‘And what do you think of Venice?’ asked Alfonse, who was there with his wife, Maria. ‘Is she not the most wondrous city you have ever seen?’
Elizabeth was only too happy to share her appreciation of Venice and the dinner guests nodded sagely at each compliment to their home.
They asked if she had been to the great cathedrals and if she had walked in the squares and when she said that yes, she and Darcy had seen a great deal and all of it miraculous in its beauty, Sophia smiled and replied, ‘You have said just the right thing to please my brother. He loves our great city.’
‘I can see why,’ said Elizabeth.
‘Alas, Venice is not as great as she once was,’ said Giuseppe, ‘before Napoleon put his boot on her beautiful neck.’
‘You must forgive my brother. He feels things very much,’ said Sophia.
‘Who would not?’ he cried. ‘Elizabeth will understand, she is English. She lives on an island and so she can enter into some of our feelings. It was a terrible moment for us when Napoleon’s soldiers marched into Venice.’
At the mention of Napoleon, the atmosphere in the room subtly altered, becoming awash with fierce melancholy. Elizabeth imagined Napoleon’s troops marching through the streets of Hertfordshire and she shuddered, but for her it was only in her imagination, a second’s vision, no more. For those around her, the invasion of their homeland was real.
‘Ah, yes, I knew you would understand,’ said Giuseppe, seeing the shudder. ‘The English and the Venetians, we have much in common. We are both great island nations, we are daring and bold, we are explorers and adventurers, we have a great love for our country, and we have a great pride in all our achievements. We sail the seas in search of new lands and new goods to trade… but I am forgetting,’ he said, with a comical smile, ‘the English, they look down on trade. Darcy is horrified at the very word!’
Contrary to his statement, Darcy was smiling, aware that he was being teased. But underneath the teasing lay something more real. Elizabeth realised that Giuseppe was exploring her beliefs, and she was aware that, although Darcy’s friends had told her how good she was for Darcy, they were still assessing her and wondering if she was good enough for their friend: not good enough in terms of social standing or wealth, but in terms of making him happy.
‘What will Elizabeth make of us, whose fortunes came from great mercantile adventures?’ Giuseppe continued.
Elizabeth smiled.
‘I am sorry to disappoint you, but I do not look down on trade. One of my uncles is in business in London, and even if that were not so, I would not hold it in contempt, for it is trade that supplied Darcy’s friend, Bingley, with the money to rent Netherfield, and without it I would never have met my husband.’
There was general laughter, and Darcy looked at Elizabeth with admiration and approval.
‘Excellente! Well said! Then we have a great deal in common, as was to be expected, for we both love trade and hate Napoleon,’ said Alfonse with a laugh.
‘Napoleon!’ said Giuseppe, and he became sorrowful again. ‘That upstart! What gave him the right to march into our city, destroying in days what it took us centuries to build, robbing us of our greatest treasures? What gave him the right to drive something wonderful from the world?’
The mood was becoming melancholic and the men were becoming morose. The women were uncomfortable, turning their fans in their hands or arranging their skirts to hide their disquiet.
Sophia proved her worth as a hostess by immediately lightening the mood and hitting upon the one thing that could rescue them all from their melancholy: a celebration.
‘Let Napoleon have his edicts,’ she said, dismissing him with a wave of her hand, ‘let him give Venice to Austria. Let them all conspire to control us. They will not break our spirits. Let them say what they will, we will have a ball, a great masked ball in honour of Elizabeth and in honour of the splendours of Venice. Let us show Elizabeth how we Venetians used to live.’
The idea caught hold at once.
‘But yes, let us show Elizabeth some of Venice’s former splendour. A masked ball for Elizabeth!’
The mood had altered. The melancholy had disappeared, to be replaced with pleasure and excitement. Everyone had their own suggestions to make and the details of the ball began to take shape.
‘Let it be a costume ball,’ said Maria.
‘Yes! A costume ball! And let it reflect one of our greatest centuries, let us wear the clothes of a bygone era. We will dress in the clothes of the thirteenth century,’ said Alfonse.
‘No, the fifteenth,’ said Maria.
‘The sixteenth,’ said Giuseppe, ‘the time of the great artists, of Titian and Tintoretto.’
‘Very well,’ said Sophia, ‘the sixteenth century.’
‘I have no suitable clothes,’ said Elizabeth with regret, for the ball sounded exciting.
‘You shall take from me, I have plenty, and masks, too, with which to surprise the gentlemen,’ said Sophia.
‘But of course,’ said Lorenzo. ‘That is all part of the excitement, trying to guess what face lies behind the mask.’
‘We will let the others make the arrangements whilst we do something more interesting: I will help you to choose your clothes. Come, Elizabeth,’ said Sophia. ‘We will enjoy ourselves!’
She led Elizabeth upstairs, through corridors lined with great works of art, and took her into a grand apartment with high ceilings and huge mirrors all around. She rang for her maid and soon the room was ablaze with light as candles blossomed into life.
‘Here!’ said Sophia, throwing open a huge pair of doors and walking through into an antechamber full of clothes. They were of all styles and colours, some new and some very old. ‘These are the ones we will wear at the ball, from here,’ said Sophia, showing Elizabeth a collection of gowns at the back of the anteroom. ‘These are from the days of Venice’s glory.’
As Elizabeth looked at the clothes, she saw that they were very old, the glorious fabrics faded with age, but exquisite in their beauty.
‘Do you never dispose of gowns in your family?’ asked Elizabeth, amazed at how many there were.
‘In my family,’ said Sophia pensively. ‘No. They remind us of other times, other balls, other lives, other loves. And that is what we live for, is it not, to love? You, who are so newly married, know that it is true. See, this dress, it is the one I wore when I met Marco Polo.’
‘When you met Marco Polo?’ asked Elizabeth in amusement. ‘That would make you 500 years old!’
Sophia’s hands stilled on the fabric of the dress. She said, ‘You are laughing. Then Darcy has not told you?’
‘Told me what?’ asked Elizabeth.
Sophia became so still that she looked like a portrait, extremely beautiful but somehow unreal. Then, just as Elizabeth was beginning to be unnerved, she gave a slight shrug of her shoulders and said, ‘It is not important, only that he has not told you my English, it is not very good. You will forgive me if the things I say do not always make sense?’
‘Of course,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Your English is, in any case, far better than my Italian.’
They laughed and then Sophia turned back to the clothes and said, ‘Now, which dress is for you?’
Elizabeth looked through the glorious gowns made of rich fabrics in blues, yellows, and scarlets. She took out a dress of deep blue velvet, which was criss-crossed with a latticework pattern in gold, matched by the slashes in the sleeves which allowed the gold silk of the undersleeve to be seen. She held it up, the candlelight winking on the gold thread woven into the latticework.
‘Ah, yes,’ Sophia said, ‘That is very beautiful. It is well chosen. Try it on!’
Sophia helped Elizabeth to slip out of her own gown and into the antique costume. As Sophia fastened it, Elizabeth looked at herself in a mirror and was surprised at what she saw.
‘I look quite different,’ she said.
‘Already the transformation, it takes place,’ said Sophia, stand
ing behind her.
The dress was fitted at the waist, showing Elizabeth’s figure, which was usually disguised beneath her high-waisted gowns, and the fuller skirts flowed in folds to the floor. The dress was cut low at the neck with a square neckline, and it was richly embroidered with more gold thread.
Elizabeth was reminded of her childhood, when she and Jane had dressed up in Mrs Bennet’s old clothes for a game of charades. They had loved the rich fabrics and hooped skirts, and they had taken great pleasure in trying on a variety of wigs.
‘And now, you must choose a mask.’ Sophia showed Elizabeth a collection of masks of all shapes and styles, saying, ‘We Venetians, we love our masks. We have worn them always, until Napoleon; he banned them. But they are a part of us, a part of our heritage. We love mystery and the thrill of the unknown. It is a good thing for a nation of explorers! So much do we love it that even at a ball, we must explore: we explore each other.’
She picked up one of the masks.
‘See, here, we have a mask that covers the whole face; the features, they are richly moulded. And see,’ she said, picking up another mask, ‘here we have the flatter masks. This one, it has no fastenings, only a bar at the back to be held between the teeth.’
Elizabeth looked at it curiously, saying, ‘It must be very uncomfortable.’
‘But yes, it is true, that mask is not comfortable at all, and it makes conversation impossible. You will not wear that one. Perhaps you like this one?’
She held up a full face mask which was supported on a stick, but after holding it in front of her face for a few minutes, Elizabeth realised it would soon make her arm ache.
‘I think this one,’ she said, choosing a half mask that was held on by a band passed round the back of the head.
‘Si, that is a good one. It is still possible to eat and talk with the mouth being uncovered, but the nose and eyes are obscured, as well as the cheeks and forehead, so the mystery, it is preserved. You will set the others guessing! Your hair, it must be changed too. The styles of the day were similar but not the same. It must be parted in the middle and smooth over the top, with waves down the side of the face and the fullness pulled back into a—’ She broke off and said something in Italian. ‘No, it is no good, I do not know how to say it in English, but no matter, my maids, they know how to arrange such styles and I will send one of them to help you on the day of the ball. It is very important to make it right,’ she said, ‘otherwise it spoil things.’
At last they went downstairs, to find that dinner was being announced. As they went into the dining room, the talk of the ball became interspersed with other topics of interest, and to the Italians one of the greatest topics of interest was their art. Alfonse declared that Titian was a better artist than Canaletto, and Giuseppe declared that No! No! Canaletto was the better of the two. Darcy’s opinion was sought and, as they ate, a lively discussion ensued.
It was with a light heart that Elizabeth stepped into the gondola at the end of the evening as she and Darcy travelled back to their own palazzo.
***
Elizabeth was so caught up in the novelties of Venice that it was some days before she finished her letter to Jane, but when she found herself with a free hour, she took up her quill and finished the letter she had begun on arriving.
Darcy and I have been all over Venice, to the Doge’s palace and the Arsenale and a dozen more such wonderful places. We have crossed the Rialto bridge and wandered through the square of St Mark’s. The Venetians tell me that the city is not what it was before Napoleon ransacked its treasures, but there are still great beauties everywhere.
Tonight we are going to a masked ball. It is to be held in my honour and I am very much looking forward to it.
Perhaps we could try holding something similar at home, though I think such clothes and masks would look very strange in Hertfordshire! Here in Venice, they seem somehow right. The mask feels surprisingly comfortable, although I cannot see to the side very well when I am wearing it. It is beautiful, a work of art, as everything is in Venice. It is sculpted into the shape of a human face and it is decorated with jewels at the top.
There is time for no more or else this letter will never be sent!
Adieu for now, my dearest Jane,
Your affectionate sister,
Elizabeth
‘Are you writing to Jane?’ came Darcy’s voice as he entered the room.
‘Yes.’ She folded the letter and addressed it.
‘Have you told her about the ball?’
‘Yes, or at least, I have told her we are going to the ball. I will write again tomorrow and tell her all about it.’
‘Is your costume ready for tonight?’ asked Darcy.
‘Yes. And yours?’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘What are you wearing?’
‘That would spoil the surprise,’ he said. He looked down at her with a smile. ‘I love to see you like this, happy and excited. I knew you would love Venice.’
The clock, an ornate work of art made of ormolu and heavily gilded, struck the hour.
‘It is time to get ready,’ Elizabeth said.
She returned to her room, a large and airy apartment ornamented by frescoes and furnished with gilded marble furniture, and she began the leisurely process of preparing herself for the ball. As she bathed in scented water, she thought of all the times she had dressed for a ball at home, with the noise of the Longbourn household ringing in her ears: Lydia running round the house in search of a missing shoe or ribbon, Mary moralising, and their mother scolding everyone in turn, before complaining about her nerves. She did not miss their noise and chatter, but she did miss Jane. What fun it would have been to dress in her costume with Jane by her side!
But such thoughts did not last for long; there was too much to think about and too much to do.
Sophia had been as good as her word, and she had sent one of her maids to help Elizabeth. Annie had at first been suspicious of the Italian woman, but her suspicions had soon been overcome. Elizabeth sat at her dressing table so that Sophia’s maid could arrange her hair and Annie paid close attention, helping to smooth Elizabeth’s hair over the crown of her head and arrange the waves around her face, then catch the remaining hair up in a chignon pinned at the back of her head.
They helped Elizabeth to put on the heavy, unaccustomed dress, fastening it at the back with deft fingers and then standing back to admire the effect. Elizabeth scarcely recognised herself in the cheval glass, and when she donned her mask, her disguise was complete.
‘Oh, Ma’am, you will fool them all!’ said Annie.
Sophia’s maid let forth a volley of Italian which neither Elizabeth nor Annie understood, but she seemed to be pleased.
‘Is Mr Darcy still here?’ asked Elizabeth.
‘No, Ma’am, he’s already gone,’ said Annie.
‘Then I must go too,’ said Elizabeth.
They had arranged to travel to the ball separately because it was part of the challenge of the ball to see how long it would take them to recognise each other.
Elizabeth put on her cloak, for the nights were cold, and ran downstairs in high spirits, prepared to enjoy herself at the ball. She went through the courtyard and down to the canal, where she stepped lightly into a gondola. She was so used to the gondola that she did not falter, even when it rocked beneath her, but sank gracefully onto the silken cushions that lined it as the gondola moved out into the canal. The waters were dark, shot through with rippling gold as they reflected the many torches that challenged the night. They lapped against the boat and their music mixed with the voice of the gondolier as he began to sing in a rich tenor voice, brimming with passion.
‘What is your song about?’ she asked when he drew breath.
‘About love, Signora. What else is there to sing about? The man and woman in my song, they cannot see a way to be together and so she drowns herself in the canal. It is very tragic and very romantic.’
‘But much more romant
ic to live,’ said Elizabeth.
‘The beautiful signora is right,’ he said. ‘The living have pleasures the dead know nothing of.’
They came to rest outside Sophia’s palazzo. The gondolier jumped lithely out of the gondola and tied it to one of the gaily coloured mooring posts. Elizabeth stepped out of the gondola as sure-footedly as he and then ascended the steps to the palazzo. It was ablaze with light, which spilled from the windows and illuminated the night.
She went into the courtyard and was greeted by a hubbub of noise and laughter as she climbed the stone steps to the door. As it opened for her, she heard the sound of violins playing and the chatter of many voices.
Guests turned to look at her as she entered, taking an interest in the new arrival, with faces made strange by their masks. Some of them wore half masks like her own, covering only the eyes, cheeks and foreheads, others were full face. Some were sculpted to fit their wearers, with well-shaped holes for eyes and mouth, and some were distorted, so that the wearers’ heads had a strange, animal like appearance. Long noses, hooked up or down like beaks, changed the features and added a touch of the bizarre to the scene. She tried to find some familiar faces, but either the masks were doing their job very well or the people she knew were not near the door.
She slipped through the throng, drawing appreciative glances from the men as she passed, and went into the ballroom. It was full of people in costume, the full skirts of the women competing in their brilliance with the velvet tunics of the men.
Some of the guests were already dancing, but the dance was strange and the music was strange also. It seemed to come from an earlier time, and Elizabeth guessed that it too was a celebration of Venice’s glory centuries before. The men were leaping athletically, and then lifting their partners and spinning them round before putting them down again on the floor. The guests knew the steps, and she thought that they must have hired dancing masters especially to teach them. Alas, she did not know the dances and she wondered if there would be some with which she was familiar later in the evening.
As her eyes ran over the other guests, hoping to recognise someone, she saw a strange figure watching her through a gap in the crowd. He was dressed in the colour of dead leaves and his mask was of dark cream with touches of old gold. He was not Darcy, of that she was sure, but she found him oddly compelling. His mask was moulded into the semblance of a smile, but the smile was distorted so that it looked almost malevolent. There was something gleeful about the grin and something cruel. She tried to look away but found she was held by some power she did not understand. It was only broken when someone stepped between them.