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artificialqueens · 4 years

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The Damned, Chapter 2/14 (Branjie) - Freyja

A/N: hello!!! i’ve finally finished it! it’s here! special thanks to @freykitten for betaing - i love you so so much!!! read on AO3 if you like ;)

fic summary: Vanessa is a renowned pirate framed for stealing the Cup of Peace by the goddess of Chaos, Willam, to whom she owes a debt. Princess Yvie, her best friend since childhood, offers to take Vanessa’s place on death row in order to give her a chance to go and retrieve the Cup to prove her innocence.

Vanessa’s plan is to just flee to Fiji and away from her problems, but she soon finds she has a stowaway: Brooke Lynn Hytes, Yvie’s betrothed. She’s here to make sure Vanessa keeps her promise. She’s not here to fall in love with her, but we can’t always get what we want, can we?

last chapter: after a fraught encounter with Yvie’s fiancee, Vanessa has finally managed to sneak away and go after the Cup, the first steps towards ending the deal she’s been caught in for twelve years.

this chapter: Vanessa makes it to the tower. That’s about where things stop going well.

Getting into the tower is almost too easy.

The servant’s passage leads her to a small corridor, the luxury of rich, maroon carpet abandoned in favor of hard cobblestone floors and chandeliers exchanged for torches lining the walls, creating wavering shadows across the ceiling. Vanessa takes a moment to orient herself, peeking her head out to peer to the right, and then to the left. After a few minutes of seeing and hearing nothing, she steps out, careful not to let her boot scuff against the rough floor.

She’s never been in this part of the castle before, deemed too young to be trusted so near the kingdom’s greatest treasure. Yvie used to assure her that it was because they were reluctant to leave her alone with the guards stationed there, but despite Yvie’s naivety, Vanessa had known better. She’d known how little the servants meant, even back then.

She starts moving at a soft, quick pace to the right, sticking close to the wall and keeping a hand on her sword to prevent it from making noise. She can’t help but breathe shallowly, her ears straining to catch any sort of noise. She can’t hear anything but her own clothes shifting with her steps, and it only puts her more on edge.

The hall feels endless, stretching out before her, dim torch after dim torch casting it in a strange stutter. The air is too hot, stuffy from the lack of windows and movement, and Vanessa tries not to cringe at the slow bead of sweat trickling down her back.

She hates this.

Had A'keria or Scarlet been here, had this been any other time, she would have been whispering complaints, careless of the dangers of making noise and much more concerned with making her discomfort known. A'keria would have shushed her and rolled her eyes, and Scarlet would have stifled giggles, and they would have succeeded in giving Vanessa the reassurance she’d really been asking for, soothing the nerves that came with being the leader on a mission that could go wrong at any moment.

But they aren’t here, and this isn’t any other time. It’s better that Vanessa do this solo, no matter how much she craves the company of her crewmates.

She comes across a corner, eventually, more light shining off of the bricks from around the bend. Vanessa immediately pins herself against the wall, heart pounding as she listens for movement. This has to be the entrance to the tower, unless the castle is more prone to winding halls up here than it is on the lower floors, and if this is the entrance, then there has to be at least one guard stationed beside it. They were already fools for not flooding the space with guards, especially on a night with so many strangers in the castle, but they’d have to be catatonic to leave it completely unwatched.

Vanessa cocks her head, straining her ears. She can barely hear anything - was that a slow breath? A soft voice?

She keeps listening, her eyes firmly on the floor. If she holds her breath, she thinks she can hear breathing, rhythmic and deep. She risks a peek around the sharp corner of the wall, so concerned with being seen that she’s really only willing to risk putting one eye past the cover of the stone.

She finds herself staring not five inches away from the shining helmet of a guard.

She jumps, swallowing back a yelp and making a sort of choked gasp instead, scrambling back around the corner and fumbling for her sword. If she can just run it through him in time, he won’t be able to retaliate, or—

She pauses.

Or call for help. The man should have shouted by now, should be hurling himself around at her with a cry.

There hasn’t been so much as a sniffle.

She has to hold back a relieved laugh, the feeling creeping into the tips of her fingers and toes instead, making her feel like she could dance on air. She slides her sword back into its sheath, instead bending to reach into her boot, the ivory handle of her favorite knife a comfort against her palm.

She can’t believe she’s getting a second chance like this.

Coiling her body like the ship’s cat before a kill, she springs around the corner, poised to slit the guard’s throat before he can make a sound. She reaches for him, and—

He’s sleeping.

She stops short, her hand still outreached, to stare at the man slumped against the wall, dead to the world. He’s breathing deeply, long inhales through his nose and short exhales through his mouth, and he doesn’t even flinch when Vanessa stomps her foot experimentally. The guard sleeping across the wall from him doesn’t move, either, and Vanessa daintily steps over the tangle of legs blocking her path, the other guard having completely sunk to the floor in his sleep.

Vanessa stops in front of the entrance, an open doorway leading to stairs going up farther than she can see. She glances back at the two guards, her gut churning as she looks at them. Something is off.

As she looks back up the staircase, every instinct in her starts to scream, begging her to turn away and get as far away from the scene as possible. She thinks about the woman she’d run into before Brooke, the one that had looked like the goddess, and she thinks she can suddenly taste the sharp, metallic tang of magic hovering in the air.

“Shit,” she whispers, as she glances at the men again. If Eris - Willam, she’d told her to call her - has done this, then it has to have been to help her. She was stealing the Cup for Willam, after all, to repay her - maybe Willam had just wanted to speed the process along.

Even if she hadn’t done this, Vanessa can’t turn away now. Not when the key to her freedom is just a staircase away.

She sucks in a deep breath, steeling herself against the anxiety swirling in her gut, and she begins to climb the stairs, trying her best not to think about the way the torches have all been blown out, leaving the tower in complete darkness aside from the moonlight trickling in from the occasional thin window. Her nerves only get worse as she climbs, and by the time she reaches the heavy door waiting at the top, it’s taking all that’s in her not to just sprint back down the stairs and out of this goddamn castle.

She stares at the sliver of moonlight creeping under the door, mustering up enough courage to pull at the handle.

Think of your freedom, she thinks. Think of mom.

She opens the door.

The room behind it is eerily silent, the semicircle of guards lining the curved walls all in various positions of sleep, leaning against the wall and crumpled to the floor, like puppets with their strings cut. A beam of moonlight shines down from the roof, casting the room in a pale blue and lighting up the empty stone pedestal in the center like it was the moon itself. Vanessa stares at it for a moment, uncomprehending.

It’s gone.

The Cup of Peace is gone.

The cold fingers of shock numb her, allowing her to stand and stare, and stare, and stare. She can’t – if it’s not here, then where–?

She has just enough time to feel the beginning blows of disappointment and complete despair when the first guard stirs. It’s the second one that startles her into action.

“Fuck,” she hisses, stepping back out and shutting the door behind her. It slams in her panic, and she jumps again, racing down the stairs two and sometimes three steps at a time. “ Fuck! What the fuck? What in the goddamned hell ?”

She barrels down the stairs, so fast she can feel her hair streaming behind her, and she’s just about to burst out into the corridor when an arm suddenly slams into her gut, knocking her down the remaining five steps. Pain bursts in her elbow when she crashes onto the cobblestone floor, shock and a piercing ache the only things she can really focus on as she groans.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” a man says, and Vanessa manages to roll onto her back to glare at the guard who’d been waiting for her on the stairs, a smug smirk on his face. Vanessa recognizes him as one of the two sleeping guards. “Did that hurt?”

Vanessa curls her lip at him, and instead of responding, she goes for the sword at her hip, more than willing to fight her way out of this. It’s a stupid move, proof of how scrambled her brain is, because her wrist is suddenly trapped in a strong grip before her fingertips can even graze the hilt.

“Oh, no you don’t,” a deep voice says next to her ear, and she’s suddenly being jerked to her feet, so hard she’s a little afraid her arm might be dislocated.

“Fancy sleep spell of yours,” the first guard says, coming down the stairs too slowly. Too smugly. Vanessa resists the urge to spit at him. “Too bad you didn’t time it quite right.”

“I didn’t—”

“Didn’t know pirates could do magic,” the voice behind her says, and the other guard snorts.

“Women,” he says, and disdain crosses his features, “especially women like her .”

This time, Vanessa does spit at him. It only lands near his feet, but she thinks the message comes across nicely. His face tells her he thinks the same.

“I didn’t cast that spell,” she says, and they both laugh.

“Yeah,” the guard behind her says, “and I’m the bloody queen.”

“Your best friend, right?” the other guard says. He’s close now, just out of reach of a kick. “Wonder how she’s gonna take this one. This is far worse than when you ran with those rubies.”

Vanessa lunges at him, but the guard behind her has her arms twisted behind her too tightly, and she’s the one who ends up whimpering in pain. “I didn’t take anything,” she grits out, looking up to glare at him, meeting his eyes defiantly.

He cocks an eyebrow. “And that’s why everyone up there is clamborin’ down here, eh? To tell us the Cup is still there, safe and sound?”

“It was already gone when I got there, you have to believe me, you have to have seen whoever—”

“I did see,” the guard in front of her says, suddenly cold. The smirk is off his face, replaced with an expression of such anger and hatred that Vanessa’s breath catches. “I saw you .”

…

They take her to the throne room.

Vanessa struggles the whole way, dragging her heels and protesting loudly until the guard not holding her threatens to stuff her mouth with his sock. She quiets, but she still goes as slowly as she can, resentment and fury bubbling up in her chest and begging to be released somehow, some way.

She’s been framed.

It’s the only explanation. Willam, fucking Willam had decided to fuck her over again, this time worse than anything she’s ever done before. It had never been enough to do the goddess’s bidding - no, she’d always had to be entertaining while she did it.

Guess she hadn’t been entertaining enough. Serves her right, making deals with the goddess of chaos at age fucking sixteen.

Ἔρις. Strife. Discord herself.

Vanessa is such an idiot.

She’s been framed, and she’s spent so much time lying and stealing shit that no one’s going to fucking believe her. The idea of freedom is laughable now. She’d thought she’d been trapped before, but at least she’d had the sea. She’ll be lucky if her jail cell has a view, luckier if death doesn’t place her with Sisyphus.

A sudden wave of fear and dread nearly buckles her knees in, and she takes a deep breath. Fuck.

Her friends. Scarlet. A'keria. They’ll get her out.

She has to believe that.

They drag her through the halls, roaming guests and stationed guards that Vanessa had missed going through the secret passage staring with wide or narrowed eyes, fury and shock radiating off of them in waves. Vanessa only has a short amount of time to wonder how they know so soon after she’s been caught before she notices that she’s not the only thing they’re staring at.

Through the wide windows overlooking the sea, dark clouds can be seen twisting over the moon and the stars, plunging the kingdom into inky blackness. They hover far too close to the suddenly violent waves, which foam white with agitation.

Vanessa is very quickly realizing that she’d never given a second thought as to why the Cup is so important, so valued. She’s beginning to think it isn’t because of the jewels rumored to be glittering on it.

Dread sinks into the pit of her stomach, her anger only a flicker of relief from it. What the hell is she about to be accused of?

By the time they reach the throne room, Vanessa’s arms burn from where they’re nearly being pulled out of their sockets, and the only thing lighting the halls are the dim, flickering chandeliers, the moon having been swallowed up by darkness long ago. There’s an eerie hush that leaves Vanessa’s heartbeat too loud in her ears, the creak of the door to the throne room startlingly loud when one of the guards pushes it open.

It reveals the party at a standstill, pale, terrified faces turned towards her in a silent accusation. Vanessa’s fear and anger burn brightly against them, and she digs her heels into the stone when the guards attempt to pull her in.

“No,” she grits out, “I didn’t— I couldn’t have —”

She cuts herself off with a grunt as someone behind her kicks the back of her knee, making her crumple and allowing the guards to drag her through the rest of the way. Her protests echo off the walls as they bring her to the king’s feet, jerking her up, so that she’s standing straight before him. It makes her sneer. The last person she wants to acknowledge is the fucking king of fools, and here she is, forced into it.

Turns out things haven’t changed so much, after all.

She tries to meet Yvie’s gaze from where she’s standing at her father’s right hand, but she keeps her eyes firmly on the ground, expression pained. She thinks Vanessa did this. Betrayal and hurt blossom in Vanessa’s belly at the thought, and the sudden urge to convince Yvie that she didn’t do it is nearly overwhelming.

She may have lost Yvie’s trust twelve years ago, but she can at least prove her innocence on this.

“I didn’t steal it,” she says loudly, looking straight into the king’s eyes and ignoring the way they crackle like lightning. It’s suddenly important that she get the first word in. “I—”

“You tricked me,” a voice hisses, and Vanessa tears her eyes away from the king’s only to meet Brooke’s, her eyes like pieces of flint. Guilt swirls in with the rest of her turmoil. “You got me to trust you, and then you used me to steal the one thing keeping this kingdom alive.”

Vanessa opens her mouth, but any and all protests die on her tongue. She had done that. Normally, she’d find her way around it - pick at the one thing that had been exaggerated and ignore the rest. But Brooke has stated it so frankly that all she has left is, “So? I didn’t steal it.”

Brooke’s lips tighten. “Yes, you did. ”

Vanessa bares her teeth, indignation flaring bright in her chest. How had she ever felt guilty for lying to this bitch? “No, I didn’t. It was already fucking gone when I got there, so maybe you should ask one of your guards why that is, and not me. ”

“They saw you .”

“They were asleep !” Vanessa shouts, and Brooke meets her flame with a cool, hard edge.

“How were they all— ”

“ Enough !”

Vanessa startles as the king slams the butt of his staff into the stone, the sharp rap of it loud enough to ring in her ears. She swallows the words that had already been dancing on her tongue in the wake of Brooke’s, and she watches with some satisfaction as Brooke’s jaw snaps shut, looking sufficiently chastened.

“I will not have bickering and accusations flying around my head when such matters are at hand,” the king snaps, glaring at Vanessa, and then Brooke. “You are famed for your diplomacy, Duchess. Is this what your queen was speaking of so highly?”

“No, Your Majesty,” Brooke mutters, and her eyes drop to the floor. Despite her composure, however, Vanessa can practically see the anger radiating off of her in waves. She wonders if no one else had ever noticed, or if she’s simply the first to get this kind of a rise out of her.

She likes the idea of the latter.

“My apologies,” Brooke offers, and she sounds just sincere enough that the king sinks back into his seat, his expression fading into one that resembles disappointment or heartbreak more than anger.

“Forgiven,” he says, and then he turns his gaze to Vanessa. It takes everything in her not to freeze under his stare.

“Vanessa Mateo,” he says tiredly, “where is the Cup of Peace?”

“I. Don’t. Know,” she says slowly, and his expression darkens at the condescension in her voice. She can’t bring herself to care. She’s taking the fall for this either way.

Fucking Willam.

“My guards claim you are the thief,” the king says, voice raising. “I will believe their word over a pirate’s, one that’s already stolen from me, no less. Now, I will only ask once again, before we start taking fingernails.”

“ Father! ” Yvie snaps, and Vanessa jerks upright at the sound of her defense.

“Words only go so far,” the king says stiffly, but some of the rage immediately leaves his face, leaving him look more haggard than fearsome. “If I can’t get the answers this way, I must resort to other methods.”

“She’ll answer you,” Yvie tells him firmly, and then she turns to meet Vanessa’s eyes for the first time since Vanessa was shoved in front of her. Yvie’s expression is imploring, and Vanessa knows what she’s going to say before she even opens her mouth. “Vanessa, please. Just tell us where you—”

“I didn’t do it,” Vanessa says stubbornly, anger making her voice rough and loud.

Yvie’s mouth flattens. “Then tell me why you left the party. Tell me why you snuck away from my fiancée. And tell me what you were doing up in that tower.”

Vanessa opens her mouth. Closes it again. She scrambles for an even halfway feasible excuse and comes up with nothing. So. The truth it is. No matter how crazy it makes her sound.

“I was…” she trails off, nerves nearly getting the better of her. She pushes past it. She’s not known for her daring for nothing. “I was goin’ after the Cup. No hidin’ that. But it was already gone when I got there, and I… I’m pretty sure I know who took it.”

Yvie’s face is a myriad of emotion, but it’s Brooke’s icy tone that answers her.

“Who.”

Vanessa swallows. She glances at the king, at the transparently skeptical expression on his face, and steels herself. “Eris.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“The goddess of chaos took our Cup,” the king repeats. “The goddess that we specifically warded against.”

Vanessa shrugs, defensive anger building up in her chest and clenching her fists. “Look, I don’t know how she got past your wards! I wasn’t fucking there, was I? All I know is that I didn’t do it, and I can’t fucking help you past that! You have to believe me!”

Anger flashes across Yvie’s face for a split second before queenly restraint covers it again. Good to know Yvie’s temper hasn’t changed. “Believe you ? It’s not hard to believe that the woman who stole what was most precious to me twelve years ago would steal what’s most precious to me now. Believing that you wouldn’t is much, much harder.”

Each word hits Vanessa like a knife, and they all sink into her up to the hilt. It hurts. It’s true.

It pisses her off.

“ Fuck you,” Vanessa snarls. “You think this is some sort of vendetta against you? I haven’t thought about you in years, though it’s nice to know that I’ve clearly been on your mind anyway.” Yvie’s expression flickers with hurt. Too bad she can’t tell when Vanessa’s lying anymore. “I took only what I needed. This isn’t any fucking different, except I got screwed over this time. I’m just as fucked as you until that shit gets found.”

“Screwed over suggests you were in on this plan,” Brooke points out, before Yvie can hurl some other insult back at Vanessa. Vanessa can’t help but be grateful. She honestly can’t tell how much more of this she can take until she starts crying. “And that someone else decided that you weren’t.”

“I was supposed to steal it for Will- I mean Eris,” Vanessa says. She glances at Yvie, memories she’d rather forget bubbling up to the surface. She softens her voice, attempting to scale herself down to ‘close to civilized’ rather than ‘completely unhinged’. It makes her realize just how sore her throat is getting from yelling. “Clearly, she had other plans. I was set up. All arrestin’ me will get you is more time for Eris to get away.”

“So what do you suggest we do?” Brooke asks, and it doesn’t escape Vanessa’s notice that she’s doing all of the negotiating, and not the king. She doesn’t know what to make of it. “Let you go and go off on a wild goose chase? Unlikely.”

“Of course not,” Vanessa snaps, her mind racing. She needs to get out of this, and it’s game over if she gets put into a max security cell - and considering the crime, it will be a max security cell. What can she say to—

Wait.

“Of course not,” she repeats, a batshit crazy idea writing itself in her mind almost as it’s leaving her tongue, “because I’m gonna be the one chasin’ the goose.”

Three identical frowns. “What?”

“Send me to get it,” Vanessa says, trying to sound confident instead of desperate. “I know where she lives - believe me, you don’t want to lose men by sendin’ them to the edge of the world. I’m the one you can afford to lose, and I’m the one who’s got somethin’ to prove. I’ll get it, and bring it back to you, good as new.”

The king curls his lip. “You’re forgetting that you aren’t trustworthy,” he says. “Promises mean nothing to pirates. You’re just as likely to go to Fiji than stay true to your word.”

Fiji. That sounds nice. Maybe she’ll go there, after all of this.

Vanessa clenches her jaw, plastering offense over the apathy she feels towards his accusation. “If there’s one thing people know about me, it’s that I always keep my word,” she tells him, hoping to appeal to Yvie’s secretly soft heart. “Yvie can attest to that.”

Yvie had been ready to throw her in a cell over false accusations not five minutes ago. If she believes this, then she’s nothing but a fool.

Fury catches onto the king’s expression like flame to spilled oil. “You have broken my daughter’s trust far too many times to—”

Yvie puts a hand on his shoulder, cutting him off. Her eyes linger on Vanessa, expression unreadable, before she whispers something into her father’s ear. His eyes widen, a scowl coming across his face almost immediately.

“ No, ” he very near shouts, and Vanessa and the rest of the onlookers jump at the sudden volume. Brooke turns to face them fully, expression full of confusion and curiosity. “I will not —”

“Father,” Yvie says. “Please.”

He stares at her for a moment, and he must see what Vanessa sees in her expression - Yvie’s not giving up on whatever it is without a fight - because he sighs, exhaustion written plainly across his features. “We will need to discuss this alone .”

Hope is a welcome warmth in the sea of emotion already churning within her, and it makes it easy to ignore the guilt that comes with it. Tricking Yvie has always been just a little too easy.

“Discuss what?” Vanessa asks, burning with the need to know, but she regrets it almost immediately when the king suddenly turns towards her, his expression alight with resentment and hatred.

“Guards?” he says, voice ringing with power.

The guards snap to attention.

“Take her to the dungeon.”

…

Vanessa gets visitors four and a half hours after she’s thrown into what has to be the castle’s nastiest, mustiest cell.

Not that she’s been counting.

In that time, she has tried seducing the guard into giving her the keys, luring the guard close enough to grab the keys from him, wiggle the bars of her window loose, and kick the uncooperative guard in the knee hard enough for him to teach her a new curse word.

She has also had four and a half hours to work herself into a broiling anger at Yvie, which is why she spits at her the minute she and her fiancée step into the cell.

It lands on Yvie’s petticoat, right in the center of one of the swirling gold patterns that line the bottom seam.

It’s not her finest moment, but god does it feel good.

“Fuck you,” Vanessa snarls, to add to the anger and hurt she can see flashing behind Yvie’s eyes. She expects Yvie to snarl back, to act on the disbelieving fury she’s wearing so plainly on her face, but Brooke steps in front of her before she can even open her mouth, forcing Vanessa to glare at her instead.

The sight of her nearly stops Vanessa’s heart.

Sometime in the four and a half hours between the throne room and her arrival at Vanessa’s cell, Brooke had changed out of her dress, exchanging her silvery gown for a dark captain’s uniform, complete with gold epaulets and a sword swinging at her hip. She radiates such command and power that for a moment, Vanessa can’t think much of anything except that Brooke’s pants are far too tight to be in proper regulation.

“Back to the wall,” Brooke says, and Vanessa obeys without thinking, taking several steps backwards until her soul finally comes back into her body and stops her before she can humiliate herself further.

“Why the hell should I listen to you?” she snaps, ignoring the flush crawling across her cheeks. She keeps her eyes firmly on Brooke’s. “I’m dead anyway.”

“Who said?” Yvie asks, and Brooke makes a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan.

“Really?” she asks, as Yvie walks around her to approach Vanessa. “You still want to do this? After that display?”

“What?” Vanessa asks, backing away from Yvie. Yvie gives her a hurt look - the anger from earlier having faded somewhat. It only makes Vanessa more confused. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?”

Yvie ignores her, instead reaching out for her again. Vanessa takes another step back, jumping a little when her shoulder hits cool stone.

Well. She ended up against the wall anyway.

“Vanjie,” Yvie says, and the nickname makes Vanessa pause.

God, she’s too fucking soft.

Yvie reaches out again, and this time, Vanessa lets her take her cuffed wrist in her hand. She only has a split second to wonder what the hell is happening before Yvie pulls a key out of her corset, the sight of it making Vanessa’s breath catch.

No way.

“What are you doing?” she asks, as Yvie inserts the key into her cuffs.

“Being an idiot,” Brooke says, and Yvie’s mouth twists in the way that means she’s pissed, but trying to hide it. She wiggles the key even harder, the old lock touchy.

“You don’t have to be here,” she says, voice hard.

“Doing this alone was out of the question,” Brooke shoots back, and Vanessa rolls her eyes, rubbing her wrist when the cuff finally pops open. She opens her mouth to ask what the hell ‘this’ was, but Yvie starts talking before she can actually say anything.

“She’s not going to attack me,” Yvie says, moving on to the other cuff.

“She just spit on you.”

Yvie pauses for a moment. “She’s not going to hurt me,” she amends, and Vanessa’s stomach twists sourly. The other cuff pops open, and Yvie steps away while Vanessa rubs her other wrist, sore from when she’d attempted wriggling out of her bonds.

“You don’t know that,” Brooke says, and Yvie presses her lips together, giving Vanessa an appraising look.

She doesn’t argue the point.

Vanessa pretends the hurt she feels is anger, and she scowls, taking a menacing step towards Yvie. She doesn’t move, instead watching Vanessa with an unimpressed, flat expression. Vanessa pretends she doesn’t feel a maelstrom of emotion at the behavior and instead continues like Yvie had scrambled backwards in fear.

“She’s right,” she snarls, and she reaches for the knife stuffed in her boot, “you don’t know that. So unless you wanna find out, you’re gonna tell me what the fuck is going on. ”

Brooke takes a sudden step forward when Vanessa slips the knife into plain sight, but Yvie holds up a hand to stop her. The arrogance of the move makes irritation twinge in Vanessa’s gut - what the hell is she thinking?

“Are you stupid? ” Vanessa snaps. “I could have this knife in your neck in less that a fuckin’ second .”

“But you won’t,” Yvie says smugly, and Vanessa has half a mind to raise the knife to the hollow of Yvie’s throat, just to teach her stupid, self-sacrificing friend a goddamn lesson.

Instead, she drops her arm to the side, and gives Yvie a sharp look instead.

Again: soft.

“One day, you’re gonna get yourself killed,” she sniffs, and in almost an instant, Yvie’s entire demeanor changes, the queen melting to reveal her friend once again.

“As long as I’m doing what’s right, I don’t care,” Yvie says, and it’s such an Yvie thing to say that Vanessa feels her own hard exterior crack a little.

“So what’s this then?” Vanessa asks, and Yvie smiles at the way her tone has softened. Vanessa once again feels a pang for what once was, longing briefly tightening her throat and catching in her chest.

“We’re here to offer you a deal,” Brooke says, and the moment shatters. Vanessa snaps her gaze away from Yvie to look at Brooke, hardening her face against the sudden hope that blooms in her chest.

“You don’t look too happy about it,” she observes, and Brooke defies the impossible by looking even more displeased.

“I’m not,” she staunchly agrees, and Vanessa snorts a laugh. She may be in a guard’s regalia, but it does nothing to hide the stiff politician beneath.

“Must be good, then,” she says, and she allows herself a smug grin. “At least for me.”

Brooke’s lip curls. Yvie rolls her eyes.

“It is,” she says plainly. “And you’re gonna fucking owe me.”

Yeah, and she’s going to pay back everything she’s stolen, too.

She can’t help the laugh she lets out, incredulity beating out common sense, which is screaming at her to just agree and do what she wants later. “Am I?”

“See?” Brooke asks, before Yvie can act on the insult that has spread across her face. She doesn’t look at Vanessa. “We can’t trust her. This is a stupid —”

“I’m still in the room, you know,” Vanessa interrupts, more than a little annoyed. She would just like to know the damn deal.

“I know,” Brooke says dryly, and Vanessa is nearly overcome with the urge to slap her.

“Are you sure? Becau—”

“Shut up !”

Vanessa slams her jaw shut at Yvie’s sharp tone, shock more than anything striking obedience into her. She notices Brooke straighten as well, and she smirks. It’s nice to see the ice crack, even for just a moment.

“Both of you,” Yvie continues, after a brief beat of stunned silence, “shut up and let me speak.” She’s clearly forcing calm into her voice, and Vanessa finds the fact that her temper clearly hasn’t changed comforting.

Brooke nods stiffly when Yvie looks at her. Vanessa only shrugs when her gaze turns to her.

“ I’m not the one protestin’ anything.”

Yvie clenches her jaw for a moment before she relaxes, letting out a breath far too forced to be born of actual calm. “Vanjie,” she says, locking eyes with Vanessa. Vanessa meets her gaze unflinchingly, shoving the grief and resentment she feels at the nickname behind steel walls. “I’m going to take your place.”

Silence stretches, the faint dripping of water on stone the only thing disturbing it for far too long.

“What?” Vanessa asks finally, her heart thudding in her ears. That’s not possible. It can’t be possible.

Is it?

“My father has agreed to let me stand in your place,” Yvie says, and her voice only shakes a little. She’s always been braver than Vanessa. “It’s the only way you can go and retrieve the Cup.”

The rising hope in Vanessa’s chest suddenly flattens. “The Cup?”

“Yes, the Cup,” Brooke snaps. “Keep up.”

“He’s giving you two weeks to retrieve the Cup and prove your innocence while I act as an insurance for the people,” Yvie continues, like Brooke hadn’t spoken. “If you can do that, we all go free and nobody dies.”

Vanessa feels a little like she’s floating. This is all so fucking absurd. “And if I can’t find it?”

“You come back anyway,” Yvie says, with far too much confidence, “and take back your place.”

Vanessa stares at her old friend, gratitude and hope and amusement swirling through her chest. Yvie thinks that she’ll come back for death?

Unlikely.

“Why?” she asks instead, and Yvie’s face softens. She’s so fucking naive. Vanessa’s heart hurts just looking at her.

“Because you’re my friend,” Yvie says. Vanessa’s chest twists. “I trust you.”

“Some would call you a fool for that,” Vanessa says, aiming for a light tone and instead falling flat.

“I don’t care.” Yvie sucks in a breath, looking into Vanessa’s eyes with intensity. Vanessa has to remind herself that Yvie can’t actually see into her soul. “You’re a good person, Vanj. I love you. And I trust you won’t leave me here to die.”

“But if I came back without anything, you would leave me ?” Vanessa asks, before she can stop herself. She needs to hear Yvie say no. She needs to hear her say I would never.

“We’ll figure it out,” she says instead, and she grabs Vanessa’s wrist. It hurts. “Listen, we don’t have a lot of time. My father—”

“I’ll do it,” Vanessa says, like Yvie hasn’t just crushed her heart between her fingers. Of course Yvie would leave her. She’s only a pirate, after all. A servant. Besides, Brooke looks five seconds away from changing the king’s mind herself. If that happens - and Vanessa doesn’t think it’ll take much - Vanessa’s two weeks will turn into two seconds. “You have a deal.”

“Swear it,” Yvie demands, like it means anything.

“I swear it.”

Yvie takes a deep breath.

“Let’s do this.”

…

Brooke ends up escorting her out of the castle.

They have to squint their eyes against the oppressive darkness of the night, the moon dull and just barely peeking out around the black, still-swirling clouds that had covered the kingdom like a thick blanket. The air is frigid, and Vanessa shivers against it, her breath coming out in small puffs of white steam.

She recalls a lyric from an old folk song, singing about how the Cup provides crops and sunlight and all things good. She thinks that maybe it wasn’t as much of an exaggeration as she’d thought.

Brooke seems unaffected by the cold, her face severe as she leads Vanessa to the gates, motioning for the guards to pull it open. The silence she’s treating Vanessa to is nearly colder than the air around them, displeasure practically poking out of her like icicles.

Vanessa’s never been great about silence.

She’s always been irked by it, finding it oppressive and boring, like it makes time stretch by infinitely. As she eyes Brooke curiously, most of her anger having been released the moment she’d stepped out of that cell, she realizes that this silence is no different.

“So, now what?” she asks, and her voice is loud in the stillness of the night. “You gonna kill me now that Yvie isn’t here to stop you?”

“No,” Brooke says, incredulous. They step through the gates. “I don’t just kill people. I’m not like you. ”

“Sure,” Vanessa mutters, eyeing the other woman. She certainly looks nothing short of murderous. “That’s why you were so interested in The Damned , right? ‘Cause you’re not like me?”

“I– we are not having this conversation,” Brooke says stiffly, and Vanessa laughs.

“Can’t hide from the truth,” she sing-songs, and it makes Brooke whirl around suddenly, her eyes aflame.

“ Listen ,” she hisses, “I am nothing like you and I never will be. I have duty and honor, you have greed and - and filth. ”

Vanessa raises her eyebrows at the outburst. So, she has a temper. “She who denies—”

“You’re insufferable,” Brooke snaps, and she whirls back around, showing Vanessa her back as she marches down the hill towards the docks.

“I could say the same to you,” Vanessa retorts, and Brooke doesn’t respond. Irritation twinges in her gut at the silence. Fuck me for trying to get along with the upper-crust, I guess.

“Besides,” she says, after a long stretch of nothing from Brooke, “I’ve got duty.”

Brooke snorts. “Of course you do,” she says condescendingly, and it succeeds in raising Vanessa’s temper.

“I have my crew to look after,” she snaps at the back of Brooke’s head. “I have a ship to clean. I have deals to uphold—”

“Like the one you just made with Yvie?” Brooke interrupts, voice sharp. “Planning on upholding that?”

Vanessa tries not to let her surprise show. “ Yes ,” she hisses, like she’s shocked Brooke would even suggest such a thing, instead of how close Brooke had actually gotten to the truth. “That one most of all.”

“Funny,” Brooke says. “I don’t believe you.”

Vanessa scowls. “You’re gonna have to.”

“I don’t have to do anything.”

“That’s right, you’re a duchess. You don’t answer to nobody. ‘Cept your fiance, of course.”

“You’re doing a great job at convincing me you care,” Brooke says drily, and Vanessa resists the petty urge to kick at her ankles.

“I don’t need to prove anything to you,” she sneers, and Brooke suddenly comes to a halt.

Vanessa stops herself just in time to avoid smacking right into the other woman, tearing her eyes away from her to see that they’ve reached the docks, The Damned ’s deep red hull gleaming before them.

“That’s the thing,” Brooke says, turning to look at Vanessa once again. Her expression is cold. “You need to prove everything to me.”

Vanessa just stares at her, unsure of how to respond.

Just get on the boat, and you’re home free, she thinks to herself. This will all be over soon. Fiji’s just around the corner.

“Whatever,” she says, because she’s never claimed to be the greatest wit of the seven seas. Brooke’s mouth flattens. Vanessa winks at her, grabbing the rope ladder she’d left hanging six hours ago, the rough fibers familiar under her hands.

“See you never, Miss Brooke,” she says, and she scrambles up the side of the boat, leaving Brooke standing stiffly and coldly on the rotting pier.

Fiji, she thinks, as A'keria and Scarlet rush over to her with questions burning in their eyes. And then this will all be over.

She ignores the feeling in her gut that tells her she couldn’t be more wrong, and she tells A'keria to set a course for Fiji.

She does have duty. Her duty to herself just takes precedence.

#rpdr fanfiction #the damned #branjie #freyja #pirate au #lesbian au #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #yvie oddly #mentions of past murder/violence

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theperksofbeingbarbie · 5 years

Text

Sweet Words (Diego x GN!Reader)

WARNINGS: Mentions of blood; Mentions of gunshot wound; Alcohol use; Suggestive Themes; Language.

WORD COUNT: 2,509

PAIRING: Diego Hargreeves x Gender Neutral!Reader

A/N: A HALLOWEEN MIRACLE!!!!!!!! I’m so sorry this took so long but I am eternally grateful for your patience! I really hope you like it and that the wait was worth it. I really liked this idea and feel free to send more my way. (And hopefully I’ll get them done faster lol)

@myraticm

Love at first sight was bullshit, but goddamn the person at the bar was testing Diego’s belief in that.

He wasn’t even meant to be here, really. He won a boxing match and was feeling pretty good and for once in his life, he accepted the invitation to get drinks after with a few of the guys from the gym. Any other day he would’ve said no, gone back to the boiler room, go out to see if there were any crime scenes to crash. There was something that told Diego to go, and when he looked at the person laughing with their friends, he started to believe Klaus’ stupid rants about fate.

Diego clinked his glass with his friends, tipping his head back as the liquor passed his lips. He began to walk toward the bar before he had even set his glass back down on the table top, ignoring the comments from the guys he was with.

A hush took over the little group at the bar when Diego approached, everyone looking at the newcomer with apprehension.

“Hi.”

“Hey,” they greeted with a slight smile that made Diego’s heart skip a beat.

“I’m Diego.”

“[Y/N].”

“Mind if I buy you a drink, [Y/N]?”

[Y/N]’s eyes flitted over Diego’s body as if they wanted to take inventory of the man to decide his worth. Apparently he was worth something when they finally agreed.

The pair separated from both of their groups as they shared a drink. One drink turned into two, two turned into dancing, dancing turned into kissing behind the bar, kissing behind the bar turned into them stumbling through the door to [Y/N]’s apartment, hands exploring each other’s bodies with a sense of desperation.

------------------------------

Diego groaned when the pounding in his head woke him up, rolling over to hide from the pain before realizing he wasn’t in his bed. He sat up, memories of the night before finally catching up with the rest of him. The space beside him was already cold and he didn’t know what the fuck to do. Was [Y/N] still around? Was he just supposed to leave? Did they trust him that much if they were already gone? One night stands weren’t his thing for a fucking reason.

He rolled out of bed and started to put on his strewn clothes, following them like a trail of breadcrumbs through the little apartment toward the front door. Diego blinked when he was finally faced with the bright light coming from the kitchen.

“Morning.”

Diego ran a hand through his hair before pulling his shirt back on. “Morning.”

“Sorry if I woke you up, I have work early. Help yourself to some coffee,” [Y/N] offered with that smile that made Diego’s heart all fluttery again.

Diego nodded and moved around them to grab a mug, noticing their bookbag on one of the kitchen chairs. He plucked the security badge off the top, smiling at the picture. “You’re an ER nurse?”

[Y/N] quickly grabbed it from Diego’s hand, though their smile was still playful. “Are you always this nosy with people you sleep with?” they asked over their shoulder as they clipped it to their scrubs.

“Only the really cute ones.”

They snorted, shaking their head in disbelief.

“I had a lot of fun last night.”

A blush started to creep up the other’s neck and Diego just wanted to kiss all over it like he did last night. “I did too,” they finally admitted, taking a bite of the breakfast burrito they prepared.

Diego took a sip of his coffee as he weighed his options: make this a strictly one time thing, or try for a repeat.

“We should do this again,” he said as casually as he could, leaning back against the counter.

[Y/N] slowed down their chewing, clearly going through their mental pro-con list at his offer. “I’m not really looking for anything serious,” they finally answered with a little nod. “But if you still wanted to do that again, I’d be down.”

Diego decided to take what he could get and scribbled his number on the pad stuck to [Y/N]’s fridge. “Thanks for the coffee.” He left a kiss on their cheek before giving his mug a rinse, grabbing the rest of his clothes as he made his way out.

------------------------------

Diego didn’t want to do this, but he didn’t know where else to go. He groaned as he pressed the bleeding wound on his side harder. He attempted to lift his other arm to knock on the door but couldn’t stand the pain, so he kicked the door he had become familiar with. Repeatedly.

“Jesus fucking Christ, I will call the cops!” he heard from the other side of the door, sighing when [Y/N] flung it open.

“Diego? What the fuck?”

Diego didn’t answer, pushing past the person he had started to consider a friend. “Got shot,” he finally managed to mumble, shuffling toward the bathroom.

“I’m sorry, did you just say you got shot?!”

Diego dropped down onto the edge of the bathtub with a huff, letting go of his wound to unbuckle his harness.

“Diego, you need to go to the-”

“No.”

“You got shot, though!”

“You treat gunshot wounds before?”

[Y/N] looked on in horror as Diego peeled his blood soaked shirt, hissing as the fabric stuck to the wound. They finally stepped foward to help, sighing when they could get a good look at it.

“Please,” Diego whispered, grabbing the towel he was handed to apply pressure on the gash again.

They huffed, leaving the bathroom to rummage around in the kitchen. [Y/N] was back in a moment, dropping all the supplies onto the counter. “You’re telling me what the fuck happened after, though.”

------------------------------

“You seriously want me to believe you’re a superhero vigilante?”

“You can google the Umbrella Academy. I was the cute one.”

Diego was now laying in [Y/N]’s bed, all sewn up and bandaged. Luckily the wound was closer to his back and he was able to turn around for them to sew him up; he didn’t have the fun and embarassing experience of fainting at the sight of the needle.

He watched [Y/N] grab their phone to fact check his story, raising an eyebrow when he saw their lips quirk into a smile.

“What?”

“You said you were the cute one but that isn’t matching up with what I see here. Number Four, though...”

Diego rolled his eyes, picking the pillow up that was beside him to throw it at [Y/N]. They just laughed and batted it away.

“You better not be going out there again for a while,” [Y/N] said more seriously, properly replacing the pillow beside Diego.

“It was just a graze,” Diego protested.

“I’m not stitching you up again!”

Diego could see their genuine worry and it caused him to step down from the fight. “How long do I wait?”

“A few weeks.”

Diego groaned dramatically, reaching out to grab their hand. “Fine. But only if I’m able to come over... I can just lay here and let you do your thing.”

[Y/N] laughed, crawling forward to kiss Diego softly.

------------------------------

Diego, for the first time in his life, actually listened to medical advice. He was aching to get back out on the street but he found things to fill his time. He started to coach the little kids at the gym, helped Al out more when he needed it, and spent more time with [Y/N].

Their relationship wasn’t something he was really used to, but he was enjoying it. It usually centered around sex, but they would also just spend time together. Maybe watch a movie or talk about work. Diego even started to do little handyman projects around [Y/N]’s house while they were at work so they wouldn’t have to wait for their landlord.

Diego huffed as he flopped himself on the sofa in the Academy mansion, already dreading this ‘family meeting’. He nodded toward Klaus as the Séance joined him with an overdramatic groan.

“Can we get on with this? I have plans,” Klaus announced with a flair of his hand.

Allison started to speak, Luther interjecting every so often with details that she missed. Diego grabbed his phone and started texting, unable to hide the smile that was taking over his features.

“I’m sorry, are we bothering you, Diego?”

“Usually, yeah.”

Allison huffed, snatching the phone out of her brother’s hands, ducking when he immediately threw a knife at her head.

“Who the hell is this?”

“None of your fucking business,” the vigilante growled.

“His lover,” Klaus lamented, laying himself across Diego’s lap with the back of his hand gently placed on his forehead. “The cute little thing that has our grumpy asshole in love.”

Diego rolled his eyes, pushing Klaus onto the floor, which just made Number Four laugh. “It’s not that serious. We just hook up.”

“And fix their water heater, apparently,” Luther pointed out, holding up the exchange of messages about the project.

“We have sex and I fix up their apartment because their landlord is a prick. Happy?” Diego grabbed his phone back, shoving it back into his pocket.

“You like them,” Vanya realized softly. “Genuinely.”

Diego just glared at the violinist.

Allison returned to her chair as she thought about her next question, “How long have you two been doing this?”

Diego knew there was no getting out of this. He was going to fess up or they’d dig and make it a hundred times worse. “A few months.”

“Friends with benefits don’t usually last that long without becoming real, darling Didi,” Klaus pointed out.

“Do they seem to actually like you?” Luther asked, his features showing genuine concern for his brother.

Diego just rolled his eyes. “It’s just sex and favors. They patch me up and I fix up their place. That’s it.”

“You need to talk to them. See if you’re actually their boyfriend or if you should end it.”

“Excuse me for not wanting to take relationship advice from you, Allison,” Diego snapped.

Everyone sat in silent shock, Diego taking the chance to leave the mansion once more.

------------------------------

Diego would rather die than admit that maybe, just maybe, his siblings were right. He had fallen for [Y/N], almost instantly. They were charming and fun and kind. He smiled whenever he thought of them or saw something that reminded him of them. He adored doing boring little things with [Y/N]. Just laying in bed together was quickly becoming Diego’s favorite pastime.

But he was fucking terrified. After Eudora, Diego didn’t want to get burned again. He was still just a vigilante with twenty bucks to his name. [Y/N] was a successful nurse who, for some fucked up reason, put up with his shit.

Well, Diego knew what that ‘fucked up reason’ was. Everyone did. [Y/N] was willing to put up with him just because the sex was good. That’s all he was to them and he would just have to be happy with that.

The voices of his siblings didn’t stop floating around his mind. Every time he wanted to pick up the phone to call [Y/N], Allison was there telling him to admit his feelings and end it if they didn’t feel the same.

The days started to build up to weeks since the last time Diego stopped by. [Y/N] would send a text to invite him over, but he always made up some stupid excuse to avoid it. They would move on and he wouldn’t have to deal with the pain of actually ending it and knowing that he wasn’t more than a cock and some tools.

Diego really didn’t want to do this. The thought of crawling back to this door when he had essentially ignored the person on the other side for a month and a half made his stomach turn. He huffed, knocking on the door until he could hear shuffling from inside the apartment.

“Seriously?” [Y/N] asked when they opened the door.

Diego only managed a sheepish smile, mumbling his thanks when they stepped aside to welcome him. He made his way to the bathroom like he had countless times before as the nurse rummaged through their kitchen.

“If you got shot again-”

“Just beat up.” Diego sighed as his shirt was pulled off, the cool air soothing the searing hot pain around the cuts and gashes.

“You have so much fucking nerve,” [Y/N] mumbled as they began to clean him up. “Ignore me for ages and then expect me to just patch you up. You could’ve been dead and I wouldn’t have known.”

“I’m sorry.” Diego wasn’t even sure if he actually said the words out loud, but [Y/N] paused to survey his face.

“I just worry.”

They stayed silent, only the sound of water splashing as [Y/N] dipped the bloody rag in the sink.

“Why?”

Diego looked up, taking a deep breath as he tried to think of an excuse. Maybe pulling the band aid off would be best. “Someone told me you were only in this for sex and free labor around your place and I was being an idiot.”

[Y/N]’s eyebrows shot up. “And what? You’re not only in this for sex and no questions health care?”

Diego smirked, looking down at his boots. “I wish that’s all it was sometimes.”

Silence filled the air once more. [Y/N] placed their finger under Diego’s chin to lift it, dabbing softly at the abrasions there.

“Do you want more?”

He pulled away from the hands, gently pushing them away from his face. It didn’t matter if he wanted more, he didn’t deserve it. Not from [Y/N].

“Diego.”

Their fingers were cold from now red water in the sink, sending a shiver down Diego’s spine when they gently brushed over his cheeks. He let [Y/N] tilt his head back up, a knot forming in his stomach at the sight of their beautiful face.

“Be honest. Please.”

He couldn’t find the words, and the words he did find he was sure wouldn’t come out properly. Diego nodded, looking back down at the ground, afraid of the response from the person he cared so much for.

There was the feeling of soft lips on Diego’s temple, then his cheek, slowly leading to his lips. He leaned into the kiss, noticing that it was softer than he had ever experienced. It was filled with love.

“I want more too.”

Diego kissed [Y/N] again, unsure of what else to do with this feeling that was building in his chest.

“I love you.” The words came out surprisingly simply, passing over his lips like their name on a warm night.

[Y/N] paused before saying, “I love you too.”

The pair shared another kiss and the words tasted as sweet as they sounded. Diego didn’t want to go a day without hearing those simple words. He didn’t want to live another moment without their gentle kiss after speaking those words.

Diego didn’t want to go a second without [Y/N] in his life as his love.

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livmoose · 6 years

Text

Va, Tosca!

I’ve been fascinated by ‘Tosca’ since three years ago, when I first heard it in Kiev opera. What motivated me to dig deeper was the stubborn anti-Puccini bias of music critics that started with the opera’s (nay, it's antecedent play’s) premiere and didn’t really cease by this day. Which I cannot understand at all: ‘Tosca’ is literally one of the most popular operas in the world, outperformed only by such eminent names as Verdi’s ‘La Traviata’, Mozart’s ‘Die Zauberflöte’, Puccini’s own ‘La Boheme’ and Bizet’s ‘Carmen’. So what gives?

‘Tosca’, original poster, 1899

The premise of this 3-act opera by Giacomo Puccini is rather simple: a villain wants a girl who loves a boy who loves her back and also helps revolutionaries. And also it’s a tragedy, like in a Shakespearean Everybody Dies kind of tragedy. You can pretty much guess the plot from there.

What I personally like about this opera is the combination of lightning-fast plot (the action takes place within several hours on June 17-18, 1800), finely developed character portraits, and music that explains and foreshadows everything you need to know.

Naturally, I don’t take the vague criticisms of ‘Tosca’ all that well.

Ha più forte sapore [bits of history and background]

Puccini’s opera is based on a 1887 5-act play ‘La Tosca’ by Victorien Sardou.

Puccini had seen La Tosca at least twice, in Milan and Turin. On 7 May 1889 he wrote to his publisher, Giulio Ricordi, begging him to get Sardou’s permission for the work to be made into an opera: ‘I see in this Tosca the opera I need, with no overblown proportions, no elaborate spectacle, nor will it call for the usual excessive amount of music.’

M.J. Philips-Matz ‘Puccini: A Biography’

I found this quote, and it instantly clicked: it’s exactly why I like ‘Tosca’.

In contrast to Sardou’s initial work, Puccini’s opera is much more succinct and direct. It has almost zero overblown dialogues and soliloquies that don’t promote the plot or develop characters (well, maybe there is this one lyric soprano-tenor duetto ‘Amaro sol per te m’era il morire’ [‘Only for you did death taste bitter for me’] in act III that’s a bit too long for my taste, but even this slow moment is essential because it gives the audience an opportunity to breathe as the final shockwave looms closer). But the rest of it is actually interesting to see and hear.

For me, ‘Tosca’ is one of the very few operas that are targeted at people who are not fifteen and overly dramatic adult audiences who don’t need same things repeated at them all the time and who can catch what is happening without seeing each and every small detail. Puccini squeezed Sardou’s acts II, III and IV into a single second act, and it works. We as an audience don’t need to see the whole scene at Cavaradossi’s house to understand what happened there. We can use our imagination to paint the rest of the picture.

Looks like the critics do not agree with me on this one.

Perché, perché, Signore [criticisms galore]

The infuriating part about the critical landscape of ‘Tosca’ is that the critics don’t seem to agree on a single point of reproof. Some complain that the opera is too wordy; others, conversely, are not satisfied with the plot rushness (the view that both librettists of ‘Tosca’, Illica and Giacosa shared). Critics called the opera ‘three hours of noise’ that lacks style and cohesion. Julian Budden [opera scholar] faulted the ‘inept handling of the political element’ while commending ‘a triumph of pure theatre’. Burton Fisher [opera writer] described the sensuous love duet ‘Qual’occhio’ as ‘an almost erotic lyricism’ and ‘pornophony’.

Is it just me, or do the critics dislike ‘Tosca’ precisely for the nuances I love about it: coherence of the plot, acute and restrained drama, absence of excessive political speculations (it was not meant to be goddamn ‘Les Miserables’) and, well, musical puns? More on that later.

Not to say ‘Tosca’ didn’t receive its share of praise. Charles Osborne [music critic] believed the plot of ‘Tosca’ was taut and effective while the characters had enough opportunities to shine both in terms of dramatic development and musical elaborateness. Some also praised the richness of Puccini’s score:

[Puccini] finds in his palette all colours, all shades; in his hands, the instrumental texture becomes completely supple, the gradations of sonority are innumerable, the blend unfailingly grateful to the ear.

Ippolito Valetta [music critic] ‘Rassegna Musicale’ in ‘Nuova Antologia’

The aspect of criticism that I did find explainable was based on ‘disconcerting vulgarities’ as put by Gabriel Fauré [composer]. To be honest, the opera really does not lack in violence: Tosca undergoes sexual assault, is broken by the need to defend her chastity with murder and by the death of a beloved, and finally commits suicide. For the public back in 1900 such developments truly could be regarded as a bit too much.

For modern audiences, however, the events are nothing to be shied away from. The opera aged exceedingly well, not losing a bit of its attractiveness in romantic and dramatic sense. Even more so, the criticism that ‘Tosca’ still receives today makes little sense. Joseph Kerman’s [musicologist] remark on ‘Tosca’ as a ‘shabby little shocker’ from the middle of the century, well after the actual real-life shock of two world wars and the brusque shift of public morale, was way off the mark. Thomas Beecham [conductor] bitingly responded that anything Kerman said about Puccini could ‘safely be ignored’ (it almost makes one thing something personal’s involved).

Besides, some modern scholars share my perception of ‘Tosca’s treatment:

Scholarly presses and journals still deeming [Puccini’s] operas too popular to be worthy of serious study continue to shoot themselves in their collective foot.

Deborah Burton ‘Tosca’s Rome: The Play and the Opera in Historical Perspective (review)’

By Burton, Puccini was often simply ‘snubbed by the musicological establishment’. The fun part? Puccini put on his Scarpia persona to cynically and kind of affectionately if you ask me describe ‘Tosca’ as ‘zibaldone’ [‘hodgepodge’]. He referred to it as ‘a vile opera’ and ‘quella putana di Roma’ [‘that Roman whore’]. If this isn’t love.

Già, mi dicon venal [quick glance at the initial play]

Similar criticism of abundance of violence was applied to Sardou’s play. Tosca’s behavior was deemed ‘unchaste’, and the brutality disturbed both critics and theatre fans. Jules Favre [statesman] even called it ‘cette pièce vulgaire, sans intrigue, sans caractères, sans moeurs’ [‘vulgar piece, without intrigue, without characters, without morals’].

The most offensive part of the play was, apparently, Cavaradossi’s torture. Even off-stage, his screams prodded the critics to warn women against seeing ‘La Tosca’ as the play could ‘inflict irreparable injury on persons yet unborn’.

Despite this, the play was an immediate success. It toured around the world, and even the harshest critics couldn’t ignore its dramatic effect:

As to the play itself, I will only add that it is offensive in its morals, corrupt in its teaching, and revolting in its brutality, and yet everyone who admires acting is bound to see it.

Cecil Howard [theatre critic] ‘La Tosca’, ‘The Theatre’

So. Let’s see what threw people in such a dismay, shall we.

Io de’ sospiri [plot and why it’s good]

Sylvester Feodosiyevich Shchedrin ‘New Rome. Castel Sant’Angelo’, oil on canvas, 1823

It all starts with Roman ex-consul Angelotti escaping the clutches of tyrannical justice. The fugitive runs into Mario Cavaradossi, painter and Bonapartist who agrees to help him. Two men are interrupted by Mario’s passionate lover and Roman opera celebrity, Floria Tosca. After a fit of jealousy she leaves the church, and Cavaradossi leads Angelotti away from the city to hide in his villa. Right afterwards, Baron Scarpia, chief of police and the embodiment of tyranny emerges on stage and, when Tosca returns, devises to use her jealousy to lead him to Mario and Angelotti.

Second act is all about torturing Cavaradossi (off-stage) and Tosca’s gradual breakdown. Scarpia demands the location of Angelotti, which she surrenders to save Mario from suffering. Then Scarpia tries to force Tosca to give herself to him, which she agrees in exchange for her lover’s life - only to stab unsuspecting Scarpia with a knife.

The rest of the main cast dies during the third act. Mario’s ‘staged’ execution appears to be not so fake as Scarpia promised. Tosca, inconsolable and heartbroken, jumps to her death as the soldiers, who discovered Scarpia’s body, corner her on the ramparts of Castel Sant’Angelo.

The plot pretty much follows Sardou’s play, although the action was tightened (mostly by avoiding obvious plot turns) and the list of characters sharply compressed.

Sardou’s act III features a scene that is not present in Puccini’s opera: Cavaradossi’s villa, the painter, Angelotti, and later Tosca and Scarpia. One of the things I liked about the opera is that it doesn’t have this scene. It’s excessive and basically tells nothing that audience couldn’t have picked up from the unobtrusive operatic dialogue in act II. Puccini - Sardou 1:0.

Obviously, Mario’s execution was not fake. In the play, Spoletta reveals this fact to Tosca. In the opera, he at first misunderstands Scarpia’s order (hilariously so, as he nearly confesses the whole thing to Tosca), which allows the audience to guess their scheme. 2:0 for subtlety.

In act II, Scarpia questions Mario with the backdrop of Tosca’s cantata performance off-stage, in the depths of Palazzo Farnese. 3:0, this whole piece is just gorgeous.

Puccini wanted ‘La Tosca’s plot stripped of everything excessive (which is, lamentably, a rare practice for operatic genre):

[Puccini] cut Tosca to the bone, leaving three strong characters trapped in an airless, violent, tightly wound melodrama that had little room for lyricism.

M.J. Philips-Matz ‘Puccini: A Biography’

Ignoring criticisms, Puccini also persevered in his clear vision of how the ending should be - by the way, nearly the single thing he and Sardou agreed upon. A good thing undoubtedly; I’d hate for this to happen:

Puccini’s librettists also disliked the suicide, and an alternate ending for the opera was (briefly) considered: rather than leap, Tosca would go mad, collapse, and die on the body of her lover (presumably of Sudden Operatic Death Syndrome).

Susan Vandiver Nicassio ‘Ten Things You Didn’t Know about Tosca’

Pure gold of a remark. Thank you, Susan.

‘Tosca’ is a very tight, succinct work, beautifully paced. I like how the acts are structured and developed. Act I, the longest one, was clearly meant to be expositional. Also, it’s the melodramatic one, with inclusion of comedic motifs that significantly lighten the mood (think the character of the Sacristan and continuous good-hearted mocking of Tosca by her lover).

Act II is unexpectedly macabre: there’s not a trace of the lightheartedness of act I. A real drama ensues, with torture, violence and grim ending (Tosca murders Scarpia in cold blood, which I, as a cynic, viciously enjoy every time). This act is also shorter while it still has enough room for Scarpia’s intricate manipulation and blooming deconstruction of Tosca. The characters are well-developed and nicely motivated (at least in part Sardou’s merit).

Act III is the shortest (just over 20 minutes), and it’s a full-on tragedy. The final plot twist was hardly intended as one. This act is an emotional roller-coaster. Combining hope and death, it is based on fragmented pieces, which makes the whole thing feel real, not operatic. The opera ends strong and loud, and it’s perfect that way. The audience is left with the sense of tragedy that is not undermined by unnecessary lyricism of long pre-death arias (like in Verdi’s ‘La Traviata’, I absolutely hate the last act). With the rush of events, the delay at this point would be unendurable.

‘Tosca’ is chaotic in its final scene, just as it should be. Tosca the character makes the (suicide) decision in a blink of an eye, and I absolutely love the impression that she makes it out of egotistical motives: she is to be captured by the soldiers - not because Mario is dead. This is the kind of nuance that defines the difference between real living people and operatic character embryos. When the opera ends, I always find myself speechless and anguished not irritated at how annoyingly long it takes for the characters to die (looking at you, Verdi).

E lucevan le stelle [characters breakdown]

Palazzo Farnese, 2018. Now French Embassy in Rome

First and strongest impression about the characters of ‘Tosca’: gosh, they are not dumb! So it is possible.

One of the major appeals of ‘Tosca’ is that the characters feel like real people instead of archetypal damsel in distress, knight in shining armor and flat cardboard villain. Although Scarpia bends a bit in that direction, being completely satisfied with his villainous villainy, he acknowledges it, giving off the air of a ‘connoisseur of evil’ instead. William Ashbrook [musicologist] recognized Puccini as a portraitist who honed lifelike characters. Even the smaller characters like the Sacristan (‘an avaricious hypocrite’), Angelotti (exhausted but proud-spirited escapee) and Spoletta (when Scarpia says ‘jump’ he asks how high a perfect minion) are miniature studies of human nature. ‘Tosca’, in his opinion, is a portrait gallery of real-life people.

Floria Tosca [soprano]

For some unfathomable reason, ‘Tosca’ is defined as a melodrama, which is totally different from how it feels with its darkness and the fact that everybody of significance dies in the end. Wiki says melodrama is ‘a dramatic work in which the plot, which is typically sensational and designed to appeal strongly to the emotions’ - basically, plot over characters. Instead, [scenic] tragedy (defined by Google) is ‘a play dealing with tragic events and having an unhappy ending, especially one concerning the downfall of the main character’.

The latter is literally the plot of ‘Tosca’, especially as the title character undergoes a whole set of the most traumatic experiences (concessions to conscience, attempted rape, murder in defense, witnessing torture and execution of a loved one) in a span of just several hours. This set of experiences naturally draws a basis for her downfall (literally): under stress and with no opportunity to think thoroughly, it is not surprising that Tosca commits suicide.

She is strong-willed and passionate, pure-hearted (which is probably why she doesn’t see through Scarpia’s schemes) but not stupid, loyal but also jealous. More out of habit, if we to believe Julian Budden [opera scholar]:

[Cavaradossi, act I, scene 5] Mia gelosa! [My jealous [Tosca]!]

[Tosca] Si, lo sento, ti tormento, senza posa. [Yes, I feel it, I torment you unceasingly.]

All in all, she is a harmonious character in dire circumstances, and it’s a true delight to observe how Tosca, despite how broken and devastated she is, finds the power to oppose her offender. This is the real plot twist (character twist?) of the opera - and I assume the reason that ‘Vissi d’arte’, Tosca’s major aria (an emotional plea of a character who is about to betray her very self) is so well-known and recognized.

Mario Cavaradossi [tenor]

In comparison with Tosca, Cavaradossi is a deceptive character. At first glance he might appear rather flat: nothing more than a loyal lover and a proud revolutionary. Upon closer inspection, however, the audience discovers liveliness and realism many male operatic characters severely lack: he jokes with Tosca instead of oh-so-common sickeningly sweet sighs of love. He knows her flaw of being prone to jealousy - but doesn’t take it too close to heart. He listens to her without interruption as she tells him about Scarpia’s advances (for sure, I was waiting for a hateful scene where he would scream ‘how could you’ at his lover and bang his head against a wall). And he actually knows how to appreciate that she willingly sacrificed her purity for his sake (and he sings an aria about it, too: ‘O dolci mani’ [‘Oh, sweet hands’]).

Besides the believable romance with Tosca, Cavaradossi has excellent dynamics with Scarpia. As the news of Napoleon’s victory arrive, Mario - once tortured - cannot resist the urge to relish in how stars turned for his nemesis:

[Cavaradossi, act II, scene 4] Vittoria! Vittoria! L’alba vindice appar che fa gli empi tremar! Libertà sorge, crollan tirannidi! [Victory! Victory! The avenging dawn now rises to make the wicked tremble! And liberty returns, the scourge of tyrants!]

Tosca tries to stop his prideful speech, aware of how this flows right into Scarpia’s intention to lock revolutionary Cavaradossi up. But Mario is lost in his surging emotions and forgets both himself and his lover at this moment - truly a detail each of us can relate to.

And also Cavaradossi seems to know that his death is not going to be faked - a twist that no one but pure-hearted Tosca is fooled by. He doesn’t believe in Scarpia’s generosity for a moment, and so he doesn’t even try to pretend he is surprised but ironically ridicules the mere idea of a magnanimous villain:

[Cavaradossi, act III, scene 3] Scarpia che cede? La prima sua grazia è questa… [Scarpia yields? This is his first act of clemency…]

Unbelieving but relieved by Tosca’s appearance and intoxicated by her hopeful rambling, Mario chooses to spend his last moments languishing in her presence: he doesn’t want to spoil this time for neither of them. Beniamino Gigli [opera singer, performed as Cavaradossi] wrote in his autobiography that ‘[Mario] is certain that these are their last moments together on earth, and that he is about to die’.

This interpretation of the character is common among the opera singers:

Unlike Floria, Cavaradossi knows that Scarpia never yields, though he pretends to believe in order to delay the pain for Tosca.

Tito Gobbi [opera singer and director]

However, instead of displaying understandable despair, Cavaradossi falls back to his original optimistic self and starts to subtly mock Tosca’s attempts to teach him how to die theatrically. She replies with ‘non ridere’ [‘you mustn’t laugh’], and he softly reassures her. They’re just so sweet together without the usual operatic mawkishness.

(I suspect Tosca is not entirely convinced of their unscathed escape from the clutches of now-dead Scarpia, as well. No wonder she feels uncomfortable at the prolonged preparations.)

Baron Scarpia [baritone]

The villain of this story was actually the first among the main cast to catch my attention. Scarpia is just so explicitly entertaining in his sardonic wickedness. Still, I can see how he could be interpreted as the least 3-dimensional of the three.

Scarpia is a clever interrogator and a talented manipulator. He knows where to hit and when to push to get the answers he needs. Pressing Tosca more and more, he breaks through her defenses until she is frustrated and annoyed to the point of losing her self-control:

[Scarpia, act II, scene 4] L’Attavanti non era dunque alla villa? [So, the Attavanti was not at the villa?]

[Tosca] No, egli era solo. [No, he was alone.]

[Scarpia] Solo? Ne siete ben sicura? [Alone? Are you quite sure?]

[Tosca] Nulla sfugge ai gelosi. Solo! Solo! [Nothing escapes a jealous eye. Alone. Alone!]

[Scarpia] Davver? [Indeed!]

[Tosca] Solo, sì! [Yes. Alone!]

[Scarpia] Quanto fuoco! Par che abbiate paura di tradirvi. [You protest too much! Perhaps you fear you may betray yourself.]

Tosca, with her passionate, fiery temperament, explodes - Scarpia knows about this peculiarity all too well and is able to use her outburst as a clue in his investigation. He continues the pressure all through act II: Mario is tortured, and Tosca is forced to listen to his agony. She eventually crumbles, unable to persevere in keeping Mario’s secret:

[Tosca, act II, scene 4] Nel pozzo… nel giardino… [In the well… in the garden…]

This confession is so succinct, just like the rest of the dialogue in this opera. Tosca doesn’t say ‘wait, I’ll tell you everything’, doesn’t try to play for time; she just betrays the whole thing in two short phrases, without specifying what she means. There’s no need: they’re on the same page.

And then Scarpia goes one step beyond and acknowledges his villainous ways, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing but makes him a bit more caricature. Delightfully so, but still. While Tosca nurtures released Cavaradossi to conscience, Baron cunningly waits for the opportune moment, and strikes, ordering Spoletta to bring in Angelotti. He gloats at Cavaradossi, smugness dripping off of him: see, she betrayed your trust! Mario, tortured, exhausted, half-conscious, falls for it, throwing Tosca’s hands away:

[Scarpia, act II, scene 4] Nel pozzo… del giardino. Va, Spoletta. [In the well… In the garden. Get him, Spoletta.]

[Cavaradossi] Ah! M’hai tradito! [Ah, you have betrayed me!]

Cavaradossi picks this up from the dialogue between Scarpia and Spoletta - again, no one clarifies anything. Like you do in real life. Subtlety y’all.

Now that the villain has Cavaradossi locked up and preparations for his execution in progress, he is one step away from getting what he wanted from the start. Tosca consents to sleep with him but still cannot conceal her hatred, unavoidable ‘you can have my body but not my heart’ trope, which doesn’t stop his lust in the least - on the contrary, inflames him more:

[Scarpia, act II, scene 5] Che importa? Spasimi d’ira, spasimi d’amore! [What does it matter? Spasms of wrath or spasms of passion…]

Naturally, when Scarpia is finally killed by Tosca, the audience is bound to feel satisfaction and not regret. Even Floria, the established virtuous character, has no shame as she recognizes Scarpia as the ultimate threat:

[Tosca, act II, scene 5] Ti soffoca il sangue? Muori dannato! Muori! Muori! Muori! È morto! Or gli perdono! E avanti a lui tremava tutta Roma! [Is your blood choking you? Die accursed! Die! Die! Die! He is dead! And now I pardon him! All Rome trembled before him!]

But Scarpia is a disillusioned aristocrat rather than a one-dimensional villain. What lets him gain more flesh is his motivations - get rid of the rebels (for power rather than ideological considerations) and get the girl (personal gain), - his backstory and notoriety among the revolutionaries, working relationships with other characters and the fact that he continues to live through his actions (arguably the main theme of the opera). Even when dead, Scarpia continues to serve as a villain of the story: Mario dies, and Tosca shouts her curses at him:

[Tosca, act III, scene 4] O Scarpia, avanti a Dio! [Oh, Scarpia, [we meet] before God!]

This gives weight to the character as Baron doesn’t disappear as soon as he dies. His life and death both have consequences. His actions have lasting power - a feature that fictional villains far too commonly neglect.

Even though Scarpia possesses some cartoonish features, he is far from being as simple as Wile E. Coyote. Meep meep.

Vissi d’arte [finally, let’s talk music]

Riccardo Manci ‘Mario Cavaradossi singing ‘E lucevan le stelle’, inspired by the tenor Giancarlo Monsalve’, 2014

William Ashbrook described Puccini’s music as ‘telegraphic’ and ‘highly charged’. The reason behind such an impression is the combination of several major leitmotifs that interact, evolve and explain the story. Fugitive motif, love of Tosca and Mario, Scarpia’s theme, torture motif, Tosca’s theme and Cavaradossi’s farewell to life are used as a patchwork that tells the story. These leitmotifs - what Edward Greenfield [music critic] calls ‘Grand Tune’ concept - are memorable and unique, as well as quite distinct from their musical surroundings:

Puccini does not develop or modify his motifs, nor weave them into the music symphonically, but uses them to refer to characters, objects and ideas, and as reminders within the narrative.

Burton Fisher ‘Tosca: Opera Study Guide and Libretto’

Torture motif is one succinct example of how a single simple melody is used to pump up the mood. It first appears as a foreshadowing with Scarpia’s forming intention as he learns Cavaradossi was taken into custody:

[Scarpia, act II, scene 2] Meno male! [Not bad, not bad!]

It grows more and more pronounced as Cavaradossi is questioned - threatening but not quite powerful yet. On the backdrop, Tosca’s cantata also gains volume and solemnity - pure delight mixed with anticipation of terror:

[Scarpia, act II, scene 3] Questo è luogo di lagrime! Badate! Or basta! Rispondete! [Beware! This is a place for tears! Enough now. Answer me!]

And the theme finally loses its careful insinuative tone and thunders at full volume when Scarpia orders Mario into the torture chamber, right before Tosca’s eyes:

[Scarpia, act II, scene 4] Mario Cavaradossi, qual testimone il Giudice vi aspetta. [Mario Cavaradossi, the judge awaits your testimony.]

The melody elaborates with Mario’s torture heard from off-stage, reaching its breaking point as Tosca breaks and reveals Angelotti’s hiding. It repeats again after Mario is released - slow and woeful, intertwined with Tosca’s and Mario’s love theme that is now devoid of its previous light hopefulness.

Statue of Michael the Archangel, Castel Sant'Angelo, 2018

I love how music acts as a separate character in the opera. It talks to the characters, responds to them, inquires and leads the conversation. In act I, while Cavaradossi sings about his love to Tosca, the Sacristan reprovingly grumbles about obscene youth on the background. Besides, here lies the great benefit of veristic [realistic] opera that allows the characters to have duologues - Mario and Floria sing their lines separately in a conversational form rather than a boring duet.

Music gives the opportunities of quieter moments, to talk in phrases but also in gestures. During act II, Tosca uses gestures a number of times to answer Scarpia: a nod of the head, a wave; subtle yet expressive. They nearly don’t talk while Scarpia writes her a letter of safe passage. This quiet scene also allows Tosca’s character to unfold, her decision to feel earned. She sees the knife, she hesitates a moment; then she grabs it and hides behind her back: the decision is made. No words necessary; the score allows the characters to be silent while it tells and develops their story.

And it also allows the characters to talk all at once, without listening to each other. By the middle of Act II, as they learn about the battle of Marengo, Mario starts to shout about victory, Tosca tries to shut him up, and Scarpia reels about hanging the revolutionary. They clamor; chaos ensues, and music supports the flurry of eddying noises by playing disparate motifs. The best part about this scene is that it delivers the message loud and clear, on both levels of plot and emotions.

Talking about Puccini’s score, it’s impossible to ignore the musical cohesion and integrity: each of the three main characters has their theme and their own designated aria that allows them to shine. Moreover, as each of their arias happen once per act, I enjoy the interpretation of their dominance: Scarpia in act I, Tosca in act II, Cavaradossi in act III.

Act I. Scarpia’s ‘Te Deum’: lust, menace, church bells

The theme of the villain is played out in contrasts that reflect his character: cunning and smart - but ruthless and just on this side of crazy. Scarpia is also a figure of power, both literally and figuratively, and he is foreshadowed in the score long before the actual appearance of the character on stage. As Baron is first mentioned in the conversation of Angelotti and Cavaradossi, his dark theme abruptly breaks through the much less strident music:

[Angelotti, act I, scene 6] Tutto ella ha osato onde sottrarmi a Scarpia scellerato! [She has dared all to save me from that scoundrel Scarpia!]

Immediately, this menacing ascending theme is associated with the villain. Later, as he enters the stage, no one calls him by his name, yet the audience immediately recognizes him as Scarpia as he is accompanied by that same simple motif.

The appearance of Baron sobers and darkens the mood instantly, his leitmotif invading other themes unscrupulously. Establishing yet another contrast, his conversation with Tosca is escorted by the tolling of bells that lasts till the end of act I. Scarpia raves about his poison spreading through Tosca’s thoughts, and his unnerving, acrid soliloquy transforms into the solemn Adagio religioso in ‘Te Deum’.

This superposition of profane lust of a ferocious man and sacred sublimity of the Catholic chant is what makes the audience shudder. The final ‘Te aeternum Patrem omnis terra veneratur’ [‘Everlasting Father, all the earth worships thee’] should be the solemn virtuous hymn to God but instead the act ends with Scarpia’s theme reiterated in thunderous chords - an ominous admonition of impending threat. Brilliant. Act I definitely belongs to Scarpia.

Act II. Tosca’s ‘Vissi d’arte’: plea of a broken soul

Second act is all about tempo. The action rushes forward non-stop. Scarpia gives Tosca less and less time to think, to estimate her situation, pushing her to her into the abyss (count how many falling jokes I make through this post). However, he misjudges Tosca’s limits and pushes her just a bit too far.

The point of no return for Tosca is her aria where she asks God why she has to endure all this suffering.

[Tosca, act II, scene 5] Vissi d’arte, vissi d’amore, non feci mai male ad anima viva! […] Nell’ora del dolore perché, perché, Signore, perché me ne rimuneri cosi? [I lived for art, I lived for love: never did I harm a living creature! [...] In this hour of pain, why, why, oh Lord, why dost Thou repay me thus?]

The score is lyrical, slow and wailing as Tosca mourns her faith. The aria ends with a low sob that is nearly spoken with raw emotion instead of sang. (Fun fact: while today the opera is probably most well-known for this aria, Puccini didn’t really like it and wanted to cut it out of the opera altogether; in all honesty, it does lack the musical potency of ‘Te Deum’ and ‘E lucevan le stelle’ even though it’s a palatable piece that delivers the idea of character deconstruction rather well.)

Tosca is left completely broken. Modern sopranos commonly fall to their knees while performing this aria, and there’s a good reason: when Tosca finally finds the power to stand up, she is a different woman. For me, this is when the main plot twist happens: usually, heroines in operas are meek and hesitant instead of decisive and offensive. Tosca breaks the pattern and shoves the knife through her offender’s ribcage. She owns act II.

Act III. Cavaradossi’s ‘E lucevan le stelle’: I die in despair

This aria is so renown even people who dislike opera have heard it at some point. It starts with a subtle, tender clarinet solo (possibly the most well-known operatic clarinet theme of all times). The melody is forced up but then sags, losing its power. It’s the pace of destiny, dragging and sorrowful, measuring what little time Cavaradossi has left. This is Andante lento composed in minor key and slow tempo - something that Mosco Carner [musicologist and conductor] calls ‘Puccinian lament, reserved for a character in an extreme situation - death or suicide’. Perfect to denote present anguished dolor.

Mario meditatively recites the first two lines, which feels like an improvisation. The audience witnesses an extremely intimate although fragmentary memory that ends in a grieving ‘muoio disperato’ [‘I die in despair’]:

Puccini insisted on the inclusion of these words, and later stated that admirers of the aria had treble cause to be grateful to him: for composing the music, for having the lyrics written, and ‘for declining expert advice to throw the result in the waste-paper basket’.

William Ashbrook ‘The Operas of Puccini’

Bravo, maestro!

I dislike the currently popular hysterical sobbing at the end of the aria that can be heard from modern tenors (e.g, in staging of ‘Tosca’ at La Scala). It sounds as a ‘hoquet tragique’ [‘tragic hiccup’] that jumps out too much and is slightly out of character - such rendering is more appropriate for Tosca’s character not Cavaradossi’s.

Still, this is arguably the most beautiful, heart-wrenching lyrical aria I’ve ever heard; I’m literally still not over it, after 3 whole years of listening to it, sometimes on repeat. Also, Placido Domingo is the best Cavaradossi, shut up I’m not wrong (1976 film starring him and Raina Kabaivanska is wildly enjoyable).

As a bonus, act III (specifically its beginning and ending) deserve an honorable mention. Despite where the plot says the most dramatic moment of the plot is, for me, it’s the beginning of act III. Here’s the pinnacle of the opera: the contrast between the serene aria of a shepherd boy accompanied by the love motif - and the grim, heavy, shuddering theme of Cavaradossi’s farewell that the orchestra splashes on you as if it is a bucket of ice cold water. The music swells - you wait for the volume to stop growing, but instead it just tears through your eardrums.

The timpani are impossibly good for this piece. Intruding the peaceful, pastoral Roman morning full of hopeful dreams and the colors of sunrise, they suddenly throw the audience into the pit of pure unadulterated horror. Trembling and vibrating on low frequencies, they gift you with the feeling of earth opening under your feet, sucking you into the dark depths you’ll never get out of to see light - say farewell to life.

Similarly, the ending is extremely powerful. The drums start slowly at first, setting the rhythm. Before Cavaradossi’s execution, the orchestra is subtle and insinuating; it accrues and thickens in its vicious predictions. After the shots, as Tosca discovers Mario’s death, the tempo breaks through the roof. The music is desperately, deafeningly loud, it screams of tragedy. And, well, I am aware of the plot of the opera by now, but I’m caught off guard every time. I blame this on music. It just so perfectly reflects the mood of the events; it’s pure gorgeousness that gets to my very core every time.

There’s another point of criticism I need to mention in regard to the final theme that ends the opera: against logic, it is Cavaradossi’s farewell instead of more fitting love theme or, even more appropriately, Scarpia’s motif. This I cannot disagree with as, plot-wise, using this theme would provide the dramatic closure for the opera. However, given my love for theme of farewell, I cannot find the heart to dislike Puccini’s choice after all. Act III is largely focused on Cavaradossi, and the finale acknowledges this.

...Undoubtedly, Puccini was a genius. It’s not easy to comprehend the mastery with which he weaved a handful of simple motifs into a powerful story I cannot stop listening to. But also, there’s this:

Puccini’s sense of humor was often of the schoolboy variety, and he found risqué musical puns irresistible. In Act II of the opera, after Spoletta has assured Scarpia that ‘everything is ready’ for the execution of Cavaradossi, the Chief of Police turns to Tosca and softly asks, ‘Ebbene?’—’Well?’ She says nothing, and the score tells us that she indicates her submission by nodding her head. But at her silent reply the orchestra, anticipating the two-note theme of the ‘execution’ motif, plays the two-note phrase, A and C, or in Italian solfeggio, La and Do. The syllables, in addition to being musical symbols, also happen to be words in Italian: the words ‘La do’ mean ‘I'm giving it,’ and it is the usual way for women to say, I'm ready to give ‘it’ (to you).

Susan Vandiver Nicassio ‘Ten Things You Didn’t Know about Tosca’

It is quite possible there’s more of such minutiae. I’m not sure how to feel about a piece that simultaneously cracks me up and throws me into a pit of despair. But I definitely like it - that much I know.

Castel Sant’Angelo, 2018

Recondita armonia [some fun trivia]

The tone of the dialogue was elevated quite a bit. Get this: comforting Cavaradossi after he was tortured, Tosca says ‘Ma il giusto Iddio lo punirá’ [‘But a just God will punish [Scarpia]’]. The initial line was ‘Ma il sozzo sbirro lo pagherà’ [‘But the filthy cop will pay for it’]. Far less distinguished, my dear.

Puccini visited Rome specifically to mimic the early morning bells. Kudos for authenticity. Also, initially, the composer spent an ungodly amount of money to cast the bells he needed for the performance of ‘Tosca’. The orchestras till today have difficulties satisfying the composer’s vision.

Sarah Bernhardt, an actress who became the prototype for Tosca in Sardou’s play, while performing in Rio de Janeiro in 1905, injured her leg in the final scene when jumping from the rampart. As a result of poor treatment, she lost her leg ten years later. Gory.

Two of the most famous opera singers chose this opera as their farewell: Maria Callas as Tosca gave her last performance in 1965, and Luciano Pavarotti as Mario Cavaradossi in 2004.

In one of the performances with Placido Domingo as Mario Cavaradossi, his son was featured as a shepherd boy.

Before Puccini got to write ‘Tosca’, Giuseppe Verdi expressed his interest. He didn’t like the ending though and wanted it changed - I think we’ve barely avoided another ‘La Traviata’ there, oof.

Oscar Wilde saw ‘La Tosca’ and believed the torture scene was great as it showed how far people can go (no wonder; he was working on ‘Salome’ that evoked indignant discontent of the critics in a similar fashion). George Bernard Shaw also saw the play and, while disliking it utterly, still predicted it would be great as an opera.

In Sardou’s play, Cavaradossi gained a reputation of a Bonapartist in large part because of his mustache. That’s the conclusion I’ve made after seeing these two quotes: ‘Even his mustache was suspect’ and ‘Tosca’s confessor told her it marked him as a revolutionary’. This is gold.

#opera #puccini #tosca #IMHO #why criticism #lots of rambling #greatest opera ever #i don't understand why critics abuse it

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