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Notturno Veneziano
- Thread starter l'bogo
- Start date
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- dark fantasy mystery
GabriellaSivilla
Governor
I let myself be led by the lawyer, like a blind automaton. hHe takes me back to La Fenice. I’m advised not to say anything to anyone about what has happened at the Notary's office, at least as long as all the obligations relating to the succession remain to be formalised. He will deal with the accountant to finalise the transfer of properties. I nod, though I still don’t understand what is really happening to me. All the more reason for me to be here in the little room that Frau Helga has prepared for me, and to limit my movements as much as possible to avoid any danger. I am still anxious, too many things don’t hang together...
'You're back, Gaby, my love? Oh my, you're so pale, you look like a washed out rag! What’s happened to you? Come on, come here, so you don’t show yourself to Madame Chloé! Come, drink something hot. Then tell me ... '
Frau, thankyou, I don’t know what world I’m living in any more. Ah! I have to give you this envelope from the Notary. '
'Now tell me ...'
'Yes, it was about Vio ... but I can’t say anything yet, don’t ask me any more questions about it, but look what's in the envelope.'
Frau Helga opens it, finds a cheque for a substantial sum of money. She looks at me in amazement.
'It’s the amount you paid for Vio’s funeral, and all the rest - the Notary wanted you to be reimbursed, so I don’t remain in debt.'
'But why do you want the debt to be settled immediately? It’s not necessary, you can have time to pay me back this money - it can be of use to you for now.’
'Oh, I still don’t know what's going on, but I know I can’t talk about it.’
'Well, I’ll cash this cheque, but then I’ll give the money to you, you still have too many expenses and you still aren’t earning enough – then we'll see. Among other things today, rolice officer came, the one who accompanied you the other night, he was looking for you. He left me a parcel, told me it contains the belongings he’d retaiend of your poor boyfriend . '
'Poor ... Yes, yes I'm glad to have his personal things to remember him by.'
'You're back, Gaby, my love? Oh my, you're so pale, you look like a washed out rag! What’s happened to you? Come on, come here, so you don’t show yourself to Madame Chloé! Come, drink something hot. Then tell me ... '
Frau, thankyou, I don’t know what world I’m living in any more. Ah! I have to give you this envelope from the Notary. '
'Now tell me ...'
'Yes, it was about Vio ... but I can’t say anything yet, don’t ask me any more questions about it, but look what's in the envelope.'
Frau Helga opens it, finds a cheque for a substantial sum of money. She looks at me in amazement.
'It’s the amount you paid for Vio’s funeral, and all the rest - the Notary wanted you to be reimbursed, so I don’t remain in debt.'
'But why do you want the debt to be settled immediately? It’s not necessary, you can have time to pay me back this money - it can be of use to you for now.’
'Oh, I still don’t know what's going on, but I know I can’t talk about it.’
'Well, I’ll cash this cheque, but then I’ll give the money to you, you still have too many expenses and you still aren’t earning enough – then we'll see. Among other things today, rolice officer came, the one who accompanied you the other night, he was looking for you. He left me a parcel, told me it contains the belongings he’d retaiend of your poor boyfriend . '
'Poor ... Yes, yes I'm glad to have his personal things to remember him by.'
l'bogo
Venetian Mask
Thanks!
Its a story I'm writing with Gabriella, the main actress of this novel, but you all can read it only for the great work of translation by Eulalia.
If you know Italian you can find the pdf n. 2 here, in the previous post, and the n. 1 at the page 6
http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/notturno-veneziano.6603/post-366220
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Is that "The End"?
l'bogo
Venetian Mask
No madi! It's only one third of the story!
Thank you for the info. The zip file made me a bit unsure.
GabriellaSivilla
Governor
With apologizes for the delay, here some more of the story! 
______________________________________________________________________________________________
THE OTHER ONE
Nude ... Crucified ... Crucified naked ... for her.
I'll have to dance naked ... here at La Fenice... it will be a scandal ...
but I will do it for her: Madame Chloé!
Cast out now in a nameless place, in this Siberian tundra lashed by the glacial wind with which Europe has been transformed by this crazed and venomous winter's tail.
I’ve waited but she hasn’t arrived, no point in staying. I go out with the architect for a last inspection at the Teatro del Ridotto Vecchio, to check the stage-set. Snow has covered the Piazza San Marco, yet tourists do not lose heart, a group of Chinese stand lost and bewitched by the vision, and a young woman takes the opportunity for a selfie near a makeshift snowman, smiling.
On the San Marco quay a newly-married couple, Japanese I guess, pose for photographs. She, dressed as La Primavera of Botticelli, has turned into a trembling Snow-Princess,
while he, darker than a gondola, tries to protect her with his light coat. They exchange tendernesses, a pale ray of sun has momentarily pierced the clouds to give a touch of magic to the shots, a souvenir of the most beautiful day of their honeymoon. The ice-encrusted gondolas moored to the shore stir anxiously, in the background the island of San Giorgio, with its snow-covered roofs, appears and disappears in the glistening clouds of glacial mist.
Night of dreams
It will be a scandal ... they will arrest me ... obscene acts in a public place ... outrage to modesty ... I will spend the rest of my life chained in a cell ... in the Piombi ... they will reopen it for me ... and if some old voyeur dies of a heart attack, I will also be accused of murder, it will be voluntary homicide, with malice aforethought... no extenuating circumstances... they will restore the death penalty just for me ... nooo ... they will crucify me in the Piazza San Marco ... nooo ... nooo ... and the Japanese tourists will take millions of photos of me, and the Chinese will take selfies and in a few moments my image will be away on Marco Polo's journey, with no return...
______________________________________________________________________________________________
THE OTHER ONE
Nude ... Crucified ... Crucified naked ... for her.
I'll have to dance naked ... here at La Fenice... it will be a scandal ...
but I will do it for her: Madame Chloé!
Cast out now in a nameless place, in this Siberian tundra lashed by the glacial wind with which Europe has been transformed by this crazed and venomous winter's tail.
I’ve waited but she hasn’t arrived, no point in staying. I go out with the architect for a last inspection at the Teatro del Ridotto Vecchio, to check the stage-set. Snow has covered the Piazza San Marco, yet tourists do not lose heart, a group of Chinese stand lost and bewitched by the vision, and a young woman takes the opportunity for a selfie near a makeshift snowman, smiling.
On the San Marco quay a newly-married couple, Japanese I guess, pose for photographs. She, dressed as La Primavera of Botticelli, has turned into a trembling Snow-Princess,
while he, darker than a gondola, tries to protect her with his light coat. They exchange tendernesses, a pale ray of sun has momentarily pierced the clouds to give a touch of magic to the shots, a souvenir of the most beautiful day of their honeymoon. The ice-encrusted gondolas moored to the shore stir anxiously, in the background the island of San Giorgio, with its snow-covered roofs, appears and disappears in the glistening clouds of glacial mist.
Night of dreams
It will be a scandal ... they will arrest me ... obscene acts in a public place ... outrage to modesty ... I will spend the rest of my life chained in a cell ... in the Piombi ... they will reopen it for me ... and if some old voyeur dies of a heart attack, I will also be accused of murder, it will be voluntary homicide, with malice aforethought... no extenuating circumstances... they will restore the death penalty just for me ... nooo ... they will crucify me in the Piazza San Marco ... nooo ... nooo ... and the Japanese tourists will take millions of photos of me, and the Chinese will take selfies and in a few moments my image will be away on Marco Polo's journey, with no return...
Last edited by a moderator:
messaline
Crucified Amazon
Last edited by a moderator:
GabriellaSivilla
Governor
And here another bit of the story...
_____________________________________________________
Morning
I see them from the window of my little room on the third floor, wandering in the wet snow, chasing each other, taking pictures. What are they doing in Campo San Fantin, the Piazza della Fenice, at this time of the morning, these four Chinese girls?
I go down, I find them in front of the kiosk. They come, if I understand them correctly, from the Liaoning region. They have been in Rome, and have come up to Venice, braving the winter and the railways. Why? What a question! To meet Madame Chloé, the undisputed queen of the French "nouvelle danse". They are dancers too, they hope to work here, coming from the east where the dance is a sacrament.
Yesterday, returning from Il Ridotto, I paused under the portico of the Procuratie Vecchie. I picked up a booklet, 'Fall in love in Venice', with the face of a couple of young Chinese (there’s an English version too). City itinerary, illustrated with scenes of the Carnival: Piazza San Marco, il Campanile, the Grand Canal, the Rialto Bridge, the serene and secret squares, the ever-present gondolas. External itinerary: Murano, Burano, Torcello, glimpses of the lagoon, the Riviera del Brenta with the Palladian villas. Not the usual ‘Guide to Bulimia’ for the American tourist. The person who produced it was skilled, able to capture the magic of the exquisite, ancient city, full of water and mystery, endowed with four invigorating seasons: autumn fog, frost in winter, wind in spring, the explosive heat of summer. Some pages are dedicated to La Fenice - agreed, the most beautiful girls in Italy live there. To do whatever you wish.
She’s arrived! She has come as silently as the ghosts at night.
I watch her as she instructs the corps de ballet, the twenty dancers who have to start rehearsing at the Teatro del Ridotto theater. Each movement is a musical note that links forward to the next, creating a bond of harmony and movement of bodies, drawing on a language of lyrical, aerial gestures, held in suspension, travelling through space, moving as a group in unison. Each movement shows a marked tendency towards abstraction and a desire to lead the spectator into the universal.
Madame Chloé is truly the archetypal lady of the dance, the eternal woman who spans the ages, fashions and styles, a species of heroine within a perpetually moving universe. Her form has a presence like the theme of a fugue. She is woman in the throes of desire, a girl always struggling with her inaccessible femininity. She makes her female body dance even for herself. She sows this disturbance of a fragile child in a clear, uncontaminated space. Each of the women she portrays emanates a "feminine bouquet" so penetrating as to force any Don Juan to feel intimidated.
I shall be her living clay, to be shaped in her image, to be instilled with the vital essence of the dance.
I re-read, not without apprehension, the choreographic outline:
‘Romeo and Juliet: the crucifixion of a timeless love ...’
I'm too focused on reading to see that she has quietly approached me, she puts a hand on my shoulder:
'Giulietta ...'
I jump to my feet,
'Madame, I’m so sorry...'
'I see you're studying carefully! Frau Helga has been speaking to me for a long time, I’ve seen photos of you... '
(I hope they aren’t the ones taken by Baba, what an embarrassment that would be!)
'... you’ve got the right characteristics to be my Giulietta, tomorrow we shall start the rehearsals in our theatre, in the meantime, come with me, we’ll do a few steps and some figures together.'
She leads me by the hand to the centre of the room.
The music of Prokofiev is engaging, mysterious, sensual in its oriental cadences, in the shady timbres of the bassoons, in the syncopations, it requires perfect concentration and co-ordination, it is not possible to move if the sound is suspended, without falling ridiculously out of the rhythm.
I am enraptured by her penetrating gaze, her eyes fixed on mine. I feel hypnotized, she is transmitting her orders only with her eyes. Her own movements are perfect, and I follow her, imitating her, a mysterious power leading my steps. I feel like a puppet commanded by invisible threads, moved by an equally invisible puppeteer. Like waves in the alternating flow of sliding steps, twists and turns in the rain of notes, as if this were already the hundredth time I’d danced these figures. Time flows, it seems we have only just begun, yet we have been dancing for almost two hours.
‘Enough for now,' concludes Madame Chloé. 'we shall do great things together!'
_____________________________________________________
Morning
I see them from the window of my little room on the third floor, wandering in the wet snow, chasing each other, taking pictures. What are they doing in Campo San Fantin, the Piazza della Fenice, at this time of the morning, these four Chinese girls?
I go down, I find them in front of the kiosk. They come, if I understand them correctly, from the Liaoning region. They have been in Rome, and have come up to Venice, braving the winter and the railways. Why? What a question! To meet Madame Chloé, the undisputed queen of the French "nouvelle danse". They are dancers too, they hope to work here, coming from the east where the dance is a sacrament.
Yesterday, returning from Il Ridotto, I paused under the portico of the Procuratie Vecchie. I picked up a booklet, 'Fall in love in Venice', with the face of a couple of young Chinese (there’s an English version too). City itinerary, illustrated with scenes of the Carnival: Piazza San Marco, il Campanile, the Grand Canal, the Rialto Bridge, the serene and secret squares, the ever-present gondolas. External itinerary: Murano, Burano, Torcello, glimpses of the lagoon, the Riviera del Brenta with the Palladian villas. Not the usual ‘Guide to Bulimia’ for the American tourist. The person who produced it was skilled, able to capture the magic of the exquisite, ancient city, full of water and mystery, endowed with four invigorating seasons: autumn fog, frost in winter, wind in spring, the explosive heat of summer. Some pages are dedicated to La Fenice - agreed, the most beautiful girls in Italy live there. To do whatever you wish.
She’s arrived! She has come as silently as the ghosts at night.
I watch her as she instructs the corps de ballet, the twenty dancers who have to start rehearsing at the Teatro del Ridotto theater. Each movement is a musical note that links forward to the next, creating a bond of harmony and movement of bodies, drawing on a language of lyrical, aerial gestures, held in suspension, travelling through space, moving as a group in unison. Each movement shows a marked tendency towards abstraction and a desire to lead the spectator into the universal.
Madame Chloé is truly the archetypal lady of the dance, the eternal woman who spans the ages, fashions and styles, a species of heroine within a perpetually moving universe. Her form has a presence like the theme of a fugue. She is woman in the throes of desire, a girl always struggling with her inaccessible femininity. She makes her female body dance even for herself. She sows this disturbance of a fragile child in a clear, uncontaminated space. Each of the women she portrays emanates a "feminine bouquet" so penetrating as to force any Don Juan to feel intimidated.
I shall be her living clay, to be shaped in her image, to be instilled with the vital essence of the dance.
I re-read, not without apprehension, the choreographic outline:
‘Romeo and Juliet: the crucifixion of a timeless love ...’
I'm too focused on reading to see that she has quietly approached me, she puts a hand on my shoulder:
'Giulietta ...'
I jump to my feet,
'Madame, I’m so sorry...'
'I see you're studying carefully! Frau Helga has been speaking to me for a long time, I’ve seen photos of you... '
(I hope they aren’t the ones taken by Baba, what an embarrassment that would be!)
'... you’ve got the right characteristics to be my Giulietta, tomorrow we shall start the rehearsals in our theatre, in the meantime, come with me, we’ll do a few steps and some figures together.'
She leads me by the hand to the centre of the room.
The music of Prokofiev is engaging, mysterious, sensual in its oriental cadences, in the shady timbres of the bassoons, in the syncopations, it requires perfect concentration and co-ordination, it is not possible to move if the sound is suspended, without falling ridiculously out of the rhythm.
I am enraptured by her penetrating gaze, her eyes fixed on mine. I feel hypnotized, she is transmitting her orders only with her eyes. Her own movements are perfect, and I follow her, imitating her, a mysterious power leading my steps. I feel like a puppet commanded by invisible threads, moved by an equally invisible puppeteer. Like waves in the alternating flow of sliding steps, twists and turns in the rain of notes, as if this were already the hundredth time I’d danced these figures. Time flows, it seems we have only just begun, yet we have been dancing for almost two hours.
‘Enough for now,' concludes Madame Chloé. 'we shall do great things together!'
