17
Lord Selborn had reserved two floors in Minoritenplatz, a few yards from the gardens of the Hofburg, or royal palace. It was a grand square of imposing buildings and no greenery, dominated by a 13 th century Franciscan church; it had also housed the British delegation at the Congress of Vienna. A messenger was sent to Lord Charles Stewart, British ambassador, who came immediately to welcome them to the city.
In confidence, Lady Selborn had warned Elizabeth and Justina to tread carefully around Lord Stewart, who had earned the nickname Lord Pumpernickel at the congress for ‘loutish behaviour’ including drunkenness and frequenting harlots. Elizabeth wondered why such a man would be trusted as a diplomat; the reason, according to Lady Selborn, was that he was the half-brother of the foreign secretary Lord Castlereagh, one of few people that esteemed him. During the war Stewart had assisted Wellington, who was said to have dismissed him for incompetence and mischief-making.
None of this was apparent as they convened for dinner. Lord Stewart was charming, solicitous, and eager to help in planning their social engagements. As Elizabeth was beginning to realise, diplomacy was conducted as much in the salon or ballroom as in the office. The detailed labour of drafting documents was left to men like Edmund Lindale, while the aristocrats devoted most of their energy to having fun. It so happened that Countess Zichy was hosting a salon the very next day, to be attended among others by the Austrian foreign minister Prince Metternich, architect of the post-war settlement, and perhaps the most important statesman in Europe. Soon afterwards would come a week of celebration in honour of the composer Antonio Salieri, colleague of Mozart, teacher of Beethoven, who had arrived in Vienna 50 years before.
The evening wore on, wine flowed freely, and Elizabeth sensed irritation from Lord Selborn as the ambassador offered advice on how best to deal with the Austrians. It was evident that Lord Stewart wanted to present himself as someone in-the-know, and held trenchant opinions on the dignitaries they were to meet: Count X was an imbecile, his cousin a snake, his wife une beaute celeste (heavenly beauty), and so forth. It was in poor taste, and ended only when Lady Selborn tactfully suggested that the ladies might retire to the music room.
The next morning was spent settling in and preparing for the evening soirée . Justina’s best gown was unpacked and adapted; Elizabeth’s too, just in case. Meanwhile, messages passed between Lord Selborn and Count Zichy, who confirmed that Metternich would attend the salon, and that English visitors would be welcome. After lunch, in grey but dry weather, they explored the grand centre of the city and took tea in an elegant café (ladies were not allowed in coffee houses), where Lady Selborn took Elizabeth aside.
‘I’m afraid it will not be possible to include you in our party this evening.’ She spoke softly so that only Elizabeth and Justina could hear. ‘You see, we have only six invitations …’
‘So?’ Justina interrupted. ‘Three Selborns, two Darcys. Surely we can bring Lizzy.’
‘My husband insists that Mr Lindale attend.’
‘Then request an extra place.’
‘It would be uncivil. Out of the question.’
Elizabeth hid her disappointment—she was, after all, only a companion. They viewed palaces, gardens, churches, and returned to Minoritenplatz, where to her surprise there was a change of plan. Miss Darcy, who had slept poorly, declared herself exhausted, and begged Elizabeth to go in her place.
As they prepared, Elizabeth whispered to Justina, ‘Did you advise Miss Darcy to withdraw?’
‘Why would I?’
‘You seemed eager that I should attend.’
A sniff. ‘What nonsense. I esteem the Darcys highly.’
‘As you should.’
Justina grinned. ‘I’m sorry for Georgiana, but is it not diverting? The aristocracy of Europe gathered in an elegant salon, and among them Edmund Lindale, son of an engineer, and Lizzy Bennet, lady’s companion?’
‘True, and what is even more diverting, most of these aristocrats will be persons of such poor taste and weak intellect that by any proper standard Mr Lindale towers over them. As you may have noticed at dinner last night.’
‘Lord Pumpernickel?’ Justina laughed. ‘He has not been invited.’
‘Really?’
‘According to mother, Countess Zichy doesn’t like him. But you’re wrong about the others, as you may discover this evening while you partner your dear Edmund.’
Count Karl Zichy was a Hungarian serving as President of the Court Chamber, which managed economic and financial affairs throughout the Austrian empire. An aloof man, he welcomed Lord Selborn with a formal bow and took him to meet Prince Metternich, while leaving his sister Countess Sophie to receive the rest of the party. The countess, elegant and proud, explained in a mixture of French and English that the politicians would occupy a separate table at supper, while other guests would be seated according to topic of conversation. A list was produced, and in a manner resembling a schoolmistress the countess translated the issues: What defines true nobility? Which is the highest of the arts? Does the present owe loyalty to the past? Which hour of the day is most delightful?— and so forth.
Passing through to the salon, Elizabeth noticed other rooms were in use: the Zichys were opening up a complete floor of their palatial home. The main reception room was elegant and huge, with two dozen guests seated on comfortable chairs and divans, and a magnificent central carpet where people circulated. Their group had split, Lady Selborn advancing to join her husband, and Justina speaking excitedly with Darcy.
Finding herself with Edmund Lindale, Elizabeth asked, ‘Do you know these people?’
‘I saw some of them last year.’ He pointed to a gentleman wearing a regal blue coat, seated beside Lord Selborn. ‘Prince Metternich, of course, the Austrian foreign minister.’
She studied this man, perhaps the most influential in Europe: in his forties, she judged, with short fair hair and strong aquiline features. ‘Who is the beautiful lady at his side?’
‘Our host’s wife, Countess Julie Zichy.’ He frowned. ‘I heard she has been ill, otherwise she would have received us.’
Elizabeth looked away, not wishing to stare. ‘Others?’
Lindale looked around. ‘The lady in the voluminous violet dress is Karoline Pichler, whose salon is frequented by writers and musicians. The man talking to her husband is the Prussian diplomat Friedrich von Gentz, Metternich’s trusted confidant and a brilliant writer and thinker. Frau Pichler too is a writer, but of historical fiction.’
‘They are so accomplished.’
‘I might add that Karoline Pichler is also a skilled musician, a pupil of Mozart’s.’
‘Enough!’
They found seats and received glasses of wine. Around them, the haut ton of Vienna, perhaps even Europe, conversed, mostly in German, or related languages Elizabeth could not identify: Czech perhaps, or Hungarian. It was if she were part of the scenery rather than an actor, unable to speak or even listen.
‘Perhaps you should join Lord Selborn,’ she said.
Lindale smiled. ‘At supper. My role here is very minor, Miss Bennet. If asked a factual question, I will answer. Otherwise I will listen, especially to Metternich and Gentz, and write later a note on what has been said.’
‘You will sit at the top table with no pre-assigned topic of conversation?’
He nodded. ‘What was your choice?’
‘Loyalty to the past.’ She winced. ‘Not my preference, but some tables were already full. Justina opted for the highest of the arts, which of course will be music.’
‘And Mr Darcy?’
‘The same I expect. To be near her.’
‘Ah.’ Lindale studied her awhile, as if captivated, then said quickly, ‘The issues for the main table are actually quite predictable. Everyone is concerned with religious freedom, especially in regard to the Jews. We had some arguments on this point at Frankfurt.’
‘Really?’ Elizabeth sighed. ‘All I can recall of the city is quarrelling with Justina. And sausages.’
‘Traditionally, states in the German Confederation have deprived Jews of some civil rights such as working, voting, or practising their religion. Bonaparte emancipated Jews in the states he invaded, a reform supported by the Congress of Vienna last year. But Frankfurt is resisting.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘They fear an influx of Jews from nearby states.’
‘So these states should all do it.’
Lindale smiled. ‘Which they would, if they trusted the others.’
‘You are teaching me many things, Mr Lindale.’
He paused. ‘I hope you might see me as more than your teacher.’
‘Of course.’ Feeling uncomfortable, Elizabeth tried to keep her tone light. ‘We are friends, are we not?’
‘Certainly.’
A glass was tinkled, Countess Sophie Zichy announced something in German, and people began moving towards the dining room.