he points his plump forefinger at the final lines of text. “Francesco
Gasparini, Maestro del principe Borghese”. How’s that for a game of
soldiers? Not bad, eh? Especially in view of the fact that I hardly do
any composing for them. It’s a strange life. I left Venice for a quieter
time, do you remember? And what happens? I seem to have got
busier than ever. But there you go. It’s hard to say no as long as
people are paying me well for my services. But enough talk. Make
use of my invitation and I’ll take pleasure in introducing you in
Rome. As long as there’s so much money floating about, there’s
work enough for all of us!’
The auditorium has emptied while they have been talking,
and the lights are going out one by one.
‘Come on, Vivaldi. Let’s get a move on before they shut us
in for the night! See if we can find a bottle of wine to open
somewhere.’
‘Ah, Rome,’ sighs Paolina romantically. Antonio has returned later
that evening to recount his meeting with Gasparini. He is
somewhat under the influence, and not only of the ancient city. He
recalls how years ago he suggested to his father that he should go
to Rome, and ended up in Florence instead. But this personal
invitation from Gasparini will sweep aside his father’s objections.
Paolina’s face is flushed with excitement. Rome! She must make
sure that, whatever happens, she goes with them this time!
“Terrarum dea gentiumque, Roma – Cui par est nihil et nihil secundum”,’
quotes Paolina by heart from Martialis, the poet of ancient times.
‘Rome, goddess of lands and peoples – comparable to none and to
whom nothing compares.’
‘I think those days are long gone,’ counters Antonio
prosaically. ‘Apparently there are cattle grazing on the rostra and
more ruins than houses still standing.’
‘I don’t care!’ laughs Paolina. ‘I just want to see it.’
Because this trip is one made more or less on the off chance, the
father does not feel inclined to accompany his son; he has enough
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