Daughters of the Doge by Edward Charles

enjoying the evening. We struck north through the narrow lanes of San Marco until we reached the Fondaco dei Tedeschi, a huge warehouse near the Rialto, where the German traders worked and lodged and where we thought we might find some of the German food we had so enjoyed during our journey. We were in luck and, for the second time that day, settled back at a table with food and wine, this time with a great deal more to talk about.
    Once we had stepped through one of its great arches, the structure and purpose of the building became clear, for the centre was one huge courtyard, perhaps fifty yards across, which obviously served as a great trading floor during the day. Now, as evening drew on, the day’s trading had all but finished, and the space had been filled with tables, at which exhausted German merchants and their equally exhausted customers settled their day’s work over a drink or two and something to eat.
    As we sat at our table, we looked around us. The walls of the courtyard inside the fondaco were covered by frescoes, two of which, the waiter told us, were by Giorgione and another by Titian. Opposite them, displayed in a temporary framework, was a quite different painting, an oil painting on heavy board entitled Our Lady of the Rosary, depicting Our Lady, with the child presenting wreaths of roses to church and state dignitaries. It was a powerful painting and as we waited for our food to be cooked, we examined it.
    ‘Do you like it?’ A well-dressed German merchant stood beside us, clearly proud of the picture. ‘It has an interesting story It was painted fifty years ago by a German artist, Albrecht Dürer, and shows how the German community here represents an outpost of the Holy Roman Empire. You can see Pope Julius II with the Emperor Maximilian I. It was commissioned by the Imperial Secretary – that man there, in blue; he is a Croat, by the name of Jakob Bannissuus Dalmata. It’s powerful isn’t it? The painting is due to make an altarpiece in the German Church of St Bartholomew, but is resting here while work is completed in the church. I like to remind Venetians that not every good painter is Italian.’
    We shook his hand and agreed the work was indeed fine. ‘Herr Dürer is not the only great German painter known to us,’ I teased.
    ‘No?’ His interest was clearly aroused and he waited for my explanation.
    ‘I should explain, we are English, not Italian, and we are familiar with the portraits of Johannes Holbein.’
    Our friend arched his back proudly. ‘Holbein. Oh yes, another good son of Augsburg. You have been there?’
    We smiled. ‘Indeed, on our journey here from England. A fine city, and wealthy.’
    He nodded his satisfaction. ‘Did you see the Fuggerei?’
    We shook our heads.
    ‘It is, I believe, the best of German social thinking. An example of how our wealth should be used to the benefit of the community. It is a large dwelling house, built by the Fugger family, where the poor can reside at a fixed annual rent. You must ask to see it on your return journey.’ His invitation sounded more like an instruction. We thanked him and turned back to our table as our food arrived.
    ‘You like German food also,’ he said. ‘Clearly men of judgement. I will wish you good day, gentlemen, and mahlzeit !’ – he leaned forward for emphasis – ‘good appetite!’
    The stranger walked away, clearly proud of his little piece of English, and we sat at the laden table. I was keen to ask Thomas what he had thought of this afternoon’s presentation. Thomas, it seemed, was equally eager to discuss the day’s events.
    ‘Well,’ he began, ‘what did you think of the way they welcomed Courtenay?’ It was the very question I had intended to ask him.
    ‘I thought the setting was magnificent. If ever there was an example of how to use a building to support diplomacy, the Doge’s Palace must be it. Everything was beautifully arranged, like a dance, and everyone knew his place and performed