‘I wish you to be my Maestro di Capella da Camera.’ The
statement sounds more like an order. ‘Mantua is like a wilting plant
in need of tender loving care to bring it to life and make it blossom
once more. I want the crème de la crème. Music, theatre, concerts…
and you,’ the count points his index finger at Antonio, ‘you will
achieve this for me!’
The priest frowns and Giambattista stares up at the
frescoed ceiling.
‘But Your Excellency,’ begins Antonio, ‘You are aware that I
have ongoing commitments here in Venice. In a couple of days
there is the premier of a new opera. And I have also committed
myself to composing for the Ospedale della Pietà and responding to
requests for new work from all over Europe. However much I
should like to be of service to Your Excellency, my hands are tied.’
Filippo walks up to the priest. ‘I understand that your
contract with the Teatro San Angelo ends with this carnevale. I can
offer you a theatre with a better public and no financial risk to
yourself.’
‘That may be true, Your Highness, but I am accustomed to
arranging everything on my own behalf and to making my own
decisions. I work with a permanent company of vocalists and I
should not like to put on an opera without them.’
‘Who is asking you to?’ parries the prince.
‘And, as I have explained, my work for the Figlie di Coro is
extraordinarily important to me.’
‘Even if you are compensated in two-fold?’
Giambattista coughs. ‘Sire, there is too much work that
simply cannot be set aside. My son receives requests daily for music.
My task is to assist him with this and to ensure that such demands
are met in a structured and efficient manner. An enormous
responsibility, as you may imagine, and one impossible to execute
were my son to reside at your court.’
The Count laughs. ‘The Palazzo Ducale is quite large enough
to accommodate you as well, Herr Vivaldi. I foresee no problem
whatsoever.’
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