by Laura Rahme
“I felt as though a gray cloud had been cast over my heart. I was convinced, right then and there, that a curse would befall me if I, Tommaso Mocenigo, Duke of Candia and Procurator of San Marco did not commit all I could to come to this woman’s aid. You see there was peace in Venezia, all around me was gladness and here, before me, was this beautiful woman pouring her sorrows into the canal.”
I held my breath. “What did you do, Signor Doge?”
“I was standing behind her. I reached to touch her shoulder. I longed to touch her if only to tell her that she was not alone. Her loneliness frightened me. And before I could even speak of my presence, she averted her face away from the lagoon. When she turned, I was stunned by a golden light that continues to baffle me, even today.
“In an instant, I grew to understand that this woman, who wore no jewelry, save for one item round her neck, had endured much, that she had pawned all she had to live rightly in Venezia. I ignore how I knew this. But that is what I felt. Her eyes were speaking to me in that moment and I was convinced in my mind that there, before me, was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. An angel from the South, who would determine for me, my destiny. And there, on her neck, was that pendant I saw on you, that night. The very same pendant.”
“The cimaruta…” I was overwhelmed by the Doge’s tale and could barely speak.
Tommaso stared ahead as though I was not even in the room. Pools of emotion glistened in his eyes. He seemed enraptured by the memory. “Si…” he whispered. Then his voice was seized with a sudden passion and his tired eyes began to sparkle. “The cimaruta…branching down into stems of silver… Such a bedazzling sight! I never saw anything quite like it.”
“You saw right, Signor Doge. Magdalena Visconti was in great need when she arrived in Venezia. Her husband’s rival had cast them into poverty. Magdalena attempted all she could to save her husband’s honor. Somehow she found an atelier. She exhausted herself until she and her husband restored their fortunes and became mascherari.” My voice fell back at those last words. An absurd idea had crossed my mind. I could not imagine it could be true. Yet the question burned my lips. I had to know. “Signor Doge…did you…were you…were you the person who helped Magdalena?”
“Did I come to her aid? It was my duty. As procurator of San Marco, I was the representative of the Saints on earth. The welfare of the popolani was my domain.”
“By the saints! Then it was you! All along…”
“I helped her. I went beyond what was expected of my role of procurator. I gave her all I could. She needed a home and a place to work. I never asked any questions. I raised the sum. I gifted it to her and her husband. Such a strong, determined woman. She protested and offered to repay the advance I gave for her trade. But I refused.”
He paused, as though remembering something. “I did ask for one thing… I asked that she let me touch the pendant on her neck. She agreed. She closed her eyes, and in my trembling hands, I sensed its power. I felt the life within it. Just as I sensed the life within her, as bright and fierce as the moon. And do you know what she said to me then, Antonio?”
I was barely breathing. “What did she say, Signor Doge?”
“She stared in my direction with the whites of her eyes and pronounced words that I never forgot to this day. She said, ‘Tommaso! You will be Doge! And you will have the second sight, and in your reign, all you touch will be gold. The Lion of Venezia will rise.’ Yes… Just like that! I was astounded by the weight of those words. Me? Doge? I had in my forties served the Consiglio dei Dieci, in a time when it was not yet shrouded by evil secrets. I had been councilor and I had been named Duke of Candia three years before. I was not to be pitied in my progression in the Republic. But Doge! As a believer, never in my mind could I entertain the thought that such a premonition could come to be realized! What magic, what sorcery if it were true?
“And for years, I did not believe Magdalena. With time, her words became a memory and nothing more. I was more certain that the plague would return to Venezia and that I may even die before her prediction came true. But almost a decade later, in 1414, when I was serving as ambassador in Lombardia, the news traveled to me in secret. And such news! Dio mio! They told me I had been voted Doge. You cannot imagine the meaning I placed upon this. On that very day, I understood that Magdalena had foretold the truth. This notion, this belief I now held in the woman with the pendant, it gave me the will to flee as fast as I could from Cremona–long before any ill-intentioned tyrant could have set upon me–to rejoin Venezia fast, and at last, to fulfil my destiny.”
“It was your destiny.” I was surprised at the fervor in my voice.
He nodded.
“Destino…” he repeated. Then he looked to me and his traits relaxed. He seemed more at peace. “I had not spoken of this to anyone until I appointed Del Valle. Poor Del Valle. It was cruel of me to hold him back, yet I could not do otherwise. I could have aided him a long time ago. But I wished to see her. So I paid him, ducats after ducats. All he sought was a document to prove his estate, a means to finally inherit what was rightly his. But I could not… I could not. Forgive me. I needed him. Do you know how difficult it is to find men as loyal as he is? He was my eyes and ears beyond these walls. For years, while I remained confined to this palace, he looked for the pendant. He found nothing. I despaired that I had lost Magdalena. I ignored where she lived and what had become of her. But the longing, oh, the longing. As death drew near, the longing grew stronger. I wanted to see her, see her, before it was too late. I pressed Esteban to find me the pendant. I believed that if only I found the pendant, I would find her.”
The Doge’s tale moved me. I remembered how I had thought it curious for Esteban to have known of the Arsenale silversmith. But she was not the only one he had known of. He had known of them all.
He had been looking for the pendant everywhere in Venezia, yet never knowing how close he was to his quest. How could he have suspected that his lover, Blanca, had once removed Elena's pendant in her very hands, before giving it away to the scheming Catarina. He never knew of it. It had taken him years to find instead, the other pendant. And as destiny would have it, it was I who wore it.
Doge Mocenigo had shut his eyes while continuing to speak.
“I will tell you that this second sight has been a burden for me. The knowledge of what is to come is never easy, Antonio. In one’s own vision of the future, how does one know the difference between what they wish to be, what they believe will be and what, for certain, will be? Sometimes, the certainty is there, but can it be trusted? And if I do not trust, who will? And what if I am right? I have hope that my Pregadi would take my words and understand. But will they?”
“What do you mean, Signor Doge? What future do you see?”
He looked at me and I at once sensed the burden upon his shoulders.
“I am dying, Antonio. I am too ill to continue as I have. The Doge should not be seen in the Wells, nor lurking through the Palazzo at night. I spend my days hiding in the shadows. Lassitude overtakes me and I feel trapped in this six room apartment. I feign to sleep when I am too tired to find peace. Only one thing keeps me. It is the certainty that Venezia is in grave danger. She may lose all she has. But,” he added, regarding me a moment with a quick smile, “perhaps that is not something I can share with a Florentine.”
He began to cough. I seized the moment. There was no time to lose. I had to tell him.
“Signore,” I began, my thoughts racing in my head. “The pendant you saw on my neck belongs to Magdalena. It is hers. The child she once carried, this child has grown. She is the young woman I spoke of, the woman whose life I must save.” I caught my breath. But it was no use. I could no longer contain myself. “Signore, I know well what a nagging thought can do. I have felt, ever since I arrived to Venezia, that my destiny was tied to Magdalena. I saw her in dreams and sensed her presence on occasions. I have felt this more strongly upon learning that she had a daughter. I feel that I must find this
young woman. Elena Visconti haunts me. She has been haunting me ever since I set foot in Venice. I know this is mad and you must think me a fool but I… I have to see her! I must be set free to see her!”
He fell into a long silence as though he were considering my words and carefully weighing their madness. I began to feel impatient. The old admiral belonged to another time with his slow movements and his deliberations. I was already rebuking myself for having spoken in such haste. His next words stunned me.
“I understand you, Antonio.” His voice rose. “In the words of our great Petrarch, ‘you wish to go beyond the fire that burns you’. I see it in your eyes. This sentiment you have, that something must be, I know it well. I know how it devours and urges.
“Then I will ask you to yield to what must be. Pay heed to your inner voice, as I do mine. Let it guide you to your destiny. As for your Doge, he has not saved the mother only to see her child perish.”
Without hesitating, the old admiral turned to his desk. He retrieved an old scrolled map that he unfolded before me. “Constanziaca, you say? Constanziaca is a marshland island to the east of Lido. It lies…” He paused to reflect, his white fingertip hovering above the naval parchment. At last, his eyes shone and I discerned a triumphant smile. “Here,” he said, pointing to a place on the lagoon.
He examined me as I took in his precious instructions.
“And so Antonio, the Signoria has taken enough of your time. The Consiglio dei Dieci have done you a great injury. You are free to leave. A great adventure lies before you.”
“You have my gratitude, Signor Doge. But how will you explain…”
“You escaped. They will have to believe it.” He smiled. “My councilor will show you a passage that will lead you to safety. From whence you came, through the Wells you were led to my apartments. But there is another secret passage. I have a water door that leads to the Rio Canonica. You shall hide in a gondola, beneath a pail of straw and rejoin the straw gondolas at the mouth of the canal. There are so many of them there, no one will suspect.” A sparkle illuminated his eyes. “This admiral would have done the same.”
I kissed his hand.
“I bid you go, Antonio. Pray for me, your Doge, that I may persuade my Pregadi and save Venezia from the wars Francesco Foscari would have her wage upon my death. You do that for me, Antonio?”
I knelt before him.
“Thank you, kind Doge. I will pray for you.”
“And I am pleased to have at last seen you, Signor da Parma. But make haste now, before danger lurks. Do not tarry any longer. I have seen what I wanted to see.”
Last Letters
Letter from Antonio da Parma to Esteban del Valle
6 January 1422, past midnight
My friend,
I know all that has taken place and the grief that you suffer.
I have been in prison; in the Wells. It was your client, an exceptional man, who released me.
There is not much time to explain. A gondolier awaits and I’ve only enough time to slip this letter beneath the church stool we agreed. I will leave another letter for your friend to deliver to the Signora Contarini and then I shall wait at the port.
Esteban, I fear that Elena Visconti will soon be murdered.
I never thought I would ask this, but I am in need of your help.
Esteban, you were right. Everything you said about me and about that pendant in the Piazza—the pilgrims and their faith—it is all true. I do not expect you to understand but I must save Elena.
I know that you’ve plans to leave tomorrow night and yet I beg of you, please rejoin me at the port by dawn.
We must sail to her. I know where she is.
***
Letter from Antonio da Parma to Signora Catarina Contarini
Signora, allow me to bid you goodbye.
You need not account for your deeds to me as I know them all.
I regret the loss of your sister, whom I know you will mourn, as it was never in your heart to cast her aside. Had you not been impelled to run from your callous past, you would have shown her the love that she, above many, deserved.
I believe that justice is served, Signora, by your grief. You grieve your husband, your daughter and your sister. I believe justice is served by the shame of what you have done. I believe that justice is served by the anxiety you will forever feel regarding the honor of your good name.
Alas, I cannot vouch for the Consiglio dei Dieci. I am advised by our own Doge, that their intents are shrouded in more mystery than ever before.
Perhaps you will be spared from any torment on their behalf. And perhaps not.
As for the one you fear most, the one that you, through your jealousy, your spite and connivance, have wronged beyond imagining, know this–I shall find her and set her free.
I will ask you to keep well the pendant that your sister seized from Elena six years ago and passed to you. I believe, it lies in one of your cassoni. Keep it, Signora. It will preserve you. It already has.
Forever we part,
Antonio Da Parma
A Finder of Lost Things
Journal of Antonio da Parma
6 January 1422, Feast Day of La Befana
The Doge was right. No one suspected that I would be hidden beneath the straw. And before long, I had dived into the icy lagoon and swum across as far from the palace as I could.
The moon shone her rays to guide me. I felt no cold in her arms, only a deep need to be delivered to the world the way Venus, herself, emerged from the waters.
And so it was, that as suddenly as I found myself in the dreaded damp Wells of Venezia, I came to be out of them–reborn, invigorated and welcomed by the dark of the moon. I had a thought, perhaps a memory but also a presentiment, that Diana is at her most vengeful during the first and third quarters of the moon. I watched the crescent, wondering what the day would bring.
When I was as far as possible from Rio Canonica, I handed a coin to a sleepy gondolier. He pocketed it before grumbling a few words and resigning himself to oar in the direction of the sleepy Arsenale quarters. There, I hoped to send letters and return to the silversmith to recover my hidden journal.
I had only a few hours before the rays of dawn when I hoped to rejoin Esteban at the Donna Laura.
My adventure out of the Wells had left me both speechless and determined. I had searched deep into the wells of my own heart and discovered a love I never knew existed. A love that had haunted me for years.
It was still early in the morning as my footfalls echoed in the near empty streets of the Arsenale. Fumbling from calle to calle, I found the sottoportico where lived the charm maker. I had resolved to force myself into her home and retrieve my belongings from their secret hiding. I only hoped they were still present and had not been discovered.
As for the old silversmith, I ignored what punishment to inflict upon her, but I imagined that the mere sight of my person, so late at night, would be sufficient to instil in her a fright she would not forget. Even if she were to report me, I would be long gone once Esteban and I had taken off with the brig.
I ventured inside the sottoportico, weary of any sbirri and fearful that the Consiglio dei Dieci’s spies lurked at her door, but the flooded passage lay deserted. To my dismay, the silversmith’s home was not even locked shut. I pushed on the small door. The sodden wood gave way, coming to rest halfway through its hinge.
Immediately, a wretched odor harangued my senses. I pressed the edge of my mantle to my nose and sloshed forth. I found an oil candle by the door and lit it.
The woman’s home had been ransacked. The acqua alta had seeped in and her belongings were strewn recklessly, matting the wet floor. Silver jewelry had been recklessly poured out of their coffers. Now they shone in the dirty water among inverted pots and canisters.
With a pounding heart, I stumbled to the soaked divan. My hand reached underneath, groping frantically for the bound journal first and then for the pendant, beneath the rug. But I saw nothing of m
y diary nor the pendant. As much as I searched, pushing the spoiled divan aside to glare at the empty spot beneath it, I could not find what I sought.
Wherever it was, the ink would have long run, I thought.
By now, the stench had risen to nauseating levels. I looked to the woman’s bed. On the floor, beneath a mound of tattered rags, I saw the outline of a swollen foot. As I neared the linen pile to see what it covered, the origin of that horrible odor was at last laid bare.
Was this the work of the sbirri? No. It could not be the sbirri. It looked as though she had been tortured to extract what little she knew. The cold of winter had stiffened her and she lay frozen, in the very state whence she had died, the blue terror on her face, still vivid. I raised my torch. The blood had crusted around the dozen stab wounds covering her limbs and wart-ridden face. Marring her neck were numerous bruises. Strangulation?
I was certain that this was Malek’s work. I realized that if she had been murdered, it was because the Consiglio dei Dieci’s spy had succeeded in retrieving my journal.
I reached forth to touch her clammy skin. She had been dead for at least two days. Yet last night, when Almoro had spoken to me, he had clearly no knowledge of the whereabouts of my diary. How could this be? Was my journal still in Malek’s possession?
