Hidden Voices Read Online Free Page A

this child, given away for whatever the reason? And except for Luisa, we have no real knowledge of where we came from. We know nothing about what it’s like to give birth and only a little of what must happen to make it possible. (What meager information
is
divulged seems highly improbable.) Except for the male infants who are sent to one of the
ospedali
for boys when they are six or seven, sometimes as old as ten, the only men that come into the school to teach might as well be
castrati.
It is enough to be groomed, as we are, for a life that is better and all our own. It can be that way if we let it. I know that it can be that way, for many of our teachers were once just like us. Most no longer live here, but come and go to apartments and sometimes to husbands and families. Though I am perhaps too impatient for it, isn’t to be loved what we all want in the end? How I long for a suitor who will quickly be overcome by this fire that stirs me.

S INCE THIS IS NO CONVENT, the others were watching as usual during my mother’s visit yesterday, and they leaned like caged monkeys into the grille that separates them from visitors. Perhaps from a distance her caresses appear warm, her kisses sincere. But as soon as she sees the girls spying on us, her eyes flit about and she poses and fawns over me. Anetta, as if she’s obsessed, always pushes and shoves for a place in the front. Afterward, too, she is full of rude questions. When I simply don’t answer, she grows morose. I know they think I am favored, and that Anetta has even wished at times that she could be me. She has said as much, once wondering aloud how it must feel to be held for a moment and pressed against all the satin and silk of my mother’s fancy gowns.
    And I have heard the girls discussing how none of them know why I remain in this place, since it is well known that everyone here is a ward of the state, and a child with a family is unlikely to come here to stay, no matter how gifted, unless the family is royal or completely impoverished. When I tell them it is only because of the excellent musical education the Ospedale della Pietà can provide and because of my wonderful voice, it annoys them in the extreme.
    Another thing that sets me apart is the fact that I have a real last name and am not called by the name of my primary instrument like some of the senior girls, as if there is truly a flesh and blood family named Violin or Bassoon or Flautino. For an instance, Maestra della Viola is what Anetta is called and will be until she takes the veil, becomes a true
maestra,
or attracts a husband. Because she is not more comely, perhaps it will not be a duke, but some gentleman, a rich merchant, perhaps, who would value a wife who can teach the children to sing and play for his guests.
    I begged Mother yesterday, something I promised myself I would never do. And today I feel ashamed. It was not as though the others could hear me, for the parlor is somewhat below the grille and all the commotion behind it. And I made very sure that I stood quite still, my hands at my sides, and called her
Mother,
as she has told me to do.
    “Take me with you this time, Mother,” I said. She made me repeat it, and it seemed as if she would truly consider my words. For a wonderful instant there was this fragile bubble of hope, soon pricked when her dark brows curved down and her fan went up to her lips.
    “None of that, Luisa,” she said, touching my fingers with a cold gloved hand. “The life that I lead would never permit such a thing.”
    I turned my head toward the door, for I could not allow the others to see the quick tears.
    The life that she leads. I often imagine the apartment she has told me about — the gilded chests and armoires, carved settees with satin cushions, silk curtains enclosing a deep feather bed surrounded by tapestries, and, think of it, even a fanciful Murano glass chandelier with fat beeswax candles. In fact, at times there are little flashes of my first