The Case of the Orphaned Bassoonists by Barbara Wilson

wanted to do, it meant something very different than when a man did. It was clearly in the interests of men that we renounce worldly goods and desires. Then they could have more for themselves. To want too much—to want anything—was the way to heartbreak and suffering. Yet for centuries women had lived such circumscribed lives. How could we ever know what too much was?
    “Cassandra!” said Francesca, coming around the corner with her arm linked in Roberta’s.
    “You’re here too?” asked Roberta in a less than welcoming manner.
    It was the first time I’d seen them since the events of last night. We all must have thought of that horrible moment on the bridge, because for a moment there was silence. I considered again how much Roberta looked like her brother. They were both very handsome. I wondered if Roberta and Francesca met at the museum regularly. It was certainly deserted enough for a tête-à-tête between two women who might have nowhere else to go.
    With an attempt at cheerfulness, I said, “I’ve always wanted to see this museum. You can’t really get a good notion of a gondola just by looking at them swarming around the Grand Canal, can you? You pretty much need to see the keel to get the true picture…I had no idea that I’d run into you and Francesca here. I’m delighted. And Roberta, I’m especially pleased to see you because I have some questions to ask you. A friend of mine is preparing a CD-ROM on women musicians of Vivaldi’s time, and she hopes to speak with you and get your assistance since you’re another musician, a very accomplished one, I might add.”
    “Which friend?” Roberta asked, but she looked a little less irritated than she had when she first saw me.
    “Nicola Gibbons.”
    “The one who stole my family’s bassoon?”
    “She didn’t steal it, and anyway, it’s been found. Sort of.”
    “I’m not an expert, but I can speak with your friend. We can meet tomorrow. Give me her phone number. I’ll call her.”
    The two of them seemed to be moving off. I supposed, because of Francesca’s work and her mother, they didn’t have much time together. Still I was reluctant to be left alone quite yet. “She doesn’t have a phone…She’s so busy at the moment that she asked me to do some research for her, you know, just ask the initial questions, make the arrangements for interviews…”
    “What questions?” Roberta asked.
    “Tell me, just for a start, about the musicians at the Pietà. It sounds like a golden age.” I patted the bench next to me, but they remained standing.
    “It was no golden age for the women in the Pietà,” Roberta said. “Of course compared to some of the other options, like being a servant or prostitute, being raised to make music in a protected environment meant you had some degree of freedom within that limited sphere. But it was difficult to leave one of the ospedali without getting married, and even if you managed to marry a sympathetic man, you often had to sign an agreement that you would not perform in public or carry on with a musical career. Very few women managed to get out of the Pietà and find work as musicians. A few became singers. So you can see why women committed to music simply stayed at the ospedali .”
    “Nicky finds it fascinating that Vivaldi composed so many bassoon concertos. She wonders if there was a very talented bassoonist at the Pietà.”
    “Yes, possibly, but it may also be that the bassoon was just an instrument that drew out some of his best work, his deepest feelings. The cello and the bassoon have some similarities, you know. They both have deep registers and can create a very rich, melancholy sound. And then, you know, Vivaldi loved conversation among instruments, and the bassoon is capable of having a dialogue with itself. You can get high notes as well as low notes, back and forth, just like people talking.”
    “Do you think there were other composers, women, who wrote for the bassoon?”
    “There