The door of the box was opening and Domenico stood to welcome the friends they had invited to join them that evening. Marietta was relieved to have no more conversation with him. Then an unexpected development in the opera house itself made it impossible for her to remain cross. As usual, the gallery was crammed with gondoliers, who were admitted free to await their masters or those demanding public fares at the opera’s end, but on this occasion they had decided to rival the singers on the stage. With many splendid voices among them, they turned every solo into a duet and caused the auditorium to thunder in the choruses as their voices blended with those on the stage. It was all done with good will and at the end the whole audience rose in a standing ovation, the singers behind the footlights and those in the gallery taking their bows.
Elena, applauding merrily herself, glanced across at the Torrisi box. She could not quite see Domenico as Marietta and the other women were in front of the men, but she was grateful for that extraordinary encounter. In spite of the hard look he had given her, she could believe that he was a man of justice and that her daughter’s future was safe in his hands.
When Elena arrived home Filippo was out. First she made sure his valet was nowhere in the vicinity and then she went through the communicating door that led from her bedchamber to Filippo’s. His was a long, rectangular room with two Gothic windows overlooking the Grand Canal and a large four-poster, draped in dark green and gold brocade, set in an alcove. Among the several pieces of richly carved Venetian furniture, there was a tall cupboard with doors that opened to reveal many smaller doors with partitions and drawers where Filippo kept various items such as a pair of dueling pistols, spare silver shoe buckles, and sets of valuable buttons. But he had also allotted several sections for certain correspondence and important papers he wanted close at hand. It was these that Elena had been searching through at any opportunity, on the off chance that something from one of those meetings with his brothers might be among them.
After a final half hour of sifting through them down to the last batch, she decided that all such notes must be in Maurizio’s keeping, for he always came and left on those occasions with a leather file under his arm. She had already searched everywhere else she could think of, although she was sure that if Filippo had such documentation it would be in this cupboard. She had even searched for a secret drawer, pushing and sliding and pressing the carving on every possible section. She had found one eventually, but it had contained only two articles wrapped in silk. One was an antique ring with a large jewel that sprang open to reveal a powder that might well have been poison. There were several such rings among the jewelry in the treasure room, although their contents were gone. The other item was a small erotic painting on wood, which she guessed to be even older than the ring. Since both these things were of such antiquity she wondered if Filippo even knew they were there.
As this final search had come to nothing, Elena decided she must continue to rely on her eavesdropping and trust that something would eventually be revealed. She loathed having to stoop to such means and she was in terror all the time that someone might suddenly open the door and find her there, but it was the least she could do for Domenico and through him for her child. She returned to her own room and summoned her maid to help her get ready for bed.
When Filippo entered his bedchamber later that night it seemed to his keen nostrils that Elena’s lovely perfume hung faintly in the air. But then he was always acutely aware of anything that reminded him of her. It was incredible to him that he should continue to be attracted to her fair beauty even though he hated her for failing to give him children. He knew he should set himself free of her. The poison of his mother’s advice had seeped into his blood as she must have known it would, and he could not rid himself of it. His conflicting emotions kept his temper constantly near the edge. There were times when he struck Elena out of fury at himself, that he should be so intoxicated by a useless wife when he could have had her life snuffed out in a score of ways that would have cast no suspicion on himself.
Yet he could not tolerate the thought of Elena’s beauty being sullied in death by violence at the hands of others. Neither could he carry out the task himself. He, who had never been troubled by killing, would find it impossible ever to take a knife or a bludgeon to her. Smothering would preserve her looks, but he knew that at the sight of her spread tresses gleaming gold he would hurl away the pillow. When he had half strangled her it was in a blind rage and not from any real attempt to end her life. Never before had any woman held him in such thrall. He detested her for it and at the same time he had only to think of her to feel desire stir.
Bianca reminded him of Elena. He paused in the act of pulling off his lace cravat as he pictured her. She had the same porcelain beauty and could easily have been Elena’s younger sister. Occasionally the nuns brought the girl to take refreshment with his wife. He liked to be present if he could, but these visits were usually arranged when he was at the Senate. At thirteen Bianca was like a young peach with small round breasts and a mass of silver-gilt hair that cascaded down her back under the white Pietà veil. Although shy, she never held back from talking to him and he believed he had her pity for his facial scar. He smiled to himself. That scar had the same effect on older women, and, without exception, it made them extraordinarily malleable to his wishes.
But he had other matters on his mind at present. He had told his valet not to come to put his clothes away for half an hour. He had to read a letter that had been handed to him that evening and he did not want to be disturbed. He removed his satin coat and felt in his pocket for the letter. Then he sat down in a chair and lounged back as he read. A look of intense satisfaction spread across his face: finally, a missing piece had been inserted into the most perfect case against Domenico Torrisi that could ever have been drawn up.
When he had finished reading, he rose to look at his reflection in the mirror. Slowly he drew his fingertips down the deep scar. It was to be avenged at last.
In the morning, after breakfast, Filippo went to sit at his desk for quite a while, writing a letter. When it was finished and signed he went with it to the palace of a fellow senator who added his own signature. A third name was needed, and, by arrangement, a nobleman of their acquaintance who had his own reasons for wishing Domenico out of the Senate arrived to pen his signature to the paper. A glass of wine was drunk to mark the occasion and then Filippo left for the Ducal Palace.
There, he passed through the Hall of the Bussola, pausing only briefly by a box built into the wall. This was one of many such boxes in the Ducal Palace and about the city that were known as Lion Mouths, for carved on each one was a leonine and sinister, fierce-eyed, bush-browed face with a gaping mouth above an inscription that had invited secret denunciations against traitors over the past five hundred years. The names of the three necessary accusers were never revealed. Although used less frequently than in the past, it was still a viable means of bringing suspected acts of treason to the notice of the state attorneys. Filippo slipped the letter of denunciation against Domenico through the grimacing stone lips and continued on his way.
The state attorneys who received the letter were inclined to be skeptical because of the Celano signature, yet all such cases required serious investigation. Treason was the most reviled of crimes, and one doge had been beheaded for it. The attorneys began their careful work. First of all the three signatories were interviewed, and what came to light was sufficient for the Doge to be consulted.
Domenico was leaving the Doge’s Palace one afternoon when, in one of the halls, a nobleman who he knew well came forward to block his path. Domenico greeted him.
“How are you, Signor Bucello? What news? Shall you walk along with me? I’m in some haste to get home. It was a long meeting.”
“I’ll accompany you. Let us go this way.” The nobleman indicated another direction, which led to the Hall of the Chief Inquisitor.
“That is not my route.”
“I fear it is today
.”
Then Domenico realized that something was seriously amiss. He nodded and went with the nobleman until they reached a door, which was opened for him. He entered the square room with its gilt-leathered walls. A state attorney sat at a table with the Chief Inquisitor, their expressions grave.
“What is this, signori?” Domenico questioned sternly.
The Inquisitor rose to his feet. “I have to inform you that you are being suspended from the Senate and all your duties by order of the Doge while your political activities are being investigated. You are still a free citizen and it is asked only that you keep me informed of your whereabouts and do not attempt to leave the Republic.”
“You have my word as a loyal Venetian,” Domenico replied, showing nothing of the concern he felt. He did not ask any questions, since the decree was absolute and his chance would come if anything was found against him. After bowing, he turned and once more the door was swung wide for him to pass through. He breathed deeply as he continued on his way, knowing himself to be more fortunate than the countless others for whom the door of that sinister room had never opened again.
When he broke the news to Marietta she was extremely worried. He tried to reassure her. “I’ve not been accused of anything yet and the whole incident may pass over. As a precautionary measure I have already consulted lawyers who are fellow patricians and my friends.”
“I tried to warn you—as Elena begged me—that something like this might happen!”
“I know you did.”
“Filippo is the instigator of this trouble!”
“We don’t know that. I admit it’s likely, but we must wait and see. The investigation is likely to take some weeks. Let us go to the villa and spend the time in the countryside.”
She welcomed the suggestion, always glad to be there.
They had six weeks in the tranquillity of the villa and came closer to one another than they had ever been. Then one day, having just returned from a walk with Domenico and Elizabetta, Marietta was upstairs removing her hat and cape when she heard visitors arrive. Giving a quick pat to her hair, she went downstairs to greet them. When she saw that it was three officials who had arrived with two armed guards, she froze.
“Signor Torrisi,” the senior official was saying solemnly, “in the name of the Doge and the Most Serene Republic I arrest you on the charge of treason!”
Marietta suppressed a cry and flew to Domenico’s side to put a hand on his arm. He was speechless. Not once had he suspected that such a monstrous charge would have been trumped up against him. He had been fully prepared for some word of his radical work to have leaked out, in which case he would have presented a full case in support of these changes for the state’s own good, even though the time to speak had come upon him sooner than he had wished. It did not matter that Filippo might have been the instigator. Domenico would have seen it as an opportunity to get the better of him as Antonio’s brother. But treason! Marietta had not said a word, but he could feel her trembling and put his hand over hers as he made his calm reply.
“I shall freely accompany you back to Venice in order to clear my name of this groundless charge.”
He and the official bowed to one another. Then he was allowed a few minutes alone with Marietta while his valet packed some necessary items. She was deeply upset. Domenico went to a drawer and handed her a sealed document from it, before taking her in his arms.
“Listen carefully to me, Marietta. This document gives you full authority to handle Torrisi affairs in my absence. I had it drawn up as a precaution, never supposing it would be needed. I should like you to go back to the palace as soon as possible.”
“I’ll do anything you say.”
“You must prepare yourself for a trial of long duration.”
“Why should that be when you’re innocent?”
“Because if Filippo is responsible—and I have no doubt anymore that he is—he has presented a network of lies and false evidence convincing enough to make the state attorneys support the charge and the Council of Ten to accept it.”
“Shall I be able to visit you?”
“I hope so, although in view of the severity of the charge it might not be permitted. You must draw on the courage I’ve always known you to have.”
“I love you,” she cried.
“As I love you,” he said softly, looking down into her desperate upturned face, “and will do so until my life’s end.”
The nurse had appeared with Elizabetta, who came running to them. Domenico turned to sweep the child up in his arms. She pointed her small finger in the direction of a mirror. “Over there, Papa! Let us play the mirror game!”
He shook his head. “You’re my little girl today, not the mirror’s.” When she saw how serious he was, she poked her fingers into the corners of his mouth to turn them up. He smiled to please her and she hugged him about the neck. “I have to hand you over to Mama now, because I’m going back to Venice.”
“I’ll come too!” she stated imperiously, never liking to be left behind.
Marietta took her from him. “Not today, Elizabetta. I’ll take you tomorrow.”
He held them both within the circle of his arms. Then, after putting his lips fondly to the child’s brow, he kissed Marietta long and deeply. “Take care of each other,” he said as he drew away.
Marietta hurried Elizabetta to watch as he went away down the drive. He turned to look back before disappearing from their sight as he descended the steps to the waiting boat with the senior official and the guards.
Her ordeal was not over. The two officials who had stayed behind searched the villa extensively, even demanding to read the document that Domenico had given her. When she returned to Venice she found the palace had been searched as well, but no damage had been done. It had been a pointless quest since all knew that every palace had many secret places that would never be discovered by a stranger.
After long questioning by the Chief Inquisitor the date for Domenico’s trial was set. It was held in the Hall of the Council of Ten in the Ducal Palace. Under its ornate and gilded ceiling, inset with a painting of the triumph of Venice, Domenico faced the court of his peers. During this time Marietta was allowed to visit him every evening for an hour, although the door was left open and a guard kept watch within earshot. On her first visit she took a miniature of herself from his bedchamber and another of Elizabetta, which she knew he would want with him.
“You must have read my mind,” he said, taking them from her.
He had a comfortable room in a less distinguished part of the Ducal Palace, since the Doge had no wish for him to be confined in discomfort until his guilt or innocence was proved. The case presented by the state was that Domenico had consorted with foreign governments to undermine the security of the Republic and replace the Doge with a revolutionary regime. It was so ludicrous that Domenico did not have the least qualm about the verdict.
“It is only a matter of time before the whole charge against me is thrown out,” he assured Marietta.
The trial proved to be as lengthy as he had predicted. His friends among the councillors demanded that every piece of evidence be checked and rechecked, which caused many delays. Then, gradually, everything began to take a serious turn as the work in which he had been engaged over a considerable period was misconstrued. His aim had been to encourage neighboring Italian republics and principalities to drive out foreign influences, such as that of Austria, and to form a league to strengthen themselves, which would in turn act as a buffer to protect the Venetian State.
“Temporarily this is the only means by which we can survive should any great foreign power rise up against us,” he explained under cross-examination. “I saw it all as a preventative measure until La Serenissima finally loses her complaisancy and wakes up to the fact that weakness, decadence, sloth, and an exultation in rich living—always her vice—have undermined her to the point that she could fall to the first aggressor!”
There was an uproar. He had offend
ed all but his staunchest allies. The prosecutor had to shout to make himself heard. “So you thought to hasten that end by scurrilous bribery and rabble-rousing along our very borders. I put it to you that you gave away state secrets to that end!”
“No!”
“Do you deny that you dealt in the smuggling of arms?”
“Yes! I also state that the only call to arms I have ever made has been for Venice to rise again to the forceful power she enjoyed in past centuries in order to defend what is hers against any aggressor!”
“What aggressor could possibly prove a danger? You must be aware that all neighboring states respect Venetian neutrality. That call is open to another interpretation. An incitement to riot!”
“No!” Domenico roared. “All I’ve ever wanted is to prevent bloodshed in the streets of the Republic. Not to cause it!”
The scales were already weighing against Domenico. He could not have been charged with treason at a worse time. It was 1789 and France was in the throes of a revolution. News had just reached Venice of the arrest of the French king and queen. Every Venetian nobleman at the trial abhorred the breakdown of law and order, which made those unconvinced by Domenico’s defense even more determined that treacherous activities should be stamped out before they could take hold.
Witnesses were called. The first was the Emperor of Austria’s own representative, who swore on oath that his nation had no territorial designs on the Most Serene Republic and respected its domains. Then came witnesses from some of the Italian states. Those who had been against the formation of a league spoke as unfavorably as they could of Domenico, saying his influence had been as radical, subversive, and harmful to the interests of their states as it had been to those of La Serenissima. Domenico and his lawyers were convinced that some of these witnesses had been heavily bribed, but their evidence sealed his fate. Even those of his peers who had been fully on his side now resigned themselves to his having gone too far. The guilty verdict was unanimous. Marietta, waiting with Adrianna and Leonardo outside the hall, fainted when the news was relayed to her.
Venetian Mask Page 29
