Lydia and Lady Catherine: A Battle in Venice

The Fashionable Mamma by James Gilray

In the sultry days of early September the Darcys were wanting to leave Venice, where the heat hung dome-like and heavy over the muddy canals. Lord Byron mentioned a country villa he and Shelley knew about, in Este, near Padua, a twenty-five mile carriage journey from Venice. It was on high grounds with beautiful gardens where the children might play, and the family find relief in the more open air. Their friend the English Consul Hoppner made the arrangements, and the family drove away for their excursion in high spirits.

Lady Catherine would not go. She desired peace and privacy, she declared, and would delight in having the Darcys’ spacious quarters of the Palazzo Mocenigo quite to herself. On their return, she hoped they would be pleased to find she had put the management of the place into some decent order. Darcy and Elizabeth rather shuddered at the prospect of those servants who would remain behind, under the hands of such a mistress, and hoped they would not all run away or give notice upon their return; but it would be only for two weeks, and perhaps they could endure Lady Catherine for that long without actual damage.

Unfortunately for Lady Catherine, she was not quite alone with no other family member at the palazzo. Lydia also remained behind. She had wanted to go on the family jaunt, but as she had a newborn baby Mrs. Darcy did not consider it advisable. If she also had the motive of wishing to relieve Darcy of Lydia’s presence for a little time, knowing that he felt it a damper and a penance, she did not say. Lady Catherine’s and Lydia’s quarters were at opposite ends of the house, and hopefully they would each keep out of the other’s sphere so that there might not be collisions.

It did not turn out so. On the very day following the Darcys’ departure, Lady Catherine, having arrayed herself in a delicate white lace gown suitable for the weather, and a new sun-parasol, passed into the grand salon on her way to the gardens, to sit under the pomegranate and olive trees. Scarcely had the servant opened the huge doors and she stepped into the salon, when she halted in her tracks.

There, plumped in the middle of the finest figured satin divan, propped up by silken needlework cushions, and with a stout attendant beside her, sat Lydia herself, bold as brass. There was a pretty selection of cheeses and Venetian fruit cake piled before them on a beautiful maiolica ceramic platter before them, and they were imbibing wine from Mr. Darcy’s finest crystal decanter, brought from England.

Maiolica plate made for Isabelle d’Este, Fitzwilliam Museum

Incredulously, Lady Catherine saw that the servant was openly sucking a babe at her bosom – but how was that? Could it be Lydia’s baby? Her shocked observations swirled through her mind, and she finally fetched breath and said, “Mrs. Wickham! What are you doing here! Did you not go to Este with your sister?”

“You see not,” said Lydia with a shrug. “They thought the brat was too young to travel. I thought I could leave him here very well, with the servants, but they would not hear of it.”

Clever of them to get rid of her company, Lady Catherine thought grimly. “Is that your child?” she inquired, tight-lipped.

“Of course it is,” Lydia laughed.

“I was not aware my nephew had agreed to provide you with a wet-nurse. It is quite unnecessary and above your station.”

“I don’t know what he thought, but I wanted one, as all fine ladies have them. I could never afford to hire such help when I was living with Wickham in England, but here in Venice it is quite a different thing. It was too bad of Lizzy to refuse.”

“Then – who is this person?” asked Lady Catherine, with an indignant gesture.

“Why, I found her for myself,” said Lydia proudly. “She is called Giulia, and she works in the kitchens. Has a brat of her own.”

Lady Catherine was silent a moment and surveyed the nursing woman. Young, robust, and healthy-looking, she sat placidly with her breast out and paying no attention to the conversation.

“How dare you to permit this exhibition in Mr. Darcy’s salon!” Lady Catherine exclaimed.

“He’s not here to see it,” Lydia shrugged.

“But – how was this arranged? The girl does not speak English, and you do not speak Italian.”

“What of that? Other servants do – Lizzy’s maid Sarah, and the chef, and one or two others. So I asked if there was anybody suckling, and Giulia was glad to do it. I gave her some trinkets and told her Lizzy would pay her well on her return. So, here I am with nothing to do but stop that plaguey nursing, get my figure back, and go out to some of the jolly fairs and fests that happen in the town, without Lizzy to give me her disapproving looks.”

“Alone?” Lady Catherine gasped.

“Why, I am a married woman after all, and in no need of a chaperone. I think of going to the opera; Darcy and Lizzy go all the time but they never take me, they are so selfish. I can lace up tightly and should not look too outbursting. I daresay I should meet some handsome Italian beaux.  How I do long for some fun! You can’t think what it has been like, being locked up with Lizzy and Darcy all these tedious months.”

“They will not pay your nursemaid,” said Lady Catherine in scorn, “they will turn her out of the house for what she has done; and you had better not give up the practice. Remember, when we return to England, there will be no Italian servant taken along on that journey for such a purpose, and you must provide for your child yourself. But of course you have not thought of these matters.”

“It is ten to one whether I go back to England or not,” said Lydia carelessly, pouring out some more wine for herself and Giulia.

“What is it that you are drinking,” asked Lady Catherine, bending to peer at the bottle. “Why! I declare, that is Darcy’s Sciacchetra Terra di Bargon –what he calls his ‘meditation wine,’ and he has it brought in specially from the Genoa region. And you have nearly finished his private supply!”

“Yes, I guess we’ve drunk it up,” shrugged Lydia philosophically. “But there’s a little left. Care to have a glass?”

“Mrs. Wickham!” Lady Catherine’s voice rose up the scale to an almost operatic scream.  “Drinking before noon! Mr. Darcy’s fine wine!  Conscripting the servants to do your unwarranted bidding, in services the master of the house would not permit! And I see you have helped yourself to Mrs. Darcy’s wardrobe again, after she has reprimanded you for it over and over. That morning costume is hers, I know.”

“What’s hers is mine, I consider,” said Lydia nonchalantly. “At least while she is not here. And if you dislike the things I do, why don’t you keep to your part of the house and not watch me do them?”

“I should like nothing more than never to have you in my sight ever again. But you require watching, like an animal that has not been taught or kept contained. Left to your own devices you might bring the entire house into ruin and disrepute!”

“That is not my concern,” replied Lydia indifferently, gulping down more wine.

“Do you mean to say that you have no care for the name and house and family of Darcy! This is insupportable. I would see you driven from here, if our journey back to England were not to be undertaken so soon. You know we would all have been at home already, were it not for this inconvenient child of yours.”

“You can’t help nature. What a taking you are in, Lady Catherine. I don’t doubt you will rage yourself into a fit if you are not careful. Really, you had better drink some wine.”

Lydia held out a glass good-naturedly, but Lady Catherine, sweeping her arm in a gesture of fury at the same moment, upset the glass, and it spilled all over the hem of her delicate lace.

Alencon needle lace “The Queen of Laces”

Lady Catherine jumped, her face purple. “There! Now see what you have done!” she shrieked. The baby in the nurse’s arms chose that moment to start bawling loudly, and all was confusion.

“It was you who knocked it over,” protested Lydia, “but sure that rag will wash.”

“It is priceless needle lace from Alencon!” her ladyship spluttered.

“Well you can afford to get more.”

“You!” Lady Catherine shouted at Giulia, “Clean this up!”

“She does not speak English, as you have already noticed.”

But Lady Catherine’s shouts and windmill-like furious wavings were clear enough for the girl to realize what was wanted, and she hastily set the baby down on the divan, where it lay still squalling, and came over with a cloth to dab at Lady Catherine’s hem.

“You had better take that dirty thing off, Lady Catherine, and rest yourself. I must start dressing for an important afternoon call.”

“What kind of indecent act are you planning now? I insist upon knowing.”

“Well, it is none of your affair, but you do keep mentioning our return to England, and I’ll have none of it. Catch me in a carriage going all the way back to dull grey England, with my sister and you! No thank you. I have another plan in mind.”

“And what outrageous scheme may that be?”

“Why, it is very simple. I intend to live with Lord Byron.”

Lady Catherine could not believe this speech, and her mouth opened like an unladylike fish for a moment before she exclaimed, “How can you even think such a thing possible? You know he has rejected you entirely.”

“Rejected both of us, if my memory serves,” Lydia countered, and Lady Catherine’s face turned even redder. Lydia raised her voice. “Giulia, can’t you shut that brat up?” She pointed to the baby, and the girl scurried back to the divan.

“Just tell me how you propose to bring about this miracle, Mrs. Wickham.”

“You forget I have an ace up my sleeve,” said Lydia. “That is Lord Byron’s child over there. And I am taking him to his lordship’s part of the villa this very day, to present him to his father.”

“You would not dare!”

“Now, Lady Catherine, you will give yourself an apoplexy if you continue to shout. Do go lie down, while I get dressed. Giulia, go wash the baby. Lavare il bambino. You see,” she told Lady Catherine, “I have managed to pick up a few words of Italian, you see. Not bad, wouldn’t you say?”

Garden at the Castle of Este, Veneto