Chapter 6

"Not that I know of. My family resided in Brescia for as long as anybody can remember."

"You're living at the Calle della Cortesia with Giovanna Danieli; you're wishing to enter the service of the exalted Council of Ten."

"I wish to devote my services to the republic."

"Your papers from Brescia are in order. The advocate, for whom you've worked for five years, recommends you as an intelligent and reliable man. Only concerning the six or seven years before you came to him, there is no document whatsoever. What have you been up to in that long time, after your parents had died? You haven't spent it in Brescia?"

"No, Your Grace," Andrea replied calmly. "I was in foreign countries, in France, Holland, and Spain. After I had spent my small inheritance, I reluctantly had to become a servant."

"Your references?"

"They've been stolen from me, having been in a suitcase which contained all of my possessions. After this, I was tired of the unsafe life of a traveller and went back to Brescia. My employers had found me suited for all kinds of secretarial work. I tried my luck with an advocate, and you can see the reference for yourself, Your Grace, attesting that I've learned to work."

While he was saying this, in a quiet, submissive posture, his head slightly bent forward and holding the hat in both hands, suddenly one of the three masked gentlemen stepped closer to the table, and Andrea felt a piercing look directed at him.

"What's your name?" asked the inquisitor with a voice revealing his old age.

"Andrea Delfin. My papers prove it."

"Consider that it means your death if you betray the exalted tribunal. Think about the answer once again. What if I'd now say that your name was Candiano?"

A short pause followed this word, the larvae of the deathwatch-beetle could be heard digging through the timber-work of the room. Eight scrutinising eyes were fixed on the stranger.

"Candiano?" he said slowly, but with a firm voice. "Why should I be called Candiano? I'd truly wish for it myself; because, as far as I know, the Candiano family is rich and noble, and whoever bears this name doesn't need to earn his bread laboriously with the pen."

"You've got a Candiano's face. Furthermore, your manners point to a better upbringing than what these papers attest."

"My face is not my fault, exalted gentlemen," replied Andrea with decent openness. As far as my manners are concerned, I have seen all kinds of customs on my travels and improved my own as much as I could; I also haven't wasted any time in Brescia, but rather used books to catch up on what I had missed in my youth."

By now, the two other inquisitors had stepped closer to that first one, and one of them, whose red beard stuck out widely from under the mask, said in a low voice: "A resemblance, which I would not want to deny, might deceive you. But you know for yourself: The branch of the family which used to reside near Marano has died out; the old man has been buried in Rome, the sons did not outlive him for long."

"This may be," replied the first one. "But look at him and say, whether it isn't just as if old Luigi Candiano had risen from his grave, only being rejuvenated. I've known him well enough; we've been elected to the senate on the same day."

He took the papers from the table and examined them carefully. "You may be right," he finally said. "The age wouldn't be match up. He's too old to be one of Luigi's sons. If he had fathered him before his marriage - we would be able to ignore it."

He threw the papers back on the table, gave the secretary a sign, and stepped back to the window's niche with the others, quietly continuing the interrupted conversation. Nobody could read from Andrea's eyes what a burden had, in this moment, fallen off his soul. The secretary started again. "You understand foreign languages?" he asked.

"I speak French and a little German, Your Grace."

"German? Where have you learned this?"

"A German painter in Brescia has been a good friend of mine."

"Have you ever been to Triest?"

"For two months, Your Grace, doing business for my employer, the advocate."

The secretary got up and walked over to the three men by the 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."