A Castrato's Tale

I stepped on the stage and could hear thousands of voices screaming my name. Pietro! Pietro! I’d been preparing for this moment all my life. Those hundreds of hours of voice lessons and thousands of hours of practicing my arias. A lost childhood and lost manhood. I never knew my parents. They entrusted me to the care of the church. There would be no puberty for me. I would always remain the same. My growth was stunted. I couldn’t identify as a man or a woman. I was neither. Yet genetically, I was programmed to be a male. The church had other plans for me. At an early age they took away my manhood. I was to be the next great castrato. Maybe I showed great potential as a young bambino. Maybe it was heredity. I may never know. My parents’ and family’s identities remain a mystery. The Cardinal and the many priests who have fed, nurtured and taught me claim that I was just a foundling found in basket at the entrance of the church. No one ever came forward to claim me. Were my parents famous singers or musicians? Were they royalty and victims of an unexpected or unwanted pregnancy? Was I the product of a rape? More likely my parents were beggars or desperate commoners trying to ensure a better life for their newborn. I have spent hours imagining the possibilities. It’s futile and heartbreaking. One should know from whence they came.

Still, the church made me who I am today. I started out in the church choir and slowly gained fame as a soloist. Eventually, I was entertaining royalty and touring the country. It took several years before the church released me. They maintained a tight rein on my performances and allowed me a small allowance. As I grew in popularity and the monetary rewards increased, I became uncomfortable with the church’s control. They only approved devotional songs or arias that praised the lord or the church. Everything else was considered blasphemous. Each time I approached them for more flexibility and a larger allowance, I was called an ingrate. After all, the church had made me. Yeah, they sure did!

Once I was given my freedom. Everything changed. I chose what I sang and where. I was my own manager. It only took me several months of research to master the business aspect of my career. Who knew that a lowly castrato like me had any business acumen? I also discovered that I had a facility in languages. It opened up a whole new world of music to me. I collaborated with some of world’s most famous opera singers. My soprano easily harmonized with the best altos and tenors. They offered me advice and opportunities. Predatory managers and agents tried to convince me to hire them. They would make me richer and more famous. After my experience with the church, I trusted very few people. It was a lonely life, and I was still naïve.

A concert in Milan with Maestro P. opened my eyes to the sordid side of the music business. Maestro B. had been my only friend and a long-time supporter. I felt safe with him. After the concert, he invited me to his dressing room for a drink. He was famous for his wine collection, mostly bottled at his winery in Tuscany. I was eager to see what vintage he had to offer. Since I left the church, I had developed a taste for fine wines.

When I entered his dressing room, the Maestro was sitting in a robe in front of his dressing table. He turned and smiled and his robe fell open. To my dismay, he was naked! I turned my head as he rose and led me to a sofa .He began to seduce me with wine and words of endearment.

“My dear Pietro, how I have longed this moment. Our voices have joined in perfect harmony many times. Is it not fated that our hearts and bodies would do the same?”

I was a virgin and had never had a sexual encounter. Although I had some curiosity about the act of sex, I felt no impulses or inclination. I was asexual. So, when the Maestro put his hand down my pants, I giggled. I don’t think he expected that reaction because he quickly withdrew his hand.

“What’s the matter mi amore, don’t you like it? Do you not find me attractive?”

I was conflicted. Yes, I was curious about sex but didn’t know whether this was the right person or circumstance. Yet, I didn’t want to offend or alienate the Maestro. He was my only friends and had a lot of power. Besides, I didn’t know what my role would be in the sex act. No one had told me how or if a castrato had sex. I wasn’t ready.

“Maestro, I’m tired and afraid to ruin our friendship. I think you’re a very attractive man but remember I’m a castrato.”

The maestro seemed undeterred. He put hand down back of my pants.

“Ah but my dear Pietro, that’s what makes you so attractive to me.”

I didn’t know exactly what he meant but I knew I didn’t want him to proceed so I pulled his hand out of my pants.

“Maestro please don’t!”

The Maestro’s face reddened and he kissed me roughly on the mouth. He removed his robe and before I could react, he had pulled off my pants. The rest is a blur. The next morning, I just felt pain. I had lost more than a friend and my virginity. I lost trust. It was a lonely life, and it had just become lonelier. All the fame and money could not replace what I had lost.

I woke up crying. Was it all a dream, a nightmare? Was I really raped? The room and bed seemed so familiar. I felt a certain warmth. A comforting hand stroked my cheek. I opened my eyes. Lying next to me was my wife. She smiled sympathetically.

“It’s alright dear, it was all just a dream!”