Lucia - Andrea Di Robilant [86]
Alvise did not really care about the Golden Book one way or another. The Venetian oligarchy was dead and gone, he always reminded Lucia, and there was no point in looking back. His home, now, was Molinato. For nearly a decade he had worked tirelessly to build a modern, self-sufficient community. He had poured huge amounts of money into the project, and had pursued his goal single-mindedly, always putting the needs of the estate above everything else, including the needs of his wife. Of course it was a grand design, the kind of utopian project that was usually the prerogative of wealthy princes and kings. But in a way, that is how Alvise saw himself: the founder of a small, enlightened republic that replaced in his heart the one he had lost. So he felt especially gratified when the Vienna government informed him that the emperor had granted his petition to give his domain of Molinato a new name: Alvisopoli, the city of Alvise.
Alvise returned to Italy at the end of January so he did not witness Lucia’s final consecration: her part in the Carousel, the most eagerly awaited event of the season. It was held two days after Mardi Gras, in the Winterreitschule, the beautiful riding school on the ground floor of the Imperial Palace. Twenty-four expert horsemen, selected from the great houses of the Empire, were divided into four quadrilles: two German, one Hungarian and one Polish. In the old days, when the Turks were Austria’s greatest enemy, the purpose of the game was to slice off a symbolic Moor’s head placed at the top-end of a pole. Now it was a far less gruesome affair. A ring had replaced the head of the Moor, and the real challenge was in performing a dazzling array of figures and sequences. An element of courtly love had also been added. Each horseman invited a dame to the Carousel. At the end of the performance she presented him with a silk scarf: the prize for his ability and a token of her love. Donner l’écharpe, the offering of the scarf, had replaced the head-chopping as the highpoint of the event.
Lucia had not anticipated an invitation to the Carousel as it was unusual for a foreigner to be asked. She was very flattered when Count Callenberg, of the Polish quadrille, asked her if she would accept giving the scarf to him. Callenberg had been a close friend and a comrade in arms of Maximilian’s, from whom he had taken over command of the 45th Infantry Regiment. In Vienna, he had become a friend and admirer of Lucia. Inviting her to participate in the Carousel was a way for the two of them to celebrate Maximilian’s memory—their secret, as it were.
The other dames in the Polish quadrille were Princess Lobkowitz, Countess Lanskranka and Princess Stahremberg, who had so complimented Lucia on the success of her assembly. Lucia was flattered to be the only foreign member of the Polish quadrille, and indeed of the entire Carousel. Later, it occurred to her that in the eyes of Vienna she was perhaps no longer a foreigner at all, now that Venice was part of the Habsburg Empire.
The Carousel was taken very seriously by all the participants. Lucia sensed the tension that was growing by the day. “The horsemen’s young wives,” she noted, “are exceedingly worried about how their husbands will perform.”33 During the daily practices, the Winterreitschule became society’s favourite meeting place, its colonnaded gallery turning into an elegant drawing-room filled with chattering guests. Even government officials and high-ranking ministers dropped by at the rehearsals to catch the latest gossip.
On the day of the Carousel, the hall was packed, the lower and upper gallery overflowing with spectators in their grand gala attire. The emperor and empress took their seats in the imperial stand at one end of the hall. At the other end, four trumpeters entered the arena, followed