Frank Tallis - Vienna Secrets

“I can only assume,” said Rheinhardt, “that the censor does not make a habit of reading through Catholic newspapers-otherwise it would never have been published.”

“How did you find it?”

“My informant was one of Stanislav’s confreres, another Piarist called Brother Lupercus.”

“So it would seem that Brother Stanislav wasn’t as popular as the abbot wanted you to believe.”

“The abbot was a kindly old man, and, for what it’s worth, I judged him to be a decent fellow. He probably wasn’t aware of Stanislav’s hateful essays.”

“Or he was deliberately withholding information to protect the reputation of his community.”

Rheinhardt shrugged. “It’s possible.”

“Stanislav,” Hohenwart continued, thinking hard. “Stanislav. I seem to recall…” His sentence trailed off before he suddenly said, “Excuse me a moment.” Hohenwart rose from his desk and vanished into an adjoining room. Sounds issued from beyond the half-open door-noises of rummaging, papers being flicked through, and a private grumbling commentary. In due course, Hohenwart produced a triumphal “Eureka!” and emerged holding a large cardboard file. A paper label had been gummed to the spine, on which was written Christian Nationalist Alliance.

“Do you remember Robak? Koell was the investigating officer.”

“Yes,” said Rheinhardt. “The Jewish boy…”

“Found beaten and stabbed to death on the Prater. He was discovered after a rally. A rally held in Leopoldstadt and organized by the Christian Nationalist Alliance.”

“Who are they?”

“A fringe political group. They’re an odd coalition of Catholics, pan-German sympathizers, and extreme conservatives. In reality, the various factions of the alliance don’t have very much in common. What holds them together is anti-Semitism.” Hohenwart opened the file and laid it in front of Rheinhardt. “Stanislav! I thought the name was familiar. Brother Stanislav was one of the speakers at the Leopoldstadt rally. The local Jews were offended by his immoderate views. They protested, a fight broke out, and the constables from Grosse Sperlgasse had to be called. No one was seriously hurt-but Robak’s body was found later.”

“Did you interview Stanislav?” Rheinhardt asked.

“No. We were too busy helping Koell trace alliance members. I’d already collated this file on them, which contains several names and addresses. Needless to say, the murder investigation took priority. We didn’t have time to pursue the lesser infringement of religious agitation, and the troublesome monk was quite forgotten.”

Anna Katzer and Olga Mandl were seated in the parlor of the Katzer residence in Neutorgasse. It was a pleasant room with landscape paintings on the walls and old-fashioned furniture. Opposite Anna and Olga sat Gabriel Kusevitsky and his older brother, Asher. Although Asher shared his brother’s diminutive physique, he was generally judged to be the better-looking of the pair. The prescription for his lenses was not so strong, and his beard had been finely groomed to conceal his receding chin. In Asher, Gabriel’s weak, neurasthenic appearance was transformed into something more appealing: artistic sensitivity, the romantic glamour of the consumptive-and the small dueling scar on his right cheek advertised that he was not without courage. He also affected a more bohemian style of dress, which was only fitting for a playwright.

The women had been speaking about the congress they had attended in Frankfurt the previous October, the German National Conference on the Struggle Against the White Slave Trade. In philanthropic circles there were many-mostly matrons with thickening waistlines and jowly, powdered faces-who were deeply suspicious of Anna’s and Olga’s involvement with good causes. Their fashionable dress and frequent appearance at gala balls made them seem more like dilettantes than fund-raisers. Yet there could be no denying that their coquettish charm had successfully loosened the purse strings of several famous industrialists.

“It is a shameful business,” said Anna, pouring the tea. “Jewish girls are sold by our own people, a fact that many find hard to accept. They cry ‘False accusation, slander!’”

“And one can see why,” said Asher. “The town hall would almost certainly use these reports against us-yet another example of Jewish immorality! Even so, I agree it is far better that the problem should be addressed than denied. There will be trouble when it all comes out, but it’ll be just one more unpleasant thing to deal with!”

“Why now?” asked Gabriel. “Jewish brothels have always been relatively rare.”

“The pogroms,” said Olga. An uneasy silence prevailed, as if the room had been preternaturally chilled by a horde of Russian ghosts. “And they are still arriving, these girls. Ignorant of any language other than their own jargon and bad Polish.” By “jargon” she meant Yiddish. “Needless to say, they can’t get good jobs, and they find themselves working as waitresses, peddlers, or shop assistants. Such positions allow them to develop irregular habits, and without family connections they soon become prey to profiteers and procurers.”

“How very sad,” said Gabriel.

“Indeed,” said Olga.

“But we intend to do something about it,” said Anna. “Which is why we wanted to talk with you.”

The two men looked at each other, then back at the women, before saying in perfect unison, “Us?” The comical effect made the women smile.

“I am a recently qualified physician,” said Gabriel, “and my brother is a struggling playwright…”

Anna waved her hand, dismissing the interruption.

“Our aim is to establish a new refuge,” she continued, “for young Jewish women. Naturally, it will be situated in Leopoldstadt, and will provide a safe haven for those who would otherwise be at risk. We will also offer assistance to abandoned mothers and their babies, pregnant girls, and those suffering from moral illnesses.”

Olga offered the men a dish of vanilla biscuits, shaped like stars and sprinkled with large granules of decorative sugar. Gabriel took one while Asher declined.

“We envisage a middle-size community,” said Olga, returning the plate to its resting place on a circular doily. “Two houses-adjoining-with ten to fifteen beds in each dormitory. Both buildings will be furnished simply; however, the atmosphere will be warm and friendly, like a family home, not like a hostel or hospital. There will be no forced detention. Every resident will be free to leave at any time, if that is her wish. And most important, there will be no punishment. These women have suffered enough already.”

Gabriel Kusevitsky bit into his biscuit, which crumbled in his mouth, releasing a flood of buttery flavors. He nodded with approval at both the sentiment expressed and the quality of the baking.

“We intend to provide clothing,” said Anna. “Which again should be simple, but not ugly or disfiguring. All women-in whatever circumstance they find themselves-like to look their best.” She smiled coyly at Gabriel before continuing. “And there will be a schoolroom, where those residents who do not speak good German will be coached by volunteers from the Women’s Association.”

Olga interjected, “We would prefer our refuge to be staffed entirely by women. It is our view that men-however well-intentioned-and young girls from the street are not a good combination. Further, the majority of our staff should be married, because they will then know about sexual relations and be neither excessively strict nor permissive.”

This bold, direct, and unflinching mention of “sexual relations” signaled that Olga and Anna considered themselves “new women.” They had both, no doubt, read Mantegazza’s popular book The Physiology of Love.