The Nature of Blood (11 page)

In the meantime, the Jews arranged that the word should be secretly passed among them that they would soon have to present themselves at the house of Servadio. On the night in question, Donato, the servant, was sent to guard the entrance to the house, and when all the Jews had arrived, the young boy – now plumper after a generous diet – was brought from the room where he had been held captive and was stripped down in the kitchen. He was frightened, for the Jews had about them an evil quality which, in their excitement, they found difficult to disguise. Then, without warning, Giocobbe of Colonia fixed a handkerchief to the boy's face so that he could not see, and then he clapped his hand over the child's mouth. Mercifully he was not quick enough, for two or three screams were heard on the outside, although none of the Christians, at this time, knew the true nature of their origins. The new basin was produced by Moses and he placed it under the boy. Thereafter, Giacobbe of Colonia quickly struck the little mammal a blow near his heart and watched as the fresh blood collected in the basin. As the sacrifice bled, the onlookers hissed blasphemies aimed at the Saviour and his mother, calling her a whore and the Saviour 'the dead one born out of wedlock'. Some went further and stuck out their tongues and exposed their private parts in an attempt to scorn and further disrespect the innocent young Christian victim.

Once the basin was full, and Sebastian New's veins drained
of blood, its contents were evenly distributed among the many jugs proffered
and then greedily drunk. Some was saved, for it would be dried into powder
and sprinkled on Seder wine and matzah. There followed some consultation as
to how best to dispose of the useless body. One among the Jews suggested the
river, but another Jew argued that, should the body float to the surface and
be discovered, the nature of the wound would give them away. It was Moses
who produced a sack and suggested that the body and clothes be bundled inside,
and he could be trusted to burn the contents in his huge oven. And so it came
to pass. But the Jews were not careful, and the evidence against them was
overwhelming. There were witnesses who saw the two Giocobbes on the road from
Trevisio in company with the boy. There were the women in Portobuffole who
also saw the boy, and, of course, there was the blacksmith who spoke to him.
There were others who clearly heard the screams of the innocent at the moment
of death, and an inspection of the contents of Moses' oven produced evidence
that something organic had recently been burnt. However, having been subjected
to torment, the most compelling evidence of all fell from the lips of the
three principals in the form of their confessions. Although fantastic and
monstrous in detail, they were consistent. All of this Andrea Dolfin duly
reported in the hope that his words might stir the
Council of Ten
into
action.

On receiving the magistrate's report, the
Council of Ten
found themselves in an impossible position. The severity and unusual nature of the punishment would not enhance the judicial reputation of the Most Serene Republic, and might well destroy her carefully cultivated relations with the Jews. But what could they do? Deny the work of the local judges and repeal the sentences? To do so would be to imply that half the population of Portobuffole had given false testimony. On 19 April, the
Council of Ten
placed the problem before a particularly animated meeting of the
Grand Council.
After much debate, it was finally decided that the executions should be suspended, and an emissary dispatched to Portobuffole to unearth further evidence.

The Venetian emissary gathered his new evidence in the company of Andrea Dolfin, and he discovered that some of it proved contradictory. However, a great deal of it confirmed the original allegations and the emissary felt compelled to rearrest Servadio's servant boy, Donato. Shortly after this heinous crime, the boy had forsaken Judaism and become a Christian, assuming the name of the murdered child, Sebastian. Under new examination by the Venetian emissary, this
new
Sebastian spontaneously confessed, without recourse to torture, and accused his master Servadio of the alleged crimes. He claimed that, before conversion, he had been privy to all the secrets of the enemy Jew, and he confirmed that it was written in the ancient writings that, without the shedding of human blood, Jews could neither obtain their freedom nor ever return to the promised land. Therefore, it was laid down that every year they must sacrifice a Christian to the Most High God in contempt of Christ, for it was owing to Christ's death that they had been shut out from their own country and were in exile in a foreign place.

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 of 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.