After our walk, Papa leaves with Lord Warner for the Royal Library at the Hofburg Palace. Lady Warner and I then either pay or receive calls for the rest of the morning. We also practice our music, read, sew, and write letters. Lady Warner herself has graciously offered to take over my musical education, and I find that she is quite as capable a teacher as any I have previously known. Her command of the voice is impressive, and my progress on the pianoforte is improving greatly as well. She has promised to begin instructing me in the finer points of the harp, and even offered to teach me to play some of the string instruments in her husband’s collection! Women do not generally play such masculine instruments, but Lady W. says that here in Vienna it will be quite unexceptionable for me to learn.
Indeed, the entire city is practically overflowing with music. One cannot walk down the street without it pouring from every window and door, being displayed in every shop and on every street corner. The Viennese adore music in all of its forms. In one week, we have already been to the opera and attended a performance at the incredible Musikverein, the home of the city’s best orchestra. This is also where the city’s elegant society gather to hear public concerts given by visiting musicians. The main room is called the Golden Saal and is very appropriately named, for it is entirely overlaid with gold from ceiling to floor! I must say I have rarely heard such excellent music in my life.
The Staatsoper is just as grand, with boxes all along the sides and several places for seating down on the floor below. The Warners keep a regular box with an excellent view of the stage. My experiences with the opera in Paris were decent, but I found the trend toward dancing girls to be distracting from the musical performance of the singers. Not so in Vienna; the music and the excellence of the singers is everything. Dancing is used only when called for by the production. Thus far I have seen “Die Zauberflöte” by Mozart, and we plan to see “Il Barbiere di Siviglia” by Rossini next week.
In the evenings we dine either at home or out, depending on whether or not we are to attend a musical performance. If we dine out, a long display of musical accomplishments often follows the meal, and Lady W. always insists that I take part. All the while my German is in constant use, and my confidence in the tongue increases daily. Quite simply, I believe I have found a little piece of heaven here on earth.
You may remember from my last letter that Lord Rupert is in town and that he very kindly invited us to take tea with him whenever we were properly settled. That visit took place two days after he called on us here in Salztorgasse. We all went, even Papa and Lord Warner, because Rupert had written to say that Count von Schönfeld was to be there and wanted to meet Papa most particularly. We arrived in good time and looking our best. I wore my favorite new day dress, cream muslin with a rose-colored overlay.
Lord Rupert greeted us in the entrance hall, and Lord Warner made the proper introductions between him and Papa. “I am very pleased to meet you again, Herr Stafford. I had the pleasure of hearing you speak at the Paris Linguistic Symposium and found your research to be quite compelling.” Papa smiled at that and said what was proper. I was removing my bonnet and shawl and had not yet joined the conversation when Rupert acknowledged me by saying, “And I am most obliged to you for allowing me the honor of your daughter’s acquaintance. We have much in common besides a love of language, and her conversation is intelligent and engaging.” I blushed before I could stop myself and kept my face averted to avoid their noticing; fortunately I was able to school my features by the time Papa had made his reply so that I could accept Rupert’s greeting with pleasant composure. As Lady Warner was the first lady in the group, Rupert led her into the drawing room, and the rest of us followed.
Schönfeldhaus is quite grand, even a bit austere in comparison to Warnerhaus. It is considered part of the palace complex, even though it is set on the opposite side of the royal grounds. The views of the surrounding park are quite spectacular from every angle, and the gardens at the back of the house are visible through the drawing room windows. The drawing room itself is a magnificent arrangement of gold and cream with light blue accents. Everything bespeaks the family’s close connection with the royal Hapsburg family.
Count von Schönfeld rose as we entered, and Rupert introduced Papa and I before we all took our seats. Rupert’s uncle seemed more amiable than he had at Lady Rousseau’s ball and was quite polite to Papa, even though his tone was still somewhat gruff and straightforward. He did not speak to me at all, but he did not seem to mind my presence as he had at the ball either, so I suppose that is something. For a while we ladies sipped our tea and listened to the men discuss the symposium, but presently Rupert turned his attention to us, and we had a pleasant chat about the house and its history.
After tea, the Count insisted on taking Lord W. and Papa to see his personal study and library, while Rupert gallantly offered to remain and entertain the ladies. His uncle harrumphed a bit at that, but even he could see the necessity of not leaving part of the company alone. The men repaired upstairs, and Rupert led us out of the house and down to the gardens. Lady Warner was quite right to praise the Schönfeldhaus gardens; they are indeed quite lovely. We walked about as Rupert gave more history of the grounds, mainly for my benefit, as Lady W. already knew it all. After half an hour, Lady W. stated a wish to sit quietly beside one of the fountains for a time. I was about to join her on the seat when she suggested that Rupert show me the rose walk that was further up the path. She knows I am very fond of roses and said I would be particularly interested in the wide variety that the walk displayed. When I hesitated to leave her alone, she assured me that this really was her wish, and soon Rupert and I were walking up the garden path together.
It was a lovely afternoon, with the warm sunshine making patterns on the leaves as we entered the arched walk. The roses here were indeed lovely, a mix of spring roses already in full bloom and summer roses with their growing buds of color. I was, I confess, a little distracted from the flowers by the fact that Rupert and I had been so neatly left to ourselves for the first time since we had danced in Paris.
“The roses are lovely; the colors are so beautifully arranged,” I said, pausing to admire one that was just the shade of my gown.
“They will be even more beautiful by the summer. I hope you will not leave Vienna before you have had a chance to see them,” Rupert replied.
“I do not know how long we will stay. Once Papa has a project in hand he does not leave it again easily. But we would not wish to impose on the Warners’ kindness for too long, and eventually Lady Warner will be returning to Paris to assist her daughter with a new addition to her family. I suppose that whenever she leaves, we shall return about the same time.”
“Ah yes, I remember her speaking of that the other day when I called. I believe she said she does not expect to return to Paris until the end of July at the earliest. Perhaps summer will favor us with an early appearance so that you may see the roses before you go.”
“I should like that very much.” We walked on in silence for several moments.
“How do you like Vienna thus far, Miss Stafford?”
“Oh, it is very beautiful. Papa and I walked about the park just this morning, and I have already visited the cathedral twice to admire the spires.”
“Have you climbed to the top to see the city from above?”
“No, I did not realize that was possible.”
Rupert smiled. “Well, it is not normally available to visitors, but the docent has taken me up several times. The view of the city is quite splendid. If you would like, I could arrange a visit for you and your father.” I nodded my agreement eagerly, and we continued to discuss the sites Rupert thought I should see for several more minutes. It was just as easy to converse with him there in the garden as it had been in the ballroom. His blue eyes seem to invite conversation, and he listened to all I said with great attention. His manners are quite beautiful, and his smile is genuine and comes easily. Our discourse became more familiar and comfortable th
e longer we walked. In fact, I was so comfortable that I even ventured to bring up the subject of his apparent disappearance after Lady Rousseau’s ball.
“I was disappointed to have missed the opportunity of seeing you at the symposium before it closed,” I said as we walked.
“Yes, it was most unfortunate that we were unable to speak again. And you must allow me to bear the blame, for I saw you on numerous occasions.”
“Indeed?” I said, somewhat startled.
“My uncle and I attended all of your father’s final lectures, and I believe I saw you at several others as well. I would have approached and renewed our acquaintance, but we always arrived late and left before the crowds could become too pressing. My uncle dislikes being confined in a crowd.” He paused, and I was tempted to ask why I had not seen him during my engagements with his hostess Lady Rousseau, but I remembered my manners just in time and held my tongue. Rupert himself brought the subject up almost immediately, however, so I was not left in suspense. “And of course it would be natural for you to wonder why we never met in company, when Lady Rousseau is intimate with your family, and my uncle and I were her guests.”
“I did wonder a little,” I confessed, pleased with his frank tone.
“The reason is a simple one: my uncle insisted upon our removing from Paris almost immediately after the symposium ended. The Rousseaus have an estate in the French countryside that my uncle often uses when we visit, and he prefers the more remote location to remaining in the city. His opinions of French city life are not flattering, and it was all I could do to persuade him that such a long journey required more than a week’s stay in France.” I do not know exactly what I said in response to this, but it was commonplace and polite, for I wished him to continue his story. Rupert is a most obliging conversationalist in this regard. He proceeded to tell me that he had hoped to be able to return to the city himself, but that the few times he was able to get away he invariably came when my family and I were engaged elsewhere. The rest of his time was taken up by his uncle. You may imagine that this explanation was more than satisfactory to me, and we continued on, moving from subject to subject until we realized that we had been gone for quite some time and turned back to rejoin Lady Warner.
We were just about to leave the rose walk again when Rupert paused. Reaching out, he broke the stem of the rose I had admired earlier, the one that matched my gown. He removed the thorns from the stem and presented it to me. “I hope you will not be offended, but I should very much like it if you would call me Rupert. I am used to being called so by my friends, and I wish to count you among their number.” I took the rose from him and nodded, smiling.
“I would be happy to do so, provided that you will return the favor and call me by my name as well,” I said as we began walking again.
Rupert’s smile spread across his face. “With pleasure,” he said, and with that we reached the seat where we had left Lady Warner. She was still there, amazingly having produced a little book from thin air. She looked up as we approached and lowered the book to her lap.
“I see you have brought back a souvenir from your walk, my dear. And how did you like the roses?”
“Very much, ma’am, although I am told they are even more beautiful in the summer. I am sorry we were gone so long.”
“No need, no need,” she waved a hand and rose from her seat, tucking the book inside her shawl in a convenient little pocket I had not noticed before. “I quite enjoy sitting in the sunshine and reading in a garden as lovely as this. It seems that no time at all has passed since you left.”
We returned to the drawing room and found the other men just coming downstairs again. The Count took his leave of us at once, but Rupert stayed to see us off.
“Now Rupert dear, you must join us for tea tomorrow, and you and I will take Eleanor out to see the house where Herr Mozart lived here in Vienna.”
“I shall be happy to oblige, Lady Warner.” He smiled at me, and his eyes sparkled as he handed me into the carriage after her. He exchanged a brief word with Papa and Lord Warner, arranging to join them for their morning studies at the library, and then we were rolling away down the street. I was seated near the window and watched him looking after the carriage until we went round a corner. When we returned home, I had Martha fetch me a vase and placed my rose on the writing desk in my room.
Rupert did indeed come for tea the next day, and our tour of Mozart’s home was delightful. The caretaker showed us an old pianoforte that the master had played on himself. We each took a turn playing on it, including Rupert. (He plays very well, and I have heard him play three times since then as further proof.) The original dinner engagement that he agreed to join us for was this evening. After a pleasant meal and some musical performances by the company, Lady Warner herself sat down and played several dances so the young people (about six couples) could entertain themselves. Rupert and I danced twice, and it was most enjoyable.
My life here feels like a fairy tale I hope will never end. The only thing that could make it even more wonderful would be to have you here with me.
Love,
Eleanor
1 June, 1845
Warnerhaus, 9 Salztorgasse, Vienna
Dear Isabella,
I regret not having kept my letter back yesterday; had I been patient until this morning, I would have been able to include my thoughts on your latest reply. Your recovery is welcome news indeed! Believe me that I have been most concerned for your health all this time, in spite of the full schedule Lady Warner keeps. Pray tell me also, how is Uncle Matthew faring these days? You mentioned that he has been working with the Duke in his laboratory, so I assume he too has returned to full health. You would never encourage him to mix potentially dangerous chemicals without him having the full use of his faculties, I know.
Your various accounts of the Duke are quite insightful. I too wonder if there might be a clue to his past in his scientific work. What if an experiment of some kind failed and someone was injured? Do you think it at all likely that something like this would cause so much resentment in the village? Or perhaps he was married once, with children, but lost his family in a dreadful accident? On reflection, I realize that could not be the case, for an entire village would not hate a man for an accident that caused him to lose his own family. Their anger must have another cause.
You seem to be well-informed as to his character after so many weeks spent in his company. Indeed, you seem to know him quite well, Bella. The tone of your letters indicates a high regard for his intellect and person. Am I correct in believing that your opinion of his behavior has softened since you first made the Duke’s acquaintance? If I thought it would be beneficial, I might point out that you seem on more than friendly terms now, even that the Duke might possibly harbor feelings for you beyond those of mere friendship. Please do not take offense, but I cannot help calling your attention to the notion. Why else would he continue to gaze at you with such intensity? He may have begun with the intention of irritating you, but he can have no reason to do so now that you are friends. I can only conclude that he persists because you have engaged his attentions. However, I am not there to judge for myself (as I was with Gilbert Cosgrove last summer), so you must take my comments for the guess they are and act as you see fit.
This letter must be brief, for I promised Lydia Galloway an account of my journey here and have yet to provide her with one. If it was unclear before, you are my most important correspondent, for you hear all of my news before anyone else. Papa sends Uncle Matthew his regards, as do I. Please also give my best to Mrs. Potter and her delightful family.
Love,
Eleanor
P.S. I forgot to say before that I think your Duke’s tentative affection for children is quite sweet.
1 June, 1845
Castle Stirling, Scotland
Dear Eleanor,
I hope you do not mind, but I shared the story of your luggage mishap with the Duke. He discovered me laughing over it in the library an
d inquired as to the cause of my amusement. Your explanation of events earned one of the Duke’s small smiles, and we spent several minutes imagining the situation to ourselves.
“Your cousin is most fortunate in her acquaintance with Baron von Schönfeld. I met him some ten years ago when I was on the Continent. He was just a young man then, but he showed every sign of becoming a worthy gentleman in time.”
“Are you acquainted with his uncle as well?” I asked. My curiosity was piqued.
“I am.”
“What is he like?” The question was blunt, but he did not mind. His own manner is so straightforward that I have grown accustomed to responding in kind.
“He is a good man, elderly now, and I believe somewhat rough in his manners when he is displeased. At the time I knew him, he was a patron of the musical arts, but I was young then and did not give the acquaintance as much heed as I should have done.”
“Where on the Continent have you traveled? I so long to see some of the places Eleanor has written to me about. Even London seemed exciting when she would write about it.”
“I believe I have some volumes of ink prints that you would find interesting.” The Duke rose and went among the shelves, returning soon with several large tomes. We spent the afternoon going over images of the different cities you have mentioned in your letters, the Duke describing things he had seen in his travels. It was almost like being there with you.
Glass Roses: A Victorian Fairytale Page 16
