AnimaSinistra
Governor
Splendidly told!
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Notturno Veneziano
- Thread starter l'bogo
- Start date
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- Tags
- dark fantasy mystery
old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
And has anything ever changed? I think not.
d'Not
Executioner
I'bogo - Your illustrations and perspective of Venice are very rich. Venice is a world different from the rest of Europe. And you have captured some of it and given it to this reader.
d'Not
Executioner
The technology changes, human intercourse does not. Dreams cut through the facade of pomp and circumstance and lay bare the nature human.
This tale gets deeper and deeper as it floats to the top on fantasy. GabriellaSivilla, I"bogo, and madam translator Eulalia, it is a marvelous job. I am totally hooked.
l'bogo
Venetian Mask
I'm glad you find my effort to represent the city and the story so captivating, I will treasure your comments you want to do in the rest of the story. There will still be surprises and a lot of tension, but, above all, we must thank Eulalia who devotes herself with so much passion and skill to translate from Italian the text that I would not know how to make so deeply.
GabriellaSivilla
Governor
Mouthfuls of good dinner are hard to swallow after listening to this narration of events that, are circling like black crows over our lives. Even under the sheets we feel anxious, not for our faults, but even our nobleman seems worried.
In the morning, the tolling of the death-knell by every bell in Venice proclaims the tragedy that was already in the air. Some gondolieri are shouting, from channel to channel, that the Doge has been murdered, this past night, while he was in the Palazzo Ducale, but it is not known by whom...
In great haste our anonymous host gets dressed to go at once to the Palazzo Ducale, but not without first commanding us not to put our noses out of the house, rather we have to keep the windows barred.
Imprisoned in the very house that protects us, we wonder with ever-growing fear what is yet to happen. Marzia is sobbing desperately, I suspect that she is aware of something, that she has not yet told the whole truth, and it is something heavy...
Swarms of citizens pass by along the alley, all heading towards the Piazza San Marco, some imploring the protection of Our Lady and All Saints, some cursing the murderers, some on the contrary insulting the dead Doge, saying he was to blame for the slaughter that is befalling the city. There could be a riot, with consequences nobody can foresee...
When will our mystery benefactor return? Neither Marzia nor I know his name, they don’t ask for identity papers from those who enter a brothel, as long as they have a bag full of doubloons.
The whole day passes, all night and the next day. Our food supplies are low, but the temptation to go out is madness. Gondoliers, as if they were government officials, are spreading, shouting abroad, more and more alarming news, of clashes between opponents of the Doge and his supporters, of troublemakers who want to invade the Palace, of mass arrests and round-ups of patrician figures who, openly or not, had expressed themselves opposed to the behaviour of the Doge and had criticised his conduct of the war.
We listen to the voices answering each other, approaching the locked shutters of the windows, sometimes from the direction of the river, others from towards the Calle dei Ragusei, which, despite being a narrow alleyway, is a very popular route for those travelling on foot through the city. All we have left tonight is a piece of dry bread. With the candles snuffed out so as not to betray our presence, we just have to wait and hope...
In the morning, the tolling of the death-knell by every bell in Venice proclaims the tragedy that was already in the air. Some gondolieri are shouting, from channel to channel, that the Doge has been murdered, this past night, while he was in the Palazzo Ducale, but it is not known by whom...
In great haste our anonymous host gets dressed to go at once to the Palazzo Ducale, but not without first commanding us not to put our noses out of the house, rather we have to keep the windows barred.
Imprisoned in the very house that protects us, we wonder with ever-growing fear what is yet to happen. Marzia is sobbing desperately, I suspect that she is aware of something, that she has not yet told the whole truth, and it is something heavy...
Swarms of citizens pass by along the alley, all heading towards the Piazza San Marco, some imploring the protection of Our Lady and All Saints, some cursing the murderers, some on the contrary insulting the dead Doge, saying he was to blame for the slaughter that is befalling the city. There could be a riot, with consequences nobody can foresee...
When will our mystery benefactor return? Neither Marzia nor I know his name, they don’t ask for identity papers from those who enter a brothel, as long as they have a bag full of doubloons.
The whole day passes, all night and the next day. Our food supplies are low, but the temptation to go out is madness. Gondoliers, as if they were government officials, are spreading, shouting abroad, more and more alarming news, of clashes between opponents of the Doge and his supporters, of troublemakers who want to invade the Palace, of mass arrests and round-ups of patrician figures who, openly or not, had expressed themselves opposed to the behaviour of the Doge and had criticised his conduct of the war.
We listen to the voices answering each other, approaching the locked shutters of the windows, sometimes from the direction of the river, others from towards the Calle dei Ragusei, which, despite being a narrow alleyway, is a very popular route for those travelling on foot through the city. All we have left tonight is a piece of dry bread. With the candles snuffed out so as not to betray our presence, we just have to wait and hope...
GabriellaSivilla
Governor
We must also thank Gabriellawho, during the holidays, continued to publish the story to keep your interest alive.
Thank me? You should torture and crucify me... I am here for that!
l'bogo
Venetian Mask
Thank me? You should torture and crucify me... I am here for that!
Let kiss yours nails!
Last edited:
GabriellaSivilla
Governor
GabriellaSivilla
Governor
The crack of an oar against the watergate and the noise of the bolt being opened add further terror to the fear that is gripping us, but fortunately it is our protector who has come at last bringing food and news.
Even with our stomachs tight with anxiety, it seems a dream to be able to eat at last. He tells us that the Doge was found in his bed with his throat ripped open, his body stuck with swords and spears, he looked like a porcupine - so the killers were many. But our nobleman suspects it was all staged, to make it possible to accuse the Doge's opponents of murder. Moreover, the dead man did not look quite like the Doge - certainly it was someone who resembled him very closely, but it was not him. And this means that the Doge is still alive, and will soon reappear to denounce the conspiracy and unleash revenge. The funeral will be held tomorrow, but the one who will be buried, in our informant’s judgment, will be a deceitful double. There will be surprises, unpleasant ones, there will be investigations, arrests, torture and executions...
As to the inquiries into the murders of the usurer De Zan and the unfortunate Flora, things are getting increasingly complicated. Her husband, the lawyer, was killed in a duel, the victor has been arrested, but not because he was caught in the act, he was just identified by that same elderly witness who said he saw a man dressed in black, thus beginning our persecution. But is he reliable? The Captain of the Gendarmes is willing to believe him, just so as to have someone to put under the knife. Under torture he confessed, he was very much in love with poor Flora, but he was also jealous that the woman had given herself to the painter. He had repeatedly urged her to rebel against her tormentor. Just before the crime took place the usurer had forced her to prostitute herself with two gondoliers, who have been traced by the gendarmes and confirmed the incident.
Flora, exasperated and traumatized by the constant harassment to which she had been subjected, following his last ploy to humiliate her, forcing her to give herself up to a passerby and masturbate him, finally rebelled, stabbing the usurer to death with a pair of scissors that he had stolen from the tailor’s shop where she had taken refuge earlier in an attempt to escape her persecutor.
The man, fatally wounded, had died of loss of blood after a few minutes. Poor Flora, terrified for what she had done, had committed suicide by throwing herself into the canal. The suitor, dressed that day in black, followed his unfortunate lover every day. He had rushed immediately to try to save her by dragging her out of the water, but she was already dead. The man picked up the scissors, the murder weapon, but dropped them during his flight and they were later found among the foundation rubble of the paving along the canalside.
So the man had headed towards our 'dolls’ house', but he had not entered, contrary to what was said by the lying old witness. Perhaps that scoundrel wanted revenge for having been turned away by the ‘Madame’ because he was syphilitic. The duel, on the other hand, arose from the unfounded suspicion of the lawyer towards the incautious suitor, believing him to be the murderer both of his wife and the usurer. But no-one will save him from the gallows, he is a murderer, more or less - in the general chaos, he no longer counts.
Even under the bed-sheets the extreme tension generated by all these events cannot be eased, it seems that all our arts as expert courtesans cannot produce the desired effects. He keeps us in his embraces, one on the right, the other on the left, as if to shield with his body his trembling concubines.
Even with our stomachs tight with anxiety, it seems a dream to be able to eat at last. He tells us that the Doge was found in his bed with his throat ripped open, his body stuck with swords and spears, he looked like a porcupine - so the killers were many. But our nobleman suspects it was all staged, to make it possible to accuse the Doge's opponents of murder. Moreover, the dead man did not look quite like the Doge - certainly it was someone who resembled him very closely, but it was not him. And this means that the Doge is still alive, and will soon reappear to denounce the conspiracy and unleash revenge. The funeral will be held tomorrow, but the one who will be buried, in our informant’s judgment, will be a deceitful double. There will be surprises, unpleasant ones, there will be investigations, arrests, torture and executions...
As to the inquiries into the murders of the usurer De Zan and the unfortunate Flora, things are getting increasingly complicated. Her husband, the lawyer, was killed in a duel, the victor has been arrested, but not because he was caught in the act, he was just identified by that same elderly witness who said he saw a man dressed in black, thus beginning our persecution. But is he reliable? The Captain of the Gendarmes is willing to believe him, just so as to have someone to put under the knife. Under torture he confessed, he was very much in love with poor Flora, but he was also jealous that the woman had given herself to the painter. He had repeatedly urged her to rebel against her tormentor. Just before the crime took place the usurer had forced her to prostitute herself with two gondoliers, who have been traced by the gendarmes and confirmed the incident.
Flora, exasperated and traumatized by the constant harassment to which she had been subjected, following his last ploy to humiliate her, forcing her to give herself up to a passerby and masturbate him, finally rebelled, stabbing the usurer to death with a pair of scissors that he had stolen from the tailor’s shop where she had taken refuge earlier in an attempt to escape her persecutor.
The man, fatally wounded, had died of loss of blood after a few minutes. Poor Flora, terrified for what she had done, had committed suicide by throwing herself into the canal. The suitor, dressed that day in black, followed his unfortunate lover every day. He had rushed immediately to try to save her by dragging her out of the water, but she was already dead. The man picked up the scissors, the murder weapon, but dropped them during his flight and they were later found among the foundation rubble of the paving along the canalside.
So the man had headed towards our 'dolls’ house', but he had not entered, contrary to what was said by the lying old witness. Perhaps that scoundrel wanted revenge for having been turned away by the ‘Madame’ because he was syphilitic. The duel, on the other hand, arose from the unfounded suspicion of the lawyer towards the incautious suitor, believing him to be the murderer both of his wife and the usurer. But no-one will save him from the gallows, he is a murderer, more or less - in the general chaos, he no longer counts.
Even under the bed-sheets the extreme tension generated by all these events cannot be eased, it seems that all our arts as expert courtesans cannot produce the desired effects. He keeps us in his embraces, one on the right, the other on the left, as if to shield with his body his trembling concubines.
GabriellaSivilla
Governor
Today will be the funeral of the Doge - or his double. Our benefactor leaves early to attend the sad function. Gondolas draped in mourning plough along the canal beneath our windows, droves of Venetians herd through the Calle dei Ragusei intoning lamentations and rosaries. In our shell we feel protected, the bells of all Venice toll the lugubrious sequence of deep notes, all the same, it is like a 'De profundis' recited with blows on the chest...
Suddenly the sound changes, now it's a festive peal, almost like Easter! Someone running along the Calle shouts that the Doge has risen! We look at each other in amazement, our Innominato was right then. But Marzia is more and more anxious - what secret is she hiding? What is she afraid of? ? We are safe here, hopefully, nobody knows we are hiding here.
The gondoliers passing by on the river are shouting news of arrests among the nobles attending the funeral: they’ve arrested this one... they’re looking for that other ... one man’s committed suicide ...another has been killed by the guards who were arresting him ... revenge has begun ... a riot has broken out ... there are dead and injured. And our Venetian noble, which side is he on? Is he still alive and free? Will they arrest him? These questions torment us throughout the day, our and as our benefactor does not return, anxiety grows. Even though we’re no longer in the habit of praying, we rake up the few that have remained etched in our mind to repeat, commending our souls to Our Lady, to the Saints, to the intercession of the dead...
It's dark now, and we dare not light candles, we just have to creep into the little bedroom and try to sleep...
A crash, someone has knocked down the door! The light of some torches announces the approach of shadows up the stairs. We are trembling, it seems the house itself is being shaken by an earthquake. Some men, hooded in black, burst in and grab us. Marzia is the first to be captured, they beat her wildly, tie her up on the table, rape her and abuse her. I am sitting astride the armrests of a chair, someone is holding my arms up behind my back, my face is pressed against the chair-back - I scream in pain while they rape me by sodomising me.
Marzia is in a pool of blood, but they are not satiated. With a blazing torch they burn her crotch, with a cutlass they remove her breasts, she is still alive while they carve off her leg with a saw. The poor Marzia’s body has been dismembered, now they are trying to force it into a barrel...
A moment’s distraction diverts my assailant, I’m able to free myself. I run down the stairs, leaping the steps, the one who’s chasing me stumbles, rolling, blocking the passage, a small advantage for my escape. Naked as a worm I run out along the street. It's dark, only the glow of the full moon allows me to see the escape route. I'm almost out of the narrow gap between the walls of the gardens, when I turn and see a pair of the hooded men coming out on the street, looking which way to pursue me.
A firm hand grabs my arm, I scream...
Suddenly the sound changes, now it's a festive peal, almost like Easter! Someone running along the Calle shouts that the Doge has risen! We look at each other in amazement, our Innominato was right then. But Marzia is more and more anxious - what secret is she hiding? What is she afraid of? ? We are safe here, hopefully, nobody knows we are hiding here.
The gondoliers passing by on the river are shouting news of arrests among the nobles attending the funeral: they’ve arrested this one... they’re looking for that other ... one man’s committed suicide ...another has been killed by the guards who were arresting him ... revenge has begun ... a riot has broken out ... there are dead and injured. And our Venetian noble, which side is he on? Is he still alive and free? Will they arrest him? These questions torment us throughout the day, our and as our benefactor does not return, anxiety grows. Even though we’re no longer in the habit of praying, we rake up the few that have remained etched in our mind to repeat, commending our souls to Our Lady, to the Saints, to the intercession of the dead...
It's dark now, and we dare not light candles, we just have to creep into the little bedroom and try to sleep...
A crash, someone has knocked down the door! The light of some torches announces the approach of shadows up the stairs. We are trembling, it seems the house itself is being shaken by an earthquake. Some men, hooded in black, burst in and grab us. Marzia is the first to be captured, they beat her wildly, tie her up on the table, rape her and abuse her. I am sitting astride the armrests of a chair, someone is holding my arms up behind my back, my face is pressed against the chair-back - I scream in pain while they rape me by sodomising me.
Marzia is in a pool of blood, but they are not satiated. With a blazing torch they burn her crotch, with a cutlass they remove her breasts, she is still alive while they carve off her leg with a saw. The poor Marzia’s body has been dismembered, now they are trying to force it into a barrel...
A moment’s distraction diverts my assailant, I’m able to free myself. I run down the stairs, leaping the steps, the one who’s chasing me stumbles, rolling, blocking the passage, a small advantage for my escape. Naked as a worm I run out along the street. It's dark, only the glow of the full moon allows me to see the escape route. I'm almost out of the narrow gap between the walls of the gardens, when I turn and see a pair of the hooded men coming out on the street, looking which way to pursue me.
A firm hand grabs my arm, I scream...
old slave
FELIS RESPICIENS
I just knew that an exciting event would follow the period of calm!!
GabriellaSivilla
Governor
It’s the Innominato!
'Gabriella! Gabriella! Wake up!’
‘They’ve killed her! They’ve killed her!’
'Killed who? They’ve not killed anyone! Gabriella, wake up! You’re here, in bed!’
'Marzia! Where’s the Innomato?’
'Who’s the Innominato?'
'How should I know? But I want to meet him, he saved me!’
‘Gabriella, wake up! You’re raving!’
It's the caretaker’s wife who’s holding me by the arm, trying to bring me back into the world of the living. She wipes the sweat off my forehead, hugs me against her motherly body, while I, weeping and sobbing, lean my head against her bosom. I seem to have come back from hell, still trembling and terrified, breathing heavily as if I’ve just run a desperate race, a race to save my life...
'Courage Gabriella, nothing has happened.'
'What do you mean, nothing happened? They tore up Marzia and, if I couldn’t escape, they were going to do the same to me!'
'Whoever would hurt you?'
'I don’t know who, but they were from the Congregation, for sure.'
'Which Congregation?'
'I don’t know...'
'But whatever's got into this dear little head?' She says, stroking my hair.
'So much confusion ...'
'We’d better call the doctor ...'
‘Yes... we’d better.'
We don’t wait long, it’s the young doctor with blue eyes.
He listens to me carefully, my breathing, my heart, her presses my abdomen.
'You’ve come through a bad crisis,' he declares.
'Huh, I can’t say that... I'm in crisis still, I've had terrible nightmares!’
'Fever can cause nightmares, especially in a weakened organism, and under severe emotional stress.'
'That ... That medicine you gave me ...'
'It’s to make you recover.'
'To heal me?'
'Of course! One of the most effective life-saving antibiotics that have been found.'
'It’s upset me ... I feel like I’m drained... my brain’s ... confused ... I’m haunted by anxiety, I’m dreaming terrible things ...'
'Dreams are expressions of the unconscious, you may have had difficult experiences, not only recent ones, but in childhood or adolescence. Now, if your body is struggling with disease, memories can emerge, different from previous realities, but conditioned by previous experience. You must have had some particular episodes that hit you, over and above the recent loss of your partner.'
'I lived in constant conflict with my mother. She abandoned me to follow one of her innumerable lovers. My father disappeared, I don’t know where he is or whether he’s still alive. I lived with my grandparents, I believe they died painfully, and the last six years was in an orphanage.’
'I’d say there’s quite enough there to explain your nightmares. Now I’m going to give you an injection, and take these tablets, two a day, everything will pass. Be calm!’ He puts his hand on my head as if he wanted to bless me, a feeling of serenity and peace enters me, my anxiety has vanished.
But who is he? Does he have supernatural powers? Is the laying-on of his hands sufficient to perform miracles? As if by magic, my nightmares have been transformed: blue skies, flowery meadows, butterflies, swings ... a sweet sense of well-being flows through me...
'Gabriella! Gabriella! Wake up!’
‘They’ve killed her! They’ve killed her!’
'Killed who? They’ve not killed anyone! Gabriella, wake up! You’re here, in bed!’
'Marzia! Where’s the Innomato?’
'Who’s the Innominato?'
'How should I know? But I want to meet him, he saved me!’
‘Gabriella, wake up! You’re raving!’
It's the caretaker’s wife who’s holding me by the arm, trying to bring me back into the world of the living. She wipes the sweat off my forehead, hugs me against her motherly body, while I, weeping and sobbing, lean my head against her bosom. I seem to have come back from hell, still trembling and terrified, breathing heavily as if I’ve just run a desperate race, a race to save my life...
'Courage Gabriella, nothing has happened.'
'What do you mean, nothing happened? They tore up Marzia and, if I couldn’t escape, they were going to do the same to me!'
'Whoever would hurt you?'
'I don’t know who, but they were from the Congregation, for sure.'
'Which Congregation?'
'I don’t know...'
'But whatever's got into this dear little head?' She says, stroking my hair.
'So much confusion ...'
'We’d better call the doctor ...'
‘Yes... we’d better.'
We don’t wait long, it’s the young doctor with blue eyes.
He listens to me carefully, my breathing, my heart, her presses my abdomen.
'You’ve come through a bad crisis,' he declares.
'Huh, I can’t say that... I'm in crisis still, I've had terrible nightmares!’
'Fever can cause nightmares, especially in a weakened organism, and under severe emotional stress.'
'That ... That medicine you gave me ...'
'It’s to make you recover.'
'To heal me?'
'Of course! One of the most effective life-saving antibiotics that have been found.'
'It’s upset me ... I feel like I’m drained... my brain’s ... confused ... I’m haunted by anxiety, I’m dreaming terrible things ...'
'Dreams are expressions of the unconscious, you may have had difficult experiences, not only recent ones, but in childhood or adolescence. Now, if your body is struggling with disease, memories can emerge, different from previous realities, but conditioned by previous experience. You must have had some particular episodes that hit you, over and above the recent loss of your partner.'
'I lived in constant conflict with my mother. She abandoned me to follow one of her innumerable lovers. My father disappeared, I don’t know where he is or whether he’s still alive. I lived with my grandparents, I believe they died painfully, and the last six years was in an orphanage.’
'I’d say there’s quite enough there to explain your nightmares. Now I’m going to give you an injection, and take these tablets, two a day, everything will pass. Be calm!’ He puts his hand on my head as if he wanted to bless me, a feeling of serenity and peace enters me, my anxiety has vanished.
But who is he? Does he have supernatural powers? Is the laying-on of his hands sufficient to perform miracles? As if by magic, my nightmares have been transformed: blue skies, flowery meadows, butterflies, swings ... a sweet sense of well-being flows through me...
d'Not
Executioner
Beware Gabriella. Not everyone who is kind is your friend. Nor those who abuse you, your enemy. Evil assumes many forms and conceives many plots.
This tale just gets better and better. Kudos to Gabriella and I'Bogo. Eulalia, appreciation for making it understandable for this semi-literate reader.
l'bogo
Venetian Mask
For those who, in December, were on a visit to Venice, an event not to be missed: Romeo and Juliet by Prokof'ev!
http://www.teatrolafenice.it/site/index.php?pag=21&spettacolo=26502&lingua=eng
http://www.teatrolafenice.it/site/index.php?pag=21&spettacolo=26502&lingua=eng
