Lucia (22 page)

Lucia no doubt had a laugh at the expense of the ugly Countess Golowkin. Yet by the time she reached home and sat down to describe the scene to her sister, an unpleasant after-taste had already blemished the pride she had felt at being invited to a soirée in one of the most exclusive houses of Vienna. How easy it was to fall prey to malevolent chit-chat or to be laughed at behind one’s back, she wrote, realising that no amount of compliments and fancy invitations were going to protect her from becoming herself a conversation piece—as indeed she was soon to be, and in that very drawing-room at Princess Clary’s.

M
argarethen became a little less inhospitable after Lucia brought new furniture from Vienna, hung a few Venetian paintings and prints, and substituted the worn upholstery with more colourful fabrics. Her regular tours of inspection at their country estate became welcome pauses from the pressures of her social life. Herr Schedel’s wife, Maria, was a big, good-natured woman from a village near Verona, and Lucia enjoyed the long chats with her in the large country kitchen filled with the familiar smells of dishes from back home. Maria baked an excellent
pan casalino,
a bread typical of the Veneto. Lucia pronounced it “as good as the bread at Molinato.”
²⁰
She always took fresh loaves of it back to Vienna for her Venetian friends, winning over the more cantankerous émigrés with her deft
pan casalino
diplomacy.

“The milk, the butter, the cream at Margarethen are also excellent,” Lucia told Paolina. “I sleep ten hours in a row. I have a good appetite when I am out there, I have a rosy complexion and I feel very well.”
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Indeed, some of her Viennese lady friends said she had changed so much they would not have recognised her as the same person who had arrived in Vienna the year before.

“My grief, too, is finally lessening,” she added hesitantly. Three years after Maximilian’s death in the early-morning fog of the Walensee, Lucia realised she at last had the strength to look into the eyes of the colonel as he faltered to the ground, bullet-ridden—and hold her gaze. Even the absence of her little boy became a bit more bearable. She missed him terribly, but she did not worry as much about his well-being for she knew that with Signora Antonia he was in the best possible hands.

I
n Margarethen, Lucia’s main outdoor activity was to stand over muddy ditches and supervise work on the large-scale drainage system Alvise had devised. She planned a rose garden around the house that was going to keep her busy in the spring, and a sizeable vegetable patch to supply the household needs in Vienna. She also became fixated with the idea of making money by growing safflower, a plant that produced a red dye much in demand.

Lucia first heard about safflower (
Carthamus tinctorius
) from Doctor Vespa, who in turn had heard about it from Empress Maria Theresa. At the time, safflower was imported mostly from India and Egypt, and was very expensive. But a Tyrolean farmer by the name of Herr Colonna, who was related to a girl employed at the Imperial Palace, discovered he could grow safflower in colder climates too. It seemed a good business opportunity. The empress financed Herr Colonna with an imperial grant worth 700 florins, and the venture took off very promisingly. Lucia decided to get into the safflower business, even though Alvise was sure to react with scepticism. She encouraged Paolina to seize this chance to shore up her own family finances, and sent her two boxes of the precious seeds. “I would be so happy if I could get you to plant at least a field or two…It would look beautiful too—a carpet of red powder puffs. And once they wilt you gather the dead plants and sell them to the dyer.”
²²

Lucia enjoyed conjuring up schemes to make a little extra money for Paolina and herself. She drew up simple, commonsense business plans that required only minimal investments. Together they purchased a few geese, fattened them at Margarethen and sold them at the local market. With the profit, they bought a piglet that grew into a hefty sow and gave birth to more piglets. They owned a flock of sheep that grazed at Molinato until it was time to sell their wool. “The sow has recovered well,” ran a typical update on their small commerce.

She gave birth to seven piglets, which will soon be able to reproduce. What shall we do next, my dearest sister? I favour selling five of the seven piglets, and keeping two of the females so as to double the size of our business. As for the geese, I would use the profit from their sale to buy another four, unless you feel we can get a lamb for the same price…
²³

As the days grew colder and the freezing Austrian winter set in, Lucia reduced her trips to Margarethen. She could see herself staying out there “quite happily, surrounded by snow,”
²⁴
if Alvise were with her and she had friends to visit, or, even better, if Paolina and her children were visiting. But the prospect of being snowbound with the German staff for weeks was not so appealing. So she tucked herself in the town apartment, waiting for Alvise to come up from Molinato. She watched the first snow flurries swirling in the street below her windows. Despite the weather, she kept up her routine of dropping by two or three houses a day, dutifully writing down in her notebook the name of the family and the date of her visit.

In early December, Empress Maria Theresa had her ninth child. She named him Charles, like the emperor’s brother, the popular commander of Austria’s army under whom Plunkett had fought in Switzerland. It occurred to Lucia that nearly ten years had passed since she had given birth to Alvisetto while across the street from Kohlmarkt, in the Hofburg, the young empress was about to deliver Crown Prince Ferdinand. Since then, Theresa had given birth practically every year, and Doctor Vespa had always been at her side. He had followed this last pregnancy as well. But he was old, he had suffered a stroke, and when the time came to deliver the child, Theresa had called upon the services of a younger obstetrician. The empress had softened the blow by writing a very touching letter which the doctor had read so many times, tears streaming down his wrinkled old cheeks, that he knew most of it by heart. When Lucia went to check on him, he read it to her, “holding it open in his hand but looking at me all the time.”

“Dear Vespa,” the letter began, “a sense of duty and obedience has forced me to call on someone else on this occasion and God only knows how much I have suffered because of this.” The empress went on to assure him that she would not be at ease until she knew he was “happy and at peace.” Her greatest wish was to see him again soon, but if he chose not to come to see her after what had happened, at least he should let her know whether he was, in fact, happy and at peace. In the meantime she was pleased to announce to him that as a reward for his long service, the emperor was making him a baron. She signed “your very affectionate Theresa.”
²⁵

F
or once Alvise kept his promise and arrived in time for Lucia’s saint’s day on 13 December, only to find he was excluded from the official, ladies-only celebration. The custom in Vienna was for a close friend to give an open-ended lunch party at which lady-guests dropped by to exchange kisses and offer a small present to the honouree. Lucia was feted in the house of Marietta Contarini, a lively, warm-hearted woman, and one of the few Venetians who had welcomed her with open arms when she had arrived in Vienna. Maria was a cousin of Alvise’s, and she belonged to an old Venetian family which had given to the defunct Republic one more doge than the Mocenigos—eight against seven. In the old days, this unique ducal rivalry had been taken fairly seriously by the two families. Now, whenever someone brought it up in the conversation, as they did again during the lunch at Marietta’s, the story had a bittersweet note.

Lucia needed a little time to readjust to Alvise’s presence in the house after his long absences. But in the end she was always glad to have him with her, glad to be escorted out in society or at the theatre. Despite the chilly weather, they took long walks at the Prater, often lunching at the Lusthaus, the imperial hunting lodge at the end of a long alley which had been turned into a pleasant restaurant during the reign of Joseph II. When the first big snowfalls came, the white city became silent save for the muffled sounds of cab drivers and bells ringing. They went to the sled races, and Lucia picked up the habit of rubbing her nose with snow to prevent it from freezing. Apparently, she had seen the Russians do it. Or so she told Paolina.

Baron de Braun’s big production of the season at the Court Theatre was Cherubini’s
Medea.
All of Vienna turned up for opening night. Lucia, too, was walking a stage of sorts, and she did her best to put in a pleasing performance for her husband. Alvise was impressed at how gracefully she made her way through the glittering foyer, nodding and greeting and often introducing him as she went along. Lucia was much complimented, the production was splendid—a perfect evening, if one of Vienna’s renowned pickpockets, mingling among the theatregoers, had not disappeared with Alvise’s new embroidered wallet.

On Christmas Eve Alvise and Lucia attended midnight mass at Saint Stephen’s Cathedral with the highest-ranking nobility. Next day, her hair still in curlers, Lucia watched from her window as the emperor and empress arrived for Christmas mass. It was a dazzling show, the rich plumage of the mounted imperial guards mixing with the colourful uniforms of a hundred grenadiers. A crowd of onlookers filled the square and waited in silence throughout the mass, until the bells of Saint Stephen’s rang out, and Francis and Theresa emerged from the church, waving to the cheering populace. Lucia smiled at the thought of Paolina. “If only you were here with me this very instant,” she scribbled to her sister, “watching the Empress surrounded by chamberlains and guards as she steps into the imperial carriage…”
²⁶

In January the pace of social life in Vienna became dizzying, and Alvise and Lucia found themselves in a whirlwind of soirées, assemblies, dinners and balls. “All the houses in Vienna are open to us and I dare say it is impossible to be more ubiquitous than we are,” Lucia boasted to Paolina, listing her engagements as much to impress her sister as to keep track of her complicated schedule.

Sunday we have an assembly at Count Colloredo’s, Monday a soirée at Countess Lasranski’s, Tuesday an assembly at Count Trautsmandorff ’s, followed by a coterie at Countess Cageneck’s, Wednesday an assembly at the Cobentzels’, Thursday an assembly at Countess Lasranski’s, Friday a soirée at the Cobentzels’, Saturday an assembly at Countess Kollowrath’s, Sunday a dinner at Charles Zichy’s…Next week Duke Albert [of Saxony-Teschen] is giving a ball, and Alvise insisted I buy a new dress for the occasion. Forty sequins!
²⁷

For the first time Alvise and Lucia hosted their own social events as well. The week before Christmas they held an assembly starting around nine o’clock in the evening, after the theatre. Over 300 guests filled their apartment, drinking champagne and picking at the dishes prepared by the French cook with the help of Margherita, Teresa and Felicita. “Your assembly, my dear, is a veritable feast,” Princess Stahremberg whispered in Lucia’s ear at the sight of the merry crowd.
²⁸
In early January, they had a more intimate soirée, and a week later they hosted a ball—the final step in Lucia’s initiation after an apprenticeship that had lasted eighteen months.

Lucia chose her dress with special care. She wanted to look fashionable without appearing too daring, mindful that Vienna was always at least a season behind Paris. She greeted her guests in a long white taffeta dress, rimmed at the bottom by a silk garland, also white. Over the dress, she wore a white knee-length tunic lined with two stripes of silver. She had long, light grey sleeves and a matching camisole, and wore a string of pearls mixed with Venetian glass beads. Her hair was combed backwards, into a bonnet crowned with a bouquet of large and fluffy white flowers. A light make-up gave her a natural look. “The French call it
couleur intéressante,
”
²⁹
she informed her sister in her next-day report, pleased that everything had gone smoothly and that her dress had been much admired. Was it too extravagant for Paolina’s taste? Lucia thought it probably was, given her sister’s habit of dressing so unassumingly. “But then we do have different tastes, don’t we? I like to be among the first to wear the latest fashion, because it always ends up being adopted by everyone else—especially if it comes from abroad. You, on the other hand, won’t even wear a coat if it looks too new. What can I say?” she asked teasingingly. “I think you’re wrong!”
³⁰

Alvise had every reason to be grateful for Lucia’s success in Vienna. The cloud that still hung over him when he had arrived a year and a half earlier had dissolved thanks largely to her amiable character and her determination. She had restored the Mocenigo name to respectability without appearing eager or calculating, and slowly she had built an ever-larger circle of friends. Her well-worn leather notebook bore testimony to her efforts. By the end of the winter she had paid 114 courtesy visits to all the important houses, criss-crossing the city from Prince de Ligne’s modest palace off the Place des Ecossais to Prince Esterhazy’s grand estate near the High Bridge over the Danube.

Lucia had also succeeded in the smaller but no less impressive feat of making peace with the grouchy Venetians, including old Francesco Labia, the dean of the émigrés, who had refused to speak to them when they had arrived. “Now he too wishes to be our friend,” she noted with satisfaction.
³¹
The Vienna government decided not to reinstate the Golden Book of the old Venetian nobility after all, but to give out Austrian titles instead, and only after a careful examination of each request. The more nostalgic Venetians felt rather glum about the irrevocable demise of that age-old symbol of the Republic. To cheer them up, Lucia often had them over for a plate of steaming polenta. “All Venetians must know our house is a second home to them,”
³²
Alvise proclaimed at one of these gatherings—enjoying his new role as much as his guests were enjoying the tasty polenta he had brought from the mills of Molinato.