Vienna Blood

27

THE VENERABLE WAS SEATED on the master's chair, a beautiful throne of carved oak. It was thought to have been made in Scotland around 1690 and given as a gift to one of the earliest Viennese lodgesperhaps even Aux Trois Canons, the very first. He ran his fingers over the carved arm and traced the lines of a raised pentalpha, the Pythagorean symbol of perfection. The five-pointed star was held between twin compasses.

From his vantage, the venerable could look through the body of the Temple toward the entrance. Two great bronze doors were flanked by Corinthian pillars, denominated J and B for Jachin and Boaz-evoking the two columns built by Hiram at the gates of the Temple of Solomon. Above these was a relief equilateral triangle, from within which a single all-seeing eye coldly contemplated the empty pews. On the east wall a mural awaited completion. When finished, it would show the Ark of the Covenant, and Jacob's ladder ascending toward the Hebrew symbol Yod. There is no rush, he thought. We still have plenty of time to prepare…

The venerable raised himself from the chair and walked down the center aisle. Stopping to turn off the gas lamps, he slowly made his way toward the entrance. He pushed one of the bronze doors open and took one of two oil lamps that were hanging from hooks in the wall. The vestibule was relatively small, with two adjoining staircases: one ascending, the other descending. The venerable took the stairs going down-a tight spiral of stone wedges that sank deep into the earth. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he found himself in another antechamber, illuminated by light that was spilling from a half-open door.

“Ah, still here, brother?” the venerable called out.

“Yes,” came the reply. “Still here.”

The venerable pushed the door, which emitted a loud creaking. It opened by degrees to reveal a rectangular room, considerably smaller than the Temple. The walls were almost totally obscured by bookcases, although much of the shelving was unfilled. In the middle of the room were several crates. Two of them were empty and the third contained a collection of leather-bound volumes. A man-seated at a desk nearby-was leaning over and lifting books from the half-full crate, examining them, and carefully entering their details in a large register.

“All of them have arrived safely?” asked the venerable.

“Yes, I think so.”

“Good.” The venerable looked down at his pocket watch. “It's getting late, brother. You should go home.”

The librarian lifted his head, placed his pen on the table, and stretched his arms. “It's the last crate. I may as well finish.”

The venerable smiled and approached the desk. He picked up the book that the librarian was in the process of recording, and examined the spine. It read: Journal fur Freymaurer, 1784-1786, Volume IV.

“Do we have all twelve volumes?” asked the venerable.

“Of course,” said the librarian.

“Excellent,” said the venerable, stroking the binding. “All of the Truth and Unity papers. It will be an invaluable addition to our collection.”

The librarian picked up his pen again and began to scratch another entry into his register. The venerable was about to leave, but was momentarily distracted by a book lying open and facedown on the desk. He picked it up and glanced at a mezzotint illustration. Beneath the picture was a caption: Schaffer's design reproducing Schikaneder's staging. The illustration showed a snake cut into three sections.

Part Two