sight but the man who admitted Antonio. Surrounding a
candelabrum at the centre of the table are stacks of books and
manuscripts. In the corner of the room stands a simple bed. The
walls are lined by bookcases and hung with numerous small
paintings. On the floor beside the bed lies a small mat, but
otherwise the broad wooden planks are bare. In another corner
smoke rises delicately from an incense burner, spreading much-
needed perfume. For the smell generally pervading the place is
awful, and not even the incense can disguise the stench of decay. It
is the aura of mortal sickness, the same that hangs in the ward at
the hospital of the Incurabili in Venice. Antonio stands eye to eye
with the Holy Father and finds before him the pale and decrepit
face of a friendly but feverish old man. Can this really be the Pope,
and is the mighty Church of Rome truly directed from this sad,
nondescript little cell?
But what is the protocol? Should he go to the other side of
the table to offer his respects to the Pontiff? Antonio looks at the
cardinal for guidance. Ottoboni gets to his feet and introduces
Vivaldi to the Pope. The head of the church smiles congenially at
the priest and extends his hand, embellished with its sumptuous
papal ring. Vivaldi walks round the table, kneels respectfully and
kisses the jewel. The priest receives a blessing and is disappointed
to experience no special sensation of spiritual grace. Subdued, he
gets to his feet and opens his violin-case. Whilst Ottoboni chats
animatedly with Pope Innocentius XIII, Antonio swiftly tightens
his bow and sets his instrument under his chin. His diffident,
enquiring cough is answered with a confident nod from Ottoboni
and, without further ado, he inundates the Pope’s private rooms
with music so charged with energy that even the spirits of the
ancient Vatican must be roused from their lethargy. But Antonio’s
playing stops just short of that achievement, for Ottoboni soon
signals that it is enough. The face of the old man at the table is
aglow; his cheeks flushed with pleasure and emotion.
For a moment he has forgotten his pain. Slowly he claps
his hands. ‘Wonderful,’ he says softly, directing his words straight
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