I whispered a prayer for my brother and hummed one of his arias. Across the broad square, the monumental limestone of the Imperial Library shone in the crisp midday sunlight. My pulse sharpened, the old kick of excitement that used to come over me as a child whenever I entered a palace. I whistled Wolfgang’s aria through my teeth. The porter directed me to an alabaster staircase whose windows enhanced the golden light of the day, rather than filtering it. As I climbed, I didn’t merely leave behind the dirt and noise of the streets. I ascended to a place where it seemed everything might be illuminated. At the head of the stairs, a door of polished chestnut opened onto a breathtaking hall. Oak bookcases rose in two decks, high over the cream marble floor. Roman numerals in gold leaf designated their place in the library’s catalogue. Thick ivory-colored pillars reached up to a bright fresco on the ceiling. A librarian came down a stepladder with a pile of volumes under his arm. I asked him to lead me to Baron van Swieten.
