Chapter 11: Two ladies of Verona

It was fast approaching the date of my thirty-second birthday and second anniversary of the deaths my wife and children. As you can imagine it was an occasion I viewed with trepidation.
Last year I had spent the day in convivial harmony with Sergeant Major Benjamin Goodman and Spelky Woods in Bridgewater.
This year I would have faced a bleak and solitary day had it not been for Claudia Garibaldi and Monique Kuensberg.

Monique, a well-regarded opera singer, had been commissioned, by no less a person than Prince Metternich, to give a recital of Mozart’s operatic arias in the Arena, the Roman amphitheatre in the centre of Verona.
November is not the best time of year to stage an open-air event, but the good burghers of the city provided braziers, furs, and blankets to warm the audience, besides supplying copious quantities of mulled wine during the several intervals of the performance.
As you would imagine, the great and the good of Verona, plus the heads and prime personages of the various delegations, occupied most of the seating.
However, Claudia had secured me a ticket as her escort.

The evening before the concert, and my birthday, I was in the reading room of the Villa writing a letter to Mimi Renoir, and, it must be said, feeling rather sad and sorry for myself.
I knew any mail sent from Verona to Château Blanchard would take months to travel the ice and snow bound landscape, but the activity of putting quill to paper made me feel closer to her.
I stopped writing when Monique entered the room. She sat down next to me and put her arms around my waist.

“Claudia has told me what tomorrow means for you, Giovanni. When I sing at the Arena I will be singing just for you. I hope my voice and the music will blot out any thoughts of the terrible happening.”

She kissed my surprised lips, hugged me to her warm and expansive bosom, before patting my cheek and then leaving the room.

She was as good as her word. Claudia had obtained seats directly in front of the stage, erected on the area where once gladiators died for the entertainment of the crowd.
Monique entered, saw Claudia and me and beamed a smile at us.
She started her recital with an aria from ‘Le nozze di Figaro’.
From the opening note to the end of the performance, I was held captive by Monique’s

beautiful voice, enfolded in a golden bubble of sound and feelings of love, hope, friendship, and joy.
Every aria she sung rung in my heart and sanctified my soul.
Sorrow vanished. Hate and anger were vanquished. Fear was banished, as her glorious voice, and the sublime music of the great Mozart, washed over me.

At the end of her recital Monique received a standing ovation, and cheers rang around the amphitheatre.
She stood with her head bowed in acknowledgement of the applause for several minutes, then came down off the stage and stood in front of me.

“I sang for you tonight, Giovanni. I wanted to fill you with happiness and joy.” She smiled at the look of stupefied beatification on my face. “I think I may have achieved my aim.”
She kissed me on my lips, then, with her arms linked with Claudia and me, we left the Arena.

November moved into December. Still no word from anyone, anywhere.
As the Congress creaked towards its end a Grand Concert, Ball, and Banquet, were arranged to send the delegates back to their respective countries with a feeling of contentment at experiencing magnificent entertainment, if not any useful diplomatic activity, during their stay in Verona.
I had no intention of attending any of the entertainments on offer, at least not until given orders by Claudia Garibaldi.
I had seen little of her since Monique’s triumphant performance in the Arena. Herr Wessel had returned to Vienna, and his wife, leaving Monique and Claudia to freely indulge themselves, which they certainly did, although Claudia was still meeting with her associates and making trading agreements across Europe.

I was sitting morosely in the reading room, an unopened volume of Pope’s poetry on my lap, when Claudia swept into the room.

“My cousin Armand from Nice, well actually he is a second cousin, has arrived in Verona, accompanied by his fiancée and her widowed sister. He is a physician, a rather a good one by all accounts, and has been summoned to treat the chief secretary of the French delegation who has contacted Spanish Gout, and needs to be clear of the affliction before returning to his wife in Paris. I have arranged we shall all meet after the grand concert on December the eighteenth, and then enjoy the banquet and ball. I have met Armand’s fiancée, and she is a beautiful young woman. Her sister is equally attractive, and maybe you and she – both with deceased spouses, could...”

“No, no, no, Claudia! Do not even contemplate acting as matchmaker with me and a grieving widow...”

“I do not expect you to marry the girl, you dolt, merely to engage in conversation with a female who has suffered as you have. It will do you good to have some social intercourse with a woman. I doubt you have experienced sexual intercourse since we last conjoined at my villa outside Firenze. You walk around Verona with a face as long as the road to Palermo – although why anyone should wish to visit that benighted cesspit of a town is a mystery to me. It is time you had something else to think about other than your own problems.”

She was right, on all counts. I made the best of it, and agreed to accompany her to the concert, and make small talk afterwards with the widow of Claudia’s second cousin’s fiancée, but was adamant I would not attend the ball or banquet.

Claudia gave a shrug when I gave her my ultimatum.

“I suppose half a loaf is better than no bread at all. And wear your uniform. You look rather dashing in scarlet, even when displaying a face like a slapped culo!“

I joined her in laughter. She could always raise my spirits, even if now that was all she was prepared to raise.

The concert interval could not come quickly enough for me.
Johann Nepomuk Hummel may have been taught by Mozart, and studied under Haydn, but I found his music harsh, discordant, unmelodious, and disturbing.
Fortunately the second half of the concert was to feature Vienna’s favourite son, Maestro Franz Joseph Haydn, who was much easier on the ear.
I escorted Claudia to a chaise longue near a table set with glasses of white wine, and managed to carry both brimming glasses back to her without spilling a drop, not an easy task in the turmoil of a crowd of thirsty concert goers.

Claudia sipped at her glass. “I hope to see Armand and his fiancée, and her sister, during the interval. I spied them in a box quite close to the stage.”
She smiled with pride. “Armand deserves the best. He is renowned throughout southern France and Savoy for his skill.”
She nudged me. “The widow is no less a beauty then her sister.”

I raised an eyebrow at Claudia’s crass remark, and then my glass and took a large swallow. I idly glanced about to see whom I knew at the concert, and froze in shock and astonishment.
Standing before me was Mimi Renoir!

Her face mirrored my amazement, and something else. Fear? Guilt? Shame?
Before I could move towards her a quartet of voluble, gesticulating, Veronesi hid her from view, and by the time they passed she had vanished.
Had I imagined her? I scanned the room and caught a glimpse of a familiar female form disappearing towards the ladies’ jakes.

Claudia noticed my agitation. “What is it, Giovanni?”

“I have just seen Mimi, but when she saw me she ran off.”

“Mimi, the girl who saved your life?”

I nodded, wondering if the sighting had been a figment of my imagination.

“Where did she go?” Claudia said.

I pointed to the exit where I had last seen Mimi.

Claudia grinned. “She has probably gone to powder her nose before coming back to greet you. We females like to be at our best when meeting a handsome man.”

“No, she looked terrified when she saw me, and could not get away fast enough.”
I turned to look where I had last seen Mimi, and standing there, arm in arm with a young man, was Chloe Renoir.

“Jacques!” Chloe screeched. She threw herself in my arms and kissed me on the lips.
“We saw you and Claudia sitting in the concert hall, and have searched high and low looking for you.”
She put her arm around the man at her side.
“May I present my fiancé, Armand Garibaldi.”
I shook his hand and ‘pleezedtomeetyou’ in a daze, still thinking of what I had witnessed.

“I have just seen Mimi,” I blurted out, “but when she saw me she bolted like a frightened horse. What on earth is going on?”

By now people were beginning to return to the auditorium, jostling and bumping into us in their haste to be seated before the start of the second half of the concert.

Claudia, ever the leader, took charge.
“We will sit in the alcove over there.” She pointed to a quiet corner where a large settee and two armchairs were vacant. We sat in the recently abandoned seats.

“Armand is the second son of my cousin Armand Garibaldi Senior, and I met both Chloe and her widowed sister when I was in Nice,” Claudia said.

“But why did you not tell me you knew the Renoir sisters? You know how highly I regard them?”

“You always referred to them as the Blanchard Girls, and I took that to be their surname. To further complicate matters Chloe’s sister was introduced to me as Madam Allen.”

I shot a quick, questioning, glance at Chloe, who put a finger to her lips.

I had many more questions to ask.
Why were Chloe and Mimi staying in Nice?
Where was Mimi’s son, Jean-Woodrow, and why did Mimi run off in panic when seeing me?

“Will someone please explain what is going on, my mind is in turmoil.”

Claudia got up from the settee. “Armand and I will go and find Mimi. Chloe can stay here and explain to Giovanni – Jacques – why she and her sister, and her sister’s son, are guests of my cousin in Nice.
She kissed my cheek and then put her arm through that of her second cousin and walked away.

“You will miss the rest of the concert,” I called out, still bemused by the events of the past half hour.

Claudia waved a nonchalant hand. “If you have heard one of Papa Haydn’s symphonies you have heard them all!”

Chloe patted the settee, and I sat down next to her.

“We were so heartbroken when we heard the terrible news of your family perishing in a fire, Jacques. Mimi took it much harder than any of us – she was very fond of Caroline, who she said reminded her so much of Annette.”

“Why did Mimi stop writing to me? I treasured her letters.”

“Mimi needs to tell you the reason herself.”

“Why did she run from me just now?”

“Shame, embarrassment, guilt, but mostly shame.” Chloe said, her face filled with sorrow.

I was astonished. “Why should Mimi feel ashamed or guilty, and why...”

Chloe stopped me with a finger to my lips. “Mimi has suffered an emotional breakdown. For a time I thought she had lost her mind. Then she caught a fever and almost died. Armand saved her life, which is another reason why I love him so.”
She smiled dreamily, and then shook herself back to reality.

“During the time Mimi was out of her mind she behaved in a most...” she paused. “What I am about to say hurts me as much as it will hurt you. Mimi behaved like a harlot...”

“What!”

Chloe again placed a finger to my lip. “Let me tell the tale without interruption, Jacques. It is a sorry story, and the quicker I get through it the less painful it will be for me, and for you.”

At first Mimi’s aberrant behaviour was with alcohol. She began drinking brandy and gin, starting in the early morning until falling into a drunken slumber late at night. Then came the lewd behaviour of her bringing disreputable men back to the château, and spending the night in fornication with them.
She let her appearance deteriorate, and did not wash from one week to another, or brush her hair. She even neglected her son Jean-Woodrow.
Chloe, and Marie Truffaut, became surrogate mothers to the child, besides attempting to bring Mimi out of her madness.

The drinking and fornication lasted over three months, by which time Mimi was so weakened from depravity and alcohol she succumbed to the first fever that struck Flanders, and was near to death.
Chloe went into Valenciennes to fetch a physician and met Armand, whose carriage had lost a wheel rim and was being repaired. He returned to Château Blanchard with Chloe, and after a week of round the clock care Mimi recovered from her fever.

“She was so weak she had to be lifted from her bed to the commode. Armand said she needed complete rest and sunshine, and invited us, that is Mimi, Jean-Woodrow and me, to his father’s estate near Nice. We have been there for almost five months and Mimi has now fully recovered from her illness, but is still plagued by memories of her whorish behaviour.