several times. There was flirting, lovemaking and dancing. But also
someone lying half-comatose in a chair, concentrating hard on
balancing a glass of wine. Vivaldi had to smile. Time and again he
had refused the drinks offered him; if he was going to play he had
to have a clear head.
It was in the last room that the strains of Il Sassone met his
ears for the first time; the harpsichord was being played with pace
and professionalism. Who could that be? These melodies were new
to Vivaldi and he knew it could not possibly be a Venetian, let alone
an Italian, performing them. But before he was able to reach the
musician’s side the piece was over and there was enthusiastic
applause and calls for an encore. This time Vivaldi instantly
recognised the opening notes: it was that old Scarlatti! He tried
eagerly to catch sight of the player over the heads of the crowd
assembled around him. The king! Antonio was looking straight
into the eyes of Frederik IV. He got no reaction. The Danish
sovereign was obviously relishing the music and drinking deep
draughts from a wineglass that was being refilled as fast as he
emptied it. A great wave of disappointment engulfed Antonio. It
was clear that by now the king had probably forgotten all about
having invited him here this evening. The room was again filled
with thunderous applause. Who was this harpsichord player?
Vivaldi looked about him, asking one or two of his neighbours if
they knew the musician’s name. One shrugged in ignorance,
another probably understood no Venetian dialect and a third
mumbled something incomprehensible. Increasingly intrigued,
Vivaldi pushed his way though the crowd, repeating his question.
‘Who cares what he’s called?’ retorted one man, dressed as
a Turkish admiral. ‘This is the best musician I have ever heard
play!’ The response irritated Vivaldi. How could anyone say that
when they had not heard all the world’s music, let alone HIS
music?
‘Isn’t he fantastic?’ swooned one young lady. ‘This is what
I call music,’ followed another. Vivaldi got more and more annoyed
as he fought his way forward. Eventually he was at the front and
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