Vienna Blood

85

Liebermann stood beside Stefan Kanner, attempting-somewhat unsuccessfully-to feign familiarity with the ceremony that was taking place. After much deliberation, the venerable had given him special dispensation to attend. But he had stipulated that the outsider should be present only for the initiation, and that he would not be permitted to mingle with any of the brethren prior to the opening of formal proceedings. Moreover, the old man had demanded that Liebermann should take a solemn oath of secrecy. He must never reveal to anyone-especially his associates in the security office- what he was about to see. Consequently, Liebermann had been confined to a small antechamber. While he had been waiting there, Kanner had given him notice of what to expect and had provided him with clothing suitable for the occasion. It was only after the temple was almost full that Kanner guided Liebermann to their designated places among the most junior members of the fraternity.

An introductory ritual was in progress, during which Herr Losch and his sergeants seemed to be reciting from memory a kind of Masonic catechism. In addition, there was a lot of general activity: the great bronze doors kept opening and closing as high-ranking officials departed and returned.

Herr Losch was much dignified by his office. He occupied a big wooden throne and wore around his neck a V-shaped collar of red silk. Attached to the bottom of the collar was a large letter G, superimposed upon a circle of radiant gold spokes. A small table covered in scarlet drapery had been erected to the right of the throne, which permitted the venerable to use his gavel. When the venerable spoke, the rich acoustics of the subterranean temple imbued his voice with otherwise absent gravitas.

Liebermann was not registering the words of the introduction. He was still somewhat overwhelmed by the scale and design of Elysium. It reminded him of the Stadttempel-the synagogue where Clara had wanted to be married. (A stab of guilt made his heart palpitate.) The Stadttempel was a secret meeting place, built in less liberal times when laws enacted under Josef II had determined that all synagogues would be hidden from public view. The most striking similarity, though, was the ceiling, which-like the Stadttempel-was blue and studded with gold stars. Masonic symbology seemed to borrow extensively from the rabbinical tradition: an epic mural showed the Ark of the Covenant and Jacob's ladder ascending toward a letter from the Hebrew alphabet. Perhaps this was why Pan-German nationalists were so fond of the slur “Jew Mason.”

Although the temple was equipped with gas lamps, none of them had been lit. Instead, light was provided by numerous randomly distributed three-branch candlesticks. Unfortunately, Elysium was too cavernous to be fully illuminated by such modest means and Liebermann was troubled by the abundance of shadowy recesses. Each one could provide Olbricht with ample opportunity for concealment.

The venerable's voice sounded firm and resolute.

“Beloved brethren! The chief purpose of our work today is the reception of the seeker, Prince Nadasdy. He is present in the preparation room. He answered the questions propounded, and I ask the brother secretary to read these answers…”

The floor was tiled with slabs of white and black marble, like a chessboard, and in the middle of the nave was a peculiar arrangement of three columns-Ionic, Doric, and Corinthian. A large altar candle had been placed on each of the capitals. Between the columns was a pictorial carpet, embroidered, with an array of mysterious images: pomegranates, a rough stone, the moon and the sun, a square and compasses.

Beyond the pillars, on the other side of the nave, Liebermann examined the congregation of Masons. They were all dressed in tailcoats, top hats, white gloves, and richly embroidered aprons. Some wore sashes, others V-shaped collars like the venerable. Everyone present possessed a sabre. Liebermann had asked Kanner why the brethren took weapons into their temple, and he had discovered that it was a tradition that embodied their egalitarian principles.

Back in the eighteenth century, Max, swords were used to signal nobility. Freemasons wore them to show that they were equals and to proclaim that greatness was a question of deed and character-not of birth.

Liebermann had been given a simple lambskin apron, the bib of which had been raised: a small modification of wardrobe that identified him as a novice. Kanner had made the same adjustment to his own dress.

The venerable was addressing two of his sergeants who had come forward. One of them was carrying a lamp and a large leather-bound volume.

“Brother Master of Ceremonies, you will now repair with the brother orator to the seeker, in order that this brother may make him more fully acquainted with the principles of our craft, and invite him to once again examine himself. If he stands to his decision to enter our craft, then lead him, deprived of his jewelry and outer clothing, according to the ancient usages of Freemasonry, to the gate of the temple.”

The two sergeants bowed, turned, and walked toward the bronze doors that swung open to facilitate their passage. Above the entrance the All-Seeing Eye surveyed the throng with transcendent disinterest. As the two men dissolved into the gloom, the sound of a pipe organ filled the air. The combination of stops that the organist had employed created a sound similar to that of a small band of recorders. The chords progressed like a hymn, and the transparent, luminous harmonies, suffused with gentle, compassionate warmth, declared the unmistakable handiwork of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. The company began to sing: “Lasst uns mit geschlungnen Handen, Bruder, diese Arbeit enden…” With clasped hands, brethren, let us end this work…

Liebermann was not familiar with the melody and wondered whether it belonged to some obscure body of work jealously guarded by the Masons. May this bond tightly embrace the entire globe,

As it does this holy place…

As the music continued, Liebermann scanned the faces of those standing opposite. There were so many of them, and what with their hats and the gloomy light, the task of trying to identify Olbricht among such a large gathering was beginning to feel like an insurmountable challenge. Moreover, his general view was restricted. He could not see the Masons standing behind him, nor the faces of what appeared to be a secretariat seated at tables below the venerable's throne. Then not in the east alone will light shine, Not in the west alone, But also in the south and in the north.

The organ progressed to a final cadence, and then there was silence.

It was broken by three loud knocks on the door. Each blow boomed like a bass drum.

In the blue-gray misty distance, Liebermann saw a tall, gaunt man raise his hand.

“Venerable Master!” he cried out. “One knocks as a stranger.”

“See who knocks,” replied the venerable.

The bronze doors were opened again.

“It is Brother Master of Ceremonies and Brother Hansel, with the seeker.”

“Inquire of him if the seeker is a free man who has the good repute of his fellow citizens.”

More questions and answers followed, and a request for the sponsor to show himself. A man appeared between the two columns of the doorway and declared, “As far as I know, I believe that the seeker is worthy of my sponsorship, and I hope that he will persevere.”

His accent was Hungarian.

The venerable responded, “Now then, you will let the seeker enter.” He gave a single rap with his gavel and continued. “To order, my brethren.”

Again, the sound of the pipe organ filled the air, and a tenor voice began to sing a familiar refrain. “O heiliges Band der Freundschaft treuer Bruder…” Oh, holy Bond of the Friendship of true Brothers…

Liebermann recognized it immediately. It was the song that Kanner had been singing in the private dining room.

A young man with long black hair had been marched to the threshold of the temple. He was blindfolded and his shirt-the cut of which suggested the eighteenth rather than the twentieth century- flapped open at the neck and hung loosely from his shoulders. This, then, was the seeker: Prince Ambrus Nadasdy. Now that both the venerable and the prince were in the same room, Liebermann tensed.

Where is he?

The question made him peer into the darkened corners of the temple in trepidation.

As the music faded, the prince's guide proclaimed, “Up to now I have led you safely. Now I must turn you over to another conductor. Trust in his guidance.”

The guide presented the young man to the gaunt Mason.

“My Lord!” cried the venerable. “No mortal eye can gaze into the heart. If you were led here by some selfish motive, or if you had the hope of discovering supernatural information and hidden knowledge through us, which was unobtainable outside of our tie, then you would see deceptions in your expectations. Our craft is devoted to humanity. Our closest task is to cultivate the pure nature of man within us with a united effort. If you are determined to unite with us in the noble work of humanity, you will affirm it according to your conscience and on your honor by a distinct Yes.”

The prince responded as instructed: “Yes.”

“Will you submit yourself to our guidance?” asked the venerable. “Do you trust us?

Again, the decisive affirmative: “Yes!”

“Man alone,” continued the venerable, “among all terrestrial creations is capable and called upon to work on his self-improvement. Man is destined to a higher perfection. But the way thereto is difficult to find and beset with dangers. Brother Junior Warden, let the seeker try his strengths upon the travels he now enters upon.”

Kanner tugged Liebermann's sleeve. At once, all the Masons sat down.

The gaunt, willowy Mason addressed the prince-but in tones that could be heard by all of the assembly.

“In the ancient mysteries, allegorical journeys and tests were arranged for those who were to be admitted. Accordingly, we have retained these forms of the tradition. The journeys that you will undertake are representative of life. Masonry educates its youths by imprinting their lives through symbolic acts.”

Liebermann felt uneasy. Although nothing material had changed, he felt a disturbing prickling at the back of his neck-like the prescient discomfort that precedes turning around to discover that one is being stared at.

“Pay sharp attention,” intoned the junior warden, “and keep true in mind the admonitions that will be given to you on these journeys. Whoever travels in darkness to unfamiliar places, as you do, requires a conductor. Fortunate is he who finds in the darkness an honest friend as a skillful guide. Follow me, I will lead you safely.”

The gaunt Mason took the prince's left hand and walked him into the body of the temple. When they reached the three columns, the pair began a slow, stately circumnavigation of the carpet.

“The life of man moves in a circular fashion,” the guide continued. “But the eternal center of these circuits is the one God that Freemasons worship under the designation of the Great Architect of the World. Freemasons are worshippers of God, however different your conception of God may be.”

Since the brethren had sat down, Liebermann had been afforded a better view of the desks that flanked the venerable's throne. He scrutinized the seated figures. Then Kanner nudged him in the ribs to draw his attention back to the central drama. Clearly, something significant was about to happen.

The junior warden suddenly pulled the prince back a step. “Deprived of your eyesight,” he taunted, “you would fall into the abyss before your feet if the hand of a friend did not hold you back. The blindfold over your eyes is a representation of your ignorance, which does not know the dangers that threaten the paths of life.”

Liebermann returned his gaze to the desks.

One of the secretaries was not looking up.

His head was bowed and there was something odd about his position. He looked uncomfortable, awkward, angular. Liebermann realized why. The secretary's right arm was pulled back and his hand was gripping the hilt of his sabre.

Could it possibly be…

Liebermann's instinct was to act, but the formality of the initiation ceremony demanded caution, respect.

Olbricht? A Mason?

Liebermann felt bound, inhibited-unable to raise an alarm. What if he was wrong?

And yet…

The gaunt Mason was leading his royal ward up through the nave, toward the venerable's throne. They were drawing closer together. If it was Olbricht, then the venerable and the prince would very soon be in striking distance.

Sarastro and Tamino.

It must be him.

The suspect Mason raised his head a little, but the brim of his hat was wide, leaving most of his face in shadow. A candle flared-and for the briefest moment his mouth and chin were illuminated in sharp relief. Liebermann registered the wideness of the lips and the deep, distinctive creases.

“Bow yourself!” commanded the gaunt Mason. “Here is the seat for one who has obtained our free election to have administered the laws of the craft.”

The prince lowered his head.

Liebermann could delay no longer. He leaped up and propelled his body forward, interposing himself between the prince and the secretariat.

“Olbricht!”

His interruption caused an immediate furor. There were gasps and cries of dismay. The gaunt Mason advanced after glancing at the venerable, who responded by raising a hand, urging moderation. Olbricht, though, was sprinting down the nave and heading for the bronze doors-his hat tracing a wide arc around the three pillars in his wake.