During her stay in Greece, Babette fell in love with the blue Aegean. Time and again, she forced Father or Grandfather to escort her on a boating expedition to one of the countless islands dotting the sea. She inspected the relics of the ancient world with great delight, forcing even Korbinian to acknowledge that there might be something to her love of Antiquity.
There was one singular incident that stayed with Babette throughout their journey. Once, while visiting an abandoned monastery in the mountains—one of the oldest in Greece, Grandfather said—Babette came across a most peculiar sight. She found a marble statue that she felt certain predated the coming of Christ, which had somehow been kept clean and fresh. Korbinian suggested its care was the work of nearby villagers, although the closest settlement was an hour’s walk away. The statue, which had been made with all the finesse of the Classical period, depicted a monstrous figure: a hunched, wolfish beast that stood upon two legs like an ape. It reminded Babette of the beast that had attacked her and Korbinian in France, a point with which Korbinian readily agreed. Most curious of all, when Babette pointed it out to Grandfather, he went pale for a moment and then, after consulting the sun, declared it time for them to depart. Nothing more was said about the incident, and whenever Babette tried to broach the subject again, Grandfather found an opportunity to change the subject.
The stay in Greece proved too short for Babette’s liking, but soon Grandfather insisted that they relocate to a land “less polluted by proximity to the ocean.” That meant the Hapsburg lands: the Danube, Buda-Pest, and Vienna.
Chapter Fifteen
Vienna, Austria
Babette found much in Vienna to please her. It was a beautiful city that still held the majesty of the Ancien Régime. Above all she favored the Imperial Library, which she visited in Grandfather’s company as often as possible—at least three times a week, she insisted. There she devoured books like macarons, delighting in the touch and smell of the old texts as well as the knowledge they contained.
One day a message came for Grandfather just as they were leaving for the library. Babette watched in silence as Grandfather read the letter in the carriage and saw a scowl cross his face.
Whatever could be the matter, she wondered.
But Grandfather said nothing about it. He simply tucked the letter into his pocket and smiled at her.
When they arrived, he helped her down from the carriage but did not follow.
“Grandfather?” Babette asked. “Are you coming?”
“I have something that I must attend to urgently,” Grandfather said. “I will return as soon as I am able. You go ahead. Herr Raab will look after you until I return. If anyone questions your presence there without me, refer them to him.”
Babette thought to protest, but she knew the look in Grandfather’s eyes. There was something he was not telling her and for a very good reason. Best not to make a fuss about it.
“Of course, Grandfather,” she said, bowing her head. “I will wait for you in the Prunksaal.”
She made her way inside, smiling pleasantly at the now-familiar faces of the staff. Most of the men kept their Germanic stuffiness, but two of them smiled back and even exchanged brief pleasantries.
In the Prunksaal—the domed central hall of the library—Babette saw old bearded Herr Raab standing by one of the hall’s many statues. He was speaking to a tall, slender man who stood in the fading shadows by the bookshelves. The second man, who looked to be the same age as Babette, was black of hair, regal in features, and dressed like a gentleman. As Babette approached, he looked toward her with eyes blue like ice.
“Ah, Fräulein Varanus!” Herr Raab exclaimed, catching sight of her. “I will be just a moment.”
Herr Raab exchanged a few more words with the mysterious gentleman and bowed to him. The gentleman merely inclined his head in acknowledgement but otherwise showed no reaction.
Herr Raab turned to Babette and bowed.
“Fräulein Varanus, a pleasure as always to see you,” he said. “And what do you wish to read today, hmm?”
“An odd request, Herr Raab,” Babette said. “I am looking for a book that I have seen referenced twice before in later works. I believe a copy is held in the collection here.”
“Ja, ja, of course,” Herr Raab said. “And the name?”
“It is called the Codex Hermeticum,” Babette said.
Curiously, though the mysterious dark-haired gentleman stood too far away to have heard her, Babette noticed him raise an eyebrow and snap his gaze in her direction when she spoke the name. Babette looked back at him, raising her own eyebrow curiously. She saw a smile slowly cross the man’s face, and he looked away.
“Did you say the Codex Hermeticum?” Herr Raab asked, scratching his head. “Are you certain you do not mean the Corpus Hermeticum?”
Babette had known it would be a cause for confusion. Sighing, she said:
“No, Herr Raab, not Ficino’s Corpus. The Codex Hermeticum. I am quite certain that a copy is to be found here in the Hofbibliothek.”
Herr Raab gave a wheezing laugh and said, “It is most peculiar that you ask this. Lord Shashavani has just requested the same book, and he also insists that we have it, though I do not recall it. Of course, if I do find it, I will have to give it to him first. Perhaps there is something else you would prefer to read…?”
“If I may interject,” said the stranger.
Babette nearly jumped in surprise. He had approached in perfect silence without her notice and now stood directly behind her and Herr Raab.
“Oh, my God,” Herr Raab exclaimed, as taken by surprise as Babette had been. “I do beg your pardon, my lord, you startled me.”
“It is no matter,” the stranger said, speaking quite matter-of-factly. “But if I may interject, once you find the book, I will be pleased to share it with…Fräulein Varanus was it?”
“Yes,” Babette said, looking back at him without hesitation. “And who might you be, sir?”
The stranger smiled and waved Herr Raab away with the words, “Find the book. It is in the library, perhaps right in front of your eyes. All you must do is look.”
“Of course, my lord,” Herr Raab said before bowing and quickly departing.
“I repeat,” Babette said, “and who might you be, sir?”
The stranger smiled and bowed his head.
“I am Iosef Shashavani,” he said.
“I believe that is Lord Shashavani, if I heard Herr Raab correctly,” Babette said.
Iosef smiled faintly and replied, “It is so. But I have little interest in such formality. After all, knowledge cares nothing for titles, only for intellect.”
Babette felt Korbinian appear at her elbow. He whispered in her ear, “How very sensible of him.”
Babette smiled a little and glanced at him. How nice of Korbinian to say what she had been thinking.
“Are you in the habit of offering to share books with strange young women?” Babette asked.
“Indeed, no,” Iosef said. “I prefer to read alone. But I make an exception for anyone who can name an obscure grimoire such as the Codex Hermeticum with neither prompting nor hesitation. Tell me, what is your interest?”
This gave Babette pause. Truth be told, she had no greater purpose than her own curiosity. And Iosef had the look of one who might take offense at a dilettante.
She saw Korbinian approach Iosef and inspect him carefully. Iosef, like everyone else, gave no indication of noticing him.
Korbinian turned about to face Babette and said, “Tell him.”
Babette looked at Korbinian curiously for a moment before turning her eyes to Iosef.
“My interest is nothing but my own curiosity,” she said. “I have no greater purpose than simply to know. Shameful, I realize, but—”
“Not at all,” Iosef said. “Knowledge is a virtue of its own, although there comes a time when we must apply what we have learned. What use is knowledge if it does not change the world?”
“You do n
ot believe in knowledge for its own sake?” Babette asked.
“Knowledge is a tool, not a purpose,” Iosef replied. “Information acquired but not applied is like medicine that the doctor withholds from the sick. To learn is admirable, but in the end it is pointless.”
“But knowledge may be amassed,” Babette said. “It may be recorded and stored.”
“All flesh dies,” Iosef said. “All material decays. The scholar and the text alike will one day turn to dust. Knowledge is not eternal.”
“I cannot accept that, sir,” Babette said. “Knowledge does not die. And truth exists whether we know it or not. Gravity existed long before Galileo or Newton. And I think it is worthwhile that we understand it.”
“Why?” Iosef asked, smiling slightly. “What good is a knowledge of physics if we do not use it to build, maintain, or destroy?”
“I think I understand you, sir,” Babette said. “You would claim that knowledge for its own sake is arrogance, that it exists only to gratify the scholar, with no greater significance than one’s private delight. But if that is so, then knowledge becomes nothing more than cheap drink.”
Iosef flashed another smile, though it was brief. But he did seem entertained by her words, which pleased Babette. He was the first scholar she had ever encountered who had seen fit to argue against the primacy of knowledge.
“Nonsense,” Iosef said. “Knowledge unused is far worse than alcohol.”
“Oh?” Babette asked. “How do you suppose that?”
“Because,” Iosef said, “as they each imbibe their respective vice while contributing nothing to society, the scholar becomes arrogant, the drunk ashamed. And shame is something they should both feel.”
“I think I understand your meaning, sir,” Babette said, “if you will pardon the presumption.”
Iosef spread his hands toward her and said, “By all means.”
“They are both tools for progress,” Babette said. “Drink comforts the working man as his labors keep society alive, and how can we begrudge him that when his labors are so much harder than ours?”
“Indeed, we cannot,” Iosef said.
“Drink is only shameful when it becomes a purpose unto itself.”
“And knowledge?” Iosef asked.
“Well, knowledge inspires the artist, instructs the builder, guides the ruler, and makes possible the engineer. Society cannot advance without knowledge; but I suppose that if knowledge sits unused, then it has as much benefit as if it had never existed in the first place.”
“My argument exactly,” Iosef said. “And do you agree with it, having stated it so eloquently?”
Babette considered this for a short while, mulling the points over. It made sense, but…
“There is one thing that I would dispute with you,” she said. “Where is the moral imperative to be of use to society? I am intelligent and resourceful, of good family, and possessed of means, as are you sir. Why shouldn’t we indulge our predilection for knowledge in the same way that the rich man indulges in wine and women? Where is my obligation to improve the world? If I can afford my tour d’ivoire, why should I not sit in it, high among the birds, and laugh at those who cannot assail me?”
Iosef smiled again, and again it was brief. It seemed to Babette that he was unused to offering expressions of humor. It was quite intriguing, actually.
“Is this a regular pastime of yours?” he asked. “Do you make a habit of sitting in an ivory tower, laughing at peasants?”
“No,” Babette said, smiling back. “I fear I may have exaggerated when I said that I could afford one. The price of ivory is remarkable these days, and towers are very tall.”
“What a peculiar turn of phrase,” Iosef mused. “‘Ivory tower.’ Apt, I suppose, but peculiar. How very French.”
“Thank you,” Babette said, “but I fear I borrowed it from someone. Still, I ask again, why should I not indulge my liberty to be of no use to society?”
“There is no moral imperative,” Iosef said. “Indeed, many of the greatest members of society are of no use whatsoever.”
Babette giggled at this and covered her mouth.
“Well said,” Korbinian agreed.
However, Iosef showed no sign of humor and merely continued:
“But the state of humanity does not improve when those of means and privilege do nothing but indulge their own interests. Wealth must become patronage. Power must effect change. Knowledge must guide activity. If they do not, we must languish in stagnation. And things that are stagnant die.”
“How grim,” Korbinian whispered in Babette’s ear. “I like him, but he seems so very serious!”
Babette was inclined to agree and not unfavorably.
“Ah,” Iosef said abruptly, interrupting Babette’s thoughts. He nodded in the direction of Herr Raab, who was approaching from the far side of the hall with an old tome in his hands. “I see that the good Herr Raab has found our book.”
“As you told him, he would,” Babette said.
“Indeed.”
* * * *
“Now, Fräulein Varanus,” Iosef said to Babette as she sat at a reading table, “if you will bear with me for just a few minutes, I will be content to leave the book entirely in your hands.”
“Oh, yes?” Babette asked, surprised. She patted the top of the heavy Codex with one hand. “I was not aware one could read a book of this size in a few minutes.”
Iosef sat at the other side of the corner from her and gently opened the book.
“That is correct,” he said. “However, I am only interested in a few particular pages.”
He removed a pencil and a leather-bound journal from his coat pocket. Without a word, he consulted a set of notes—written, Babette noticed, in a script that she had never seen before—and turned to a few select pages in the Codex. Babette watched as Iosef peered at the blank corners of the pages and gently brushed them with his fingertips.
“How peculiar,” Korbinian said. He leaned over Babette and brushed her hair as he studied Iosef. “What a curious fellow. I wonder what he is doing.”
Babette looked at Korbinian, admonishing him with her eyes.
“What?” Korbinian asked, spreading his hands. “Oh very well, I will stop distracting you and your new friend.”
He walked to the far end of the table and sat, folding his arms.
“But tell me honestly,” he said, “aren’t you a little bit curious? Clearly he is looking for something. What can it be?”
“What are you looking for?” Babette asked.
“What do you mean?” Iosef asked, without looking up.
“You are clearly looking for something that is not there,” Babette said. “Hidden writing?” A thought came to her. “No, you are touching the page. It is something tangible. A watermark perhaps? Or an emboss?”
Iosef looked up.
“Indeed,” he said. He sounded surprised. “How did you determine that?”
“Quite easily,” Babette said. “You are inspecting blank portions of the pages. What you seek is clearly concealed.”
Iosef studied her for a little while.
“What I seek,” he finally said, “are images hidden within the pages themselves. It is said that light reveals them.”
“Simple enough,” Babette said. “Place the book in the sunlight and hold up each page. What you seek shall be revealed amid an aura of glory.”
At the far end of the table, Korbinian rested his head upon his hand and asked, “Do you suppose, my love, that he has already thought of that?”
“Shhh!” Babette told Korbinian.
“What was that?” Iosef asked.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” Babette said. “I sneezed.”
“Of course.”
“I suppose,” Babette said, “that you already thought of the sunlight.”
Iosef nodded.
“But should we not at least try it?” Babette asked.
“Unfortunately, the sun and I are on difficult terms,” Iosef sa
id.
“How do you mean?”
“I am very sensitive to sunlight,” Iosef said. “It is a common condition among those of my house. We suffer sunburn very easily.”
“Even from a beam of sunlight filtering through a window?” Babette asked.
She had never heard of such a thing. In truth, the idea fascinated her in a way that, she acknowledged, was probably not normal.
“It may be difficult to believe, but yes,” Iosef said. “I could fetch gloves and a veil, but that seems unnecessary now that I have an assistant.”
He smiled and motioned to Babette.
Korbinian laughed loudly and clapped his hands together.
“Oh, liebchen,” he said, “I think we both knew that he was about to say that.”
“Well, it seems the least I can do to thank you for sharing the book,” Babette said, now thoroughly curious about the book’s hidden contents.
She carried the book further down the table to where it was crossed by a beam of light from one of the windows. Turning the book sideways, she raised the first page and stared at it. Backed by the sunlight, the page became translucent, and Babette saw a collection of strange marks and sigils that she did not recognize.
“Oh,” she said.
“I take that to mean that you see something,” Iosef said, “which is very good, as this is the third copy of the Codex that I have inspected.”
“The first two were the wrong copies?” Babette asked.
“Indeed, and much to my frustration,” Iosef said. “The Vatican was the most surprising and the most disappointing.” He looked off into the distance for a moment and murmured, “I truly believed it would have been there, but it was not.”
“What a shame,” Babette said. “At least your search is finally at an end.”
“Oh, it is but beginning,” Iosef said. He slid his journal and pencil across the table to Babette. “If you would be so kind, please copy the images you see as precisely as you can.”
Babette took up the pencil and looked at Iosef.
“I am puzzled, Lord Shashavani,” she said. “You have no reason to trust me. Why allow me to see all of this?”
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