Puccini's Ghosts
“Fleur’s voice had deteriorated to a rasp and now she was singing along with Callas only in short bursts. It seemed to Lila that everything sung by one person to another in an opera was a complaint of some kind—too heartless, too cruel, too jealous, too beautiful, too young to die—and also a waste of breath. It was all supposed to be about love. But wasn’t it obvious that nothing would be settled before there was blood on the floor?
And now an old man was singing: Abbi di me pietà!
Non... posso staccarmi da te!
Lila had been put through enough books with titles such as Opera Tales for Children to know the Turandot story. It was Timur, the deposed and exiled king of Tartary, roaming disguised and unwanted somewhere through Act I, alone but for his loyal slave girl Liù. Have pity, he sings to his son, I can’t separate myself from you. Have pity. I cast myself moaning at your feet.
She remembered. Timur has just come across his lost son, Prince Calaf, also exiled and in disguise.MoreLess
And now an old man was singing: Abbi di me pietà!
Non... posso staccarmi da te!
Lila had been put through enough books with titles such as Opera Tales for Children to know the Turandot story. It was Timur, the deposed and exiled king of Tartary, roaming disguised and unwanted somewhere through Act I, alone but for his loyal slave girl Liù. Have pity, he sings to his son, I can’t separate myself from you. Have pity. I cast myself moaning at your feet.
She remembered. Timur has just come across his lost son, Prince Calaf, also exiled and in disguise.MoreLess
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