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
