‘In effect,’ Gross said with a satisfied smile, ‘Bruegel underwent a form of self-exorcism of the witch within himself with this spelling change.’
Adele was quite obviously uninterested in such a discussion; she peeled a dessert apple and left it untasted, then proceeded to fold and refold her napkin. Werthen, too, felt a little impatient with this discourse, not because it was uninteresting to him, but rather because he had his own mystery to chew on and would have preferred Gross to confer with him on further details of that business. However, it soon dawned on him — as Gross requested Werthen’s company for an after-lunch visit to the museum — that the criminologist was using the Bruegel matter as a ruse. Adele had finally shamed Gross into making a round of the Fasching balls; she would obviously not want his attention diverted by a new criminal investigation.
‘I would be pleased to join you,’ Werthen responded to the invitation, which brought a wide and satisfied smile from Gross.
‘Remember we have a dinner engagement tonight with the Hausmanns, Hanns,’ Adele said as they were leaving the restaurant.
‘Of course, my sweet. It is uppermost in my mind.’
‘You are as sharp as always,’ Gross said as they left the Imperial. ‘I confess that in a moment of weakness I vowed to Adele that I would not become involved in a criminal investigation while in Vienna. But really, Werthen. Snail races. I’ll be sold for a donkey before being exposed to such foolery again.’
They did not, of course, go to the Kunsthistorisches Museum. Instead, with Werthen’s knee feeling better now that he had his walking stick, they took a leisurely stroll to the nearby Maximilianstrasse 13, one street in from the Ring and just across from the Hofoper. In a cramped and cluttered corner office they found Karl Kraus hard at work getting his latest edition of Die Fackel ready for the printer.
Kraus, whom Werthen had the occasion to consult on an earlier investigation, was more than a mere journalist. He seemed to know where all the bodies were buried in Vienna, who was sleeping with whom, and even what the emperor had for dinner the night before. His network of colleagues and friends extended to every section of society. Kraus, a slight man with a curly head of hair and tiny oval wire-rim glasses, was happily surprised at their visit, even setting out three small glasses of rather too sweet apricot schnapps in honor of the occasion. Theirs was a symbiotic relationship: in exchange for quite accurate gossip, Kraus had been, in the past, provided by Werthen and Gross with material for his thrice-monthly journal that, as the Americans said, ‘scooped’ the dailies.
They made small talk for a time, Kraus encircled by uneven piles of Viennese newspapers which he scoured daily for signs of hypocrisy, pomposity, and, worst sin of all, poor grammar.
‘So, gentlemen,’ Kraus said after appropriate toasts to communal health had been made, ‘I trust you have not paid a visit solely for a bit of free schnapps. What wonderful case are you currently engaged in and how can I be of service?’
Gross, who at first meeting had heartily complained of Kraus’s affectedness, was now a convert and greeted the journalist’s flair with a smile.
Werthen set his empty glass on to the small desk amid the clutter of newsprint. ‘I am interested in the colleagues of Councilman Steinwitz. Any close friends he might have had at City Hall or elsewhere.’
Kraus leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands over his narrow chest.
‘Ah, the dear departed Councilman Steinwitz. His name has been quite eclipsed in the press of late. We journalists are a fickle lot.’ He squinted at Werthen. ‘By friends, do you mean acquaintances?’
‘Real friends,’ Werthen said.
Kraus nodded. ‘I assume you know that he and Lueger were school chums. Both at the Theresianum together.’
Werthen remembered now the flag at half-mast at the school when he was investigating the disappearance of Hans Wittgenstein. The words of Father Mickelsburg came back to him, for the Piarist priest had reported that Steinwitz and Lueger were among the first class of commoners to be allowed to attend the school, and that the two had remained close friends after graduation.
‘Quite attached to one another, by all accounts,’ Kraus continued. ‘Lueger brought him into his government despite certain irreconcilables.’
‘How do you mean?’ Werthen quickly inquired.
‘Well, the two were not of one mind about the Jewish question at all. Lueger has gone so far as to suggest the Jews all be loaded on a ship and sent off to Palestine.’
Werthen noted that Kraus, a converted Jew like Werthen himself, did not use the pronoun ‘we’ when speaking of Vienna’s Jews.
‘And Steinwitz?’ But Werthen, having formerly represented the deceased councilman, felt he already knew the answer.
‘Race and religion were never one of Herr Steinwitz’s concerns,’ Kraus said. ‘But their differences went beyond that.’
He smiled at them rather enigmatically for a moment.
‘Do you intend to share your knowledge, Herr Kraus?’ Gross asked with a degree of irony.
Which brought a pinched smile to the journalist’s face. ‘Our esteemed mayor fashions himself the representative of the little man. He loves them so much, he tells us, that he wants to create parks and open spaces in their honor. Let the Kleinburgertum enjoy nature along with the toffs, right? Every time a tree is planted or a new green space, no matter how small, is installed, then there is an accompanying plaque commending Mayor Lueger for this worthy deed. Why, it has got so bad that last month, after the birth of an elephant at Schonbrunn Zoo, one of our leading journalists, hardly before known for his waggish tongue, suggested a plaque be erected at the elephant house: “Born during the Mayoralty of Karl Lueger.”’
‘Yes,’ Gross interrupted, ‘but what does this have to do with Councilman Steinwitz?’
‘Not to worry, Doktor Gross. I shall come full circle presently. From all this, one must conclude that Lueger is sincere in his connection with the lower middle classes. Correct?’
There was silence in the small office for a time. It took Werthen a moment to realize Kraus had actually posed a question.
‘Well, it might appear so,’ the lawyer answered while Gross sat thin-lipped.
‘Yes,’ Kraus said. ‘Appearances. They are so important to our mayor. In fact, however, the so-called little man hardly benefits from such beautification schemes. I could count on one hand the number of parks that Lueger has built in working-class districts. And those he built in the rest of Vienna have used up open space that could have been put to better use building affordable housing. But that would not please Lueger’s real constituency, the landlords and the moneyed classes. Building more housing would tend to bring rents down, something the landlords, and therefore Mayor Lueger, do not want. Our mayor is touted for building the new metropolitan rail-road, but no one now mentions that he single-handedly vetoed extension of it into outlying suburbs where the workers and lower middle classes could find more affordable housing. Instead, Lueger confines those classes to the city limits and thereby again helps to keep rents high. The countryside around Vienna, it seems, is fit only for those who can afford their own carriages.’
Gross let out a sound midway between clearing one’s throat and retching. ‘A rather cynical interpretation, wouldn’t you say, Kraus?’