Daughters of the Doge (17 page)

‘Boys! What can you do?’

As I left, the boy grinned up at me, and I gave the back of his head a friendly cuff.

‘Goodbye. See you next time.’

As I walked along the
fondamenta
he called after me. ‘I’ll save you a pretty one.’

C
HAPTER
19

February the 15th 1556 – Campo Ghetto Nuovo, Cannaregio

Once again I was lost. In the hope of improving my bearings, I had been trying to get back to the place where we had first arrived in Venice.

I had walked west, along the Fondamenta della Misericordia, and turned left, crossing a large bridge, to look at a shop window which had caught my eye. Once over the bridge I had wandered on, until I found myself in a maze of tiny alleyways whose character seemed quite different from the rest of the city. The people looked different, too, some with red hats, others with a circular patch of yellow cloth displayed on their breast. Furthermore, some of the signs were in a form of writing I was totally unfamiliar with.

I pushed my way excitedly into this busy corner. Arriving at the
campo,
I realized that I was within some sort of enclave, though whether it was organised to keep the outsiders out or the insiders in was not clear. The clothing was rich and colourful: the men wore turbans and the women wore tall, stiff caps decorated with jewels.

There was a vibrancy about the whole area which intrigued me. I felt no concern for my safety as I pushed deeper into the throng, now enclosed by the tallest buildings I had seen since arriving in Venice. Singing was coming from the door of a narrow building and I edged towards it, tentative but fascinated. The language was foreign, but the lilting cadences beautiful. The singing stopped and an old bearded man saw me standing by the door and beckoned me in.

‘Come forward. Welcome to the Camp of the Hebrews. Are you English?’

‘Why do you ask if I am English?’ I was working hard at fitting into this Venetian world and was disappointed that my foreign origins were so immediately obvious.

He smiled; a kindly smile but knowledgeable. ‘You English always appear tentative and reserved. It is your nature, I believe.

Come. All are welcome in God’s house. Welcome to the Scola Canton.’ He waved me into the doorway and I followed, perhaps not quite as tentative and reserved as he expected me to be.

Once inside, all was different. The room looked like a church, with carved pews along each side, but instead of an altar at the end there was what appeared to be a great throne. The ceiling was vaulted, letting in masses of light, and it was adorned with many intricate golden chandeliers. The walls were hung with crimson curtains, and the floor was covered with rich yellow and ochre tiles.

The man introduced himself as Rabbi Isach Piatelli, and quickly established who I was and the reason for my presence in the Jewish quarter. I asked why all the Jews seemed to be concentrated into this one small area.

‘A law was passed by the Maggior Consiglio in 1516, under which the Jews were instructed to live in the Ghetto Nuovo. Do not be concerned on our behalf; it is normal – the Muslims and the
Tedeschi
(what you English call the Germans) are similarly housed. We are constrained, but also protected by the Republic of Venice from the wrath of the Catholic Church in Rome. Twenty-three years ago, the Pope instructed that all Jewish books were to be burned. Here they made a great fuss of burning some old stuff for a couple of days then left us alone again. “Trade before religion,” that’s the Venetian motto; and we Jews are too important to the trade of the city to be driven out. So we stay here and make our own life. It works.’

Rabbi Piatelli was a small man, slightly stooped and pale beneath his long beard, but as with Doge Venier the eyes that looked out at me from beneath hooded brows were steely and intelligent.

‘So here we have a conundrum: a Jewish rabbi explaining the workings of Catholic Venice to an English . . . Protestant?’ He had guessed right and I nodded. He smiled in return, and in that quick smile I felt I could see a thousand years of history.

‘Are we all so different?’ I asked him. He smiled again, recognizing that it had been a leading question.

‘Welcome to the persecuted,’ he replied. ‘It is strange how it forms new bonds. I understand from what I hear amongst the merchant travellers that England is also not a land of religious tolerance these days.’

I had to admit that he was right. I also expressed my surprise and disappointment that the Jewish community should be so constrained here, while Catholics and Protestants enjoyed free access and relatively free speech, so long as they did not try to increase the influence of the Pope or slow down the sacred process of making money.

This time there was weariness in the rabbi’s face.

‘The Republic of Venice is not a natural phenomenon but a man-made object which has been very artfully designed. To have created this great city on a base of mud and sand is a feat of human ingenuity which I have to applaud. What is more, Venice’s control of the seas has given it an economic power well beyond the means of these little islands: another great achievement. But with the weakening of its economic power since the Portuguese found the sea route to the east, the edifice is beginning to crumble: people are beginning to understand that the might and invincibility of La Serenissima is like that of a great bronze statue – hollow. And never forget that this particular hollow statue stands on a base of sand and mud.’

‘If the place is crumbling around us, why do you stay?’

He shrugged, the gesture pure Venetian. ‘I cannot change the world. But in accepting that, there is no reason I should not observe it and seek to understand it.’

He led me to a small room adjacent to the main synagogue and motioned me to sit. Then he put his fingertips together and sat in silence for a moment. Finally he smiled, as if decided, and leaned forward. ‘You indicated that you are Protestant, not Catholic?’

I confirmed this, emphatically.

‘Then let us take something you and I have in common: the Ten Commandments. Your Protestant church shares the Commandments with the Hebrew original in the Written Torah. The Catholic Church, on the other hand, only recognizes nine of these commandments and, having omitted the second (for where would they all be without the worship of graven images?), they have conveniently split the tenth into two, to make up the numbers. Whilst we both instruct that thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s house, wife, servant or goods as part of one commandment, the Catholics separate the coveting of wives from the coveting of other goods and chattels.’

He smiled again; a wry smile. Was this, I wondered, a natural instinct for the persecuted? Did they learn from an early age not to antagonize the oppressors but instead to smile – always smile, while keeping their true thoughts to themselves? ‘Perhaps the Catholic women prefer not to be included in a list of chattels?’ The smile was fixed now, and the eyes combative.

I smiled back, I hoped knowingly, attempting to hide the fact that I had not, until this moment, appreciated the subtle differences between the two faiths on these matters.

‘Now!’ He steepled his fingertips again. ‘Let us consider the interpretation of these commandments in this fair city. Number one: “I am the Lord thy God. Thou shalt have no other God before me.” Listen carefully and you will hear the Venetians whisper, “apart from money, that is . . .”

‘The second: “Thou shalt not make unto thee a graven image, nor bow down unto them.” This is the one the Catholics omit, and you only have to visit a Venetian church to see which side the Venetians are on. So it would be fair to conclude that Venice is a Catholic State.

‘The third and fourth are observed, for blasphemy is rare in Venice and the Sabbath day is observed with regularity.

‘In the fifth, “Honour thy father and mother”, the Venetians really are interested, for the governance of the state is completely controlled by the
nobili,
those nobles whose families first controlled the islands. Of course, these nobles are careful to ensure that the citizens of the merchant classes gain beneficial employment as the lawyers and administrators of the Doge’s chancery and the Republic’s civil service, but together they ensure that the ordinary people, the
popolani,
have their place, know it, and keep to it. So honour works upwards, but less so downwards.’ He shrugged his shoulders again. ‘It helps to have noble parents if it’s honour you seek.’

‘The sixth commandment would appear to be straightforward. “Thou shalt not kill” seems simple enough, and for the nobles it is simple indeed, for with poverty amongst the masses, the price of a man’s head is pitifully low, and a noble does not have to break the commandments himself when
bravi
can be hired for a pittance to do the job for him.’

I was beginning to feel uncomfortable as the list progressed. Was the great Republic of La Serenissima really so cynical and debauched? But Rabbi Piatelli had a list of ten items in his head and I could see, by his remaining straight fingers, that ten was what I was going to hear, whether I liked it or not.

‘Seven: “Thou shalt not commit adultery.” The few men of the nobili who are allowed to get married lock their wives away, making any contravention of the commandment (by the wives, at least) impossible.’

I opened my mouth to speak, but was prevented from doing so by the remorseless march of the rabbi’s list of commandments.

‘Eight: “Thou shalt not steal.” He winked at me. ‘But if you are a Venetian, and in a position of power, you can levy taxes, demand brokerage fees, and apply any rules of unfair competition you like to diminish the position of foreigners who are taking more than their fair share out of the pot.’ He opened his hands wide. ‘So who needs to steal?’

I shook my head. Nothing new there, then. I remembered the manoeuvrings of the English Court and somehow knew it would be the same wherever one group of men had power over others.

‘Nine,’ I looked up. We were nearly there. ‘ “Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbour . . .”’ He shrugged, ‘. . . if he, like you, is of noble blood and can take you through legal process before the
proweditori.
Otherwise, you can do what you like, for your powerful friends will protect you – that’s what the system is there for. That’s why Jews have difficulty acting as money-lenders here; not because usury is illegal or against our religion, but because our contracts are not enforceable in the law.

‘And ten. “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s wife.” Unless you are a noble and she is low-born, in which case you take her as a mistress and know that there is precious little anyone, including her husband, can do about it. “Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s house, servants or possessions.” Once again, it depends who you are. I can promise you that if you are a Jew and your neighbour is a noble Venetian, your possessions are daily at risk.’

He sat back, seemingly pleased with his little profile of the city and its ways.

‘So you see, La Serenissima has her own ways and her own interpretations. You can do business here. You will normally be safe here and you can have a great deal of pleasure here, if that is what you want. But never fall into the trap of believing you will be treated equally, for you will not.’

He stood, perhaps realizing that he had held me for longer than either of us had intended. We were at the end of our conversation, and I also stood to leave. There was much of the city I still wanted to explore. Rabbi Piatelli led me to the door. ‘This is a successful city, but a greedy one, and wholly self-centred. Enjoy it, but be aware.’