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retiring. Schmidt had to admire Faust, albeit grudgingly. He was a consummate opportunist.
    Schmidt took a cigar and held a match to its tip. He ensured that the burn was even, and then put the match out by waving his hand violently in the air. He dropped the match into a glass ashtray and stared at Faust, who was conferring with Hofrat Holzknecht.
    How Schmidt wanted that job.
    The successful candidate would become a confidant of Mayor Lueger, would be introduced to important people and be granted significant powers. An ambitious man might even use this privileged position to cultivate more general support among the party membership. Mayor Lueger would not last forever. His eyesight wasn’t so good these days, and there were rumors about his failing health. In the fullness of time a replacement would have to be found.
    Schmidt sniffed his cognac. The fragrance seemed to enter his skull and excite his imagination. He thought of Mayor Lueger’s theatrical public appearances, his gold chain of office flashing in the sunlight, his entourage of laborers, civil servants, nuns, priests, and altar boys, the members of his inner circle, with their special green tailcoats with black velvet cuffs. Even when the mayor opened a factory, he managed to create a sense of occasion. Spectacle! How Schmidt longed to slip his arms into the silk-lined sleeves of such a tailcoat. But it would not be him going to the tailor’s. No—it would be Burke Faust.
    Still, Schmidt consoled himself, although he might never get to be mayor, he might still get his villa in Hietzing. He had recently learned that money could be made quite easily—if one was prepared to enter into negotiations with the right people. Mutually provident arrangements could be agreed upon with no initial investment, merely the promise of a little “political” protection, should the need arise. They weren’t the kind of business associates he could welcome into an office at the Rathaus, but their views on social justice were not that different from his own—or the mayor’s, for that matter.
    Faust was leaning back in his chair, voicing his opinions in a languid tenor. Schmidt listened carefully so as to pick up the thread of his argument. He didn’t want anyone present to think he had been “dreaming.”
    “I fear that the mayor is becoming complacent,” said Faust. “The issue of their status has become a tool, a means to an end: a device used to get the attention and support of the lower middle class. Of course, he’s still willing to denounce glorified moneylenders like Rothenstein, Wittgenstein, and their kind— but none of this hot air leads to municipal reform.”
    “He’s even consulting them these days,” Schmidt chipped in. “I heard that he actually met with Cohen to discuss one of his new building projects.”
    “It’s no good,” said Faust. “We can’t denounce them in the morning and invite them for tea in the afternoon. He’s playing a dangerous game.”
    Schmidt rose from his seat and went over to the window. His breath condensed on the glass, and he had to wipe the moisture away to see out. Beyond the Rathaus park stood the Burgtheater. It looked particularly beautiful, its windows glowing from inside with a warm amber light. Rain was falling, and the street lamps were surrounded by haloes of luminescence.
    Schmidt recalled one of the mayor’s most famous speeches.
    If you go to the theatre, nothing but Jews. If you walk on the Ringstrasse , nothing but Jews. If you go to a concert, nothing but Jews. If you attend a ball, nothing but Jews. If you go on campus, again, nothing but Jews… .
    Schmidt’s lips twisted to form an ironic smile. The Burgtheater was showing a play written by a Jew. Faust was absolutely right. Mayor Lueger had lost his early zeal. Yet the public still had an appetite for such fiery rhetoric. Schmidt thought of Faust’s article and sighed. The rhythms were reminiscent of Mayor Lueger’s old speeches, written when