‘I’d not count on it,’ Roger remarked, with a shake of his head ‘If they do fall, it will mean the dry guillotine for them—a one-way trip to Cayenne—so they’ll fight to the last ditch. Besides, I greatly doubt if their overthrow would bring about any permanent change to our advantage. I am well acquainted with General Buonaparte. Unless I much misjudge the man, now he has proved himself by such a tale of victories he would march on Paris, throw the whole Chamber of Deputies into prison and restore the Directory; or something very like it. No. To my mind, instead of banking on such flimsy hopes, Mr. Pitt would be better advised to endeavour to rebuild the Coalition.’
How can he, with Spain and Holland gone over to the enemy, Italy overrun, and Austria about to sign a peace?’
‘There is still Prussia; she might be drawn in again. And Sweden and Russia. What of the last? A year ago the old Empress Catherine was on the verge of making an alliance with us. Is she still havering?’
‘We’ll get no help there. She died last November.’
‘The Devil she did!’ exclaimed Roger. ‘Well, God rest her soul. She once played me a scurvy trick by forcing me to take a hell-cat as my wife. But she was a great woman for all that. Who has succeeded her?’
‘Her son, as Paul I. He so hated his mother that he has reversed all her policies, good or bad, as though he hoped to spite her in her grave.’
‘I’m not surprised by that. He is a weak-kneed imbecile.’
‘At all events, he has become pro-French. Prussia is still occupied in holding down her share of Poland’s carcase, and, since King Gustavus’s assassination, there has been little hope of persuading the Swedes to fight.’
Roger sighed. ‘ ’Tis a plaguey poor look-out for Britain, then. I doubt, though, if Austria will accept as final this setback she has sustained. She has a mighty reservoir of men and, can we but hang on, after she has licked her wounds a while she might come in with us again. I pray only that her diplomats will succeed in securing a peace that will leave her comparatively strong. Have you any idea of the terms under discussion?’
‘I know those agreed in the preliminaries at Leoben. Austria was to surrender all rights to her Belgian territories and the Duchy of Milan and receive in compensation the Venetian lands in Dalmatia, Istria and on this side of the Adriatic as far south as the river Po. She was also to recognise the French frontiers as proclaimed by the Republic. Venice was to be compensated, if you can call it that, by receiving the Papal States of Romagna, Ferrara and Bologna.’
‘The last would mean Buonaparte’s committing infanticide on his young Cispadane Republic.’
Mr. Watson smiled. ‘As you have admitted, Mr. Brook, you are behind the times. He did so a month ago, but at its own request. In July he founded another Republic, the Cisalpine, formed from the Duchy of Milan, and the Cispadanes begged so hard for union with this more powerful young sister that he let them have their way.’
‘Surely that makes it even less likely that he would now tear a large limb from it to please Venice?’
‘I agree. But remember the preliminaries of Leoben were settled before he quarrelled openly with the Serene Republic’
‘True, So it looks now as if Venice will not possess any mainland territories in the future.’
‘I think it likely; but she has only herself to blame. Sir Richard Worsley did his utmost to get the Serenissima to fight and, had he succeeded, what a different picture there might be. They had 13,000 devoted Slavonian troops here in the city alone. They could have armed the Veronese and others loyal to the Republic, called on the Tyrolese and Croats for help and launched a formidable army in Buonaparte’s rear while he was at death grips with the Austrians up in the Syrian Alps. His supplies would have been cut off and by now, instead of his being the master of all Italy, his whole campaign might have been brought to ruin.’
Roger nodded. ‘That I know was Mr. Pitt’s hope. And even if she had failed, the Serene Republic would have made an end worthy of her. But I felt convinced from the beginning that the Serenissima would not have the guts to fight. What now, though? Do you think Buonaparte will leave the city its independence?’
‘I certainly hope so; and so does our Government at home.’
‘In that I disagree,’ Roger said firmly. ‘I would like to see it given to Austria. So rich and populous a city would prove a great asset under firm rule. Should there be a resumption of the war, the possession of such a place could make a vast difference.’
‘Buonaparte must know that, so, although the Austrians may press for it, I greatly doubt if he will let them have it.’
They fell silent for a minute, then Roger said, ‘Given that they are allowed to retain their independence, I take it that when the French have withdrawn there is a possibility that the Municipality may be overthrown and the Serenissima revived? If it was your ambition to become Doge in such a new government, how would you set about it?’
Without a second’s hesitation, the Consul replied, ‘I should become a leader in the resistance movement which has already started, and hope to make a name for myself by some shrewd blow against the French.’
‘I see,’ said Roger thoughtfully. There are then still a few Venetians left who have some stomach for a fight.’
‘Yes; and the man you enquired about has, since his return, become their leader.’
‘What!’ cried Roger, springing up. ‘Malderini! But I thought you said he was pro-French?’
‘He was, a year ago; but he has now changed his tune. I much dislike the man but needs must collaborate with him. Only a few days ago I received instructions from the Foreign Office to render these conspirators all the aid in my power.’
Roger suddenly hit the table with his fist. ‘Ten thousand devils! What a plaguey twist of fate! To think that, now I’ve run my most deadly enemy to earth, I should find him on my side of the fence!’
22
Within the Enemy’s Gates
Roger had found himself confronted with many a tricky problem in the past, but never one in which his private interests were so diametrically opposed to his duty to his country.
Before letting him out of the side door of the Consulate, Mr. Watson had made it plain that he believed the secret resistance movement in Venice would become a force to be reckoned with, because among the conspirators who formed its council there were representatives of all classes; and, when considering the matter later, Roger was forced to concede that the Consul was probably right. He had already seen enough of the city to realise that three months had been ample to take the gilt off the gingerbread for even the poorer classes, as far as the new French brand of ‘Liberty’ was concerned.
Like all the other proletariats in the cities of the Rhine, Belgium, Holland, and Northern Italy, into which the Republic had sent its agitators, they had eagerly drunk in the fine-soundingr phrases about ‘equality’ and a new ‘brotherhood of man’ in which the nobles and the priests must disgorge their wealth and surrender their age-old privileges. But, instead of their taxes becoming less, they had been made far heavier by the crushing indemnity that Buonaparte had imposed upon the city. Food, wine and all other commodities, which had always been so cheap as long as the Serene Republic controlled its great mainland territories, had now become scarce and expensive, owing to the endless requisitions—and the French paid for nothing. The French troops proved no ‘brothers’, but lorded it everywhere as conquerors, ousting the citizens from the best tables at the cafés, and beating up shopkeepers who refused to sell them goods for only a fraction of their value, while after dark no woman, even if escorted by a man, was safe from them. Buonaparte’s Commissioners had stripped the Doge’s Palace of its finest paintings, commandeered the Venetian Fleet and, bitterest blow of all to Venetian hearts, even made off with the Bucentaur—the magnificent gilded barge in which with splendid pageantry the Doge had, each year, celebrated the immemorial festival of the marriage of the city to the sea.
Now that it was August, the people danced no more
round the Trees of Liberty that they had set up with such enthusiasm in May.
Whether they would have the courage to rise and massacre their oppressors was another question. As Roger considered it and the possible result of such a rising he wondered if after all Mr. Pitt might not have been right in his contention that if Venice could have been won over in the previous autumn she would have made a valuable ally. From what Mr. Watson had said, it was clear that had the Serenissima decided to fight, even in the last stage, the city would have proved a terrible thorn in Buonaparte’s flank. He had had no fleet so could have attacked only from the landward side, from which it was separated by three miles of water, rendered most treacherous by innumerable shoals and shallows to all who did not know the channels. In the face of the many forts that protected it, and with a garrison of 13,000 hardy Slavonians, even Buonaparte’s veterans might have found it too hard a nut to crack. Yet, in the event, Roger’s estimate of the decadent nobility that then ruled the city had proved correct; they had not had a kick left in them.
Now, however, the situation was entirely different. By surrendering the Three Inquisitors—the chosen of the Ten, who had been the real rulers of Venice, with power even to search the Doge’s pockets—the Serenissima had committed suicide; but the Municipality which had replaced them was only a rabble of puppets who could be thrown out tomorrow had they not been maintained in office by the French. A dozen members of the Great Council had had the courage to vote against surrender, and there must be many lawyers, merchants, doctors and so on who would have resisted if given the chance. The oppression would bring the best among them to the fore and if they led a rising they would find ready backing from a great part of the population.
On the other hand, Buonaparte now held the city and had taken over the Venetian fleet. In view of that, and knowing the ruthlessness with which the French would act, Roger felt that a rising could have little hope of success. Yet the fact remained that, from distant London, Mr. Pitt was doing all he could to bring about a rising, and the ambitious Malderini, aided no doubt by the power of his hypnotic glance, had swiftly established himself as the head of the conspiracy, so to kill him now would be equivalent to killing the General of an allied force.
Considering the matter further, after getting into bed in his lodging, Roger began to wonder if Mr. Pitt’s policy was the right one. Should the rising take place and be crushed, as he felt certain it would be, Buonaparte would exact a merciless vengeance. There would be no question of Venice being left as an independent City State after that; or of his letting the Austrians have it, as they were apparently pressing him to do. It would probably be first given over by him to his troops to sack and, after that, incorporated into his new Cisalpine Republic, which would remain permanently under the domination of France. Then, if the Austrians could be persuaded to resume hostilities next spring, and they attempted the re-conquest of northern Italy, they would have it as an almost impregnable base for enemy operations on their flank.
The more Roger thought over the situation, the more convinced he became that a rising in Venice was both against the interests of the Venetians themselves and against the long-term interests of Britain. If that was so, it followed that one of the best ways of checking the movement would be to kill its leader.
Having reached that, to him, satisfactory conclusion, he at last drifted off to sleep; but not until the early hours of the morning. In consequence, next day he woke late, and even lay for another hour in bed debating with himself possible ways of putting an end to Malderini without being caught.
The result of his deliberations was a mid-morning outing for a box of paints, a canvas, an easel and a camp stool. To find what he wanted he had had to cross the Grand Canal and walk through a score of tortuous alleys until he hit upon the Merceria, one of the few footways in Venice broad enough to be called a street, and in which were situated some of the best shops.
When making his way back, as he thought, he lost himself completely, but came upon a little square, one side of which was occupied by the Fenice theatre. He recalled having heard Malderini say, when at Stillwaters, that although small it was one of the loveliest in Europe; so he would have liked to see its interior. For a moment he was tempted by the idea of returning there for the performance that evening; but he was still dressed as an Arab and, although there were quite a number of traders and sailors wearing Eastern costumes to be seen among the kaleidoscopic crowds, it seemed very unlikely that any of them would patronise a European theatre; so he decided that to do so would make him undesirably conspicuous.
Nearby there was a tavern with tables on the pavement under a creeper-covered trellis. It was not yet the dinner-hour but the sight of the place made him feel hungry, so he sat down and enjoyed a meal of fried scampi, delicious canneloni and fresh apricots. Again, to act in accordance with his appearance as a Mohammedan, he had to deny himself wine to wash down this most enjoyable meal; but on his long journey from Berbera to Alexandria he had become accustomed to going without it.
On leaving the tavern, he picked up a gondola on the Albero Canal and had himself taken up the Grand Canal to the steps leading up to the Salizzada San Samuele, which was exactly opposite the entrance to the Canal San Barnaba. He then set up his easel in the broad passageway at the top of the steps, got out his paints, and began a painting of the Malderini palace.
It was a handsome building with a tall pillared portico above the water-lapped steps of its front entrance and a graceful carved stone balcony along the first floor, both on its Grand Canal side and also that looking out on the Barnaba. In the latter there was a much smaller waterport for the use of servants and tradesmen, as in Venice goods were delivered only by boat. That, Roger suddenly realised, was one of the things which made the city so unlike any other and so delightful. Coaches would have been too wide to pass down many of the streets, but carts of all kinds, horses, mules and donkeys were all also forbidden. In consequence there was no perpetual clatter of wheels and iron-shod hoofs on cobbles; a restful quiet reigned, broken only by the musical calls of the gondoliers to one another, by which they avoided collisions, and, by night, the strains of violins as family parties glided along the canals taking the air in the soft starlight.
As it was mid-afternoon, it was quite a time before Roger saw any activity at all in the Palazzo Malderini, but in due course servants made brief appearances from time to time in some of the upper windows. Then, a little before five o’clock, his heart gave a sudden bound. A tall slim figure that, even in the distance, he recognised instantly as that of the Princess Sirisha had come out onto the balcony. Another shorter, plumper woman was with her, but was evidently a maid since, having arranged some cushions in a chair while the Princess leaned for a few minutes on the balustrade of the balcony, she retired.
For about an hour and a half the Princess sat up there idly watching the lively, ever-changing scene below her in the Grand Canal, then she went in. Roger stayed on for a while, hoping to catch a glimpse of Malderini, but when the light began to fail his painting no longer provided an excuse for his remaining; so he called up a gondola which took him down the Barnaba and through several small canals to some steps near his lodging, where he got rid of his artist’s impedimenta.
He had already discovered that in Venice there were scores of small taverns that, despite the steep rise in prices of which the inhabitants complained so bitterly, gave one very good food for quite a moderate price. So he had an evening meal at one of them on the Zattere al Ponte Lungo. Then he crossed again to that only great open space in the whole city, the vast Square of St. Mark, where it seemed at least half its citizens congregated every night to stroll, gossip, flirt, drink at the cafés and listen to the band.
But that night nature spoilt it for him. One of the thunderstorms that so frequently afflict Venice in the summer months broke soon after ten o’clock. The lightning flashed, the thunder rumbled and the rain streaked down in torrents. The crowds rushed for shelter in the long arcades that
formed three sides of the Piazza and huddled in them but, even after a downpour of an hour, it lessened only to a steady soaking rain; so, when he got back to his inn, he was wet through and in an ill humour.
But next morning he was up early, set off cheerfully again for the San Samuele steps, and was seated at his easel by eight o’clock. In the Minerva, on the way to Cape Town, he had done a little painting, but while in Calcutta he had been far too occupied with other matters to indulge in his hobby; so he was deriving considerable pleasure by combining it with his watch on the Palazzo Malderini.
At a little before nine, two wide, low doors at water level, on the Barnaba side of the palace, opened and from an enclosed dock a gondola emerged. Until the coming of the French, the cabins of all gondolas had been painted black and their gondoliers had worn plain sailor’s costume, except in the sole case of the Doge, whose men had worn his livery. Now, anyone could brighten up their conveyances as they would, and Roger noted that Malderini’s men wore the same bright colours as those of the great striped mooring posts, like bigger editions of barbers’ poles, that stuck up out of the water in front of the palace steps.
The gondola was brought round alongside the steps, the short, heavy figure of Malderini emerged from the front door, was bowed into it by several servants, and the craft set off downstream.
The Rape of Venice Page 40