Lord Byron’s Box, Redux (The Darcys in Venice, Chapter 28)

As the golden song faded with the end of the first act and the curtain was drawn, Lydia sprawled along the velvet railing of the box, crushing her bosom against it. “Lizzy,” she said pettishly, “That girl is no prettier than I am, and she squeals too high when she sings.”

Elizabeth was surprised. “Why, she is La Righetti, and has the highest reputation as a soprano.”

“Soprano? Is that why she shrieks so? Righetti, Spaghetti. But tell me, Lizzy, really, I do think I could do as well, or better. I do not have to depend on finding Wickham and going back home. If I stayed here I am sure I could become an opera singer.”

“It is very hard work, you know, and you do not care for that,” Elizabeth reminded her.

“Oh pish! What is there to being Cinderella? I could sing the part in my bath, and at my dressing-table, and that would be enough practice. You know I could always remember things, think how I knew every name of every officer quartered in our part of the country.”

“I have never heard you sing to much credit. Even Mary does better.”

“But nobody would ever look at her twice. With me it is a very different thing, please persuade her, Mr. Darcy, won’t you?”

“I cannot, being entirely of her opinion. It takes years to train a singer, even ones with talent. But I am very glad you enjoyed La Cerentola enough to emulate her. What part did you like best?” he asked patiently, as if speaking to a child.”

“Oh, that is easy! The food fight! At the banquet, when Cinderella and the Prince in disguise are making sheep’s eyes at each other, and all the gentlemen were bouncing on that fine spread – I don’t blame them! Why, there were whole roasted chickens and geese in jelly, and such fruit and cheese cakes and lobsters, real ones too! I vow if we hadn’t been tucked up in this old box I’d have run right down on the stage and grabbed food with the best of them!”

“I do not doubt it. That would be so commensurate with your entire style and behavior.”

“Oh, you always do delight in belittling me, Mr. Darcy, I vow. And Lizzy always lecturing me on manners. I should do great things if you did not stifle me so. And I don’t suppose you have the faintest idea, either of you, how I might gain a position in the opera.”

“Never having contemplated such a situation, I confess that is the case,” said Darcy, “and I should not wish it for my wife.” He and Elizabeth exchanged a smile.

“Well, I know, who does, then. I say, Byron – Lord Byron! You know everyone worth knowing in Venice. Cannot you pull some strings and arrange for me to be taken on as opera singer?”

He stared at her incredulously and whispered something to Contessa Guiccioli, who giggled immoderately.

“Milord iglese can do anything!

Contessa Guiccioli

“It would take a divine Providence, not a milord inglese. Don’t talk nonsense, Lydia. But I forgot – we ought to be looking out for Wickham. That is why I took us all to my box, though it isn’t quite the thing for ladies. The sight lines are the best – after all, Italian society people mostly want to see one another, for them it is the most important thing.”

The Contessa said something to her inamorata, and held out her pearl opera glasses.

“To be sure! I do not know why I did not think of that, Teresa, Mrs. Wickham will be very much obliged, and during the interval is the very best time for a good gander.” He passed the glasses to Lydia. She took them, and started scanning.

Lady Catherine, who had been sitting in a stiff silence, was roused to an objection. “Lord Byron,” she exclaimed. “Surely such proceedings will be offensive to those respectable people she may be surveying!”

“I’ll wager there are not very many of such a description here,” he said easily.

“I support you in your opinion, Lady Catherine,” Mr. Collins interjected. “It is very offensive, intrusive behavior, looking through a demonic glass like that, to spy upon respectable citizens. No lady would do it.”

“Oh?” asked Byron skeptically, “are you criticizing La Contessa? A noble lady of the highest reputation, who always employs her opera-glasses, as is fully acceptable among the well bred.”

“No, no my Lord,” said Mr. Collins, shrinking and trying to think how he had better retract. “I assure you, I would never – “

“There he is!” shrieked Lydia, at a honking volume that might have impressed a theater impresario with her potential abilities. “It is Wickham! I see him right across over there, so I do! Look, Byron!”

He took the glasses and gazed. “By George Wickham! I do believe you are right. It takes a wife.” With a chuckle he gave the glasses back to Teresa.

Lydia proceeded to wave her arms like windmills and shouted, “Yoo-hoo, Wickham! Over here!”

“I will go right over to that box and fetch him at once,” said Mr. Collins.

“Better let Darcy go,” suggested Byron. “He knows how to handle him best.”

Darcy nodded briefly and moved off without a word.