Antonia of Venice

Chapter 2

UNO

VENICE to MANTOVA

1704 – 1719

II

What I remember most vividly from my earliest years at the Pieta are the feel of water in the air, cloying, rancid, if water can indeed turn sour, and the sound of violins coming out of the walls and slithering under doors and through windows and out over the Bacino. And always, as continuo for this music of water and violins, was the taunting of the other orphans... cruel, biting, hideous. And I, as I am now, was alone.... [Antonia, 1739]

Another jab! Higher this time, on her shoulder. And it hurt!

Antonia waited until the harpsichord solo began before turning around to glare at the violinist behind her. There was Isabetta smiling sweetly and innocently in the black and white garb of the Ospedale orphan, her left hand holding her violin upright in her lap, her right hand allowing the bow to hang down at her side. Only the slight movement of her bow hand gave her away.

Antonia glowered and whispered, "Stop! Stop now!" The ornate frescoes and statuary of the Church absorbed her soft voice. Buono! The Maestro hadn't heard her.

Isabetta merely smiled more innocently and looked up at the painted seraphim haloing the Madonna. As soon as Antonia turned around again, Isabetta poked the younger musician's back more forcefully, quickly re-assuming her angelic pose.

L'angelo di Satana, Antonia thought, as she dropped her bowing arm and thrust her bow backward.

"Ouch!" Isabetta cried out. "Ouch!"

With two quick claps of his hands, Antonio Vivaldi, his red hair fanning out wildly behind him, silenced his students. The young girls in his small, scrupulously chosen orchestra barely breathed as they waited for him to speak. "Domine! Who called out? Who?" Breathless and angry, he noticed all of the girls had turned their heads toward Antonia and Isabetta. Again! Infuriating! What was the matter with his quiet, obedient Antonia? And there she was, her cheeks red and tears welling in her eyes again! What was this disobedience? And Isabetta again, looking hurt and upset! Domine! Unconscionable—and in the beautiful respite after the storm of violins! "Antonia, what have you done this time? Speak up!"

"Nothing!" The tears she so despised began to spill down her cheeks. She hated this public loss of face! "It was Isabetta... it's always her! She hit me with her bow!" Antonia felt powerless. She hated this ritual of manipulation and humiliation. Always, always, the intolerable frustration and then the loneliness. Loneliness because the Maestro never seemed to believe her. It wasn't worth trying to defend herself. Defending herself would serve only to force the Maestro away, to diminish his love. Oh, if only she could find a way to stamp her foot and change it all! Why do the others hate me so? Why? Why does Father Antonio not see what they are doing to me?

"Isabetta, what do you have to say for yourself?" Vivaldi turned to the older girl behind Antonia. "Speak up!"

Isabetta stiffened at the sharpness in the Maestro's voice. "Father Antonio, I did nothing. It was Antonia who hurt me," she turned toward the other girls in her row. All eyes focused on her. Oh yes, they will support me in blaming Antonia! They always do! Confident again, Isabetta looked demurely at the Maestro, "Ask any of the other girls, sir."

All eyes focused on the two contending violinists.

"I saw it all, Maestro," the quiet voice came from behind Isabetta.