Letters from Naples. A castrato tells his story.

Nearly a million boys were castrated in Italy for the sake of their 
voice, during several hundred years. Here is a glimpse into that 
world.

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          Letters from Naples
          ===================
                              by Il Musico

 One of my hobbies is "attic archaeology". Many people have their 
attics full of old stuff. Broken things, dusty things, rotten 
things, old fashioned things, useless things by the ton... and 
among all it, some real treasures. These treasures can come in many 
flavors: Some objects gained value while laying there for decades 
or even centuries. They were worthless when stored away, but are 
valuable now. Other things are interesting for their historic 
value: Old newspapers, books, and letters.

 It was in a small town in southern Italy, where by chance I got to 
know a nice lady, and told her, for whatever reason, about that 
hobby of mine. She laughed, and told me that she could well use 
someone who would clear out her attic for free. Tell such a thing 
to me, and there I am! Quickly the deal was struck: I would clean 
out up there, throw away whatever is useless, leave her with a 
clean attic and anything of monetary value that may be there, and 
keep for myself papers and books of historic value, if there were 
any.

 Such a deal always entails some risk. Sometimes I have ended up 
cleaning out several tons of rotten furniture and bat-shitten old 
magazines, risking rabies infection, without finding anything of 
interest. But this time I had luck. Among some really fine books, 
and a lot of rare sheet music, printed centuries ago, there was a 
small wooden chest filled with letters. Yellowed, brittle paper, 
the ink quite faded on some of them, others written with a black 
pencil, but they were worth the effort of cleaning out that old 
attic. After sorting, reading and throwing back into the box a few 
hundred less interesting ones, the remaining set of letters are 
among the most unique historic documents I have ever found during 
my attic raids. 

Unfortunately this set of letters contains just the received ones. 
The collector left no copies of her answers to them. So we have to 
figure out the other half of the exchange.

Here are are the most captivating of those letters, translated from 
18th- century Italian into modern English. 
------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Mom!

We arrived in Napoli yesterday evening, and as I promised, here I'm 
writing you to let you know that the the voyage went well. But 
before telling you about Napoli, and my new school, let me tell you 
about the trip! 

A few hours after starting, we were already farther away than I 
ever had been before. Signore Tarrenti drives like the very devil, 
but he is nice to the horses and never hits them. He also was very 
nice to me! When I got motion sick from all that banging around, 
and told him, he stopped, and we rested until I was well again, 
before going on. Soon after that we reached a paved highway, better 
than any I had ever seen. Large, carefully crafted stone plates 
cover it. Signore Tarrenti told me that the old romans built that 
road, and many others too! Mom, those roads must be 1500 years old, 
at least, and they are still in good shape! I did not get sick 
again, the ride was much smoother now.
  
 We stopped for the night in Cosenza. Signore Tarrenti rented two 
rooms, one for him and one for me! I didn't tell him that this was 
the first time in my life I had an entire room just for me! I went 
to sleep at once, being tired after the long trip.

 The next morning he woke me up quite early. We had a good 
breakfast, and then we went to church. After all, it was sunday! 
The church there is much larger than ours, and they too have a 
choir there. They sang pretty much the same things we always sing, 
and they sound quite good. The boy who sang the solos impressed me, 
I could learn a lot from him! But the priest talks much too long, 
just like ours. He almost made me sleep.

After mass, Signore Tarrenti told me to wait in the church, and 
disappeared. I so much wanted to talk to the singers, tell them we 
are colleagues, but he was too quick, before I reacted I was alone, 
so I just had to stay there and wait. If I ran away, maybe he would 
not find me later...

Signore Tarrenti returned more than two hours later, but not alone: 
The soloist of the Cosenza church choir came with him! Mom, this 
man is systematically enrolling the best singers of each town, for 
his school! He took almost a day to convince you of letting me go, 
but with this boy's parents he did it much faster.

 Antonio (that's the boy's name) is very shy. Strange! He was not 
shy at all while singing. After I told him that I heard him sing, 
that he did it great, and that I was the soloist in the Serralta 
church choir until the day before and so I could judge it, he 
warmed up. We quickly became friends.

 We resumed the voyage after noon. Antonio knows that area well, 
but he has never been to Serralta. We talked a lot, even sang some 
songs we both know. When we stopped in a small town in the evening, 
we were both mighty tired. But we got a room together, so we went 
on talking until suddenly Antonio was asleep. So I slept too.

 The next two days nothing special happened until we arrived in 
Battipaglia. Signore Tarrenti told us there was a surprise waiting. 
That surprise was Claudio! Guess what? He was the soloist of the 
church choir there! Signore Tarrenti had arranged everything about 
Claudio's enrolling while on his trip south, and now he just picked 
the boy up and we went on! Claudio is all the opposite to Antonio, 
he seems to be a daredevil! There is no way to be sad while he is 
around! Mom, I could fill several letters with the jokes Claudio 
told us on the trip! Even if I don't tell you those which are no 
good for mothers...  laugh, mom! 
  
 The next, and last, day of the trip was the best. We soon found 
out that Claudio sings as well as Antonio. I will have trouble 
keeping up with them! And we found out too that we pretty much know 
the same pieces! These church choir directors seem to teach the 
same things everywhere! So we sang some. It was good, as Claudio is 
an alto, so we now sang the two voices! A funny thing happened when 
we brought some rhythm in, and the horses fell in step with it! I 
wonder if they have been trained at the music school?

 We saw a lot of nice landscapes. The road goes all around Monte 
Vesuvio, which is smoking slightly. Behind the volcano is Napoli. 
Antonio was a bit concerned by its closeness, but Signore Tarrenti 
assured us that even the worst eruption would not reach Napoli. The 
closer towns are always in danger, however.

 Napoli is a huge city! I did not expect so many stone buildings! 
Many are several stories high. The streets are so full of 
carriages, riders and people, that Signore Tarrenti had to shout 
his way through. Then we arrived at the school. I loved it at the 
first sight! It's a mighty old building, the walls are thicker than 
my arms are long, and it has a beautiful garden in the middle, with 
large trees. "Scuola di Musica Sixtus V" is engraved in stone over 
the main entrance. So, I'm now studying in a pope's music school! 
How about that?

 We three got a room together. That's quite good, we are close 
friends after the trip together! The room is in the third floor, 
and is quite large, has three beds, a long desk along the wall, 
some chairs, and a huge closet. The window looks over the garden. I 
would have preferred overlooking the street, but we could not 
choose. This is good enough, anyway.

 Antonio wept some in the evening. The poor guy is homesick! I 
tried to help him over it, then Claudio clowned around and made 
Antonio smile again. Claudio has no such problems, he says he is 
glad to have gotten away from home! He didn't tell us any reason, 
but he must have one. And for me...? Well, I miss you, mom, but I 
will not weep. I think this is going to be good. There's music at 
every place in this building! 

 Write soon, so I can write again and tell you more. Tomorrow we 
start classes. I will have a lot to tell you, I guess!

Tell Vincenzo to put a bit more expression in his singing, and to 
try to improve his breathing! Perhaps he can soon take my place in 
the choir there? Perhaps he even might join us here in Napoli, in 
two years or so?

                              Bye,
                                   your Saverio.

-----*****-----


Dear mom!

 Your letter arrived today, thanks! As you see, I'm replying at 
once. I have so much to write about! 

 First of all, tell Vincenzo to stop worrying about me! I would 
never have expected my tiny little dumb brother to waste a tear for 
me! Tell him that, so he stops! Then tell him that I'm very well 
and happy here in Napoli, so there is no need to worry. 

 I have a busy schedule now. The entire morning is devoted to 
school, just as in Serralta. But instead of playing, fishing, or 
swimming in the afternoon, here it's music! Not that I have any 
problem with that, you know! We all take part in choir rehearsals, 
but I was sad to learn that they will not let me sing in public for 
some time. WHY??? Am I too bad for Napoli? At least Antonio and 
Claudio should be good enough, but they share my fate. It seems to 
be school policy. Anyway, soon we will be taking part in concerts 
too.
 
 We get private singing lessons here, each of us on his own, with a 
dedicated teacher! Mom, I'm not shy, you know, but at first I 
couldn't get my voice out. I sounded terrible. Maestro Zanetti 
looked at me, and asked "That's all you can do?" I wanted to be a 
little mouse, to hide in a small hole...  But then he laughed and 
told me, simply and directly, that he did not bite anyone, that he 
had heard me in my room with Claudio and Antonio, so he knew I 
could do better. I had to laugh too, and then suddenly it worked! 
He seems to be quite satisfied with me, but started at once to show 
me how to improve breath control, how to get my voice out in a 
better way, even how to position the head to improve sound! In 
Serralta never anyone told me those things. It helps a lot, believe 
me!  That's why Claudio and Antonio sang better than me. They had 
gotten such training in their home choirs. I will soon be at their 
level, I promise it to you and to me! To Maestro Zanetti I have 
promised it already!

 Mom, they told us that everyone here must take lessons in at least 
one instrument. We can choose among a lot of options. I let my 
heart speak and asked for organ lessons! You know how I like 
organs! But unfortunately there is no organ here at the school, 
it's too bad! So they talked me into harpsichord lessons, and 
promised to get me playing on a large organ in a church some time 
from now. I can hardly wait!

 The morning school is somewhat like it was in Serralta. But there 
is a difference: Here we have several teachers, each one 
specializes in something. Of course, in our small town one teacher 
is enough, but here in the big city even the schools are big! It's 
fun to have several teachers. In Serralta it often was too boring 
to hear our old Signore Andreoni four hours each day, every day...

 School is held here in the same building, in another wing. By the 
way, I still have not toured the entire music school! But what I 
have seen includes lots of music rooms, a chapel, dormitories for 
more than a hundred pupils and about fifteen teachers, the kitchen, 
dining room, a big hall, the garden, a stable for the school's 
horses and carriages, and the bathroom in the cellar. Warm water 
flows in there from the stove in the kitchen! We can get warm baths 
every week, and if someone gets really dirty, he is free to wash 
with cold water whenever he wants. This is a big city, mom! Running 
water! No wells, no buckets!

 In the kitchen we have a queen: Signora Sartore. She is the cook. 
And she knows her job! The food is great, even if some of the older 
students complain that they don't get as much of it as they would 
like... But for me it's more than enough, mom, don't worry! It's 
just that those fat guys want to eat until they can no longer stand 
up!

 Our choir practice group has 12 boys, all about my age. Antonio 
and Claudio are there, of course, and there are another three who 
arrived two days after we did. The other six are "externals", that 
means, they live with their families in Napoli and only come in for 
classes. Those six are quite bad singers, I don't understand why 
they were accepted. The three other full pupils come from towns 
north of Napoli, and were enlisted in just the same way I was. I 
have had little chance to talk to them, but all three seem to be 
good guys. I feel we will get along well. And they are good 
singers, they all were soloists in their former choirs too!


 Mom, this building boils with music! You can walk along a 
corridor, and hear music from each door. One guy playing the 
harpsichord, next door someone scratching the violin, then a 
trumpet player blowing his lungs out, and then someone singing, 
with his teacher at the harpsichord. There must be at least twenty 
harpsichords in this school!

 In one room there was a choir group singing. I got curious. They 
sang very well, very powerful, a very complicate music, full of 
difficult things. I peeked in, then took heart and just simply 
walked into the room. They must have seen me, but I was not thrown 
out, their choir class continued. Those boys were much older than 
me, but they were still singing high! In Serralta all singers of 
that age were basses or tenors, but not here! It must be that 
training. I later asked Maestro Zanetti, and he told me I too would 
learn to keep singing high even when getting older! 

 Well, it's getting very late, and my candle has almost burned 
down, so I must finish. Love to you, Vincenzo, and little Maria too!

                              Saverio

-----*****-----

Dear Mom!

 Yesterday was sunday, and after lunch we got permission to go out. 
With Antonio, Claudio, and several others we went to the harbor. 
One of the older boys, Francesco, showed us a fine place for 
swimming. This is real swimming, mom, not like that splashing 
around in the creek I did in Serralta! This is the open sea! We all 
enjoyed it a lot, but Francesco didn't bathe with us. He says he is 
too old to take off his clothes in public! And he is just sixteen! 
We laughed a lot about his stupidness, but couldn't convince him to 
join. He told us he had been swimming enough when he was younger. 

 There is a beautiful palace next to the harbour. The one who built 
it must have had lots of money. But he is long dead, as that palace 
is quite old.

 After that Francesco took us around the city and showed us a lot 
of places. We were in the San Gennaro Cathedral, and I climbed up 
to the organ. Mom, I want to play that instrument! It's huge!  
Francesco also took us to the place where they are constructing the 
new theater. It was specially designed for opera performance, and 
will be the most modern of its kind! Maybe someday you hear about 
me singing in the Teatro San Carlo? Wouldn't that be nice? But 
first they must finish it!

 Back at the school, Antonio took out pencil and paper and drew a 
sight of the harbour. Just so, from memory! We had no idea about 
his painting skills! Even Claudio kept still while we watched 
Antonio painting. He was all absorbed in it for more than two 
hours. He first drew the main landscape lines, buildings, and then 
filled it out: People, seabirds, every detail in the ships, the 
buildings... He took a lot of time for drawing a lady standing on a 
balcony. Claudio asked him who that was. Antonio put the pencil 
down and answered: "My mother". He is still not over it. 

 His picture was hung on the wall, and is a nice decoration for our 
room. It also had another effect: Antonio now talks some more! I 
still don't understand him: He sings well, draws well, but stays 
quiet most of the time.

 Mom, what is a castrato? I heard that word today, and when I asked 
what it means, nobody was willing to answer! Is it something bad? 
My buddies have no clue, and everyone else here just shuts up!

 In the choir we are now practicing works by Scarlatti and Vivaldi. 
They are much more modern than the Victoria and Palestrina pieces 
we were singing until last week. The style is totally different, 
however, and it takes some effort switching between them! I like 
both styles, but if I had to choose, I would stay with Vivaldi!  
His music is so light, so happy! It's the music of today!

 I also had a harpsichord lesson this afternoon. I always imagine 
I'm playing an organ! My teacher noticed it and tried to convince 
me to adjust to the harpsichord until I'm ready for an organ. It 
takes effort! He pays me off by telling me about the different 
organs I will some day play here in Napoli. There are several good 
ones, he says.

 Claudio just had us three singing. He never stops clowning! He 
rearranged a Vivaldi choir composition for three solo voices, and 
didn't let off until we sang it. It wasn't too bad, but I feel 
somewhat guilty of singing that modified piece. After all, Signore 
Vivaldi wrote it just two years ago! The ink is still wet, and 
Claudio is already fooling with that music! If Signore Vivaldi 
knew, perhaps he would sue us?

Mom, I have to stop, Claudio needs me again! This time it's a 
Scarlatti piece he wants us to try... This guy rewrites five sheets 
of music faster than I can write a letter!  

                         Bye, 
                              Saverio.
-----*****-----

  Dear Mom!

 A lot of things have happened since my last letter! But first, let 
me calm your worries: Yes, I was careful when swimming in the sea. 
And if I would have been close to drowning, I'm sure Francesco 
would have jumped in to pull me out. He is very nice, he wouldn't 
let anyone of us drown in the sea! So, don't worry, I promise not 
to do crazy things! And regarding bathing naked, rest assured that 
even more people do it here than in Serralta! This is a modern 
city, mom, people are free here! No one cares about what anyone 
else is doing.

 Now let me tell you the great news: I had my first public 
performance in Napoli! At least, it was sort of public: A concert 
for the sponsors of the music school. Did you know that each of us 
poorer pupils has a sponsor? Rich citizens give money as 
scholarships for boys like me. It's a great system: They can do 
something good with their surplus money, and we can stay here for 
free!

 We mostly sang choral music by Palestrina this time. Signore 
Tarrenti said that these old-fashioned gentlemen don't usually like 
modernists such as Signore Vivaldi. But here comes the great thing: 
A short while after I finished my last letter to you, Signore 
Tarrenti catched us three singing Claudio's arrangements. He 
reprimanded us for being awake so late into the night, but then 
asked what we had been singing. He took the sheets with him, and 
Claudio was sad. He thought the director would not give them back, 
as a punishment, and Claudio doesn't like to loose anything, even 
if he can easily make new music. But two days later Signore 
Tarrenti told us to practice those pieces, and then we were allowed 
to sing them for the old gentlemen! Those were my first solos in a 
long time, and the first ever in Napoli! Antonio enjoyed a lot too, 
he was beaming after the concert! I'm almost more happy for him 
than for me. He had so much missed singing in public. Claudio was 
more celebrated as the arranger than as singer, even if he sang 
really well. He used his entire alto range in that piece. Well, 
that's the advantage of composing one's own music, I guess. One can 
tailor it to one's exact needs!

 After the concert Signore Tarrenti introduced me to Signore 
Mantura. He is the one who pays for me. I thought I had to thank 
him, or something, but he was fast to embrace me, lift me up, tell 
me that he liked my singing... If I had a father, I would wish he 
was like Signore Mantura. I felt at ease with him immediately! He 
asked me to visit him at home from time to time, and perhaps sing 
something for him. Signore Tarrenti says that's OK, so I will be 
going there once a week or so.

 Mom, you forgot to tell me what a castrato is. I keep hearing that 
word here. After the concert even one of the gentlemen asked me if 
I was one! I told him that I probably wasn't, and asked him what 
that word means. He just laughed and turned away, without 
answering! Why all that secrecy??? I'm not a baby anymore, you can 
tell me, whatever it is!

 The Vesuvio is smoking a lot since yesterday. I can see the plume 
from my window while writing this letter! But they say, as long as 
it smokes, it doesn't explode. Danger starts when it has not been 
smoking for a long time.

 Yesterday we learned why Claudio was happy to get away from 
Battipaglia: He has no parents, no family, nobody at all. He was 
raised in a church orphanate, and no one knows how he came there. 
He told us that he used to get lots of trouble with the nuns there, 
who didn't like him. Oh mom, I can well imagine those old, dried-up 
nuns being driven crazy by Claudio's clowning! But that's the nun's 
fault, not Claudio's. Even if sometimes he is just a tad too 
demanding, I like him a lot. He brings life into this school! 

 In a week we will have our admission exams to the main choir! If 
all goes well (and it should!), from then on we six newcomers will 
join the main choir for all public performances! At last! The other 
six, the externals, apparently will have to wait some more time. 
After all, they are just learning to sing here at the school, not 
like us six, who had been singing for years in our church choirs 
before coming here.

 Mom, you can be proud of me! We had to write a story about "Dreams 
and wishes" in school, and I got the best grade! Writing all these 
letters seems to help, I feel almost as confident with this pencil 
as I do while singing! Or is it because I dream and wish so much? 
Of course, I wrote about the organ in the cathedral!

How is Vincenzo doing? Did he volunteer for the soloist position? 
You didn't tell me anything about him! If you see Patre Guanelli, 
please give him my best regards, and tell him I'm fine and that I 
wish him the best with his choir! I'm sorry I had to leave, but I'm 
glad I'm here! Tell him that I would be glad to sing in church for 
him and all, when I visit during the summer holidays and his choir 
anyway is unavailable!

                         Your loving son,
                              Saverio.


-----*****-----

------------------------------------------------------------------
Note from the translator: The following letter is in a different 
handwriting. Not the boyish, coarse one of the previous letters, 
but a very stylish, much more mature handwriting with nicely 
rounded loops.
-------------------------------------------------------------------

Mother!

 You still did not tell me what a castrato is. But now you no 
longer need to explain it to me. I found out, the hard and painful 
way. I'm in so much pain that I have trouble speaking. I asked 
Francesco to write and mail this letter for me, as I cannot move 
enough to write it myself. 

 I urgently need to know just one thing: Did you really know about 
what they would do to me, and did you approve it? They told me you 
knew it all, and you had signed an authorization! Is that true? 

 If it isn't true, please come at once and get me out of here! If 
ever a son has needed his mother, it's now and here. But if it is 
true, if you really authorized them to castrate me and put me 
through this much pain, then forget that you ever had a son, and 
don't ever try to find me, it would be of no use! 

 One last thing: Please, please, please, take Vincenzo out of the 
choir, never let him sing again, and don't dare send him to Napoli!

     Saverio.

Dear Signora Carranti!

 Indeed Saverio is suffering a lot. But it's not all your fault. 
They tried a new method on the boys this year, which supposedly is 
safer for them than the old method. Nobody expected that it would 
have the poor guys in excruciating pain for so long. The doctor 
said they would be up and running around the day after the 
procedure! He was deeply wrong.

 Rest assured that we are doing everything we can, to help them. 
Saverio and his friends will be well soon, I'm sure of that, and 
then they will look back on the issue as just a very unpleasant 
experience, but understanding its necessity, like I do myself.

 Don't worry about him running away. Right now, he simply cannot. 
And anyway we are taking turns in watching the boys, day and night, 
and will continue this until they have regained their emotional 
stability.

 I guarantee for Saverio's well-being. I like him a lot, and he has 
a great future. Believe me.

Sincerely,
            Francesco Vallebuona.

-----*****-----


Dear Mom!

 I'm feeling somewhat better, thanks to God. But it still hurts. I 
walk around spreading my legs, sit down spreading my legs, lie in 
bed with spread legs... you get the idea. At least I can write now, 
but I cannot dress. I'm so swollen down there that nothing fits and 
everything hurts. 

 If Signore Tarrenti told you that the castration wouldn't hurt 
much, he told you a tremendous, ignominious, unexcusable lie! 
Perhaps that was true for the old method. Francesco told us that 
when it was his turn, they had simply cut him with a knife, and 
removed his balls through those slits. It had hurt him a lot while 
they did it, but two days later it had been much better, and a week 
later he was fine. Not so with us! That doctor and his new method 
almost killed us with pain, and now, three weeks later, I still 
can't dress, as I'm swollen from legs to chest.

 Claudio is writing songs about despair, horror, death, and even 
one where he openly besings his story. I doubt he can ever sing 
that one in public. He learned to make good use of tonality from 
Vivaldi's works, and all those songs are in minor keys. It doesn't 
sound like the old Claudio at all! I hope he will return to 
normality someday. I think he just needs to work off the pain in 
some way, and he has no one to write letters to.

 Antonio has taken it better than I expected. He is standing at the 
desk, as he still can't sit down, painting a face. Mom, you should 
see that face he is painting. It says all.
 Antonio knew beforehand what would happen to us! He didn't tell 
us, to keep us from worrying! He walked to the doctor, fully 
knowing about what was to come! I would not have been so brave. If 
I had known about it, I would have run far away! At least back to 
Serralta, but perhaps right to the end of the world.  

 I still haven't seen my other three new colleagues. But Francesco 
says they are about as well - say, just as sick - as we are.

 The teachers are leaving us pretty much in peace now. We are 
excused from school, from choir, from everything, until further 
notice. Francesco has been marvelous. He brings us the food, helps 
us to the outhouse, brings water up for washing, and whenever he 
can't be here, he arranges for some of his mates to look after us. 
The only bad thing about this is that we have no privacy at all. 
But anyway, with Antonio and Claudio we are getting on one 
another's nerves after being so much time confined in this room, so 
perhaps it's not bad to have someone else here. Right now Giovanni 
is looking over us, and he will be handy to take this letter to the 
post office on his next trip downtown. 

 Giovanni has become a master in applying ice packs to our 
mistreated body parts. He says they bring the ice directly from 
Monte Vesuvio. Can that be true? Nowadays I don't believe anyone. 
However it may be, the ice helps a lot.  

  Oh mom, I understand that this was necessary to keep singing 
high. But I wonder if there is any need to sing high when old? What 
is it good for? After all, I like singing, yes, but if my voice had 
broken, so what? I have heard many good bass singers! They were 
spared all this suffering! And what if I don't become a singer at 
all? Oh sure, I passed the exam for the main choir, but what does 
that mean? Both Claudio and Antonio still sing better than I do. 
Maybe my future is in organ playing, not in singing? What was all 
this suffering good for, in that case?
 
 By the way, are you sure castration is what makes one keep the 
high voice? I don't see where the connection was between my voice 
and my balls! What if all this is just a mighty error?

 I understand that you want the best for me, and that you had no 
evil intentions when you signed that paper for Signore Tarrenti. 
But it cannot be right to do this to a boy, without even asking 
him! I could write in this letter that I forgive you, but this 
would not come out of my heart. Better let's consider this as a 
terrible, tragic mistake. I still love you, mom, and I see your 
good intentions. Just be sure you spare Vincenzo from such a fate.

 Now I will close, as this is hurting too much again. It comes in 
waves, and often forces me to lie down, breath deeply and bite on 
my lips to avoid screaming. Giovanni already went for a fresh ice 
pack.

 Later I will try to practice on the harpsichord. Francesco 
arranged to move one here into our bedroom, so we can play a 
little. It is also a great help for Claudio's composing.

                    Your suffering son,
                                   Saverio.

-----*****-----

 Dear Mom!

 I'm feeling much better. The swelling has gone away, so now at 
last I can pee without having to bend way forward. It still hurts a 
bit, but almost nothing compared to the first weeks. 

 It wasn't my intention to tell you exactly what they did to me. 
But you asked, so here is it. Don't tell me now that you didn't 
want all those details. Try to understand what I felt.

 After a harpsichord lesson, Signore Tarrenti came in and asked me 
to go with him. He led me into the cellar, to the bathroom, telling 
me that a doctor had come in to check us newcomers. I told Signore 
Tarrenti that I felt perfectly well and didn't need any doctor, but 
he just smiled and told me to come anyway. 

 In the bathroom were four men I didn't know. One of them was the 
doctor, the others were just helpers. The doctor asked me a lot of 
things, about how I feel, if I sleep well, if I ever got headaches, 
he listened to my heartbeat, had me cough, all those things. Then 
he asked me to undress fully, and ordered me to climb into a small 
wooden bathtub which was full of steaming hot water. I told him I 
usually bathed on saturdays, but he laughed and commanded  me to 
get in. Signore Tarrenti had left, I was alone with those 
strangers, and couldn't do anything against them. 

 I stepped into that tub, and jumped out again. The water was 
unbearably hot. But then two of the helpers grasped me and 
literally stuffed me into that thing. The hot water burned me 
badly. I tried to get out, but they held me down, and the tub was 
so small that anyway I had almost no room to move. I had my knees 
at my nose. Just the knees, head, shoulders and arms were out of 
the boiling water. I shouted at them to let me go, that I would 
tell you what they were doing to me, but then the doctor said that 
you had agreed to this! And I did not yet suspect what "this" 
really meant...

 It hurt a lot at first, but then I became accustomed and it 
stopped burning. I became somewhat dizzy from the heat, and after 
some time I almost fell asleep. It was then when the doctor 
approached. Two of the  helpers suddenly pulled my knees to the 
sides and held them there, the other pulled my arms back and placed 
one of his arms around my neck, cutting my breath off, and then I 
felt the doctor fishing for my balls under the water. And then, 
mom, he got one between his fingers and started pressing. It hurt 
so incredibly, mom, I had never suspected there could be such a 
terrible pain! I tried to scream, but had no breath. I struggled to 
get free, but those men held me thightly. I tried to kick away the 
doctor, but under the water that was impossible. Meanwhile, the 
doctor went on pressing, crushing, busting my left ball! The pain 
was not only down there, it flashed up into my guts, my stomach, 
even into my toes and fingertips! And the doctor went on, pressing, 
crushing, grinding, poking his fingers through my ball. I had to 
throw up from pain, and almost choked because that guy held my head 
back. I don't know how, but somehow I managed to get my head 
straight, and I vomited all over the doctor's face. He just wiped 
it off, then continued to hurt me even worse. I couldn't see much 
more, the tears clouded my sight, my face was covered in vomit, and 
the guy behind me was again compressing my neck, while the doctor 
went on torturing my left ball. At some point I started seing 
strange light flashes, hearing sizzling sounds, while the real 
sounds were slowly muffled away... Then I felt the doctor start 
crushing my right ball, but I was too overwhelmed from the pain to 
react any more. I just wanted to die, desperately, as quickly as 
possible. I was sure they would end up killing me. Not by crushing 
my balls, but by choking me. The flashes went into a wildly 
circling dance, and from then on I don't have any memories until 
waking up in my bed, much later.

 When I woke up, I had only one thing in my mind: That terrible 
pain. It pulsed from my balls up and down my body, but mostly up 
into the stomach. I slowly remembered what had happened. I lifted 
the bedsheet. Even that hurt. I looked down, and was shocked. My 
ball sack had swollen as large as my two fists together, and was 
dark, almost black!
I touched it, and almost cried from the pain. Then Francesco came 
over, I hadn't noticed that he was standing by the window. He 
slowly pulled my hand up from under the bedsheet, and caressed my 
head. He is a real friend, mom.

 Claudio was crying in his bed. I tried to bring out my voice, but 
only managed to whisper, as I asked Francesco if they had done this 
brutality to all of us. He confirmed my suspicion. I looked at 
Antonio's bed, and saw him lying still, as white as the bedsheet. I 
couldn't see him breathing! I found my voice and alerted Francesco. 
He went over to Antonio, and thanks God, Antonio was alive. He 
looked like dead, I swear.

 I didn't eat for three days. I just sipped some water. I almost 
bursted before being able to pee for the first time. The swelling 
was all over the place and made it very hard to press anything out. 
Peeing involved rolling partly over, towards the chamber pot held 
by Francesco, which hurt again as much. I felt so ridiculous, so 
helpless! But the others were not doing a tad better than me.

 They applied ice to us, sometimes just over the swellings, and 
sometimes to our foreheads too. We all had high fever. I don't 
remember anything from the second day after the procedure, and from 
the third day I mainly remember crazy nightmares.

 Francesco cared about everything. He didn't attend school, 
rehearsals, or anything, he was there just for us. Giovanni and a 
few others helped out too. But the teachers did not show up! Only 
Signore Tarrenti appeared here on the sixth day or so, and 
explained to us that they had destroyed our balls because otherwise 
the balls would have destroyed our voices. But he did not explain 
how this works! He said he knows it just from experience.

 The swelling took three weeks to start going back. Now it still 
hurts, but I can stand up, sit, and tomorrow I will dress, for the 
first time after being castrated! My friends are making similar 
progress. 

 My balls did not disappear, but they are smaller now than they 
used to be, and feel somewhat knotty. And they are still very sore. 
Claudio's are just like mine, small, crumpled and sore. But Antonio 
seems to have gotten the better part: He says he can't feel them 
anymore, and has no pain now. He also has some remains there, but 
Claudio pressed on Antonio's balls and Antonio just smiled away, so 
it must be true! 

 Antonio seems to be relieved now. It must have been a large burden 
for him to know what would happen, but not WHEN it would happen, 
and keeping it all to him. 

 So, I have been writing for several hours. Enjoy the story, if you 
can. Now you know what that damn signature of yours has brought 
upon me. Don't ever let this happen to Vincenzo, do you understand?

               Your castrated son,
                              Saverio.

-----*****-----

Dear Mom!

 I'm again in bed, again sore. But now it's for the last time. Now 
I don't have any balls anymore.

 We had just restarted school, rehearsals, instrument lessons, in 
short, we had just restarted normal life, when one afternoon 
Signore Tarrenti called us three to our room. He was waiting there 
with a stranger. He told us that man was the best doctor he could 
find, and that he had brought him to check us for whatever the 
other doctor may have done wrong.

 The doctor asked us how we felt. Antonio said he was quite well 
now. I said the remains of my balls were still aching all the time, 
and Claudio told him something similar. The doctor asked Antonio to 
undress, looked at him, then grabbed at his private parts and felt 
around. Antonio blushed like a girl, but told the doctor that it 
did not hurt. The doctor then told Antonio to dress and go back to 
his violin lesson.

 He then turned to us two, and said he probably had bad news for 
us. We had to undress, and the doctor very gently felt around my 
balls. I whinced a few times, when he touched some specially 
sensitive spot. With Claudio the same thing happened. Then the 
doctor told us, simply and directly, that his colleague was a 
filthy quack, had caused us a lot of unnecessary pain, and moreover 
had not succeeded in castrating us! Our voices would break just the 
same with what we had left! Of the other three boys, there was one 
too who had not been completely castrated. Claudio's face looked 
ashen, and I don't think I looked much better. I told the doctor it 
was pretty much the same for me to sing soprano or tenor, or even 
bass, and he should please let me alone! But the doctor explained 
that we would have that pain for our entire lives if nothing was 
done. It could even become worse again. And he promised to fix it 
up without nearly as much pain. After an hour of talking, he had 
convinced us that it was for the better. Then I got the honor of 
being the first pupil to ever be re-castrated in this school.

 Mom, this doctor knows what he does. And he treated us as human 
beings, not as objects. He talked and joked while leading me to a 
room that had been totally cleaned out. There was just a simple bed 
with fresh sheets, some white towels, and a box with the doctor's 
things. He told me that first I would get a magic drink. When I 
said that I didn't believe in magic, he told me that I would, after 
drinking it. He took a bottle and  a glass out of his case, filled 
the glass, and asked me to drink it. It looked like wine. And it 
was wine. I drank it, and then followed the doctor's request to 
undress and lie on the bed. Just in time, as the wine was strong 
and everything started turning around me! I clinged to the bed to 
avoid falling down. It felt so silly! 

 The doctor placed a heap of towels on my belly, and I could no 
longer see what he was doing. But I felt him putting something cold 
on me down there, a wet towel or something. 

 This wine indeed was magic. I had never been so drunk in my life! 
And you know I have tasted some good wine in Serralta, during the 
autumn festivities! The world not only spinned for me, it turned 
over, around, inside out. I felt like a piece of rubber, my limbs 
were heavy, I felt like glued to the bed, while the world went on 
turning and changing colors like crazy. Those colors, mom! I would 
love to see them in real life! It was weird! This must have been a 
very special wine, or the doctor put something else in it. He went 
on talking to me, joking about what I was seeing. He knew that 
quite well. But soon I could no longer understand what he was 
saying, even though I still heard him. He worked on me. I felt him 
pull a little, press some, but it was all without any real pain. 
Even the pain I had since weeks was gone! So I held still and tried 
to understand those colorful shapes I was seing. I felt and heard 
the world like through some very thick fog.
 
 After some time he stopped, and then someone lifted me up and 
carried me back into my bed. There I wondered what would happen 
now, but nothing else happened. I drifted from those colorful 
dreams into a deep sleep. 

 This morning I woke up, feeling quite well except for being sore 
down there. But this is nothing compared to the pain of the first 
time!  It also looks better: Just a clean white dressing. The 
doctor was here in the morning and changed it, because the first 
one had become bloody. Under the dressing there is almost no 
swelling, just two small wounds. In fact, it's flatter than it had 
ever been. 

 Claudio is also doing well. And Antonio was asked to switch rooms 
with Enrico, the boy of the other group who also had to be re-
castrated. He is here on my side now, and is also doing well. So we 
three victims are together here, and Enrico is quickly becoming our 
friend. He told us he had been in Roma once, and had heard the 
famous Miserere, composed for the Pope by Signore Allegri! He tried 
to sing some of it to us, but was not very sure. He heard it just 
once, and the score of that music is a Vatican secret! He also told 
us that Roma is much larger than Napoli, but he may be flunkering...

 Mom, if this is what Signore Tarrenti had in mind when he asked 
you to sign that paper, then it is OK that you signed it. I can 
forgive you now. While not enjoyable, it is easily bearable. But 
what that other doctor did to us, was sheer torture, with bad 
results. They should have brought in the good doctor from the 
start, not that damn quack.

 Mention the devil, and he appears! Signore Tarrenti and the doctor 
(the good one!) just entered the room. They are checking Enrico. I 
will now put this letter in the envelope, before they come over to 
me! Bye! 

                         Saverio.

-----*****-----
       
 Dear Mom!

 They kept us in bed for another week after my last letter, but 
now, fortunately, I'm back to normal and feeling great. It's just a 
bit strange to have almost nothing between the legs! I'm still not 
fully accustomed to it. But it's very practical for climbing trees, 
I like it! 

 I almost forgot what I had learned on the harpsichord. So I have 
to practice a lot now. With the singing it's better, there is no 
problem. I'm singing with the others in the main choir now. We have 
to sing mass on sundays in a small church nearby, and we will be 
giving concerts soon. And now the great news: We started to work on 
a marvelous big work by Signore Monteverdi: The Vespro della Beata 
Vergine! It's a hundred years old, but still among the best music 
ever written! It's for seven part choir, with soloists. And guess 
what? I got the Cantus solos! I don't understand why! There are so 
many better, much older singers in the choir! But Maestro Delmonte, 
the choir conductor, pointed at me and said: "You do it!". He seems 
to be convinced that we are geniuses: He appointed Antonio for the 
Sextus solos, and Claudio for the Alto ones! Or perhaps he only 
expects us to practice together after hours, in the dormitory? Who 
knows! For the men's voices he selected some of the oldest 
students. It's a good thing that not everyone here is castrato, as 
this music lives from the contrast between the voices. 

 We still have that harpsichord in our bedroom. It seems that they 
forgot it there! I'm happy about it, and Claudio is even happier 
and tests his compositions on it. Sometimes I wonder if Claudio 
will become a composer rather than a singer? And I still think I 
like organs more than singing, even if still I have had no chance 
to really play one. Maybe they castrated us for no use? Just 
Antonio is focused on singing. His violin playing sounds like a cat 
when you step on his tail, while his singing is getting from good 
to even better. Sometimes he tosses the violin in a corner, and 
starts to sing the score. It's so much better! 

 The school lessons are boring. Why must we learn Greek? Nobody 
needs to speak Greek here! And all those math? Well, that's life, I 
guess.

 Last sunday we went swimming again, for the first time as 
castrati. I had missed it a lot! Francesco and several other older 
ones came with us. And he was among the first to undress and jump 
into the water! At first I didn't understand this change in him, 
but he explained that before he didn't want to undress before us, 
to avoid shocking us while we had no idea what they would do to us. 
Now we are of the same kind... 
 A funny thing: When a large swell tossed me around and made me 
spin like crazy, it made me remember that wine the doctor gave me. 
The world spinned just like it did that time! But this time I could 
wait for the wave to toss me out, and than swim away. No harm 
done... I can almost hear you: "Be careful, Saverino!" Yes, mom, I 
will be more cautious! Don't worry!
 
 I must run to voice lesson now. I get to sing very little there, 
it's mostly breathing exercises, intonation, and so. But it helps! 

                    Bye,
                         Your Saverio.

-----*****-----

  Dear Mom!

 Don't worry, REALLY I was not in any major danger with that wave 
that spinned me around. I mentioned it only because of the funny 
coincidence in the feelings, with that drugged wine! Why are you so 
worried about the sea? Only because you have never been there?

 Now let me tell you an adventure. I know you will disapprove at 
first, but read on before condemning me!

 It was last sunday. Instead of going swimming, I decided to be a 
good, nice son to you, and not put myself in peril, so I went 
downtown. Claudio came with me. There was not much to be done in 
town, on that hot sunday afternoon. So, when we passed by the San 
Gennaro Cathedral, Claudio pulled me in. He just wanted to escape 
the heat for a while. Inside it was cool, quiet and almost dark, 
and we spent some time looking at the paintings. I remembered Patre 
Guanelli. How he would like to say mass here, amidst these 
marvelous paintings, in this huge thing of a church! It must be a 
hundred times our village church, easily. And then I turned around 
and admired that organ. Mom, I swear, I don't know how the rest 
happened, it was not me, but something within me! I noticed that 
the staircase door to the organ was unlocked, so I climbed up. 
Claudio made signs, to make me go back, but I just couldn't! I went 
on, and Claudio finally followed. We made no noise. Up there, we 
looked at that marvelous instrument from all sides. The largest 
tube is much thicker than I am, and at least five times as long! 
There are smaller ones, and even smaller ones, right down to some 
little things the size of my fingers! I started counting them, but 
lost count so many times that I gave up. I will pay more attention 
in math class from now on, this is a case for a population formula!

 Something drove me to get in trouble. I tried the front cover, and 
found it unlocked too! There were the three keyboards, and the 
large one for the feet, and several dozen stops! Claudio tried to 
pull me back, but now I was tempted beyond reasoning, and pressed a 
key! My heart almost stopped, but nothing else happened. Of course, 
there was no wind pressure! Claudio laughed silently, and then he 
pointed to a door. We opened it and slid in. Claudio was right, the 
windworks were in this room. We looked over all that machinery 
until we started understanding how it worked: The windmaker has to 
climb up a ladder, and hang his weight from a rope that runs over 
two pulleys and lifts the top of one wind sac. While the top 
presses down and that sac feeds the organ, the windmaker has time 
to inflate the other sac in the same way. Mom, I swear again, I 
don't know why I did this, but I climbed up and grasped that rope. 
The air rushed into the wind bag, while I slowly descended to the 
ground. Claudio then inflated the other one. Now nothing could hold 
me. I returned to the keyboard, pulled a few stops, and pressed a 
key. Oh mom, what a sound!!!  The voice of the big organ!  Claudio 
looked like he would run away now, so I told him to stay and care 
for the wind. I don't know what face I made, but he was so 
frightened that he disappeared into the windwork room. And then I 
played... Mom, I can't tell you how much I enjoyed this! It's hard 
to play an organ, nothing like the harpsichord, here you have to 
press the keys with a lot of force, and wait until the tone forms, 
it's all much slower. But that majestic sound is beyond 
description! 

 I played several of my harpsichord pieces, as I remembered them, 
playing very slowly, adapting them to the so different behaviour of 
the organ, while Claudio pumped wind for me. It was heaven. Maybe 
this is the only piece of heaven to be found in a church.

 When I finished the fifth sonata, suddenly I felt a heavy hand on 
my shoulder. I almost fainted from the shock! The priest was 
standing behind me. I now expected to pay dearly for all this, but 
can you imagine my relief when he simply said "You play well, son", 
and then asked me to go on?  I went on, and got so confident that I 
started pulling more stops at appropriate places! It's such a 
powerful feeling to control the sound of a large organ! The priest 
stood there, watching and listening. I pulled more stops for the 
end of a Scarlatti sonata, and when I finished it, Claudio came 
running out of the wind room, very sweaty, and asked me for a 
relax. Only then did he notice the presence of the priest, and 
blushed deeply! The priest took him by the shoulder and smiled, 
telling that even the professional windmaker would have had trouble 
pumping for so many stops! I had pulled more than half of them near 
the end...
 
 The priest was very kind to us. He pretended not to notice all my 
struggle to get the music together!  When I found the courage to 
ask him if we could come more often, he simply said "of course"! 
Then he explained that this organ gets too little use, and we would 
be welcome to practice here, outside mass hours of course. 

 He asked us who we were, where we lived, and so on. When we told 
him about the school, and how we were brought to Napoli, he turned 
somber and asked in low voice if we had been cut. I nodded, and 
Claudio said yes. Mom, I can't repeat the words the priest then 
said! I had never expected a holy man to say such things! Not even 
the coal traders use such words in Serralta! It was so funny to 
hear a priest cursing, that it made us laugh! Definitely the 
school, and what they do to boys there, does not seem to be held in 
high regard by this priest. But he allowed me to ask the teachers 
to give me organ lessons here! Mom, do you understand? I have an 
organ, at last! And the best in the entire city, no less!  Napoli 
is good to me, after all!
 
                         Saverio, the happy organist.

-----*****-----

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

 I spent countless hours deciphering these letters, and the many 
that followed. It would take too long to translate them all. Let it 
suffice to say that Saverio spent eight years at the Scuola di 
Musica Sixtus V. He got organ lessons, from several teachers, and 
pretty much left the harpsichord alone. He did his duty in the 
choir, and as soloist too, but did not shine there. Antonio grew to 
be the star singer of that generation, and when he had done so, put 
aside the rest of his shyness. Judging from Saverio's letters, 
Antonio became outright petulant! He started an opera career under 
the not-so-artificial stage name of "Antonino". Claudio went on 
composing, and produced several comic operas while still at the 
school. He liked to sing the buffo part himself. There is little 
mention of the other boys, so I can't say what fate they had. 

 Saverio always tried to be everyone's friend, and helped a lot in 
getting the following generations of castrati over the difficult 
weeks. Once a year he travelled home for holidays, and for that 
time there are no letters, of course. The letters announcing his 
coming always include the request to tell Patre Guanelli that he 
brings new music to sing at mass and in concert. He probably 
delighted Serralta's people when he performed there. 

 He must have exerted his influence on his mother, since Vincenzo 
was not sent to Napoli. The brother sang in the Serralta church 
choir until his voice broke, and years later became a blacksmith. 
From time to time he liked to sing love songs in his deep bass 
voice, accompanying himself on a mandoline. Saverio comments about 
it in a letter written shortly after returning to Rome after 
holidays in Serralta.  

 Back to Saverio: While he developed a quite decent castrati voice, 
he became ever more enthusiastic about organs. He was appointed 
organist of San Gennaro when he was only seventeen, and when he 
left school, he got additional positions in the city's musical 
institutions. He did appear as singer in Naples too, but never 
could be convinced that he had a fine voice, after all. He always 
thought the others were better, and pretty much retired from 
singing when he was 26, concentrating on organ playing and 
teaching. He moved to Rome when he was 31, taking up an important 
organist position there. By that time his mother's health started 
to fail, and many moving sections in Saverio's letters show that he 
still had a profound love for her. Then the letters stop, after one 
announcing his soon arrival. I guess that Saverio traveled to 
Serralta and either found his mother dead, or dying. But she did 
store every letter, including that last one, in this box which I 
happened to stumble over in that dusty old attic, almost three 
hundred years later.

-----*****-----   THE END  -----*****-----