going on here? Fabrizio leans back in his chair and digs his finger
in an ear.
‘Sixty percent of the turnover, Vivaldi. Sixty percent, no
less!’ Antonio does the sum. It could work, just. If the audiences
are big enough they will just cover their costs. Bitter, but relieved,
Antonio shakes the hand of Fabrizio, who can hardly believe the
turn of events. It is the most magnificent contract of his life.
‘Shall we put everything down on paper right away,
Vivaldi?’ he agitates, in sudden terror that the priest will renege on
their agreement.
‘With pleasure,’ beams Antonio.
The censor passes the libretto only on the twenty-seventh of
December, the day after the feast of San Stefano. Three days later the
Teatro San Angelo opens her doors and the auditorium slowly fills.
After many a sleepless night, Paolina can at last breathe a sigh of
relief, realising their costs will be covered. She watches with the
deepest respect how Antonio night after night leads the orchestra
as energetically as of old, as if triumphing over all adversity.
But once home, hidden from public gaze behind the
shutters, he drops the charade. He is exhausted, tired through and
through; and all too aware how close to the edge of the abyss he
has been this time. He may have got away with it now, but he knows
he can never again ask any favour of Fabrizio. Vivaldi has given
away so much, cut his cloth so fine, the impresario will never agree
to work with him again for less. His only source of satisfaction is
that the theatre in Ferrara will lie dark and empty this winter.
With carnevale and its true-life drama behind them, Antonio and
Paolina are determined to take life more quietly. The whole episode
with Ferrara has cost Vivaldi a great deal of energy. In the end they
have come out of it well, with all their costs covered. Yet Antonio
has the strong impression that his name has been clouded, and he
has bidden farewell to San Angelo.
But the urge to produce another opera is still there, and
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