The True Adventures of Nicolo Zen by Nicholas Christopher

Author:Nicholas Christopher [Christopher, Nicholas]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-375-89786-3
Publisher: Random House Children's Books
Published: 2014-01-07T05:00:00+00:00

3

I learned how to hold a girl in my arms and kiss her in a lavish apartment on the Kaplanstrasse, a boulevard lined with poplars trimmed to the exact same height. I remember the details of the place clearly: a line of tall windows with sky-blue curtains, birch logs sprinkled with frankincense crackling in the fireplace, the strong perfume of lilies wafting up from a lush garden. There was also a vase of those lilies, freshly cut, on the drawing room table. Above the mantelpiece there were assorted paintings of horses: grazing beside the Danube, carrying cavalrymen into battle, racing around a track. The dining room was entirely walled in mirrors and illuminated by purple candles. A portrait of the dowager Empress in her youth dressed up as Pallas Athena—armor, scepter, plumed helmet—hung beside the door. The marble sinks had gold fixtures. In the parlor there was a plush divan with golden pillows. The parquet floor was inlaid with suns and moons composed of quartz. I had never seen such things before, and imagined that only men like the Doge or the Pope could possess them. However, far more memorable and precious to me was the first kiss I received from Madeleine Pellier, the younger sister of the Marquise de Montal, on that divan. Estranged wife of the Marquis, the Marquise was a vivacious young woman of twenty-two. Her name was Noémi. She was quite beautiful; men could not take their eyes off her. Seven years younger, her sister Madeleine shared her good looks. In fact, because the resemblance between them was so strong, and because the Marquise looked younger than her years while Madeleine looked older, people often mistook them for one another. But they were very different: while Noémi (after our first meeting, she told me to stop calling her Marquise) could be moody and secretive, given to long silences, Madeleine was spontaneous and open, with a sweet, clear voice and infectious laugh.

The sisters had come to one of my performances at the Kärntnertor theater. I was playing an all-Poglietti program with a string quintet. At the reception afterward at the Aldenfer Hotel, I was introduced to them by an old friend of Hoyer’s, Baroness Mannheim, a statuesque woman of forty whose husband was the commissioner of public works. The Marquise was sitting at a corner table sipping pink champagne when the Baroness led me over to her. She was wearing a deep blue gown. She had a full figure, intense brown eyes, and honey-colored hair that framed her face. Her features reminded me of the famous statue of Minerva in the Metzenplatz, but softer. She was the sort of woman men fell in love with at first sight. For a boy of fifteen, she seemed unattainable, as indeed she was. But I sensed that the same could not be said of Madeleine, who joined us a few minutes later. It was not just her easy demeanor, but in fact the way she looked at me as she

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