The Mandolin Lesson (28 page)

Then, as an afterthought, the certificate for the
diplomino
is mentioned. The
diplomino,
or little diploma, is an exam which I had successfully passed at the beginning of my second year. I had never received a certificate and when I had enquired, I was told it was not possible. A certificate was just not issued for this diploma. Now I am told that it is possible and that I can have a certificate, probably tomorrow, all being well. However, I must buy a
marca da bollo
for 20,000 lire, a type of stamp as excise duty, from the nearest tobacconist's shop. I have just five minutes in which to achieve this, since the secretary's office will then close for lunch.

I run all the way down the marble stairs, out into the street, through the little arcade opposite and across the next road, taking care to avoid a bus and a cyclist. I go through another small arcade and turn right. I see the white T sign on the black background and head immediately for it. Luckily, I remembered the tobacconist's position. I quickly buy the stamp and return by the same route. I am astonished by my speed. I am so excited by the thought of having the certificate I thought I couldn't have, that my body's movements are accelerated to a new height. I am also fearful of missing this five-minute deadline and I am aware of the consequential surge of adrenaline pulsing though my body. I excel myself and return at exactly half past twelve, just seconds before the office is locked close.

Back at the classroom, I find that someone has arrived with a mandola to show the Maestro. An interesting discussion ensues but it mostly washes over me. The morning has been so happy and fruitful in so many ways, but also intense, that I need a pause. I feel jubilant.

After a while, the mandola player departs. Kim, the Korean mandolinist, begins his lesson and he is also studying the Barbella concerto. He hasn't studied the manuscript and is playing from a photocopy of a handwritten edition prepared by the Maestro. The score is quite different from mine, with lots of musical shorthand to speed up the process of writing by hand. After just one movement, I find I am at saturation point with mandolin music and, in particular, with Barbella. Miki and Deborah have both had an early lunch and are now at their history of music class. Ugo has decided he is too busy to eat at present. Michelle awaits her lesson. It is nearly two o'clock and I haven't had anything to eat or drink since breakfast, not even a cup of coffee. So I decide to excuse myself and go for some lunch.

I go to the Caffé Eremitani, since it is close and convenient. I can have a good lunch at a very reasonable price and at this time of day, I will be assured of a seat. I am not unhappy to be alone. In fact, I am very pleased to be able to rest my mind for a little while. I would equally have been happy to eat with some of the other students, but I feel just as comfortable with or without other people. The only thing is that I would have liked an opportunity to catch up with Deborah's news. She wasn't at the concert on Saturday and I haven't spoken to her for over a year.

I order
tagliatelle al ragù
. I had seen the dish downstairs behind the glass counter as I entered. There are usually two varieties of pasta, which change daily and which are heated up as required. This is in addition to the many different types of sandwiches and salads available. I know I will not be eating until quite late this evening so I choose a wholesome pasta dish, only I am told that it is called
paglia e fieno
. That is fine, I agree. I have learnt not to be fazed by anything. I suspect the dish is called
paglia e fieno
, straw and hay, on account of the two colours of
tagliatelle
, yellow and red. The amusing fact is that usually the ‘straw and hay' name of the dish refers to yellow and green
tagliatelle
. The dish also usually has peas, cream and ham as the ingredients for the sauce. My sauce is definitely
bolognese
. Typical Italian confusion, which is at times frustrating and, at times, quite charming.

Instead of a salad, I also choose a delicious dish of chargrilled vegetables,
peperoni
,
finocchio
and
melanzane
, peppers, fennel and aubergines, all drizzled in extra virgin olive oil. For me, this dish is gastronomic heaven. It is fresh, simple and so good. I drink water with my meal and complete my lunchtime treat with an espresso.

For the second time today, I receive a sprig of mimosa. I will give this one to Giovanna this evening. From my table, I can survey the whole café. I am in the corner of the upper floor and at the balcony edge. To my right side is a balustrade filled with glass. Over the edge is a sheer drop to the bar below and a small number of tables. To the left of this balustrade is the descending staircase. The back wall of the establishment is covered with a mirror that reflects light and amplifies the space. Thus I am able to enjoy a view of everything that is going on, both downstairs and upstairs.

My attention wanders from one little drama to another and provides me with constant entertainment. These people hadn't ordered water: they had ordered something else. That lady has waited an inordinate length of time for her sandwich and confuses the waiter by asking for a cappuccino with it – and so on. There is always something to watch, something to amuse. I feel relaxed and happy. I feel a contentment I have long desired and never quite achieved before.

Back at the
Conservatorio,
I meet a new pupil, Anna, who is in her early teens. She has been to school this morning and, like Emanuele, comes for her lessons in the afternoon. I manage to speak with Deborah. She is suffering with a cold and not feeling her usual cheerful self. I find out that her father has retired and they have moved from the family-run music shop. Deborah gives me her new address and explains that she now has her own smaller business, selling music accessories. I promise to send her a postcard from London.

Deborah and Miki depart to catch trains. Anna and Michelle have their lessons in turn and also depart. The lessons are completed for the day. Ugo begins to pack his belongings away and I take my leave.

I stop for a cup of tea at the Bar Pollini, which faces the entrance of the
Conservatorio
. I meet Michelle there and we talk about her life in France. I am interested to know how she finds living in a foreign country. A graduate in philosophy, she tells me that she misses her family.

We follow our refreshment with a visit to the music shop,
Musica Musica
, which is just around the corner. Last time, I visited with Sergio and found some useful newly-published Italian Baroque music for mandolin. Today I find five new pieces, which have been published since my last visit. I find a solo mandolin sonata by Giuseppe Giuliano, and sonatas for two mandolins by the same composer, as well as by Giovanni Battista Gervasio and Prospero Cauciello. In fact, I find two works by the last composer. I am really pleased with my find.

Next, I visit the flower shop to fulfil my obligation to buy vegetable seeds for my husband. I buy packets of the
Genovese
variety of courgette, plum tomatoes and wild rocket.

I return home to Giovanna's apartment after a highly successful day. On the way, I notice how many more shops are open this evening than there were this morning. A Monday phenomena; many shops remain closed on Monday morning as their half day. Somehow in my euphoria, and with the distraction of so many interesting shop windows, I walk straight past Giovanna's road and miss my turning for the second time today.

*

Tuesday morning is a bonus. Normally, I have to spend the morning of my return day travelling. Very often, I have had to take trains and buses to connect with my flight. Sometimes, because I have been involved in other people's lives, the time has been lost time. It might have been spent just being at home – my friend's home. Often I was grateful for the lost time, because although I didn't do anything special, I was glad to have the rest, the slowness of pace, after a period of intensity.

Today, however, is different. Today I am in Padua and only an hour away, by bus, from Venice airport. Between now, eight o'clock, and midday, when I take the bus, I have four hours of free time. I intend to enjoy myself and to use this precious time being a tourist. I ardently desire to see a number of things that I have never had the luxury of time to see. I have always been too busy studying music and travelling. Although I hope to continue visiting Italy occasionally, to maintain my contact with the mandolin culture here, I want today to celebrate the conclusion of a period of formalised study of the mandolin.

Giovanna has a plan. She takes me with her in the car on the first part of her journey to work. She drops me near the hospital and tells me to keep walking in a straight direction. Eventually I will arrive at the bus station where I can check the bus times and buy my ticket for later. Giovanna is sure this will save me time as I have a heavier ‘magic' bag now to carry (Giovanna has always referred to my canvas overnight bag as the ‘magic' bag, since I always manage to fit so many things into it). Yesterday, I only had music to carry in my bag. Today, I have my overnight things as well. In addition to my bag, handbag and mandolin case, I also have the big plate to carry. It is now wrapped in newspaper and placed in a strong cardboard carrier bag with red rope handles. Nevertheless, it is cumbersome to manage.

I am not entirely convinced that Giovanna's plan is any better than the route I took yesterday. I suspect my perception is coloured by the weight and awkwardness of the items I am carrying, together with the onset of rain. This road is a busy main road flanked by twentieth century urban and industrial sprawl. It is a completely different world from the historic centre and yet it is the same city.

Finally, I reach the bus station. I easily purchase my ticket and obtain a timetable. There is a departure at five minutes to midday. If I miss that bus, there will be another half an hour later. I make a mental note of bus stop number eight, from where the bus leaves. Everything is organised – well, almost organised.

A five-minute walk brings me to the
Conservatorio
. I place my mandolin case, bag and the carrier bag down in a space near the porter's office. It is possible to leave luggage at our own risk; a very useful service that seems strange and outmoded to me, living with excessive security precautions in London. I chat with the lady porter, explaining that I have an appointment with the secretary to collect a certificate and then I will be returning to England via the bus and Marco Polo airport. I mention the fragile gift and she finds a safe corner for it. She is so kind and accommodating. I was afraid that she and the gentleman porter might be confused by my appearance as today is not a mandolin teaching day and also because I haven't visited the
Conservatorio
during this academic year. However, they recognised me from yesterday and from the concert on Saturday. Everything is fine and I am properly organised for the morning.

After breakfast at the
Caffé Eremitani,
I head for the
Musei Civici Eremitani
, the
Eremitani
Civic Museums, which are just across the road, next to the
Chiesa Eremitani
.

This collection of museums comprises of an archaeological museum on the ground floor and two art museums on the first floor. All three museums are brimming with enough treasures to last a day's viewing. I have only an hour to spare on my itinerary, so I immediately look for directions to the
Cappella degli Scrovegni
, a chapel that stands in the museum's grounds, and is the real object of my visit.

The
Cappella degli Scrovegni
contains a series of frescoes on the life of Christ and of the Virgin Mary, painted by Giotto. These frescoes are said to be Giotto's finest work and people come from all over the world to view them. The small chapel in which they are painted is situated in a cordoned off area of the public gardens, which I passed each time I walked from Padua station to the
Conservatorio
. Entrance is only possible through the collective museums. I had walked past this building dozens of times and, when I had stayed at my hotel, I had slept only a few hundred yards away from it, yet I had never found the right moment to visit. My visit today is the fulfilment of a long-held wish.

I by-pass a group of Japanese visitors with their guide and find myself alone on the path that leads to the chapel. The path is divided by rope and there are directions for visitors entering to keep to the right-hand side. I breathe in the cool, damp air. It is a luxury to be without crowds of people. Often, as I had passed the entrance to the museums early in the morning on my way to the
Conservatorio
, I had noticed several coaches parked in front of the Church of the
Eremitani
. Sometimes, the coaches contained parties of schoolchildren. At other times, they heralded an influx of tourists.

I open the door of the chapel and step inside. It is empty, except for the custodian. I am immediately struck by the beauty of the celestial blue, vaulted ceiling, jewelled with gold stars. The splendour of the heavens is intensified by the stillness of the building. I am filled with a sense of awe and wonder, which makes my body move slowly and reverently.

I begin to examine the frescoes one by one. I notice how effortlessly the angels seem to float over the
Nativity
scene. There are five of them and they are preoccupied in different ways. The central one is giving its attention to the crib. I say ‘it' because it is difficult to know whether angels have gender. Recently, it has been the subject of much discussion in the letters page of the
Times
. Three other angels are looking towards heaven with gestures of praise and thanksgiving. An inverted angel at the right side of the group is greeting the shepherds with peace.

In the next scene,
The Adoration of the Magi
, I cannot help thinking how sultry Mary looks. This is not in anyway a disrespectful thought. She is a truly beautiful women who, had she lived in our times, would appear on the cover page of
Vogue
. I wonder who the model for Giotto's painting might have been. Perhaps an unobtainable Paduan noblewoman who he had viewed from afar at the Mass in the Basilica of St Anthony.