The Man Who Sees Ghosts Read online

  “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 wa
s 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.

  “In another corner of the chapel there was a further movement. This came from an elderly lady who now got up from a pew close behind me. Until then I had not been aware of her. She was only a few steps from me—she had witnessed my every movement. This dismayed me—I dropped my eyes to the floor and they swept past me.

  I watched her walk down the long church aisle. Her lovely figure is upright—what sweet majesty! How noble her gait! Gone now is my former existence—new graces—a completely new vision. They leave slowly. I follow at a distance and timidly, unsure whether I should dare to catch up with her? Whether I should not?—Will she not grant me another look? What if she did in fact grant me another look as she went past me and I did not see it?—Oh, how this doubt tormented me!

  They come to a halt and I—I am rooted to the spot. The elderly lady, her mother or whoever she was, has noticed that her beautiful hair has come loose and is busy putting it to rights after giving her the parasol to hold. Oh, what disorder I wished her hair to be in, how clumsy I wished those hands!

  This toiletry completed, they approach the door. I quicken my steps—Half of the figure disappears from view—and the other half—now only the shadow of her dress billowing behind her—She has gone—No, she is returning. She dropped a flower, she bends down to pick it up—she looks behind her once and—towards me? Whom else can she be seeking out among these dead walls? So I was no longer a complete stranger to her—she had left me behind, too, like her flower—Dear F***, I am ashamed to tell you how childishly I construed this look, which—perhaps was not meant for me!”

  As to this last question I believed I could reassure the Prince.

  “Strange,” the Prince continued after a long silence. “Is it possible never to have known, never to have missed something and then a few moments later to be living for this alone? Can a single moment divide someone into two such dissimilar beings? Since seeing that, it would be just as impossible to return now to the joys and desires of yesterday as it would be to the games of my childhood—since that picture has been planted in me here—this living, powerful feeling that says: you can love only this now and nothing else in this world but this will ever touch you again.”

  “Consider, my lord, the sensitive mood you were in when this apparition surprised you and how much there was that combined to excite your imagination. Suddenly to be removed from the bright glare of the day, away from the hubbub of the street and into this quiet darkness—surrendering completely to feelings which, as you yourself confess, enlivened in you a sense of the peace, the majesty of that place—made altogether more sensitive to loveliness by the contemplation of beautiful works of art—alone, moreover, and solitary, as you thought—and then suddenly—close by—startled by the figure of a girl when you were not expecting anyone else—by a beauty I am happy to accept, which was made even more exalted by the favourable light, a felicitous posture, an expression of zealous devotion—what was more natural than that your inflamed fantasy made out of all this something idealised, something of unearthly perfection?”

  “Can fantasy produce something it has not first received?—and there is nothing in the whole range of my experience that could be set alongside that picture. It rests in my memory entire and unchanged as in the moment I saw it; apart from this picture I have nothing—and yet you could offer me a world for it!”

  “This is love, my lord.”

  “Does what makes me happy need to be a name? Love!—Do not debase my feelings with a name that thousands of weak creatures abuse! What other man has felt what I feel? Such a one never existed till now—how can the name be there sooner than the experience? It is a new, unique feeling, newly created with this new, unique being and only possible for her! Love! I am proof against love!”

  “You dispatched Biondello—no doubt to follow your mystery lady so as to gather information about her, yes? What was the news he brought back to you?”

  “Biondello found out nothing—as good as nothing. He found her still at the church door. An elderly, well-dressed man, who looked more like a local citizen than a servant, arrived in order to accompany her to the gondola. A number of poor people lined up as she passed and saw her off, smiling happily. At this point, according to Biondello, a hand appeared which flashed with several costly stones. She said something to her female companion that Biondello did not understand; he thought it was Greek. As she had a fair distance to walk to the canal, a crowd began to gather; the unusualness of the sight caused passers-by to stop in their tracks. No-one knew who she was—but beauty is a queen by birth. Everyone respectfully made way for her. Her face was covered with a black veil that reached halfway down her dress, and she then quickly stepped into the gondola. Biondello kept the boat in view all along the Giudecca canal but the crowd prevented him from following it further.”

  “But he surely took note of the gondolier so that he would at least be able to recognise him again?”

  “He is confident of being able to trace the gondolier, though the man is not one of those he has dealings with. The poor people he questioned could tell him nothing more than that the Signora has been coming here for several weeks and always on Saturdays and that on each occasion she gives them a gold coin to share amongst them. It was a Dutch ducat, which he gave them the change for and brought to me.”

  “So she is a Greek and of rank, as it would appear, or at least wealthy—and charitable. That is enough to begin with, my lord—enough and almost too much! But a Greek and in a Catholic church!”

  “Why not? She may have abandoned her faith. Besides—there is still something mysterious about it—Why only once a week? Why only Saturdays in this church which, as Biondello tells me, at this time is generally deserted?—Next Saturday at the latest must settle this question. But until then, my friend, help me to leap across this chasm of time! No, it is useless! Days and hours saunter calmly along when my desire has wings.”

  “And when this day arrives, what then, my lord? What is to happen?”

  “What is to happen?—I will see her. I will find out where she is staying. I will learn who she is.—Who she is?—Why should this concern me? What I saw made me happy, so I already know everything that can make me happy!”

  “And our departure from Venice set for the beginning of next month?”

  “Could I know in advance that Venice still held such a treasure for me?—You are questioning me from the standpoint of the life I led yesterday. I tell you that my life begins only from today on, that is what I want.”

  I now believed I had found the right moment to keep my word to the Marchese. I made it clear to the Prince that his weakened financial state would not allow of a longer stay in Venice and that in the event that he did prolong his stay beyond the appointed date, he could by no means count on the continuing support of his Court. It was now that I learnt what had been kept secret from me until then, namely that his sister, the reigning *** of ***, secretly pays him a substantial allowance that excludes her other brothers and that she would be happy to double if his Court were to cut him off. This sister, a devout Pietist, as you know, believes that the large savings she makes at her reduced Court could be put into no better hands than those of her brother, whose wise charitable nature she knows and whom she keenly respects. I have in fact known for a long while that there is a very close bond between the two and also that they exchange frequent letters; but because the Prince’s expenses to date have been adequately met by the usual source, I had never come across this hidden source of support. It is therefore clear that the Prince has had expenses that I knew, and still know, nothing about; and, if I may conclude from the rest of his character, I am certain they are ones that only redound to his honour. How could I have fondly imagined I knew him inside out?—Feeling after th
is revelation even less obliged to wait before disclosing the Marchese’s offer to him, I was not a little taken aback when it was accepted without any difficulty. He gave me full authority to settle the matter with the Marchese in the way I thought best and then straightway to cancel the arrangement with the usurer. His sister would be written to immediately.

  It was morning when we parted. As unpleasant to me as this turn of events is and is bound to be for several reasons, the most vexing part of it by far is that he is threatening to prolong our stay in Venice. But I anticipate far more good than evil from this dawning passion. It is perhaps the most powerful means of drawing the Prince away from his metaphysical day-dreams and back to common humanity: it will have its usual crisis, I hope, and like an artificial illness take the old one away with it as well.

  God be with you, my dear friend. I have written all this in the wake of the actual events themselves. The post is leaving now; you will receive this letter along with the previous one both on the same day.

  Baron von F** to Count von O***

  Sixth Letter

  20th July

  This Civitella fellow is really the most obliging man in the world. The Prince had barely left me the other day when a note from the Marchese appeared, commending the offer to me in the most urgent terms. I immediately sent him a written undertaking in the Prince’s name for 6000 zechins; in less than half an hour this was followed by another note along with twice the sum in bills of exchange as well as in hard cash. The Prince finally consented to this increase in the sum; but the written agreement, fixed for six weeks only, had to be accepted.

  This entire week was spent sending out enquiries about the mysterious Greek lady. Biondello set all his machinery into motion, but so far nothing has come of it. He did find the gondolier, though; but nothing more could be got out of him than that he had set the two ladies down on the island of Murano, where they climbed into two sedan chairs which had been waiting for them. He took her to be an Englishwoman because she had spoken a foreign language and paid him in gold. He did not know her male companion either; the latter gave him the impression of being a mirror manufacturer from Murano. At least we knew now that she was not to be sought in the Giudecca and that she was in all likelihood staying on the island of Murano; but what was unfortunate was that the Prince’s description of her was of no use at all to a third party trying to identify her. It was precisely the passionate attentiveness with which he, as it were, swallowed up the sight of her that had prevented him from seeing her; everything that other people would have focused their attention on he had been quite blind to; according to his description one might have been tempted to seek her more in Ariost or Tasso than on a Venetian island. Furthermore, enquiries had to be made with great care so as to avoid creating any unseemly stir. Since, apart from the Prince, Biondello was the only one to have seen her, through her veil at least, and who could therefore recognise her again, he searched where possible in all the places where she might be presumed to be and at the same times; the poor man’s life this whole week has amounted to little more than a constant running around all the streets of Venice. In the Greek church community in particular no stones have been left unturned but everything has met with the same lack of success; and the Prince, whose impatience grew at every dashed hope, had to console himself finally with the following Saturday.