The Man Who Sees Ghosts (14 page)

“While I am debating with myself whether to go down and approach her, or, failing the nerve for this, first make enquiries about her, a small door opens in the cloister wall, through which a Carmelite monk emerges. On hearing the noise he makes, the lady leaves her place and I see her walk eagerly over to him. He takes out a piece of paper, which she seizes greedily while a vivacious joy seems to flood her face.

“Just at this moment my usual evening visitors force me from the window, which I take care to stay away from since I am not not willing to grant anyone else
this conquest. I have to suffer a whole hour of dreadful impatience until I finally succeed in ridding myself of these burdensome guests. I hurry back to my window but the whole scene has vanished!

“When I walk down there I find the garden completely empty. Gone is the boat on the canal. Nowhere any sign of anyone. I know neither where she came from nor where she went. As I am roaming along and looking about me in all directions, I see from a distance something white shimmering on the sand. I walk towards it—it is a piece of paper folded up like a letter. What else could it be but the letter that the Carmelite had handed her. ‘A lucky find,’ I cried out. ‘This letter will unlock the whole mystery—it will make me the master of her fate.’

“The letter was sealed with a sphinx, had no heading and was written in cipher; however, this did not deter me since I am skilled at deciphering. Quickly I make a copy of it for it was to be expected that she would soon miss it and come back to look for it. If she did not find it, that would be a proof to her that the garden received several visitors, and this discovery could easily drive her away for ever. What worse blow could be dealt my hopes?

What I suspected did indeed take place. I had scarcely finished making my copy, when she reappeared with her former female companion and both looked about anxiously. I fastened the letter to a slate that I loosen from the roof and drop it at a place she is bound to pass by. Her great joy when she finds it repays me for my generosity. She examined it closely and critically from every angle, as if looking for traces of the sacriligious hand that might have touched it; but the contented air
with which she put it away proved she suspected nothing. She left and with a backward look took grateful leave of the protecting spirits of the garden, who had guarded the secret of her heart so faithfully.

I now hastened to decipher the letter. I attempt this with several languages; finally I succeeded with English. Its content was so remarkable that I still have it by heart.”

I have been interrupted. Some other time for the conclusion.

No, my friend. You do the good Biondello an injustice. The suspicions you harbour are definitely misplaced. You can keep all Italians, as far as I am concerned, but this one is honest.

You find it strange that a man of such brilliant talents and exemplary conduct should degrade himself in service, unless he has hidden motives for so doing; and you conclude from this that these motives must be suspicious. How is that? Is it so very new for a man of merit and intelligence to seek to put himself at the disposal of a prince who has it in his power to make the man’s fortune? Is it in some way degrading to serve him? Has not Biondello made it clear enough that his attachment to the Prince is personal? He has indeed confessed that he has been wanting for some time to make a request of him. No doubt this request will serve to clear up the whole mystery. He may well have hidden motives, but is it not possible for these to be innocent ones?

It seems odd to you that in the first months—that is, when we still enjoyed your company—Biondello kept hidden all the great talents that he is now revealing and did not draw attention to himself in any way. That is true; but where would he have had the opportunity to distinguish himself then? The Prince did not yet have need of him and it was left to chance to reveal to us his additional talents.

Quite recently he gave us a proof of his loyalty and probity that will sweep aside all your doubts. The Prince is being watched. Attempts are being made to gather secret information about his way of life, his circle of acquaintance and his personal circumstances. I do not know whose curiosity it is behind this. But listen to what I say now.

Here in San Giorgio there is a public house where Biondello often comes and goes; something pleasurable may draw him there, I do not know. He was there again several days ago; he finds a company of people gathered there: lawyers, government officers and their acquaintances. They are surprised, pleased to see him again. Old acquaintances are renewed, each one brings the others up to date with what they have been doing, and Biondello, too, has to do the same. This he does briefly. They wish him well in his new situation, they have already heard of the Prince of ***’s splendid style of living, of his generosity particularly towards people who know how to keep a secret; his connection with Cardinal A***i is widely known, he loves the gaming table etc. Biondello is taken aback—They tease him about making such a mystery of it—it is common knowledge that he is the Prince of ***’s agent; the two lawyers get either side of him; the drink
flows in abundance—he is urged to join in; he excuses himself because wine does not agree with him but then does drink in fact in order to feign drunkenness.

“Yes,” one of the lawyers said finally, “Biondello knows his trade; but he is not a master yet, only an apprentice.”

“What do I still have to learn?” asked Biondello.

“He understands,” said the other, “the art of keeping a secret, but not yet the other art of releasing it to one’s advantage.”

“Is there someone who would buy it, then?” asked Biondello.

The other guests left the room at this point and he remained tête à tête with the two, who now spoke out freely. To cut things short, he was to provide them with information regarding the Prince’s relations with the Cardinal and his nephew, to give them the source from which the Prince drew his funds, and to help them lay their hands on the letters written to Count von O**. Biondello arranged to meet them on another occasion; but he could not get out of them in whose employ they were. Judging by the splendid offers made him if he concluded a deal, the inquiries had to come from a very rich man.

Last night he revealed the whole business to my master. The latter was at first of a mind to have the mediators summarily seized; but Biondello objected. They would certainly have to be released again and then he would have endangered all his credit with this section of society, perhaps even his life. These people, he said, are all in league and look after one another; he would prefer to have the supreme Venetian Council as an enemy than be branded a traitor among these fellows; he would also
no longer be able to be useful to the Prince, if he lost the trust of this sort.

We made all kinds of wild guesses as to who might be behind this. Who is there in Venice for whom it would be important to know what my master receives and spends, what his dealings are with Cardinal A***i and what I write to you? Is this some further legacy from the Prince von **d**? Or could perhaps the Armenian be at work again?

The Prince is basking in the raptures of love. He has found his Greek lady. This is how it happened.

A stranger recently arrived by way of Chioggia, and the account he was thus able to give of the beautiful position of this town on the Gulf, made the Prince curious to see the place. This was followed up yesterday and, in order to avoid all restraints and extravagance, no-one apart from Z*** and I, along with Biondello, was to accompany my master, and he himself wished to remain incognito. We found a vessel that was just leaving and hired ourselves places on board. The company was very mixed but undistinguished and nothing of note took place on the outward journey.

Chioggia is built like Venice on piles and is said to number about four thousand inhabitants. There are few nobles to be found but fishermen or sailors you run into at every step. Whoever wears a wig and a cloak is called a rich man; caps and jackets are the signs of a
poor man. The town is beautifully located but only if you have never seen Venice.

We did not linger long. The captain, who had other passengers besides us, had to be back in Venice in good time and there was nothing in Chioggia to hold the Prince. When we came on board, everyone had taken their places. Since the company on the outward trip had proved tiresome, this time we took a cabin to ourselves. The Prince inquired as to who else was there. A Dominican, came the reply, and some ladies who were returning to Venice. My master was not curious to see them and went straight to his cabin.

The Greek lady had been the subject of our conversation on the outward journey and was on the return journey, too. The Prince repeated with feeling his account of her appearance in the church; plans were made and rejected; the time flew by; before we knew it, Venice lay before us. Some of the passengers disembarked, the Dominican among them. The captain went to the ladies—who, as we only now discovered, were separated from us by just a thin partition—and asked them where he should put them ashore. “On the island of Murano,” came the reply, and the house was named. —“The island of Murano!” exclaimed the Prince, and a shudder of premonition seemed to pass like a current through his whole being. Before I could answer him, Biondello rushed in. “Do you know in whose company we are travelling?”—The Prince leapt to his feet—“She is here! It is she!” Biondello continued. “I have just come from her companion.”

The Prince hurried out. The cabin was too cramped for him—at that moment the whole world would have
been. A thousand sensations raged in him, his knees shook, and his face alternately flushed and grew pale. I trembled with him in anticipation. The state he was in cannot be described.

We stopped at Murano. The Prince jumped ashore. She came out. I could read from the Prince’s face that it was she. Her face left me in no doubt. I have never seen a form so fair; all the Prince’s descriptions fell short of the reality. A glowing pink spread across her face when she caught sight of the Prince. She must have heard our entire conversation—she also could not have had any doubts that she was its subject. She gave her companion a meaningful look, as if to say: that is the man! and she lowered her eyes in embarrassment. A narrow plank was put in position leading from the ship to the shore, and this she was to walk down. She seemed fearful of stepping onto it—but not so much because she was frightened of slipping than because she could not manage it without help and there the Prince was, already offering her his arm to support her. Necessity triumphed over such scruples. She took his hand and was ashore. The intensity of the Prince’s emotional state made him impolite: he forgot about the other lady, who was waiting for the same favour—what would he not have forgotten at that moment? I obliged her finally and this brought me close to the prelude of a conversation that had begun between my master and the lady.

He was still holding her hand in his—more from
absent-mindedness,
I think, not that he was aware of doing so.

“This is not the first time, Signora, that—that—” He could not find the words.

“I ought to remember,” she murmured softly —

“In the church of ***,” he said.

“In the church of *** it was,” she said—

“And could I have imagined that today—with you so close—”

At this she gently removed her hand from his—He became instantly confused. Biondello, who had meanwhile been speaking with the servants, came to his assistance.

“Signor,” he began, “the ladies ordered sedans to be here but we are back earlier than they expected. There is a garden near here which you could go into meanwhile in order to avoid the crowds.”

The suggestion was taken up, and with what readiness on the part of the Prince you can imagine. We stayed in the garden until dusk fell. We—that is, Z*** and I succeeded in keeping the elderly lady sufficiently occupied so that the Prince could converse freely with the young one. You may conclude as to whether he was able to make good use of these moments from the fact that he obtained permission to pay her a visit. He is there now, as I write these words. I will learn more when he returns.

Yesterday, when we returned home, we found the expected bills of exchange from our Court, but accompanied by a letter that threw my master into a rage. He has been summoned back but the tone adopted is one he is quite unaccustomed to. He replied immediately in a similar tone and is going to stay. The bills of exchange are just enough to pay the interest on the capital he owes. We are eagerly looking forward to receiving an answer from his sister.

The Prince has fallen out with his Court—all our resources from that quarter have been cut off.

The six week period at the end of which my master was to repay the Marchese had expired by several days and still no bills of exchange either from his cousin, from whom he had most urgently asked once more for an advance, or from his sister. As you can well imagine, Civitella made no demands; the Prince’s memory, however, is all the more reliable for that. At noon yesterday came an answer from the ruling party at Court.

Shortly before this we had finalised a new contract with our hotel and the Prince had openly declared that he would be staying longer. Without saying a word my master gave me the letter. His eyes were flashing—I was able to read the content from his face already.

Can you believe it, my dear O***? In *** they are informed of all my master’s circumstances here and slander has woven a destestable tissue of lies out of them. They have learnt with displeasure, so the letter goes in one place, that the Prince has for some time begun to renounce his former character and assume a conduct quite out of keeping with the laudable manner he has thought appropriate until now. They hear that he has abandoned himself in the most dissolute way to women and gaming, plunged into debt, lent his ear to visionaries and necromancers, has suspicious dealings with Catholic prelates, and maintains a household that
exceeds both his rank and income. They even claim that he is poised to consummate this highly scandalous behaviour by an apostasy to the Roman church. In order to clear himself of the last accusation he is required to return forthwith. A banker in Venice, to whom he should surrender a schedule of his debts, has been given directions to settle matters with his creditors immediately after his departure, since it is not thought right, under the present circumstances, for the money to be given to him directly.