Domenico could have been tortured to death or executed in the Piazzetta for all to see, but mercy prevailed and he was condemned to life imprisonment. All his property and possessions were declared forfeit to the State. In the knowledge that Marietta and Elizabetta were now homeless, he was led away to be incarcerated in one of the cells known as the leads, high up under the flat-leaded roof in the Doge’s Palace, which housed only political prisoners. This time, there were no moments of farewell.
That night a great celebration was held at the Palazzo Celano as Filippo and his brothers rejoiced in the fall of the House of Torrisi. Elena was compelled to be present since there were many wives among the guests. To herself she derided her pathetic attempts to stave off the catastrophe that had occurred. No wonder Filippo had said upon her return from Paris that what he had in mind for Domenico would take a long time. How cleverly his spies had worked in their secret ways to penetrate Domenico’s work. How skillfully all had been twisted to turn good into evil. Maurizio had surely done much of the spinning with that sharp intelligence of his, which she had always feared.
At Domenico’s arrest she had gone through her dossier of notes and seen nothing that might help him. Yet, to be certain, she went masked to a lawyer and showed him all she had, obliterating names while presenting a seemingly hypothetical case. He had read them through and shaken his head.
“Such notes of hearsay, unsubstantiated by a second witness, and heard through a door without even sight of the speakers, are useless. Toss them away, signora. That is my advice.”
Now as she watched Filippo, drunk with wine and triumph, her loathing of him made her shudder. She saw him not only as a despoiler of her own life but of Elizabetta’s too. When Marietta lost her own baby it had been an unlooked-for chance for Elizabetta to grow up with loving parents. Now Filippo had smashed that family unit through his bitter vengeance.
“Why so solemn, Elena?” somebody jested, a wine-flushed face bobbing before her. “History has been made! The vendetta has come to an end!”
“So it has,” she acknowledged without expression. But not as she and Marietta had wished it to end, in friendship and goodwill. She thought sadly that every dream she had ever cherished had come to nothing.
Filippo, glancing across at Elena’s unsmiling face in the midst of the jubilation, scowled. He had achieved all he wanted except for an heir. Maybe for once in his life he should consider deeply the advice his mother had given him. It was still the means of disposing of Elena that was holding him back. She was his wife, and his revulsion at the thought of her being touched by any other man, even in death, had not changed.
MARIETTA WAS GIVEN twenty-four hours in which to leave the Palazzo Torrisi. When she had arrived home from the Ducal Palace after Domenico’s sentencing, state officials were there ahead of her, all Domenico’s keys in their possession. They allowed the treasure room, a necessity in every palace, to remain open long enough for her to remove her personal valuables, which included heirloom jewelry that Domenico had given her in addition to all the other magnificent pieces she had received from him at different times. They also allowed enough bags of money to be withdrawn from the coffers to pay off the household staff. Then the heavy doors were locked and sealed.
The packing of her own and Elizabetta’s personal possessions was managed competently by Anna. The woman was sickened by the cruel turn of fate that had thrown her mistress’s husband into prison and caused her to lose the best post she had ever held. She knew Signor Torrisi would have made provision for her in her old age.
In Domenico’s dressing-room, Marietta took advantage of her few moments alone to gather armfuls of his clothes. She rushed with them to where Anna knelt by a large traveling box.
“Quick, Anna! Pack my husband’s garments in layers between mine. He shall have good clothes and shoes even if he is a prisoner.”
Domenico’s wardrobe was so extensive that the absence of the few items she took would never be detected by strangers. She also included in her boxes some of his favorite books and maps. His jewelry had already been taken by the officials and sealed away, but she knew where he kept a valuable pocket-watch and took it from its hiding place. It had been his father’s and he had once said to her that in time to come it should be his son’s.
His son! Such a pang went through her that for the moment she could not move. How would another son, strong and healthy, be conceived now? There was the terrible possibility that she would be old and past childbearing when some merciful doge allowed the prison doors to be opened for Domenico at last.
“Signora!” A maidservant had come to find her. “The officials want to see you in the music room. The steward has told them the harpsichord there is yours.”
The dispute that followed was over whether the harpsichord, which was beautifully painted with scenes of Venice and had been a birthday gift from Domenico, should remain in Marietta’s possession or be forfeit to the State. Eventually it was decided that she could keep it, and she had it carried out of the palace immediately in case the favor should be revoked. It was to be transported by boat to her new address, the house where she and Elena had given birth. Leonardo, who had never made further alterations to the property, had offered the apartment to her as living accommodation, and she had gratefully accepted.
It was a sad moment for everyone in the household when Marietta, dressed for leaving, entered the ballroom to say farewell to all who had served her and her husband. She had Elizabetta, carrying a favorite doll, at her side. Even though Marietta knew from the ledgers how many were employed, she was surprised to see the full ninety of them lined up before her. The Torrisi gondoliers, who had been included on this occasion, were in their best liveries, as were all the other menservants present; the women were in fresh caps and aprons. She spoke a few words to each one, the steward following as he handed out their wages, plus extra money at her instruction, in individual leather bags. Most of the women were in tears, for they, like many of the men, were from families that had served the Torrisis through several generations.
Finally, when Marietta took Elizabetta by the hand, the head gondolier ran ahead to assist her into his gondola and take her away from her home. She did not look back. In a matter of an hour or two this palace, as well as the others that had belonged to Domenico, would be closed until the future of his properties and their contents was decided. The country villa where she had spent so many contented hours, and the one that Antonio had occupied in happier days, would similarly be locked and barred. Her gaze was set ahead. Her dual purpose in the future was to raise Elizabetta to the best of her ability and to seek clemency to reduce Domenico’s sentence. Proving his innocence was her ultimate aim.
Adrianna and Leonardo were waiting to welcome her. She saw at once that they had done all they could to help her settle into her new quarters. The salon was large enough to accommodate her harpsichord without over-crowding. The kitchen, which previously had been located downstairs, had been reinstalled in the room where she had given birth, completely changing its appearance, and the cooking range was as new as the woodwork and paint. She guessed that the conversion had been set in motion as soon as Domenico’s trial began to turn against him.
Elena, full of remorse, arrived to see her within the first half hour. “I failed you, Marietta! I had nothing to offer in Domenico’s defense and yet I knew it was all being plotted under my very nose.”
“Don’t reproach yourself. Domenico and I know you did your best and we’re very grateful.”
“How will you pass your time?” Elena looked about her in bewilderment. She had become so used to spacious rooms that the apartment, although large enough for Marietta’s requirements, seemed even smaller to her than when she had given birth in one of its rooms. Almost without realizing it, she moved toward a half-open door on an intended tour of inspection. Then she came to an abrupt standstill as she saw Elizabetta asleep on a bed.
Marietta came to her side. “Go to her if you wish.”
/> Elena shook her head and drew the door shut. “No,” she said, putting a hand to her throat. “She is your child. I dare not let my love for her overwhelm me.”
“I would never have had your strength of will.”
Elena smiled ruefully. “It’s cowardice. I don’t think I could bear any more hurt. In future I shall try to visit you after Elizabetta’s bedtime or when she is having an afternoon nap.”
“Adrianna has promised that her nursemaid will take charge of her with the other children whenever I want an hour or two for myself. If we wore bauta masks and mantillas you and I could go for a stroll together sometimes.”
“Let’s do that! Do you remember I always wanted to show you where I lived with Great-Aunt Lucia and also the house where I was born? The chance has never come my way before.”
They arranged to do this as soon as Marietta had time. For the present, she would be busy seeing anyone likely to help her get permission to visit Domenico. As yet he was not permitted to write to her lest he send orders in code for subversive action to those, still unidentified, who might have helped him. Marietta suspected there were many noblemen among them, but with his worthy plans uncovered and condemned out of hand, they had been unable to speak without the risk of suffering the same fate.
As she had feared, the Doge refused to grant her an audience. She approached his wife, whom she had entertained with the Doge many times at the Palazzo Torrisi, but again she was refused a hearing. There were some old friends of Domenico who did what they could for her, but as her husband had been labeled a traitor, his was a special case.
She was able to send him some furnishings since every political prisoner had the right to equip his own cell. As a result he had a rosewood table and chairs, a walnut bookcase full of volumes, two Persian rugs, a washstand that folded like a cupboard, and a comfortable bed with a supply of warm coverlets and good linen. In addition he had a chest of drawers for his clothes. He was allowed wine and whatever items of food she chose to hand in for him. Although he was not permitted to write letters she had sent him writing materials and a diary as well as a stock of candles.
She did not count the cost of anything, thankful to be able to lessen the misery of his incarceration by any means possible, but after payment had been made for these initial furnishings and supplies, she realized that what money she had would eventually run out. She had insisted on paying rent to Leonardo, and although it was a modest sum it would be needed on a regular basis. One small piece of her jewelry would keep her and Elizabetta in comfort for a long time, but she was reluctant to part with any of it in case she should have the chance to buy Domenico’s freedom at any time. Prisoners had escaped from those same cells. There was a man called Casanova who had once gotten away across the roofs. With money, she and Domenico could travel with Elizabetta to safety. She had written to all his brothers to inform them of what had happened. Although there was nothing they could do at present, she was sure any one of them would come forward to help him if the chance arose.
Leonardo was not unduly surprised when Marietta asked him for work. He had expected, as she had, that her social life would soon fall away, and this had proved to be the case. All but a few close friends in her and Domenico’s social circle had deserted her. Only at the Pietà nothing had changed, even though Domenico had been automatically deposed as a governor. A Pietà girl would always be one of the flock, no matter what pattern her life followed, even though there was no longer the letter P branded on her foot.
“I need to earn my living,” Marietta explained to Leonardo. “I’ve lost none of my skills, as you know from my work on the mask that was your marriage gift to Adrianna. Do you need an extra hand in the workshop?”
“I’m always wanting hands of the standard I maintain,” he replied, sitting back in his chair, “but I’ve a business proposition to put to you. If I hadn’t been so busy I would have seen to opening the shop next to my home as I had planned some time ago. Now I’m prepared to have the alterations done if it would suit you to run the shop and its workshop for me.”
“It would indeed!” she exclaimed. “How soon will the alterations start?”
“I’ll seek estimates for the work tomorrow.”
Although he could not write, Domenico was able to receive letters. She wrote a little to him every day, delivering the finished letter herself once a week to a prison guard. Domenico would be interested to learn of her return to mask-making and would see this as proof that she was measuring up to her new circumstances, as he had been sure she would. Yet she had many dark hours when she broke down in her sorrow, even though she reminded herself each time how much worse it was for him. At least she had Elizabetta and good friends and the freedom to go about Venice, whereas he had only four walls and a barred window that would show nothing but the nearby roofs. If only she could visit him it would be something to which they both could look forward.
While the alterations to Leonardo’s property were underway, Marietta met Elena by a jeweler’s shop in the arcades of St. Mark’s Square. Both were bauta-masked as arranged, and they went on foot through the narrow calli and squares of Elena’s childhood.
“That was my window!” Elena exclaimed, pointing to one on the third floor of an ancient house from which the pale terra-cotta plaster had come away in vast flakes to reveal the mellow, deeper-toned brickwork beneath.
They went into the church that Elena had attended and saw the bridge where once she had tripped on the steps in her excitement and torn her Carnival gown. It was as if the two of them were recapturing their own youthful Pietà days together. When they parted it was with the arrangement that they would stroll again together when the chance arose.
There was little spare time for Marietta once the new shop and its workshop were finished. In order to launch it into the public eye, Leonardo had been saving some of his most spectacular masks to dazzle in its window. When the stock arrived, Marietta chose advantageous places to display the most vivid and ornate of the masks. With so much glitter and color covering the many pegs in the walls, she felt as if she were standing in the middle of a jewel-walled cave.
There were five workers in the workshop, who would be concentrating on creating the most unusual masks. It was Leonardo’s intention to make this shop different from the one in St. Mark’s Square where he stocked a selection of everything. Marietta missed her old favorites—Pantelone and Pulcinella and pig-like Ganga and all the rest that had been her first toys—but the commercial quality of the new designs appealed to her business instincts. As an incentive to sell well, she was to receive a bonus for sales above a certain figure, but even without it she would have faced her new task with enthusiasm. There was comfort for her in handling so many masks again. In a way it was as if she were back to her origins and beginning to build up her life once more. The difference this time was that Domenico’s future was also hers.
Leonardo did not intend the opening of his new shop to pass unnoticed. A drummer and a trumpeter in extraordinary costumes appeared in St. Mark’s Square, and when attention had been drawn by the fanfare a third man, even more outstandingly dressed, made an announcement about the new shop in the Calle della Madonna. This performance was repeated in the Merceria, at the Rialto, and in many other busy places throughout the day.
Venetians, with their love of rich clothes and passion for Carnival, were not hard to coax into visiting the shop. Marietta had risen to the occasion by wearing one of her grand gowns in emerald stain with a matching mask of sequins to which were attached long silk curls of the same sharp green, which covered her own hair completely and cascaded to her shoulders. Many of the dandies who she greeted applauded her appearance as they swarmed about the shop, tilting quizzing-glasses at the wares or trying on the masks as she poured coffee for them into little gilded cups.
In no way was her mask meant as a disguise on this day, for it had become known that she would be in charge of the new enterprise. All addressed her as the Flame of the Pietà, which was a
way of ignoring the scandal of her husband’s treason and speaking to her without embarrassment. Some people who had kept their distance since the trial now came either out of curiosity or to try to mend the breach with her personally. She was courteous but cool toward these people, who had never been more than acquaintances in the round of social events she had shared with Domenico. All good friends she greeted warmly. Most of them had known Domenico for many years, some since childhood, and none believed him guilty. It was one of them, Sebastiano Dandolo, to whom she first spoke of the possibility of arranging Domenico’s escape.
She had been invited to dine by him and his wife, Isabella. It was a small gathering of people she knew well. When the chance came she drew Sebastiano aside to put her query to him. He regarded her compassionately and shook his head slowly.
“Don’t build your hopes in that direction, Marietta. Domenico is regarded as too much of a danger to be given any leeway in his incarceration. I happen to know there are never fewer than two guards at his door and there was a second row of bars installed at his window.”
“What of bribery?” she questioned, refusing to accept defeat.
“It wouldn’t be worth taking the risk for any guard, no matter what you offered. It is death by torture to allow a traitor to escape.”
“But what can I do?” Her cry was desperate.
“Nothing except to be patient. We must trust that eventually this Doge or his successor will show some leniency. At the present time that chance is far beyond the horizon. Your husband is the victim of these unsettled times, with all Europe taking France’s turmoil as a warning. Yet Domenico could have been the best doge La Serenissima ever had.”
Venetian Mask Page 30
