Lucia - Andrea Di Robilant [11]
Most esteemed spouse, there were good reasons not to send you a portrait in which much of the contour of the head had yet to be completed…I could be very sorry should I appear to be more beautiful than I am, or more ugly for that matter…But in the end what I most cared for was that it be truthful as a whole, and I think it is. My father is satisfied, except for the colour of the hair, which is certainly not mine…If only we had had time for a couple more sittings, the result would have been superior. In my haste to satisfy your desire, I have taken a substantial risk…You will observe that I asked to be painted holding a small portrait of you in my hand. It is to remind you that nothing occupies me more than the original article represented in that small frame.24
Alvise was delighted with the unfinished portrait and told Lucia how beautiful she was “with words that could not have been kinder or more obliging.” The veil that had kept them invisible to one another, adding mystery and anxiety to their long-distance relationship, had been shed. Now both of them held an image on which to fix their thoughts. Their letters became more personal, more intimate, and Lucia must have felt a very sensual pleasure as she began signing off with expressions like “Your most trusted friend,” “Your most beloved wife” or “Your loving spouse.” She told Alvise: “I want to give myself over to my husband.”25 She did not yet abandon herself entirely to her fantasies because of “the bad situation” between Alvise and his family; but Alvise’s letters, which she read in the privacy of her own room, clutching his small portrait, bolstered her confidence. He promised her their marriage would be based on love, but also on truth and loyalty, all the time reminding her that he was marrying her at his own initiative, not because of a family arrangement. There would be no secrets between them, no hypocrisy. And they would never cease to respect and to care for each other in the face of life’s tribulations. Lucia was touched by his words. “Your wisdom about the maxims one should uphold in marriage gives me great comfort,” she wrote. “It makes me hold you in ever greater esteem.”26 She dwelled on the example of her own parents:
I will always remember how, despite their age difference, and their different character, and circumstances and education, my mother and father learnt to love each other, and to be always happy together even in adversity, except, as my poor mother used to say to us, at the time of separation, when they were torn by the feeling they might never see each other again.27
The weather had warmed since the family’s return from Naples. Roman spring was bursting everywhere. From her window in Palazzo San Marco, Lucia could see the flowering wisteria climb around the large marble columns of the main loggia. In the courtyard below, water splattered gaily in a fishpond surrounded by palm trees and laurel hedges. Although Alvise was far away, Lucia felt his presence more strongly each day. She longed to be close to him, to touch him. His letters became an instrument of pleasure. “The longer they are, the longer I feel near to you,” she told him tenderly. “My feelings for you are certainly not lesser than those you profess having for me, and I cannot wait to prove it to you with greater freedom.”28
Memmo could not have been happier at the way Alvise and Lucia were getting to know each other by correspondence. His dealings with the Mocenigos, on the other hand, were more frustrating. They were raising objections about Memmo’s ability to honour the marriage contract