The Man Who Sees Ghosts (11 page)

“Having no better reason than that they could see nothing was always a hasty conclusion to come to.”

“And now, my friend, you see, I have happily resigned myself to not wishing to look behind this curtain, and the wisest action will be to wean me from all curiosity. But as I draw this circle about me that I cannot step out of and enclose my whole existence in the confines of the present, so this little spot that I was in danger of neglecting through vain thoughts of mastery becomes all the more important to me. What you call the purpose of my existence is now no longer of any concern to me. I cannot escape it, I cannot further it, but I know and firmly believe that I must and do fulfill such a purpose. I am like a messenger carrying a sealed letter to its appointed place. What the letter contains does not matter to him—he has only to earn his fee for its delivery.”

“A poor recompense you leave me with!”

“But what is this place we have strayed into?” the Prince now exclaimed, smiling and looking at the table where the rolls of banknotes lay. “And yet not strayed so very much,” he added, “for perhaps you will now
rediscover me in this new way of life. Even I was not able to wean myself that quickly from supposed wealth, detach that quickly the supports of my morality and happiness from the lovely dream with which everything that had lived in me until now was so firmly bound up. I longed for the recklessness that makes the lives of most of the men around me bearable. Everything that seduced me away from myself was welcome. Shall I confess to you? I wanted to sink in order to destroy this source of my suffering along with its power.”

At this point a visitor interrupted us—At some future time I will entertain you with a piece of news that will come as quite a surprise after a conversation like today’s. My warmest wishes to you.

Since our departure from Venice is now fast approaching, this week was also to be used to catch up with all the sights, the paintings and buildings that you always put off seeing during a long stay. People had spoken to us with particular admiration of The Marriage of Cana by Paul Veronese, which is to be seen on the island of San Giorgio in a Benedictine monastery there. You should not expect a description from me of this extraordinary work of art, which I did indeed have a very surprising but not very enjoyable view of. In order to take in a composition consisting of a hundred and twenty figures and which measures over thirty feet in width, we could have done with as many hours as minutes. What human
eye can succeed in taking in such a complex whole and in appreciating the whole beauty that the artist has lavished on it in just one viewing! In the meantime I find it a shame that a work of such merit as this, which should be displayed in all its glory in a public place and be enjoyed by everyone, is put to no better use than to gratify a group of monks in their refectory. The monastery’s church also deserves to be seen just as much: it is one of the most beautiful in the city.

Towards evening we were taken into the Giudecca in order to spend a lovely evening in the delightful gardens there. Those who made up the company were not many and soon dispersed, and Civitella, who had been looking for the opportunity to talk to me all day, drew me aside into an area enclosed by shrubs.

“I have it on very good authority,” he began, “that you are one of the Prince’s friends, someone from whom he generally has no secrets. When I was going into his hotel today I saw a man coming out whose trade I know—and when I entered the Prince’s rooms, his face was overcast.”—I was about to interrupt him—“You cannot deny it,” he continued, “I recognised the man, I got a good look at him—how is it possible? The Prince has friends in Venice, friends who are indebted to him for life and limb, and has he come to such a pass that in an emergency he has to make use of such creatures? Be honest with me, Baron!—Is the Prince in difficulties?—You would be wasting your time trying to hide it from me. What I do not learn from you, I can easily find out through some man for whom every secret has its price.”

“My lord Marchese—”

“I am sorry. I have to appear indiscreet in order not to be ungrateful. I owe the Prince my life and, what is far more important to me than life, the sensible use of it. Am I to watch the Prince take steps that cost him dear, that are beneath him and, while it rests within my power to spare him these, am I supposed stand back and do nothing?”

“The Prince is not in difficulties,” I said. “Some bills of exchange that we were expecting by way of Trient have unexpectedly not arrived. Quite by chance, I am sure—or because, in view of uncertainty over his departure, more detailed instructions from him were expected. These have been given and until then—”

He shook his head. “Do not mistake my purpose,” he said. “There can be no question here of reducing by such means my obligation to the Prince—not all my uncle’s wealth would be enough to settle it. I am talking about sparing him a single unpleasant moment. My uncle possesses a large fortune which is a good as mine to dispose of as I choose. A happy chance now presents me with the one possible situation in which the Prince might make use of all that lies in my power. I know,” he continued, “that the matter requires the Prince to act with delicacy—but this is true also of me—and it would be an act of great generosity on the part of the Prince to grant me this small satisfaction, albeit for the sake of appearance only—so as to lessen my sense of the weight of obligation that bears down on me.”

He would not desist until I had promised to do all I could in the matter; I knew the Prince and my hopes were far from high. The Marchese was willing to submit to any terms the Prince wanted, although he confessed
he would be deeply hurt if the Prince treated him like a stranger.

In the heat of the conversation we had strayed far from the others and were just returning when Z** approached us.

“I thought the Prince would be with you—is he not here?”

“We were just on our way to him. We assumed he would be with the others—”

“The others are all together but he is nowhere to be found. I cannot imagine how he gave us the slip.”

Civitella remembered at this point that it might have occurred to the Prince to visit the adjacent church, which he had fired his interest in shortly before. We immediately set off to look for him there. We were still some way off when we made out Biondello waiting in the church entrance. When we got closer, the Prince came rather hurriedly out of a side-door; his face was flushed; he looked about him for Biondello, whom he called to him. He appeared to issue him with a very urgent command, while keeping his eyes constantly on the door, which had remained open. Biondello hurried away into the church—the Prince, without noticing us, pushed past and hurried back to the others, reaching them before us.

It was decided to have supper in an open pavilion in this garden, in addition to which and without our knowledge the Marchese had arranged a perfectly exquisite little concert. There, in particular, a young singer peformed, who enchanted all of us with her delightful voice, as with her charming figure. Nothing seemed to make any impression on the Prince; he spoke little and
responded absent-mindedly, his eyes restlessly turned in the direction from which Biondello should come; a great agitation seemed to be at work within him. Civitella asked him if he had liked the church; he was unable to say anything about it. Mention was made of some outstanding paintings which distinguished this church; he had seen none. We noticed that our questions were irritating him and fell silent. One hour passed, followed by another and still there was no sign of Biondello. The Prince’s impatience grew to an extreme; he left the table early and, alone in a secluded avenue, paced up and down. No-one could think what might have happened to him. I did not dare to question him as to the cause of such a strange alteration; it has been a long while now that I have no longer taken such liberties with him as I did formerly. With even greater impatience I waited for Biondello to get back, the man who should be able to enlighten me regarding this mystery.

It was after ten when he reappeared. The news he brought the Prince did nothing to improve the latter’s conversational skills. He rejoined the company ill-humouredly, the gondolas were ordered and soon afterwards we were journeying home.

All evening I was unable to find any opportunity to speak to Biondello; I therefore had to go to bed still nursing my unsatisfied curiosity. The prince had dismissed us early, but a thousand thoughts coursing through my head kept me wide awake. I heard him walking up and down above my bedroom for a long time; finally sleep overcame me. Long past midnight a voice woke me—a hand travelled over my face; as I looked up I saw it was
the Prince who, light in hand, was standing in front of my bed. He could not sleep, he said, and asked me to help him while away the night. I wanted to dress—he told me to stay where I was and sat down in front of my bed.

“Something happened to me today,” he began, “which has made an everlasting impression on my soul. I left you, as you know, and went into the church of ***, which Civitella had made me curious about and which already from afar had attracted my gaze. Since neither you nor he were immediately to hand, I walked the short distance alone; I had Biondello wait for me at the entrance. The church was completely empty—a frighteningly cold darkness enfolded me as I stepped in out of the sultry and dazzling light of day. I found myself alone in the vaulted structure, in which a solemn and death-like silence reigned. I placed myself in the middle of the church and abandoned myself to the whole richness of the impression; gradually the large proportions of this majestic building emerged more clearly and I lost myself in earnest and wondering contemplation. The evening bell tolled above me, its sound echoing softly among the arching columns, as in my soul. Some altar-pieces further away had attracted my attention; I went closer in order to inspect them; without realising, I had wandered down the entire length of one side of the church as far as the opposite end. Here you go round a pillar and up some steps into a side chapel where there are several smaller altars and statues of saints placed in niches. As I enter the chapel to the right—I hear a soft whispering near me, like when someone is speaking quietly—I turn towards the sound and—two paces away a female figure meets my gaze—No, I cannot describe it,
this figure!—My first sensation was terror, but this soon gave way to the sweetest amazement.”

“And you are certain, my lord, that this figure was a living thing, something real and not just a painting, a face you imagined?”

“Listen—It was a lady—No! Until that moment I had never seen anyone of this sex!—Everything round about was gloomy; through one window alone the light of the setting sun was falling into the chapel, falling nowhere else but on this figure. With inexpressible grace—half kneeling, half lying—she was prostrated before an altar—a form at once so daring, lovely and perfect in the extreme, unique and inimitable, the most beautiful shape in nature. Black was the dress that enclosed the most enchanting body, the prettiest arms, and which, like a Spanish robe, spread out around her in wide folds; her long, ash-blond hair, woven into two broad plaits which, owing to their weight, had come undone and were falling through from beneath the veil, flowed down over her back in delightful disarray—one hand lay on the crucifix while with the other she supported herself as she leant softly forward. But where can I find the words to describe to you the heavenly beauty of her face, where the soul of an angel, as if enthroned, displayed in full the wealth of her charms? On this face the evening sun danced and its airy gold seemed to encompass it with an artificial halo. Can you recall the Madonna of our Florentine?—Here she was in her entirety, down to the irregular idiosyncracies that I found so alluring, so irresisitible in that painting.”

Regarding the Madonna that the Prince speaks of here, the facts are as follows. Shortly after you left, he
became acquainted with a Florentine painter who had been summoned to Venice to paint an altar panel for a church whose name I no longer remember. He had brought three other paintings with him, which he had intended for the Palazzo Cornaro. The paintings were a Madonna, an Heloise and an almost completely naked Venus—all three of exceptional beauty and so equal in worth that it was almost impossible to decide on just one of the three. The Prince alone did not hesitate for one moment; barely had they been set up before him, when the Madonna work drew his entire attention; in the two others the genius of the artist was admired—but with this painting he forgot both the artist and his art as he was taken up completely in the contemplation of his work. He was moved most wonderfully by it; he could scarcely tear himself away from it. The artist, who one could clearly see was encouraged by the Prince’s judgment, had obstinately determined not to separate the three works and demanded 1500 zechins for them all. The Prince offered him half this for just this one—the artist insisted on his condition and who knows what would have happened if a resolute buyer had not been found. Two hours later all three works had gone; we have not seen them since. It was this painting that the Prince now recalled.

“I stood there,” he continued, “I stood there lost in contemplation of her. She was so deeply immersed in her devotion that she did not notice me, was not disturbed by my coming in upon her. She prayed to her God, and I prayed to her—Yes, I worshipped her—All those pictures of the saints, those altars, those burning candles, they did not prompt me to feel this, but now for the first time it
overcame me as if I were in a shrine—shall I confess to you?—at this moment I believed unshakeably in Him whose image her beautiful hand was holding. I read His answer in her eyes. Thanks to her lovely devotion! She made Him real to me—in following her I passed through all His heavenly abode.

“She stood up and only now did I come to myself again. I drew back to one side in timid confusion; the noise I made betrayed me to her. The unexpected proximity of a man should have startled her, my audacity could have offended her—neither of these showed in the look she gave me, which was one of peace, inexpressible peace, and a kindly smile played about her cheeks. She stepped out of her heaven—and I was the first happy creature to offer itself to her favour. She was still buoyed up by the last swell of her prayers—she had not yet touched the earth.