The Darcys and Lord Byron in Venice – Part 5

A nearly full moon shone, spreading a path of white light on the Venetian canals, as the black gondola glided along the Grand Canal. Each palazzo was like a grand darkened cavern, with only candlelit chandeliers glittering out from the interior, and the two cloaked and masked couples in the gondola were silent with enchantment. At least, Darcy and Elizabeth were; but Lydia and Wickham could never maintain silence long.

“I declare! If it was not a moon lit night, these funny long boats would for certain crash into one another,” said Lydia, with a happy bounce. “And we should all fall into the water – would not that be a scream!”

“Do sit still, Lydia,” chided Elizabeth, “you might think it a joke to ruin our gowns, but I think not.”

“Gowns, in Venice, are more fragile than reputations,” said Wickham easily, tugging Lydia’s skirt so she had to sit down. “I say, this is a fine one, though, this white – real silk, is it? Must have cost a pretty penny,” he muttered to himself. “Don’t wreck it, Lyd.”

“The boats won’t crash any way,” Lydia commented. “They have these cunning little lights in the head, so they can see each other. Wouldn’t they go out if the driver wet it with his oars? Hey!  Goo-Seppe!” she cried, pulling at the gondolier’s boot, “watch how you splash us, the light will go out!”

“Chiedo scusa, signora?” the man asked, turning, with an enquiring look.

“Never mind, Signor Antonio, keep going. Continua cosi,” said Darcy hastily. “The lady – signora – means nothing by her pleasantry. Non significa nullo.”

A string of gondolas, their gondoliers serenading their lady passengers in chorus, slid by.  Their strong, passionate voices carried across the canal, in a richly romantic melodic air.

“Oh!” cried Lydia, “What is that tune?  I have never heard any thing like it.”

“It is La Biondina in Gindoletta,” Wickham told her, “very popular in Venice this season, you hear it every where, they say.”

“That is true, Mr. Wickham,” said Elizabeth, “but I am surprised you know it. You have only just arrived in Venice. How have you heard it already?”

He shrugged. “I can sing it, too, if you like,” and he joined in the song that was floating on the air.  “La Biondina in gondoleta, l’altra sera g’ho mena…”

“How stupid, that it’s in Italian,” Lydia pouted. “Who can tell what it is about?”

“Never mind, it’s only a song about a blonde girl in a gondola who falls asleep,” Darcy said dryly.  “And here we are, at the temple of great music, not local Venetian gondolier airs.”

The gondola was pulling up at the entrance to La Teatro de la Fenice, and several boatmen jumped to help the ladies alight from the gondola. In spite of having seen so much of the world on her travels, Elizabeth stopped for a moment in wonderment, for the entire beautiful opera house was lit up with cascades of candelabra. Inside could be seen crowds of people in costumes of such variety and gorgeousness as the sisters had never seen before, and every one was masked.

Lydia squealed with rapture and grabbed Lizzy’s arm.  “Did you ever? Look at that one, he has a rooster’s head, only see!  And that lady is showing her whole bosoms, but I don’t think they are real. Is she really a man?”

“Lydia, do be quiet,” Elizabeth urged. “We will go inside and see every thing. Do take Wickham’s arm, he can guide you through this crowd.”

She was holding her own husband’s arm, as he steadied her in her delicate high heeled slippers and long velvet cape, but Lydia looked around for Wickham in vain.

“Wickham? Wickham!” she called, turning around wildly. “I declare I don’t see him. Where could he have gone? He will get lost.”

“I shouldn’t worry, Lydia,” Darcy said calmly, “Wickham can take care of himself. Just you stay near to Elizabeth, so there is no danger.”

“Yes, it is quite bewildering with so many people, you might not find us again easily.”

Lydia was scornful. “Of course I should. I know your mask and feathers, I am wearing the same. And our gowns are quite alike.”

“But Lydia, don’t you see, many other ladies are similarly dressed…”

“I fancy not,” answered Lydia, preening her feathers.

“The opera is beginning, Elizabeth,” Darcy told his wife. “Shall we take seats for it?”

“Oh, yes,” she answered. “Perhaps it is the new Rossini.”

Most of the opera seats had been cleared away for dancing, but there were some prime seats that could be paid for, and seeing Elizabeth’s delight, Darcy steered her to one.  They were soon absorbed in the sights and sounds. Lydia paid no attention to the stage, but kept craning her neck to look for Wickham, and to see more costumes, but her sister and brother-in-law did their best to ignore her violent exclamations.

A gentleman dressed as a friar seated himself beside her and bowed to the Darcys.

“If I am not mistaken, this is Mr. and Mrs. Darcy, is it not,” he inquired civilly.

They looked around in surprise. “Why, yes, we are,” said Mr. Darcy. “How could you recognize us? Do we have the honour of your acquaintance?”

“It was your fine height that gave you away,” the friar laughed.

Lizzy knew who he was when he spoke. “It is Lord Byron, I am sure,” she said quietly.

“Indeed it is, and I recognize your dark eyes, Mrs. Darcy. And this lady, in whom I can detect a resemblance – a sister?”

“Yes, my sister Mrs. Wickham.”

“You will excuse us, Lord Byron, for not conversing further,” said Mr. Darcy politely, “we intend no slight, but my wife is enjoying the music.”

“Ah, yes, Rossini, the prodigy. I do not think he has equaled his Barber with La Cenerentola, but it is very pretty music,” Byron replied. “Mrs. Wickham, what think you? The story is Cinderella, which every English girl of course knows.”

“And you are really Lord Byron!” she breathed. “Why, your name is a legend!”

“I have heard this kind of thing before,” he agreed, “but it is pleasant enough to hear it in my own tongue, once again. You do not seem to be much taken with the music.”

“I don’t care a bit for that.  It’s all the costumes I want to see. I have never been to a masked ball before!”

“Well, in that case, would you care to take a turn about with me? I have spent so much time at Carnival, and ridotti, and all such festivities, I can show you every thing that is worth seeing. And your relatives seem absorbed.”

“Oh, yes! They are so dull, Lord Byron, I can’t even tell you.”

He glanced at Elizabeth. “Your sister seems an exceptional woman, I believe.”

Lydia made a face of disgust, visible below her half-mask.  “Oh, she is so stuffy, and moral, you can’t conceive. A regular matron. I can’t listen to any thing she says, really. She used to have some fun in her, but not since she married that horrid stick of a husband.”

“You don’t find Mr. Darcy agreeable?” Lord Byron asked curiously. “He seems a very gentleman like, even distinguished, Englishman to me.”

“Oh I suppose if you like that sort of thing, he is well enough. He is certainly rich enough,” Lydia confided in his ear, “and I haven’t a bean, so I’ve got to put up with them. But not at a masqued ball!” Her eyes sparkled through the mask.

Byron pulled her up by the hand. “Then we will let them sit and I will get you an ice, and show you a thing or two. Do you see that party over there? They are a family of nobles, all out with their paramours in disguise.”

“How can you tell?” asked Lydia, fascinated.

“Why, because they are headed for that little row of rooms on the second level – do you see? The curtains? That is where a man takes his lady love, for a little pleasure. Not his wife.”

“Ohhh, I see,” breathed Lydia, turning her eyes on him. “And they go there and – unmask?”

“Indeed they do. Would you like to see? I will bring you back before the music is over.”

“Oh yes, Lord Byron, do show me those little rooms!”

Half an hour later, in the interval of the music, Elizabeth sighed with rapture, and told her husband how beautiful it was, and what a fine farewell to Venice. He smiled into her eyes.

“I am glad you are happy, my Elizabeth,” he said, softly.

She turned to glance at Lydia, and see if she had heard, but there was no Lydia there.