Farinelli Page #3

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with his scorn.

We're wasting our time.

Tonight the Broschis have

decided to remain silent.

I hardly knew my father.

It was I who asked to hang his portraits

throughout the house.

My mother was afraid

she'd suffer.

But actually, it helped us.

I no longer have a father.

And you will never have children, right?

It's the greatest sorrow

of my life.

Marry my mother!

Let us choose each other.

You'll be my father,

I'll really be your son.

I know the Church forbids

castrati to marry.

But my mother is not a Catholic.

I know that she's

really very lonely.

I'm very touched

by your suggestion, Benedict.

I thank God

for the love you bear me.

God has nothing to do with it.

It's a private gift.

Let's not stay here.

- What are you doing here?

- Let's go, please.

- Were you following me?

- It's not the first time.

What I just did put us

in grave danger. Here, read it later.

How did you get this copy?

It's no copy.

It's Handel's original score.

I stole it for you.

My legs are still trembling.

You're insane!

Yes.

You've been singing Broschi

for too long, haven't you?

You're starving for music

worthy of your voice.

Now it's in your hands.

You need your brother

even for a kiss?

Where were you, Carlo?

I'm talking to you!

You shouldn't be out in the cold.

It hurts your voice.

Why is she here?

We've been waiting for you, Carlo,

with great impatience.

You're disheveled, young lady.

Did my brother give you

what you expected?

You didn't answer my question.

Calm down. A night with her

will do us both good.

I don't want to.

Have her taken home.

Let me have her.

Don't break our pact.

Let me. I need her.

I wouldn't advise it, Carlo.

You're good at two things,

Carlo Broschi.

Betrayal and loneliness!

We no longer need each other,

castrato!

Castrato!

I beg you to stay.

I'm sorry.

Without him, it's no good.

To your health!

My dear Margaret!

Will you marry me?

I'm afraid you didn't hear

my request.

I heard it perfectly,

my friend...

and I thank you for it.

Forgive my laughter.

It was a stupid defensive reflex.

It's a mistake, Carlo.

I will never marry again.

I owe Benedict's father

that last fidelity.

You need no further excuse

than the horror I inspire in you.

Oh, no!

But I am too aware

to share your blindness.

Probably because

I often play God on stage...

I dared to think

I could be a man.

Forgive me, both of you.

It's impossible.

I cannot.

Come, Benedict.

You're tearing me apart,

Carlo.

To protect my love,

I must crush my feelings.

To hell with those rats!

I'm so tired.

I am so tired!

Too much pride.

Don't despise your music, Maestro.

Who let you in?

Don't resist.

Follow the thread of my voice,

like a musical progression.

I only want to talk.

- Where did you get that?

- It doesn't matter.

I came to offer you this music.

How dare you?

I'll sing it for you.

Sing it for me?

It's time we made peace.

We both had the mystery

revealed to us.

Music belongs to me

just as it belongs to you.

What music?

Good enough to squeeze cheap tears

from females who swoon over your voice?

Is that how you presume

to move me?

With your music, I will.

Because of you,

and to save this theater...

I exhaust myself composing works

unworthy of my talent.

You're causing my music

to deviate from its course.

I'll never forgive you

for that, Farinelli.

A castrato's voice is an example

of nature abused...

rerouted from its goal,

in order to deceive.

You've subverted your voice

to virtuosity without soul...

devoted only to artifice!

Let it stay there!

Give me back my score.

You know, Maestro...

some people say

that my singing...

has power over people.

Don't turn my voice

into an instrument of death.

You don't frighten me.

Everyone knows that Farinelli

promotes his own legend.

Keep on splitting their ears...

with stupid operas

full of idiotic characters!

Is that him?

Yes, it is.

You see, Carlo?

I'm happy.

My body doesn't refuse to grow.

Are you in pain, child?

It's not really pain.

Just a feeling

of utter fragility.

Like a snail

without its shell.

Alexandra has

the world's softest hands.

But I won't share them

with anyone else.

Delightful!

Quick, cover it up.

We're helpless, Alexandra.

But one thing is certain.

You love me, don't you?

Where is my score?

Where does your brother hide

the opera he stole from me?

Tell me...

and I'll leave you in peace,

like a rat in your attic.

Thieves!

You've stolen my brother

from me, Maestro.

Your music...

separated us more

than any ocean could have.

Who composed this?

Play it. Go ahead!

Neither excessive...

nor unnecessary flourishes.

It doesn't seem like you.

This is an entreaty.

The harmony should be changed.

Take this supplication

into the dominant.

Move over!

After the major third...

repeat the theme

up a fourth.

Your brother is a monster.

Play! Go ahead!

This is weak.

Not enough violence!

Wait.

Expand the chord...

and dare a chromatic move

to D-fat.

Not bad. Not bad at all!

Who does he think he is?

God?

He's destroying you...

and wants to destroy me, too.

Bring me the rest.

Some ink, pens, wine.

What are you waiting for?

When did you plan

to finish it?

When did you start this?

When?

The day when--

The day my brother

was castrated.

That day, I promised him...

it would be...

our joint masterpiece.

You'll never finish this opera.

Never!

You no longer have any reason

to finish it.

He doesn't need you anymore.

It is you who needs him.

You've been deprived

of your instrument, Signor Broschi.

You're like Narcissus

without his refection.

Like Orpheus without his lute.

You're right, Maestro.

Without him, your music

no longer exists.

Without him...

you are nothing but silence.

At 17...

I composed my first melody.

I wrote it for Carlo.

You may be the only one

who can understand.

His voice--

His voice was sublime.

And my music flowed

from my brother's throat.

When did he fall off that horse?

He never fell off.

When Father died...

Carlo became seriously ill.

My father had entrusted him to me.

He was delirious.

I was afraid of losing him.

I soothed him

with some opium...

and by telling him the story

of an opera...

that I invented day after day

to help him dream.

He loved to sing, Maestro.

He loved to sing.

His face--

His face was transfigured

when he sang.

That angelic voice

had to be preserved.

It had to be done quickly.

Opium eventually wears off.

His voice had to be kept

from being ruined...

by the repulsive alchemy...

that time inflicts

on the body.

My music unified us, Maestro...

closer than lovers.

Do you realize

the scandal we will create?

A Handel opera performed

at the Nobles theater!

It's unheard of!.

Incredible!

How could I have let

all this happen?

Finally, Farinelli...

what rendered us enemies

for so many years...

will be resolved tonight.

It's time to settle our account

before God.

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