was unfolding, after having carefully locked the shutters and the
door, a letter, which had been secretly handed to him today in the
dusk by a Capuchin begging for alms, while he had been promenading
near the amphitheatre. The letter bore no external inscription.
But being asked how the messenger would know that he was putting
the letter into the right hands, the monk had answered: "Every
child in Verona knows the noble Angelo Querini like his own
father." Having said this, the messenger had left. But the
banished man, whose exile had been eased by the respect which had
followed him into his misfortune, had managed to bring the letter
back to his lodgings, unnoticed by the spies watching him, and he
now read, while the steps of the guard in front of the house
echoed menacingly through the silence, the following lines:
"To Angelo Querini.
"I have no reason to hope that you will remember the fleeting
hour, when I met you in person. Many years have passed since
then. I had grown up with my sister and my brother in the rural
peace of our estate in Friaul; only after I had lost both of my
parents, I left my sister and my younger brother. After just a
few days, the seductive maelstrom of Venice had swallowed me
whole.
"Then, one day, I was introduced to you in Morosini Palace. I
still feel your glance, examining us young folks, one after
another. Your eyes said: `and this is supposed to be the
generation on whose shoulders the future of Venice shall rest?' -
You were told my name. Unnoticed by the others, you turned the
conversation with me to the great history of the state, to which
my ancestors had devoted their services. Kindly, you failed to
mention the present and the services which I still owed this
state.
"Since that conversation, I read day and night in a book, which in
the past I had not even regarded worthy of a single glance, the
history of my native country. The result of these studies was
that I, driven by horror and disgust, left this city forever,
which used to rule over foreign countries and seas, but was now
the slave of a deplorable tyranny, being as powerless in external
affairs as it is internally miserable and violent.
"I returned to my siblings. I succeeded in warning my brother, in
revealing the corruption of life to him, which seemed to be
shining so brightly when seen from afar. But I never thought that
everything I did to save him and us was to destroy us just the
more surely.
"You know the jealousy with which the rulers of the city have
always looked upon the aristocracy of the Terraferma. Even in
times when it was regarded as an honour to serve the republic,
they had never stopped fearing that the Terraferma might sever its
ties with the city. Now, after self-made and unavoidable evils
had brought about a change in the position of Venice in the world,
this fear became the source of the most outrageous intrigues and
misdeeds.
"Let me keep silent about what I have witnessed of the fate of
those living in the neighbourhood of my province, about the
cunning means by which they had sought to crush the sovereignty
and independence of the aristocracy of Friaul, about the army of
bravi, which had been sent against those who refused to comply,
and which had been relieved even from the torments of their own
conscience by numerous decrees of amnesty. How they sought to
bring disagreement into the families, to poison friendships, to
buy treason and betrayal even among those who were most closely
tied by kinship, all of this you found out even earlier than I.
"And not for long, the fact that my frivolous habits were
remembered in Venice even after I had left could protect me from
the suspicion that I also might, one day, pose a threat. When I
asked on my sister's behalf for the permission for her to marry a
noble, German gentleman, the government categorically refused to
give its consent. I and my brother were thought to be in
agreement with the Kaiser's politics, and they decided to punish
us for this.
"A complaint of the province against its governor, which I and my
brother had signed among others, provided the inquisition with the
pretext they needed to cast out their nets to catch us.
"My brother was summoned to Venice, to answer for himself. As
soon as he had arrived, he was imprisoned under the lead roofs,
and for many months, they sought, at times with threats and at
times with seductive offers, to get a confession out of him. He
had no reason to represent that one act we had committed in a more
favourable light; it had been legal. There was nothing else for
him to confess, since we had not committed any actions against the
state. Thus, he finally had to be released. But they did not
even consider to pardon him.
"I myself had asked him in a letter not to depart right away, to
avoid raising new suspicions. We would rather be willing to miss
his company for another few months. When he finally came, we were
to lose him for ever after just a few days. He fell victim to a
slow acting poison, which had been mixed into his food in one of
these illustrious houses he used to visit.
"The stone over his grave had not even been set up yet, when the
governor of the province proposed marriage to my sister. She
rejected him, feeling deeply offended by the proposal; her pain
made her utter certain words, the echos of which were then to be
heard in the courtroom of the inquisition's tribunal.
"A new effort by the aristocracy of Friaul to improve the
conditions in the country was discussed. I remained absent from
their secret endeavours, since I was convinced of their
fruitlessness. But the guilty conscience of the rulers of the
republic made them think of me first, being the one who had been
affected the most, the one who had to avenge a brother. At night,
a gang of hired bravi attacked our remote estate in the mountains.
I had only my servants for our defence. When this scum found us
well armed and determined not to surrender thus easily, they set
fire to the house in all four corners. Together with my people, I
carried out a desperate counter-attack with my sister, also
carrying a pistol, among us. Then suddenly, a blow to the
forehead struck me down and rendered me unconscious.
"Only the next morning, I woke up. The place was an abandoned
pile of ruins, my sister had perished in the blaze, some of my
faithful servants had been slain, some were driven back into the
burning house.
"For many hours, I just lay beside the smoking rubble and stared
into the empty void, as which my future appeared before me. Only
when I saw peasants in the valley, coming up towards mountain, I
picked myself up. One thing I knew: For as long as I was
believed to be alive, I would be regarded as an enemy and would be
pursued to wherever I might go. The burning tomb was spacious
enough; if I was to disappear, nobody would doubt that I also
rested in there with those who had been close to me. Wandering
aimlessly about the rocky mountainside, I found a wallet belonging
to one of my servants, who had been born in Brescia and had
travelled to all kinds of places. His papers were in it; I took
them, just in case, and fled through the dense, craggy forest. I
met no one, who would have been able to betray me. When I knelt,
parched with thirst, by a murky lake in the forest, I saw that my
appearance could not betray me either. My hair had turned gray
during the night; my features had aged by many years.
"Arriving in Brescia, I could pass for my servant without any
problems, since he had left the town when he was still a boy and
no longer had any relatives there. For five years, I lived like a
criminal who would shun the light of day and avoided the company
of other men. My spirit had been clouded by a feeling of
powerlessness, as if that blow which had struck me down had
shattered whatever organ had been in charge of my willpower.
"That it had not been destroyed, but only paralysed, I felt when
the news of you speaking out against the tribunal arrived. With a
feverish excitement, which rejuvenated me and let me become aware
of the energy of my living soul again, I followed the reports from
Venice. When I heard about the failure of your high-minded
venture, I fell back into the old, mind-numbing depression for
just a short moment. In the next moment, something like a
fire-storm penetrated all of my senses. My decision had been
made, to carry out the work, which you had been unable to perform
by the open means of justice and the law, by means of violence and
a horrifying kind of self-defence, with the arm of the invisible
judge and avenger for the salvation my precious native country.
"Since then, I have incessantly examined this decision and found
that my intentions could not be condemned. I am solemnly aware of
the fact that it is not hatred against those persons, not revenge
for the pain I have suffered, not even the just sorrow for the woe
which has come over my loved ones, which arms my hand against the
tyrants. What moves me to take on the task of saving an entire
enslaved people and to execute the sentence by myself, which in
other times the collective will of a free nation used to pronounce
over unjust rulers, who are out of the reach of the arm of a
judge, - this is neither selfishness nor the vain lust for fame;
it is merely a debt I owe for having spent my youth in idleness,
and which your look, when we were in Morosini Palace, admonished
my to pay.
"May God, whom I beseech to protect my cause, mercifully grant me,
as the only replacement for all He has taken from me, that in a
liberated Venice I shall once more be able to shake your hand.
You will not reject my blood-stained hand, which will thereafter
rest in no friend's hand any more; for he who has performed an
executioner's duties has been consecrated to a lonely life and has
to shun the sight of his fellow men. But if I should perish by my
deeds, he whose respect I care for the most will know that the
younger generation is also not entirely without men who know how
to die for Venice.
"This letter will be delivered to you by a reliable man, who has
exchanged the garments of a secretary of the inquisition for a
monk's cowl, to atone by means of fasting and prayer for the sins
of the republic, for which his pen had to serve. Burn this page.
Farewell! Candiano."
After the banished man had finished reading the letter, he sat
there for about one hour, regarding the fateful pages in deep
grief. Then, he held them over the flame, scattered the ashes
into the fireplace, and restlessly paced up and down the room
until the early morning, while the unfortunate man, whose
confession he had read, had long since fallen asleep like someone
whose cause is just and who has heaven on his side. - -
The next day, the late arrival of the street della Cortesia, left
the house early. Marietta's happy singing outside in the corridor
might have let him sleep a while longer, but her mother's loud
scolding, rebuking her for making a racket which could raise a
dead man and would end up driving all guests out of the house,
encouraged him fully. He tarried at the stairs, where his
landlady was already sitting at her usual post, just long enough
to inquire where a few notaries and advocates would live, whose
names a friend had written down for him in Brescia. Once he had
got this information, neither the widow's affectionate worries
concerning his health, nor the red bow Marietta had put into her
hair, could move him to stay any longer, and though the good woman
at other times used to do her best to avoid any social contact of
the lodgers with her daughter, it now gave her an almost dreadful
feeling that the stranger was so persistently overlooking the dear
creature, the apple of her eye. To her, his gray hair was only an
insufficient explanation of this strange blindness. He had to
have a secret sorrow or feel thus ill that the sight of freshly
blossoming life would hurt him. Nevertheless, he walked firmly
and swiftly, and his chest was broad and strong, so that the
illness, he had talked about, had to reside deeply within his
body. The colour of his face also gave no rise to suspicion.
Striding through the streets of Venice, he attracted pleased looks
from many a woman's eyes, and Marietta also, watching him as he
left from one of the upper windows, was not without any feelings
for him.
But he tended to his business in a self-absorbed manner, and
though he had at length asked Signoria Giovanna for directions and
was finally comforted by her, concerning his ignorance of the
city, with the saying "Asking will get a person all the way to
Rome", he nevertheless now seemed to be able to find his way
through the network of alleys and canals without any help at all.
He spent several hours visiting advocates, but with them his
recommendation by a colleague from Brescia carried little weight,
and he seemed to strike them as suspicious on account of his
modest appearance. For there was actually a certain pride in the
wrinkles of his forehead, telling anyone of the keener observers
that he, under other circumstances, would have regarded the work
he sought to be beneath his dignity. Finally, he reached a
notary who lived in a side-alley of the Merceria and seemed to
engage in all kinds of shifty business on the side. Here, he
found a place as a clerk at a very modest salary, just on a trial
basis, and the hasty manner in which he accepted gave the man the
suspicion that he was facing an impoverished nobile, many of which
would be willing to do any kind of work, without haggling over the
price, just to be able to make a living.
But Andrea was evidently very content with the result of his
efforts and entered, since it was already noon, the next inn,
where he saw people from the lower classes sitting at long tables
without linen, who were spicing up their very simple meals with a
glass of turbid wine. He took his seat in a corner near the door
and ate the slightly rancid fish without any complaint, while, on
the other hand, he left the wine untouched after having taken a
sip. He was already about to ask for the bill, when he found
himself being politely addressed by his neighbour. The man, whom
he had overlooked entirely until now, had already been sitting
there for a long time with his half bottle of wine, eating
nothing, only taking a sip once in a while, making a sightly wry
face every time; but while he gave the impression of being so
tired that his eyes had to be half closed, his keen looks wandered
all across the large, gloomy room and stuck with particular
interest to our Brescian, who, on his part, had noticed nothing
remarkable about his observer. He was a man in his thirties with
blond, curly hair, whose Jewish descent was not instantly
recognisable since he wore black Venetian garments. In his ears,
he wore heavy, golden rings, on his shoes, buckles with large
topazes, while his collar was wrinkled and unclean, and his coat
of fine wool had not been brushed for weeks.
"The gentleman doesn't like the wine," he said in a low voice,
dexterously leaning over towards Andrea. "The gentleman seems to
have wandered in here only by mistake, where they aren't
accustomed to waiting on guests of a better class."
"I beg your pardon, sir," Andrea replied calmly, though he had to
force himself to answer at all, "what would you know about my
class?"
"I can see it by the way you eat that you're accustomed to a
different kind of company than the one you would find here," said
the Jew.
Andrea examined him with a firm look, from which the other lowered
his spying eyes. Then, a thought seemed to rise in him, which
suddenly caused him to approach this obtrusive man with some kind
of openness.
"You are a keen observer of your fellow men," he said. "The fact
didn't escape you that I had once seen better days and drank an
undiluted wine. I also had entered into the better circles of
society, though my family is from the lower middle class, and I
have only studied a tiny part of the law, without obtaining a
degree. This has changed. My father went bankrupt, I became
poor, and a poor law-clerk and assistant of an advocate has no
right to demand anything more than what he would find in this
tavern."
"A learned gentleman has always a right to demand respect," the
other one said with a very obliging smile. "It would make me
happy, if I could do a favour for Your Grace; for I've always
sought the company of learned men, and in my many business
transactions, I've rather often had an opportunity to get close to
them. With Your Grace's permission, I would like to suggest that
we should drink a better glass of wine than what we would be able
to get here..."
"I can't pay for any better wine," the other one said
indifferently.
"I would feel honoured to demonstrate Venetian hospitality to you,
sir, who seems to be a stranger in this city. If there's any
other way I could also be of assistance to you, sir, with my
properties and my knowledge of the city..."
Andrea was just about to give him an evasive answer, when he
noticed the inn-keeper, who stood in the back of the room at the
bar, motioning him vivaciously with his bold head to come over to
him. Among the other guests, consisting of craftsmen, market
women, and bums, there were also several who made clandestine
signs at him, as if they would have liked to tell him something,
which they could not have dared to say aloud. Under the pretext
that he would want to pay his bill first, before he would respond
to this polite invitation, he left his seat and approached the
inn-keeper, asking loudly how much he would owe him.
"Sir," whispered the kind-hearted old man, "be on your guard
against that fellow. You're dealing with a very bad character.
The inquisitors are paying him to spy out the secrets of all
strangers who might come in here. Don't you see that nobody else
would want to sit in his corner? They all know him, and the day
will come when he'll be thrown out the door, the God of Abraham
would give His blessing to that! But I, though I have to tolerate
his presence or else I'd be in trouble, still feel obliged to tell
you the truth." "I thank you, my friend," said Andrea aloud.
"Your wine is a bit turbid, but healthy. Good day."
With these words, he returned to his seat, took his hat, and said
to his obliging neighbour: "Come, sir, if you please. They don't
like you here," he added more quietly. "They think you're a spy,
as I've been able to notice. Let's continue our acquaintance
elsewhere."
The Jew's thin face turned pale. "By God," he said, "they
misjudge me! But I can understand why these people are so
watchful, for Venice is swarming with the bloodhounds of the
signoria. My business affairs," he continued, when they were
already in the street, "all of my many connections lead me to so
many houses, so that it might appear as if I would pry into other
people's secrets. May God let me live for a hundred years, but
what do all these strangers concern me? As long as they pay what
they owe me, I'd be a dog if I'd talk badly about them."
"But I'd think, Signore - what is your name?"
"Samuele."
"But I'd think, Signore Samuele, that you're thinking too badly
about those who spy out the plots and assassinations of the
citizens for the benefit of the state and who uncover conspiracies
against the republic before they can do any harm." The Jew
stopped walking, grabbed the other one's sleeve, and looked at
him. "Why didn't I recognise you right away?" he said. "I should
have known that you couldn't have come to this miserable tavern by
accident, that I should have welcomed you as a colleague. Since
when are you in office?"
"Me? Since the day after tomorrow."
"What do you mean, sir? Do you want to play a joke on me?"
"Truly not," Andrea replied. "For I'm perfectly serious in my
plans to be accepted into your order as soon as possible. I'm
badly-off, as I've told you, and I've come to Venice to improve my
conditions. The salary I'm receiving since today as a clerk from
a notary is not what I had hoped to obtain here with a bit of good
luck and whatever little wits I've got. Venice is a beautiful
city, a fun-loving city; but there is a golden sound in the
laughter of the beautiful women which always reminds me of my
poverty. I think, this can't go on like this forever."
"Your trust honours me very much," said the Jew with a thoughtful
expression. "But I have to tell you that these gentlemen don't
like accepting strangers, who have just recently arrived in the
city, into their service, before they haven't passed a trial
period and haven't looked around a bit. If I could help you out
with my purse until then - I take low interests from my friends."
"I thank you, Signore Samuele," Andrea replied indifferently.
"Your protection is more valuable to me, for which I'd like to ask
you hereby in the most sincere manner. But this here is my house;
I won't intrude upon you by asking you inside, because I've still
more than enough work to do for my new employer. Andrea Delfin is
my name. When the time has come for me to be of any use, think of
me: Andrea Delfin, Calle della Cortesia."
He shook the strange friend's hand, who kept standing outside for
a while longer, taking a close look at the house and the area
around it, while mumbling to himself with a face full of doubt and
cunning ideas, which revealed that he would not so quickly vouch
for the Brescian before he had not passed his trial period.
When Andrea ascended the stairs, he could not get past Signoria
Giovanna without answering to her. She was not content with the
fact that he had only found such inferior employment. She said
she would not rest until he had abandoned it and found a more
profitable and more honourable position. He shook his head. "It
will do, good woman," he said gravely, "for the little time I've
still left."
"What's this talk!" the woman scolded him. "To approach the good
and to let the bad come by itself, that's the thing to do for a
man, and for honey you are licking, while the vermouth has you
spitting. Look at the pretty sun outside, and be ashamed for
coming home thus early, while there's music on the Piazzetta and
those who are handsome, rich, and noble are strolling up and down
the Piazza San Marco. Your place is among them, Signore Andrea,
not in this room."
"I'm neither handsome, nor rich, nor noble, Signoria Giovanna."
"Doesn't it give you any joy, to see the beautiful part of the
world?" she asked eagerly, looking around to see, whether Marietta
might, by any chance, be nearby. "You wouldn't be lovesick?"
"No, Signoria Giovanna."
"Or might you even regard it as a sin to enjoy life? There are
those little books, you've got lying on your table; I'm just
saying this, because you're the first guest who has brought a
religious book into my house, let God hear how I lament this! But
nowadays, the young people think: Live audaciously and die
piously, this is the way to spoil the devil's fun, and around
Christmas time, even the sparrows on the roof are fasting."
"Kind woman," he said with a smile, "you're very worried about me,
but nobody would be able to help me. When I'm sitting quietly at
my work, I'm feeling most comfortable, and you could do me a
favour by getting me an inkstand and a few sheets of paper."
Soon afterwards, Marietta brought what he had asked for to his
room, where he was sitting silently by the window, staring into
the empty space. She found him in the same position, when she
brought him the light in the evening, and being asked by her what
he wanted to eat, he only ordered bread and wine. She did not
have the courage to ask him, whether the gnats were bothering him
and whether he wanted to have the room fumigated again. "Mother,"
she said, sitting down on the stairs next to the old woman, "I
won't go into the room again while he's there. He has such eyes,
like the martyr in the small chapel of San Stefano. I can't
smile, when he looks at me."
Whatever would she have said, if she had entered the room a few
hours later? While the nightly winds were blowing across the
canal, he stood at the window, talking to the maid on the other
side, eagerly trying to give his eyes a worldly look.
"Beautiful Smeraldina," he said, "I couldn't bear waiting for the
time when I was to see you again. Passing by a goldsmith's store,
I've thought of you and bought you a pin, a filigree, which is
certainly too inferior for you, and is still more genuine than the
brooch on your turban. Open the window, then I'll throw it to
you, hoping that I'll soon take the same course through the air
and fall at your feet."