Free The Mandolin Lesson by Frances Taylor Page A

to linger and to waste a little time.
    We walk over tiny bridges. We see a barge laden exquisitely with fruit and vegetables: shining aubergines, large green and red peppers, swollen bulbs of fennel and salad leaves. The boat is moored on one side of the canal and is being used as a market stall. A group of ladies, with their shopping bags, wait to be served.
    Just a little way further is a modern shop window with handmade wooden toys arranged on glass shelving. I am looking for something to take home for my son. My eyes trace over the various patterns of wood grain. I compare them with the patterns I have seen on the bowls of mandolins. I don’t see the gift I am looking for, but I am fascinated by the stark contrast of the old and the new: an ultra-modern shop fitting within a cluster of ancient buildings.
    Periodically we cross a
campo
, the Venetian equivalent of the
piazza
. These wide, open spaces are a welcome relief with their greater light. I let my eyes focus on some distant detail: the Baroque façade of a church or the shape of a campanile.
    In the
Calle dello Spezier,
I hear the music of Vivaldi, a violin concerto. We are a long way from Vivaldi’s church. I follow the sound of the music and it takes me across a pretty courtyard, decorated with potted plants. I feel as if I am entering someone’s private house. At the other side of the courtyard is a shop window, in which is displayed a lute and books of music. The lute is placed on its front so that the round bowl is visible. I survey the ribs carefully, noticing the contrasting flaming in the alternating strips of wood. It is extremely attractive.
    I remember a former visit when I tried to study the paintings by Pietro Longhi that are housed in the
Ca’Rezzonico
, the last home of Robert Browning. In a painting called ‘
La Polenta
’, the lute like instrument was viewed from the back. Another picture I wanted to see had been moved, I was told, to the
Galleria Querini-Stampalia
. When I tried to locate it, nobody knew of its whereabouts. I am anxious to collect iconographic evidence of all lute type instruments, as they contribute in some way to the evolution of the mandolin. It is, at times, a frustrating investigation.
    I am dragged away from my thoughts to the
Pasticceria Marchini
, one of the many confectioners of the city. I can smell the sweet sugary fragrance before we see the array of pastries. The Austrian influence in Venetian history is reflected in the wonderful
Sachertorte
s and various types of strudel. I am tempted to buy some nougat, but I resist and press on.
    A shop that specialises in marbled paper catches my eyes. I love the designs. The paper is handmade and very expensive. I steal a few moments evaluating the different patterns and colour combinations. I prefer the blues and green to the reds and oranges. I decide to experiment with marbling when I return home. I would like to use the designs as cover paper for my editions of music. My son’s class did some beautiful work when they tried marbling at school. I resolve to seek his teacher’s advice on the matter.
    We enter the
Piazza San Marco
. Even though I have seen it several times before, and despite the nuisance of the pigeons, I am struck by its vastness and by the glory of the decorated basilica. The gold and jewel-like colours of the paintings on the façade of the building glitter in the sun. Slowly we walk across the asymmetrical ‘square’ towards the Campanile, savouring the experience. Turning right, we walk past the Doge’s Palace in the direction of the water. Turning left, we walk a little way along the
Riva degli Schiavoni
, until we find a café with outdoor tables. We sit down and order our morning coffee.
    The water changes endlessly. Sunlight falls on the undulating surface, making it iridescent: slate grey, turquoise, opaque, limpid, sparkling.
    I stare at the crooked sticks growing from the water, protecting the parked