The Lost Prince (55 page)

Always in her past, when in the presence of such symbols and rituals of European Catholicism, she felt a kind of deep envy of that simple connection to religion that the candles and iconic images of saints and the Virgin represented. Now she admitted to a desire to submit to it all and allow the Virgin and the saints to intercede for her. How simple and affirming that would be, an end to the independence and inner strength that had been her blessing and the weight she carried all these years.

She thought of her children, the girls on Acorn Street and Standish safe with Fräulein Tatlock. So many times while on this journey, far from home, she dreamed of them. She worried about them, but she also carried deep within her the confidence that each of the three of them had developed internal strengths that would get them through this ordeal of separation from their mother. But now, in this ancient and sacred space, she allowed the image of them—Susan the scientist, Jane the poet, Standish the mythic athlete and hero of countless games—to come to her, and in a welcome reversal to comfort her, children comforting mother. She closed her eyes, and in the flickering light of the votive candles she savored each image, they and the woman in white of so many of her dreams.
Oh, Mother, you are well!
she heard Susan exclaim to her as they emerged from the dark night of the dreaded influenza.
We have survived after all
, she heard herself respond. And she was able, as her friend Jung recommended, to hold the image of that joyous scene for a long moment before opening her eyes and rising and walking back to her hotel for more of the interminable wait.

She asked at the hotel desk if there had been any messages during her absence, then returned to her room and waited. When the word finally came, she hurried through narrow streets to the address she had been given back near the Piazza San Marco, on the Grand Canal.

After a short wait beside a secretary in the reception area, she was ushered into the large wood-paneled room of the American consul, who greeted her with a broad welcoming smile. William Hardy was a lean, fit American with prematurely gray hair. He shook her hand vigorously with an obviously studied and firm grip. “I am glad to see you, Mrs. Burden. You will have to pardon the tentativeness of our office. We have just arrived, obviously.”

“I am relieved to find your office open, Mr. Hardy,” she said.

“We can be of service, Mrs. Burden, I hear.”

“I am so glad you could see me,” she said with the greatest relief.

“There is someone who can be of great help to you,” he said, and ushered her into an adjoining room where a handsome young Italian in his twenties awaited, unlike the type of Italian soldier she had grown accustomed to in the past few days. His uniform was tailored and neatly pressed, something new in her experience in Italy, and he smelled of fine cologne.

“Lieutenant Sonino here will be assigned to you. We have a car and a driver waiting outside Venice. Lieutenant Sonino has the full authorization to give you all you need.” The Italian smiled. “Come with me,” William Hardy said, and led her into his office.

The American diplomat folded his hands on his spacious desk. “Your mission has the fullest cooperation of the Italian military. You know Mr. Morgan, I gather.” He paused. “Personally.”

“His father was a personal friend,” Eleanor said without pause or further explanation, allowing any inference that could be drawn.

“Well, that friendship will be of great service now. Italy is in great disarray, and Lieutenant Sonino is very well placed.”

The young man joined them. He had the polished look of aristocracy about him. He nodded his complete agreement when the American described his full cooperation. Eleanor smiled her gratitude at the American diplomat and then the lieutenant.

“You are on a mission to find a missing officer, I hear,” he said, “an Austrian.” He paused and looked down at the paperwork in his hand. “And your colleague has been taken into custody.” He was not very successful in suppressing a frown. “A compounding of the problem, for sure.”

“Yes,” Eleanor said. “My companion is a retired Viennese policeman who is helping me in my quest. He was taken prisoner by a group of soldiers near Treviso yesterday. It was a dreadful mistake.”

Eleanor proceeded with a complete description of her crossing the border with Herr Jodl and their encounter with the Italian military, including the actions of the rat-faced officer. “I was sent on to Venice,” she said in conclusion. “I am very concerned about the fate of my colleague.”

“We will find him,” the lieutenant said. “You need not worry. You have the full weight of the Italian government behind you.” Even though there was something very glib about the handsome lieutenant, there was reassurance in his brash confidence. Where Eleanor saw disorder and chaos
out there, the self-confident Lieutenant Sonino saw a new purpose and meaning.

Lieutenant Sonino shook the American’s hand and smiled graciously in his good-bye. “I must make a few telephone calls on your behalf,” he said, taking his exit.

“The lieutenant has connections,” Mr. Hardy said when they were alone, “the nephew of a famous general. He represents the new Italy.” The last of the comment carried weight. “And if I might add a bit of a warning,” he said, “there will be no talk of defeat or humiliation of the Italian troops. The war effort has been one of great purpose, and a united Italy has emerged stronger from the experience.” The American diplomat looked at Eleanor for long enough to see that she understood.

“I understand,” she said. “I have been in Italy long enough to know how to behave.”

“I was not suggesting that you did not,” he said. “I am only being cautious, perhaps overly so.”

“And I appreciate that,” she said.

“You are in good and safe hands,” he added.

“As long as everyone remembers that it is the new Italy,” Eleanor said, smiling.

“Exactly,” the diplomat said. “You do understand.”

The smartly tailored lieutenant rejoined them. “I believe that I have found your Austrian policeman,” he said with a smile.

When they had left Venice and were alone in the car, the young lieutenant inquired further about Eleanor’s mission. “The man you seek is named Esterhazy. Is that true?”

“Yes,” Eleanor said. “Arnauld Esterhazy.”

“His is an old family. Hungarian nobility, I believe. In former times he would have been a guest of state in our country. Now you seek him in the most humble of hospital wards. Such is the irony of war.”

The driver took them back toward the river Piave outside Treviso, to the small military station Lieutenant Sonino had been able to locate from the details Eleanor had related. When they walked in, she found the atmosphere completely different. The motley collection of officers who had been rude and disrespectful before now stood at attention and addressed
Lieutenant Sonino with efficiency and officiousness, with many a “Yes, sir” and “Yes, Signor Lieutenant.” The rat-faced officer had converted his manner to one of total unctuousness.

It took no time for the crudely organized band to locate their prisoner, with the young lieutenant watching unsympathetically the whole time, tapping impatiently on the countertop of the small office. Suddenly a door swung open and there was Jodl, standing beside two of the men who had taken him away with so little respect just one day previous.

“Here is your man,” said the rat-faced officer Eleanor knew well from her previous experience, and Lieutenant Sonino said nothing but merely looked over at Eleanor to see her silent approval.

Eleanor was so glad to see her companion, alive and unmarked by abuse, that she stepped forward quickly and suppressed an urge to embrace him. She burst out, “Yes. Yes, this is Herr Jodl.”

Jodl, for his part, retained his stiff rectitude but could not suppress a smile. “I think you came just in time,” he said to her in a whisper. And then he turned to the young lieutenant. “I am very glad for your arrival,” he said. “There was a mistake in identity. These gentlemen are convinced that I am a spy.”

Lieutenant Sonino said nothing but extended his hand and gave Jodl’s a vigorous shake. “I am pleased to be of service,” he said finally.

Then after the lieutenant had signed a few papers, Jodl said, “Now we have our Esterhazy to find,” and the trio walked out into the sunlight.

On the way to the auto, when they were alone, Jodl released a loud sigh. “Things did not look good,” he said. “I had become convinced that they were preparing an execution. Then everything changed. They started racing around.”

“I came as quickly as I could.”

“How did you find this Lieutenant Sonino?”

“I prevailed on Mr. J. P. Morgan Jr. in New York.” Jodl nodded. “This Lieutenant Sonino is the new Italy, you know,” she said quietly so that only he could hear, and Jodl nodded his understanding.

“So I gather.”

“We shall be hearing much about the glorious Italian victory and the glorious liberation of the territories,” she added.

Jodl nodded again. “The glorious liberation,” he said without any audible irony. She nodded, and they walked on to the auto.

THE CONFESSION

F
irst, we visit the Scuola Grande of San Marco. It is the Austrian hospital,” the confident young lieutenant said.

The beautiful old building in the heart of Venice was built at the height of the Renaissance, its façade a masterwork with delicately decorated detail in white or polychrome marble. “You would never guess such a magnificent structure to be a hospital,” he said. “Almost exclusively the enemy,” he added, “a great irony of war.”

Perhaps because of its urban setting, the Scuola Grande was cleaner and newer than the military hospitals they had seen before. Sonino waited outside as Eleanor and Jodl entered and were escorted around by a nurse. The party made pleasant conversation as they passed from bed to bed, chatting informally with the patients from time to time, always in German. When they came to the last bed, Eleanor thanked the nurse and the pair walked outside to meet the lieutenant.

“You have not found what you were looking for?” he said as they approached.

“It is a small hospital and very well ordered, but the wounded are all from the past few months, all accounted for by name.” And she led as they walked away. “Not what we are looking for.”

Later, when they had left Venice and found their car, Eleanor spoke. “There are prisoners of war,” she said to the lieutenant, once they were back driving again. “Will we be visiting their wounded?” She was asking for Jodl.

“If that is your wish,” he said, “my assignment is to see that you get it.”

“It is my wish,” she said.

“Yes. We will go there first. I understand what you search for,” the young lieutenant said. “There are three places for us to look into. We will drive you there.”

They were heading back to the northwest of Venice to the large military hospital at Treviso in the region of the Piave River, where the last horrific battles had been fought.

As they were accustomed to seeing, there were beds of the severely wounded, and then a special room for those without physical wounds, the ones unable to identify themselves. They wandered through, walking up to each bed, looking into each face, smiling warmly, offering a word of comfort, reaching out a hand when appropriate, receiving the attention they were used to. Jodl could see the mechanical way Eleanor had applied herself to the task, missing no patient, no matter how maimed or pathetic, but also resigned to the impossible assignment she had been given by fate. “Do not give up hope,” he had said to her. “You must keep his rescue in front of you always.” But his words had little effect. Facts were facts. They both seemed to know that they were running out of possibilities.

They were leaving the Treviso hospital on the grounds, having passed through the endless rows of beds, without success. “This last wing is for officers,” the lieutenant said, “the ones with family connections. I doubt that you would find your misplaced Austrian here.”

“With such confusion on all sides,” Eleanor said, “we desire to look everywhere.”

They walked through this last room, a less crowded room than the others, the patients more severely wounded, but receiving more personalized care. “These are all Italian men,” the guiding nurse said.