The Rape of Venice (51 page)

To goad the
Serenissima
further, towards the end of the month a body of French cavalry entered the city of Crema by a trick, disarmed the garrison and declared the place a free municipality. This time, matters were taken out of the supine Senate's hands. By their rapacious exactions and brutal lawlessness, the French soldiery had already earned themselves the bitter hatred of the peasantry throughout all northern Italy. Those in the Crema territory rushed down from their
mountains, attacked Buonaparte's troops and killed a number of them. This was just the sort of thing the unscrupulous Corsican had been angling for. It enabled him to pretend that his army was in danger from the whole country rising behind it. He dictated a violent diatribe against the Senate, in which he accused them of conspiring against him, and declared that all the Venetian provinces must be delivered from their tyranny; then he despatched his chief aide-de-camp, Junot, to read it to them.

On April 15th Junot had done so. On the 17th had come the rising in Verona. For three days the population of the city and its surrounding district massacred every Frenchman they could lay hands on, including the wounded in the hospital. Only those in the fortress survived, and they added to the carnage by turning its guns on the town.

On the 19th fuel was added to the flames by yet another incident, this time in Venice herself. It was an age-old law that no foreign armed vessel should be allowed to enter the harbour. A small French warship defied the ban and ignored an order to leave. The forts then opened fire, killing several of her crew.

Buonaparte now had all the ammunition he wanted. With a great show of righteous anger, he declared war on the Serene Republic. Rather than fight, the Senate humbly agreed to accept his terms. On May 4th, they handed over their three senior Inquisitors and the Commander of the Port to his Commissioners, and disarmed and sent back to Dalmatia their trusty Slavonian troops. In the meantime, the French
Chargé d'Affaires,
Villetard, had been intensely active in forming a party of so-called ‘patriots' on the traditional revolutionary lines.

Ten days later, the final scenes of degradation took place. In the vain hope that Buonaparte might treat Venice better as a democracy than as an oligarchy, the Grand Council voted, by 512 against only 20, its own abolition, and the transfer of its authority to a Municipality selected by Villetard. The aged Doge, Manin, fell in a dead faint from shame as he took off his bonnet of office. This, his other insignia, and the Golden Book, were publicly burnt, Trees of Liberty were set up in the Square of St. Mark, the Venetian fleet was handed over, and a ghastly pretence was made of welcoming the French troops into the city as the bringers of liberty.

Roger was deeply sensible of the terrible distress that these
happenings must have caused Captain Battista, and many other Venetians like him, who would willingly have fought for their country; but it was inescapable that enervating luxury had rendered the Venetian nobility rotten to the core, and that this, coupled with cowardly inaction, or rather lack of a demand for it, on the part of the majority of the citizens, was responsible for the fall of the ancient Republic.

The voyage up the Adriatic proved a pleasant one, and on August 15th they entered the thirty-mile-long lagoon, with its many islands. For two hours, Roger enjoyed the spectacle of the beautiful city rising from the sea, with the lofty campanile and the domes of Sta Giorgio Maggiore, Sta Maria del Salute, and those of a score of other great churches, gradually coming nearer.

They docked at the Zattere allo Spirito Santo and, after Roger had paid the dues on his scents, Battista took him to an auberge in a narrow street just behind the church of that name, that catered for eastern merchants. After arranging for his accommodation, they parted on most friendly terms, and Roger, pretending deafness so as to avoid talking with the landlord and other lodgers at the place, took up his abode in a small, but clean, apartment on the second floor,

To reach Venice from Bahna had taken him four and a half months and, for the greater part of the six thousand miles between them, he had suffered loneliness and great discomfort. But, had he gone back to Calcutta, returned from there by ship to England, or even to Gibraltar, and then done the last stage through the western Mediterranean, it could well have taken him much longer; and, by the route he had followed, with its many hazards of delay by weather or waiting for ships to sail, there had always been the chance that he might catch up with Malderini.

Roger would not have been surprised if it turned out that he had by-passed his enemy and arrived first; but he thought that unlikely. In any case, Malderini had no reason to hide his return, and it would soon become widely known because he was a prominent citizen of Venice. That also meant, though, that it would be far from easy to kill him without arousing a big hue and cry, and, while Roger was determined to have his life, he had no intention of paying for it with his own, if that could possibly be avoided. He therefore decided that, whether or not Malderini had yet arrived, he would do well to spend his first few days in Venice familiarising himself with the city.

During the long August evening and all the following day, on foot and by gondola, he explored the maze of canals crossed by scores of little bridges and a labyrinth of narrow streets, alleys and small squares that make Venice so unlike any other city. By night, while drinking coffee at a café in the crowded Piazza San Marco and listening to the band of a French Chasseur regiment, he delighted in the fairy-like beauty of the Byzantine Cathedral. Filling one end of the huge open space, its innumerable coloured marble pillars, lit by the hundreds of lamps in the arcades along the other three sides, and its five cupolas standing out against the deep blue starlit sky, gave it the appearance of a painted back-drop on some gargantuan stage. By day, he admired the great square Palace of the Doges, the world famous Rialto Bridge and the scores of stately Palaces on the Grand Canal.

That afternoon, he learned by tactful enquiries that, on the fall of the
Serenissima,
the British Ambassador, Sir Richard Worsley, Bart., had demanded his papers and left Venice; but that the Consul, Mr. John Watson, had remained on as
chargé d'affaires,
and lived in the Calle del Sansovino, just behind the Dario Palace.

Next morning he went there in the guise of a perfume seller, supporting by a strap round his neck a box-like covered tray, holding a score of small square glass bottles, each containing a different scent. Although not large, like nearly all the houses in the better quarters of Venice that of the Consul had a handsome pillared doorway of carved stone, and the windows of its ground-floor rooms were protected by iron grilles, wrought by a craftsman. Roger pulled down the long iron bell-pull, and waited.

The door was opened by a footman in undress livery, who had the dark eyes and complexion of a typical Italian. Immediately he saw that Roger was a huckster he made to close it again; but speaking in broken Italian Roger said quickly:

‘Scent, very special, for your master. Scent from London. English Lavender. You tell him, English Lavender. He very pleased with you. English Lavender.' And, as he was speaking, he swiftly thrust a sequin into the servant's hand.

The man hesitated a moment, then, evidently reluctant to return such a handsome bribe, nodded and shut the door. Five minutes later he returned and let Roger into a small stone-flagged hall with a row of four pillars at its far end. Between two of them, a tall thin man of about fifty was standing. He
had blue eyes and was wearing his own hair which had been a fiery red, but was now streaked with grey.

Roger had no doubt that he was Mr. Watson. After making a grave salaam, he went forward muttering his Italian patter, repeating ‘English Lavender' and lifting the lid of the box of perfumes. The Consul made a pretence of looking at them and smelt the back of his hand on which Roger had smeared the wet stopper of one of the little bottles. As soon as the servant had disappeared, he said:

‘This is not lavender.'

‘No,' Roger replied in a low voice. ‘But I am English. When can I see you on private business? I have a letter from Mr. Pitt.'

After a surprised lift of his thick eyebrows, the Consul whispered back: ‘There is a side door in the wall to the left. Be there at eleven o'clock tonight and give three sharp knocks.' Then, talking loudly in Italian again, he led Roger back across the hall and let him out.

A little over twelve hours later, he let him in by the side door. It gave onto a small court, having in it a single old magnolia tree, some tubs of flowers, and a marble table with an inlaid top upon which were an oil-lamp and some papers. The August night was very sultry and evidently the Consul had been working out there. Motioning Roger to an iron garden chair, he said at once:

‘I never expected to be honoured by a letter from the Prime Minister, but…'

‘Forgive me,' Roger interrupted. ‘I fear I misled you. The letter is to myself; and I wished to show it you only as evidence of my
bona fides.
Here it is.'

‘Ah well!' Mr. Watson hid his disappointment with a little shrug, took the letter that Colonel Wesley had delivered to Roger in Calcutta, read it through by the light of the lamp, and said: ‘This makes it clear that you are in the Prime Minister's confidence, Mr. Brook. In what way can I be of service to you?'

Roger bowed. ‘I thank you, Sir. In the first place, do you know anything of a signor Rinaldo Malderini?'

‘Yes. He is, I think, the sole survivor of a noble Venetian family, and married to an Indian Princess. His is not an attractive personality and he is said to dabble in the Black Art. He is reputed to be rich and is interested in theatrical productions, acting frequently as backer for them. But he had also, at times, been employed by the government. He went on a mission to
London for the
Serenissima
last summer; an unfortunate choice for us, as his sympathies are pro-French. He has since been absent from Venice for many months; but where, I do not know. He reappeared here about three weeks ago.'

‘Ah!' exclaimed Roger. ‘He is back, then. Where does he live?'

‘He has a palace on the Grand Canal on the corner where the Canal San Barnaba runs into it. Anyone will point it out to you. If your business with him is secret, though, have a care of the gondolier who takes you there. Under the old régime, all gondoliers had to report nightly to the police on the trips they made and any conversations of interest between their passengers that they had overheard. That was one of the principal ways in which the Inquisitors were kept informed of everyone's doings, and the French have been quick to avail themselves of it.'

‘I thank you for the warning. It must be, though, one of the few things which have not changed with the coming of the French.'

‘Alas, yes. Venice was a delightful city. Provided one did not meddle in politics, there was no city in which greater liberty was enjoyed. I have been Consul here since '91 and had hoped never to be transferred to another post. Whether I shall be allowed to remain depends now on how Venice is disposed of in the peace treaty.'

‘Since the preliminaries were agreed last April, I find it surprising the final terms have not yet been settled!'

‘It is the Austrians who have held things up. They are playing a waiting game, in the hope that events in Paris will enable them to exact better terms from General Buonaparte.'

‘I have been long abroad, Sir,' Roger informed his companion. ‘In fact, to India and back; so I am completely out of touch. Pray tell me how matters stand in Paris now?'

Mr. Watson sat back and crossed his long legs. ‘The Directory still rules the roost and is as corrupt as ever. But it is having a hard fight to hold it down. Of the five, Rewbell, Barras and Larewellière-Lépeaux are all rabid revolutionaries; Carnot and Barthélemy, who replaced Letourneur last March, are moderates. As Rewbell and Co. are in the majority, they are able to out-vote the other two on every measure; so the proscription of émigrés and the persecution of priests continues unchanged, although the vast majority of the French people
would gladly see an end to the state of things they have inherited from the Terror.

‘That this is so was clearly shown by the first re-election of the
Corps Législatif,
which was held last March. Of the two hundred and sixteen members from the old Terrorist Convention who had to offer themselves for re-election, only eleven were returned. They were replaced almost entirely by Deputies who favour a restitution of the Constitution of '91. Few, if any, of them desire a King, of course; but they would like to see real liberty restored under just laws and religious toleration. Yet, with the Directory as it is still constituted, they are powerless.

‘In January there was a Royalist conspiracy led by the Abbé Brottier. It was badly handled, so swiftly suppressed. But I don't doubt that, seeing the general state of France, the Austrians are procrastinating in the hope of another which will prove successful. Buonaparte and the Directory now form an uneasy partnership. His victories have so increased his stature that they are now frightened of him. On the other hand, he was Barras's protégé and is tarred with the same brush; so the overthrow of the Directory might lead to his recall, or anyway weaken his hand to an extent that would enable the Austrians to get better terms from him.'

‘So that's how things stand,' Roger nodded. ‘The fact that the Austrians are making peace at all, though, throws the whole burden of the war onto us, and our situation was bad enough already. Knowing how anxious Mr. Pitt was to obtain peace, before I left England last summer I wonder greatly that he, too, is not endeavouring to negotiate a settlement with the French.'

‘He did so endeavour, by sending my Lord Malmesbury to Paris last December. But at that time, of course, he was still bound by our understanding with the Austrians that their Belgian lands should be returned to them, and the French would not hear of it. They put a pistol to his Lordship's head, and told him to accept their own terms in full or quit Paris within forty-eight hours. Our Ambassador here, Sir Richard Worsley, when placing our affairs in my hands before he left, told me that the French Constitutional party are actually eager for peace, but the Directory regards Britain as the most implacable of all its enemies. They showed it by their insulting treatment of my Lord Malmesbury, and no doubt Mr. Pitt feels that, while they remain in power, to go hat in hand to
them again would be too great a humiliation. Like the Austrians, he must be hoping for their downfall.'