Melodic Mistress

Melodic Mistress

         Enio Martino was ten years old. Ten year old boys played ball, climbed trees, or swam in the deep pool at the river. Trapped in Maestro Ragazio’s parlor with the violin tucked under his chin, Enio’s mind wandered.

         “That’s bread I smell from Mrs. Ragazio’s kitchen. There is still time to join Franco and Sergio at the river. How long have I been here?”.

         It was apparent that this was not where Enio wanted to be. However, the Maestro's parlor had always proven to be a pleasant place. It offered a cool place during the heat of summer and warmth amidst the cold winter winds. But, as Enio executed the violin exercise by rote, he wished he were somewhere else.

         He drew the bow across the strings of the violin. The sound that was produced was right -- yet it was not right. It lacked feeling and passion. It was the sound that came from the violin of a boy who wanted to be elsewhere.

         Enio had been coming weekly to Maestro Ragazio for three years. His father was not wealthy, but he saw the promise in his son and made the sacrifice for the weekly lessons. He considered it fortunate, indeed, that Maestro Ragazio taught the children of Lorentino out of his love for music rather than as a means of support.

         A few -- a very few children exhibited true talent. Even those who possessed a gift for the violin seemed to let it atrophy as they grew older. Very few of the children embraced the violin as a passion that would remain with them through their adult years. Rico Ragazio had become accustomed to the excitement of a new find and the disappointment of lost opportunity.

         He had returned to the village to finish his years. He was not old. He was mature. He was a man of 57 years. He had performed in the concert halls of Europe since he was 18 years old. In his youth he had been known as the phenomenon who came from the little town of Lorentino. Today, he served as the Maestro. Most people respected him and some had come to revere him. But mostly Rico was a tired and weary man. His return to Lorentino had been his salvation.

         Life in Lorentino was lived at a simpler and slower pace than that of the concert circuit. Surely, it was not as glamorous. However, glamour grows pale when constantly thrust before a person. The excitement of the crowds became redundant and unrewarding as they became common. Fortunately, his music constantly refreshed him. His dear old friend, the violin, remained his constant companion and confidant. Rico’s wife referred to it as his “Melodic Mistress,” to which Rico had long since agreed.

         Another pull of the bow produced another sound from the violin. Rico thoughtfully considered his young student. “Remarkable, without much effort he produces a pleasant sound from the violin. Does he realize how remarkable he is?”

         Occasionally, Enio demonstrated prophetic flashes of potential. In those moments Rico perceived that the music had penetrated the restless and boisterous boyishness and revealed the soul of the artist that was still unrefined in Enio. If only Rico could awaken Enio to the passion of the music that he knew was laying dormant within him.

         Rico’s forehead furrowed as he absently continued to pursue the challenge in this young boy. “What words can I say? What actions can I do?” Rico had asked himself these questions before regarding countless talented young students.

         Enio continued to coax the music from the stubborn violin. It was a contest between him and the violin. He would win if he could finish the piece and gain Maestro’s nod of approval. He would lose if he stopped before the piece was supposed to end. He and his violin were two competing personalities. He was near the end of the piece…almost there.

         “Enio, stop!” Maestro Ragazio interrupted the contest. “What are you doing?”

         “I’m playing the piece, Maestro.”

         “No Enio, you are attacking the piece. You are being a gladiator. You are stalking it like a predator.” Rico waited to let his words settle on Enio’s consciousness.

         “I know no other way to do it. I see the notes on the page and I play them. If I get them right I win.” Enio responded defensively.

         "Enio, the violin is not your adversary.” Rico gently took the violin from Enio’s shoulder. Was it the same violin? In the Maestro’s hand it looked right. It looked in harmony. It looked as if it belonged there.

         “Enio, you are young; but I must tell you this now. Maybe when you are older you will understand better. But, try to understand if you can.” The Maestro sat down so that he could look directly into the young boy’s eyes. He held the violin tenderly in his hands.

         “The violin is not your adversary, Enio. The violin is your mistress. She is a melodic mistress who responds to your touch and your emotions. Hold her gently and she will respond tenderly. Treat her roughly and she will speak angrily. Caress each note. Don’t coax the music, allow it to be. My young Enio, you will have many loves in your life before it is over. The violin will never leave you. She will be faithful in all times, all conditions, and all circumstances. The two of you will have an affair with music. Learn this now Enio, and it will remain with you forever.”

         The Maestro handed the violin back to Enio. The young boy accepted it with a different touch. “Now go on to your home, Enio. We have done enough for this lesson.”

         At ten years old, Enio did not understand all of what the Maestro had said. However, he percieved the significance of the message of tenderness in Maestro Ragazio’s feelings for the violin. He purposed to try harder. He purposed to become friends with the violin. Maybe, if he did that, it would someday have the significance to which his Maestro alluded. Maybe someday it would be his melodic mistress.

         Enio continued to visit Rico for his weekly lessons. Year after year the young boy honed his skills. With each passing year Rico witnessed the deepening love affair which grew between Enio and the violin. A young boy with talent grew into a young man with passion, which was evident in his music. Each time he placed his violin into position, it was as if love's first courtship was beginning. Enio came to understand what Maestro Ragazio had shared with him so many years before. She had become his Melodic Mistress. Time spent apart from the violin and the music was unfulfilled time. The time spent engulfed in the music that came from the union of Enio and his violin was more than passionate. It seemed to be life’s essence.

         Enio sat in the dressing room reserved just for him. He had been away from home for two years, studying and playing the smaller concert halls of the region. He smiled at the announcement that he read in the paper:

         “Nineteen year old Enio Martino, the phenomena from Lorentino, will be appearing at the Great Hall this Saturday for one performance only. This is the first time he has appeared in Naples and the first time that he has ever been the featured performer.”

         He was the focus of conversation at all the conservatories. Although, he was not known well by the general populace, tonight would change that. Tonight he would play his violin for dignitaries, celebrities, and music aficionados who had come from all of Italy to experience his music. He glanced at his violin laying in the open case near his dressing table.

         “Are you as excited and nervous as I am,” he wondered? “Will you respond to me tonight?”

         He placed his hand on the bridge of the violin and closed his eyes. In his mind the melody of his music swelled around him. Together they negotiated the runs of notes and emotions promised in the music.

         A knock on the door interrupted his silent rehearsal. “Yes?” Enio responded to the knock behind the door.

         “Seniore Martino, it is time,” the stage boy announced

         It was time. Enio gathered himself and his mistress and walked to the stage entrance. The orchestra was prepared. They had performed two shorter pieces as an introduction to his performance. All eyes were on the curtain where Enio would enter from the left. It was time. He walked to center stage. A warm applause welcomed him.

         Enio whispered in a soft voice, “It is time my melodic mistress. Let us share the beauty of our affair with the entire world.”

         He placed the violin in position with a smooth gentle motion. He held her firmly, yet respectfully. He drew the bow down the strings -- and they sang.

         The crowd was captivated. They were enfolded with the melodic beauty of the combined efforts of the artist and the instrument. There were no flaws in the music. There was no room for them. Every emotion that could be evoked by the sound of music was present. Enio caressed the strings and blended the motion of the bow with skill and tenderness. Movement after movement passed. The audience held their breath and their applause, afraid to break the spell that was cast upon them and not wanting to. The performance of the last movement mesmerized the audience. Tears crept into the corners of eyes; smiles formed spontaneously; and emotion flooded to faces bringing blushes and roses to cheeks. His melodic mistress had captivated them and him also, again. He finished the piece and then it was over.

         Silence -- It was as if no one wanted to intrude on what they had just heard. Enio stood there watching the audience. And then one solitary soul began to clap, and then another, and another. Soon all emotion had broken and the applause cascaded across the hall; it reverberated off of the walls; and, it engulfed Enio. He stood there, ambivalent to the tumult, as if the crowd was not there. His eye fixed on one solitary figure. Standing in the back of the hall was an old man. Maestro Ragazio stood with his hands clasped together, tears streaming down his face. He nodded to Enio. Of all the applause and lauds that he would receive, of all the awards and flowers that were cast his way, the most important thing to Enio was the nod of that old man. He had introduced him to his melodic mistress. He had shown him how to care for her. It was for Rico that Enio played that night. He would play for the crowds on other nights; and on some nights he would play for himself. But on this night Enio and his melodic mistress said thank you to his Maestro.