A Picnic in Venice (Part 12 of Byron and the Darcys series)

Lady Catherine was in a very bad mood. As she seated herself at the breakfast table, arrayed in her richly and stiffly embroidered morning dress with its tight lace collar Elizabeth and Darcy could see, by her black looks, that her temper, so far rigidly held in, would not be so for long.

She began at once on the food. Not eating it, but condemning it. “Faugh! These frippery pastries again. Has no one in this house any compassion for my stomach, I ask you, Darcy? These Italian trashes are unwholesome.”

Darcy forbore to answer, but only looked at his wife expressively.

“You might have an egg, Aunt Catherine,” Elizabeth suggested gently.

“An egg, you say! An Italian egg! Venetian eggs are positively poisonous. They cannot even keep their hens clean in Italy, as we do in England.”

“Perhaps it is time for you to return thence, Aunt,” Darcy suggested dryly, “to the land of clean eggs.”

“It is of all things to be desired,” she returned, “but I know my duty, and shall not depart while I am still needed here. This sad family situation must be addressed.”

“If you mean my sister,” began Elizabeth resentfully.

“To be sure I do. Mrs. Wickham is no better than a highwaywoman – a thief!  When you hear all – “

“Really, Lady Catherine, I must remonstrate! Lydia is not all that she should be, by any means, but I believe she has broken no laws – “

“Only half of the Commandments!”

At this moment Lydia appeared, with every sign of having paused to listen from behind a garden statue. She had changed into a particularly pretty morning dress of Lizzy’s, all delicately braided satin ribbons, and seating herself at the wrought iron breakfast table, proceeded to stuff herself with pasticci, ignoring the crumbs which drifted down her bosom.

“Haven’t you all got anything better to do than always be talking of me?” she commented, seizing a nectarine and beginning to suck it.

“There! Even her constant thieving and ruination of your garments are immoral acts, Mrs. Darcy, and I wonder you don’t put a stop to it. And as for her table manners…”

“Lydia arrived with only the clothes she stood up in, Aunt, and the maids can wash the crumbs and debris well enough,” said Elizabeth a trifle wearily. “We have more important concerns.”

At that moment yellow juice cascaded down the lace frill on the gown, and Elizabeth could not help exclaiming. “Lydia, do have a care! That will not wash!”

“Sorry,” mumbled Lydia, spitting seeds onto the garden grass, wiping her mouth with her hand, and wiping it on her skirt.

“Really, Mrs. Darcy, you are as bad as she is. Has no one ever told you that a lady never mentions matters of washing? But of course, you two had the same mother. Very unfortunate.”

“Aunt Catherine, I must insist that you not insult my wife’s mother,” said Mr. Darcy, in a resigned tone.

A manservant here appeared, with a letter upon a silver salver.

“A letter for your Ladyship,” he intoned, “from Lord Byron, in reply to your own, I have been instructed to say.”

There was a moment’s surprised silence. “You see! She insults me, but she is no better than I am!” cried Lydia triumphantly.

“Silence! We have already closed and settled this matter, I believe, Mrs. Wickham,” Lady Catherine said severely. She turned to Darcy and Elizabeth. “This is only in return for my note of thanks for his hospitality,” she explained. “I am sure Lord Byron wishes to invite me to visit,” she added, fluttering her eyelids horrifically. “We have discovered many likenesses between our two great minds, and have become quite friends, you know.”

“You and Byron?” exclaimed Darcy incredulously.

“Hah!” said Lydia. “There’s more that I could tell about those two.”

“Mrs. Wickham! Remember what you promised!”

“Oh yes. Well then, why don’t you read your letter to us so we can see what he says, if you have nothing to be ashamed of?” she said tauntingly.

Lady Catherine flushed a deep purple, to the Darcys’ astonishment.

“By all rules of morality, a private correspondence is the business of no one else, Lydia,” said Elizabeth reprovingly.

“I am sure Lord Byron can have nothing to say that cannot be told,” Lady Catherine insisted. “He has the very greatest respect and admiration for me, and expresses himself in such terms. I am a sort of auntly advisor to him, in my seniority of mind, and he says there is nothing to be found anywhere on this earth like my solidity, I would have you know!”

“Well, read it then, why don’t you, if it’s all compliments,” urged Lydia.

“I shall. I am certain he will be asking for an early meeting between us. When will it be? This afternoon? Let us see.”

With anticipation Lady Catherine broke the lavish red waxen seal of the note and began to read.

“Your Ladyship, I must thank you for the honour you do me by favoring me with your correspondence, but I fear it will be quite out of my power for me to see you again at any time in the near future. I have decided to return to the Armenian monastery on the island of San Lazzaro immediately, to resume my Armenian studies, and shall be inclosed there. By the time you receive this I will have departed thither. Please give my respects and regards to your worthy nephew and his wife, and my best wishes for your health and happiness.”

There was silence around the table as they all absorbed this. Darcy and Elizabeth exchanged one quick glance and then hastily looked away from one another, concealing their smiles. Lady Catherine was a picture of disappointment and chagrin. She tried to collect herself.

“Armenian! Yes, we have had a great deal of talk of these studies of his, Lord Byron and I. He has confided in me. The language is important to his poetry. Well, well, it is too bad, but with Byron work is everything. I had hoped to see San Lazzaro and the dear monks…” her voice trailed off with uncharacteristic irresoluteness.

“I know!” exclaimed Lydia brightly. “Why should we not visit him there? We can go in Darcy’s gondola, you know, and make a party of it. Why, we could have a picnic on the monastery grounds!”

“Such a thing would be completely unacceptable to his lordship, I am sure,” said Darcy, “and to myself also, for that matter. It is an intrusion.”

“Fie, Darcy!” cried Lydia. “You never want to do any thing that is like a good time, not balls, or gambling, or any thing at all. I am sure your aunt wants to go and thinks it a very fine idea, don’t you Lady Catherine?”

“As a matter of fact,” the older lady answered, “I do.”

“There you are!” said Lydia in an ecstasy. “And if Darcy doesn’t want to take his gondola, I’ll hire one for us myself,” she added generously.

“But Lydia, you have no money,” exclaimed Lizzy.

“Oh, yes I do, now,” she said importantly. Lady Catherine shot her a glare. “I got it from – somebody.”

Lizzy thought for a moment. “It might be well to preserve family respectability in a body, at that,” she mused. “And a picnic on the grounds would be innocent enough; the children will enjoy it.”

“Very likely that is all it would amount to,” Darcy shrugged. “I have no idea that the monks would permit Byron’s privacy to be disturbed.”

“We’ll see about that,” Lady Catherine said aloud to herself.

“Very well,” said Darcy, “we may as well do the thing properly. My gondola it is. You shall have your picnic, Lydia.”

The bright weather held, and under a soft blue sky with fluffy clouds reflected in the broad lagoon, a gentleman’s long gondola glided into the landing at the small island of San Lazzaro. Two monks helped the gondolier in securing the craft and tying it up, and they unobtrusively helped the ladies, servants and children to alight with their picnic baskets.

“Welcome to Isola San Lazzaro degli Armeni,” said the older monk politely. “I am Father Pasqual, and this is Father Leon. Have you come to see the monastery?”

“Thank you,” replied Darcy, making his bow in form. “My name is Darcy, and I am tenant along with Lord Byron, at the Palazzo Mocenigo. May I present my wife and her sister, and my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.”

“I should have precedence in the introduction, Darcy,” barked Lady Catherine, her dark brows drawn together sternly.

“We do not mean to be of the smallest trouble to you good fathers, and you see we have brought our own picnic things. We would be gratified to be permitted to sit in your gardens, and enjoy the island for a few hours.”

“You are most welcome. If I may say so, many English visitors come to see the monastery as well, and we invite you to do the same, if you desire.”

“I am sure we should like that very much,” said Elizabeth, “it must be of great historical interest.”

“It is indeed. The island was a leper colony for a thousand years, but was granted to our Armenian order a century ago. We have many treasures here.”

“How do you come to speak English so perfectly, Father?”

“Why, we study very constantly, and some of us speak as many as four languages. Lord Byron is working with us on an English and Armenian dictionary, which will be the first of its kind. His visits do much to improve our colloquialisms, I assure you.”

“Lizzy,” said Lydia in a loud whisper, “do quit palavering. Tell him we want to see Byron!”

“Be silent, Mrs. Wickham,” ordered Lady Catherine. “You are shockingly impertinent. Lord Byron could never wish to be interrupted in his studies by a light woman of no importance. I however am his equal and confidante. Friar, do have the goodness to inform his Lordship that Lady Catherine desires to see him.”

Father Pasqual bowed civilly. “I will inform Lord Byron of the visitors, and abide by his wishes. Father Leon, do you remain and help the party arrange their picnic. The rose garden will be the best spot on such a day as this, I think. And I hope you will accept our offer of some wine to drink with your repast. We will also like to present you with a gift of rose petal jelly of our own making.”

The rose garden at San Lazzaro, photo courtesy of Myveniceapartment.com blog

“How beautiful it is here!” exclaimed Elizabeth a little later, breathing in the scent of the roses all around her, and looking out at the wide lagoon, back at the spires of Venice in the distance. “Lydia, will you use a cloth!”

Elizabeth had insisted on making Lydia remove the ribboned dress, which was turned over to the maids for repairs, while Lydia was given a plain dress to wear for the excursion, Lizzy mentally resolving to lock up the rest of her own wardrobe. Lydia had pouted at looking like what she called a pretty nun, but consoled herself by unbuttoning the front and exposing her bosom, for the sake of Lord Byron.

A spread of little Venetian sandwiches and cheeses, fruit and dainties was set out on several little tables, along with the delicious glowing rose jelly, mixed with goat cheese, spread on small toasts. The party, whatever their respective tempers, enjoyed the picnic and the wine in the spring sunshine, and for a wonder Lydia did not get any of the rose jelly on her (or rather Lizzy’s) dress.

Rose petal jam made by the current monks at San Lazzaro. Photo courtesy of birgirberg.com

At length, when the repast was finished, Father Pasqual reappeared to escort them into the monastery. They were conducted about the principal rooms, the refectory, chapel, hall and exhibition rooms, with the Tiepolo paintings on the ceiling being pointed out. At last they came to the library.

Byron was at work at a table piled with books and manuscripts, but having been warned by Father Pasqual, he rose up in his velvet writing-gown rather reluctantly and made his bow.

“I hope you can forgive us for the intrusion, your Lordship,” said Darcy civilly.

“I comprehend perfectly,” replied Byron, with something of a twinkle in his eye. “You could hardly be expected to resist the importunings of two such ladies as Lady Catherine and Mrs. Wickham.”

“Thank you for not including me in these urgings,” said Elizabeth dryly.

“I know better than that, Mrs. Darcy,” he assured her with a serious smile. “I wish I had time to show you the treasures of the library properly, but I am occupied with my studies. My faith! What a language it is.  Six and thirty letters in the alphabet and no dictionary – as yet. But the good monks are more familiar with the library’s contents than I, and will show you the highlights. I must return to my work, if you will forgive me.”

And he seated himself again in the inglenook, settled his robe about him, and studiously turned away from them.

“If you will please to come this way,” invited Father Leon, “this next room has the most ancient manuscripts and illuminations.”

“Byron!” shrieked Lydia, “May I not stay? We can play I am your chamber woman. Surely you need me to make your bed comfortable, even in a monastery!”

He did not deign to reply, but continued copying Armenian vocabulary.

“Lydia, come right away,” ordered Lizzy.

“For shame! Yes, remove the baggage at once, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy. His lordship has no time for her nonsense,” said Lady Catherine.

She herself remained behind however, as Mr. and Mrs. Darcy propelled Lydia out by the elbows. Lady Catherine seated herself beside Byron.

“There, she is gone. Now, may I hold your blotting-paper, Lord Byron? I am fully capable of assisting you as amanuensis, and then when you want a little intelligent conversation to rest you from your labours, I am here.”

He looked up briefly. “I require no assistance, Lady Catherine. I must beg you return to your party. A monastery is no place for a woman.”

Lady Catherine retreated in some mortification, and joined the adjoining library room.

“He was remarkably cordial to me,” she informed them, nodding. “I shall see him again.”