Andrea Delfin Part 7

And what had been the benefit of increasing the numbers of the secret police, the ma.s.sive recruiting of new spies from among the servants of the n.o.bili and the foreign amba.s.sadors, in the inns, in the a.r.s.enal, even in the barracks and monasteries? One half of Venice was payed to spy on the other half. A sizable amount of money was supposed to be the reward for even the slightest news, which would help them to get on the trail of the conspiracy. Now, it was tripled. But, since the conspiracy was presumed to be among the aristocracy, they had little hopes to get results from these measures, which were only targeted at the poorer people.

Quite generally, they did a lot of things to preserve the appearance that they were not idle, though what they did was idle.

Strict orders were issued that the inns and taverns had to be closed at nightfall; wearing masks and weapons of any kind was banned with a severe punishment; all night long, the steps of the patrols echoed through the allies, and they were heard calling out to the gondolas, which were pa.s.sing by the guard-posts on the ca.n.a.ls. n.o.body who wanted to leave Venice received a pa.s.sport, and at the entrance to the harbour, there was a large guard-s.h.i.+p, stopping every vessel, and even the officials of the republic were asked for the pa.s.sword, before they were allowed to pa.s.s.

Far across the Terraferma, the rumour of these frightening conditions was spreading, as usual increasing with the distance.

Whoever was planning to travel to the city, postponed it. Whoever had been planning to engage into a business connection with a Venetian house, preferred to wait until the confusion was over, which was threatening to revolutionise the structure of the republic in its foundations. The resulting effect was soon evident in a desolation of the city, where everything seemed to have come to a standstill. The n.o.bili only left their palaces in cases of extreme emergency, locking themselves in against any visitor, to avoid getting unknowingly in contact with one of the conspirators. n.o.body knew precisely what was going on outside, and the most outrageous rumours of arrests, torture, and inflicted punishments reached the closed doors, entered into the frightened families. Even the common people, though they felt clearly that they were not the ones who were primarily suffering under these conditions, and though they watched gloatingly how the n.o.ble men gave each other squinting looks in panic and fear, could still not fight off an uneasy feeling in the long run. It was definitely a nuisance to abandon cards and wine at nightfall, to be searched for concealed weapons by every guard who felt like it, and not to be save for a single moment from the treachery of false accusations, in spite of having the best conscience in the world.

Among the few whose lives and activities seemed to be unaffected by the stifling atmosphere, which depressed all spirits, was also Andrea Delfin. The morning after the crime, he had, like all the other secret spies, been interrogated by the successor of that unfortunate secretary who had put him on the payroll, concerning his observations at the hour of the crime, and had presented him the fairy-tale of a trip to the lido, on which he had the intention to investigate how the fisherman thought about all this.

What he could tell them about what was going on in the hotel of the Austrian amba.s.sador and the palace of the countess - meaningless facts, which the tribunal already knew for a long time - at least proved his zeal to familiarise himself with his new task. His friend Samuele did not fail to inform against the striking familiarity he had found between the man from Brescia and the secretary of the emba.s.sy. Calmly, Andrea explained himself, and the old acquaintance from Riva could only be advantageous for the intentions of the tribunal.

Thus, almost no day pa.s.sed by, when he would not, after he was done with his work for the notary, call on his German friend, to whom, being cut off from other company, the conversations with the grave man, clouded by secret grief, became, by and by, a necessity. He had developed an unlimited trust in Andrea, and when he avoided political topics with him, it was more because he could not hope that they would understand each other on account of their different nationalities, than for a concern that Andrea might abuse his openness. He even told him with a laughing face that he had been warned against him being a spy of the tribunal.

The carelessness with which he crossed the shunned threshold of the foreign amba.s.sador every day would, of course, catch people's attention.

"I'm no n.o.bile," replied Andrea with a calm face. "The ten men will realise that I don't seek any diplomatic connections here; they didn't even think me worthy of a warning up to now. But I've come to like you, and it would pain me to forgo forcing my unpleasant company on you from time to time, for I'm a perfectly lonely man. Even my kind landlady, who in the past used to shorten the time for me with her proverbs for an hour or so, doesn't enter my room any more. She's ill, and what made her ill is Venice and pale shadows haunting this city."

This was indeed true. After the second a.s.sault against the inquisition of the state, Signora Giovanna had been walking around in deep thoughts for one day, and as the night fell, an ever growing excitement had come upon her. She was now firmly convinced that her Orso's spirit had been the perpetrator; for only a bodiless shadow would be able to escape for a second time the thousand spying eyes which were guarding Venice. She put on her best clothes and decided, since she was expecting nothing less than a visit of her departed husband, to be ready to receive him, spending the entire night at the top of the stairs. In a touching confusion of these concepts, she had prepared a favourite dish of her husband, laid the table with three armchairs by its side, and could not be persuaded to eat a bite of it herself. In this state, she sat awake for the larger part of the night. Only after the small lamp in the corridor had gone out, Marietta, calling Andrea to her aid, succeeded in bringing the poor woman back to her room and to bed. A fever broke out, not dangerous, but strong enough to render her unconscious for several hours a day. Andrea watched all of this with deep sympathy, and the moving words the ill woman uttered in her delusions tormented him a lot. He had to admit to himself that he was to blame for the confusion of this good soul, and Marietta's sad looks depressed him more heavily than all the b.l.o.o.d.y secrets he carried around with him.

With this burden, Andrea strolled past the Doges' Palace one afternoon and, for a long time, stood by the narrow ca.n.a.l which flows along under the high arch of the Bridge of Sighs. Whenever he started to waver in his decisions and he began to doubt in the moral justification of the office of a judge which he had taken on, he fled to this place and confirmed his determination by looking at these ancient walls, behind which thousands of victims of an irresponsible power had sighed and gnashed their teeth, believing in the righteousness and the necessity of his mission.

The sun shone with blinding rays through the mists of September, rising up from the water. This quay, which had at other times been swarming with people, was unsettlingly quiet. The gloomy looks of the soldiers, marching noisily up and down under the arcades of the palace, were liable to scare away the loud cheerfulness of the people pa.s.sing by. Andrea could hear clearly that from a gondola, which was just arriving at the Piazzetta, his name had been called. He recognised his friend, the secretary of the amba.s.sador from Vienna.

"Do you've got time?" the young man called out at him, "If so, come on board for a while, and join me for a stretch of my way.

I'm in a hurry, but would still like to talk to you once more."

Andrea entered the gondola, and the other man shook his hand particularly cordially. "I'm very happy, my dear Andrea that I happened to meet you here. I would have disliked leaving you without a farewell, and yet, I didn't dare to visit you or to sent for you, since this would undoubtedly have caught someone's attention."

"You're taking a journey?" Andrea asked almost perplexed.

"I guess, I'll have to. Here, read this letter from my dear mother, and tell me whether I'm still allowed to hesitate after this."

He pulled the letter out of his pocket and gave it to his friend.

The old lady implored her son that, if he wanted her to ever be able to get but one hour of sleep again, he should travel to her without delay. The rumours from Venice, the position he held there and which put him into more danger than others, the fact that less than a third of all of his letters would reach her, - she would not know who was to blame for this, - all of this was eating away at her peace of mind, and her physician would not vouch for anything, unless she would be comforted and calmed down by a visit of her son. There was a tone of unlimited motherly devotion and deep grief in all of these line, so that Andrea could not read them without being moved.

"And yet," he said, returning the letter, "and yet, I almost wish you wouldn't leave now out of all times, though I know that your mother is counting the hours. Not because, once you'll be gone, I'll be left behind here, completely abandoned and like a walking corpse, but rather because it is not advisable to leave Venice at this time, since the suspicion will follow you on your heels that you were leaving as a precaution. Didn't they give you any trouble, when you were asking for a leave?"

"None at all. How could they, since I'm working for the emba.s.sy?"

"If that's so, be twice as cautious. Many a door has already been opened accommodatingly in Venice, because stepping over the threshold meant plunging into an abyss. If you'd follow me in this, you wouldn't show yourself thus openly and without a disguise here in the city during the last hours before your departure. You wouldn't be able to know what measures they might take to prevent it." - "But what shall I do?" asked the young man. "You know that masks are illegal."

"Then stay at home, and rather let the dignitaries of the republic wait for your farewell visit in vain. - And when will you leave?"

"Early tomorrow at five o'clock. I'm planning to stay away for a month, and hope that by then my mother will have calmed down, so that I'll be able to leave her. Now that it has been irreversibly decided that I shall sever my ties, I'm almost at ease with this violent cure, though it cuts into my life rather deeply. Perhaps, once I'll have broken out of the circles of my enchantress, I'll succeed in shaking off her spell for ever more. But will you believe it, my friend, that the separation makes me s.h.i.+ver, as if I wouldn't be able to survive it?"

"If that's so, the best remedy is to part with her right away."

"You mean, not to see her again before the journey? What you're asking is inhuman."

Andrea seized his hand. "My dear friend," he said with a heartfelt emotion, which at other times he had always been able to control, "I have no right to ask you for even the slightest sacrifice. The feeling of cordial affection, which has brought me together with you from the start, is ample thanks by itself, and I do not dare to ask you for anything in the name of this friends.h.i.+p of mine. But by the image of that n.o.ble woman, whose loving words you've just let me read, I implore you: Don't enter the house of the countess any more. More than anything I know of her, what even you don't deny, my premonition is warning you, that it will be your doom, if you don't avoid her in these last hours. Promise it to me, my dearest friend!"

He extended his hand to him. But Rosenberg did not take it.

"Don't demand an unbreakable promise," he said, gravely shaking his head, "be content with my firm intention to follow your advice. But if the daemon would be stronger than I and would run down everything I've put in his path, then I would have the double grief to have become unfaithful to both me and you. But you don't know what this woman can achieve, when she puts her mind to it."

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 a.s.sured 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 s.h.i.+vered 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."