The Nature of Blood

by Caryl Phillips

  Sara, the wife of Servadio, and Rebecca, the wife of Moses, were also rearrested, and because they refused to confess they were submitted to torture, but they denied every allegation. They further claimed that because Jews regarded women as weak, they did not allow them to assist in certain rituals, therefore the emissary showed mercy and decided not to continue proceedings against the two women. During the course of their investigations it became clear to both Andrea Dolfin and the Venetian emissary that the people of Portobuffole were not only continuing to abuse and insult the Jews, but there was a danger that they might begin to attack Jewish houses in order to repossess their securities and recover the files that recorded where the remainder of their belongings were hidden. Time was doing little to soothe the inflamed passions of the populace, and the emissary hurried back to Venice in order that he might report his discoveries.

  On the night of Saturday 6 May, a messenger from the Council of Ten delivered the following brief to Andrea Dolfin, and to others in similar positions of authority in neighbouring territories.

  Because of the recent case in Portobuffole regarding the Jews who are said to have killed a Christian child, it is hurtful to them and their relatives if people continue to create rumours about them. We have decided to write this to you because we know you will read it and can obey secretly, and with discretion, and without public demonstration, but yet with diligence, as we order it. You shall live and respect their goods. They shall not be treated poorly, not in this world, or in any other place, and everything, namely their securities and goods, shall remain where they are without the slightest alteration or addition. We advise caution. Violence, theft or transportation of underwritten goods for any reason is not permissible. We give you this order in great confidence and great trust.

  That same night, while everyone was asleep, an armed body of men arrived in Portobuffole and took into custody the three condemned prisoners and three other Jews who had been arrested in the course of the supplementary investigations by the emissary and Andrea Dolfin: Fays, tutor of Servadio's sons; Solomon, the domestic servant of Moses; and Donato, the new Christian who now wished to be addressed as Sebastian. During the night, the six Jews were transported to Venice, and, on the morning of Sunday 7 May, they were all locked up in the Doge's Palace in rooms situated under the Rooms of Torment. It was here that they languished while the Council of Ten decided their fate.

  Some six weeks later, on 22 June, the members of the Grand Council received the following order from the Council of Ten.

  Considering that this case with the Jews is full of evil and goes against the honour of Jesus Christ, it is necessary to draw some conclusions with the maximum amount of application. It has therefore been decided that anyone who sits on this Council has to come tomorrow at the sound of the ninth chord. At that time, the doors will be closed and he who has not arrived will have to pay a fine of ten ducati that will be inflicted immediately. He who does not pay will be sent to sign the Book of Debtors. This goes for all who have a seat in the Grand Council.

  After four days of heated debate, the honourable members of the Grand Council finally decided that the Jews of Portobuffole should submit to a second trial, this time in Venice, beginning on Tuesday 27 June 1480.

  SHE SLEEPS peacefully, her dark hair a gown about her neck and shoulders. This young woman can never have imagined that fate would have deposited her into such a predicament. No longer a secure station in life, underscored by the most powerful of traditions. No longer to be gazed upon as desirable, yet unattainable. All will now imagine her easy prey for their lascivious thoughts. Truly, what am I to make of her? She lies here among twists of white linen sheeting. In her chastity, loyalty and honour, she is the most un-Venetian of women, yet is there some sport to this lady's actions? I am familiar with the renowned deceit of the Venetian courtesan, yet I have taken a Venetian for a wife. Has some plot been hatched about me? I am a foreigner. I do not know. My ceiling is high, the tall window shuttered against the moonlight. Out in the world, night has fallen and reduced the city to a succession of wintry reflections and whispered echoes. Beneath my window, I hear the soft plash of an oar as a boatman goes about his chilly business. I hear his laughter, then anonymous footfalls on stone, then water slapping against cold brick. In the distance, a shrill voice cries from a hidden balcony and the icy water gurgles as though in reply. I turn from the shuttered window and, once more, gaze upon my new wife.

  I arrived in the spring and was immediately enchanted by this city-state. I approached by water and found myself propelled by the swift tides across the lonely empty spaces of the forbidding lagoon. I stepped out on deck and observed the grey choppy seas, the high arch of the sky, and then looked across the distant low horizons to the monasteries, forts and fishing villages of the surrounding islands. Above me, the sails and flags snapped in the damp Venetian wind, and then, to our side, I spied a boatman hurrying back to the city ahead of the oncoming storm, with swallows flying low and skimming the water to either side of his unsteady vessel. As we neared the city, the air became warm and moist, and its smell somewhat like the breath of an animal. Then the water began to lap less vigorously, and bells began to sound, and I suddenly found myself to be surrounded by the raised voices of gondoliers; and then, as though following strange music, I discovered myself being sucked into the heart of Venice. What ingenuity! Nothing in my native country had prepared me for the splendour of the canals, but it was not only these waterways which seized my attention. The magnificence of the buildings that lined the canals overwhelmed my senses, and upon the grandest of these buildings, proud images of the Venetian lion were carved in wood, chiselled in stone, or wrought in iron. I could barely tear my eyes from the genius of these palaces, for they suggested to me the true extent of my journey into this fabled city. I had moved from the edge of the world to the centre. From the dark margins to a place where even the weakest rays of the evening sun were caught and thrown back in a blaze of glory. I, a man born of royal blood, a mighty warrior, yet a man who, at one time, could view himself only as a poor slave, had been summoned to serve this state; to lead the Venetian army; to stand at the very centre of the empire.

  Upon my arrival in fair Venice, a retired merchant – a man somewhat advanced in years, but with considerable experience of trading in different parts of the world – was appointed by the doge and his senators to watch over me. This good fellow was pleased to offer me lodgings within his own modest house, and, by conversing with me, he was soon able to understand the serious nature of the predicament in which I initially found myself. I possessed only a rudimentary grasp of the language that was being spoken all about me, and I lacked fluency in dealing with issues which related to common Venetian practices and matters of custom. Furthermore, I was naturally suspicious of the motives behind the simplest actions on the part of those who professed that they wished to help me, for I knew the world to be full of those who sought to increase their status by strutting beneath the outstretched wings of their superiors. My kindly retired merchant, although keenly aware of the magnitude of the obstacles that littered the path along which I would have to travel in order to gain a more substantial understanding of Venetian society, seemed unable to help me. In fact, he grew somewhat frustrated by the persistence of my questioning and his own inability to supply me with satisfactory answers. Accordingly, after little more than a month, it was decided that I should develop in my own direction and he in his, and in this manner we might one day reap the benefits of the seeds of friendship that we had begun to sow.

  With the help of my merchant, I soon obtained new lodgings on the Grand Canal, in a house that had formerly been opulent. Sadly, over the years, the house appeared to have fallen into a state of neglect, but it possessed all the necessary conveniences, and the owner promised faithfully to make good certain deficiencies. From its windows I peered down at the teeming life on the Grand Canal, which caused me great joy, for I had previously been rewarded with little more than a view o
f a muddy tributary. I quickly learnt to explore the streets of my quarter, passing from alley to alley, crossing bridges that were arched like camels' backs, noticing crumbling houses boarded up by rotting planks, being surprised by abandoned churches, stretching my legs in empty squares, and looking up to windows where ragged clothes hung out to dry. I enjoyed watching the unloading of blunt-nosed ships, their decks piled high with loads of firewood and tangles of cordage, the air redolent with pungent wood-odours; and I learnt to recognize the gondolier's cry, a half-salute, half-warning, which always seemed to be answered from somewhere within the labyrinth that is Venice. I soon came to understand that, behind the gaudy façade, much of Venice was quite different from the pretty city of the watercolours. But this caused me little concern, for whether it be the clumsy little garden perched half-way up a crumbling wall, or the chipped marble steps of a lonely church which descended directly into the canal, or the filthy, narrow street in which wretched-looking children played noisily, each picture of the city occasioned me pleasure, and I learnt to hold these various images close to my dark bosom.

  I soon settled into the house, and frequently observed my landlord as he repaired what he had clearly not attended to for years. I surmised that the house must have once belonged to a wealthy Venetian family, for there were traces of splendour about its balconies and the mouldings of its windows. However, among its more problematic imperfections were the shutters, which were beginning to part from their rusty hinges so that, at night, when the wind blew, the combination of the unfortunate woodwork and the squally weather created the most unpleasant ghostly noises. My landlord claimed that, only some few years past, the walls of his 'mansion' had been hung with arras and gilded leather, and sumptuously decorated with armour and portraits of the finest quality. Apparently these items, plus the red velvet armchairs, the mahogany tables and the iron lanterns that adorned each room, had been stolen by a rogue who had secured the place on favourable terms and then fled into the night, once his debts had mounted beyond his control. These furnishings had, of necessity, been replaced with inferior pieces. At first I listened with sympathy to my landlord's many tales of woe, but sadly I soon came to understand this man to be a dishonourable vagabond. I became aware that a great number of the deficiencies that he sought to remedy, and for which he presented me with a hefty demand note, were, in fact, part of his general responsibility and should have been attended to without the 'present' of money from my pocket. This I learnt from my merchant, who, on visiting me, seemed anxious to know why my daily peace was disrupted by this man's tiresome labouring. Together we challenged my landlord, who pleaded ignorance of our charges, but who none the less refunded a sum amounting to a healthy figure. At this juncture, my merchant suggested that I should engage a fellow of his acquaintance who might act as an attendant and help me to avoid such unpleasantness in the future.

  It happened that my attendant was a man whose family were traditionally gondoliers. He confided to me that his class, the gondolier class, were frugal in their habits, spending little on food and drink, preferring a routine of sustenance that seldom varied. Apparently, some gondoliers neglect to cover the wood on the arms of their chairs, and often tolerate beds that are little more than narrow cots with iron bedsteads, while others mix water with the wine in their hogsheads, which renders it either dead or sour. By living life in this manner, gondoliers are able to indulge their weak side, relating to their love of fine clothes and costume. According to my attendant, when exterior show is deemed necessary, a gondolier never hesitates over cost. If the fashion dictates extravagance, then a gondolier will display extravagance. Sadly, it transpired that my man, being the third son, was unlikely to benefit from the family 'business', so, to his great disappointment, he was forced to enter the service of the army where, for twenty years, he had occupied himself without rising in anyone's estimation, either on or off the battlefield. On our first evening together, he spoke endlessly and with passion about the lives of gondoliers, and he confessed his regret that he had not been able to pursue this family profession.

  The gondola, he informed me, was unique to Venice, its great and impressive length obeying the impulse of a single rower, or sometimes two. It had only recently been decreed that these boats should be painted black, and black only, for some among the richer families of the city had begun to offend dignity by painting their vessels in a variety of gaudy colours in the hope of drawing attention to themselves. I was, of course, familiar with these vessels which dominated the waters of this city of the sea, but I listened eagerly as my attendant expounded upon their unique features. He gave me to understand that it requires only a delicate turn of the wrist for these artists – gondoliers – to guide their boats wherever they will, and he suggested that, with the sea and sky in one's sole possession, and the opportunity to indulge in contemplation that was afforded by both solitude and space, surely this was the perfect way to travel. Apparently gondoliers become very devoted to their boats, studying their characters and temperaments, and a large part of their skill depends upon this intimacy of knowledge. Many hours of each day are spent sponging, scrubbing and drying the boat so that every scratch, nail or blemish is known and recorded. A gondolier who attends lovingly to his boat can expect it to last him for five years or so, after which time he can sell the hull for a decent sum, and this former gondola will probably do duty for some years as a ferry on a back canal, all the while losing its graceful curves as the woodwork fails. The gondolier, however, will ensure that he keeps about him the canopy, the cushions, the carpeting and seats, and other fixtures, for these are often individual in design and part of the family inheritance. I listened with great interest, and felt that we were establishing the beginning of some form of understanding, but regrettably this conversation marked both the onset and the conclusion of our amity, for the next day an incident occurred that seemed to change this man's opinion of my character.

  It had been the custom of a Venetian woman of middle years and frantic passion to visit me occasionally while I stayed at my merchant's house. Indeed, it was my merchant who suggested that it would be quite unnatural for an unattached man of my station not to have some legitimate avenue in which his pleasures might be indulged. For the aristocratic Venetian marriage was a carefully controlled economic and political ritual, and it was therefore important to keep the bloodlines pure. This being the case, prostitution was not only tolerated but positively encouraged, for it enabled the aristocratic man to indulge his desires without endangering the sanctity of his class. The woman whom my merchant deemed suitable to play host to my natural instincts was pleasant enough, and conversation formed part of her trade with me. However, on her first appearance during my new attendant's service, she found herself being rudely dismissed from the doorstep, despite her pleas that she had most definitely arrived at the correct house. I overheard this disturbance and was shocked by the vulgar intemperance of my attendant's tongue, therefore I intervened on the side of my woman friend and quickly ushered her into my chamber. I immediately endeavoured to engage her in some conversation in the hope that the unpleasantness of what had just occurred might be quickly forgotten. Fortunately, after some tedious pouting and a predictable display of hurt emotions, she soon calmed down and, upon my urging, began to explain to me the rules of courtship that are peculiar to Venetians of all classes.

  I learnt that, in this city of Venice, courtship is both lengthy and expensive. Young men attempt to find their future loved ones by sailing the canals, or walking the streets, all the while looking up to windows and balconies. Having identified an object of attraction, the young man has to discover whether she is available to be approached by him, and this he is able to do in a variety of ways. He might continually pass by her house and observe whether he is being watched, he might offer flowers, or he might even sing to her. She will, if she is interested, soon let him know this fact by her continual appearance, or perhaps by bestowing a smile upon him. At this signal, the suitor dresses in
his best clothes and, together with his closest friend, he will call on the father of the girl and formally request permission to court her. If the father is satisfied with the boy and his profession, he will set a time limit – usually two months – in which the pair might meet and decide whether they are suited. At the end of this time, if love does not prosper they will part and nothing further is mentioned of the matter. However, if love blooms, the parents of the girl nominate a day, and the young man and his whole family are invited to a supper at which the two families will be formally introduced. After the food, the lover requests the hand of the girl and he presents her with a gift. The father will usually give his consent, then make a speech on the blessings and important duties of the married state.

  I listened, somewhat dumbfounded by the complex details that my woman friend seemed to be delighting in sharing with me, but to my astonishment there was yet more to this performance. A day or so after this supper at which the families meet, it seems that the father of the girl has to organize yet another supper which the young man must attend, this time bearing a wedding ring, and other rings, all of which pass into the girl's keeping. Apparently, should she abandon her suitor at any point after this, she is obliged to hand back the rings. Should, however, the man find reason to change his mind, then the girl keeps everything. At this point my woman friend showed me her richly bedecked fingers, from which I was able to surmise that, on more than one previous occasion, a young man had found reason to change his mind. Between this day of the rings and the wedding itself, many further presents are exchanged between would-be bride and bridegroom. The girl is expected to furnish silk handkerchiefs or neckties that are traditionally embroidered with her lover's initials, or his name, and the man is encouraged to give simple gifts such as fruit, raw mustard seed, cake, and, at Christmas, roast chestnuts. However, on no account must he give a comb, for this is deemed to be a witch's instrument, and books or pictures of saints are thought to bring misfortune. And then, my woman friend announced with a smile, there is only the wedding.