Only the members of the orchestra are left suffering terribly from
cold, bare hands, as anybody can hear from their playing. Vivaldi
for one, and it does not please him.
The sonorous tolling of bronze bells slowly penetrates the
walls and resonates around the deep interior of the theatre. It’s as
if all the bells of Vienna are conspiring to ring in unison and drown
out my music, ruminates Vivaldi irritably. Pausing to rub his hands
and get the blood flowing again, he sees the steward storming into
the auditorium. ‘The emperor,’ yells Selliers, with a wild look in his
eyes. The entire orchestra and every artiste on the podium turn to
stare at the manager. Antonio is by now looking straight into his
face, distorted with weeping. ‘The emperor is DEAD!’ he
stammers.
Slowly the full significance of his words dawns on Vivaldi and he
begins to tremble. He sits down to relieve his quaking knees. ‘My
God,’ he groans, making the sign of the cross. ‘Why now? Why in
heaven’s name just at this moment?’ He feels his stomach turn, and
glances back at the manager. Every person in the hall knows the
implications of his message. In accordance with tradition, all the
theatres in the empire must be closed for the obligatory period of a
year’s mourning. Cursing and swearing, singers and orchestra
alike abandon the stage for the auditorium. They want to see their
money! Written into their contracts is a clause covering such an
eventuality, entitling each to a third of the agreed honorarium.
After being paid, most pack their bags and are off at once
to look for work in a theatre beyond the borders of the Habsburg
empire.
Antonio is completely distraught. Where must he go now?
Too numb to think things through clearly, he opts instead to seek
out Paolina and tell her the bad news. The manager he leaves to
himself, as sick at heart as Vivaldi himself.

The whole of Vienna is plunged into mourning and there is a
general sense of unreality, as if their ruler cannot really be gone.
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