince her mother, the Queen of the Night, that Sarastro was not really evil. Implacable, the woman called for revenge. She handed her daughter a dagger, ordering her to kill Sarastro and bring her the solar disk that the priest wore around his neck. The aria that followed, the most famous of The Magic Flute, sent shivers down my spine.
Der Holle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen, Tod und Verzweiflung flammet um mich her!8
The opera ended to loud applause, the San Carlo’s demanding audience thundering its approval of the arrangement of the conductor, a visionary young French-Italian artist who was conquering the world’s theatres with his daring approach which always, however, kept one eye on tradition.
At the fourth round of applause – an absolute first for the San Carlo – Mario Cassan went up onto the stage, sparking off a standing ovation.
“Hmm – he’s not bad, this Cassan,” commented Àrtemis, as she applauded.
I ignored her comment and continued to look around, feeling worried. “Never mind him, Àrtemis, keep your eyes open. I still think it was a serious mistake bringing you with me.”
“I think it’s all a misunderstanding – what could they do? Shoot us in the middle of the crowd? And why?”
I raised an eyebrow and looked back at the stage.
“I wish I was as optimistic.”
Meanwhile Cassan had managed to silence the audience. Surrounded by the cast and clad in a tuxedo without a bow tie, he looked like an actor.
“Please, please!” he cried, going against the theatre’s custom and calming the frenzied spectators. “I thank you with all my heart, in the name of the cast, the technicians, the orchestra and choir of the San Carlo and all those who made this show possible! You know me well,” he went on in fluent Italian, “I am a frequent guest of your… of our city. The city of my mother. Your warmth is for me the warmth of a family.”
There was another burst of applause that was so loud that I feared it would send Camillo Guerra and Gennaro Maldarelli’s beautiful clock tumbling off the proscenium and onto the heads of the orchestra. “I want, finally, to thank Mozart for giving us such a profound opera – an opera which we still have not properly understood or interpreted and where what you see and hear is never the whole story!” concluded Mario Cassan, leaving the stage after a final thank you.
Another ovation accompanied the closing of the curtain. As we reached the exit, Cassan’s last words kept going round in my head.
“What you see and hear is never… Non hoc totum. No, it can’t be.”
Àrtemis, who looked beautiful in her long ivory silk gown, looked at me quizzically.
“What are you babbling about?”
I shrugged. “I'm not sure, but it sounded like Cassan just quoted the motto engraved on the Prince of Sansevero’s alchemical watch.”
“And why would he do that?”
“I don’t know – it’s just a feeling, I might be wrong.”
We met Andrea and the other two policemen in the small foyer on the ground floor and exchanged looks. I knew that soon I would probably have to turn on the microphone that was hidden behind my tie. The gala dinner was about to begin and this would be the opportunity to try to understand at least who our mysterious hosts were. The probable killers of Hašek…
Through an internal passageway that connected the theatre with the Royal Palace, the imposing building designed in the seventeenth century by Domenico Fontana, we reached the home of the Real Circolo Filarmonico – the exclusive Royal Philharmonic Club for opera and music lovers which had begun as a result of the Unification of Italy. The Club essentially brought together former noble families – the same noble families who in 1861 had sworn allegiance to the Savoys, the new rulers of a united Italy. I had always had a liking for the Bourbons myself, and if I had been living at that time, in the mid nineteenth century, I doubt that I would have gone over to the other side with the nonchalance displayed by many Bourbon nobles and officials. Who knows, I might even have become an outlaw…
Monarchists aside, in addition to the pressure of being there, the idea of that exclusive club bothered me. Àrtemis seemed rather amused.
“Oh, look – look who’s here,” she kept saying every time she spotted some ‘celebrity’. They stood out among the guests who began to pour into the beautifully decorated rooms with Egyptian-style columns, mirrors, stucco and early nineteenth century furniture that I would have happily put on show in my gallery. “And look there, look! Isn’t that the Countess of Forcoletta? She’s a customer of yours, isn’t she?”
I snorted. “Come on, Àrtemis, you’re an academic, stop acting like somebody who reads the gossip mags! Who cares about these people?”
Pragmatic as ever, my wife raised an eyebrow at me.
“You should be less picky, Aragona – many of these people are your customers.”
I sighed. She was right, after all. “I can’t help it, I hate all these over privileged nobodies who’ve done nothing to deserve the positions they find themselves in.”
Àrtemis smiled and patted my cheek. “But what do you care? Make the best of a bad situation. You’re a great antique dealer and a very good salesman. Exploit the weaknesses of these people as you have always done and you will continue to lead a comfortable life. And if playing cards at the Royal Palace makes them feel important… well, good for them.”
I was about to argue further when we were interrupted by two smiling guests who we knew well and who slipped through the crowd to us, smiling.
“Àrtemis, Lorenzo!” cried the elder of the two. “What a pleasure to find you here!”
“Hello Filippo, the pleasure is ours!” replied my wife, embracing the elderly man. “Lorenzo, do you remember my colleague, Professor Ricciardi?”
“Of course, how are you, sir?”
“Don’t be so deferential, Lorenzo. I feel like what I am – an old man!”
“Oh don’t be silly Filippo, you're in wonderful shape!” interjected the other guest.
“Michele, you didn’t tell me you were coming here tonight,” I said, shaking hands with Michele de Sangro.
“Why, you didn’t ask,” he replied, in his usual manner. “But never mind – come, I want to introduce you to Mario Cassan, he is a family friend.”
“Oh yes, I’d love to meet him!” said Àrtemis, without giving me time to answer. She had obviously decided to put my mild jealousy to the test, and I accepted the challenge.
“Mario, mon ami! C'était super!” exclaimed Michele, as he approached the conductor with open arms.
Cassan, surrounded by some more elderly exponents of Neapolitan high society and two or three ecstatic girls, opened his slightly lopsided mouth in a grin, a real magnet for the fairer sex. “Michele, it is Mozart who is great,” he replied, embracing his friend. “I’ve simply provided a backdrop to his genius!”
“Too modest, as always. Ladies, gentlemen, can I steal a few moments with our conductor?”
The admirers dispersed reluctantly, giving Michele dirty looks as my friend gestured to Àrtemis, Filippo Ricciardi and myself.
“Mario, may I present Professor Filippo Ricciardi, an archaeologist and professor at the Federico II university and his brilliant colleague, Àrtemis Nicopolidis. And this is her husband and my friend, the antiquarian Lorenzo Aragona.”
“Enchanté,” said Mario Cassan, kissing Àrtemis’s hand. My wife smiled and turned red. I could hardly believe my eyes.
“Bravo – charming and gallant as well,”" said Àrtemis.
After shaking hands with Ricciardi, it was my turn. “A really beautiful interpretation of The Magic Flute, Monsieur Cassan – and certainly out of the ordinary.”
“I just tried to bring out what is hidden in the music of Mozart and the libretto by Schikaneder, Mr Aragona,” demurred Cassan.
“Well, as you said on stage, what you see and hear is never the whole story… non hoc totum.”
Cassan laughed and the women nearby sighed, fanning their flushed necklines.
“Exactly, Mr Aragona, exactly!” was all the conductor remarked.
I couldn’t interpret his reaction. It could have been spontaneous bonhomie or a clever way of disguising his discomfort at my reference to his speech. In any case there was no time to investigate further, because we were immediately invited to take our place at the tables.
“Charming and gallant as well, eh?” I said to Àrtemis, as we walked to ours, giving her a pinch. “Will you be simpering over him all night?”
My wife gave me a piercing, sensual look.
“Ah! Finally you’re warming up, Lorenzo Aragona.”
6O Isis and Osiris, give / the spirit of wisdom to the new couple! / You who guide the steps of the travellers / strengthen them with patience in danger.
7And upon you too, Prince, the gods impose a healthy silence / without it you are both lost. / You will see Pamina - but never speak to her; thus begins / your period of proving.
8Hellish vendetta burns in my heart, / death and despair blaze about me!