Ten Miles and Worlds Apart

Vivien Ferrars

Description

In 1925, in a small church at the outskirts of Turin, Pier Venturi sings at mass each Sunday, his pure voice lending exquisite grace to the familiar litany of prayers. Pier's talents do not go unnoticed for long, and the day he rides his bicycle into the city centre for the first time, anxiously anticipating a place in the grand cathedral choir, his life changes forever. With his eyes opened to the glittering life of the gentry, his budding love for opera develops into a burning desire for the theatre, for literature, for music - in short, for a cultured lifeawakening in him a passion he could never have imagined. Meantime, at the FIAT car factory where he works, his incipient refinement catches the eye of the beautiful Lena with its echoes of the perceived perfections of her first - and lost - love, a scion of a Florence haute bourgeoisie family, whom he re-joins at the end of his legal studies in Turin. Pier and Lena soon fall deeply in love, but this love becomes for Pier a further source of conflict and guilt because her sweet and simple working-class desires clash with his passionate craving for a cultured life. As operatic fame beckons and a sultry mezzosoprano stirs Pier in all the wrong ways, he must decide where his true aspirations lie and overcome the crushing burden of suspicion, mistrust and self-doubt that is the legacy of his brutish and unhappy childhood.

Sujets

• Historical romance
• Historical fiction

Informations

• Publié par: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Date de parution: 08 janvier 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781528982016
• Langue: English

Extrait

Ten Miles and Worlds Apart
Of Human Vice and Valour Vol. 2
Vivien Ferrars
Austin Macauley Publishers
2021-01-08
Ten Miles and Worlds Apart About The Author Dedication Copyright Information © Acknowledgement Epigraph Chapter One: Pier At home with Nina First foray downtown Pier discovers opera Chapter Two: Lena Pier goes back to the theatre Pier at La Speransa Chapter Three: Lena’s Sunday Pier meets Matilde Agiati Matilde’s coaching Afternoon on the river Chapter Four: Farm and Church conflict Dancing under the stars Don Marco’s upset Guido Don Marco lays down the law Chapter Five: The citification of Pier The Niclin Fête Pier at ël Caval ёd Bronz Guido’s malaise A flea in Lena’s ear Hammer and Sickle Chapter Six: Guido obsesses Town and Country romance Stalking Lena Lena at I Tigli Lena changes jobs Pier meets Lena Chapter Seven: Falling in love Lena’s dilemma: Carlin or Pier Pier asks Lena to the Duomo Lena’s dilemma: Carlin Lena at the Duomo Lena’s dilemma: Carlin again Chapter Eight: Matilde and Rexel: Pier’s audition Pier’s bad mood and Adelaide’s anger Lena’s nightmare Don Marco’s offer Pier and Lena’s first reconciliation Chapter Nine: Matilde’s misgivings Don Marco follows up Matilde seeks out Pier Pier and Lena: first exposure to literature Two old foxes: Rexel and Don Marco Don Marco fumes Chapter Ten: Pier, Don Marco, and Rexel Pier tells his News Pier at the Convivio Pier’s news at La Speransa Chapter Eleven: First week of Advent Pier visits Collegio Sacro Cuore Pier proposes Pier moves into Collegio Sacro Cuore Chapter Twelve: La Tampa Lirica Pier’s second visit to the Convivio Pier and Rexel work out his program Pier’s first class at Sacro Cuore Guido investigates the Convivio Piers meets Melina Cortesi Guido intimidates Matilde The roots of Guido’s malice Chapter Thirteen: Pier at La Tampa Lirica After the triumph Guilt, doubt and love Guido investigates Sacro Cuore Rehearsing Carmen Chapter Fourteen: The long reach of fear Reconciliation Anticipation: Villa della Rovere Matilde on Lena Recital at Villa della Rovere Chapter Fifteen: Melina’s invitation A bad rehearsal Lena at La Speranza Don Marco’s advice Pier’s muddle Don Marcello becomes a friend Chapter Sixteen: Pier’s discovery Attempted rape Epilogue
About The Author
Vivien Ferrars is the pseudonym of a doctor who has spent 40 years promoting healthy consciousness development at two Harvard Medical School hospitals as well as in private practice until she retired to devote herself to full-time writing.
Dedication
This book is for
Alexander McCall Smith
who tempers lucidity with
kindliness, wit and grace
Copyright Information ©
Vivien Ferrars (2021)
The right of Vivien Ferrars to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by the author in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.
Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.
ISBN 9781528981996 (Paperback)
ISBN 9781528982009 (Hardback)
ISBN 9781528982016 (ePub e-book)
www.austinmacauley.com
First Published (2021)
Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd
25 Canada Square
Canary Wharf
London
E14 5LQ
Acknowledgement
The first idea for what was to become Of Human Vice and Valour arose from childhood memories of musical gatherings in my parents’ home, on the one hand and, on the other, from memories of brief encounters during summer holidays in the Alps and in the Turin countryside. I only wish that I could thank all the real-life people who inspired the totally fictional characters in this novel. But almost a century having gone by, the best I can do is remember the impressions their realities left in me and dedicate my fiction to their vague and elusive memory.
A further inspiration came from Emily Carle’s autobiography, Une Soupe aux Herbes Sauvages, which provided the idea for the character of Maté. I must also acknowledge Thomas Hardy, Balzac, Verga, Roger Martin du Gard, Galsworthy, Bertold Brecht and Thomas Mann as literary precursors.
More immediately, I want to thank all the people who helped me through the long process of incubation, gestation and final bringing to life of story and characters alike. Among them, I include Vera Bertolini, Raffaello Emaldi and Patrizia Chiesa of Noste Reis, who introduced me to the mysteries of Piemontèis orthography and grammar; my dear friend and fellow poet and horseman Bott Ikeler for uncomplainingly reading the endless first draft and suggesting a more prominent role in the novel for the political climate of the time; my piano teacher who advised me on musical details; fellow writer Jennifer Bresnick for supplying moral support and computer literacy where mine failed; long-term friend and fellow scholar Gillian Gill for commenting on the first draft; Roger Vande Wiele for capturing the spirit of the novel in his book cover, and Greta Smagghe for her friendly and unfailing technical assistance.
Last, in terms of process sequence but certainly not for their much-valued contribution, I thank the editorial and production staff at Austin Macauley for actually bringing the novel into the light of day.
To all and all, my heartfelt thanks.
Epigraph
Give me peace, my harsh thoughts:
is it not enough that Love, Fortune and Death
all war around me, even at my very door,
without me finding other warriors within me?
And you, my heart, are you still as pure as you once were?
Disloyal to me alone, that you go search out
fierce escorts, and become the ally
of my enemies – all too swift and nimble.
In you Love spells out its secret messages,
in you Fortune flaunts its every splendour
and Death replays the memory of that blow
that might break what’s left of me;
in you every graceful thought becomes entrenched in error:
and I blame you alone for my every pain.
Francesco Petrarca
Chapter One
…Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken…
John Keats

Pier
On that Sunday in the winter of 1925, the borough church of Santa Rita, on the outskirts of Turin, was full despite the numbing cold. High mass always brought out the best attendance of the week, perhaps because, starting at ten in the morning, it allowed the faithful to sleep in on their one day of rest. Or perhaps it was because its choir, Don Carlo’s own creation and joy, lightened the burden of the Sunday obligation.
Stepping aside from the altar for the sung Kyrie, Don Carlo scanned his flock. The congregation settled back in the seats with the usual shuffling and nose blowing. In the front pews sat the Asilo nuns, for once not in charge of snotty pre-schoolers. Next came knots of devout black-scarved women, heads bowed over praying hands, and after them came the Figlie di Maria with their light blue sashes; and behind them family groups, distracted by fidgeting offsprings. And at the very back, the men, hats in hand, crowded together against the portals, as though reluctant to admit their presence in the house of God.
Don Carlo folded his hands in front of him, closed his eyes and waited.
In the choir section, a tenor voice rose in a solo, and the congregation went quiet. Old women wiped away tears. Girls craned their necks for a better look at the handsome singer. Even the men poised by the door seemed, for a moment, to forget the cafés awaiting them just across the square.
The voice was young, now and then a bit tentative on the high notes, but the Latin vowels gave it scope and it quickly gained in confidence. The high notes now soared with the thrilling clarity of a boy soprano, but the lower register had a virile amplitude that was almost shocking.
Handsome blond head thrown back, blue-grey eyes raised to the vaulted ceiling, the singer seemed to offer his listeners a glimpse of heaven. Throughout the Gloria , the Sanctus and the Agnus Dei, the clear, resonant voice rose again and again in a reverent silence.
As soon as the celebrant disappeared through the dark cotton portières at the end of the service, the harmonium wheezed to a halt, and the men and boys of the choir gathered up their scores, preparing to file out into the vestry in their turn. Just beyond the portières, they came upon Don Carlo, on the lookout for the singer he wanted.
“Pier,” he said, when the young tenor appeared, “come to my office before you leave. I need to talk to you.”
None of the choristers spoke, but the ripple of tension showed in the glares that followed the lanky, scruffy youth. Pier shuffled by Don Carlo with a bare nod, shoulders hunched, ears blazing, hurrying to his place at the back of the choir’s narrow dressing area. What can I have done wrong ? he wondered, yanking his surplice over his head. His mind ran through the Sanctus, lingering on the spots where he’d stumbled in the past. He couldn’t spot anything wrong. Around him, cassocks were hung on pegs, surplices folded and thrust onto shelves as the singers piled into street clothes – coats, scarves, hats and galoshes – all the while keeping up a steady flow of chatter. “The price of wood’s up again…”
“Taking advantage of this bitter weather.”
“If it were just the price of wood! Everything’s going up.”
“These days money doesn’t buy what it used to.”
“Can’t make soccer practice this afternoon, I have a pensum due tomorrow and Father Giacomo wi