Daughters of the Doge (26 page)

Their cynicism suddenly brought home to me the real and day-to-day meaning of my belief in the Protestant Church. I did not understand the great arguments about the sacraments, and had tended to rely on what Lady Jane had told me – if only because it was impossible to gainsay her. Nor had I ever really felt anything for the politics that set one church against another. I distrusted the fine words of plump cardinals in scarlet and gold. In the end, deep down, what held me to the Protestant faith was my instinctive desire for plain and unadorned truth.

That recognition must have calmed me, for I found I had turned towards home and was passing the Oratorio dei Crocifieri, a modest, two-storeyed building, faced in peeling yellow stucco. The doors and windows were small and unassuming, but what caught my eye were the four mighty chimneys above; the returning Crusaders of the thirteenth century must have felt the cold, I thought, after their many years fighting in distant lands. Nothing seemed to have changed in the last three hundred years, and coughs, groans and frightened weeping could be heard from inside. My mind went to Thomas, who was probably still working there, helping the sick and frail through the measles attack.

No sooner had I thought of him than he appeared, almost bumping into me as he joined my pathway home. He asked what my day had brought and I began to tell him about Suor Faustina and her imprisonment in the convent. As I did so, the image of the bloated cardinal came back to me and my anger returned. Having Thomas to talk to was a release and I found myself almost ranting about the unfairness of it all, and about the rich nobles and cardinals who rode roughshod over others while pretending piety. I blamed the nobility, but most of all I blamed the Catholic Church. I knew it was a mistake as I spoke, but somehow it kept coming. Thomas walked quietly beside me as I vented my spleen about the world in general and his church in particular.

We walked for perhaps a mile, along quiet backstreets and narrow lanes. Finally I ran out of venom and paused for breath.

‘I am sorry your visit was so loathsome to you, Richard. Would you like to ask me about my day at the Oratorio?’

There was admonition in every inflection of his voice and I knew immediately I had gone too far. It was always thus.

‘What about my day, you may ask? Old people dying of measles. We lost eleven people today, largely because they are too undernourished to fight. Look at that old woman over there!’

He pointed to an old crone, bent low, gnarled hands clutching the top of a stout stick to help her on her painful way. She was dressed in rags, and insufficient of them to keep out the cold, and I was suddenly aware of my warm coat, clutched around me as the evening cooled to night. I watched her, shuffling forward painfully in her own nightmare, and could not think what I could or should say. Thomas made me stop on a bridge and watch as the old woman disappeared around a corner. The shuffling sound of her retreating footsteps was somehow even more painful than the sight of her had been.

‘Think, Richard. Do you believe your nun is the only one who is badly or unfairly treated in this world, or even in this city?’ He turned to me and I knew that beneath his controlled words he was furious. ‘Can you comprehend, Richard, that you are not the only person in this city today who has seen sights he finds distasteful? Are you perhaps also not the only one here today who feels impotent to offset, or ameliorate, the pain of God’s will for these people?’

I went to reply, but he was not going to let me escape so easily, and put his hand emphatically on my chest. ‘Let me ask you this. Are you absolutely sure you are not being just a little bit disingenuous when you take your high moral stance against the painter’s patron? Would your feelings for this nun Faustina have been the same had she been sixty years of age and crippled with illness? Would she have gained the immediate priority in your attentions had she been anything less than the “frightened but spirited colt” you described so eloquently to me just now? How much is human compassion and how much is lust? I would prefer you consider the answers to all these questions and satisfy yourself that you are not found wanting before attacking my Church and the nobility of this ancient city.’

Again I went to defend myself – even to apologize – but still he would not let me go. I had to stand there in the near-dark, the mist starting to rise from the dank canal, and take it.

‘Do not be too quick to judge, Richard, for others may be judging you also. In my experience, it is frequently easier to recognize the wrongs in this world than it is to find the solutions with which to put them right, and to make them work. Whether you believe that this is a nasty, brutal, ungodly little world, or whether you believe, as I do, that these things were put here by God to try us, the fact remains that there is a very wide gap between those who have and those who have not. If we cannot change that fact, our role in life could at least be to try to reduce the discomfort which arises from it.’

It was too much. I was unwilling to retreat further. I pushed my face close to his, eyes blazing.

‘Like those Catholic cardinals and clergy, I suppose, who spend their lives taking from the poor while standing between them and their God, telling them to respect their natural place in society!’

Thomas went pale, but kept his control, perhaps better than I was doing.

‘Grow up, Richard. Be a realist; the Catholic Church is the single greatest source of succour to the poor in any of the countries in Europe. All the wealth that flows to the Church to enable it to do its good works comes from wealthy patrons, and the church is hardly going to bite the hand that feeds it. These are difficult issues, which many great men have failed to solve in the past and many will no doubt struggle with in the future. Rather than discomfit me with your frustrations, perhaps you should improve your Greek at Padua University, and then, in addition to medicine, study Plato, Aristotle, Socrates and the other great philosophers who have agonized over these same issues. What is the
rinascita
but an attempt to return to the truths which were discovered in ancient Greece and lost again? You are not alone, and if you do not want to end up alone, please do not attack those who would help you. Each of us has to find his own truth, and after your years with Lady Jane, I acknowledge that you may find a different truth from mine. But I believe we both seek the same human outcome. Let us, at least, not fall out over that.’

We walked home in silence. As we walked my mood changed, from hating him for his contrariness to recognizing how hard it must have been for him to say the things he had said, and respecting and loving him for his honesty.

We reached the Ca’ da Mosto and both of us seemed aware that the mood would break as soon as we encountered the earl. I stopped in the doorway and shook his hand. ‘The truth hurts, Thomas, but I thank you for it. I apologize unreservedly for what I said.’

He shook my hand and gripped my elbow with the other. ‘There is no more to say. Let’s move on – together.’

C
HAPTER
31

March the 10th 1556 – Ca’ da Mosto

I woke with a headache, still smarting from the previous day’s argument with Thomas. He had been right, and had showed me to be an impetuous fool whose mouth worked faster than his head. I regretted every aspect of our argument, apart from the lesson it had taught me, and that had been an uncomfortable one.

I resolved to be more thoughtful in what I said, and to think ahead more carefully before letting my tongue loose. Today would be a good opportunity to test my resolve, as I had to break the news to the earl about my conversations with the painters, and try to get him to agree that I should commission Tintoretto at the offered price.

I convinced myself in advance that it would go badly. Staring out of the window at a wet morning, the mist so thick that I could not see across the canal, I argued my side of the case and then responded to myself on his behalf, making reservations and finding problems. I realized, as I climbed the staircase, that I was falling into my old trap of approaching a discussion already angry.

Why, I wondered,
was
I so angry all the time? Looking around me in Venice, my life was better than most people’s, so what did I have to complain about? I compared myself with Thomas, and came to the conclusion that I was expecting too much, and getting frustrated at my inability to convert all my dreams into realities. I tried to look at it from Courtenay’s point of view, as Thomas would have advised. The Earl had asked me to find an artist to paint his portrait. As he was both the subject and the patron, was it not reasonable that he should approve the artist, the approach and the price to be paid? Armed with this more reasoned view, I knocked on his door.

‘Your Grace. The artist Titian is, as I informed you, unavailable. I have had similar discussions with the house of Veronese and he is also overburdened . . .’

I could see that the earl was already irritated. What he wanted was the solution, not a list of my failures. I continued, as rapidly as I could.

‘However, I have found an artist of outstanding workmanship and reputation, who has agreed, in view of your elevated position, not only to fit you into his busy schedule, but to paint your portrait at a special price. The price I have negotiated is fifty ducats. This is lower than Titian asks and equal to that asked by Veronese. However the terms of the arrangement are better than Veronese’s office proposed: there will be no deposit and payment will only be made upon satisfactory completion.’

To my delight and complete surprise, the earl did not complain, nor did he try to improve upon my proposed price. ‘Excellent, Richard. It seems you have found the right man. Do you have a list of his recent patrons?’ I had expected the question and handed over a prepared list. He scanned the noble names and appeared satisfied.

‘You agreed the size? The format to be head and shoulders, with hands visible – I do believe hands tell so much about a person.’

I confirmed that all these matters had been discussed and agreed.

‘Excellent. And what about a date to commence sitting? There is a degree of urgency, you know.’

Again, I explained that the preference for an early commencement had been discussed, and agreed in principle. I was beginning to feel more confident. There was no point upon which I had not secured an acceptable response, and for the first time I could foresee myself returning to Tintoretto’s workshop and meeting the model in those paintings.

‘Do I have your authority to proceed, Your Grace?’

I saw his face change and knew I had made an error. He hated being cornered and I was pushing him too hard. ‘I shall think about it, Richard. I always say it does no harm to dwell on a decision for a while. It gives an opportunity for unconsidered issues to emerge and for judgement to be applied fully. I shall think about it. Thank you for your efforts.’

My heart sank. It was so typical of the man. I was dismissed. Reaching my own room once again, I looked out across the canal. The morning fog was burning off and the prospect of meeting Tintoretto’s model was disappearing with it. Nevertheless, I resolved to keep my temper, and to keep trying. I would secure a contract with Tintoretto and I would meet that woman. It just required tact, diplomacy and persistence. At least I had the latter; I should have to work on the other two but, remembering that face, I knew it would be worth the effort.

I tried, as Thomas so often did, to look on the brighter side of life. There must be some good news. One thing did seem to be improving: they had called off the guards, so the threat must have disappeared.