turned her back on her religion and allowed herself to be baptized, the Christian’s family would always look on the couple with scorn. Is it not the same in England?”
“I suppose so. I never really gave the matter much thought. I grew up on a manor in the Wiltshire countryside. The nearest Jew was probably in London, well over a hundred miles away.”
“You see Jews everywhere in Venice. They live in the ghetto, but have the run of the city during the daylight hours,” Annetta said as she cut off a handful of grapes. “One brought his barrow to our
campo
just this morning, crying for old rags to buy.”
“Yes, I’ve seen them. Near the café where I breakfast, a bearded Jew sets up a cart to sell old pots and pans. He has a running war with some boys of that neighborhood. They keep trying to snatch his hat.”
“That’s a cruel game they are playing.” I went on in response to Gussie’s questioning look. “The red hat rule is strictly enforced. When venturing out of the ghetto, a Jewish man is required to wear a crimson hat. A woman must wear a red kerchief or scarf. If the
sbirri
, or the constables as you probably call them, catch a Jew without his identifying head cover, they can beat him and extract a heavy fine.”
“I see. I’m beginning to understand why Luca’s relationship with the lovely seamstress is so fraught with risk,” said Gussie thoughtfully. “Are all the Jews of Venice poor?”
Annetta and I both laughed, but I answered. “Not at all. Despite the limiting regulations, there are many wealthy families in the ghetto. The trades allowed the Jews by law are restricted to moneylending, pawnbroking, and dealing in used and wholesale goods. But everyone knows that many of the maritime trading houses have their capital supplied by patricians who are only providing a legal front for Jewish investors.”
“And yet, Liya delivers her wares to the theater. Is that not a retail business?”
This time Annetta answered Gussie’s question. “Her family buys second-hand clothing. Not rags, but good quality items from Christians who are hard up for some ready cash. Most of the clothing they repair or sell as is. From the finery too tattered to repair, they snip off the intact trims and bits of good fabric and use them in masks and headdresses. In the strictest sense, the theaters are buying used goods.”
“Are Christians allowed in this ghetto?”
“Of course,” Annetta answered. “The economy of Venice would surely collapse if the ghetto were off limits. I can’t think of a single person I know who hasn’t gone in to pawn a cloak or some household item at one time or another.” She shook her pile of chestnut braids and pointed to the candelabra. “When our father was alive, these candle holders spent more time in the pawnshop than on this table. Father always had notoriously bad luck at the gaming tables.”
I sighed theatrically. “Sister, you are letting Gussie in on all our family secrets. What will this good Englishman think of us? I am sure the Rumbolts were never forced to pawn the family plate.”
Gussie laughed uproariously at my weak sally, or perhaps at the very thought of the squire of Rumbolt manor hauling his valuables to a Jewish pawnshop. “Well,” he finally said, “I’m sure you two have had your fill of this ignorant northerner. It’s been a long day and I’m off to my lodging and a soft bed. Will you walk with me a bit, Tito?”
Annetta let us out the door with an open invitation for Gussie to dine whenever he liked, and we strolled across the Campo dei Polli and down the narrow
calle
that led to a gondola mooring. Dusk was well past and the moon had not yet risen. The only light filtered through the curtains and shutters of the houses that lined the way. I could barely see Gussie’s face but I sensed his newly somber mood.
“Your city is most pleasing to the eye,” he said, “but not so much to the heart.”
“I would not attempt to argue with
“I suppose so. I never really gave the matter much thought. I grew up on a manor in the Wiltshire countryside. The nearest Jew was probably in London, well over a hundred miles away.”
“You see Jews everywhere in Venice. They live in the ghetto, but have the run of the city during the daylight hours,” Annetta said as she cut off a handful of grapes. “One brought his barrow to our
campo
just this morning, crying for old rags to buy.”
“Yes, I’ve seen them. Near the café where I breakfast, a bearded Jew sets up a cart to sell old pots and pans. He has a running war with some boys of that neighborhood. They keep trying to snatch his hat.”
“That’s a cruel game they are playing.” I went on in response to Gussie’s questioning look. “The red hat rule is strictly enforced. When venturing out of the ghetto, a Jewish man is required to wear a crimson hat. A woman must wear a red kerchief or scarf. If the
sbirri
, or the constables as you probably call them, catch a Jew without his identifying head cover, they can beat him and extract a heavy fine.”
“I see. I’m beginning to understand why Luca’s relationship with the lovely seamstress is so fraught with risk,” said Gussie thoughtfully. “Are all the Jews of Venice poor?”
Annetta and I both laughed, but I answered. “Not at all. Despite the limiting regulations, there are many wealthy families in the ghetto. The trades allowed the Jews by law are restricted to moneylending, pawnbroking, and dealing in used and wholesale goods. But everyone knows that many of the maritime trading houses have their capital supplied by patricians who are only providing a legal front for Jewish investors.”
“And yet, Liya delivers her wares to the theater. Is that not a retail business?”
This time Annetta answered Gussie’s question. “Her family buys second-hand clothing. Not rags, but good quality items from Christians who are hard up for some ready cash. Most of the clothing they repair or sell as is. From the finery too tattered to repair, they snip off the intact trims and bits of good fabric and use them in masks and headdresses. In the strictest sense, the theaters are buying used goods.”
“Are Christians allowed in this ghetto?”
“Of course,” Annetta answered. “The economy of Venice would surely collapse if the ghetto were off limits. I can’t think of a single person I know who hasn’t gone in to pawn a cloak or some household item at one time or another.” She shook her pile of chestnut braids and pointed to the candelabra. “When our father was alive, these candle holders spent more time in the pawnshop than on this table. Father always had notoriously bad luck at the gaming tables.”
I sighed theatrically. “Sister, you are letting Gussie in on all our family secrets. What will this good Englishman think of us? I am sure the Rumbolts were never forced to pawn the family plate.”
Gussie laughed uproariously at my weak sally, or perhaps at the very thought of the squire of Rumbolt manor hauling his valuables to a Jewish pawnshop. “Well,” he finally said, “I’m sure you two have had your fill of this ignorant northerner. It’s been a long day and I’m off to my lodging and a soft bed. Will you walk with me a bit, Tito?”
Annetta let us out the door with an open invitation for Gussie to dine whenever he liked, and we strolled across the Campo dei Polli and down the narrow
calle
that led to a gondola mooring. Dusk was well past and the moon had not yet risen. The only light filtered through the curtains and shutters of the houses that lined the way. I could barely see Gussie’s face but I sensed his newly somber mood.
“Your city is most pleasing to the eye,” he said, “but not so much to the heart.”
“I would not attempt to argue with
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