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By Root 748 0

by a sea of fluttering feathers. The twenty-four horsemen in their flashy uniforms made their entrance into the great manège, or riding school, and lined up to salute their dames. The quadrilles broke up into beautiful arabesques with perfect timing and grace. The shiny blues and reds and yellows and greens of the different uniforms created a feast of colours as the horsemen burst into roaring charges and rumbling contre-danses. Lucia was overwhelmed by the spectacle. A beaming Callenberg steered his horse towards her, and she rose, lifting and waving the Polish banner. Callenberg then pulled out a scroll and read aloud the sonnet he had composed for her—not the greatest poetry, but an honest effort:

The trumpets blare,

The proud horseman

Enters the arena.

He has a natural instinct for battle:

He stiffens his chest, his arms and feet,

And firmly holds his steed.

The memory of ancient feats sharpens his skill

As he dashes the skull to the ground.

The soldier

Can taste victory,

But his heart is not satisfied,

And he stands uncertain.

“Shall I find glory in battle,” he asks,

“Or seek my destiny in your beautiful eyes?” 34

Lucia handed Callenberg his well-earned scarf. She took the scroll on which the sonnet was inscribed, pressing it to her heart.

That evening, at the bal masqué given by the twenty-four horsemen, the guests wore costumes from Valachia, Bukhovina, Morlaquia and other exotic lands of the Habsburg Empire. Only the waiters serving at the tables laden with cakes and pastries and ice creams and candied fruits seemed to have a proper, recognisable uniform. Lucia went as a young Greek from an island in the Ionian archipelago which had long been part of the Venetian Empire. Empress Maria Theresa asked her what she was dressed as. “A Dalmatian,” she fibbed, knowing how fond the empress was of Dalmatia.35 She was dressed as a Greek, but she did not forget she was in the heart of Austria.

Lucia looked forward to spending the summer and autumn in Venice. After two years in Vienna she was curious to see how the city had changed under the Austrians. Alvise was not going to open Palazzo Mocenigo since he planned to be in Alvisopoli most of the time, so she fancied taking a nice apartment in the Procuratìe, on Saint Mark’s Square, where her father had lived after they had returned from Rome fifteen years earlier. Would it be safe to take Massimiliano there some afternoons? He was going to be four in September. Would she recognise him? Would he remember her at all? For two years she had kept every loving thought about her little boy buried inside her. Now her mind was racing ahead, and she could not wait to hold him in her arms. So it was a shock for her to learn from Alvise that her trip to Italy had to be postponed until late autumn. Her presence at Margarethen during the time of harvest in the summer was required because he had lost confidence in the management there. Lucia accepted with the greatest reluctance—she felt she had done her duty in Vienna for the sake of the Mocenigo family.

There was more bad news. Paolina had recently given birth to another baby girl, Lucietta. Now Lucia learnt that the baby named in her honour had died of pneumonia, the same illness that had killed Alvisetto. She tried to console Paolina:

My dear sister, think of all the good you have given to that innocent soul who is now in heaven. I cannot stop the tears as I write these words but I do believe them to be true. And I’ll go so far as to say that you have now made your offering to the Lord and that you must believe it is for her own good. I know such an effort requires us to stifle our natural feelings, but you are capable of such Christian heroism…Remember this, my sister: you must think only about staying strong. You cannot let yourself go, for the sake of the other children. It is your duty now, and I live in the hope that you fulfil it.36

Lucia was quite hard on Paolina, perhaps because she feared her sister, who was the more fragile of the two, was letting