The Eight – The Attorney’s Tale, as told by Robespierre

(Page 391) " ‘We’re about to witness the oldest ritual in Venice,’ Casanova told me. ‘Each Easter at sunrise, the Doge of Venice leads a procession across the Piazzetta and back into St. Mark’s. It’s called "the Long March" - a ceremony as ancient as Venice herself.’ " ‘But surely Venice is older than Easter – older than Christianity,’ " I pointed out as we stood amid the expectant crowd, all huddled behind velvet ropes. " ‘I never said it was a Christian ritual,’ said Casanova with a mysterious smile. ‘Venice was founded by the Phoenicians – whence we derive our name. Phoenicia was a civilization built upon islands. They worshiped the moon goddess – Car. As the moon controls the tides, so the Phoenicians ruled the seas, from which spring the greatest mystery of all – life.’ "A Phoenician ritual. This lit some dim memory in my mind. But just then the crowd around us fell hushed. A horn ensemble appeared on the palace steps and riffled through a fanfare. The Doge of Venice, crowned with jewels and hung with purple satins, emerged from the Porta della Carta surrounded by musicians with lutes, flutes, and lyres playing music that seemed divinely inspired. They were followed by emissaries of the Holy See in stiff white chausubles, their bejeweled miters picked with threads of gold. "Casanova nudged me to observe the ritual closely, as the participants descended to the Piazzetta, pausing in the Place of Justice – a wall decorated with biblical scenes of judgment, where they’d string up heretics during the Inquisition. Here were the monolithic Pillars of Acre, brought back during the Crusades from the shores of ancient Phoenicia. Did it mean something that the Doge and his companions paused to meditate at this precise spot? "At last they moved on to the strains of the heavenly music. The cordons restraining the crowd were lowered so we could follow the procession. As Casanova and I linked arms to move with the crowd, I began to feel the faint glimmer of something -–I cannot explain it. A feeling that I was witnessing something as old as time itself. Something dark and mysterious, rich in history and symbolism. Something dangerous. "As the procession twisted its serpentine course across the Piazzetta and back through the Colonnade, I felt as if we were moving deeper and deeper into the bowels of a dark labyrinth from which there was no escape. I was perfectly safe, outside in daylight, surrounded by hundreds of people – yet I was afraid. It was some time before it dawned on me that it was the music – the movement – the ceremony itself that frightened me. Each time we paused in the Doge’s wake – at an artifact or piece of sculpture – I felt the pounding in my veins grow louder. It was like a message trying to tap itself through to my mind in a secret code, but one I could not understand. Casanova was watching me closely. The Doge had paused again. " ‘This is the statue of Mercury – messenger of the gods,’ " said Casanova as we came up to the dancing bronze figure. ‘In Egypt, they called him Thoth – the Judge. In Greece they called him Hermes – Guide of Souls – for he conducted souls to Hell and sometimes tricked the very gods by stealing them back again. Prince of Tricksters, Joker, Jester – the Fool of the tarot deck – he was the god of theft and cunning. Hermes invented the seven-stringed lyre – the octave scale – whose music made the gods weep for joy.’ "I looked at the statue for quite some time before moving on. Here was the quick one, who could free people from the kingdom of the dead. With his winged sandals and bright caduceus – that staff of twined serpents forming the figure eight – he presided over the land of dreams, worlds of magic, the realms of luck and chance and games of every sort. Was it coincidence that his statue faced this staid procession with its wicked, grinning smile? Or was it, somewhere in the dark mists of time, his ritual? "The Doge and company made many stops in this transcendental tour – sixteen in all. As we moved, the pattern began to unfold for me. It was not until the tenth stop – the Castello Wall – that I started to put it all together. "The wall was twelve feet thick, covered in multicolored stones. The inscriptions, the oldest in Venetic, was translated for me by Casanova: If a man could say and do what he thinks, He’d see how he might be transformed. "And there at the center of the wall was embedded a simple white stone, which the Doge and his entourage were regarding as if it contained some miracle. Suddenly I felt a cold chill run through me. It was as if a veil were being torn from my eyes so I could see the many parts as one. This was no mere ritual – but a process unfolding before us, each pause in the procession symbolizing a step in the path of transformation from one state to another. It was like a formula, but a formula for what? And then I knew."