Lucia - Andrea Di Robilant [84]
“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
For 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