with what I did in Mantua, but that’s all past history now. He is
master of the house here, and will be for some time by the look of
things. The house is too small and Anna and I shall only be in your
way. And even if the worst were to happen and the situation were to
change in the near future, sooner or later we will be put out on the
street. I can’t let that happen. I’d rather we packed our bags and
left now.’
‘Come on, Paolina, don’t be so melodramatic. We’re
friends! Do you think I’d really just let you leave? Give me a few
days more to sort out my plans. Once everyone gets to know I’m no
longer chained to the court at Mantua there’s a good chance all
kinds of offers will start coming my way. An opera in Verona,
Ferrara or in Florence again, or Rome, or possibly even Vienna!’
‘Don’t you think your father will want to go with you?’ she
asks.
‘No, of course not. My mother wouldn’t let him! A short
trip of a couple of weeks maybe, but whole months off and away
somewhere? She’d kill the idea stone dead. And who would be there
to support me then? You know I don’t want to go anywhere without
you. I’ve grown too attached to you, and you know yourself you
have made yourself indispensable.’
Paolina stares at him, her face alight with joy. ‘It is so
sweet of you to say so.’
The couple walking arm-in-arm across the square in the
lengthening shadow of San Zaccaria attracts no particular attention.
They might just as well be brother and sister.
In the post is a letter from Vicenza requesting Antonio to put on
Armida al Campo d’Egitto as the last performance of the season there.
The opera was a success a couple of years previously in the Teatro
San Angelo, and again in Mantua. For a while this remains the only
commission that comes in; apparently the news has not filtered
through to all the theatres that Antonio Vivaldi is available for work
again. In principle this poses no problem; the years in Mantua have
lined the coffers extremely generously.
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