Chapter 8

After this, they were silent and cruised for a while, lost in thought, together through the lifeless waters, receding listlessly like a swamp as the gondola's keel ploughed through them. Near the Rialto, Andrea wished to get out. He asked the young man to give his regards to his mother and inscrutably shrugged his shoulders when being asked whether he could still be found in Venice one month from now. They held each others hand for a long time, and when the gondola landed, they parted with a cordial embrace. Once more, the intelligent and trusting face of the young man looked through the hatch of the black canopy and nodded to his friend, who had stopped on the stairs leading down to the water, lost in his thoughts. For both, the farewell felt more painful than they could explain.

Especially Andrea, who had thought for a long time that he was free from all those ties with which one person would tie himself to another, who seemed to be dead to all those small reasons for living due to that one, fearful goal which he had set out for himself, was astonished at how much the thought of having to make do without that young man for several weeks did pain him. But soon, the wish forced itself upon him that he would never meet him here again, before he had not succeeded in his work. He was resolved to write a letter to the mother and to urge her with mysterious warnings not to consent to her son's return to Venice. Once he had made this decision, he was relieved of a great burden. He instantly went home, in order to carry out his plan.

But in his gray room, where no ray of sunlight ever entered and the barren wall of the alley inhospitably stared at him through the iron bars, he was seized by such a violent restlessness and uneasiness that he, whenever sat down to write, threw away the pen and paced to and fro like a predator in its cage. He felt perfectly certain that this feeling did not rise from the depth of his conscience, that not the fear of being found out and being the subject of vengeance was partially disturbing his soul. Just this very morning, he had again come face to face with the secretary of the tribunal and could see for himself how completely at a loss the tyrants were. The wounded inquisitor of the state was still between life and death. The longer this state of uncertainty lasted, the more the existence of the triumvirate itself was questioned. Another successful strike against the shaky building, and it would be in ruins for ever. Andrea did not doubt for a moment that providence, having guided his hand up to now, would also allow him to succeed in his final effort. At no time, he had doubted in his mission. And when today, the indistinct premonition of a great tragedy made him restless, his own actions and plans had no part in it.

It was already getting dark, when he heard a quiet cough on the other side by Smeraldina's window, the agreed sign that the girl wished to talk to him. Lately, he had neglected her pretty much and was rather inclined to continue the acquaintance today, partially to escape his own thoughts, partially to keep his access to the tribunal by means of news from the palace of the countess, and perhaps even to get to one of the inquisitors. Swiftly, he stepped to the window and greeted her. The chamber-maid received him with cold condescension.

"You've been avoiding me," she said; "it seems as if you had made other acquaintances in the meantime, whom you prefer to your neighbour."

He assured her that his feelings for her were unchanged.

"If it's true," she said, "then, I'm willing to put you back in my grace. Today, there's a particularly good opportunity to have another undisturbed chat. My countess is gambling with several guests tonight, half a dozen young gentlemen. They would hardly leave before midnight, and until then, the two of us can also be together, and I'll get all we need from the kitchen and from the wine table."

"Has the German been invited, about whom you've told me that the countess is seeing him so often at her place?"

"Him? What are you thinking! He's so jealous that he wouldn't cross the threshold when he senses that he would have company here. And besides, he's leaving. We wouldn't be mortally sad for that."

Andrea sighed in relief. "At ten o'clock, I'll be here by the window," he said; "or shall I come to the portal?"

She thought about it. "You'd better do the latter," she said. "After all, you're well acquainted with the porter, and your landlady would surely give you the key. Or are you playing the role of a virtuous man before little Marietta? Do you know that I seriously started to get jealous of that insignificant creature?"

"Of Marietta?"

"She has a crush on you, or else I'd have no eyes in my head. Just look at her. Doesn't she walk about like a changed person and doesn't sing any more, while at other times I had to cover my ears? And how many times have I seen her, while you were gone, sneaking to your room and searching through your things!"

"She's reading my books; I've permitted her to do so. The reason for her not singing any more is that her mother has fallen ill."

"You only want to make excuses for her, but I know enough, and if I should find out that she had been talking badly about me, in order to get you away from me, I'll scratch her eyes out, that envious witch."

Vigorously, she slammed the window shut, and he could not help thinking about her words for a long time. In the old days, the idea that the charming girl cared for him would have made his blood throb faster. Now, the only thing occupying his mind was which way he would have to take in order to avoid crossing the calm paths of this innocent soul in the future. Thinking back, he became aware of many small things which supported Smeraldina's opinion. Individually, he had ignored them. But he had to accept their sum. "I must leave this place," he said to himself. "And yet, where am I as safe and as sheltered as in this house?"

At night, at the appointed time, he arrived at the portal of the palace, the brightly lit windows of which were facing the unevenly shaped square. There was no moon in the cloudy sky, presaging an early autumn, and the few people who were still in the streets, wrapped themselves in their short coats. Andrea, as he was standing there and waiting to be admitted, thought of that night when another Candiano had crossed this threshold to come to his death. His mind shivered with horror. His hand, which was soon afterwards seized in an intimate way by the chamber-maid opening the door, was cold.

She showed him to her room, but, no matter how much she urged him, it was impossible for him to eat and drink, though she had ransacked the kitchen of her mistress and put aside some of the most exquisite delicacies for her friend. He excused this by blaming his sickness, and she accepted it, since he did not refuse losing a few ducats to her in a game of tarock. Furthermore, he had brought her a present, so that she could get over the fact that tonight she again found him to be a lover who was so little talkative and forthcoming. She ate and drank just the more eagerly, played all kinds of jokes, and gave him the names of the young Venetians who had come to the countess to gamble.

"There, things are done so very differently than with us," she said; "the gold isn't counted, but a full fistful of coins is betted on one card. Would you like to have a look at them? After all, you already know the secret path."

"You're referring to the crack in the wall? But aren't they in the large hall?"

"No, in the room of the countess. The hall is only used for the big galas during the carnival."

He briefly thought about it. It could only be desirable for him to expand his knowledge of the persons belonging to the aristocracy. "Show me there," he said. "I'll soon have enough of it and not be disloyal to you for a long time."

"Just don't fall in love with my countess," she threatened. "Concerning jealousy, I'm dead serious, and unfortunately, there are some who think that my mistress was more beautiful than me."

He tried to reply in the same tone; and making jokes, they left the room. Outside, they came across several footmen wearing liveries, who did not seem to object against the man who was with the girl. They carried silver bowls and plates and did not use the path to the large hall. This path was unlit just as the first time; but the mood next door was more cheerful and animated, and Andrea hardly recognised the chamber, after having taken his uncomfortable post as a spy on the platform above. The mirrors at the walls reflected the light from the candles about a hundred times over and over, and their golden frames caught sidelights and hurled their reflections high up to the ceiling. But amidst all of this, the jewels of beautiful Leonora were sparkling, and Andrea clearly recognised around her neck the necklace with the ruby lock, which his German friend had bought from Samuele. The gem lay like a stain of blood on her white breast. But her eyes looked tiredly and indifferently at the cards, and whenever she glanced at the faces of the young men, it was plain to see that no one of them could capture her interest. And yet, the guests did their best to be courteous. They made the most humorous remarks when placing their bets and lost their gold more swiftly than their high spirits. One of them, who seemed to have lost everything already, sat in an armchair between two mirrors and sang sad barcaroles while playing the lute. Another one, who was taking a break from winning, threw his golden coins at the carpet, trying to hit certain parts of the pattern, and forgot to pick the zecchini, which were rolling away, back up. Among them, servants were walking in and out with ice-cream and fruits, and a small Bolognese dog had a friendly conversation with a large, green parrot, which, sitting on its golden perch, occasionally called out funny swear-words in good Venetian to the company. The spy on the the musicians' platform already wanted to retreat again, because the sight he looked down on aroused the most uncomfortable feelings in him, when suddenly, a tall figure was stepping through the folding-door into the gambling room, who was greeted by everyone present with astonishment. It was a rather aged gentleman, who nevertheless still carried his white head high on his shoulders and also had nothing of an old man in the way he walked. With a swift glance, he inspected the young men, bowed slightly to the countess, and asked them not to let his presence disturb them.

"You're asking too much, Ser Malapiero," replied the countess. "The respect these young men have for the services which you have performed for the republic by sea and by land doesn't permit us to proceed in your presence to kill time in such a sinful fashion."

"You're mistaken, beautiful Leonora," the old man responded. "I have retired from the public service and not even attended the meetings of the Great Council for years, just because the respect of the young people was a nuisance to me and I longed for carefree, cheerful company. But who would nowadays want to open his heart under the influence of wine, when there is a member of the Council of Ten or even an inquisitor of the state sitting with him at the table? In such an office, a man ages more swiftly, and I'm planning to continue belying my white hair for quite a while and to be at least young when I'm having my wine, though I'm feeling my years in the presence of beauty."

"As far as your courtesy is concerned, you can surely still compete with these young gentlemen," said Leonora, "who would think that it only took a daintily curled blond or black beard to obtain the right to kiss every beautiful, female mouth. But I want to have the wine table carried in, to welcome my rare guest by drinking to his health."

"Forgive me, my charming friend. I haven't come to impose on your hospitality. I was only driven here by the wish to bring you the news of your brother without delay, which have reached me tonight by means of a courier from Genua. They are of such a happy nature that I don't fear that they might diminish the cheerfulness of our beautiful hostess and that I'm sure of your forgiveness when I'm depriving these noble gentlemen for a few moments of your company. May I enter this room with you?" he said, pointing to the door to the dark hall, towards which he had taken a few steps.

Andrea startled. He realised that he could not leave his place swiftly and noiselessly enough to sneak away unnoticed. And the door to the hall was already opening, and he heard the dress of the countess rustling in. He quickly decided to lay down flat on the floor of the high estrade, the balustrade of which, though it was very low, still covered him completely in this position. He heard the steps of the old man following Leonora and him answering "No" to the question whether a candlestick should be brought in.

"I've got only two words to say to her," Malapiero exclaimed turning back to the gambling room. "No one of you young gentlemen will find the time to get jealous of me."

The door closed behind them, and they walked to and fro under the platform.

"What brings you here?" the countess asked hastily. "Are you finally bringing me the news that Gritti is going to be called back?"

"You haven't fulfilled the condition yet, Leonora. What have you told the tribunal of the secrets from Vienna?"

"Was it my fault? Didn't I do everything a woman might be capable of, and didn't I make this stubborn German squirm in my web like a fish on dry land? But never, a word about his occupation had come across his lips. And today, he's departing, as you would know. The annoyance of having spent so much time on him in vain is making me ill."

"It would be preferred if he was ill."

"How come?"

"He wants to leave, his path couldn't be blocked. But we're certain that it would cause the greatest harm to the republic if he should actually reach Vienna. The pretext for his vacation is meaningless. The true reason is that he has things to report in Vienna, which he doesn't even dare to entrust a secret courier with. And therefore, it is imperative to prevent this journey."

"So, prevent it. Whether he's leaving or staying is completely indifferent to me."

"You've got the easiest means in your hands, Leonora, to keep him here."

"These would be?"

"You'll sent him a message right away that he should come, to find you less cruel than before. Then, when he'll call on you this very night, as he undoubtedly will, you'll make sure that he'll soon fall ill."

She swiftly interrupted him. "I've made an oath," she said, "never to agree to such impositions again."

"You'll be relieved of your oath, and your conscience will be calmed down, Leonora. We're also not of the opinion that the drug should be lethal; this should even be most carefully avoided."

"Do whatever you want," she said. "But leave me out of it."

"Your final word, countess?"

"I've said it."

"Well, so we'll have to arrange it so that the traveller will have an accident on the way. This always makes things more complicated and causes more suspicion."

"And Gritti?"

"I'll tell you about him another time. Permit me to escort you back to your guests."

The door of the hall opened and closed again. Andrea could stand up without putting himself into danger. But the words he had heard were still paralysing his mind and his body. Muffled by the wall, he heard the wanton laughs and jokes of the young men; his hair was made to stand on end by the realisation how terribly close death and life, crime and levity came to one another in here. When he straightened up with some difficulties and groped his way down the stairs, his hand was feverishly searching the dagger, which he always carried with him, hidden in his clothes. His lips were bloody, thus hard he had bit on them with his teeth.

But he could still think straight enough to go back to Smeraldina and to tell her in calm words that this company had been rather amusing to look at; but he would never look through the crack again, since he had just barely escaped discovery by the countess and an older guest. He hoped that they had not heard him slipping out the other door as they had entered the dark hall. - After this, he emptied his purse completely and insisted on leaving her at once. The safest thing would be if she let him leave on the board through the window, in order to avoid any suspicion of the countess. She did not suspect anything bad in it, the bridge was built in an instance, and he crossed it with firm steps, though he was already firmly resolved to commit a serious act. But this time, it was not only for the great cause, he had consecrated his life to. This time, a friend's life had to be protected from hostile treachery, a son had to be sent to his mother's arms unharmed, a vile violation of hospitality had to be prevented by executing a swift sentence.

Quietly, he stepped out into the corridor of his house and listened into the gloomy passage. His landlady's door was closed; but he nevertheless heard her voice, talking to Orso's shadow in her feverish dreams. He reached the stairs and carefully opened the door downstairs. The street was empty; the light of the small eternal flame did not extend far into the windy night; but he knew the paths and walked with hasty steps through the next side alleys over the narrow bridge of the canal, which got him to the small square in front of Leonora's palace. He had not seen a gondola anywhere and had to assume that the old man would go the way to his house on foot. He chose a place where he had to pass by. A deep, dark, salient pillar by a door he regarded as suitable for an ambush. Here, he pushed himself into the corner and kept a keen eye on the portal of the palace.

But the hand holding the dagger ready to strike was shivering a lot, and the blood was gushing thus violently through his heart that he had to make the greatest effort to gather all of his courage. What was this, which was rebelling in him this time against an act which he regarded as a holy duty, as something commanded by a higher necessity? He fought hard against the dark voices, which seemed to lure him away from his post. His shoulder was firmly pressed against the pillar; with his left hand, he wiped his brow, which was covered by cold drops of sweat. "Stay strong!" he could not help saying to himself. "Perhaps, if heaven's providence is gracious, this is the last time."

Then occurred to him that the old Malapiero would undoubtedly have servants to escort him, and instantly, he comprehended the impossibility of carrying out the assault in this case. He almost liked finding a pretext forcing him to go home today, without having done the deed. But as he was already putting one foot forward out of the door's niche, the portal of the palace opened on the other side of the square, and in the gray night, he saw a tall figure, wrapped in a cloak, crossing the threshold all by himself and coming towards him. The white hair was sticking out clearly enough from under the hat; the swift steps echoed over the slabs of stone; and carefully, the man kept close to the houses on his late walk. Now, he approached the house in the shadow of which the avenger stood; as if he sensed the immediate danger, he held the cloak before his face and firmly clenched, with his left hand, the handle of his sword, which he carried by his side in spite of the ban on weapons. He passed by his enemy without noticing him; for another ten, twenty steps, the latter let him walk ahead of him. The lonely man was already approaching the bridge. Suddenly, he heard steps behind him, he turned around, his hand dropped the cloak, but in the same moment, his tall figure collapsed; the steel had struck a deep blow against his life.

"My mother, my poor mother!" sighed the murdered man. Then, his head fell onto the pavement. The eyes closed forever.

Several minutes of silence followed these words of farewell. The dead man lay stretched out across the street, with his arms spread out, as if he wanted to eagerly embrace the life which had so disloyally abandoned him. The hat had fallen off his brow; under the disguise of the white curls, the natural, brown hair flowed forth, the youthful face seemed like being asleep in the pale twilight of the night. And one step away from him, by the wall of the next house, petrified like a statue leaning against the wall, stood the murderer, and his eyes were staring into the motionless features of the young man, trying in vain, filled with desperate fear, to deny this horrible certainty, to persuade himself that some ghost was deceiving him, that the features of that old man, who had just before, in Leonora's hall, arranged an ambush for Andrea's friend, were hidden under this young mask, which hell presented to him. Had it not been on account of this friend that he had hurried to strike this blow? Did he not intent to send a son back to his mother unharmed? And what had this man, lying there on the ground, been babbling about his poor mother? Why was the judge and avenger now standing there like a condemned man and was unable to move a single limb, though his teeth were rattling like in mortal fear, and extreme cold made all of his body shiver?

The blood, which had been raging towards his eyes, flowed back and was gushing towards his heart. His eyes clearly recognised the dagger in the dead man's chest. In the gloomy twilight, he read the words on the handle which he had painstakingly engraved with his own hand: "Death to all inquisitors of the state". He could not help but speak them aloud and let his eyes wander to and fro between the fatal weapon and the face of the poor victim, until his mind was filled with the condemning contradiction between these words and these features. In a frightful haste, thoughts chased past his mind. Suddenly, he saw everything clearly which had happened here and could never be atoned for. No miracle had any part in turning this atrocity into reality. Everything was so perfectly natural, so probable, a child had to comprehend it. During the day, the young man had kept his distance from his ruinous, beautiful enemy. He wanted to leave without farewell. He had sent someone to tell her, and she felt indifferently enough about it to invite guests for the same night. When the night had come, he could not resist the powerful urge of the daemon and walked the accustomed path. At the portal, he had been told that he would not find the countess alone. Momentarily, he was resolved to turn back. And this very moment was enough for his only friend to position himself into his hiding place, in order to become his murderer.

Only after Andrea had clearly thought about all of this, with the cold clairvoyance which comes upon people in all decisive hours when all comfort disappears, the petrification of his body receded. He fell towards the silent sleeper, dropped to his knees onto the pavement, and closely looked at his face. A mad laugh, which sounded like choking, he now involuntarily uttered, as he was pushing the white curls off his head, which had so tragically deceived him. He remembered that he himself had warned the friend against showing himself openly in the streets of Venice. He himself had set up the trap for himself and the one who was so dear to him. Then, he ripped his clothes open and felt whether there was still a trace of life throbbing in his heart. He bent his mouth closely over the young man's lips, to find out whether he could still feel his breath. Everything was quiet and cold and hopeless.