There is a certain hotel or coffeehouse, or place of general public entertainment in Venice, kept by a German, and called the Hotel Bauer, probably from the name of the German who keeps it. It stands near the church of St. Moses, behind the grand piazza, between that and the great canal, in a narrow intricate throng of little streets, and is approached by a close dark waterway which robs it of any attempt at hotel grandeur. Nevertheless it is a large and commodious house, at which good dinners may be eaten at prices somewhat lower than are compatible with the grandeur of the Grand Canal. It used to be much affected by Germans, and had, perhaps, acquired among Venetians a character of being attached to Austrian interests.
There was not much in this, or Carlo Pepé would not have frequented the house, even in company with his friend Von Vincke. He did so frequent it, and now, on this occasion of his return home, Von Vincke left word for him that he would breakfast at the hotel at eleven o’clock. Pepé by that time would have gone home after his journey, and would have visited his office. Von Vincke also would have done the greatest part of his day’s work. Each understood the habits of the other, and they met at Bauer’s for breakfast.
It was the end of April, and Carlo Pepé had returned to Venice full of schemes for that revolution which he now regarded as imminent. The alliance between Italy and Prussia was already discussed. Those Italians who were most eager said that it was a thing done, and no Italian was more eager than Carlo Pepé. And it was believed at this time, and more thoroughly believed in Italy than elsewhere, that Austria and Prussia would certainly go to war. Now, if ever, Italy must do something for herself.
Carlo Pepé was in this mood, full of these things, when he sat down to breakfast at Bauer’s with his friend Captain von Vincke.
“Von Vincke,” he said, “in three months time you will be out of Venice.”
“Shall I?” said the other; “and where shall I be?”
“In Vienna, as I hope; or at Berlin if you can get there. But you will not be here, or in the Quadrilatère, unless you are left behind as a prisoner.”
The captain went on for awhile cutting his meat and drinking his wine, before he made any reply to this. And Pepé said more of the same kind, expressing strongly his opinion that the empire of the Austrians in Venice was at an end. Then the captain wiped his moustaches carefully with his napkin, and did speak.
“Carlo, my friend,” he said, “you are rash to say all this.”
“Why rash?” said Carlo; “you and I understand each other.”
“Just so, my friend; but we do not know how far that long-eared waiter may understand either of us.”
“The waiter has heard nothing, and I do not care if he did.”
“And beyond that,” continued the captain, “you make a difficulty for me. What am I to say when you tell me these things? That you should have one political opinion and I another is natural. The question between us, in an abstract point of view, I can discuss with you willingly. The possibility of Venice contending with Austria I could discuss, if no such rebellion were imminent. But when you tell me that it is imminent, that it is already here, I cannot discuss it.”
“It is imminent,” said Carlo.
“So be it,” said Von Vincke.
And then they finished their breakfast in silence. All this was very unfortunate for our friend the captain, who had come to Bauer’s with the intention of speaking on quite another subject. His friend Pepé had evidently taken what he had said in a bad spirit, and was angry with him. Nevertheless, as he had told Nina and her mother that he would declare his purpose to Carlo on this morning, he must do it. He was not a man to be frightened out of his purpose by his friend’s ill-humour.
“Will you come into the piazza, and smoke a cigar?” said Von Vincke, feeling that he could begin upon the other subject better as soon as the scene should be changed.
“Why not let me have my cigar and coffee here?” said Carlo.
“Because I have something to say which I can say better walking than sitting. Come along.”
Then they paid the bill and left the house, and walked in silence through the narrow ways to the piazza. Von Vincke said no word till he found himself in the broad passage leading into the great square. Then he put his hand through the other’s arm and told his tale at once.
“Carlo,” said he, “I love your sister, and would have her for my wife. Will you consent?”
“By the body of Bacchus, what is this you say?” said the other, drawing his arm away, and looking up into the German’s face.
“Simply that she has consented and your mother. Are you willing that I should be your brother?”
“This is madness,” said Carlo Pepé.
“On their part, you mean?”
“Yes, and on yours. Were there nothing else to prevent it, how could there be marriage between us when this war is coming?”
“I do not believe in the war; that is, I do not believe in war between us and Italy. No war can affect you here in Venice. If there is to be a war in which I shall be concerned, I’m quite willing to wait till it be over.”
“You understand nothing about it,” said Carlo, after a pause; “nothing! You are in the dark
