Daughters of the Doge (52 page)

‘And, finally, we come to the third woman in your life, the harlot. Is she, too, being of good family, not subject to marriage constraints? Is she too not prevented from becoming a poet, a painter, a business leader? Is it a coincidence that she is forced to treat her own body as a commodity?’

I was lost. What was this diatribe all about?

‘You are not a harlot!’

‘I know.’ Again she stroked my hand, as if to hold my attention, then slowly leaned forward, and rubbed my nose with hers. Now she held my attention totally. She spoke, almost in a whisper, making me listen carefully for every word. ‘It’s a joke – and one that only I can tell at my own expense. In any event, you now realize that I was never available to you, except as friend and confidante. So now you are down to two. And you have to face up to the decision between Faustina the nun and Yasmeen the Muslim.’

‘That is my difficulty. I know I love Yasmeen, and if she will have me, I want to marry her. But I think I may have made a commitment to Faustina already.’

She shrugged again. ‘Perhaps, of sorts, but you do not need to marry her to meet any expectations she may have from you. On the contrary, that would probably not be possible.’

Again she had lost me. ‘Why not?’

‘Richard, she already has a lover to whom she is deeply committed.’

Now I was really shocked, and offended. ‘Who? What is his name?’

She shook her head, smiling. ‘Not his name – her name. It is Felicità.’

The name was familiar and I searched my mind. ‘The young
conversa
with the big brown eyes? I have seen her. She can only be sixteen. You mean she . . . they . . .? Are you sure? How do you know?’

‘There are things women tell to men, and others they only tell to women. Trust me.’

Immediately, I felt irritated. I had taken my lead in all good faith from Veronica and now she was changing her position. ‘But you told me she was in love with me.’

Veronica shook her head. ‘I said the ingredients were there, and it is true she is very grateful to you. But this time I admit I was wrong.’

Felicità had been present when last we had met but I had not picked up any indications. ‘I didn’t realize.’

This time it was Veronica who looked over her shoulder to ensure we were alone. ‘There is a lot you don’t realize, young man. Take Yasmeen, for example.’

Suddenly I felt defensive. ‘What about her? What do I not realize about Yasmeen?’

‘That she is not only in love with you but she is desperate for you to ask her to marry you.’

This didn’t make sense. ‘But we have hardly spoken – of personal matters, that is. We have shown affection, yes, that is true, but we have never really had a private conversation.’

She looked at me with her big, expressive eyes and waited. ‘It matters not, I can tell. A woman knows these things. She has loved you almost from your first visit. I have seen her picking up drawings which you have left uncompleted, studying them closely, and then holding them to her breast.’

‘Then what should I do?’

She sat back in her chair, as if distancing herself from me. ‘I cannot tell you how to live your life, or what to do or not to do, but I can tell you what a woman might respond to.’

I sat forward, all ears. If she could conjure up a solution that allowed me to marry Yasmeen and somehow still meet the promises I had made to Faustina, so many of the complications in my life would be resolved.

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June the 25th 1556 – Fondamenta dei Mori

Tintoretto bowed slightly and took Thomas’s hand, smiling as he did so. ‘So. Dottor Thomas Marwood. We meet at last. I have heard much about you from Richard. I believe we may have you to blame?’

Thomas was not caught out by Jacopo’s sense of humour for a moment. He smiled back at the
maestro.

‘Probably I usually take the blame. To which particular weakness in his character are you referring today?’

A gleam appeared in Jacopo’s eye. ‘I believe we are stuck with him in our drawing classes simply because you fired his enthusiasm for the subject? Did you not tell him, many years ago, to “observe, interpret, draw and attach notes”? Those are, I believe, the words you used?’

‘No. I do not recall that use of words at all. You are sure of the exact words?’

Tintoretto looked across at me, a suspicious look in his eye. He knew he was being led on, and was, I could see, confident in his starting position, yet this little game was not going in the direction he had expected. ‘Those are the words, are they not? The exact words?’

I decided to take Thomas’s side as he was the guest and Jacopo was on home ground. ‘No. Not the exact words. Close, but not exact.’

Thomas helped him out. ‘The words to which you refer were, if I recall, delivered to us on or about Christmas Day last, at the University of Tübingen, by one Professor Leonhard Fuchs. Am I right, Richard?’

I nodded, trying to look serious. Jacopo knew the game was up; he now had to extricate himself as best he could.

‘I see. And your original words, Dr Marwood, were – how shall I say –
similar?’

Thomas bowed. ‘Indeed, sir, but my words were simpler: “Observe, draw, attach notes.” I am a man of few words, sir.’

Jacopo knew he was bettered and howled with laughter.

‘Well done, Dr Marwood. May I call you Thomas? You have the edge on us, indeed.’

Thomas inclined his head to the request to use his first name. ‘You were correct in spirit, Signor Tintoretto. My original words were improved upon in conversation with Professor Fuchs. Perhaps one day I may bring you my copy of his book, which includes the most wonderfully observed etchings of plant life. I believe this
bottega
has progressed even further, however, for do you not say, “Observe,
analyse,
draw, interpret and make notes.”?’

Jacopo gave a slow and exaggerated Italian shrug. ‘You know our reputation? Italians and Venetians? We are wordy. Why use one word when three can be found?’

We all grinned and Jacopo led us across the studio. ‘Actually, we did choose the extra words with care and reason. Gentile! Would you like to demonstrate while I explain? Richard can be our model.’

I sat in the big modelling chair and looked at Gentile. Already his eyes had taken on an appraising look. He indicated that I should turn my head a little, until the light fell as he wanted it, and then he began to look closely at me. I saw the curve of his wrist and knew immediately what he was doing. Jacopo interpreted the movement.

‘You saw the first observation. With Gentile it is quick, with others much slower. Then the small frown, perhaps? He was analysing the head. Not the outline, you understand, but the form, the roundness, the mass. From the first mark we are trying to feel for the mass of the object and express it.’

Gentile repeated the motion once more, this time making a mark on the paper. Then he lifted his wrist and made a similar movement, but horizontally. Deftly, he indicated the shape of my head around these first lines.

‘The crossed lines follow the contours of the head vertically and horizontally. From this we deduce mass. It also gives us important reference lines from which to measure. Note, for example, that Richard has his head tilted slightly to the right, and how this is expressed by the slight rise in the line of the eyebrows which Gentile has made. Now the eye sockets. At this stage, do not draw the eye itself, but concentrate on the eye socket as an area formed of shadow.’

Gentile made his marks and used the tip of his finger to rub the lines into shading.

‘The nose is not vertical in either plane from this angle.’

I saw Gentile make a wedge-shaped mark, then use his fingertip again.

‘He has drawn the outline, but how do we express the fact that the lower part of the nose is closer to us than the bridge? Here we interpret the drawing we have, look at the way the shapes and tones recede or jump forward at us, and amend them by more drawing and by shading tonal differences.’

Gentile emphasized the wedge of the nose, then picked up a piece of white chalk and lightened the tip of the nose, rubbing it away into the dark shadows above. As soon as he did so, I saw Thomas smile. He nodded enthusiastically.

‘Yes, I see. It is as if you talk to the drawing, have a conversation with it.’

Gentile nodded and turned to face Thomas. ‘I look at the drawing and feel for the differences between the real head and my memory of it, then try to eliminate them. Do you want to try?’

Thomas jumped back. ‘No, Gentile. I know a master when I see one. I am more than content to watch you. It is fascinating and has already taught me a great deal. No wonder Richard spends so much of his time here.’

As he spoke, the door behind him opened and a familiar outline slid privately into the room.

Jacopo interrupted. ‘Don’t let him tell you it is his love of drawing that brings him here every day. If this young lady were not here, Richard’s interest in art would disappear like the morning mist. Dr Thomas Marwood, may I introduce Yasmeen Ahmed, who turns our fumbling efforts at painting into a profitable business.’

Yasmeen dipped her head to Thomas with her usual shy reserve, and then nodded to me. ‘It is not true. He is an excellent student.’

Thomas reached for her hand, bowed and kissed it on the knuckles. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you. I thought Richard must be exaggerating your beauty, but he was not.’

Yasmeen squirmed with embarrassment and turned to Jacopo.
‘Maestro,
I have the money we expected. I must put it away safely.’ She turned to leave the room, then shot me a farewell glance.

Thomas looked at me as she left the room. He said nothing, but his approving smile told me all I needed to know.

As the demonstration came to an end, Thomas patted Gentile on the shoulder and thanked him. Leaving his hand on Gentile’s shoulder, he turned to Tintoretto. ‘Apart from the sheer joy of seeing such masterly work, this has explained so much to me about some of the drawings I have seen before, especially the anatomical studies of Leonardo da Vinci. They have a number of them now in the Department of Medicine at the University in Padua.’

Gentile looked at me once more. ‘Of course, the model was a poor one – ugly angles, poor proportions, and he never sits still, but what can you expect?’

I warmed at his remarks. Among this group of men there was little stronger evidence of friendship than being publicly abused in front of an important visitor.

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