window. After a while, he returned to the table and said:
"You'll be given the passport of an Austrian subject, who was born
in Triest. With this, you'll go to the house of the Austrian
ambassador and ask for his protection, because the republic was
threatening to deport you. You'll say that you had left Triest at
a young age and had gone to Brescia. Whatever answer you may
receive, with some cleverness, this visit will be all you need to
get acquainted with the ambassador's secretary. It is your task
to continue this relationship and to observe the secret contacts
of the court of Vienna with the aristocracy of Venice as much as
you can. If you should discover the slightest thing which would
arouse your suspicion, you have to report it immediately."
"Does the high tribunal wish me to abandon my present position
with the notary Fanfani?"
"You won't change anything about the routine of your life. For
the first month, your salary is only twelve ducats. It is up to
your cleverness and caution to double the amount."
Andrea bowed to signalise that he agreed with everything.
"Here is your German passport," said the secretary. "Your
lodgings are next to the palace of Countess Amidei. It'll be easy
for you to start a relationship with her chamber-maid, the
expenses of which shall be refunded to you. Whatever you'll find
out by these means about relationships the countess has with noble
Venetians, you'll report right here. The republic expects you to
fulfil your task faithfully and conscientiously. It will not bind
you by means of an oath, because you wouldn't have human blood in
your veins and would also laugh at heavenly justice, if the fear
of the earthy punishments we inflict wouldn't confine you to your
duty. You are dismissed."
Andrea bowed once again and turned to the door. The secretary
called him back.
"One more thing," he said, while unlocking a small box, which
stood on the table. "Step closer, and take a look at the dagger
in this box. There are large factories for weapons in Brescia.
Do you remember having seen any work resembling this one there?"
Controlling his emotions with his last bit of strength, Andrea
looked into the container, which the secretary held out to him.
He recognised the weapon just too well. It was a double-bladed
knife, the handle, also made of steel, in the shape of a cross.
On the blade, which had not been cleansed from the blood yet,
these words were engraved: "Death to all inquisitors of the
state".
After a lengthy examination, he pushed the box back with a firm
hand. "I do not recall," he said, "having seen a similar dagger
in the shops of Brescia."
"It's good."
The secretary locked the small box again and motioned him with his
hand to leave. With slow steps, Andrea left the room. The men
with the halberds let him pass; like in a dream, he went along
the echoing corridor, and only when he had reached the dark
staircase, he allowed himself to sit down on the marble steps for
a moment. His knees were close to failing him; cold sweat
covered his forehead, the tongue stuck to his palate.
When he stepped out of the building, he took a deep breath,
bravely he held his head high, and returned to his decisive
posture. Outside by the portal opening to the Piazzetta, he saw a
crowd standing closely together, eagerly reading a large poster,
which had been attached to one of the columns. He also joined
them and read that by the Council of Ten, with the high permission
of the doge, a reward of a thousand zecchini as well a pardon from
exile or other punishment was promised to him who would be able to
inform on the murderer of Venier. People were rushing from and to
the column, and only a few lurking faces persistently reappeared
again and again under the arcades, observing the faces of the
readers. Andrea also did not escape their attention. But with
the indifference of a completely uninvolved stranger, he left to
make room for other curious people, after quickly glancing over
the paper, and then, he calmly stepped into a gondola at the Grand
Canal, which was to get him to the hotel of the Austrian
ambassador.
When, after a lengthy ride, he got off in front of the palace,
situated in a rather remote part of the city, bearing the
two-headed eagle above the entrance, a tall, young man was just
using the knocker of the gate. He looked around for the gondola,
and his serious features suddenly became cheerful. "Ser Delfin,"
he said and extended his hand to Andrea, "to meet you here? Don't
you remember me? Have you already forgotten that night at the
Lago di Garda?"
"It's you, Baron Rosenberg!" replied Andrea and heartily shook the
right hand which had been extended to him. "Are you going to stay
for a long time in Venice, or are you already getting your
passport here, to continue your travels?"
"Heaven knows," said the other one, "when my star will ever lead
me away from here, and whether I will welcome or curse it then.
But for my passport, I don't need to bother anybody, since I can
endorse it for myself. For you ought to know, dear friend, that
you're talking to the secretary of His Excellency the Austrian
ambassador, which I'm truly not saying for the purpose of pushing
a wall of diplomacy between me and my dear travel-companion of
Riva, but in your own interest, good fellow, since not every
Venetian would wish to be regarded as an old acquaintance of
mine."
"I've nothing to fear," said Andrea. "If I'm not bothering you,
I'll step inside with you for a moment."
"You wanted to see me, without knowing about me. Whatever favour
the secretary of the embassy was supposed to do for you, your
friend will now perform for you just the more willingly, if it's
in his power."
Andrea blushed. For the first time, he now felt all the
humiliation of the mask he wore in the company of a free man, who,
after a brief encounter several years ago, was approaching him
with so much friendship now again. The passport of the man from
Triest, which he had in his pocket, burdened him like a weight of
lead. But the practise he had in controlling his inner struggle
did not fail him this time either. "I only wanted to make an
inquiry concerning a German commercial house," he said, "for here
in Venice, I hold the very modest position of a clerk, who has to
put up with having to perform all kinds of petty services for his
employer, the notary. But since I wasn't much better of in
Brescia, and you nevertheless didn't regard me as too low to grant
me the company of yourself and your mother, I will, here as well,
boldly enter in your company; most of all, you must tell me: How
is this outstanding woman, whose venerable image, her moving love
for you, her great kindness for me, are still most vivid in my
memory."
The young man became serious and sighed. "Come to my room," he
said. "There, we can chat more confidentially."
Andrea followed him upstairs, and with the first look he had into
the cozy chamber, he caught sight of a large pastel painting,
which was hanging above the desk. He recognised the shining eyes
and the rich hair or Leonora. All seductive softness of youth and
of wantonness lay on these smiling lips.
The young man pushed two armchairs to the window, through which
the rather wide canal, the picturesque bridge, and, between the
houses on the other side, that wall of an old church behind which
the choir-stalls would be were all in view. "Come," he said,
"make yourself comfortable. Shall I send for wine or sorbet? But
you aren't listening. You're captivated by this unfortunate
painting. Do you know whom it represents? Do you know the
original, of which it is only a pale shadow? But who in Venice
wouldn't know her? Don't tell me anything about this woman. I
know everything which is being said about her, and I believe
everything, and nevertheless I assure you in all earnestness that
even you, if you were standing in front of her, would think of
nothing out of all this, but rather you would thank God for not
entirely losing your five senses."
"Is this painting your property?" Andrea asked after a pause.
"No; it used to belong to a more fortunate man, a handsome, young
Venetian, who, as she has personally confessed to me, had been her
idol. This careless man dared to offer his friendship to me. He
is paying for this crime in exile, and my punishment is now that
he has left me with this painting, and that I've seen the eyes of
the original crying for him."
While he was saying this, he stood in front of the painting and
regarded it with a doting, sad look. Andrea observed him with the
deepest compassion. His face was not handsome, he only seemed
attractive by means of the combination of the youthful softness of
his physique and the male sincerity and fire of the expressions of
his features. The movements of his tall body also revealed
nobility and energy. Andrea could not help but exclaim: "How can
you, you too, love this woman, who is so unworthy of you!"
"Love?" replied the German in a strangely gloomy tone. "Who told
you that I would love her as I used to love in Germany and which
is the only love worthy of that name? Say that I'm obsessed by
her, that I'm wearing her shackles while gnashing my teeth and
moaning, and accept my confession that I'm ashamed of this
weakness and yet savour it. Never before, I've felt how
meaningless all earthly bliss is compared to the feeling of having
one's back burdened by a yoke of one's own choosing, until it
bleeds, and to cast all male pride into the dust for a smile of
such eyes."
His face had turned red; only now, he noticed that Andrea had,
for some time, turned away from the painting and was listening to
him with deep concern.
"I'm boring you," said Rosenberg. "Let's talk about something
else. What has happened to you in the meantime? Why have you
left Brescia?"
"You haven't told me about your mother yet," Andrea changed the
subject. "What a woman! The most complete stranger would feel
the desire to venerate her like a mother."
"Go on," said the other man. "Perhaps, your words will free me
from the evil spell, I have succumbed to. It's not so that you
would tell me anything new. But hearing from you what a mother
she is, and what an ungrateful child she has brought up in me,
will perhaps make me turn back to my duty. Would you believe me
that I have already received the third letter from her in which
she implores me to leave Venice and to come to her to Vienna?
She's dreaming that a tragic fate was awaiting me here. She
doesn't even suspect the worst fate to which I'm doomed; and yet,
there is nothing else keeping me here but that woman, which I do
not dare, for anything in the world, to bring close to her
untarnished presence. - But no," he continued, "I shouldn't be
too hard on myself: It would indeed be difficult for me to obtain
a leave at this time. My superior, the count, has persuaded
himself that I was indispensable for him, and especially now,
there's a lot of work to be done with which he wouldn't want to
burden himself. It's not unknown to you that we're unwanted
guests here. They don't want to open their eyes to that side
which might pose a real danger and foster the prejudice that the
power we represent had its hands in everything hostile which
happens in Venice. They've even gone so far to blame us for the
murder of Venier, a crime which I despise from the bottom of my
heart just as much as I regard its instigators as shortsighted
politicians. - After all, wouldn't you say so too, dear friend,"
he continued with untempered enthusiasm, perhaps also with the
intention to persuade one more person in Venice to speak out in
his favour, "wouldn't you say so too, that there's not even the
slightest prospect of achieving the goal, the overthrow of the
tribunal, by these criminal means? Let's forget about the moral
aspects for a moment: Is it in any way conceivable that such an
extensive conspiracy to commit these assassinations will remain a
secret here in Venice for as long as it would take for it to
achieve the goal of intimidating their enemies?"
"It is inconceivable," replied Andrea calmly. "Whatever three
Venetians know, the Council of Ten knows. It's just the more
astonishing that, this time, they are thus badly supplied with
information."
"And now, let's suppose that the conspirators would succeed in
committing one murder after another as they please, which does
seem to be what they are up to, suppose they would get to the
inquisitors in spite of the secrecy surrounding them, and there
would finally be no one left who would dare to risk his life for
such a dangerous honour - what would be achieved by this? An
aristocracy which is organised on such a monstrous scale as the
one of Venice requires, in order to prevail, in order to secure
itself against the tempestuous waves of the will of the people,
the firm dam of an everlasting dictatorship, which would have to
be reestablished again and again in milder or tougher forms.
After all, where are those elements from which a genuine republic
with free institutions could be formed? You've got a ruling class
and a ruled class, sovereigns by the hundreds and mob by the
thousands. Where are the citizens, without which a free
administration of a city is an impossibility? Your nobili have
made sure that the common man has never matured enough to develop
a citizen's way of thinking, the feeling of being responsible, and
of having to make true, conscious sacrifices for great purposes.
They've never allowed the plebeians to get involved in matters of
the state. But because the rule of eight hundred tyrants is too
sluggish, too much in disagreement, and wastes too much time with
idle banter to have a powerful effect on the outside world or on
internal matters, those gentlemen rather enslaved themselves and
put up with the yoke of an irresponsible triumvirate, which has at
least originated from among their midst. They preferred seeing
their own peers falling victim to this triple-headed idol, without
any laws and legal rights, to a life unter the protection of laws
and rights, which would render them equal to the people."
"You're saying these things as they are," Andrea interjected.
"But do they have to stay like this?"
"Stay - or get worse. Because, look, my dearest friend, how
terribly the blade of their weapon has turned against themselves.
As long as the republic had its role among the peoples of Europe,
the pressure of this constant dictatorship in internal affairs had
been compensated by the successes in external matters. Without
bundling all of its strength in the hands of merciless tyrants,
Venice would never have flourished to this height of political
power and immeasurable wealth, which we still found growing up
until the past century. As soon as these purposes were gone,
which could only justify such violent means, the bare tyranny in
all of its monstrosity remained and began, lest it should be idle
and realise that it had outlived its time, to direct its frenzy
towards its insides. A dictatorship in peace, may it be ruled by
one or by three, it always a mortal danger for every large or
small state. But here, the disease has become too old to be still
curable. The germs of a genuine middle class of citizens, out of
which now a new life would have to grow for the republic, have
rotted by means of a system of terror, which had lasted for
centuries, by means of a network of the most skilful spies, all
confidence, all honesty, safety, and love for freedom has been
suffocated, and the building, which seemed to have been
constructed so skilfully and durably, would collapse, as soon as
the cement of fear would disappear from its joints."
"Your reasons may be good," replied Andrea after a pause, "but
they are the reasons of a stranger, who doesn't stand to lose
anything by declaring that this republic had outlived its time and
was doomed to fall. You would hardly convince a Venetian that the
disease of his old native town doesn't at least deserve a final
attempt to cure it."
"But you are no Venetian."
"You're right, I'm only from Brescia, and my town has bled heavily
under the scourge of Venice. Nevertheless, I can't help but feel
a deep compassion for these desperate men, who are attempting to
cut out the cancerous growth of the secret rule of terror with a
knife. Whether they'll reach their goal, is written in the stars.
My eyes are weak, I'll forgo reading this inscription."
Both men became silent and looked through the window at the canal
for a while. Their armchairs were standing closely together. The
burning sun shone into the room, but they did not try to avoid the
unpleasant heat.
"You see," the younger one finally started again with a smile,
"that I've learned far too little caution, though being a
diplomat, especially being one who is starting his career in
Venice. We've only met once; and today, I'm telling you straight
forward what I think about the local state of affairs. But of
course, I regard myself as a good enough judge of character to
know that a mind like yours couldn't seek to get on the payroll of
that signoria."
Without a word, Andrea extended his hand to him. In the same
moment, he turned his face around and saw his colleague Samuele
standing a few steps behind them with a demure posture in the
middle of the room. He had quietly opened the door and had
stepped closer on the carpets of the room, without being heard,
making many obeisances. "Your Grace," he now said turning to
Rosenberg, while pretending not to know Andrea, "please forgive me
for having entered unannounced. The valet wasn't in the anteroom.
I'm bringing the jewels you had send for; things, your Grace,
like those the most beautiful Esther could have worn."
He pulled boxes and cases out of his pockets and carefully spread
out his merchandise on the table, and in doing so, he visibly
sought to bring out the Jewish merchant in him, whose existence he
otherwise did all he could to conceal. While the German inspected
the jewelry, Samuele gave an approving look to Andrea, who had his
back turned against him and was stepping over to the window. He
understood the purpose of the Jew's visit at this time. The spy
was supposed to keep an eye on the spy, the old fox was supposed
to watch over the new recruit on his trial job.
In the meantime, Rosenberg had chosen a necklace with a ruby lock
and payed the price the Jew had been asking without haggling. He
threw the gold coins on the table for him, nodded at him to
signalise that he was dismissed, without bothering to answer to
his banter, and stepped back to the window. "I'm seeing it in
your face," he said, "that you're pitying me and regarding me as a
madman. Indeed, the wiser thing for me to do would be to throw
this shiny jewelry into the canal, instead of putting it around
Leonora's white neck. But what does all wisdom help me against
this daemon?"
"I'm convinced," Andrea answered, "that you won't have to wait
long for reality to free you from this enchantment. But I owe you
another warning. Are you more closely acquainted with the Jew,
who has just left us?"
"I know him. He's one of the spies in our house, who are on the
payroll of the Council of Ten. He eats his daily bread in sin,
for all of our secret is that we are honest. And because they
think that this would be entirely impossible, we are regarded by
them as the most dangerous and most secretive ones. Only for your
sake, I dislike the fact that the sneak had entered here just now
out of all times. He has seen that you shook hands with me. I
can guarantee you that you, before one hour is up, will be listed
in the black book of the tribunal."
Andrea smiled bitterly. "I don't fear them, my friend," he said.
"I'm a peaceful man and my conscience is calm." - -
Four days had passed since that conversation. Andrea had
continued his usual life, had gone to the notary every morning,
and had stayed at home at night, though now, having established a
close relationship with the high police, he did not need to care
about having a good reputation in the street della Cortesia any
more.
Saturday evening, he asked Signora Giovanna for the key to the
house. She praised him for making an exception to his rule.
Today, she said, it was also worth the effort; to be among those
watching the obsequies for the noble Signore Venier in San Rocco,
could even tempt her. But she disliked being in a crowd, and then
- he would know why this case gave her a particular feeling of
dread.
He also preferred avoiding the nightly crowd, Andrea said. It
suffocated him. He wanted to take a gondola and go out to the
lido.
Thus, he left the old woman and turned to the direction opposite
to San Rocco. It was already eight o'clock, a thin rain made the
air hazy, but did not prevent the people from flocking to the
church on the other side of the canal, where the exequies for the
murdered inquisitor of the state were supposed to be held at this
hour. Dark figures, some of them wearing masks, some of them
protecting their faces against the drizzling rain by means of the
brims of their hats, rushed past him to the ferries or to the
Rialto Bridge, and the low ringing of bells buzzed through the
air. In a side alley, Andrea stood still, pulled a mask out of
his jacket, and tied it to his face. Then, he went to the nearest
canal, jumped into a gondola, and exclaimed: "To San Rocco!"
The majestic, old church was already lit as bright as day by
innumerable candles, and an immense crowd flooded around the empty
catafalque, rising darkly in the middle of the nave without
flowers and wreaths. Only a large silver cross stood at its top,
and the black blanket showed on both sides the coat of arms of the
house of Venier. On seats draped in black, filling the entire
choir, each row rising above the one in front like in an
amphitheatre, the aristocracy of Venice had taken their seats,
assembled in a completeness which was even at important meetings
of the Great Council rarely achieved. Nobody dared to be absent,
because everyone had an interest in not allowing even the
slightest doubt to be cast on his sincerity in mourning the
deceased. On a special tribune, sat the foreign ambassadors.
Their ranks were also complete.
From above, the trombones were playing the solemn introduction to
a requiem, and a full-voiced choir, accompanied by the organ,
intoned the elegy, which rolled heart-stirringly through the
church and was heard outside in the square as well as far off in
the neighbouring streets by people crowding to the church. The
slight rain, which still continued, the darkness of the night,
through which the bright windows of the church in the shape of
roses of stone glowed wondrously even from a distance, the shy
bustling and buzzing of the thousands impressed everyone in the
area all around the church with a frightful, creepy feeling, which
only a few might have been able to fend off. The closer they got
to the entrance of the sacred room, which contained everything
which was great and powerful in Venice, the more devoutly all lips
fell silent. From behind the black masks, which according to the
old custom appeared in a large number among the crowd at mournful
and joyous celebrations alike, rather many frightful looks peered
in through the bright portal for the catafalque, which was an even
more perceivable warning to consider the end of all things and the
meaninglessness of earthy power than the words of the song.
In a side alley, which in those days led through dark arcades and
ended on the square of San Rocco, two men walked hastily, talking
to one another. They did not see that in the darkness of the
houses, a third man was following them closely, carefully hidden
by a cloak and a mask, who at times came closer, at times stayed
behind and let them increase their distance from him again. Those
others did not wear the mask. One of them was a gentleman with a
gray beard and a noble appearance, his companion seemed to be
younger and of a lower class. He listened attentively to every
word of the old man and only occasionally made a humble remark.