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Title: Venice
The Queen of the Adriatic
Author: Clara Erskine Clement Waters
Release date: October 19, 2023 [eBook #71915]
Language: English
Original publication: Boston: Dana Estes and Company, 1893
Credits: Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK VENICE ***
[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: _The Bridge of Sighs._]
Venice
THE QUEEN OF THE ADRIATIC
_By_
CLARA ERSKINE CLEMENT
_Author of "Naples, the City of Partbenope," "Constantinople,
the City of the Sultans," etc._
Illustrated
BOSTON
Dana Estes and Company
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1893_
BY ESTES AND LAURIAT
_All rights reserved_
_COLONIAL PRESS
Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, U.S.A._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. To-Day and Long Ago
II. A Summer Day
III. The Doges: their Power and their Achievements
IV. The Venetians at Constantinople
V. Modern Processions and Festivals
VI. Gradenigo, Tiepolo, and the Council of Ten
VII. Murano and the Glass-Makers
VIII. Marino Faliero; Vettore Pisani and Carlo Zeno
IX. Burano and Torcello
X. The Two Foscari; Carmagnola and Colleoni
XI. An Autumn Ramble
XII. Venetian Women: Caterina Cornaro, Rosalba Carriera
XIII. The Archives of Venice
XIV. The Treasures of the Piazza
XV. Glory, Humiliation, Freedom
XVI. Saints and Others
XVII. Historians and Scholars
XVIII. Palaces and Pictures
XIX. The Accademia; Churches and Scuole
INDEX
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
The Bridge of Sighs (Photogravure) ... Frontispiece
Cathedral of San Marco
Ducal Palace
Festival Scene, Bridge of the Rialto
Church of Santa Maria Della Salute
Bridge of the Rialto
Molo of San Marco; Columns of Execution
The Piazzetta; Ducal Palace; San Marco
Panorama from the Campanile of St. Mark
Museo Civico; formerly Palazzo Ferrara, later Fondaco dei Turchi
Piazza of St. Mark
Horses of St. Mark
Campanile of St. Mark
Torre dell' Orologio; Clock Tower
Ca' d' Oro, on the Grand Canal
Dario Palace, on the Grand Canal
Court of the Ducal Palace; Giants' Staircase
{1}
THE QUEEN OF THE ADRIATIC;
OR,
VENICE, MEDIÆVAL AND MODERN.
CHAPTER I.
TO-DAY AND LONG AGO.
The Venice which one visits to-day is so curiously a part and not a
part of the ancient Venice of which we dream, that one feels, when in
that sea-enveloped and fairy-like city, a strange sense of
duality,--of being a veritable antique and an equally veritable
modern. He has a genuine sympathy with the past, and regrets that he
has not the enchanter's wand to bring it all back again,--long
enough, at least, for him to revel in its magnificence.
If he believes in reincarnation, he is speedily convinced that he was
once a Venetian indeed; else how could he feel so much at home, and
how love Venice as he does! And yet, alas! he cannot quite lose his
modern point of view.
The first emotion is all delight, and a delight that never loses its
thrill; for until the time comes for reflection, we are under the
charm of a perfect atmosphere, of skies of liquid blue, tinged at
times with crimsons, gold, and violets, such as come only from
Nature's loom; of music and soft, fascinating speech; of mysterious
labyrinths and sunlit spaces,--in a word, under the spell of Venice.
And if {2} Time brings to us the thought of the other side of the
picture,--the decay which is stealthily doing its sad work, the
grayness when it is gray, and all the pathos which ever attends a
queen uncrowned,--yet through all and above all is the joy and
pleasure which having once been ours, we are resolved to keep.
To sail from Trieste in an evening of the spring, and make one's
first approach to Venice in the early morning, affords an experience
that one should not forego. With the clear sun rising behind,
surrounded by the marvellous waters blushing in every color of the
rainbow beneath his rays, and the pearly tinted city lifting itself
from this many-colored sea, as if in welcome, every poetic and
artistic sense is filled to overflowing.
Can this coloring be described in words? Alas! no. For when the sea
is likened to liquid fire, broken into scintillations and spread over
a quivering background of sea-blue and sea-green waves, the half has
not been said. When the eye rests on some far-away sand, dun and
sombre in the distance, what vividness of flaming red and glorious
orange comes out in the middle ground, while nearer the blues and
greens are mingled with a shimmering silver! The atmosphere itself
seems tinted by reflections from Aurora's garlands, and the strangely
luminous blue sky smiles over all.
"Then lances and spangles and spars and bars
Are broken and shivered and strewn on the sea;
And around and about me tower and spire
Start from the billows like tongues of fire."
To the south stretches the long island reaching from the Porto di
Lido to Malamocco, its sands now sparkling like gems. The fort of
San Niccolo guards the entrance to the Lagoon; the little island of
St. Elena is passed, and Murano is seen to the north. But glances
only can be spared for these; for Venice itself, with its towers and
domes, its {3} belfries, spires, and crosses, its palaces all
lacework and arabesques, rises above, while all around, on the canal,
numbers of light, curiously shaped boats and sombre gondolas are
gathering,--their boatmen clamoring for news and customers.
Descending, as in a dream, we enter a gondola for the first time.
The Giardini Pubblici is passed, and soon one stands on the Piazzetta
and enters the Piazza of St. Mark, feeling as if he had passed
through a living, moving transformation scene, and been dropped into
the middle of the twelfth century. And why not? For at this early
hour the Piazza seems consecrated to the Past. The few boatmen,
fruit-sellers, and lazzaroni who are there might belong to the Middle
Ages as well as to the nineteenth century.
Why might they not have seen that grave procession which in 1177
passed into the Chapel of San Marco to celebrate the reconciliation
of a Pope and an Emperor,--that day when proud Frederick Barbarossa
so nobly proved his greatness?
He had struggled against the Church on the one hand, and the spirit
of independent government on the other, with a determination and
bravery such as few men in all history have shown.
Threatened with excommunication by Pope Adrian IV., and actually laid
under the ban by Alexander III., Frederick refused to recognize him
as Pope, and set up four anti-popes, one after another, who died, as
if their position brought its own fatal curse. During sixteen years
he carried matters with so high a hand that he successfully defied
Alexander and Italy; and the much humiliated Pope wandered from court
to court, seeking the aid of one kingdom after another, always in
vain.
Some States frankly acknowledged their fear of Barbarossa; others
dared not meet the sure vengeance of the {4} Ghibellines which would
follow the espousal of his cause; Sicily could give him a home, but
could not seat him firmly on his throne; and all eyes began to turn
to the Republic of the Sea.
The Barbarossa scarcely gave Italy time to rise from beneath his
tread and recover herself from one of his disastrous marches through
her territory, marking his route by flames and ruin, before he again
appeared with his barbaric army, pillaging and destroying all that
had escaped his last visitation, and returning to his Northern throne
in triumph. At last he turned his face towards the Eternal City for
the fifth time, only to find that the Confederacy of the Lombards had
raised a barrier against which he beat himself in vain. He was
repulsed in repeated engagements; and after the battle of Legnano,
May, 1176, he saw the beginning of the end of the audacious policy by
which he had so long dominated at home and abroad.
Soon after this first humiliation of his arch enemy, Alexander
decided to appeal to the Venetians for succor; and early in 1177 he
sailed from Goro, attended by five cardinals and ambassadors from the
King of Sicily, who had fitted out a papal squadron of eleven galleys.
After some disasters and perils, his Holiness reached Venice at
evening on March 23, and was lodged in the Abbey of San Niccolo. The
Doge, the nobles, and the clergy made haste next day to welcome the
Holy Father to Venice; and after a service in San Marco, where he
gave his benediction to the people, the Doge Sebastiano Ziani
escorted him to a palace at San Silvestro, which was his home so long
as he remained at Venice.
The Venetians now sent two ambassadors to Frederick at Naples to
arrange, if possible, a peace between the Pope and the Emperor. The
bare mention of Alexander as the true successor of Saint Peter so
enraged Frederick that he could scarcely speak his words of
defiance:--
{5}
"Go and tell your Prince and his people that Frederick, King of the
Romans, demands at their hands a fugitive and a foe; that if they
refuse to deliver him to me, I shall deem and declare them the
enemies of my empire; and that I will pursue them by land and by sea
until I have planted my victorious eagles on the gates of St. Mark."
Whatever regret the Venetians may have had at being thus forced to
protect their guest and punish so insulting a foe, they immediately
prepared thirty-four galleys, commanded by the flower of their
nobility, among whom was the son of the Doge Ziani; and Ziani himself
assumed the chief command.
Barbarossa's fleet was more than double in number, and under the
command of his son Otho. On the 26th of May, on the stairs of the
Piazzetta, Alexander girded upon Ziani a splendid sword, and gave him
his blessing. Feeling the great responsibility they had
assumed,--for not only the holy cause, but the glory of Venice was in
their keeping,--the Venetians fiercely contested the day. Not less
desperate the army of the German prince, and not less bravely did he
fight. But after six hours of dreadful slaughter, he found himself a
prisoner, with forty of his ships in the hands of the enemy, and his
whole following completely routed.
Otho was at once released, having solemnly sworn to persuade his
father to a reconciliation with Alexander. A promise faithfully
kept; for although this dreadful defeat at Salboro must have largely
contributed to the repentance of Barbarossa, he never again attempted
to rebel against his Holiness.
The Pontiff met Ziani at the spot on which they had parted, and all
who had survived the battle followed them to San Marco in triumph and
thankfulness; and there Alexander gave the Doge a ring, saying, "Take
this, my son, as a token of the true and perpetual dominion of the
{6} ocean, which thou and thy successors shall wed every year, on
this Day of the Ascension, in order that posterity may know that the
sea belongs to Venice by right of conquest, and that it is subject to
her, as a bride is to her husband."
And now began the somewhat difficult arrangement of a meeting between
Frederick and the Pope, which was at last appointed at Venice, where
the Emperor arrived on Saturday evening, July 23. Six cardinals met
him at San Niccolo Del Lido, and formally absolved him from the papal
curse, that he might not enter the city while under the ban.
On Sunday morning the Pope, in his pontifical robes, sat enthroned at
San Marco. (In the vestibule, by the centre portal, a lozenge of red
marble in the pavement marks the historic spot.) On his right hand
was the Doge, and on his left the Patriarch of Grado; while the
ambassadors of England, France, and Sicily, the delegates from the
free cities, and a throng of nobles and cardinals and other
ecclesiastical dignitaries, all in splendid attire, gave dignity and
brilliancy to the scene.
And now trumpets are heard, and the tread of the procession
conducting Barbarossa across the Piazza. The doors of San Marco are
wide open, and guards are at each portal to hold back the pressing
crowds of citizens eager to see the grand ceremony. The procession
is passing in; and from out the multitude of armed warriors, with
glistening helmets and shining lances, nobles in richly flowing
togas, and wealthy commoners in brilliant, graceful draperies, one
figure stands out alone.
[Illustration: _Cathedral of San Marco._]
The Emperor advances with a martial step, and his whole bearing
bespeaks a man great even in submission. His serious face is calm,
his crowned helmet is on his head, and his red beard falls far down
on his breast. His armor is not concealed by his flowing mantle, and
his slashed surcoat of dark, rich velvet, bordered with gold {7}
embroidery, discloses a tunic of more delicate tint and stuff. On
his breast and partly hidden by his beard is embroidered a large
Crusader's cross. In his splendid jewelled baldric, on the right, is
a large sheathed knife, while, on the left, his heavy long sword
reaches almost to the ground. Well may the historian Hazlitt say:--
"It was certainly a grand and imposing spectacle, and one which was
apt to raise in the breasts of the spectators many strange and
conflicting emotions; and while the greater part of those present
looked on such a consummation perhaps as the triumph of a great man,
the latter solemnly declared that to God alone was the glory.
"Assuming a lowly attitude, Barbarossa approached the steps of the
throne on which Ranuci (Alexander) was seated, and, casting aside his
purple mantle, he prostrated himself before the Pope.
"The sufferings and persecutions of eighteen years recurred at that
moment to the memory of his Holiness; and a sincere and profound
conviction that he was the instrument chosen of Heaven to proclaim
the predestined triumph of Right might have actuated the Pontiff, as
he planted his foot on the neck of the Emperor, and borrowing the
words of David, cried:
"'Thou shalt go on the lion and the adder; the young lion and the
dragon shalt thou tread under thy feet.'
"'It is not to thee, but to Saint Peter, that I kneel,' muttered the
fallen tyrant.
"'Both to me and to Saint Peter,' insisted Ranuci, pressing his heel
still more firmly on the neck of Frederick; and it was not until the
latter appeared to acquiesce that the Pope relaxed his hold, and
suffered his Majesty to rise.
"A _Te Deum_ closed this remarkable ceremony; and on quitting the
cathedral, the Emperor held the sacred stirrup and assisted his
tormentor to mount."
How the recollection of this narrative incites the fancy, and how the
Piazza, but just now so empty, is crowded to {8} overflowing with
representatives from East and West and the Isles of the Sea!
From the different stories of the Ducal Palace, and extending quite
around the square, from every possible projection, float the
standards and banners that have been taken from the enemies of the
Venetians; while the great scarlet banner, with its embroidered Lion
of St. Mark, waves gently above the principal entrance to San Marco,
where the bronze horses now stand. Rich stuffs in the brilliant
coloring of Eastern looms, and cloths of gold and silver fall from
the balconies thronged with ladies pressing eagerly forward to watch
all that happens in the square below.
On the roofs are hundreds of human beings, and every corner that
affords a view of San Marco and the Piazza is fully occupied. Men
perch like birds on such slight and insecure footholds that they seem
like colored statues made fast to the edifices themselves. Here and
there a few proud chargers champ their bits and strive to free
themselves from their grooms, who wait impatiently, as we do, for the
sound of the trumpets to proclaim the rising of this august conclave.
Just here a soft, musical voice deprecatingly suggests: "The Signior
has not chosen his lodgings, and one knows not where to take his
luggage."
THE FEAST OF LA SENSA.
Pope Alexander, as indeed he ought, wished to confer all the benefits
in his power upon the Venetians, and gave the papal sanction, rather
unnecessarily as it would seem, to certain customs which this
independent people had for some time followed without authority.
They were now duly authorized to seal their letters and despatches
with lead rather than with wax; to use tapers and trumpets, {9} and
even to display the silken canopy and sword of state when ceremony
made them fitting. This silken canopy is disagreeably contracted
into an umbrella by some over-careful writers, but there is good
reason to believe that long before this time the Doges had indulged
in this luxury.
Before the departure of the Pontiff he celebrated a High Mass and
preached a sermon in San Marco, and at the end conferred upon the
Doge the highest and most flattering favor that could be bestowed
upon a temporal ruler, by descending from the pulpit and presenting
him with a consecrated Golden Rose, in token of friendship for Ziani
and for Venice.
These seals and umbrellas and trumpets and tapers made little
difference to the people; the Golden Rose gratified their pride and
love of their idolized Republic; but it was with the Marriage of the
Adriatic--the _Andata alii Due Castelli_, as it was called by the
Venetians--that they were principally concerned; that characteristic
Venetian fête, which soon became famous in all the world. Alexander
had comprehended their love of pageants, their luxuriousness, and
pride of wealth.
And now, as if by magic, the Bucentaur appears; and the dignity and
splendor of this galley vastly increased the magnificence and
effectiveness of state occasions. It was about twenty-one feet wide
in the broadest part, and nearly five times as long. The lower deck
was manned by one hundred and sixty-eight rowers, who rowed with
gilded oars, while forty other mariners managed the evolutions of the
ship. The outside was covered with carvings, and decorated in gold
and purple. The prow bore figures emblematic of the Republic, and
the beak was shaped into a Lion of St. Mark.
The upper deck, devoted to the illustrious strangers and guests of
the Republic, and to the Dogaressa and other {10} patrician ladies,
was finished in a grand cabin, with a splendid carved ceiling, and
divided by rows of graceful pillars. On the outside this saloon was
covered with the richest velvet, and furnished within with luxurious
cushions. The Doge had an equally splendid cabin in the stern,
encircled by a balcony from which the whole fête could be seen; and
from a second balcony outside the prow he dropped the ring into the
sea, proudly repeating the form of words given him by the Pontiff.
Sails there were none, but from the top of a huge mast floated the
scarlet banner of Saint Mark, with an image of the lion on one side,
and of the Virgin Mary on the other,--as it may still be seen in the
Municipal Museum,--and beside this sacred standard hung the white
flag, the gift of the Pope.
The old pictures of the Bucentaur represent her as crowded with
ladies in splendid attire, all intent upon the varied and curious
spectacle around them. Here was a throng of boats, galleys,
feluccas, gondolas, and the small, swift boats which always covered
the canals and lagoons wherever there was anything of interest to be
seen, as quickly as a crowd on foot now gathers in the streets of a
modern city.
There were the patrician gondolas, each vying with the other in the
costliness and brilliancy of its carving and decorations. The houses
in the centre, with curtains drawn, revealed the lovely women in
their gorgeous and picturesque costumes, and the music of fifes and
lutes added to the joyousness of all; while the sound of the church
bells, as they grew more and more indistinct, served to emphasize the
deeper meaning of the day and ceremony, which was almost forgotten in
this dazzling scene.
Then, too, the "Anti-Doge" was always there,--the representative of
the poor people, chosen by them, and usually the best gondolier among
them. On some half-ruined {11} boat he held a court of his fellows,
all wearing masks. He had his own fifers, who fifed anything but
well, and surrounded by hundreds of little boats he performed all
sorts of buffoonish tricks,--now offering to tow the Bucentaur, again
begging for a seat on the Ship of State, and all with most ridiculous
gestures and in apparent good faith. Whatever he did was received
with laughter and merriment, not only by his friends but by the
patricians as well.
At length the castles of San Andrea and San Niccolo were reached; and
just outside them the ring was dropped into the majestic Gulf of
Venice. At this moment every sound was hushed. Each one of the vast
throng desired to hear the words of the Sposalizio (marriage); and
immediately following it the Patriarch of Venice returned thanks to
the sea for all its blessings, and prayed for their continuance.
With the first buzz that indicated the close of these solemnities,
the "Anti-Doge" cast an iron hoop into the water, and in a moment
gayety reasserted itself. The return to Venice was in some sense a
race for the smaller craft; the Bucentaur and the patrician boats
were enlivened by songs and witty persiflage; and the whole evening
was given up to merry-makings of various sorts.
Doubtless, in the earliest celebrations of this marriage there were
those who shook their heads, looked solemn, and tried to be serious
and even sad in the midst of the festivity, recalling and regretting
the more simple celebration of Ascension Day, which had been good
enough for their fathers, and was consequently fine enough for them.
Such people exist everywhere and at all periods; but what was the
difference?
At the end of the tenth century, and almost two hundred years before
the visit of Pope Alexander, when, as the record says, "there was no
custom of triumphs," {12} Pietro Orseolo returned from his victorious
expedition against the pirates and corsairs of Africa, who had been
the scourge of all the coasts of the Adriatic. He had cleared the
sea of robbers, and greatly extended the dominion of Venice.
For the first time a triumphal entrance was involuntarily made. The
grateful populace surrounded the victor and attended him to the Great
Council, where the most flattering praises were addressed to him,
couched in magnificent words.
Orseolo had set out on his expedition on Ascension Day, and on its
first anniversary the Feast of La Sensa was inaugurated. In a large
barge, quite concealed by its covering of cloth of gold, the clergy
in their richest vestments, wearing all the sacred jewels and
ornaments, left the olive-groves of San Pietro in Castello, and at
the Lido met the still more magnificent barge of the Doge. Then, as
in later days, every sort of boat that could be used in all Venice
was there, filled with all conditions of people.
The ceremony began with litanies and psalms, after which the Bishop
rose and prayed aloud: "Grant, O Lord, that this sea may be to us and
to all who sail upon it tranquil and quiet. To this end we pray.
Hear us, good Lord." Then the singers intoned, _Aspergi me, O
Signor_ (Cleanse thou me, O Lord), while the two barges approached
each other, and the Bishop sprinkled the Doge and the Court with holy
water, and what remained was poured into the sea.
This simple religious rite, celebrated in the enchanting atmosphere
of the lovely, blooming season of the year, must have deeply moved
the hearts of those who went down to the sea in ships, as who did not
in Venice? It was perfectly adapted to the initial years of a
Republic when aristocratic rule was in its infancy; but two centuries
later all was changed, and the Sposalizio was in accord {13} with
Ziani and his aims as truly as La Sensa represented Orseolo.
There are those who question all the story of the romantic incidents
of Pope Alexander's visit to Venice. To them we would give the
customary and most satisfactory answer of the Venetians: "Is it not
depicted in the Hall of the Great Council? If it had not been true,
our good Venetians would never have painted it."
THE BOATS OF MODERN VENICE.
Most of the craft one sees in Venice now are vastly different from
those we have been thinking of. The gondolas, alas! all look as if
ready for a funeral,--black, only sombre black. This seems an
unnecessary extension of the time when the sins of the fathers shall
be visited on the children; for many more than three or four
generations have perambulated these fascinating waters in these
dismal boats. Why should the undue extravagance of the past, which
was curbed by this monotonous gloom, forbid a bit of cheerfulness
now, hundreds of years later?
It may be fortunate that the Bucentaur went up in fervent heat, for
it is more than possible that it might not have realized our ideal of
what it should be; and now each one can gaze in imagination at just
what he would have made it if he could. But we would like to have
some galleys remaining, and rowed by slaves or prisoners. It would
afford an outlet for sympathy and pity, the exercise of which virtues
is good for us, and which are so often, even in Venice, bestowed on
those who neither merit nor need them.
But we have the felucca, the sandolo, the bissone, and innumerable
little boats to add life to the canals and lagoons. If we can see
numbers of these, with their variously colored sails, running the
gamut from white to {14} brilliant orange and tawny red, with here
and there those that are striped, and many that are deliciously
patched and resemble Joseph's coat in their variety of tones,--if we
can but get all these between the Riva degli Schiavoni and the Isola
di San Giorgio Maggiore at the sunset hour, we need not regret not
having lived under the Doges.
Never were colors more picturesquely mingled; and as they pass to and
fro, out from and into the Giudecca, we almost forgive the gloom of
the gondolas, especially if now and then one adds its effect in
contrast with the brilliancy of the other boats. That marvellous
Venetian sunset! It is an unending subject. One talks of it, writes
about it, tries to exaggerate it and fails to do so, and can never
think of Venice without recalling it. It is like a vast
conflagration, and its flames seem likely to lap up the water it
blazes over, together with all the boats and men who dare to row or
sail into its fiery circle.
But we must not omit the steamboats that now traverse Venetian
waters. What can we say of them? There are two views, each having
strong supporters. Perhaps the larger number cry out, "Desecration
and deterioration;" but others find them more in the spirit of Venice
at its best than anything that is equally prominent in the modern
city.
How eagerly did the old "makers of Venice" seize on everything that
could advance her commerce and her trade! Would they have hesitated
to use any power that could save their ducats and their time? Ah,
no; and the glorious new impulse which this age has brought to United
Italy finds expression in the revival of her industries, and her
adoption of ideas evolved by others while she slept the dreamless
sleep from which she now awakens.
{15}
CHAPTER II.
A SUMMER DAY.
Venice in summer with a marine artist for a companion,--could
anything be better? An artist from early dawn to dark, from the top
of his curly head to the soles of his feet; an artist who indeed
appreciates--no, perhaps _approves_ would be more nearly true--the
pictures of Titian and Tintoretto on a rainy day, but will have none
of them in any kind of weather when the sea can be studied and
painted.
The summer is the only season when one can really know modern Venice;
the only time when one can in any good degree separate himself from
the long ago and live in the present; the time when he will, in spite
of himself, turn his back on the works of man and live out in the
world that God created before palaces and churches, arsenals and
towers, had been invented.
The most delicious of days is that when in the cool morning we take
to our gondola, with our artist and his traps, the books that we
think we shall read but rarely do, the fancy work which soon loses
its interest, the rugs on which to lie for the afternoon siesta, the
basket with the solid luncheon, a second with fruit and sweets, and a
third with wine. And when our little maid Anita, so busy in the
house that she can scarcely leave it, comes with her gay handkerchief
but half arranged about her shoulders, begging pardon for her
tardiness and smiling at our gondolier, Giacomo, whom she calls her
cousin (?), all is ready.
{16}
We pass into a side canal to do a necessary housekeeping errand; for
we live not in hotels,--not we,--and sometimes, we will admit, our
furniture requires repairs, and frequently we must buy some needful
article which we fail to find in our "completely furnished lodgings."
But the effect of the historic name of our palace is to make us feel
so wealthy that we do not regret the _lire_ that we spend with the
proper amount of haggling, and our spacious quarters and carved
balconies are so inexpensive to our American minds that our _padrone_
hears no complaints.
Few gondolas are yet moving. Cooing pigeons, pert sparrows, and
swiftly circling swallows are searching here and there for any stray
crumbs that will afford a morning meal. We stop at a _traghetto_
(gondola stand), and Anita darts away and disappears on her errand.
We meanwhile watch a great water-barge which has just arrived with
its cargo of "sweet water" from the mainland. How weary the men
look, and no wonder; for to Giacomo's questions they reply that two
days have passed since they set sail. The winds have held them back,
but they hope that the same weather may send them home before night;
and as they are safely here, why complain? The small boats are there
ready to receive the water; and the wheezy little engine soon fills
them, and they go off to replenish the public wells by means of their
long hose.
All this time, as we watch these proceedings with interest, the
artist has been sketching like mad. Theoretically he disdains
anything inside the Grand Canal; but we think that "all is fish that
comes to his net" in the way of novelties in Venetian life; and it is
wonderful how many such despised "pot-boilers" he sells.
And now Anita comes tripping down with the coveted coffee-pot she had
begged us to buy now, knowing from experience that we may be too late
home to have it ready for the morning. As we move off, we ask the
bargemen {17} how much they get for their cargo, and are much excited
by their answer, "Cinque lire, signor." One dollar for all that!
One loves Venice with a well-filled purse in his pocket, but he would
not like to earn his living at Venetian prices for labor.
Now, our business ended, we are really ready to start, and we settle
ourselves comfortably to enjoy the sights on either hand. As we come
into the Grand Canal, some rosy sunrise colors still linger in the
east and remind us of Poussin, who declared when flying from Venice,
"If I stay here, I shall become a colorist!" With this reminder of
the glorious canvases on which we turn our backs day after day, and,
to be frank, now rarely think of, we wonder at the spell that is over
us.
It is an enchanting spirit of do-nothing that possesses us; our
thoughts wander lazily from one subject to another, but never rouse
us to energy of action. We think complacently of the artistic
treasures of every kind which are within our reach,--for which when
in Boston we long with an energy of desire that would keep us going
from San Marco to the Ducal Palace, on to the Frari and other
churches, and so through the whole list of "sights" with zealous
industry; and yet, now we are here, we will have none of them, at
least not to-day. October will come, and bring another spirit to us.
But now Venice is enough. Its changing aspect, its clouds, its
islands, its people,--in a word, its boat life is enough.
Leaving thus behind us that great Past which at other times holds us
with its wondrous power, we find full compensation in the Venice that
still lives; and of this Venice the best part is the water class (if
one may use this term), the robust, frank, joyous survival of the old
Republic, bubbling and growing into the new Italy of our day.
A good gondolier, like our Giacomo, is a treasure,--the sort of man
that helps one to respect the human race and {18} forget how many of
another sort one has seen. If you allow him to feel himself to be a
part of your life, he will identify himself with your interests,
sympathize in your joys and sorrows, and tell you all his own. We
must admit, however, that there is another kind, and that a bad
gondolier is like a certain little girl whom we all know,--from bad
he rapidly goes to horrid.
As Giacomo makes us his confidant,--I had almost said confessor,--we
find the gondolier's life to be a happy one, in spite of its surface
seeming of hardship and poverty. They see the sun whenever it
shines, and breathe the fresh air; their exercise develops a fine
physique; polenta, bread, and wine are delicious with the sauce of a
good appetite; and being a most conservative race, they desire only
to be what their ancestors were in past centuries. They go rarely to
church. Custom is their religion, and at each _traghetto_ there is
an image of the Virgin ready to grant their prayers; and all their
good or ill is promptly referred to "Our Blessed Madonna."
A country-flitting for a few days in the summer, with half a dozen or
more companions, and their little suppers in the winter content them
for amusements, while an extra treat of theatre or opera makes them
supremely happy. And on festal days who sees more than the
gondolier? If a rowing-match occurs, with what excitement does he
defend his favorite champion! Curiously enough, each _contrada_, or
district, has its own customs and festivals, even its own dialect to
some extent; and while each one knows intimately the affairs of his
own _contrada_, outside that quarter he knows little, and little is
known of him. All this has Giacomo taught us; and we admire his
honest face as he touches his cap and asks the artist where we are to
go.
"Are any large vessels lying off the Riva, Giacomo?"
"_Si_, signor" (another touch of the cap), "an Austrian Lloyd came in
last evening."
{19}
"Then let as lie in her shade awhile."
Coming to our vantage-ground, where even the extra canopy on our
gondola could not have sufficiently lessened the heat of the sun, we
prepare for a long stay.
The water is magnificent. The sands on the Lido have been stirred by
the wind, and the opaque green sea is mottled with yellow stains.
The fishing-boats are always fascinating, and claim our first
attention; some are already at their anchorage near the public
gardens, unloading the "catch" of the night; others, still some
distance out, are tacking and crossing each other's bows in a
confusing fashion, led by a procession coming nearer in; the
many-hued sails with their curious designs--full-blown roses, stars
or crescent moons, hearts blood-red and pierced by arrows--absorb our
attention as imperatively as when we first saw them long years ago;
and our artist still puts them on his canvas as eagerly as if he had
not done it a hundred times before, and others of his sort a hundred
thousand. "New every morning and fresh every evening" can be
repeated in Venice with rare truthfulness.
The gondola is moored, and the artist hastily sets up his easel and
begins his work. The rowers watch him until they see him quite
absorbed, and then by signs ask permission of Giacomo to leave us
awhile. A little signal-flag soon brings a row-boat alongside, and
takes them off. Anita's fingers are already flying over a piece of
pretty lace which is always in her hands when she has a moment of
leisure. It is at such times as this that we learn from Giacomo many
things that we have not read in books, and question him about the
customs we observe.
To-day a steamboat passing at the moment reminded us that we had
heard a reference to a strike of the gondoliers when the vaporetti
first appeared at Venice. At a sign Giacomo comes near enough to
talk to us in a quiet tone; and as he advances, cap in hand, Anita
cannot refrain from {20} darting a glance at his handsome face, and
as quickly looking down at the never-ending lace.
"Do the gondoliers like the steamers, Giacomo?"
"As the devil loves holy water, signora."
"Have you ever made any opposition to their being here?"
"Undoubtedly, signora. When first they began to run between the
station and the public gardens, we made a strike."
"A strike of gondoliers in Venice? How dreadful! How did it end?
Tell me all about it, Giacomo."
"_Con piacere_, signora. It was on the Monday before All Soul's Day
that we determined on the strike; and some loose-tongued fellows told
our plans, so that the Syndic heard the tale and sent for some
leading gondoliers and tried to have them give it up. But we held
fast, and on Tuesday morning not a man nor a gondola was found at the
_traghetti_. But at each one the image of Our Lady was decked as for
a festival, and the Italian flag was flying to show that we were true
to Italy.
"The Grand Canal was deserted and quiet as the grave, except when a
steamer passed loaded with passengers. There were no gondolas at the
ferries; and when the Syndic had done his best, there was but one
boat to each one of them. Crowds of women waited angrily to go to
market, and all who wished to pass for any reason were scolding and
cursing the _vaporetti_ on every side.
"The gondoliers were walking about in slouched hats, and gathering in
knots on the bridges and at the street-corners. The wine-shops were
full, for the air was keen, and a warm corner was needed when one had
no exercise to stir the blood. But there were no riots."
"But the gondolas, Giacomo, where were they?"
"In the little canals, madama, and so closely packed that one could
walk a long way on them in some places {21} and never see the water.
It was a sad, sad sight,--so many good Venetian boats idle, and those
foreign 'puffers' full of people! And so Tuesday passed; and that
evening no songs were heard, no stories told, and every gondolier in
Venice was as sad as if his mother lay dead."
"Were there no quarrels, Giacomo? Did not the women tell the
gondoliers that they were wrong?"
"The women, signora, were firmer than the men. They hated the
_vaporetti_ and cursed them. But on Wednesday, as had been thought,
the trouble increased. At every _traghetto_ the Syndic posted a mild
appeal to the boatmen, and bade them remember what pride Venice had
in her gondoliers. It persuaded them and flattered them as if they
were naughty children, and invited them to meet the town council.
They went; but only talk came of it. The gondoliers demanded the
dismissal of the steamers; the council refused, and the meeting
dissolved quietly.
"But what a confusion there was! You know, madama, that everybody
goes on All Soul's Day to San Michele to lay a wreath on the family
graves. Not to do this would make them unhappy all the year. And
how to do it on this day was the question; for not one gondolier in
all Venice was tempted, not even by the offer of twenty times his
usual fare.
"Every boat of every sort that was not a gondola passed and repassed
many times to the cemetery and back; and all were full. No doubt the
boatmen made a good day's wage; but the gondoliers had never seen,
not even in the carnival, anything so ridiculous; and that evening
when they described to each other the boats and the rowers they had
seen, and acted out all these absurdities, you would have thought
them the merriest souls alive."
"But were they so, Giacomo?"
"No, indeed, signora: they were miserable. They could not sleep, or
if they did they dreamed that they were rowing {22} over the lagoons,
and only woke in wretchedness to find it was not true."
"And on Thursday what happened?"
"The gondoliers then took an advocate, and sent him to the Syndic to
plead their cause. But the Syndic would not listen; he would only
deal with the gondoliers themselves, and he began to be severe and to
talk of many steamboats running everywhere; and the gondoliers were
told of 'launches' that could thread the smallest canals _better than
gondolas_! Alas! signora, what could be done if this were true?
"Just then the military and customs officers who had loaned their
boats to the ferries sent word that they must have them again; and an
old gondolier whom all the others respected, took his boat out and
began to serve a ferry. Instantly the strike was ended. The
gondolas were untied, cleaned, and dressed as for a gala-day. The
canals and lagoons were soon alive with them, and we had our Venice
back again."
It was the old story. The gondoliers could not be allowed to stand
in the way of progress, nor could they lay down the law to Venice.
But their simple way of going on a strike, and absolute simplicity in
ending it, was almost pathetic; such children did they seem in
comparison with strikers and strikes that we know.
By this time midday has come, and our very early breakfast calls for
an early luncheon. The artist is so absorbed in his work that it
seems almost a sin to disturb him; but in his ardor to-day he has
painted so rapidly as quite to satisfy us, and half to content
himself,--a true artist rarely does more than this.
After luncheon we try to read; but the many changing sights and
sounds are too distracting for anything that requires thought, and
when we read a story on the lagoon we are never able to remember
whether the lovers married {23} or were separated by a cruel fate. A
sentence is well begun, when a deeper shadow puts a new color on
everything, and we drop our book to look; the same sentence is half
read a second time, when a fruit-boat laden with piles of green and
golden melons and luscious peaches comes so near us that Anita calls
out to Giacomo to buy what will be needed on the morrow, and we
listen to the chattering and bargaining until that is over; the third
time that particular sentence is finished, but just then drowsiness
overcomes our brain, and we are asleep.
We wake to find our rowers in their places, and the day so far spent
that we must decide where we will dine,--at home, at the Lido, or at
our favorite _trattoria_. To-day we favor the Lido, although we are
hungry and the dinner is not so good as on the Zattere; but the
exquisite outlook at sea and sky, and the mystery of the bit of
distant coast, minister to that Venetian appetite of eyes which is
never satisfied, and the home coming at night sends us to sleep with
such a heavenly vision in our thought.
Landing rather late at Sant' Elisabetta, we have only time for a
quick stroll around our favorite promenade, while Giacomo orders our
dinner. The fresh sea-breeze is delicious, and the dim blue line of
hills above Trieste seems very near in the clear atmosphere; we
gather a large bunch of poppies and a dainty nosegay of primroses,
and then seek the little _osteria_.
When we turn our gondola homeward, the afterglow is fading, and the
gloaming with its quiet leads the thoughts far, far away. The stars
come out, and the rising moon gives just that light that changes all
objects into ghostly apparitions. The schooners are phantom-ships;
everything that is moving is indistinct and spirit-like, seeming as
if suspended and floating in mid-air, until we come nearer to the
city and the lights give a new aspect to the evening.
{24}
The pyramids of lamps on San Marco are all ablaze. Gondolas are
hastening to the Piazzetta. The band is playing, and we know how gay
it all is. But to-night we turn into the Grand Canal, where we catch
glimpses into lighted rooms with richly ornamented ceilings, while
from the overhanging balconies come gay voices and musical laughs,
such as are in harmony with the pearly city the moon is now
revealing; and the artist recites from Longfellow,--
"White swan of cities, slumbering in thy nest
So wonderfully built among the reeds
Of the lagoon, that fences thee and feeds,
As sayest the old historian and thy guest!
White water-lily, cradled and caressed
By ocean streams, and from the silt and weeds
Lifting thy golden pistils with their seeds,
Thy sun-illumined spires, thy crown and crest!
White phantom city, whose untrodden streets
Are rivers, and whose pavements are the shifting
Shadows of palaces and strips of sky;
I wait to see thee vanish like the fleets
Seen in mirage, or towers of cloud uplifting
In air their unsubstantial masonry."
{25}
CHAPTER III.
THE DOGES: THEIR POWER AND THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS.
There is a wonderful fulness and magnificence of sound in the title
of the Doge of Venice! It has only been paralleled by that of the
Stadtholder of the United Provinces, and excelled by that of the
President of the United States.
Why is this? Partly because it is a less generic title than emperor,
king, sultan, and so on; and then it was the gift of the people, not
a mere accident of birth. A man was already known for strength of
character or for great deeds before he received the Beretta. He had
attained an influence over other men in such a degree that they were
willing to elevate him above themselves.
In the accounts of the achievements and acts of the Doges, it would
seem that their power was absolute; but the truth shows this
appearance to be most deceitful. For while the earliest of these
dukes were autocratic, the democracy soon feared the effect of such
rulers, and gradually the Doge was hedged in until, in one way and
another, he who appeared to govern was more governed himself than
were many who surrounded him.
But when, in 697, Luca Anafesto was elected the first Doge of Venice,
and in the church of his own parish was seated in an impromptu chair
of state, and invested with a crown of gold and a sceptre of ivory,
he thereby acquired vast power. He was not only the head of civil
and military affairs, but of the Church as well, since the purely
{26} spiritual matters only were controlled by the clergy. His
Serenity alone could convoke the church assemblies; and no deacon,
bishop, or patriarch could be chosen or confirmed in office without
his sanction.
In fact, he was a Sovereign, for the Tribunes were subordinate to the
Doge; and for twenty years Anafesto reigned supreme. But in that
time the public vacillated curiously as to how they would be
governed. Theoretically they were a democracy, and monarchy was an
experiment; and for centuries a semi-civil war existed in Venice,
degenerating at times into actual anarchy.
The name of Doge was given up, and that of Magister (Master) was
adopted; again Doge was in favor, and not infrequently those who bore
the dignity of that office were blinded, insulted, exiled, and even
murdered. To change the Doge seemed to be the only panacea which
occurred to the Venetians in times of difficulty; and erelong what at
the first glance seems an honor came to be, in fact, a serious
danger,--a position subject to suspicions, jealousies, and
conspiracies.
Like the stories of the early days of other nations, that of Venice
is largely mythical, confusing, and confused; and not until Giovanni
Sagornino (John of Venice, and Deacon John, as he is called) wrote a
connected and trustworthy story of his own time, can we clearly trace
the course of events.
From 976 on through the dogates of the Orseoli and the Michieli, the
external history of Venice is told by recounting the fightings with
Dalmatians and other neighbors, and even with the Normans at Naples,
and the story of the earlier crusades; while its internal history is
a strange mixture of plots and counterplots on the one hand, and the
endeavors of those who had learned the value of law and order, on the
other, to bring about some conditions on which all could rest with
confidence.
[Illustration: _Ducal Palace._]
{27}
The manner of electing the Doge during three centuries was very
curious, but after all not unlike the methods of politics almost
everywhere. There are always bold, enterprising men who seem born to
be leaders, and others who, through family tradition or great wealth,
appropriate to themselves prominent positions. These classes existed
in Venice, and they held what we should call caucuses, and decided
who suited them best for Doge. Of course there were compromises to
be made before these leaders could agree; but at last a sort of
mass-meeting was called in San Marco, and the people were advised as
to who they should elect. Naturally, he who was thus easily exalted
could be as easily destroyed; and the inspiriting cries of _Provato,
Provato_ (Approved), which arose like thunder-tones to announce the
will of the people, must have had an undertone on a purely minor key,
in spite of the honor and dignity they conferred.
Vitale Michieli II., who came into power in 1117, was the last Doge
elected by this dubious form of universal suffrage. The people had
grown in experience and intelligence, and demanded more real power
for themselves.
A century had now passed since Venice had begun to replace the mud
huts and primitive houses of her founders and their descendants with
marble palaces; and the churches and monasteries of the tenth and
eleventh centuries show full well the riches of the Republic at that
period, and foreshadow the abounding magnificence which followed so
rapidly. But this wealth was not distributed among the people, as
the privileges of salt-gathering and fishing had been among the
primeval dwellers on these islands.
The fact that San Marco, the Ducal Palace, and the first Public
Hospital were all founded by one Doge, Orseolo I., from his private
fortune at the close of the tenth century, and even the wills of the
Patriarch Fortunate in 825, and {28} of other wealthy patricians,
prove how riches were massed in certain families; and these families
also absorbed the honors of the Republic.
The names of the Orseoli, Michieli, Dandolos, Contarinis, Morosinis,
Tiepolos, and others occur _ad infinitum_, alternating in the story
of the glories and riches of Mediæval Venice. They were all
patricians (_Maggiori_), and a wide chasm now separated them from the
lower classes (_Mediocri_ and _Minori_). The former had sufficient
means to stay at home, while the two latter were forced to follow
various maritime occupations; and it soon came about that all the
larger ships were owned by Patricians, were fitted out by them, and
brought back to them the gold which gave them their power. In short,
Venice, calling herself a Republic, was governed by an Oligarchy,--by
a few families who now owned almost all the soil outside of that in
possession of ecclesiastical establishments.
One custom which had greatly furthered the establishment of the
aristocracy was discontinued in 1033; this was the association of the
son of the Doge with his father in the power and responsibility of
the office, which directly tended to making it hereditary. But in
spite of reforms, only patricians held the civil, military, naval, or
ecclesiastical offices; only patricians governed the provinces; the
judicial and episcopal benches were filled by the same class, and to
them alone had the Beretta and the Pallium been given. In five
centuries, as frequently as the Doges had succeeded each other, but
nineteen families had been honored with this office, which had now
assumed a power as independent and a magnificence as imposing as
those of the rulers of Germany or France.
After reading of the power, wealth, and influence of the Venetian
Republic in 1172, we are surprised to learn that its population was
but sixty-five thousand; and yet, even with this small number, the
Arrengo (General Assembly), {29} consisting of all male inhabitants,
had become a troublesome body, and hitherto no measure was valid that
had not been passed by it.
The Patricians found themselves between two fires,--the Arrengo on
the one hand, where the poorest and most ignorant of the Minori had
equal rights with themselves, and on the other hand the Doge, who was
elected for life, and whose power was only modified by two
Councillors, who might easily be entirely in his control.
The assassination of Michieli III. in 1172 afforded an opportunity
for changes, and the increasing dissatisfaction of the aristocracy
now culminated in a reform of the Constitution, which ended in a
division of Venice into six wards, from each of which two deputies
appointed forty members of a Great Council (Consiglio Grande), which
was to be the general legislature, elected annually on September 29.
The Arrengo was not abolished, but would be convened only on
occasions of vast importance, such as a Declaration of War, the
Election of a Doge, or the making of a Treaty of Peace.
This measure seemed very harmless, as there were no limitations to
the rank of a Councillor; but the Patricians well knew that the
Deputies would be of their order, and each of these could appoint
four members of his own family; and as almost from the first the
meetings of the Council were held with closed doors, it soon became
anything but a democratic body.
Having thus largely extinguished the power of the people, the
Patricians proceeded to limit that of the Doge. The Council of Two
was replaced by one with six members, who were to advise his Serenity
on all matters, and without their approval no act of his could be
legal. These Privy Councillors retained their office through the
entire Dogate to which they were elected. From the four hundred and
eighty members of the Grand Council, sixty {30} Senators were
annually elected to attend to many matters which did not require to
be brought before the whole council, and to overlook the machinery of
the government.
All this being done, a new Doge was elected in an entirely novel
manner. Thirty-four of the Grand Council were appointed to choose
eleven from their number as an Electoral Conclave; these eleven were
bound by a solemn oath to impartiality, and any candidate who
received nine of their votes was declared to be the Doge.
On Jan. 11, 1173, the eleven met in San Marco with open doors, and in
the presence of a vast conclave elected Orio Malipiero, one of their
own number. But he diffidently declined the office, and begged
permission to nominate Sebastiano Ziani, as better qualified for this
exalted station.
This nomination was accepted, and from the high altar of San Marco
the Procurator announced to the people, using the new formula, "This
is your Doge, if it pleases you" (_Questo e vostro doge, se m
piacera_), and the people responded with shouts and acclamations.
That all this was not as spontaneous as it appeared, was soon
demonstrated; for when Ziani was carried around the Piazza in a
wooden chair by some workmen from the Arsenal, he distributed
liberally to the people money stamped with his own name, which had
been expressly prepared for the purpose. This unusual liberality
alarmed the jealous Patricians, and at once a law was made that only
a newly elected doge should be permitted to distribute largesse, and
he not less than one hundred nor more than one hundred and fifty
ducats. This money was called Oselle, and was specially coined for
the purpose.
Returning to the cathedral, Ziani was solemnly invested with the
crown and sceptre. Thus began his important reign, which lasted but
five years and a quarter, and ended in his voluntary abdication. The
enormous wealth of {31} his family was said to have been founded by
the good fortune of an ancestor who found in the ruins of Altino a
golden cow which had been dedicated to the service of Juno. However
it may have been, this tradition gave rise to the saying, "He has the
cow of Ziani," when speaking of a wealthy man.
By the advice of Ziani, the Bank of Venice was established, and was
the first institution of its kind in Europe. During his reign Venice
bore her part in the siege of Ancona, which so alarmed the Greek
Emperor that he, so to speak, bought back his former ally by a treaty
which bound him to pay Venice _one thousand and five hundred solid
pounds of gold_; but his most important political acts were those
already recounted in the reconciliation of Alexander III. and
Frederick Barbarossa.
Ziani did much for the improvement of the Piazza, and extended it by
removing buildings which were falling into ruin. He embellished the
whole city by the construction of elegant bridges; but tradition
teaches that his greatest architectural achievement was the taking
down of the Church of San Geminiano, in order to enlarge San Marco,
which he did at his own cost.
Before demolishing the sanctuary, Ziani applied to the Pope for his
sanction of the act. The Pope answered that he could not authorize a
sacrilege, but he could be very indulgent after it had been
committed. The church soon disappeared, and its destruction gave
rise to a curious custom. For many succeeding years, on an appointed
day, the Doge, attended by a brilliant retinue, repaired to the
Piazza, where he was met by the curé of the parish with his clergy.
The curé asked, "When will your Serenity be pleased to restore my
church on its former site?"
"Next year," the Doge annually replied, and broke the promise as
often.
{32}
ENRICO DANDOLO.
From the abdication of Ziani to the election of Dandolo, in 1193,
there were no incidents in the story of Venice that do not fade
before the tremendous achievements of the fiery old man, eighty-six
years old when elected, who for twelve years labored to exalt Venice
and humble the Greeks, and, finally dying at Constantinople, which he
had twice conquered, was buried in St. Sophia, far from his beloved
San Marco, and the city for which he gave his life.
The oath taken by Dandolo at his institution in the Dogate is the
first _promissione_ which has been preserved. By it he was bound, by
all possible pledges, faithfully to execute the laws of the Republic,
to submit his private affairs to the common courts, to write no
personal letters to the Pope nor any ruler, and to maintain at his
own cost two ships of war. To such lengths had the jealousy of the
Patricians already reached that the Doge was little more than the
figure-head of the Republic.
The reign of Dandolo opened with the usual conflicts with the Pisans,
Dalmatians, and any other neighbors who were troublesome to the
Venetians at that time, none being of unusual importance. But when,
in 1195, Innocent III. ascended the papal throne, he initiated the
preaching of a Crusade destined to result in the glory of Dandolo and
Venice, but not in the conquest of the Saracens nor the possession of
Palestine.
Innocent, but thirty-six years old, ambitious and energetic, soon
brought to his allegiance all the powers of Europe except the
Republics of Pisa and Venice. Dandolo, with his bravery and
inflexibility of purpose, was a formidable opponent, and when at last
his concurrence was sought, he was asked to aid the Crusade for gain
and not as a subject of the Pope.
{33}
In France the preaching of Foulkes of Neuilly attracted thousands to
his standard. Hazlitt says:--
"The streets of Paris, the banks of the Marne, and the plains of
Champagne were deserted. Doctors left their patients; lovers forsook
their mistresses. The usurer crept from his hoard; the thief emerged
from his hiding-place. All joined the holy phalanx. The joust and
the tourney, the love of ladies, the guerdon of valor, were alike
forgotten in the excitement, the tilters taking the vow and assuming
the emblem of sanctity; in a short time the flower of French
chivalry, from Boulogne to the Pyrenees, was assembled under the
banners of Theobald, Count of Champagne, and his cousin Louis, Count
of Blois and Chartres."
Remembering the terrible disasters that had attended the former
Crusades in reaching the Holy Land, these leaders resolved to invite
the Venetians to furnish shipping to transport soldiers and horses to
Palestine.
An embassy of six French noblemen was sent to Venice, which city they
reached on Feb. 15, 1201. Among them was one gratefully remembered
by us for his record of events which tells us much that the Venetian
writers quite ignored; in fact, some of them make no pretence of
regarding the whole affair as anything but an opportunity to increase
the glory of the Venetians.
The French ambassadors did not attempt to ignore the vast power of
the Venetians to aid or hinder them in the prosecution of the
Crusade. Men and money they had in plenty, but with prayers and
tears they entreated Venice to furnish them with ships. Indeed,
according to Villehardouin, the Crusaders were accomplished in
weeping, and shed tears copiously on all occasions of joy, sorrow, or
devotion.
There were repeated assemblies of the various councils, and after
each of these Dandolo required some days for {34} reflection; but at
length it was agreed that the Crusaders should assemble at Venice on
the 22d of June in the following year, when they should be provided
with transports for thirty-five thousand men and forty-five hundred
horses; it was also promised that these men and horses should be
supplied with provisions for a year, and be taken wheresoever the
service of God required. Then, with true Venetian magnificence, the
armament was to be increased by fifty galleys at the expense of the
Republic. For all this the French promised to pay eighty-five
thousand marks (£170,000) in four instalments.
These conditions being settled, a grand convocation was called in San
Marco, where ten thousand of the people, after the Mass, were humbly
entreated to assent to the wishes of the ambassadors,--a harmless
deceit of these so-called Republicans. Villehardouin made a moving
appeal, watered with tears, and declared that the ambassadors would
not rise from their knees until they had obtained consent to their
wishes.
"With this the six ambassadors knelt down, weeping. The Doge and the
people then cried out with one voice, 'We grant it, we grant it!'
And so great was the sound that nothing ever equalled it. The good
Doge of Venice, who was most wise and brave, then ascended the pulpit
and spoke to the people. 'Signori,' he said, 'you see the honor
which God has done you, that the greatest nation on earth has left
all other peoples in order to ask your company, that you should share
with them this great undertaking, which is the conquest of
Jerusalem.'"
Let us for a moment picture this scene, one of the most unusual in
history. It was a winter afternoon, when the choir and altars alone
could have light enough to relieve the gloom of the cathedral, filled
by an excited crowd, each man of which felt the responsibility (we
know with how little reason) of the "Yes" or "No" he was to speak.
{35} There was no humility here, such as the foreign nobles were
accustomed to; these sea-faring, weather-beaten men looked on them as
equals.
Before the high altar, where the silvery hair and ducal robes of
Dandolo were glistening in the light, knelt these splendidly attired
nobles, weeping and begging for what these poor vassals believed that
they could grant or withhold. We cannot imagine the varied and
overpowering emotions that ascended with that shout of "Concediamo,"
nor the echoes of the great dome that hung so gloomily over all.
The treaty, written on parchment, and strengthened with oaths and
seals, was despatched to Innocent for his approval, and all Venice
began to hum with the unusual preparations for the expedition. The
small coins were found insufficient to pay the necessary workmen at
the arsenal; and a new silver coin, stamped with the effigy of
Dandolo, was issued for their payment.
Besides the many ships to be built, there was armor to be furnished
for a host; catapults and battering-rams must be made ready; the
Venetian galleys were to be provided with lofty towers to be used in
attacking fortresses on the seashore; while an enormous amount of
grain, food, wine, swords, daggers, and battle-axes, thousands of
bows and tens of thousands of arrows with metal tips, as well as
supplies of cordage, oars, sails, anchors, and chains, and many other
things, must be made ready to load one hundred and ten large
store-ships. And for all this but sixteen months of hand labor!
The vast amount of stores always kept in Venice were insufficient,
and men and ships must be spared to go in search of materials. The
laborers were divided and subdivided, and employed both day and
night. The whole work went on as if by magic. As soon as a
transport or galley was completed, it was launched, and another rose
in {36} its place; Venice bustled with labor and bristled with its
results, and seemed a vast Babel for noise.
At San Niccolo and elsewhere on the Lido, barracks for troops,
stables, and storehouses were built, provisions were abundantly
supplied; and the skilful and generous manner in which Venice
fulfilled her great contract would have made her famous, had this not
been eclipsed by greater deeds.
As it became known in all Europe that Venice had undertaken the
transport of the Crusaders, adventurers began to pour into the city.
They came singly and in bands, until early in 1202 fifteen thousand
had gathered; and this number was nearly doubled by June. These
strangers added greatly to the gayety of life in Venice; for, bent
upon dangerous adventures, they were determined to amuse themselves
while they could. They explored the lagoons in the fascinating
barchette by day, and by night told stories of love and war, and woke
the echoes to the unusual sound of the national airs of many nations
and tribes, all more or less martial and inspiriting as heard from
one island to another.
But alas! as month followed month and the expedition did not move,
when it began to be whispered that the barons could not fulfil their
engagements, these harmless amusements changed to drinking and
gambling and such other license of behavior as often led to fatal
quarrels.
The leaders who had come at the appointed time were shocked by the
absence of numbers of those who should have brought their share of
men and money. There had been great discouragements; young Thibault
of Champagne, their chosen leader, had died; and in the long time
that had elapsed since the treaty was made, many impatient spirits
had embarked from other ports and taken various routes to Palestine.
Boniface, Marquis of Monteferrato, was now the leader {37} of the
Crusade; and he and the other nobles, after stripping themselves of
money, jewels, and other valuables, were still unable to pay the last
thirty-two thousand marks of their debt. The situation was
deplorable; the crowded barracks were full of disease, and many were
dying daily, and no one could see any prospect of relief. Even
Dandolo was touched by the troubles and the devotion of the barons;
and now came his temptation,--for it is not probable, as some authors
seem to believe, that he could have seen the end from the beginning;
but his patriotism, which we must allow to have been a refined sort
of selfishness, suggested to him a compromise which was finally made.
Dandolo proposed that in consideration of the debt still due, the
Crusaders should join with the Venetians in subduing Zara, that
ever-turbulent and ever-rebelling city. The larger part of the
Crusaders made no objection to this plan; a smaller number thought it
wrong for soldiers of the cross to turn their arms against
Christians, and feared the disapproval of the Pope. No telegraphs
nor submarine cables existed; to consult his Holiness would require
months, and meantime the debt could be paid by taking Zara, and they
might be landed in Palestine. The condition of the idle soldiers
became more and more alarming; and when the Venetians answered the
objections of the Cardinal-legate, Peter of Capua, in abrupt fashion,
and he left the Crusaders to their fate, the bargain was soon closed
and all arrangements completed.
But one thing remained to be settled,--the choice of a commander of
the fleet; and this was accomplished on a Sunday, in San Marco. The
importance of the occasion drew all the inhabitants, and indeed, all
strangers who could find a place, to the Cathedral and the Piazza.
Patricians, barons, statesmen, soldiers, and the people, all were
there, as well as ladies in rich brocades, with necklaces of pearls
and precious stones and priceless jewels in their hair.
{38}
The crimson, scarlet, and purple robes of the statesmen with their
diamond or gold buttons, the full armor of the barons and knights,
almost as brilliant as jewels, the helmets and shields held by the
pages, all served to render it a scene of dazzling brilliancy; while
the splendid hangings and decorations of San Marco, the costly
vessels of gold upon its altars, and the gorgeous vestments of the
priests served to impress the strangers with the dignity and wealth
of the Republic.
The silks ceased to rustle, and the swords and battle-axes to clink,
as the acolytes took their places; and the service seemed about to
begin, when suddenly the Doge arose and majestically ascended the
pulpit. He was ninety-five years old, and erect as in youth; his
ruddy face and large blue eyes, which did not show their dimness of
sight, spoke not half his age; the furrows across his brow alone
indicated the experiences and the years that he had passed through,
and the ducal crown was never worn with more majestic dignity. Every
sound was hushed, and in the farthest corner of San Marco could his
words be heard:
"'Signori, you are associated with the greatest nation in the world
in the most important matter which can be undertaken by men. I am
old and weak, and need rest, having many troubles in the body; but I
perceive that none can so well guide and govern you as I who am your
lord. If you will consent that I should take the sign of the cross
to care for you and direct you, and that my son should, in my stead,
regulate the affairs of the city, I will go to live and die with you
and the pilgrims.'
"When they heard this, they cried with one voice, 'Yes, we pray you,
in the name of God, take it and come with us.'
"Then the people of the country and the pilgrims were greatly moved
and shed many tears, because this heroic man had so many reasons for
remaining at home, being old. But he was strong and of a great
heart. He then descended from the pulpit, and knelt before the altar
weeping; and the cross was sewn upon the front of his great cap, so
that all might see it. And the Venetians that day in great numbers
took the cross."
{39}
THE CRUSADERS AND DANDOLO AT ZARA.
All preliminaries being settled, and Raniero Dandolo made Vice-Doge
during his father's absence, the embarkation of the army was begun.
This furnished one of those spectacles so frequent in mediæval
Venice, and was watched for days by all the city.
As yet no restraint had been put upon the luxury of dress and display
of wealth which the Venetians loved; and the guilds of the city, each
in its appropriate costume, presented a brilliant and picturesque
assembly whenever the pageants of which they were so fond brought
them together in large numbers. And where do the conditions afford
so beautiful a setting to artistic display as in this wonderful city
of the sea? Where else would silks and velvets, precious stones, and
gold and silver work seem so suitable as in this "Queen of the
Adriatic," rising from its many-tinted waters sparkling beneath a
southern sun?
The noble war-horses of the Frenchmen, led unwillingly upon the
vessels, were an astonishing spectacle to the Venetians, and would be
so still, since recently a single horse at San Lazaro was mentioned
as one of the sights of Venice by our landlord!
To the French, German, and Flemish Crusaders the Venetian war-ships,
huge in size, with deck upon deck and above all great towers, were
equally marvellous. So heavy were they that in addition to sails
each one required fifty oars with four men to each oar. The finest
of these, called "The World," was venerated by the Venetians; for not
only was it the largest ship afloat, but it had proved invincible in
former battles.
As the four hundred and eighty vessels were filled, one by one they
proceeded down the Grand Canal and anchored off the Castle, until the
galleys, transports, and long boats extended for miles on the
Venetian waters. The excitement {40} can scarcely be described.
"Bound for Palestine! To deliver Jerusalem! To exterminate the
Infidels!" These cries aroused the people to the greatest
enthusiasm, and helped the Venetian women, though not without tears
and anguish, to bid God-speed to those they held most dear.
A part of the vessels were sent off in advance; and a week later, on
a brilliant October day, the remaining fleet departed. From the
masts fluttered the standards of Venice and of all the chief
countries of Europe, as well as the rich gonfalons and banners of the
nobles; while above every mast arose the sacred cross. The ships
were filled to their summits with soldiers, their armor glistening in
the sun; while the sides of the principal vessels were hung with the
emblazoned shields of the nobles they carried.
Early in the morning the Doge and the barons heard Mass in San Marco,
and from there, in grand procession, marched to the quay to the music
of silver trumpets and cymbals. Barges were waiting to convey them
to the ships; and as they embarked, hundreds of barchette and other
small boats filled with ladies and children surrounded them, and
followed to witness the departure of the fleet, and wave their final
farewells to husbands and fathers, sons and lovers.
Each noble had his own ship, and an attendant transport for horses.
Dandolo's galley was vermilion-colored, as if he were an imperial
potentate, and his pavilion when on shore was of the same royal hue.
The signal for sailing was given by a hundred trumpets, and in the
castles at the crosstrees of the ships the priests and monks chanted
the "Veni Creator Spiritus."
As ship after ship left its moorings, as sail after sail swelled
before the wind, and the rowers bent to their oars, it seemed as if
the whole sea were covered; and the hearts {41} of those who were
left behind were comforted by the feeling that no power could
withstand so goodly and brave a host. The fleet was watched with
straining eyes until but a few white specks could be discerned in the
dim distance, and the people returned to their beloved Venezia,
seeming now like a vast house of mourning upon which the silence of
the tomb had fallen.
In the Ducal Palace the Marquis of Monteferrato, the
commander-in-chief of the army, lay ill, or made a pretence of being
so. He was attended by the Baron de Montmorency and other nobles,
all strict churchmen, of whom it was more than suspected that their
delay was caused by fear of the disapproval of the Pope. Two months
passed before they joined the Crusade; and as they moved about the
city and sailed on the lagoons, they seemed like the last link
between Venice and all that had gone from her.
The lovely weather which attended the fleet brought it, in spite of
some delays, before the fortress of Zara on Saint Martin's eve
(November 10). No stronghold in the dominions of Venice could
compare with this for strength, and a girdle of lofty watch-towers
secured it against surprise. It was garrisoned by Hungarian soldiers
under fine discipline, and the Zaratines were a brave people.
Seventeen years had elapsed since they had expelled the last Venetian
Podestà from their territory, and they had full faith in their
ability to repulse an enemy.
But the Zaratines had not counted on such a force as now besieged
them, and on the second day offers of surrender were made to Dandolo,
on condition that the lives of the people were spared. The Doge left
the emissaries in order to consult with the barons, and returning to
his pavilion found the Zaratines gone, and in their stead the Pope's
envoy, Abbot Guy of Vaux-Cernay, who advanced with an open letter in
his hand, exclaiming, "Sir, I {42} prohibit you, in the name of the
Apostle, from attacking this city; for it belongs to Christians, and
you are a pilgrim!"
Dandolo was furious, and none the less so when he learned that Abbot
Guy had persuaded the Zaratines not to surrender to the Venetians.
But a council was called, and the barons agreed with the Doge to
resume the siege at once. The abbot had led the Zaratines to believe
that under no circumstances would their lives be spared, and the
second siege was fiercely contested. On the sixth day the city fell,
and was given up to pillage. Fierce quarrels ensued between the
French and the Venetians over the division of the spoil; and this
uproar was scarcely calmed before an emissary from his Holiness
arrived, calling the Crusaders to account for their present
occupation and commanding them to retain no booty.
The French nobles were greatly disturbed, while the old Doge and his
councillors were indifferent to the curses or blessings of the
Pontiff, who had directed the barons to hold no intercourse with the
Venetians, "except by necessity, and then with bitterness of heart."
Innocent expected the Crusaders to proceed at once to Constantinople,
and suggested that if the Emperor, to whom he had already written,
did not supply them generously with provisions, they might, "in the
name and for the sake of the Redeemer," seize such things as they
needed, wherever they could be had. He concluded by commanding them
to proceed at once to Palestine, "turning neither to the right nor to
the left." This in no wise affected the Venetians. They were
excommunicated; but what of that? They had demanded their pound of
flesh from the Crusaders, which was the taking of Zara, to which the
barons had agreed; and Dandolo, by his addition to the fleet and the
army, at his own cost or that of Venice, had left them little cause
of complaint of their bargain, since without him they could not even
start for Palestine. Whatever future {43} causes of dissatisfaction
might arise against him, thus far it had been purely a business
transaction between the Doge and the barons. Of the present
condition Gibbon says:--
"The conquest of Zara had scattered the seeds of discord and scandal;
the arms of the allies had been stained in their outset with the
blood, not of infidels, but of Christians; the King of Hungary and
his new subjects were themselves enlisted under the banner of the
cross; and the scruples of the devout were magnified by the fear or
lassitude of the reluctant pilgrims. The Pope had excommunicated the
false Crusaders who had pillaged and massacred their brethren, and
only the Marquis Boniface and Simon of Montfort escaped these
spiritual thunders,--the one by his absence from the siege, the other
by his final departure from the camp."
The soldiers became so turbulent as to give constant anxiety to the
barons; and the Zaratines were happy at the enmities among the
invaders, and encouraged by the Pope's care for their interests.
The Crusaders sent humble apologies to the Pontiff, so depicting to
him the uncontrollable circumstances which had surrounded them, as in
a net, that the heart of Innocent was touched, and he sent to
Monteferrato his blessing and pardon for himself and the Crusaders.
But Dandolo told the Nuncio that in the affairs of Venice the Pope
could scarcely be interested, since his Holiness had no concern in
them, and he neither asked nor desired any communication with the
Holy See.
Dandolo now displayed his remarkable power as a leader. He proposed
to the Crusaders that with the Venetians they should winter at Zara.
But they, just when they hoped at once to proceed to Palestine, would
hear nothing of such a plan, and insisted on their duty to obey
literally the commands of the Pope.
But Dandolo reminded them that in Zara they had {44} spacious
barracks and stables; that they were going to a hostile land where no
provision had been made for them; that the winter voyage was
dangerous, and, in a word, that it would be madness to leave Zara
before the spring. There was much angry altercation, but the calm
determination of the Doge prevailed. Indeed, without his consent,
how could they go? and the army was ordered into winter quarters.
Dandolo, Monteferrato, and the barons were all sumptuously lodged;
and the Doge set about measures to insure the permanency of his
conquest of Zara.
The barons were dreading the tedium of an inactive winter, when a new
excitement was afforded by the appearance at Zara of ambassadors from
Philip, Emperor of Suabia. There is reason to believe that Dandolo
and the Marquis Boniface (of Monteferrato) had already agreed with
Philip that these ambassadors should be sent, and that all which
follows and depends upon the proposals of the Emperor had been
arranged to gratify the selfish ends of the Emperor, the Marquis, and
the Doge before they left Venice at all; and was to be done at the
expense of the Crusaders, and in direct opposition to the desire of
Innocent and to the interests of the Church.
But since the wisest and most erudite of the historians have not
discovered the whole truth about this and various other matters of
this great crusade,--which certainly might with great aptness be
called a war of the Venetians against their enemies and for their own
aggrandizement,--we cannot be expected to do it.
The ambassadors brought letters setting forth the misfortunes of the
young Alexius, brother-in-law of Philip, and legitimate heir to the
Greek Empire. His father, Isaac, had been blinded and thrown into
prison by his own brother, who now usurped the throne. The young
prince had wandered over Europe, seeking aid; and hearing of the
great number of Crusaders who had congregated {45} at Venice, he had
come to entreat them for the restoration of his father. Alexius
hastily followed the ambassadors; and Monteferrato, who was his near
kinsman, proposed to receive him in accordance with his rank. The
troops turned out, the silver trumpets of the Doge sounded a welcome;
and leaders, monks, and soldiers alike waited to hear Alexius plead
his own cause.
He had much to tell of his griefs and sufferings, and after
rehearsing these he made such royal promises concerning the return he
would make for their aid as appealed to the Venetians, the barons,
the priests, and to the soldiers and sailors as well. He would pay
the four hundred thousand pounds which the Greeks had long owed the
Republic; he would go himself, or send ten thousand men to join the
Crusade for one year, and during his life maintain five hundred
knights for the defence of Jerusalem; he would pay large bounties to
the rank and file of the expedition; and finally, he would renounce
the Greek heresy and secure the submission of the Eastern Church to
the authority of Rome. This last eased the consciences of those who
heard him, and even seemed sufficient to satisfy the demands of
Innocent III.
Philip had sent to the Crusaders his own stipulations, which accorded
with the offers of Alexius, and it remained for the assembled forces
to decide for their acceptance or rejection. The barons felt that
the conquest of Constantinople was a legitimate object for the
Crusaders, as she had been an insurmountable hindrance to the
subjection of Palestine. Dandolo straightway perceived the enormous
advantages that would accrue to Venice if her chief market-place and
source of wealth could be ruled by a Western power, and we must
believe that the pleas for humanity and justice found an echo in all
hearts.
We cannot exaggerate the pitch of excitement to which the debates
were now carried. The opposers were those {46} who feared the Pope,
and were comparatively few. Weary of all these long delays, they
wished only to stand at once on the holy soil they sought to conquer
in the name of God and of his Son. Most of these withdrew from the
camp, which was far less harmful to the expedition than to have
discontents in their midst.
At length the Republic of Venice, eight barons of France, and the
Counts of Flanders, Blois, and St. Pol confirmed by oaths and seals a
treaty of alliance, offensive and defensive, which was despatched to
Philip for his signature. The advantage to the Venetians seemed all
the greater since the Republic had long tried in vain to induce the
Greeks to pay their debt; and it is more than probable that had not
the Crusaders sought his aid, Dandolo would have endeavored to obtain
by the sword what he had failed to get by repeated embassies and
urgent solicitations.
The winter ended at last; and late in April, 1203, the expedition
again set sail. The Zaratines at once revolted in celebration of the
event; but the younger Dandolo had little difficulty in
re-subjugating them, after which he made such a treaty as ended the
rebellions of this turbulent people.
The Crusaders made their first landing at Corfu, and awaited the
young Alexius, who had gone to Durazzo to receive the allegiance of
the governor. The people of Corfu received him as their lawful
sovereign, while the Doge and Boniface treated him with the
consideration due an emperor. Serious difficulties now arose among
the allies. Those who disapproved of going to Constantinople
organized a parliament by themselves. Twelve powerful chiefs were
openly of this party, and others had promised to join them; they were
likely to control more than half of the army. The Doge and Boniface,
as well as their adherents, were greatly alarmed by this sedition;
{47} and they, with all the leaders who adhered to the Venetians,
proceeded to the parliament, taking the young Alexius with them.
According to Villehardouin, the opposition leaders were on horseback
when the Doge and his friends arrived. They dismounted and went to
meet their visitors. The Barons then fell at their feet, weeping
copiously, and declared, that they would not rise from their knees
until the others had promised not to leave the army. Dandolo,
Boniface, and all of them wept; never was there a greater flood of
tears, and in the end the malcontents agreed to remain with the army
until Michaelmas Day, the leaders of the other party swearing on
relics, that after that day, at a fortnight's notice, they would
provide a fleet for all who wished to go to Syria.
All Europe was watching the expedition with breathless interest; and
as we trace its history, after nearly seven centuries have rolled
beyond it, it is full of romantic fascination. Twice have I followed
its course over the same waters at the same exquisite season, and no
words can exaggerate the loveliness of those summer seas. How much
more impressive must it have been when bearing an army with banners,
who in their delight sang songs of joy and made the air resound with
trumpet tones!
"The lovely islands, the tranquil waters, the golden shores, filled
those Northmen with enthusiasm,--nothing so beautiful, so luxuriant,
so wealthy and fair had ever been seen. Where was the coward who
would not dare to strike a blow for such a land?" It was a sort of
triumphant procession in advance, for all the islands received
Alexius as Corfu had done. At Abydos the harvest was ripe, and the
soldiers gladly laid aside their arms to wield the scythe and sickle,
replenishing their ships with the new grain. After eight days they
were again under way; and when, on June 24, the fleet passed close to
Constantinople, all hearts were brave and confident of victory.
{48}
CHAPTER IV.
THE VENETIANS AT CONSTANTINOPLE.
Nine months had elapsed since the Crusaders left Venice, and no
disaster had befallen them. The Adriatic and Ionian Seas were safely
passed; threading the Islands of the Archipelago, crossing the Ægean,
and through the Straits of the Dardanelles into the Sea of Marmora,
even to the quays of the Byzantine capital, had they come, and no
voice or hand had been raised to stay them.
When a nearer approach revealed to them the beauty, the strength, and
the magnitude of the city they hoped to conquer, we may well believe,
as Gibbon has said, "that each heart was chilled by the reflection
that, since the beginning of the world, such an enterprise had never
been undertaken by such a handful of warriors." Rising from seven
hills, the city towered above two continents; five hundred palaces
and splendidly domed churches bristling with spires, were doubled by
reflection in the waters, while the ramparts were crowded with
warriors and citizens.
The Emperor, Alexius the Elder, had known all their movements; but
until the fleet was almost at the border of his garden on the Golden
Horn, he would not allow that the Crusaders could come as his
enemies. When, after some delay, the fleet was anchored off Scutari,
and the army encamped within full view of Constantinople, across the
Bosphorus, Alexius was filled with alarm, and sent a messenger to the
leaders to demand why they had come {49} into his territory, to
assure them of his readiness to supply all their wants, and of his
unwillingness to injure them, at the same time declaring his power to
do so.
The astonished Crusaders returned a sufficiently clear answer. They
declared the Emperor to be a usurper; that the rightful ruler, the
son of Isaac, was with them, and if the crown and empire were at once
surrendered to him, the Crusaders would ask the young Emperor to
pardon his uncle and give him enough to live upon in luxury. They
then assured the messenger that unless he returned with an answer
assenting to these proposals, he had better not dare to come at all.
The leaders believed that a large party existed in Constantinople who
would favor the young Alexius, and deemed it expedient to give this
party an opportunity to declare themselves. They manned and armed
the galleys; Dandolo, Boniface, and Alexius were on one, and an army
of knights and barons on the others. The walls of the city came to
the water's edge for a long distance, and the deep water permitted
the ships to approach very near them; the ramparts were filled with
spectators, as the grand procession crossed the Bosphorus and halted
under their very eyes. Some one near to Alexius proclaimed: "Here is
your rightful lord. We come not to harm you, but to protect you if
you do right. He whom you now obey rules you wrongfully, against the
law of God and man. Here is the real heir. If you do not
acknowledge him, we will do our worst against you." This
proclamation was received with derision, and the people answered: "We
know nothing of him. Who is he?"
The Crusaders returned to Scutari, and made their plans for attacking
the city. So serious a matter as was now in hand overcame all
disaffections; their task seemed hopeless, and every man realized
that he must fight for the cause and not for himself. The priests
urged the {50} confession on all, advised the making of wills, and
held solemn services, praying to all the saints for protection, and
promising generous returns for such assistance.
When all was ready for action, the French undertook an assault by
land. The knights with their horses embarked on the transports,
which could be opened in such a way as to permit the mounted men to
ride across the gangways. The foot-soldiers followed on the larger
ships. Alexius went with the barons, attended with all the state
possible. The crossbowmen and archers were so placed as to clear a
landing; the impatient knights leaped into the water while it was
still up to the waist, and, lance in hand, reached the shore. The
landing was made without opposition, and the army encamped in the
Jewish quarter.
The Tower or Castle of Galata was taken next morning with little
opposition; by this means the immense chain which closed the harbor,
or the entrance to the Golden Horn, was loosened and the Venetians
were able to enter with their ships. They surprised the Greek
galleys, captured a part of them, and sunk others. Four days were
now spent in preparations for the grand attack by sea and land; and
on the fifth day, which was the 17th of July, the terrible struggle
was begun.
The French conducted the land attack with vigor, and had the Greeks
been their only opponents they would have been easily overcome. But
the brave English and Danes,--the Varangians, as they were
called,--although the hired soldiers of the Emperor, drove back the
invaders, and bravely defeated the attack.
Meantime the Doge placed a fleet in the Golden Horn, in line along
the eastern wall of the city, and began his attack in earnest.
Wherever the danger was greatest there was the Doge; and his
achievements are almost beyond belief, when his great age and weak
sight are remembered. Gibbon was not over-fond of the Venetians; let
us quote his tribute to them on this proud day:--
{51}
"On the side of the harbor the attack was more successfully conducted
by the Venetians; and that industrious people employed every resource
that was known and practised before the invention of gunpowder. A
double line, three bowshots in front, was formed by the galleys and
ships; and the swift motion of the former was supported by the weight
and loftiness of the latter, whose decks and poops and turrets were
the platforms of military engines that discharged their shot over the
heads of the first line. The soldiers who leaped from the galleys on
shore immediately planted and ascended their scaling-ladders, while
the large ships, advancing more slowly into the intervals and
lowering a drawbridge, opened a way through the air from their masts
to the rampart.
"In the midst of the conflict the Doge's venerable and conspicuous
form stood aloft in complete armor on the prow of his galley. The
great standard of St. Mark was displayed before him; his threats,
promises, and exhortations urged the diligence of the rowers; his
vessel was the first that struck; and Dandolo was the first warrior
on shore. The nations admired the magnanimity of the blind old man,
without reflecting that his age and infirmities diminished the price
of life and enhanced the value of immortal glory. On a sudden, by an
invisible hand (for the standard-bearer was probably slain), the
banner of the Republic was fixed on the rampart, twenty-five towers
were rapidly occupied, and, by the cruel expedient of fire, the
Greeks were driven from the adjacent quarter."
Fearful for the fate of the French, Dandolo now hastened to their
relief with his troops. The Emperor Alexius had made a sally, but
the aspect of his foes terrified him more and more. At evening he
withdrew his forces, and in the darkness of the night, taking £10,000
and many rich jewels with him, by the way of the Bosphorus he reached
obscurity in Thrace. He deserted his throne and his people, his wife
and his children, taking with him his daughter Irene alone.
The chief eunuch of the palace, Constantine, prefect of {52} the
treasury, first discovered this flight, and sagely warned the most
noble of the Greeks, that they might arrange for the safety of the
throne at once. The old Isaac was released from his dungeon, taken
to the palace of Blachernæ, dressed in royal apparel, and seated on
the throne of which he had been so treacherously deprived. His
nobles jostled each other in their haste to protest devotion and
loyalty; and when day dawned, messengers were sent to the allies
announcing his peaceful restoration, his impatience to see his son,
and his desire to reward his "generous deliverers." These last did
not forget their rights in their generosity. They would not release
the young Alexius until his promises had been made good, and a number
of ambassadors were sent to the palace, among whom was our friend,
Villehardouin, the scribe.
When the gates were opened, the Varangian guards, bearing their
battle-axes, lined the streets; in the presence-chamber, which
sparkled with gold and jewels, the blind old Isaac was enthroned with
his wife at his side, while senators, soldiers, and noble matrons
filled the room. The ambassadors, without hesitation, clearly stated
the recompense promised them by the young Alexius on the fulfilment
of their agreement. Isaac could not understand their speech, but
their tone impressed him with their determination to have their dues.
He retired to an inner room with an interpreter, the Empress, and the
ambassadors, and there was made to comprehend that he was pledged to
submit to the Church of Rome, to aid in the conquest of Palestine,
and to pay to the Venetians the two hundred thousand marks so long
overdue them. With great prudence he worded his reply: "These
conditions are weighty, they are hard to accept and difficult to
perform; but no conditions can exceed the measure of your services
and deserts." He then affixed the golden seal of the Empire to the
treaty; and {53} his son, whose voice he longed to hear, was restored
to him.
On the 1st of August the father and the son were crowned in St.
Sophia with grand solemnities. The quarter of Pera was assigned to
the French and Venetians, and any regret or fear that existed on
either side was concealed by apparent content and enjoyment.
But it was not possible that all the discordant elements which
existed within Constantinople before the arrival of the invaders, and
those which they added should live together in harmony. It soon
became evident that Alexius was most unpopular; his long residence
abroad had tinged his manners with a foreign air, and the familiarity
in which he indulged the Frenchmen was most distasteful to the Greeks.
Beneath his gay exterior the mind of Alexius was greatly disturbed.
He at once paid the allies all the money that he could possibly
control; and small as the sum proved to be it was obtained by
violating the sanctuary, and sequestrating not only the effects of
the late Emperor's family, but also those of such individuals as had
fallen under the suspicion or dislike of Alexius IV. The allies, as
well as Alexius, realized that time must be allowed for future
payments, and that the submission of the Greek to the Latin Church
could not be made at once.
But the alarm of the young Emperor was inexpressible when he
reflected that the time agreed upon for the departure of the
Crusaders was at hand. The Greeks more than suspected the promises
that bound the Emperors to the Latins, and were neither pleased to
support their rulers in magnificent luxury nor to pay foreigners for
invading their capital. Alexius well knew in what danger the
departure of the fleet would leave him, and strove to find a way to
detain it.
He entreated the allies not to desert him until he could {54}
establish his power; he represented that his father and he had lost
the good-will of the Greeks through their friendship for the Latins,
and protested his belief that their departure would be the signal for
a revolution which would take away his power to furnish them troops
or pay them money. Again the sufferings and dangers of a winter
campaign in a hostile land were represented; again he made
promises,--of payment of his whole debt in the spring, of the
immediate organization of ten thousand soldiers and five hundred
knights for the service of God, and the supply of all necessary
provisions for the allies until the Passover; while to the Doge he
promised to keep the fleet afloat until the same time at his own
cost. The Patriarch and clergy meanwhile abjured the Greek heresy,
which mollified the opposition of the more devout, and finally the
time of their departure was deferred to April, 1204.
Alexius desired to visit the cities on or near the Bosphorus in order
to establish his authority and receive their submission, and for
sixteen hundred gold crowns a portion of the troops was sent with
him. The expedition had but a questionable success, and on his
return, early in November, he found that a party of foreign soldiers,
when excited by wine, had attacked a Jewish quarter and burst open a
synagogue.
Naturally a fierce fight ensued; and some Flemings, in order to cover
their retreat, set several houses on fire. A frightful conflagration
resulted; for eight days the fire raged, and when at last it was
extinguished, a third of the Byzantine capital no longer existed.
Several ships in the port had burned to the water's edge; the number
of churches and palaces as well as more humble dwelling-houses, the
amount of merchandise and other wealth that had been destroyed, was
unknown and unknowable. The district burned was the most populous of
the city, and the {55} hatred of the Latins was so much increased
that about fifteen thousand colonists, who had before lived quietly
in the midst of the Greeks, now fled to Pera to be under the
protection of the allies. The whole condition of affairs was most
alarming, both for the Greeks and the Latins, and but a spark was
needed to kindle another sort of fire that would destroy thousands of
lives as well as the city and its wealth.
The conduct of Alexius began plainly to show his double dealing. The
Latins and their reminders of his promises were treated with such
indifference as excited their rage and alarm. At length they lost
all patience, and in January, 1204, sent an embassy of three noble
Frenchmen and as many Venetians to demand anew from the two Emperors
the fulfilment of their contract, and to add that the Doge and the
barons had resolved to take by force what was not peacefully given
them.
This was a dangerous mission; but the six warriors, one of whom was
our scribe, with few attendants alighted at the gate of the
Blachernæ, and on foot, passing between two lines of Varangians,
reached the palace. The two Emperors with their families were
surrounded by the court; a brilliant throng of ladies, ministers, and
nobles, and an army of attendants filled the hall.
Conon de Béthune delivered the message from the allies in a
commanding voice; and, their duty accomplished, the ambassadors
retired at once, and fortunately reached their horses in safety.
Their sudden coming and more sudden going caused an unusual
excitement in the city; and when the truth was known, the Greeks were
in a frenzy of rage that such an insult had been offered them and the
perpetrators of it allowed to depart in safety; with one accord they
turned their wrath against those who had permitted the ambassadors to
escape their vengeance. They cursed the Angeli {56} as unfit to
reign, and Alexius for having sold his country to the Latins; they
swore that the time had come to choose a loyal sovereign who would
lead them to glory and freedom.
The mob destroyed the colossal statue of Minerva in the Square of
Constantine, because they believed that her right hand, pointing
towards the west, had invited the invasion of the French and
Venetians! A bronze figure of a Caledonian boar in the Hippodrome
was accredited with power to charm away sedition, and Isaac ordered
it brought within the grounds of his palace! Such were some of the
preparations for the threatened attack of the allies.
Alexius was enraged, and the blind old Isaac was prostrated by fear;
the whole city resounded with the din of confusion, and the Greeks
resolved on a characteristic revenge,--the destruction of the fleet
by fire. On a dark winter night a French sentinel was startled by
the appearance of a broad sheet of flame approaching the Venetian
fleet. He gave the alarm instantly, and the alert sailors saw and
understood their danger; a line of fire-ships had been lighted and
allowed to drift towards the fleet; the sailors hastily rowed towards
them, seized them with hooks on long poles, and towed them to the
mouth of the harbor, where a current swept them away, the only loss
being that of a vessel belonging to the incendiaries.
A tiresome succession of proposals, made only to be modified or
withdrawn, now ensued; and the Latins determined to be inactive no
longer, but at once to attack Constantinople for the second time.
At this juncture a Greek of a certain sort of influence came to the
front. His name was Alexius Ducas, but he was called Marzoufle on
account of his shaggy eyebrows. He possessed great energy and
boundless ambition, and was utterly void of moral perception or
principle. As {57} grand-chamberlain he had been near the Emperors,
and gradually had come to be their chief adviser. He flattered them,
and incited the people against them; such faith had both father and
son in Marzoufle that when the people, by his connivance, assembled
in St. Sophia to elect a new emperor, they refused to believe that
this was the object of the gathering.
It was with great difficulty that any one could be persuaded to
assume the purple under the present conditions; but at last, overcome
by intimidation, a young noble of high rank and worthy character,
Nicholas Canabes, accepted the diadem. He had no fitness for such
responsibilities as now rested on the Greek Emperor. In truth, there
was no savior of Constantinople at hand. The strongest man was
Marzoufle, and in reality he was conducting the affairs of the
Empire. Hypocritically he worked his way until he gained the ear of
the treasurer and could tamper with the Varangians, and then in a
single night he consigned Canabes to a dungeon, and ordered the
murder of the young Alexius before his eyes, and a few days later
superintended his interment with great pomp. The old Isaac survived
his son's death but a few days, and Marzoufle seated himself upon the
vacant throne without opposition.
Immediately after the murder of Alexius, Marzoufle sent an invitation
to Dandolo and the barons to sup with the young Emperor, who wished
to consult with them. The barons accepted the invitation, and so
long as the messenger remained, Dandolo was silent; but as soon as he
had departed, the old Doge so forcibly represented the danger of such
a step that the acceptance was withdrawn, and, on learning the truth
about Alexius, they felt that they owed their lives to the prudence
and wisdom of Dandolo.
Marzoufle was greatly vexed at his failure to entrap the {58} leaders
of the allies, but watched carefully for another occasion, which soon
presented itself. The Count of Flanders, with a thousand men, went
to Phinea, on the Bosphorus, in search of provisions. Marzoufle
followed with a large body of troops, intending to meet the French on
their return and cut them off when they should be overweighted with
booty and weary from their expedition. But this second scheme
resulted in favor of the allies; the Greeks were totally defeated,
and Marzoufle himself only saved from being made a prisoner by the
fleetness of his horse.
Having boldly assumed full power, his next move was to invite the
Crusaders to a conference in order to make a plan for the fulfilment
of the contract made with Isaac and Alexius IV. The Crusaders were
now minded to refuse to consult with an assassin and usurper; but
Dandolo believed that no opportunity for a possible settlement should
be neglected, and offered to go alone to meet Marzoufle.
Accordingly, the Doge, in his galley, met the traitor near the Golden
Horn. Dandolo stood erect in the prow of his barge, Marzoufle was on
horseback, and their salutations were distant and formal. Dandolo,
after expressing his horror at the crimes which Marzoufle had
committed, assured him of the distrust with which the allies viewed
him, and then recounted to him the terms of the treaty to which Isaac
had set the seal of the Empire.
Marzoufle assented to all the conditions except that of submission to
the Latin Church; sooner than consent to that, he would bury his
country, and himself die beneath its ruins. In vain he was reminded
that the Greek clergy had already renounced their heresy; he was
immovable in this regard, and the two men parted with no result from
their conference except that Dandolo could say that he had used his
best endeavors to bring about a peace. A {59} second attempt was
soon after made to fire the ships. It proved useless, like the
first; and then Marzoufle saw that his only course was to prepare for
open war.
And here one can but admire the ability of Marzoufle. He found the
treasury empty, and replenished it by a strict inquiry into the
abuses under the Angeli, and the confiscation of the property of
those who had amassed wealth unlawfully. The people were unfriendly
to the crown; but by his address, his gayety, and tact he made
himself popular. The Greeks were indifferent to the welfare of their
city, but under his leading they were aroused to patriotism and
energy. The walls were repaired, and in some places raised to a
great height; lofty stone towers alternating with those of wood were
built and filled with soldiers well supplied with the means of
defence; mangonels for throwing stones and darts were mounted between
the towers, and all possible provision made for harassing the
invaders and protecting the Greeks. And Marzoufle was everywhere,
with an iron mace in his hand, and the bearing of a warrior, ordering
the works, encouraging the timid, and striking terror to the hearts
of the discontented.
The Crusaders were equally industrious in their preparations. The
decks of their vessels were piled with enormous stores of missiles
and the machines for hurling them, as well as others for belching
forth combustible matter freighted with death and destruction. The
9th of April had been fixed for the beginning of the assault, and a
council was called and an agreement made concerning the manner in
which the booty should be divided, a new ruler chosen, and other
similar affairs be settled in case they succeeded in taking the city.
An instrument was drawn up, signed, and sealed by Dandolo and the
barons at the camp of Galata, and little else remained to be done
before the attack should begin. As we regard the position of the
allies, it would seem that madness alone could {60} lead them to this
assault. Their temerity is appalling. Before them was an apparently
impregnable fortress, and four hundred thousand men, who now had a
bold leader and were themselves filled with hatred of their foes.
The allies numbered less than twenty thousand, and could neither hope
for assistance from friends without, nor from treachery within the
walls. They could only rely on their bravery and their good fortune.
The Greeks depended on their position and their overwhelming numbers.
All alike believed that Heaven would favor them, and thus sustained
their courage. Gibbon thus graphically describes the siege:--
"A fearless spectator, whose mind could entertain the ideas of pomp
and pleasure, might have admired the long array of two embattled
armies, which extended above half a league,--the one on the ships and
galleys, the other on the walls and towers raised above the ordinary
level by several stages of wooden turrets. Their first fury was
spent in the discharge of darts, stones, and fire from the engines;
but the water was deep, the French were bold, the Venetians were
skilful. They approached the walls; and a desperate conflict of
swords, spears, and battle-axes was fought on the trembling bridges
that grappled the floating to the stable batteries. In more than a
hundred places the assault was urged and the defence was sustained,
till the superiority of ground and numbers finally prevailed, and the
Latin trumpets sounded a retreat.
"On the ensuing days the attack was renewed with equal vigor and a
similar event; and, in the night, the Doge and the barons held a
council, apprehensive only for the public danger. Not a voice
pronounced the words of escape or treaty; and each warrior, according
to his temper, embraced the hope of victory or the assurance of a
glorious death. By the experience of the former siege the Greeks
were instructed, but the Latins were animated; and the knowledge that
Constantinople might be taken was of more avail than the local
precautions which that knowledge had inspired for its defence.
{61}
"In the third assault two ships were linked together to double their
strength; a strong north wind drove them on the shore; the bishops of
Troyes and Soissons led the van; and the auspicious names of the
'Pilgrim' and the 'Paradise' resounded along the line. The episcopal
banners were displayed on the walls; a hundred marks of silver had
been promised to the first adventurers; and if their reward was
intercepted by death, their names have been immortalized by fame.[1]
Four towers were scaled; three gates were burst open; and the French
knights, who might tremble on the waves, felt themselves invincible
on horseback on the solid ground.
[1] Pietro Alberti and André d'Urboise.
"Shall I relate that the thousands who guarded the emperor's person
fled on the approach, and before the lance, of a single warrior?
Their ignominious flight is attested by their countryman Nicetas; an
army of phantoms marched with the French hero, and he was magnified
to a giant in the eyes of the Greeks. While the fugitives deserted
their posts and cast away their arms, the Latins entered the city
under the banners of their leaders: the streets and gates opened for
their passage; and either design or accident kindled a third
conflagration, which consumed in a few hours the measure of three of
the largest cities in France.
"In the close of evening the barons checked their troops and
fortified their stations; they were awed by the extent and
populousness of the capital, which might yet require the labor of a
month, if the churches and palaces were conscious of their internal
strength. But in the morning a suppliant procession, with crosses
and images, announced the submission of the Greeks, and deprecated
the wrath of the conquerors: the usurper escaped through the golden
gate; the palaces of Blachernæ and Boucoleon were occupied by the
Count of Flanders and the Marquis of Montferrat; and the Empire,
which still bore the name of Constantine and the title of Roman, was
subverted by the arms of the Latin pilgrims."
The anxieties and cares of the conquerors were by no means ended by
victory. They had overcome the strongest {62} fortress in existence,
and were in possession of a city whose vast size and inconceivable
wealth (as yet but half known to them) impressed them with their
responsibilities, and foreshadowed difficulties which must be met
with the greatest prudence. The Greeks were a degenerate and
effeminate people, demoralized by bad government and
pleasure-seeking. In the language of an old historian, they "cheated
time and offended Nature, by rearing flowers in winter, and culling
in spring the fruits of autumn." Dandolo and the barons perceived
that this people must be protected; and how to do this before the
whirlwind of profligacy and avarice which was sure to follow, was a
grave question.
"The Marquis of Monteferrato was the model of virtue; the Count of
Flanders, the mirror of chastity;" and they, as well as Dandolo,
endeavored to avert the terrors of pillage and rapine. A
proclamation was issued in their name, commanding that the helpless
and innocent should be spared; and the Count of St. Pol hanged one of
his knights, who offered abuse to a woman, with his shield and
coat-of-arms about his neck, as a warning that the leaders must be
obeyed. But avarice was not checked. The imperial treasury and the
arsenal were guarded, and the rest of the city was given up to
plunder.
Under the penalties of perjury, excommunication, and death, the whole
body of Crusaders and Venetians were bound to deposit all their
plunder, of whatever sort, in three churches selected for the
purpose. In spite of all these precautions and the severe punishment
of the disobedient, Gibbon says that the plunder which was secreted
exceeded in value that which was exposed and divided according to the
agreement previously made. This may easily have been true of the
rare precious gems and small articles of inestimable value which
existed in Constantinople, but that which was divided far exceeded
any anticipations which had been indulged by the leaders.
{63}
Sismondi estimates that the riches of Constantinople before the siege
reached twenty-four million pounds sterling. The Count of Flanders
wrote to the Pope that the wealth of Constantinople exceeded that of
all Europe put together; and Villehardouin declared that never in the
history of the world had so great riches been collected in a single
city. The property divided was valued at one million eight hundred
thousand pounds; and if Gibbon is correct, the whole booty must have
reached four million pounds sterling. In the division half was given
to the Crusaders, and half to the Venetians; and the latter received
fifty thousand silver marks additional, which was due them from the
barons.
The whole story of the terrible destruction of works of art--of
bronzes sent to the melting-pot, of marbles and other beautiful
statues and ornaments that were ruthlessly broken--is heart-rending,
but is not strictly a part of the story of Venice, since the ignominy
and sacrilege of these deeds belong to other nations as well.
Nothing was sacred to the plunderers. Pears tells us--
"Every insult was offered to the religion of the conquered citizens.
Churches and monasteries were the richest storehouses, and were
therefore the first buildings to be rifled. Monks and priests were
selected for insult. The priest's robes were placed by the Crusaders
on their horses. The icons were ruthlessly torn down from the
screens or were broken. The sacred buildings were ransacked for
relics or their beautiful caskets. The chalices were stripped of
their precious stones and converted into drinking-cups. The sacred
plate was heaped with ordinary plunder. The altar-cloths and the
screens of cloth-of-gold, richly embroidered and bejewelled, were
torn down, and either divided among the troops or destroyed for the
sake of the gold and silver which were woven into them. The altars
of Hagia Sophia, which had been the admiration of all men, were
broken for the sake of the material of which they were made. Horses
and mules were taken into the church in {64} order to carry off the
loads of sacred vessels, and the gold and silver plates of the
throne, the pulpits, and the doors, and the beautiful ornaments of
the church. The soldiers made the chief church of Christendom the
scene of their profanity. A prostitute was seated in the patriarchal
chair, who danced, and sang a ribald song for the amusement of the
soldiers.... The plunder of the same church in 1453 by Mahomet the
Second compares favorably with that made by the Crusaders of 1204."
Hazlitt adds to his account of the pillage:--
"Gems of the choicest water, vases of inestimable value, relics of
odorous sanctity, were pilfered from the altars, the reliquaries, or
from private dwellings, by rapacious soldiers, who sold them at a
paltry price; and although these matchless rarities were recovered,
partly by process of exchange and the ignorance of art, no
inconsiderable portion was irretrievably lost. Some, however, found
a worthy destination. The proud monuments of human genius,
sculptures, paintings, frescos, mosaics, and minerals, which the
industry and taste of ten generations of men had gradually amassed in
that city of cities, were scattered by this great revolution among
the palaces and churches, the castles and abbeys, of Western Europe.
Many of the Venetian public buildings were decorated with the
trophies which fell to the lot of the Republic herself; and Venice
accounted no treasures more precious than the four antique bronzes,
which were afterward known as the 'Horses of St. Mark.'"
Many beautiful objects from St. Sophia were also taken to Venice, and
placed in San Marco. The high altar with its bronze gates and marble
columns was a rich trophy, as well as many sculptures and pictures,
vessels of gold and silver, and a great quantity of church furniture.
The famous picture of the Virgin, believed to have been painted by
Saint Luke when inspired by the Holy Ghost, was also obtained by the
Venetians, who were accused of having taken the larger share of the
spoils and of having concealed many treasures in their vessels.
{65}
It was not until the 9th of May that attention was given to the
important matter of the election of a new Emperor. Six Venetians and
six Frenchmen or Lombards, according to the agreement made before the
siege, met in the chapel of the Boucoleon to deliberate on this
momentous and difficult question. The choice lay between Baldwin,
whom the French favored, Boniface, who was the choice of the
Lombards, and Dandolo, whom the Venetians believed the most worthy
and best to have earned the purple. "That old man," said they, "has
gained the wisdom and experience of age without losing the vigor and
fire of youth; his sight may be dim; but his intellect is clear and
strong,--it is he who took Constantinople." The electors, too, were
of this opinion, until one of the Venetians opposed it, and in a long
argument showed so many good reasons against the election of Dandolo
that the matter rested between Baldwin and Boniface, and at midnight
the expectant thousands heard the cry, "Long live the Emperor
Baldwin!"
Boniface and Dandolo hastened to congratulate the Count of Flanders,
and to take their part in raising him on the buckler; according to
the ancient custom, he was thus carried from the palace to St.
Sophia, and placed on the golden throne of the Emperors, while the
barons pressed forward to kiss his hand, and he was solemnly invested
with the scarlet buskins. A few days later, he was crowned by the
Legate, as no Patriarch then existed in Constantinople. The
Venetians, however, soon had the satisfaction of seeing one of their
nobles, Thomas Morosini, on the ecclesiastical throne, while their
clergy filled the Chapter of St. Sophia. The French clergy did not
regard this with favor, and a lengthy correspondence with Rome ensued.
At first Innocent declared the election of Morosini to be entirely
null; but in the course of the correspondence {66} many
considerations were presented to his Holiness which moderated his
views. He did not love the Venetians, but he feared them, and
thought it wiser to be at peace with them than to arouse their
stubbornness. Indeed, Venice now had some claim to consideration at
the Vatican. The restorers of the papal supremacy at the Greek
capital were a different people from the conquerors of Zara, and
after mature reflection Innocent approved of the elevation of
Morosini to the Patriarchate of Constantinople. One can but feel a
certain sympathy with Innocent at the result of the great Crusade for
which he had labored and from which he hoped so much.
"His long and careful preparations had been defeated by Philip,
Boniface, and Dandolo. All the efforts he had made to strike a
deadly blow at Islam had come to naught. The preparations made at so
much cost had resulted in an attack upon Christians, and not upon
Moslems. Constantinople had been captured instead of Jerusalem. The
opportunity, so favorable from many causes, had been lost, and no
other presenting equal advantages was ever to occur again. The
internal quarrel between the Saracen leaders, and the weakening of
Egypt by the non-rising of the Nile during a succession of years,
were accidental circumstances which were never repeated. The supreme
moment for striking a blow at the Saracens at a time when it could
have been struck with effect had passed. Innocent's energy was too
great to allow him to sit idle under the failure, but all his efforts
were unable to create an expedition equal in strength to that of
1202."
Preparations were now made for the second coronation of Baldwin by
the Patriarch on a scale of magnificence which surprised the
Crusaders. He was again seated on a shield and raised on the
shoulders of the chiefs, and then descending was conducted to St.
Sophia by the barons and principal officials. Boniface carried the
imperial robe of cloth of gold. The Count of St. Pol {67} bore the
imperial sword. At St. Sophia a solemn Mass was celebrated, the
crown was placed on his head, and the words "He is worthy" pronounced
and repeated by the bishops and people. After the new sovereign had
communicated, he received all the imperial insignia, and headed the
procession from the church to the Boucoleon, attended by the
Varangians. The streets and houses on the way were decorated with
all the rich carpets and hangings which had been spared by the three
fires and the pillage, and a Frank Emperor was seated on the throne
of Constantine with the full approbation of the Holy See.
Again a grave question, that of the division of the conquered
territory, occupied the attention of the Doge and the barons.
Twenty-lour commissioners, one half of whom were Venetians, were
authorized to make the allotment. Venice received the Morea, the
Illyric Islands, a large portion of Thessaly, the Sporades, the
Cyclades, the cities of Adrianople, Trajanople, Didymotichos, and
Durazzo, the province of Servia, and the coasts of the Hellespont.
But with all this, the Venetians were not content. They desired
possession of Candia, which had been given to Boniface. This island
would be most advantageous to a maritime and mercantile nation; but
of what use to a prince who had neither ships nor commerce? This
reasoning so commended itself to Boniface that he gladly sold the
coveted possession to the Republic for thirty pounds weight of gold,
or about ten thousand eight hundred pounds sterling.
Various titles were conferred by Baldwin on the companions of his
labors and honors. Some of these were most fantastic; and the one
suggestion of the weakness of age recorded of Dandolo is that to his
dignity of Doge of Venice, Dalmatia, and Croatia, he added the
epithet of "Despot and Lord of One Fourth and One Half of the
Romanian Empire:" and as indicating that he was second {68} only to
Baldwin, he claimed the right to tinge his buskins with the imperial
purple!
Thus far all was well; but Baldwin and his friends knew that much
serious work remained to be done. Other conquests must be made, and
a powerful foe vanquished in Theodore Lascaris, the brave son-in-law
of Alexius III., who had many adherents throughout the Empire. But
before making any offensive movements it was necessary to obtain
provisions and secure reinforcements, which had been promised by the
Armenians. The summer was spent in foraging and exploring
expeditions, and during the winter the Latins made themselves
comfortable in their luxurious quarters.
Baldwin grew very impatient of the delay of the Armenian troops.
They were absolutely needful to insure his success in any siege or
attack. At last his impatience overcame his prudence; and in March,
a small contingent having arrived, he set out for Adrianople, where
in April he was joined by Dandolo and the Venetians, who doubled his
numbers. The lofty ramparts of the great city could not be easily
taken, nor its numerous garrison hastily overcome. The King of
Bulgaria with his troops had come to the aid of Lascaris. Fourteen
thousand Comans, who, mounted on their fleet steeds, used their bows
and lances with unequalled dexterity, continually skirmished almost
within bowshot of the army of the Latins, inspiring even these brave
soldiers with doubt and hesitation. At length, however, these taunts
produced their effect, and the whole Crusading army were eager to
chastise the insolence of these barbarians. Even Dandolo, "the
Prudent of the Prudent," was as much in favor of an attack as he was
ignorant of its risks; and it was settled that he, with a few of the
barons, should remain in charge of the camp and siege-works with a
reserve corps, while Baldwin should lead the attack.
{69}
With the first movement of the Crusaders, the Comans retreated; and
Baldwin, deceived by their tactics, pursued them fully two leagues,
when suddenly he perceived that he had been led almost within the
lines in which King John had disposed his troops for battle. The
Comans then wheeled round and attacked their pursuers with the
swiftness of lightning. Just when Baldwin thought himself on the
point of victory, the whole Bulgarian army was upon him, and he must
retreat or see his own army cut to pieces. He decided on retreat;
and Dandolo and Villehardouin were informed by the first stragglers
who reached the camp of the total rout of the army, the death of the
Count of Blois, and the capture of the Emperor Baldwin.
This news fell upon Dandolo like a thunderbolt, and he immediately
saw that a retreat to Constantinople must be made at once. The
Bulgarians were approaching, and the Latins were too few to meet
them. In the night, in spite of many obstacles, the retreat was
begun; after four painful days the old Doge and the remnant of the
troops reached the capital, bringing such tidings as overwhelmed the
whole city with grief and dread. No news had they of Baldwin's fate;
not only the Count of Blois, but the flower of the army of the
Crusaders, had been cut off in the retreat; the Bulgarians might soon
attack Constantinople; the neighboring cities favored Lascaris, and
aided the Comans; and worst of all, they had learned that these bold
horsemen had met and destroyed every man of the Armenian army which
had been sent to Baldwin. The garrison of the capital was small,
provisions were scarce, and it would require months for help to come
from Venice, France, or the Vatican.
And now came the crudest blow of all in the death of Dandolo. He
died at the Boucoleon on June 14. His disease (dysentery) might have
been overcome had his mortification and anxiety been less; he could
not survive {70} the thought that the great undertaking to which he
had devoted all his powers, and which had been so fruitful of great
results, should end ingloriously for Venice and for himself.
He was interred in St. Sophia with imperial honors; his armor was
buried with him, and for nearly two centuries and a half his grave
was unviolated, and Gentile Bellini had the proud satisfaction of
bringing the cuirass, the sword, and the helmet which the great Doge
had worn at the taking of Constantinople to Venice, and presenting
them to the descendants of the grand old hero.
There is an inexpressible sadness in the death of the Doge under such
a weight of sorrow and disappointment, and tortured by apprehensions
of evil which were never realized. King John did not suspect the
weakness of the Latins; the Comans fled to the north to avoid the
summer's heat; and the Bulgarian monarch turned his back on
Constantinople, and attacked the King of Thessalonica.
The result of Dandolo's achievements was of vast import and value to
his beloved Republic. She acquired world-wide glory and new
territory, greater scope for commerce and extended feudal domain; her
standard now floated above almost every seaport, large or small, from
the Lido to the Golden Horn.
"The great power of Venice over the Adriatic, the Ægean, and
especially over the islands mentioned, and over a portion of the
Morea, dates from the Latin conquest,--a power which was used, on the
whole, well and wisely, which introduced or continued fairly good
government, and which has left traces in well-constructed roads and
fortresses. But, as was natural, the results of the Latin conquest
were more markedly visible in Venice herself than in any of the
possessions she obtained. Her marts were filled with merchandise;
her ships crowded the great canals and her harbor with the spoils of
Asia and the products of the Levant; her architecture reproduced and
improved upon that of {71} Constantinople. The spoils of the New
Rome were her proudest ornaments. Her wealth rapidly increased. The
magnificence of the New Rome was transferred to Venice, which was
during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries the most splendid of
Christian cities."
A fourth of Constantinople was assigned as a residence for the
Venetians, where they were permitted to have their own magistrates
and laws; throughout the Greek realm the coins, weights, and measures
of Venice were recognized, and the treaty of 1198 was resumed with
its privileges to Venetian merchants. The Doge of Venice was to be
represented in Constantinople by an officer who should protect the
commercial interests of Venice in the East. Marino Zeno, who had
been a close friend of Dandolo, was at once elected to this office of
Balio, or Podestà. Three Councillors of State, a Treasurer and an
Advocate, a Court of Proprio and a Court of Justice of the Peace, and
a commandant of the troops of the Republic in Romania were sent out
to support Zeno in his lofty and arduous duties.
The Venetians cherished the memory of Dandolo. His genius had long
added lustre to the Republic, and the news of his death plunged the
whole city into sincere mourning. His achievements and the exploits
of his army aroused the pride of the Venetians to its highest pitch,
and they desired to perpetuate in some stable manner the fame of what
is known as the Fourth Crusade. Fortunately the time was propitious
to their wishes; the close of the thirteenth century brought a
revival of art and literature which, among its many glorious results,
numbers the rehearsal of the deeds of Dandolo and his allies by the
historians, and the picturing of their immortal achievements upon the
walls of the Ducal Palace.
{72}
CHAPTER V.
MODERN PROCESSIONS AND FESTIVALS.
Mediæval Venice was a city of imposing spectacles. Its church was a
national church, and its Patriarch, the heir of Saint Mark, was, from
the Venetian point of view, the peer of the heir of Saint Peter. It
being a strictly Venetian or State church, the Doge was its head
equally with the Patriarch, and indeed in a certain way was more
important; for the chief church of Venice was not that of the
Patriarch, but the Chapel of the Doge, while the Chapter of San Marco
was far more powerful than the Bishop, who was officially its
superior.
But it pleased the State to make its church prominent in its public
ceremonies; and each great event in its history--be it the
deliverance from the plague or a conspiracy, or a success in having
proved a plague to any foe--was commemorated by a religious function.
Some of these splendid processions corresponded to those of other
Catholic countries and cities, such as those of the Corpus Domini and
Palm Sunday; and Gentile Bellini's pictures of religious processions
now in the Academy still impress us with the unequalled pomp and
magnificence with which the Venetians loved to dazzle themselves and
the strangers within their gates.
The festivals which were peculiar to Venice were important. The
procession of the Doge to the smallest and perhaps the oldest church
in Venice, San Vio, founded in 917, celebrated the deliverance of the
city from the {73} conspiracy of Tiepolo in 1310; and as it occurred
on the 15th of June, that lovely season in Venice, we can but regret
its discontinuance. But the deliverance from the plague in 1576 and
in 1631 is still celebrated each year. The ravages of the plague in
Venice at various times were almost beyond belief. That of 1171 is
curiously associated with the Giustiniani. A hundred or more members
of this most noble house were cut off by this scourge, and its very
name was in danger of extinction, since the young Niccolo, who now
represented the family, was a novice in the convent of San Niccolo,
on the Lido. The Doge Michieli, under these circumstances, thought
it not wrong to send at once to the Pope, asking that Niccolo
Giustiniani might be released from his vows, and married to Anna
Michieli, the daughter of the Doge. Mrs. Oliphant pictures the
interval between the departure of the messenger and his return:--
"The old Giustiniani fathers, in the noble houses which were not as
yet the palaces we know, must have waited among their weeping women
for the decision from Rome. And it is wonderful that no dramatist or
modern Italian romancer should have thought of taking for his hero
this young monk upon the silent shores of the Lido, amid all the
wonderful dramas of light and shade that go on upon the low horizon
sweeping round on every side, a true globe of level, long
reflections, of breadth and space and solitude, so apt for thought.
"Had he known, perhaps, before he thought of dedication to the
church, young Anna Michieli, between whose eyes and his, from her
windows in the Doge's palace to the green line of the Lido, there was
nothing but the dazzle of the sunshine and the ripple of the sea?
Was there a simple romance of this natural kind, waiting to be turned
into joyful fulfilment by the Pope's favorable answer? Or had the
novice to give up his dreams of holy seclusion, or those highest,
all-engrossing visions of ambition, which were to no man more open
than to a bold and able priest?"
{74}
The Pope could but consent under such circumstances, and the marriage
was celebrated immediately. Nine sons and three daughters were born
of this union; and many men of illustrious character and some great
orators afterward proceeded from the Casa Giustiniani. But his life
in the world, with all its good fortune, did not make Niccolo
forgetful of his early vows nor of the peace of his convent; and when
his duty to the State was done, he there re-dedicated himself to
God's service, and his wife Anna entered her chosen nunnery, where
the holiness of her life caused her to be made a _Beata_ after her
death.
Four centuries later Venice was again decimated; and the deliverance
from the plague of 1576 is celebrated to this day on the third Sunday
of July, which is called
THE FÊTE OF THE REDENTORE.
For some days previously the city is in commotion. A pontoon bridge
is thrown across the Grand Canal; and the ferrymen, whose earnings
are thus lessened, receive three francs a day as compensation.
Pilgrims from the neighboring islands and from the mainland are
constantly arriving, and a motley crowd throngs all Venice.
All Sunday morning the Piazza of San Marco is a busy place, for there
the priests from every parish of Venice gather, and form the
procession that marches hence to the Church of the Redentore. The
variously colored stoles of the priests indicate the parishes to
which they belong; and when the procession is seen from a distance,
these stripes of color are very curious in effect. As the church has
a commanding position on the island of La Giudecca, one may easily
have a fine view of the procession on the bridge, and by quickly
crossing in a gondola lose little of the pageant in the church, which
has no doubt lost much of its original splendor.
{75}
But the great interest of the _festa_ is outside the church. The
quays are filled with tents and stalls, decorated gayly with flags,
and displaying cheap toys, cakes, ices, and fennel, as well as hot
_fritelle_, and more solid food for those who wish. The children are
never weary of these tents, while dancing-halls have been hastily
improvised for their elders. And so all day long there is tramping
and chattering, a sense of confusion and unrest, which invades even
the interiors of the most retired houses; and one is better off to
join in the festivities and fully do his part than to attempt to be
quiet.
The real _festa_, however, seems to begin only when the day is ended.
As soon as the sun sinks to rest, the whole Giudecca Canal is covered
with boats fancifully decorated with boughs, and illuminated with
lanterns shaped like lilies, fuschias, and other flowers whose form
lends itself to illumination. Much time and skill is lavished on
these decorations, as the best device gains a handsome prize.
A little later the supper gondolas appear. These are brilliantly
lighted with lamps, and so beautifully dressed with green branches
and wreaths that they seem like living bowers. The tables are well
filled, and the boats crowded with joyous holiday-seekers, whose
laughs and jests, intermingled with the sound of mandolins and songs,
are most contagious in their merriment. As soon as it is dark
enough, fireworks are set off in many parts of the city, but
especially on the Giudecca, and the air is full of rockets and Roman
candles. The gayety of the scene can scarcely be exaggerated; and
its whole appearance is so characteristic of Venice, and so unlike
any other place, that it is quite impossible to draw a true picture
of it in words. From the inauguration of the _festa_ of the
Redentore, it has been the custom to pass the night on the water; and
about two o'clock the boats all move {76} towards the Lido, there to
salute the rising sun, and many of the people rush into the water to
hail the God of Day.
Thus ends the midsummer fête, so well worth seeing and so unique.
But is not all a Venetian summer full of charm? To us each day is a
lovely _festa_.
A REGATTA.
Venice is especially suited to scenic displays upon the water,--the
winding Grand Canal, cutting the city like a mammoth letter S,
opening into the Basin of St. Mark, the Ducal Palace on one side, and
San Giorgio on the other, the curve of the Riva degli Schiavoni
running into the public gardens, all lend themselves to spectacles
with perfect fitness.
Of late years, too, the Town Council has generously encouraged the
regatta with money and influence. The course of the race is from the
stairs of the public gardens to the Station, and back to the Palazzo
Foscari. The prizes are money and flags,--red, green, and blue for
the first three boats, and a sucking pig and a yellow flag with a pig
embroidered on it for the last boat. One would think that after
falling behind so much as to surely fail of the first prizes, there
would be a contention for the hindmost place.
There is no end to the varieties of the Venetian craft,--gondolas,
_sandolos_, _barche_, _barchette_, _topos_, _cavaline_, _vipere_,
_bissoni_, and many more. Before the regatta begins, the Grand Canal
is covered with boats of every size. All the palaces are hung with
tapestries, rugs, curtains, and any stuffs of a gay color, while
flags flutter everywhere. Every balcony and window is full of people
and heads, while the roofs are black with those who have no more
advantageous outlooks.
[Illustration: _Festival Scene, Bridge of the Rialto._]
By far the most interesting boats are the _bissone_ and {77} _peote_,
rowed by ten and twelve oars, whose duty it is to keep the
race-course clear. These are decorated by the commercial houses of
the city, and are symbolical in their designs, the crews being
dressed in accordance with the decorations. One may resemble a
Chinese junk; another represents the tropics, bearing palms and
gorgeous flowers and even tropical birds; another may have a Polar
bear on its bows, with its rowers imitating walruses, and sitting on
cakes of ice; one is usually decorated with glass from Murano, which
sparkles like precious stones in the sunlight. These have each a
special color,--blue, gold, pink, silver, green, and, in truth, all
the gay colors known; and as, in order to keep the course clear, they
must constantly move about, they make a charming effect, and are
vastly amusing to those who are waiting and watching for the race.
The gondolas of the nobility are frequently gay, with the livery of
the four gondoliers they carry. Many of them are dressed in antique
style, with puffed hose, long silk stockings, gay doublets, and
plumed hats; and other private boats, especially the large bissone,
carry gayly dressed parties, while their crews are in liveries of
velvet or silk with lace and costly trimmings.
Suddenly the boom of a cannon hushes all voices. The race has begun.
It is rowed in small, light gondolas, and every eye is fixed on the
spot where these boats will first be seen. When they are near enough
to tell who leads, there are cheers and shouts of encouragement. The
race sweeps by and disappears. The excitement becomes intense, and
bets are freely made, comments of all sorts are heard, and until the
boats again come in sight, on their return, one might well question
if Babel were as noisy as Venice at a regatta. As the victor nears
the winning post, the silence is breathless. He snatches his flag;
his name is shouted by thousands; the regatta is {78} finished; and
already the people are talking of the amusements which are still to
be enjoyed.
THE SERENADE.
Coming after the regatta, the serenade is a fresh delight. The
anxieties are ended, and everybody can now enjoy the lovely evening,
the cool breeze, the glimpses of exquisite palace interiors, of
gondolas filled with ladies in _festa_ costumes, and of decorations
and illuminations everywhere.
Eight o'clock is the hour for beginning; and a large barge decorated
with many green and red lamps arranged in pyramids and other more
fanciful designs carries the orchestra and the singers. It starts
from above the Rialto, and is soon surrounded by numberless gondolas.
Each gondolier strives for the best position, and that is thought to
be at the bow of the music barge. The whole mass of boats float with
the tide; and as they come to the narrower part of the canal, neither
barge nor any gondola can move forward or back.
Under the arch of the bridge the scene is like a good-natured
pandemonium. The police bid the rowers do this and do that, but they
only make a pretence of trying to obey. The police shout, "Avanti,
avanti!" the boatmen repeat the cry, but nothing moves. At last the
chief official, by means of a trumpet, gives an order to "pump," and
at once a fire-engine on the barge throws a stream of water which
loosens the block a little, and the barge advances a few feet. A
very curious effect is produced by the different sorts of lights.
The cold, colorless electric, the brilliant hues of the Bengal
lights, and the soft glimmering from the stars in the clear blue
above, bring out the statuesque figures of the gondoliers and the
fronts of the palaces,--now like startling ghosts, again like {79}
blushing youths, and then as impalpable spirit-forms. They appear
and disappear as the lights change and as the boats move. The
gondoliers are mostly clothed in white, and seem like dream figures,
as do the exquisite façades with their delicate tracery and ornament.
The serenade is apparently endless; for in spite of the pumping, its
progress is very slow, and the barge will not reach the Salute until
long past midnight. There the lights are put out, and the musicians
released. Little attention is given to the music, which seems only
to be a nucleus for this most novel and fantastic scene, from which
one may easily escape by a side canal, and end the evening with one
more spectacle.
THE ILLUMINATION.
This is the appropriate end of a really grand festival; and the scene
in the Piazza is as beautiful, if not as exciting, as the race or the
serenade. So brilliant is the light that not a detail of the
architecture is lost. Every column, with all its ornament, each
cornice, pillar, and curve is outlined by little jets of golden
flame, and even of a deeper tint; and all these lights are flickering
just enough to dazzle the eye with an effect like a rippling sea of
fire. In weird contrast is the façade of San Marco, lighted by
electricity. It is pale and unearthly, and its domes seem to be
suspended in air. No wonder that the doves fly hither and thither in
fright and amazement, and cluster in the darker Piazzetta, where they
and we may thankfully rest our eyes and look out to San Giorgio, now
all aflame with many-colored lamps.
Again to the Piazza, to note what we may not yet have seen. The two
Procuratie and the Piazza walls are like sheets of fire, for the
lamps of the square have globes of crimson glass. Surely nowhere
else has one seen such {80} color, so splendid and fascinating, so
blinding and confusing, that late though it be we bid our good
gondolier make a giro in the quiet canals, which seem to welcome us
as old friends do, and restore the equilibrium which the regatta, the
serenade, and the illumination have somewhat disturbed; and in this
quiet there come back to us the lines we learned so long ago, writ by
another pilgrim in this same Venice,--
I can repeople with the past,--and of
The present there is still for eye and thought,
And meditation chastened down, enough;
And more, it may be, than I hoped or sought;
And of the happiest moments which were wrought
Within the web of my existence, some
From thee, fair Venice! have their colors caught.
LORD BYRON.
THE MADONNA DELLA SALUTE.
The plague of 1630 was the seventieth, and the last great plague of
Venice. Eighty-two thousand victims had died in the city and the
neighboring islands, and sixteen months of horror and suffering had
passed since its outbreak. Not a sound of joy was heard in all the
extent of Venice when special public prayers were made, and the
Senate vowed to the Holy Virgin--"Mary, the Mother of Health"--that a
church should be built in her honor if she would but stay the plague.
And lo! suddenly, in November, 1631, the scourge was stayed.
Fifty-five years before, the votive church of the Redentore had been
built in gratitude to a similar answer to their prayers; and now the
people were determined to erect a still more splendid church, upon a
piece of land on the point of the Dogana, which the Knights Templars
had given to the Republic. But it would take a long time to build a
church, and the people were in haste to put all their sadness behind
them, and to have one festal {81} day without delay. Accordingly,
the 28th of November was appointed, and a wooden structure erected
hastily, in which to celebrate the jubilee.
[Illustration: _Church of Santa Maria della Salute._]
The procession left the high altar of San Marco; and when it reached
the centre of the Piazza, the health officers announced that the
plague was stayed by the Virgin. This announcement was welcomed by
salvos of artillery, peals of bells, and blare of trumpets. The
procession then moved on, and crossing the Grand Canal by a pontoon
bridge, it reached the wooden church.
A writer of that period tells us that the day was most propitious.
Not a cloud obscured the deep blue sky, and the air was as mild as
that of spring. Nothing was omitted that could add to the splendor
of the procession. The gorgeous robes of the priests, the
candlesticks of gold and silver, the flags of all the noble guilds
and companies, the elder nobles with long white tapers in their
hands, and the younger in all the bravery of doublets and hose,
furnished a spectacle not easily excelled; and in every year of the
two hundred and sixty-two that have since passed, this jubilee has
been repeated with all possible splendor.
On the April following the first stone was laid in the new church,
which rests on 1,200,000 piles. And there, at the entrance of the
canal it stands, with its buttresses and statues and cupolas,--in a
word, with all its architectural audacity,--declaring the grateful
veneration of the Venetians for "Mary, the Mother of Health;" and on
this _festa_ every Venetian, be he devout or not, feels it a duty to
visit her church.
From the early morning the noise of the gathering crowds is heard.
All around the church are stalls with hot coffee, fish, and other
food for sale, and above all _gallani_,--a delicacy which belongs
especially to this jubilee, of which the Venetians are very fond. It
consists of little cups of pastry filled with a preparation of lard,
white of {82} eggs, and flour whipped to a froth. It must be an
acquired taste to be enjoyed by any but a true Venetian. Other
little booths are filled with "portraits" and statuettes of the
Madonna and the saints; and there is a lively fair all about the
church before the hour for the great function.
This begins at half-past ten. The procession is formed, and moves to
the church in the same manner as that of the Redentore. Within the
church the people light the candles they have brought, one taking the
fire from another; and these lighted candles, in all sizes, from the
largest that are on sale down to mere tapers, are handed to the
priests within the altar-rails, and are placed near the statue of the
Madonna, triumphing over a symbolic figure of the plague. Thousands
of candles are thus massed, until the space around the altar is a
sheet of flame. Those who add to the candles a small sum of money
receive a picture of the Madonna, which they kiss devoutly, and then
conceal in some hiding-place about their dress.
Then the solemn services begin, one Mass succeeding another, until
the vespers and benediction close the day at five o'clock. Meantime
the women sit and gaze at the men constantly moving under the great
cupola, wherever they can thread the crowd. They are all clean, well
shaven, and dressed in their best. The gondoliers, with blue sashes,
present "a symphony in shirts;" for in this use of flannel they are
able to show their love for color, and most of them are artists
enough to know the tint that is most becoming.
The season of the year forbids the open-air festivities which
accompany other fêtes; but the wine-shops and restaurants make a rich
harvest through the evening and far into the night, and jests and
songs are heard in all the streets. In truth, the hour when one may
really sleep becomes a doubtful question; for it happens many {83}
times that just when one is comfortably dreaming, perhaps for the
twentieth time, he hears in musical tones, sometimes singly and again
in trios or quartettes, "Viva Italia! Viva il Re!"
FÊTES OF THE PEOPLE.
But perhaps the most interesting of all the Venetian _feste_, and
certainly the most characteristic, are those distinctly of the
people, and confined to the _contrada_, or quarter, in which the
event occurs. A quarter is often thrown into the greatest excitement
by a challenge to a rowing-match. The qualities of the champions are
hotly discussed, bets are made, and the spirit of rivalry recalls
that of the ancient Nicolotti and Castellani. Indeed, these very
terms are still used on such occasions, though one is puzzled to know
in what way one of these poor boatmen can represent the aristocratic
Nicolotti of Heraclea. However, since these wear a black cap and
sash, and the Castellani wear red, the names and their colors still
serve a good purpose.
The street-fights between these parties, the _Forze d'Ercole_, and
other trials of their strength and skill are all things of the past;
and it is only on the occasion of a regatta of the people that the
question is asked, "Who will win, Castello or San Niccolo?"
The day before these races the two boats are carefully cleaned,
everything being scraped off the bottoms. They are then weighed at
the Custom House, and tied to the posts of a ferry, where they
remain, under the guard of a friend of each of the contestants,
during the night. The race is rowed early in the morning; and only
those who may most decidedly be called _il popolo_ show any knowledge
or interest concerning it. They gather in all sorts of crafts close
by the gardens and by San Giorgio. At half-past {84} seven the
report of a gun is heard, and in a few minutes the race sweeps past.
The red caps are leading; and those in the boats who favor that color
are proportionately gay, while the black caps are silent and downcast.
All the boats that have been waiting follow the race for a certain
distance; but its speed is too great for them, and near the end of
the Giudecca they await the return. The course is usually about
twelve miles; and after an hour and a quarter, or perhaps a little
less, two white specks are seen far away across the water. These
specks grow larger and clearer, and the greatest impatience possesses
the watchers until they can discover which color leads. The boats
stream out in two lines to meet the racers, who are taking different
courses, and are so far apart that no one can yet decide as to the
end. But when the first boat reaches the façade of San Giorgio, it
is still the red cap that holds the lead. "Bravo, bravo!" is heard
from all sides in joyous shouts; but the boats vanish like those in a
dissolving view. They have given all the time they can afford, and
each must now go to his duty, except a few of the more active
spirits, who haste to greet the victor, and arrange a supper in his
honor.
This feast usually takes place within the week, and is a gay affair,
for after the supper there is dancing, and all are in the best of
spirits. The hall in which the tables are laid is always decorated
with the portraits of victorious boatmen, and flags and banners won
in other races. The ancient custom of having a portrait made of the
winner still survives, and it is a matter of great pride to collect
these each time a new victory is gained for the red caps or the black.
The supper requires a long time; for three quarters of an hour is
allowed to pass in smoking, talking, and singing between the courses.
Wine is there in plenty; for if {85} only men are at the supper, it
is brought in a forty-litre tub, suspended on poles from the
shoulders of two men, and welcomed with huzzas. The room grows warm,
and jackets are thrown off, as the merriment increases, exposing the
brilliant flannel shirts and sashes, until at last the final course
of the orthodox boatmen's supper has been eaten, for the menu is as
unalterable as the courses of the stars. And now the tables must be
cleared and the dancing begin. And such dancing! Their waltz is
slow and long, and they love it to madness. They abandon themselves
to its rhythmic movement with delight, and often sing as they dance,
as if every possible expression must be given to their perfect
happiness. One cannot foretell the hour when it will end. Not so
long as the musicians will play,--for when was a dancing gondolier
known to be weary? And when the _Marcia reale_ or Garibaldi's Hymn
is played, with what impetuosity do the dancers respond!
THE SAGRA, OR PARISH FÊTE.
Each parish in Venice has its patron saint, and on that saint's day
the whole parish is devoted to its celebration. Early in the morning
a procession visits every shrine within the borders of the parish to
burn incense before it.
First in the procession are those who carry the crosses, banners, and
candelabra, all the portable belongings of the Church, made as fresh
as possible for the _sagra_, and a Madonna, usually seated in a
somewhat shaky chair. These bearers wear a sort of priestly vestment
over their work-day clothes; and these are carefully arranged in
groups of different colors,--first blue, then red, and lastly white.
It is most interesting to see the faces of these bronzed,
weather-beaten men, more accustomed to rowing than to walking. They
stagger beneath their burdens {86} from side to side of the narrow
calle; but they smile as they meet the gaze of neighbors and friends,
who watch from the windows and doorways the progress of their
carissima Madonna.
Behind the bearers comes the sacristan,--a person of importance,
clothed in scarlet, walking backward, and ringing a bell. He is the
marshal of the procession; and every boy is sober and properly
behaved when within sight of this important official. Following him
the music comes,--usually a clarinet, fife, trombone, and
drum,--playing the most cheerful themes, and followed by three little
acolytes, who swing their censers with such a will as to send up
perfect clouds of incense. The parish priest comes next, and is
usually an old and venerable man. He is dressed in rich robes and
laces, and attended by men bearing a canopy over his head. He
carries the Host reverently in his hands, and is followed by all the
lesser clergy and officials of the parish. Then the pious men and
women, the first in black clothes and bareheaded, and the last in
long black veils, make a large part of the procession; and here a
most curious economical custom is observed. Each of these
parishioners carries a lighted taper, and to avoid its dripping,
holds it sideways across the breast; and beside each one of these
walks some one with a paper bag in which to catch the drippings of
the wax. And so the procession winds in and out of every possible
place in all the parish. It is often forced to halt by some obstacle
in the narrow way; and those below are nodding and smiling to those
above, for every window and balcony is filled. The procession stops
at the last bridge in the parish, which has been covered with gayly
colored mats. The music ceases; the priest alone, under his canopy,
climbs to the highest point on the arch of the bridge, and raises the
Host in air. Every voice is hushed, every head uncovered, and every
knee bent. The only {87} sound is of the water gliding on and on to
the sea. All is enclosed by high walls; but if one throws the head
quite back, a strip of lovely placid blue symbolizes the peace which
these humble worshippers are hoping to gain at last.
Suddenly the music plays its gayest waltz, the procession returns to
the church with the consciousness of duty done, and the rest of the
day is devoted to festivity, and in the evening the principal open
space of the _contrada_ is illuminated with a few extra lamps and
some Bengal lights. Before almost every window hangs a picture of
the saint whose day it is, and these are lighted by little oil-lamps.
Here, too, as in the greater festivals, are stalls for selling fruit
and pasties, or hot boiled chestnuts and _fritelle_; and much wit is
expended in buying and selling these wares. Somewhere in the quarter
there is dancing, too, usually in the middle of the square; and when
the spectator is fortunate in his position, the whole scene is a
delightful repetition of the fairs and _feste_ of the people so often
seen upon the theatre or operatic stage, but far more beautiful and
fascinating if the night be a moonlit one of early summer.
These parish festivals are managed entirely by the people, and are
more or less impressive according to the collections that the capo,
or manager, is able to make. On this depend the amount of the
illumination and the brilliancy of the fireworks at the end; and no
triumphant general ever had more pride in his victory than has this
capo, when at the close of the _festa_ he is applauded, and bids the
band play the _finale_, which is, of course, the ever-present "Viva
Italia! viva il Re."
It is only with plenty of time, and that at the right season, that
one can really come to know the Venice of to-day, and nothing so
plainly shows the spirit of a people {88} as to see them at their
play; and when, as in the case of these _contrada feste_, these
working classes are quite by themselves, it is a tribute to their
government and to their own natures to find them light-hearted and
merry, easily amused, and contented in the quiet round of their
every-day life.
GOOD FRIDAY.
This fast to the rest of the Christian world in Venice assumes the
air of a feast. The people are all in holiday attire, and the
children in crowds are romping and rolling, shaking their rattles to
scare away Judas, turning somersaults and frolicking generally. And
this day, more than any festival, affords delight to children, who
have a custom of fitting up a Holy Sepulchre (_Santo Sepolero_), and
appealing for coppers to all passers-by. They take the idea,
naturally enough, from the Holy Sepulchres they see in all the
churches; but the surprising thing is the readiness with which they
improvise the _Santo Sepolero_ out of nothing, and then the ease with
which they obtain the little coins. A small box, a bit of green,
some candle-ends, and all is done; and if the child be sweet-voiced
and winning, her Good Friday success is assured.
But at evening, in the most populous quarters, and those least
invaded by strangers, the most unusual Good Friday custom is seen.
The people of the quarter conduct a unique service of song, quite
independent of the Church and at their own cost. They agree to sing
the Passion of Our Lord, for which they use a chant with twenty-four
verses. The necessary means are furnished by subscriptions of money,
oil, wine, or anything that may be used in the celebration.
At one end of the _calle_ a shrine is erected representing a temple,
each part of which--pillars, pediment, and so {89} on--is outlined by
small lamps; while in the centre of the shrine there is a gas-jet
with its paler light. A crowd gathers before the little temple
waiting for the music to begin, while every window within hearing
distance is open and filled with listeners, who meantime gossip with
the people in the street. Somewhere in the _calle_ there is sure to
be a Madonna and Infant Jesus, who have on this day been carefully
cleaned and trimmed with wreaths of flowers, long sprays of graceful
vines, and bits of ribbon.
When the leader of the singers begins the chant, all other sounds are
hushed. Even the children know that they must now be quiet. The
key-note being thus given, other voices join in; and each verse
requires about three minutes for its rendering, and between the
verses there is a pause of five or six minutes, when the chatter of
the men and women and the pranks of the children are resumed, until
again cut short by the voice of the leader. This is repeated until
the twenty-four verses of sombre chant are sung in a manner much
resembling ordinary psalm-singing elsewhere.
The music over, the evening ends, as do all Venetian celebrations,
with a supper at the nearest wine-shop. This singular observance of
a day so sadly solemn elsewhere makes a curious impression at first
on strangers who witness it, and is perhaps the most characteristic
of all the public customs that one can observe in Venice.
{90}
CHAPTER VI.
GRADENIGO, TIEPOLO, AND THE COUNCIL OF TEN.
A new era was inaugurated in Venice by the fall of Constantinople.
Prosperous and powerful as the Republic had previously been, it now
sprang, as if by magic, into a position of which her most ambitious
and far-seeing statesmen could not have dreamed.
A little more than a quarter of a century had elapsed since the visit
of Pope Alexander, at which time sixty-five thousand was the highest
estimate that could be made of her population; now, at the end of the
Fourth Crusade, her nominal sovereignty embraced millions of souls,
and the actual numbers within the borders of the Republic itself had
vastly increased. The new territory and the various rights and
privileges which she had acquired in the Lower Empire had largely
increased her commerce and the sources of her wealth, and she
hastened to make all these advantages permanent by a liberal and wise
system of colonization.
At the beginning of the thirteenth century the Venetian nobility was
the most powerful and opulent class in the world, as well as the most
polished and enlightened, and were everywhere held in the highest
consideration as men, soldiers, and diplomats. In the history of the
Republic one fact stands forth prominently,--the devotion of
Venetians to Venice,--devotion to the Republic, and to her elevation
to the highest ideal of which they could conceive. To this end her
sons directed all their powers, and were willing to sink their
personality in her aggrandizement.
{91}
Not in a spirit of humility, for never a prouder race existed; but it
was the pride of patriotism which moved them,--pride if by any act
they could add to the stature of the Republic. Not in any spirit of
sacrifice, for they felt it no hardship to spend and be spent if only
the name of Venice could thereby be made more resonant wherever it
was spoken. Venetians were united in one aim,--that Venice should be
the most beautiful and most powerful of cities. And so it happens
that in the voluminous records of her history and life, while they
give a vivid realization of the thought, energy, and power which
thousands of her sons must have possessed and must have dedicated to
her glory; while as one reads he may almost hear the hum of her busy
life and feel the throbbing of her pulses, little prominence is given
to individuals. It is not of men nor of family that we read; it is
of Venice, first, last, and always.
Often as the names of Contarini, Michieli, Ziani, Dandolo, and
Tiepolo appear, no one family ever held absolute power, or was
independent of the others. Was this the result of their jealousy of
one another? Perhaps; and it answered a great end. Never was Venice
at the mercy of a race like the Medici or Visconti; and when the
great ambition of her sons was turned from personal exaltation and
centred in the good of the State, it became an overmastering passion,
and could but produce glorious results. Ten times it happened that
the Republic was on the verge of ruin; and as many times did its
leaders in Council, Senate, and College, together with the Doge,
stake all they possessed for the preservation of Venice, and always
with success.
The wisdom of its laws conduced to bring about this state of things;
for every boy of the noble class knew that at twenty years of age he
must appear before the proper magistrate and claim admission to the
Great Council, he being the legitimate son of one whose name was in
the {92} Libro d' Oro. From that day, if he had ability, he must be
a servant of Venice. He could follow no personal tastes in studies
or pursuits. A refusal to accept appointments was subject to so
heavy a fine as to occur but rarely. At the age of twenty-five, the
beginning of manhood, he must enter the Great Council, serve on
laborious committees, go thence to the Senate, and be elected or
appointed to one position after another that demanded all his power
of service. Sometimes he must fill several offices at once, and to
the last day of life he can give himself no repose if the State finds
his service valuable. No matter how old he is, nor how feeble, if
Venice chooses him for her Doge, he must assume the beretta, the
mantle of gold and ermine, and bear them as well as he can until the
end of life brings his release.
Thus, by the middle of the thirteenth century the Venetians were held
in the highest consideration throughout the civilized world, and
still their reputation was increasing. The voice of Venice was
powerful in every cabinet; her flag was respected on every sea; and,
in fact, from the Great Council of Venice magistrates were chosen to
rule in other parts of Italy where the native governing class was
violent in its jealousies. To Milan, Bologna, Padua, and other
important cities had these Venetians been called, and wherever they
ruled the influence of Venice was potent. The intimate knowledge of
the affairs of other provinces and cities which these Venetian
governors gained was shared with the home government, and many
advantages accrued from it.
The thirteenth century was an intermediate period, so to speak; for
it followed the tremendous efforts with which the twelfth century
closed and preceded the period when Venice reached its greatest glory
and prosperity. It was largely spent in adjusting the Republic to
the new conditions consequent upon its greatly enlarged territory,
{93} and in changes of matters of internal policy. There were
struggles in its colonies, struggles with Genoa and with the Papal
See, as well as insurrections and serious party differences at home.
A large anti-patrician party had arisen, and an effort was made to
return to the old method of electing the Doge by acclamation. So
bitter were the troubles with Rome that the Republic was laid under
an interdict, and all the offices of religion strictly forbidden; and
had not Martin IV. died suddenly in 1286, Venice must have suffered
unspeakably from his severity. But the advent of a new Pope gave an
opportunity for a reconciliation, and it is believed that the
principal condition of the peace made with Rome in 1289 was the
establishment of the Inquisition in Venice. This was the last act
approved by Giovanni Dandolo. Prior to this date there had been
trials of heretics from time to time, but no permanent institution
had existed. Indeed, the Republic had stood out against the wishes
and commands of ten Pontiffs, and even now such restrictions were
placed upon the Holy Office as disarmed it of much of its power and
danger.
Two months later, in November, 1289, Giovanni Dandolo died, and the
time and occasion had come when the Democracy had determined to
assert themselves. They congregated in large numbers in the Piazza
of San Marco, and declared Giacomo Tiepolo to be elected Doge by
acclamation. Two centuries before, this sort of revolution had been
successful, but a different order of things now existed.
Tiepolo was a sincere democrat; he was a wise and good man, one of
those whose love of Venice far exceeded his love of self. He knew
that his party could not succeed, and that such an attempt to
overcome established customs could only end in the gravest
consequences; accordingly he hastened to withdraw from the contest,
and {94} retired to Villa Marocco to await the result of the
election. His party, thus abandoned, seemed to disappear from the
stage; but the tumult had proved to those in power that still firmer
ground must be taken to secure the ascendancy of the aristocracy. To
further this end, Pietro Gradenigo (contemptuously called Perazzo)
was elected Doge in the usual manner.
Gradenigo was not a popular man, as the corruption of his name shows,
for Perazzo was not a complimentary title, and he was known as a firm
supporter of the patrician party. Many remonstrances against his
election were made by the opposition; but the democrats were not
organized, they had no reliable leaders nor any settled plan, and the
firm determination of the aristocrats carried things with a high hand.
The deputy who was sent to announce the election of Gradenigo to the
National Assembly pronounced the formula, "Pietro Gradenigo is your
Doge, if it please you," and at once withdrew. As no dissent was
heard by this deputy, the election was considered legal. Gradenigo
was at Capo d' Istria; and a squadron of honor, carrying twelve
noblemen as his escort, was sent to announce his election and invite
his return.
And now commenced a reign which continued twenty-two years
(1289-1311), during which time the most important changes were made
in the government of Venice; serious wars were undertaken, and great
disasters encountered; the Republic was placed under the ban of the
Church; grave revolutions occurred. Indeed, these years seem not to
have had a day that was not heavy with important results; and yet, as
we now review them after the lapse of centuries, we know that the
effect of wars, insurrections, interdict, and plague combined, did
not compare in importance with two great political changes which were
brought about under Gradenigo's leadership,--the {95} closing of the
Great Council (_Serrata del Consiglio Maggiore_), and the
establishment of the Council of Ten.
Daniel Barbaro sums up the character of Gradenigo thus:--
"He was a person of infinite astuteness and sagacity. For the vigor
of his understanding and the soundness of his judgment he was not
more remarkable than for his constancy of purpose and firmness of
will. In the prosecution of his formed designs his energy and
resolution were indomitable. As an orator, his delivery was fluent,
his language copious, and his manner persuasive. Toward his friends
and partisans, no one was more urbane in deportment, more profuse in
kindness, more apparently studious to please. Toward those who had
provoked his enmity, no one could be more unforgiving and implacable.
In politics he was a dexterous tactician and an habitual dissembler;
and he at all times evinced a backwardness to employ force, until
intrigue and artifice were exhausted."
There is little doubt that Gradenigo was pledged to fully carry out
the policy of the aristocrats. By a certain management they had been
essentially in power for a long time, but occasionally they were made
to realize the dissatisfaction of the people and their claim to
authority. The time was favorable for the politicians to perfect and
initiate their schemes, almost unnoticed by the people, who were
fully occupied with the Genoese war, which gave them much anxiety and
distracted their thoughts from what was being quietly done in their
very midst. The intent of the closing of the Great Council was to
exclude from election all save the aristocrats; it is thus explained
by Romanin:--
"The citizens were divided into three classes: first, those who
neither in their own persons nor through their ancestors had ever
formed part of the Great Council; second, those whose progenitors had
been members of it; third, those who were themselves members of the
Council, both they and their fathers. {96} The first were called new
men, and were never admitted save by special grace; the second class
were included from time to time; finally, the third were elected by
full right."
This measure was not perfected without much diplomacy extending over
many years,--indeed, it may he said to have been initiated in
1172,--and when it was finally accomplished Venice was ruled by an
oligarchy beyond dispute, and for all time. It was confirmed in the
statute-book when all Venice was occupied with the fitting out of the
great fleet to be commanded by the Admiral Andrea Dandolo. The
Genoese war had thus far been uncertain in its results, the advantage
being sometimes on one side, and again on the other, until the
Venetians were thoroughly aroused, and willing to contribute money
and men, and to do everything possible to put an end to this
vexatious conflict.
Dandolo's fleet numbered ninety-five vessels, and carried more than
thirty thousand fighting men. One man-of-war was fitted out and
commanded by Marco Polo, lately returned from travels in Tartary and
other countries then rarely visited. So rich was he that he was
called "Messer Marco Milioni;" and but for his engaging in this war
our knowledge of him to-day might have been confined to this title.
The fleet sailed from Venice early in September, 1298, and proceeded
down the Adriatic to the island of Curzola, where Dandolo learned
that Lampa Doria, with the Genoese fleet, was approaching. He had
but seventy-eight ships, many of them being much larger and heavier
than those of the Venetians. Doria had hoped to reach Venice before
Dandolo sailed, and was much chagrined to find the enemy's squadron
stretched across the gulf in three lines, completely barring his
passage.
Doria was so impressed by the superiority of the Venetians, and so
well knew their indomitable spirit, that he {97} at once gave up the
thought of a battle, and sent to Dandolo to arrange terms of
submission, offering to give up all his stores. Dandolo answered
that the only terms he would accept were those of the unconditional
surrender of the Genoese. This acted like a tonic on the courage of
Doria and his men, and they determined to fight. Ten Genoese galleys
were placed in concealment behind the island, and the remaining
sixty-eight were disposed in line of battle.
Dandolo, finding that he was so placed that his men must fight with
both the sun and wind in their faces, began to doubt the wisdom of
his haughty and insolent reply, and decided to consult the civil
councillors who had been sent from Venice as his advisers. Dandolo
did not hesitate from fear, but from common prudence, which
recognized the disadvantages he must encounter. But the civilians in
their ignorance and arrogance urged him to fight, and he at once
proceeded to do all in his power to overcome his unfortunate position.
The action took place on Sunday, September 8; and in the very
beginning the Venetians crashed down on the Genoese, and ten of their
vessels were sunk with every soul on board. The sea was strewn with
the débris of these ships, and for some hours it seemed that victory
still, as ever, attended the Venetians. As the ships met, the
Venetians did not hesitate to board those of the enemy, who, knowing
their fate if captured by the men of the Republic, fought like wild
beasts in despair. Wounded men were hurled into the sea; many were
crushed between the ships; the vessels of the two admirals were in
conflict for hours, and the Venetians had almost won the day, when
suddenly the wind changed, and several Venetian galleys were driven
on the coast and completely wrecked.
Now all was changed; vainly did Dandolo exert every power to
encourage his men and restore order; vainly did Quirini, Marco Polo,
and other brave men expose their {98} lives with patriotic devotion;
vainly did the men of Zara and Chioggia perform feats of valor;
twelve captains were seized with such fear that they took to flight,
and thus led to irretrievable defeat.
Doria quickly perceived his advantage, and his order to advance flew
all along his line like lightning. A struggle followed which in
desperation and loss of life has rarely been equalled, never
surpassed. The conflict seemed still so equal that neither side
could feel the confidence of success, when suddenly the Genoese, by a
skilful movement, forced the Venetian centre, their reserve came up,
and the rout of the Venetians was complete. The only vessels saved
were the twelve which ran away; eighty-three were foundered in action
or fell into the hands of the enemy, who dismantled and burned nearly
all of them.
Five thousand Venetians were prisoners to the Genoese; the number
killed was not known; Dandolo and Marco Polo, who had shown the most
impetuous daring and bravery, were taken alive, and all the
misgivings with which the brave admiral had opened the battle were
more than justified.
"The spectacle which presents itself at Curzola on that terrible 8th
of September, after the action, can be pictured more easily than
described. In the evening the followers of Doria are seen in a
dreamy and trance-like posture, holding with tremulous hands the palm
which they have so dearly won, and thinking of the reply which they
must give when, on their return, mothers ask for their children, and
children for their fathers, who have lost their liberty or their
lives on that too eventful day. Curzola hears no shouts of victory,
no songs of triumph; several thousand Genoese have felt the edge of
Venetian steel; several thousand Venetians see before their dim and
feverish vision the horror and ignominy of a Genoese dungeon; and as
the sun goes down on the conquerors and the conquered, {99} its
serene effulgence affords a striking contrast to the deep lurid hue
which has been imparted to the sky for several miles around by the
gradual immersion of sixty galleys in a sea of belching fire."
Even the Genoese writers speak of this victory as fortuitous; the
losses of the combatants were nearly equal, and the squadrons were
well matched, as the superior number of the Venetian ships was fully
compensated by the size and strength of the opposing vessels; and
even after the change of the wind, if the heroic conduct of Dandolo
and his chiefs, of the Zaratines and Chioggians, had not been
neutralized by the infamous desertion of twelve ships, the victory
might yet have been with the Lion of St. Mark.
"No joy-bells or other manifestations of popular enthusiasm awaited
the return of Doria to his country. Too many among the multitude
which thronged the quays to witness the landing of the troops were
doomed to retrace their steps to a bereaved home, and to hearths made
desolate by war; and in the extremity of their affliction, the
Genoese were almost tempted to forget their glory, and to check their
unbecoming exultation at the abasement of Venetian insolence and
purse pride.
"But there was one who was expected to be in the crowd of Venetian
prisoners, and whom the Genoese displayed the greatest eagerness to
see in chains. _He was not there_. Unable to support the galling
thought that the son of a Doge of Venice was about to grace a Genoese
triumph, to be paraded in fetters before a Genoese mob, and then to
rot in a Genoese dungeon, the brave and unfortunate Dandolo took an
opportunity of dashing his head against the gunwale of the vessel
which was conveying him to his new destination, and thus miserably
terminated his existence."
Marco Polo was wounded and in an alarming condition when taken to
prison; but so much admired was he, and so capable of fascinating
enemies as well as friends, that {100} he was cared for in such a way
as to insure his recovery, and was even visited by Genoese gentlemen.
All who came near him listened to his stories of travels and
adventures with rapt attention and delight; and especially a
fellow-prisoner, a Pisan, Rusticiano, who had been a writer in his
day, and was seized with a desire to write out all the wonderful
tales which Marco repeated again and again. Through the kindly
offices of a Genoese noble the necessary materials were furnished,
and three months were devoted to writing, in curious antique French
seasoned with Italian idioms, the tales of the modern Herodotus. We
can imagine the supreme felicity with which Rusticiano began: "Oh,
emperors and kings, oh, dukes, princes, marquises, barons, and
cavaliers, and all who delight in knowing the different races of the
world and the variety of countries, take this book and read it!" The
first perfect copy was presented to the Republic of Genoa. The
length of Polo's imprisonment is not positively known; but he
probably returned to Venice in 1299, just when the "Serrata" and the
insurrections convulsed the city. But his public life was finished;
and his marriage, the making of his will in 1323, and such personal
matters are the only records of his remaining life.
The Venetians at once set about the building and organization of a
new fleet of one hundred galleys, and rose from their defeat with an
energy and spirit that astonished the world. They bought artillery
in Spain, and built vessels with such rapidity that the Genoese were
undoubtedly influenced to make their peace with Venice by the
conviction that she would be ready again to attack much sooner than
they to repel. At all events, within a few months, these rivals
concluded a perpetual peace with all possible pledges of friendship
and mutual respect.
The Venetians now gradually turned their attention to what the Doge
and his creatures had accomplished while {101} all eyes had been
directed elsewhere; and great excitement and discontent were soon
manifested. The populace had seemed childish and almost worse than
that in the simple and unreasoning way in which they had cherished
the fallacy that they retained any political power worthy of the
name; but of late, in certain directions, notably by trying to elect
their own Doge, they had evinced an awakening appreciation of the
facts, and a determination to re-establish themselves.
Naturally, when the closing of the Grand Council was understood and
the whole drift of the government apprehended, a demonstration was
made, led by Marino Bocconio, who had already made himself prominent
by his emphatic opposition to the election of Gradenigo. Early in
1300 Bocconio, with some of his followers, demanded admittance to the
Great Council, in order to protest against recent measures of the
government. The Doge was present at the Council when this demand was
made, and after some hesitation the visitors were admitted. What
occurred has never been known; but the next day Bocconio and ten
others were tried for sedition, condemned to death, and immediately
hanged between the columns in the Piazzetta. It will be easily
understood that this immediate and extreme punishment of malcontents
brought peace to Venice, in seeming at least.
It is interesting to note one peculiar element in the policy of
Gradenigo. By the changes in the Great Council the power of the Doge
had been greatly lessened, and "The Forty," or the "Quarantia," was
now the supreme power in the Republic. Gradenigo had thus
strengthened the aristocrats to the prejudice of his own authority.
Various reasons have been given for his course in this matter, the
most reasonable one being that he thus redeemed his pledge to advance
the policy of the aristocrats to the extent of his power.
{102}
During the preceding half-century the power of the Doge had been
merely nominal; he was now simply the instrument of the officials
about him. At the same time his pomp and circumstance had been
augmented as much as his real power had declined, and the public
occasions on which he appeared gradually increased in magnificence.
Martino da Canale thus describes the Easter procession which could
not have occurred later than 1268, as the Doge Renier Zeno died that
year:--
"On Easter Day, then, the Doge descends from his palace; before him
go eight men bearing eight silken banners blazoned with the image of
St. Mark, and on each staff are the eagles of the Empire. After the
standards come two lads who carry, one the faldstool, the other the
cushion of the Doge; then six trumpeters, who blow through silver
trumpets, followed by two with cymbals, also of silver. Comes next a
clerk, who holds a great cross all beautiful with gold, silver, and
precious stones; a second clerk carries the Gospels, and a third a
silver censer; and all three are dressed in damask of gold. Then
follow the twenty-two canons of St. Mark in their robes, chanting.
Behind the canons walks Monsignor the Doge, under the umbrella which
Monsignor the Apostle (the Pope) gave him,--the umbrella is of cloth
of gold, and a lad bears it in his hands. By the Doge's side is the
Primiciero of St. Mark's, who wears a bishop's mitre; on his other
side, the priest who shall chant the Mass. Monsignor the Doge wears
a crown of gold and precious stones, and is draped in cloth of gold.
Hard by the Doge walks a gentleman who bears a sword of exquisite
workmanship; then follow the gentlemen of Venice. In such order
Monsignor the Doge comes into the Piazza of St. Mark, which is a
stone-throw long; he walks as far as the church of San Gimignano, and
returns thence in the same order. The Doge bears a white wax candle
in his hands. They halt in the middle of the Piazza, and three of
the ducal chaplains advance before the Doge, and chant to him the
beautiful versicles and responses. Then all enter the Church of St.
Mark; three chaplains move forward to the altar-rails, {103} and say
in a loud voice, 'Let Christ be victorious, let Christ rule, let
Christ reign; to our lord Renier Zeno, by the grace of God
illustrious Doge of Venice, Dalmatia, and Croatia, conqueror of a
fourth part and of half a fourth part of all the Roman Empire,
salvation, honor, life, and victory; let Christ be victorious, let
Christ rule, let Christ reign.' Then the three chaplains say, 'Holy
Mary,' and all respond, 'Help thou Him.' The Primiciero removes his
mitre, and begins the Mass. Then the Doge shows himself to the
people from the loggia, and afterwards enters his palace, where he
finds the table spread; he dines there, and with him all the
chaplains of St. Mark."
The coronation of the Doge had also come to be a magnificent fête.
The day was a general holiday, the streets were festooned with
garlands, richly emblazoned banners floated from the windows,
draperies were suspended from the balconies, and all the beauty of
Venice gathered in casements and verandas to see the processions as
they passed.
We have a description of the Coronation of Lorenzo Tiepolo the
successor of Renier Zeno, in 1268, which is a type of these
ceremonies. The newly elected Doge was escorted to San Marco by a
solemn deputation, and at the door was met by the Vice-Doge and the
clergy of the Ducal Chapel. At the high altar he took his oath of
office, and received the standard of the Republic. He was then led
to the throne, and invested with the mantle and other insignia of
office, the youngest senators encircling his brow with the ducal
beretta. All this was witnessed by a vast concourse of people, who
were enthusiastic in their reception of the new Duke.
The chaplains of San Marco then conducted the Dogaressa to the Ducal
Palace, where, amid great pomp and rejoicing, she was seated on the
throne beside her husband.
The coronation was followed by splendid festivities. A water fête
was held; and a squadron of galleys, gayly {104} and fancifully
dressed with pennants, passed close along the canal in front of the
palace, while choristers on board chanted verses in praise of the
Doge and Dogaressa which were written for the occasion.
The procession of trades was an imposing feature of this festival.
It was led by the smiths, who, wearing crowns and chaplets of
flowers, carried banners and marched to the sound of musical
instruments; the furriers followed, arrayed in ermine and minnever;
and then came the skinners in taffeta robes, displaying their
choicest manufactures; these were succeeded by the tanners,
iron-masters, barbers, hosiers, drapers, cotton-spinners, gold-cloth
workers dressed in their precious products, the weavers and tailors
attired in sumptuous white costumes with rich, fur-trimmed mantles.
The dress of the mercers, glass-blowers, fishmongers, butchers, and
victuallers was equally costly, some being red and others yellow.
Each corporation wore a badge or token of their calling, and the
drapers carried olive branches in their hands.
The four deputies of the barbers were disguised as knights errant,
two being mounted on richly caparisoned horses, while the other two
walked beside them; they were accompanied by four damsels,
fantastically dressed, whom they claimed to have rescued from deadly
peril. When they were near the platform of the Doge, they halted and
made a speech claiming to have come from some far country seeking
their fortunes, and offering to defend the maidens against any others
who might claim them. The Doge made a reply of welcome, and assured
them of their safety under his protection; they then shouted, "Long
live our Prince, the noble Doge of Venice!" and moved on.
Then ten master-tailors changed their dresses, and donned white suits
sprinkled with vermilion stars, and {105} traversed the city singing
the popular songs of the day; each one carried a goblet of malmsey
and occasionally sipped it. This was extremely Venetian; and we can
but wonder if the tunes these tailors sung are not the same that have
descended through many generations to the gondoliers of our own day.
There were also games in which buffoons played the principal parts,
and men carrying cages of birds many of which were liberated when
they came near the court; this was greeted with hearty approbation,
and the whole scene was as merry as possible. We are sorry to add
that then, as now on like occasions, there were many light-fingered
ones among the crowd who filled their pockets at the expense of
honest folk.
All these entertainments closed with an industrial exhibition in the
palace in compliment to the Dogaressa, who, as she passed through the
apartments, was presented with gifts which she graciously received;
and thus auspiciously was the reign of the new Doge inaugurated.
This flattered his vanity; and when he was borne about the Piazza,
scattering gold as he went, he may have been elated and imagined
himself of great consequence. Every four years the citizens swore
allegiance to him, his person was declared sacred, and he never left
the palace without an attendant train of nobles and citizens. On the
other hand, his oath now obliged him to execute the orders of the
various councils implicitly. He was not permitted to exhibit his
portrait, bust, or coat-of-arms outside the Ducal Palace; he could
not announce his election to any court save that of Rome; no one
could kiss his hand, or kneel to him, or make him gifts,--in short,
no homage must be personal to the Doge; it must be rendered to the
aristocracy who had made him Doge, and who were the State. No member
of the Doge's family could hold government appointments in any part
of the Venetian territory; {106} and his sons, who had formerly been
associated with him in office, could now be elected to the Great
Council and Senate only, and in the latter had no vote.
To make the power behind the throne more absolute, it was finally
decreed that no one elected to the ducal office could refuse to
serve, neither could he resign nor leave Venice. Thus the Ducal
Palace became a prison, and the Doge the only man in Venice who
absolutely could have no will of his own.
The quiet that followed the execution of Bocconio was a quiet full of
storms. The discontents were not yet ready, and had no leader to
inaugurate a revolution. Meantime the foreign policy of Gradenigo
was making him the best-hated man imaginable. He had involved the
Republic in a most disastrous war with Ferrara, in consequence of
which the Pope had pronounced the sentence of excommunication against
the whole Republic of Venice. It is difficult in our day to
appreciate the full meaning of this.
[Illustration: _Bridge of the Rialto._]
Not only the inhabitants of the Republic, but all who aided them in
any way, were placed outside the pale of the Church; their property,
wherever found, was declared sequestrated; their treaties were null;
it was made unlawful to trade or eat or converse with them; every one
was at liberty to take them and sell them into slavery; all
sacraments were refused them; even the rites of burial were denied,
and the clergy left Venice. A new Crusade was published, and papal
indulgence given to all attacks upon Venetians or their property. In
several parts of Italy Venetians were put to death; and at Genoa many
of the prisoners of Curzola were sold as slaves.
"In England, in France, in Italy, in the East, the merchants were
robbed. From Southampton to Pera the Venetian counting-houses,
banks, and factories were forced, sacked, and destroyed. The
commerce of Venice trembled on the verge of extinction; {107} and all
these evils were laid at the door of the Doge and the new
aristocracy. But the party in power never wavered; their
determination was the result and the proof of their youth, their
confidence, their real capacity for governing. Though they were
surrounded by a people suffering intensely from physical and
spiritual want, as well as by a nobility who openly declared their
hatred of the new policy and of its authors, yet they never deviated
for a single moment from the predetermined line. Everything was done
to win the regard and support of the people. The Doge instituted a
yearly banquet to the poor, and the picturesque ceremony of washing
and kissing twelve fishermen from the lagoons."
At the same time everything possible was done to humble and insult
the opposing party. The noble Marco Quirini was refused a seat in
the Privy Council, and his place given to a Dalmatian, who, according
to the statute, was not eligible to this Council. It was attempted
to strictly enforce the law against carrying arms in the street,
which occasioned grave troubles. A watchman, called a "Signior of
the Night," met Pietro Quirini in the Piazza one evening, and
insisted on examining him; Quirini knocked the man down, and was
heavily fined.
Meetings of the Opposition were held at the house of Marco Quirini,
near the Rialto, and an organization was made. They determined to
make Bajamonte Tiepolo their leader; he was a son-in-law of Quirini,
and was greatly beloved by the people, who called him il gran
Cavaliero. He had inherited all the popularity of his father, the
Tiepolo who had been elected Doge by acclamation. Quirini had been
the head of the Opposition. He was of exalted rank and personal
character; and his relation to Bajamonte Tiepolo had increased his
consideration by the union of two great families, so that he was now
the most influential man in the Great Council. He had been sent as
Podestà to Ferrara, doubtless in the hope that he would {108} never
return; but he escaped pestilence and all other dangers, and was at
home in time to engage in the insurrection with all his heart.
Bajamonte had been for several years at his Villa Marocco in the
March of Treviso; but when, in 1310, his brother nobles invited his
return, he readily assented, and his arrival in Venice was the signal
for greater excitement and determination. He urged immediate action;
and so many of his party agreed with him that the more cautious
counsel of their elders was set aside, and on June 14, ten years
after the execution of Bocconio, the fires of revolution were again
kindled in Venice.
It was arranged that the conspirators should gather at night in the
house of Quirini, and with the dawn rush to the Piazza, gain
possession of the centre of the city, and kill Gradenigo. The night
was terrific; thunder and lightning, and torrents of rain raised a
tempest in which the cries "Death to the Doge!" and "Freedom to the
People!" could not be heard; and under the cover of this terrible
storm the insurrectionists went forth. One division, under
Bajamonte, proceeded by the Calle of the Merceria; a second, under
Quirini, took the nearer way by the bridge of Malpasso (now di Dai)
and the Fondamenta; and all were to meet in the Piazza.
Up to this time the meetings of the revolutionists had escaped
observation; but now a traitor, Marco Donato, gave such information
to Gradenigo as led him to send three officers to ascertain the
truth. At the Rialto they were met by drawn swords, and fled for
their lives. The Doge at once apprehended the situation, and sent to
the governors of the neighboring islands for a speedy supply of
troops. He arranged his soldiers with great care, by the aid of the
flashes of lightning; posted guards at every entrance to the Piazza;
the main body being massed in the centre, awaiting the rebels in
silence. No more dramatic scene is described in history.
{109}
The conspirators had believed that their marching would be the signal
for a rising of the people; but they were disappointed, and each
advancing step proved that they had no sympathy from the masses.
Quirini reached the Piazza first; and as he entered the square, the
soldiers charged on him with the cry of "Traitors! kill them, kill
them!" Quirini and his two sons were cut down at once, it is said by
the hand of Giustiniani himself, and seeing their leader killed, his
followers fled wildly. When Bajamonte reached the Piazza, he was
received in like manner; his standard, inscribed LIBERTÀ, was struck
to the ground, the bearer being killed by a heavy flower-pot thrown
from a window above him by a woman. This was the signal for a panic;
and Bajamonte, with his men, turned to fly. Here and there they made
a stand, and a fight ensued; they burned the customs offices, and at
length reached the Rialto. This wooden bridge was cut down behind
them; and they shut themselves within the house of Quirini, which was
a fortress and defensible.
Meantime the followers of Quirini who escaped from the Piazza were
attacked by soldiers in the Campo San Luca, and cut to pieces. The
only hope remaining to the insurgents was that Badoer might arrive
from Padua with the aid he had been sent to ask; but he was cut off
by the Chioggians, and Bajamonte had no reliance save himself, his
few followers, and the strength of his position.
The Doge soon sent envoys to him, offering amnesty and even pardon,
should the rebels submit; but Bajamonte steadily refused. Gradenigo
knew that Tiepolo could not be taken in his present quarters without
a great loss of men and property; he also reflected that if he
captured the leader he must either permit a traitor to go free, or
execute the most popular man in all Venice. For these reasons he
determined to use all possible means to bring {110} about a
satisfactory negotiation; but everything proved ineffectual until an
old man, and one much respected, Filippo Belegno, after many
arguments and long persuasion, prevailed on Bajamonte to relent and
accept the terms of the Doge, which he had at first believed to be
but a snare for him and his followers.
By these terms Bajamonte and all the insurgents who had a right to a
seat in the Council were banished to Dalmatia for four years; those
of lower rank were pardoned on swearing allegiance to the Doge and
the Constitution, and returning all the goods that had been taken
from private dwellings or government stores. The lives of any of the
exiles detected in breaking their parole would be forfeited, and to
harbor them or correspond with them was made treasonable. Their
wives and families were expelled from the Dogado, and the houses of
Bajamonte and of the Quirini were demolished; on the site of the
first a Column of Infamy was raised, and the armorial bearings of
both houses were changed.
One cannot avoid a feeling of sympathy for Badoer and others who,
being taken fighting, were beheaded, nor a sentiment of scorn for the
traitor Donato, whose treachery was rewarded by a seat in the Council
without election, while his family were made noble forever. Even
Giustina Rosso was not forgotten, and for dashing down that
flower-pot which came so near being fatal to Bajamonte, she was
permitted to hold her residence in the Merceria for fifteen ducats
annually, and to unfurl a standard from the so-called "mortar
casement" on every festival day, and in 1341 her bust was placed near
the Sotto Portico del Capello.
The 15th of June, being the day of San Vito, was made a festival, and
one of the great Venetian anniversaries, when the Doge went in grand
and solemn state to the very small and ancient church of that saint
to give thanks {111} for the deliverance from this most important of
the Venetian insurrections.
Bajamonte Tiepolo lived a stormy and unhappy life. In 1311 he was a
conspirator at Padua, and somewhat later was hunted out of Treviso;
in 1322 the Ten offered a reward for his capture; in 1328 the Doge
was ordered to secure him if possible: but death fortunately released
him from all his tortures. He had ever longed for the lagoons, the
Piazza, his old _contrada_, and all the ways of his beloved Venice;
but he refused all the proposals made to him for his return,--he
could not trust the dreaded Ten.
However, so long as Gradenigo lived, he was haunted by fear of
Tiepolo, and of what he might do; indeed, one historian goes so far
as to say that he died of this revolt and its consequences. For a
time the Venetians were constantly suspecting an ambush in the
streets, and went to their beds in dread of the night and of the
morrow. It was believed that only the most stringent measures could
prevent a repetition of this insurrection, and that even worse things
might happen. This tendency of the public mind found expression in a
petition for a Committee of Inquiry, which proved to be the origin of
the famous Council of Ten.
This Council was organized for a few months only, and for the special
purpose of making a searching inquiry into all the ramifications of
the late conspiracy. But on the following Michaelmas Day the Doge
made one of his rare visits to the Great Council, for the purpose of
saying that as the day had come on which the authority of the Ten
expired, he recommended its extension for two months, as the need of
it still existed in order to root out sedition and treason. The
amendment was passed and the time extended to November 30, and again
to January 30, 1311. At that time it was thought best to establish
it for five years; and at last, in 1335, it was made permanent, {112}
and became the tyrant and terror of Venice. In his "Venetian
Studies" Brown says:--
"More terrible than any personal despot, because impalpable,
impervious to the dagger of the assassin, it was no concrete
despotism, but the very essence of tyranny. To seek its overthrow
was vain. Those who strove to wrestle with it clasped empty air;
they struck at it, but the blow was wasted on space. Evasive and
pervasive, this dark, inscrutable body ruled Venice with a rod of
iron. For good or for bad, the Council of Ten was the very child of
the new aristocracy, which had won its battle against both the people
and the old nobility. The victorious party breathed, and their
breath became the Ten; and it is the Ten which determined the
internal aspect of Venice for the remainder of her existence."
Thus had Gradenigo silently and determinedly worked a greater
revolution than Bajamonte could have made, had he succeeded in his
plans; and he had made himself hated in his success, while his rival
was beloved to the end. The name of Pietro Gradenigo is not so
frequently mentioned as those of other Doges and generals of the
Republic. The man who firmly established the aristocrats in power
and originated the Council of Ten is forgotten in the importance and
vast results of his work; but so far as the sovereignty of Venice was
concerned, no man was more remarkable than Gradenigo.
When he died, in August, 1311, he was hastily buried at Murano.
Whether this was because he was so hated that a riot was feared, or
on account of his excommunication, we know not. How truly of him
could it be said, he brought nothing into this world; and it is
certain he carried nothing out,--not even sufficient respect from
those he had benefited to lead them to follow him to his grave. This
was all the more noticeable from its contrast with the usual
obsequies of those who held his office. Hazlitt gives the following
account of a Doge's funeral:
{113}
"In the first instance the ducal remains were transported from the
Palace on the shoulders of twenty of the oldest Senators to the
saloon of the Signori di Notte; one of the household marched in
front, carrying a sheathed sword with the point upward; and a large
number of patricians followed the corpse. The Doge was splendidly
attired in the costume which he wore on state occasions; and the
gilded spurs, indicating his equestrian rank, were fastened at his
heels. After a brief interval the procession was again set in
motion; and, the members of the College having taken leave at this
point, the rest proceeded to St. Mark's, where the Dogaressa and her
ladies and a throng of mourning nobles had assembled. Here the
burial service was performed with the accustomed solemnity; and after
its celebration the bearers resumed their burden, and the body was
conveyed, with every mark of pomp, to the family vault."
With Bajamonte Tiepolo died the old nobility. He and it and the
people were sacrificed to the new aristocrats, who had overridden the
old Constitution. From the Quirini-Tiepolo conspiracy the peculiar
government which was purely Venetian, and unparalleled elsewhere, may
be dated; and strangely enough, the leaders of the revolt contributed
largely to the success of Gradenigo, since, but for the insurrection,
it is doubtful if he could have riveted his chains and clasped them
with the Council of Ten.
Time has obliterated the traces of the rebellion. The Column of
Infamy was broken soon after its erection by one of Bajamonte's
admirers, and after many removals from one garden to another it was
carried to Como. A square of white marble in the pavement of the
Campo of Sant' Agostino, inscribed "Col: Bai: The: MCCCX.," is the
sole reminder of the insurrection; and this is where few strangers
go, in the heart of Venice, between the Frari and the Campo San Polo.
The family of the Tiepolo were not crushed by the failure and exile
of Bajamonte. Their palaces, always {114} bearing two obelisks on
the roofs, are still seen on the Grand Canal, and prove that in later
days this house was not disgraced by the remembrance of the Gran
Cavaliero.
THE COUNCIL OF TEN.
Until within the last half-century it would have been a matter of
surprise to hear a charitable word spoken for this famous council,
much more to hear it defended as the best method for the government
of Venice at the time when it was the controlling spirit of the
Republic. But in more recent years the historians of various
nationalities, taking into account the more reliable and wider
knowledge that has come from the study of the Venetian archives, are
not inclined to the severe condemnation of the Ten which it formerly
received, and have indeed been led to think it well suited to its
era, and of great value in upholding the power and guarding the
prosperity of the Republic.
Formerly the opinion which Cooper expresses in the "Bravo" found an
almost universal echo. After giving an account of the establishment
of the Council, he says:
"A political inquisition, which came in time to be one of the most
fearful engines of police ever known, was the consequence. An
authority as irresponsible as it was absolute was periodically
confided to another and still smaller body, which met and exercised
its despotic and secret functions under the name of the Council of
Three. The choice of these temporary rulers was decided by lot, and
in a manner that prevented the result from being known to any but to
their own number, and to a few of the most confidential of the more
permanent officers of the government. Thus there existed at all
times in the heart of Venice a mysterious and despotic power that was
wielded by men who moved in society unknown, and apparently
surrounded by all the ordinary charities of life; but which, in
truth, was influenced {115} by a set of political maxims that were
perhaps as ruthless, as tyrannic, and as selfish as ever was invented
by the evil ingenuity of man. It was, in short, a power that could
only be intrusted, without abuse, to infallible virtue and infinite
intelligence, using the terms in a sense limited by human means; and
and yet it was here confided to men whose title was founded on the
double accident of birth and the colors of balls, and by whom it was
wielded without even the check of publicity.
"The Council of Three met in secret, ordinarily issued its decrees
without communicating with any other body, and had them enforced with
a fearfulness of mystery and a suddenness of execution that resembled
the blows of fate. The Doge himself was not superior to its
authority, nor protected from its decisions, while it has been known
that one of the privileged three has been denounced by his
companions.... Thus Venice prided herself on the justice of St.
Mark; and few States maintained a greater show, or put forth a more
lofty claim to the possession of the sacred quality, than that whose
real maxims of government were veiled in a mystery that even the
loose morality of the age exacted."
Since this Council is one of the most interesting and characteristic
peculiarities of the Venetian government, it is worth while to quote
a few authoritative and judicial opinions regarding it, and all the
more that we have already cited those most severely against it.
Hazlitt,--the able English historian of the Venetian Republic, and a
member of the Inner Temple,--in speaking of the time (1335), when the
Council of Ten was made permanent, says:--
"The Republic had now enjoyed halcyon days of peace since the return
of the Zaratines to their allegiance in 1313. Twenty years of
foreign war and domestic convulsion (1293-1313) were thus followed by
twenty years of external and internal repose (1313-1333). Dalmatia
was tranquillized; Genoa was humiliated. The Lower Empire, though
not without its alarming symptoms, was quiescent. The pressure of
extraordinary taxes {116} was no longer sensible. Prices were low.
Provisions were abundant. Commerce had received an enormous impulse
and expansion. The condition of trade was highly flourishing. The
upper classes were elated by the development of fresh sources of
wealth. The lower orders were exhilarated by the removal of their
burdens. It was under these auspicious circumstances that the time
was approaching for the dissolution of the Council of Ten.
"The original jurisdiction of this unique tribunal had been of a
purely exclusive and strictly transient character. To devise
measures for the safety of the State, to obtain by any expedients
every new clew to the conspiracy of 1310, to unravel these clews to
their source with untiring diligence, to bring to justice all who
might have eluded detection, were the objects to which the labors of
Decemvirs were directed, and the points to which their cognizance was
confined. But the Council, even if its attributes had not been
emphatically inquisitorial, showed no disposition to be perfunctory.
The line of demarcation, if any such line had existed, was soon
obliterated or ignored. Every branch of the Executive was submitted
in its turn, under various pretexts, to the novel influence. Nor
could it be denied that that influence was exercised, on the whole,
to a highly beneficial end. It had been accounted a great revolution
when, so recently as 1298, the Great Council succeeded in arrogating
to itself the prerogatives which formerly belonged to the people.
But the narrow jealousy and distrust, which were gradually growing up
in the ranks of the nobility, had long made it palpably evident to
the more discerning, that a still higher and still more concentric
power must eventually arise to wrest these prerogatives from the
hands of the Great Council itself. That power was already found to
exist in the Decemvirs. Primarily elected, and constantly renewed by
the legislative body on the clearest ground of expediency, the Ten
had incessantly striven to popularize themselves, and to strengthen
their position by propitiating the lower classes on the one hand, and
by turning to account, on the other hand, with unequalled dexterity
the disunion among the patricians, to rule that order with a hand of
iron. By some the Dictatorship was viewed as an indispensable
ingredient in the Constitution; by some it was tolerated as an odious
necessity; {117} but all accepted the silent innovation in a spirit
of acquiescence. The Decemvirs knew their strength, and they quickly
made that strength felt. It was on the 30th of January, 1336, that
their commission was about to expire; on the 20th of July, 1335,
_they caused themselves to be declared a permanent Assembly_....
"In the Middle Ages, when an almost total ignorance reigned of civil
principles, it was not unnatural that a system pretending to rise
above the common level of crude simplicity should be viewed as
slightly cabalistic and inscrutable. The Venetian Executive, indeed,
displayed the earliest attempt to organize a bureaucratic machinery
and a plan for the distribution of public functions; and Venice also
led the way in founding the practice of diplomatic etiquette and
official routine. _The Council of Ten was, perhaps, a constitutional
evil; but it was certainly a constitutional necessity_. The tribunal
was more or less fatal to the political liberty of the Venetians; but
it left untouched their civil privileges, and it was highly conducive
to the preservation of the national independence. While it was
inaccessible to the whispers of treason, it was not a stranger to the
softer influences of humanity. Instances were known in which a
female suppliant was permitted to penetrate into the Hall of the
Decemvirs, and obtained that redress which had been denied to her
elsewhere. An instance might be cited in which, when a foreign
tyrant had tempted and overcome the virtue even of members of the
College, the Ten, alone incorruptible and without a price, provided
for the safety of the imperilled State! ... It was not very long
after their original institution in 1310 that the Decemvirs resorted,
in cases where peculiarly delicate investigation was requisite, to
the practice of delegating their powers provisionally and specially
to one, two, or three of their number, according to circumstances;
and these extraordinary functionaries were known as the 'Inquisitori
dei Dieci,' or the Inquisitors of the Ten.... The Capi submitted
resolutions to their colleagues, and signed decrees in their name;
and the letters purporting to be written by the Doge himself or his
secretary were generally composed under their dictation, being
forwarded to his Serenity only for subscription. The Inquisitors of
the Ten, who were thus nearly coeval with the Ten themselves, may
{118} be recognized as the forerunners of the famous 'Inquisitors of
State.' But no tribunal existed at Venice under the latter title
prior to 1596, nor even then was it clothed with the revolting
attributes which have been ascribed to it by ignorance or malignity."
M. Armand Baschet has written a book founded on the Archives of
Venice, called "Histoire de la Chancellerie Secrète," which treats of
the Senate, the Cabinet, the Council of Ten, and the Inquisitors of
State, in their relations to France. It is an exhaustive and learned
work; and having quoted an English authority, it is wise also to give
a few sentences from this erudite French writer:--
"No institution has been more falsely represented and more misjudged
than the Council of Ten. The profound secrecy of its deliberations,
to secure which the extremest precautions were always permitted,
offered so favorable a subject for invention and exaggeration that
pamphleteers and romancers could but seize upon it without reserve.
Doubtless this extraordinary tribunal had its dramas, since politics
and reasons of State imposed on it the duty of scrutinizing the
depths of the heart. Assuredly, also, it had its faults,--for
although called supreme, it was not divine, and was therefore liable
to err; but to believe that it was established for the calm
commission of evil, rather than to prevent or correct it, is one of
those extremely gross errors for which the active research into the
truth of history--which in our day is zealously carried so
far--endeavors to make reparation.
"Was its creation the arbitrary outcome of the heated imagination of
a tyrant of the school of Nero? Was it an offensive or defensive
weapon invented by this tyrant in order to torment his people? Good
sense proves this to have been impossible. The Council of Ten was
created by the votes, the discussions, and conclusions of a numerous
and intelligent Assembly; strong in its united strength; full of
political instincts, which did not ignore the truth that the power
which by a vote it was about {119} to establish was created to
prevent the dangers which men of great ambitions on the exterior, or
revolutionists in the interior, might bring to the Republic.
"Was its establishment the work of a day? Would this great Council,
created for two months only, have been continued by a new vote for
one year, five years, ten years, and at last permanently, if the
exercise of its power had not been recognized as a benefit rather
than an evil? Was not this State, which in establishing this Council
created a judge for itself, the best governed and most orderly which
then existed in the world? What other nation then had a parliament
like that of Venice? Could the sovereign exercise oppression even in
his decrees? What was the Doge in the presence of the Grand Council,
the lesser Council, and the Senate, other than a person with less
power than the Sovereign of Great Britain to-day, who must be in
accord with the will of the Parliament and the House of Lords?
Moreover, it is manifest to one who seeks to know the Council of Ten
from authentic sources, rather than from amusing histories without
reliable knowledge, that this power was for the protection of the
people against the patricians rather than against the people in favor
of the patricians.
"Go to its archives, open its records, examine its parchments,
penetrate into its correspondence, initiate yourself in the mysteries
of its justice, understand its decrees, inform yourself as to its
judgments, and you will see whether it made its power one long abuse,
and whether the spirit of tyranny rather than that of justice was its
inspiration and motive power. That it held a terrible power in its
hands is incontestable; but that it used this power upon suspicion,
and in the absence of other proof, is absolutely false. It is
puerile to judge the penalties of those days by present standards.
Should we not consider the manners and customs of its time? Under
the best of our kings, under the most just, the most amiable and
honest, were not the abettors of certain crimes furiously quartered?
It is absurd to compare past history with the present, except it be
to praise and admire the progress that has been made.
"Moreover, the Council of Ten had to sustain, in the course of three
centuries, the most searching tests to which a political {120}
institution could be subjected. Three times its institution, its
existence, and its system were placed under the ban of the Parliament
which had created it. Three times was it called in question by a
party in the Grand Council, and submitted to examination and
discussion. The tribune was free; the speeches made for and against
its abolition still exist. In 1582, 1628, and 1762 the eloquence of
the orators threatened its destruction. Judges were elected by vote
to thoroughly inform themselves regarding it. They did not act under
personal instruction to proceed against the individuals invested with
full powers and accused of having used them against the welfare of
the State. Quite otherwise were they instructed, since, according to
the results of their investigation, a considerable Assembly would
decide for or against the preservation of this institution in the
Republic. Its most secret papers were submitted to them; and three
times the Council of Ten triumphed over the party opposed to it,
after having been subjected to the most exciting and searching
discussions which could possibly engage a great and vigorous
political assembly."
{121}
CHAPTER VII.
MURANO AND THE GLASS-MAKERS.
The excursion to Murano must be made on a fine day, when the wind is
favorable and the sea calm, as it is frequently very rough near that
island. We leave Venice at the Fondamenta Nuove, and keep to the
north. It is but a half-hour's row to Murano, and the aspect of the
lagoon here is quite different from that to the south of Venice. To
the east lies the desolate marsh-land formerly called the Dogado,
where the Doge had preserves for fishing and shooting. From these
marshes came the wild duck which the Doge presented to every noble,
on December 4, Saint Barbara's Day.
We soon reach San Michele, the cemetery of Venice, to which the boats
with black flags, so often seen, are always going. The sight of it
reminds us of Mr. Howells and his "Venetian Life:"--
"As we go by the cemetery of San Michele, Piero the gondolier and
Giovanna improve us with a little solemn pleasantry.
"'It is a small place,' says Piero, 'but there is room enough for all
Venice in it.'
"'It is true,' asserts Giovanna; 'and here we poor folks become
landowners at last.'"
We stay here long enough to see the handsome church built by Moro
Lombardo in 1466; to examine the statues by Bernini, which, to say
truth, do not seem to strike the Venetian key-note; and to read the
name of Fra Paolo Sarpi in the pavement, beneath which lies this
brave {122} defender of Venice against Pope Paul V. From the
Carmelite convent of San Michele went Placido Zurla to be made a
cardinal, and that Cappelari who ascended the papal throne, in our
own century, as Gregory XVI. Here also lived Frate Mauro, who made
in 1457 the celebrated Mappa-Mondo for Alphonso V. of Portugal. It
is now in the library of St. Mark, and is a geographical encyclopædia
of all that was known about our planet at that time.
It would be folly to attempt a new description of the panorama before
us when we can quote a sentence from Ruskin which thus outlines the
scene between Venice and Murano:--
"The pure cumuli of cloud lie crowded and leaning against one
another, rank beyond rank, far over the shining water, each cut away
at its foundation by a level line, trenchant and clear, till they
sink to the horizon like a flight of marble steps, except where the
mountains meet them, and are lost in them, barred across by the gray
terraces of those cloud foundations, and reduced into one crestless
bank of blue, spotted here and there with strange flakes of wan,
aerial, greenish light, strewed upon them like snow. And underneath
is the long dark line of the mainland, fringed with low trees; and
then the wide waving surface of the burnished lagoon trembling
slowly, and shaking out into forked bands of lengthening light the
images of the towers of cloud above. To the north, there is first
the great cemetery wall, then the long stray buildings of Murano, and
the inland villages beyond, glittering in intense crystalline
vermilion, like so much jewelry scattered on a mirror, their towers
poised apparently in the air a little above the horizon, and their
reflections, as sharp and vivid and substantial as themselves, thrown
on the vacancy between them and the sea. And thus the villages seem
standing on the air; and to the east there is a cluster of ships that
seem sailing on the land; for the sandy line of the Lido stretches
itself between us and them, and we can see the tall white sails
moving beyond it, but not the sea; {123} only there is a sense of the
great sea being indeed there, and a solemn strength of gleaming light
in the sky above."
Between the cemetery and Murano there is little more than a channel,
and we enter a canal with narrow quays on each side, three or four
feet above the canal. The houses, now inhabited by poor people, have
certain really beautiful features in doorways and windows, which
indicate that Murano "has seen better days." At present there is the
sort of stir that belongs to a manufacturing town the world
over,--street-cries from the dealers in fruits and fish; glass-makers
coming and going, stopping now and then to speak with the women who
are knitting in the doorways,--and altogether an air of active,
practical life that is very unlike Venice itself.
Our first visit is naturally to the Cathedral of San Donato. The
origin of this church is thus given in the legends: Otho the Great,
who died in 973, had a vision in which the Virgin Mary showed him a
triangular meadow covered with scarlet lilies, and desired him to
build there a church in her honor. Nearly two centuries later, when
the Doge Michiele II. brought from Cephalonia the embalmed body of
Saint Donato, and gave it to this church, that saint was joined with
the Virgin as its patron, and the cathedral henceforth called by his
name. It is probable that the whole church was then rebuilt. At all
events, the architecture is unmistakably of the twelfth century, and
is very interesting, especially the semicircular apse, with its
double rows of round arches and its beautifully sculptured marbles.
The remarkable balustrade around the upper gallery is also
noticeable; and the chief interest of this church, which stands in
the northern angle of the triangle, is in its exterior. The
campanile, a few yards away, is heavy; and the modern buildings, with
their ugly square windows and blank walls, make it difficult to enjoy
even the little {124} that remains from the old days. There is a
ruined flag-staff foundation, with the iron hasps that held the
standard still remaining, and a well with the date 1502. The
interior of San Donato has been so changed in recent times that it is
simply commonplace, with the exception of the pavement, which is
beautifully inlaid, and dates from 1140, and a Madonna in Greek
mosaic, which is a remarkable imitation of the Byzantine, though by
no means beautiful. Doubtless some of the columns with delicately
sculptured capitals were brought from Altinum.
The Church of the Angels must be visited for the sake of the Madonna
by Gian Bellini, which was painted for the Doge Barberigo in 1488,
and presented to the convent in which two of his daughters had taken
the veil. The Doge, in all the pomp of his official attire, is
presented to the Virgin by Saints Mark and Augustine. It is a most
interesting picture, as are all those by this old painter, who loved
to paint the Divine Mother and Child with their attendant saints and
angels; and, as in this picture, with "beds of weeds and flowers, in
which the crane, the peacock, and partridge alike elect to
congregate."
But it is not for its churches, its architecture, or works of art
that Murano is known to us. Neither is it of this Murano, with its
few thousand inhabitants and less than a dozen manufactories, that we
have been accustomed to think. It is of that Murano on which dwelt
thirty thousand people, and from which ascended the smoke of three
hundred furnaces, the fires of which were nearly all extinguished
after the fall of the Republic. Now, however, in the new life that
has come to Italy, the glass-making of Murano is reviving.
Salviati has done much to restore the art to its old-time excellence;
and other countries again depend on {125} Venice for many of these
products. Again the beads of Murano are very beautiful, and an
important element of commerce; and though many of the objects now
made are more fantastic than useful, they are also very beautiful.
Salviati imitates both the old glass and the mosaics, and varies his
products in a thousand forms, which are still tinted with the old and
famous colors,--_girasole_ (opal), _acqua marina_, _rubino_,
_lattimo_, _giallo d'oro_, and many others.
The frieze of mosaic at the South Kensington Museum in London, and
the ceiling of the vestibule which leads from the grand staircase to
the foyer in the Paris Opera House are excellent specimens of the
modern mosaic work of Murano, which is now in full revival, and takes
the first place in the world, as it did centuries ago. The following
description of some splendid pieces made for Mr. H. Furber, of
Chicago, shows the present importance of this art in Venice. They
are intended for the "Columbus Palace" near the grounds of the
"Columbian Exposition":--
"Among the important works recently executed is a large mosaic panel
representing Columbus being received by Queen Isabella and King
Ferdinand of Spain after his return from America. This panel,
measuring about two hundred square feet, shows Columbus when kneeling
before the sovereigns, presenting to them the natives of the newly
discovered land, and some products of the soil. The persons
represented are about thirty-eight in number, many of them of the
natural size, formed in three principal groups. In the most
important group is Columbus, having at his side the young crown
prince and the sovereigns, surrounded by the dignitaries of the
court, ladies and noblemen, and pages holding the standards. In the
middle group, but more to the left, are the native Indians; and near
the entrance of the hall other Spanish nobles and the companions of
Columbus. The gorgeous and various attires of all the figures, their
warlike implements, the splendid stuffs of all sorts and {126} tints,
the rich decoration of the hall, the pageantry of the court, the
strange tones and costumes of the natives in full contrast with the
others, and the various attitudes of all these personages form a
whole in perfect harmony with the details of the scene, owing to the
excellent distribution of the figures, and the perfect fusion of
tints. The work is so delicately executed that no one can believe
that the panel is not painted until on touching it he discovers that
it is entirely composed of small enamel cubes, put together without
any aid of color or cement, and worked according to the mode of the
old Venetian mosaic school. This panel will form the pendant of
another representing Columbus landing in America."
No glass has been so famous as that of Venice, because no other
glass-makers have ever equalled the Venetians in the beauty of their
products, nor in the marvellous manner in which they varied the use
of their materials. Good authorities believe that this art was known
to the earliest settlers of the lagoons, although they used their
knowledge in the making of the necessities of life alone; but the
material of the antique glass and the Muranese glass is precisely the
same.
In 1292 the Grand Council, by a decree, ordered the removal of the
glass-workers to Murano, and the destruction of the furnaces at Riva
Alto. From the inauguration of this industry at Murano, the
Government was extremely jealous in preventing the secrets of
glass-making from being discovered by any strangers. From the year
1275 the export of lump glass, or of the materials used in its
composition, and even of broken glass, was forbidden, and a heavy
penalty attached to such acts; and from this time more stringent laws
were made, and at length the manufactories were put in charge of the
Council of Ten, so determined was the Republic to profit by the skill
of its workers. These anxieties were not unreasonable, since it is
known that men as high in position as the {127} ambassadors from
France had a sort of police in their employ, who attempted to bribe
the glass-workers, and to spy out the raw materials they used, and
their manner of combining them.
It appears most probable that to the original knowledge of the
earliest Venetians some additions must have been made from the
methods of the Oriental mosaic-workers, who were employed in San
Marco as early as the tenth century, although later the productions
of the Venetians were sought in the East, where the making of fine
glass had come to be a lost art. That this is true is proved by an
order still existing for four hundred mosque lamps, bearing verses
from the Koran, in colored enamels, to be made for the Grand Vizier
of the Sultan. The Arabic influence which is so clearly shown in
Venetian glass is supposed to have come from the specimens of glass
found in the Roman Campagna, and in many other places in Italy, such
as Nola, Campania, and so on, which in all probability were used as
models at Murano.
Venice gained immense sums by her trade in glass beads alone. Their
place in commerce is almost incredible, especially when they began to
be covered with enamels, gold, and opaline colors. The Orientals
exchanged for them silks, spices, precious metals, and all sorts of
exquisite tissues. They found their way all over the world, and in
modern days have been seen in central Africa, where they were used
for money. The shrewd Venetians valued their exquisite pieces of
glass, their vases, goblets, mirror frames, and ewers; but they were
most jealous in the protection of their bead trade and manufacture.
From the eleventh to the fourteenth century the preparation of enamel
for mosaic work was the most important department of the glass-works
at Murano, and the mosaic glass there made has never been equalled in
beauty or durability elsewhere. Even pavements in San Marco, {128}
made from this glass, and now five or six centuries old, are still
perfect in color, joints, and setting.
Salviati gives the name of glass to the Venetian manufacture alone,
and applies "crystal or crystallified glass" to all other varieties,
and Yriarte says:--
"These makers have but one object, to imitate the quality of crystal.
Thus, when they have perfected the properties of clearness and
brilliancy, they set about increasing the attractiveness of their
productions by cutting them after they have been first run in moulds;
that is to say, by employing mechanical means to obtain something
like the richness, the variety of form, and vigor of line which alone
can insure it success in the market. But to do this is to demand
from glass qualities which it ought not to yield, and to change its
nature, depriving it of its two essential qualities,--lightness and
ductility.
"The glory of Murano is to have preserved the special properties of
the material, and to have made it yield all the beauties of which it
was capable."
These workers at Murano had two great advantages,--the material they
used was ductile, light, especially brilliant, and possessed of
vitreous appearance quite unique; and, added to these important
conditions, the workmen had natural good taste, and the immense aid
of historical traditions,--and by wisely employing its own resources
Murano attained its great reputation; its forms and colors have not
been equalled, and that they could be excelled is past imagining.
We know the name of the man who made mosaics for San Marco in 1100.
It was Pietro, and he worked for the Doge Vitale Michiele I. In 1268
the glass-workers had formed a corporation. In 1292 they settled
permanently on Murano. In 1329 they were employed to furnish glass
for churches in other cities; and in 1376 the Senate declared that a
master glass-maker might marry the daughter of a noble, and their
children be held as of noble {129} rank. It was at this time that
the Venetian glass-workers decorated the fine edifices all over
Italy, and made the windows for the Cathedral of Milan.
So vast had the industry now become that it was divided into
specialties,--the _verixelli_ made small objects and beads; the
_phioleri_ made bottles. In the beginning of the fifteenth century
Angelo Beroviero had the most famous furnace at Murano, at the sign
of the Angel. He made both vessels and windows, and being a learned
chemist knew how to give the most varied and beautiful colors to his
glass. Beroviero also made the discovery of a process by which to
apply enamel to glass in different colors. He made exquisite
goblets; and special designs were executed for marriage and birth
cups, or for any important occasion. Beroviero reached perfection in
his art, and his brothers and sons were never surpassed in enamelled
glass. To his son Marino may be ascribed the splendid glass in San
Giovanni e Paolo, made after the designs of Girolamo Mocetto in 1473.
In truth, it is to the Berovieri that the progress in glass-making is
due. They invented in 1463 that transparent glass called crystal;
and giving up the old simplicity of form and decoration, they became
bold and even audacious in their work. They used gold and enamel,
and made those occasional pieces, now so precious, on which the
designs and inscriptions furnish historical scenes from the fifteenth
century.
In the beginning of the sixteenth century Andrea Vidaore invented the
process of making artificial pearls with the enameller's blow-pipe,
and later he invented glass jet, both of which discoveries became
very remunerative. In 1507 two Muranese petitioned the Council of
Ten for a grant of the monopoly of mirror glass all over the Republic
for twenty-five years, and for permission to keep their fires lighted
during the two months and a half {130} when all the fires were bound
to be extinguished. Prior to this time the method of preparing
mirror glass had been known and was used elsewhere; but at Venice the
metal plates had been retained. Now, however, began the growth of
that enormous industry in mirror plates which has retained its
importance even in recent times, and which other nations have tried
to appropriate.
The art of cutting glass in facets, and imitating precious stones, as
well as of coloring "crystal" glass, was discovered in 1605; and all
these inventions brought great wealth to the glass-workers, some of
whom purchased nobility for themselves and their descendants.
Through Colbert, France succeeded in competing with Murano. England
did the same by aid of the Duke of Buckingham; and Bohemia gave
itself up to glass manufacture in such a way that the Venetian
industry suffered at the end of the seventeenth century. Giuseppe
Briati, a passionate lover of his art, left Murano, and took service
in a manufactory at Prague, and having learned the Bohemian secrets,
he returned to Venice in 1736, and obtained a license, for ten years,
to manufacture and sell crystals made in the Bohemian fashion.
Briati established himself in Venice in the Via del Angello Raffaelo.
At this period mirrors were framed with flowers and foliage of cut
glass, in relief, and lustres were decorated with flowers, grapes,
and leaves in brilliant colors. _Filigrana_ (filigree), too, was
much in favor; and some of Briati's vases in this style are now very
precious on account of their refinement of form and taste. Briati
died in 1772, but at Murano his art survived.
In 1790 a license was granted to Giorgio Barbaria to make black
bottles for export to England; and soon after he manufactured jet and
enamels. Barbaria was the deputy of Murano until the fall of the
Republic, when the island became almost a desert, and its master
workmen {131} and journeymen sought in other lands the bread they
could no longer earn at Murano.
There are many interesting stories and traditions connected with the
Berovieri. Angelo, who was the superior of them all, inherited a
good business, and by his own discoveries became very rich. He had a
large shop in Venice, besides his factory on Murano, from which he
shipped immense quantities of glass to various ports in Europe and
the Orient. His dwelling was in a part of Murano that was free from
the smoke of the furnaces. It was of marble, and very handsome
without, while within it was most luxurious and elegant. The garden
stretched to the water's edge, and was laid out with much taste.
Large trees afforded grateful shade at midday, and spicy odors from
the flowers combined with the songs of the nightingales of the aviary
in satisfying the senses. There were arbors so sheltered by vines
that one could watch the gondolas on the blue waters and be quite
unseen, and the lovely view was fitly crowned by the purple mountains
in the distance.
Beroviero was fortunate in all the circumstances of his life. His
beautiful wife was a wealthy lady of Milan. His son, Marino, was of
great promise, and his two daughters were lovely girls, who had
inherited their mother's beauty and their father's intellect. But
one sorrow had penetrated even here. The eldest, Felicia, from a
fall in childhood, had weakened her spine, and was forced to spend
much of her life in a recumbent position.
When Buona, the younger, reached a marriageable age, there were many
suitors for her hand among the young nobles of Venice. One day when
Signor Beroviero was very busy, his wife sent him a note:--
Hasten home. I am in a great perplexity. The two young nobles, Da
Canale and Mocenigo, have come separately {132} to sue for Buona.
Mocenigo was first, and he is with me and Buona now; and we have put
Da Canale in another room to talk to Felicia. Hasten to our rescue!
Your wife.
Most impatient at the interruption, Beroviero left his counting-house.
Meanwhile the comedy was played by his wife and daughters. Signora
Beroviero had heard that Buona was much admired, and her father had
already received several offers for her hand, to which he had replied
that his daughter should be won, not sold. Acting on this hint,
these two young men had come to win her if possible. Both were
members of the Great Council, and of high position. Mocenigo had
been shown to the drawing-room, and received by Signora Beroviero and
Buona. Before the usual compliments were exchanged, Da Canale
arrived, and was taken to a charming room opening on the garden,
where Felicia was busy with her embroidery. He was splendidly
attired, and had evidently come on a visit of importance. He
displayed some impatience, as he threw off his cloak, and saw his
companion; but Felicia entertained him as best she could until her
father came, and held him in conversation until Mocenigo, who had
been told of the presence of his rival, could retreat,--for Signora
Beroviero had set her heart on Mocenigo for her son-in-law. But
Buona was of quite another opinion, and in spite of all the praises
of him that she heard she refused to marry him; and when her mother
appealed to the father, his only reply was, "She is free to marry as
she chooses."
Just at this time Beroviero received an order from the Doge for a
collection of glass to be presented to the Emperor Frederick III. on
the occasion of his visit to Venice. This caused a great excitement.
The father, son, and three advanced apprentices were constantly in
solemn conclave. Among these last was one Giorgio, who, although the
senior, had made small advance in his {133} art. When the important
matter in hand was well understood, and a proper part assigned to
each one, all the resources of the manufactory were devoted to making
a grand display of Venetian skill in color and design.
Other glass-workers were filled with jealousy of Beroviero, when the
truth about this order was known; and this feeling was not lessened
by the magnificent display which was soon made in the window of his
shop in Venice. Naturally many strangers came hither on account of
the proposed visit of the Emperor, and all the tradesmen of the city
were making their shops as attractive as possible; but no other drew
such crowds of gazers as that of Beroviero, now that the gift from
the Doge to the Emperor was on exhibition. A large vase glowed like
a magnificent ruby; white flowers, as delicate and natural as if
actually growing, twined around a vase of glorious blue; while cups
and wineglasses of exquisite shape and ethereal thinness were in
contrast to goblets heavy with gold and enamel. But the chief object
was a lace-work goblet, such as was never made elsewhere. It was the
most wonderful of all the Venetian glasses, and so fragile was it
that its construction was a mystery. Marsh gives this account of the
method:--
"In manufacturing it the workman first of all placed threads of
opaque glass round the inside of a mould made of charcoal. Then he
dipped his rod into a pot of molten glass, and blew a drop out within
the mould until it touched the opaque threads, which at once adhered
to the outer surface of the glass. The goblet so blown was as thin
as the white film of an egg. Then a second goblet was blown, and the
opaque threads were made to adhere on the inner surface of the glass,
running in a reverse direction to those which adhered to the outer
surface of the first goblet. Thus the workman obtained two goblets,
the outside of one and the inner side of the other, bearing the
opaque threads of glass. Having secured this object, he next
proceeded to place {134} one glass inside the other. At the moment
the threads of opaque glass touched one another they adhered,
imprisoning in the centre of each diamond, formed by the threads
crossing one another, a fine bubble of air. The body of the goblet
was covered with these diamonds, the air bubble appearing in the
centre of each. Notwithstanding the fact that the goblet was
composed of two distinct casings, yet, when they were united, the two
presented a body not half as thick as an ordinary wafer. This
species of glass was the most exquisite that Venice ever produced."
Beroviero had been invited to be present when the Emperor received
this gift on which so much thought and labor had been lavished; and
at length the day arrived. The Emperor, with his young bride,
Elenora of Portugal, with a great assemblage of the rank and beauty
of Venice, and many noble visitors, were gathered in the great hall
of the Ducal Palace, where the Doge and high officials received them.
Beroviero, his wife, son, and Buona, with representatives from some
rival glass-works, were also there.
First the Doge presented to the Empress a crown set with jewels, and
many other costly articles of attire. He then offered to the Emperor
the splendid service of glass; to which his Majesty gave but slight
attention, even while the Doge was describing its beauty and value.
The Emperor replied in a cold and haughty tone; and while he was thus
expressing his thanks, his court-jester executed a pirouette, and hit
the tray containing the glass, which fell to the ground, shivered
into numberless pieces. The Emperor exclaimed, "Had they been of
gold or silver, that calamity could not have happened!"
The faces of the Doge and of the whole assembly expressed their
horror and anger; and the Emperor begged to be allowed to order
another set. But the Doge replied, "Venice does not sell her gifts!"
His Majesty offered large sums, but no glass-maker {135} would
undertake to replace what had been destroyed; and on the next day the
Emperor departed, while the episode of the glass-breaking was the
general topic of conversation in all Venice.
Beroviero was filled with surprise and rage, while his rivals
ridiculed him beyond endurance. The apprentices and workmen took
sides with their masters, and fierce encounters took place between
those of Beroviero and those of other factories. From that day
Angelo Beroviero was a different man. He neglected his business,
involved himself in quarrels, and was morose and irritable at home.
And now the dull, inattentive Giorgio came to the front, and
challenged the senior apprentices of the principal rival
establishments of Riva, Marcelli, and Gritti to a gondola tournament.
The latter declined; but two contests would take place, and a day was
fixed. Beroviero heard of this with pleasure, and was grateful to
Giorgio for this dignified method of showing himself the friend of
his master.
On the appointed day hundreds of gondolas were off Murano, while
crowds stood on the shore, and every balcony was filled with ladies
and gentlemen, all anxious to see the contest. Each combatant was
allowed an assistant to propel his gondola. This was usually the
youngest apprentice; and with Giorgio was Hector, a boy of fourteen,
and a very skilful oarsman. He stood in the stern, while Giorgio was
on the prow, bearing a leather shield and a blunt-headed lance. On
the prow was a figure of an angel, while the rival boats carried
their symbols of an anchor and a dolphin. Felicia could witness the
whole sport from her window; but Buona, with their maid Giannetta,
was on the shore.
At last two gondolas shot out from the crowd of boats, and sped
quickly towards a post moored at some distance {136} in the open
water. As Giorgio, lightly clad, stood on the prow of the Angel, and
approached the other gondola decorated with an anchor, the symbol of
the house of the Riva, it was easily seen that the other apprentice,
who was of heavy build, and handled his lance awkwardly, was no match
for Giorgio. As they neared the post, there was much applause; and
as Giorgio turned his eyes towards his master's garden, he saw a
handkerchief waving in the hand of Buona, who, as she saw the contest
about to begin, exclaimed, "Now God and Saint Mark be with him!"
Hearing this, her maid, Giannetta, uttered a little scream, for her
mistress had put her own thought in words, and blushing she said that
she had stepped on a sharp stone and hurt her foot; but in that
moment Buona knew that the maid loved Giorgio, and Giannetta feared
that her mistress cherished a like sentiment.
The two gondolas were now advancing towards each other. The lances
were lowered, the boats met and then separated, and it was seen that
the gondola with the anchor at the prow was empty. Both the champion
and his rower were gone. Giorgio had parried the opponent's lance,
and putting his own lance between the legs of his enemy, had toppled
him into the water, and then, as the lightened gondola passed him, a
vigorous push in the breast of the rower had sent him splashing after
his companion. These achievements were warmly applauded by the crowd
on shore; and a number of boats, full of his friends, quickly
surrounded that of Giorgio to congratulate him on his success.
By the usual rules of combat the victor was entitled to an hour for
repose before meeting his next opponent; but Giorgio signified his
readiness to begin again at once, and in a few minutes the gondola,
with a dolphin as its symbol, and an apprentice of the Marcelli on
its prow, rowed up to the starting-post. The second champion was
{137} far superior to the first; but after one or two slight thrusts
from the lances, Giorgio profited by a fortunate moment, and hurled
the second opponent into the water. Now was he a hero indeed, and
all possible honors were shown him by his friends and even by his
superiors. He had established a claim to the championship of all the
gondoliers of Murano, with which the Berovieri were as well pleased
as he.
This day had revealed Buona to herself, and she was horrified to find
that she was a rival to her own maid in the affections of a poor
apprentice. She determined to stifle this unworthy sentiment; but so
difficult did she find her task that physicians soon were summoned to
account for her blanched cheeks, and restore her to health.
Mocenigo, with her parents' consent, strove to arouse her to an
interest in life; but all was useless, and when fully convinced of
her utter indifference to him, he quietly ceased to visit her, and
she soon entered a convent.
She confided her secret grief to her confessor alone, and never
regretted the gay life she might have led at Venice as the bride of
some young noble. As years went on, and the poor sought aid at her
convent in their seasons of sorrow and suffering, the name of Suora
Buona was that most frequently on their lips.
From the day of the tournament Giorgio became seriously attentive to
his business, and before very long he presented his master with a
goblet, asking him to accept his first discovery. Beroviero examined
it with curious delight. The inside was perfectly smooth, while the
outside was covered with a thousand irregular cracks, and the whole
looked as if it had been frosted. Beroviero was filled with
surprise, and declared the goblet to be beautiful and entirely new.
Giorgio explained that his discovery was an accident, as most
discoveries are. He had observed the effect on a {138} drop of hot
glass when it fell into the water. It became crackled and frosted,
and he at once tried the same thing on his goblet. Beroviero assured
Giorgio that his discovery would prove of great value, and promised
to take the young man to the palace, that he might show the goblet to
the Doge. But that very evening the old glassmaker was attacked by
masked thieves as he was floating in his gondola, and survived his
wounds but a few hours.
Marino, who succeeded his father, claimed Giorgio's invention as the
property of the firm, as Giorgio was still an apprentice, and the
courts decided in his favor. Thus Marino had the sole right to make
crackled glass; and Giorgio, driven to desperation by this injustice,
stole the book in which Angelo Beroviero had written out all his
methods and discoveries, and made an exact copy of it. This he sold
to another firm, and with the proceeds set up a factory of his own.
He married Giannetta, and seemed to have a promising future before
him; but whatever he undertook ended unfortunately. The theft by
which he thought to found a fortune was heavy on his conscience, and
to it he attributed all his unhappiness. But under his son the
Ballerini (Giorgio was called Ballerino in derision) became
celebrated, and attained great eminence as glass-makers.
When Buona entered the convent, Felicia devoted herself to making an
altar-cloth, in which she used the most costly materials that she
could procure. The design was that of the Crucifixion. Three years
she labored on it, and at last all was completed save the crown of
thorns. She had constantly grown more and more fragile; and one
evening, as the sun was setting, she called her mother, saying, "See,
dear mother, the end is come. I have pointed the last thorn in His
earthly crown."
As she ceased speaking, her head drooped, and she was dead. She was
buried beneath the altar of the convent {139} church, and her
exquisite embroidery served both as a cloth for the altar and a
monument to her who had wrought it in loving faith.
Marino Beroviero maintained the reputation of his family, and made
still further advances in his art. His business was extensive and
prosperous, and a few years after his father's death he married the
sister of Mocenigo, the former suitor of Buona.
{140}
CHAPTER VIII.
MARINO FALIERO; VETTORE PISANI AND CARLO ZENO.
In the autumn of 1354, Marino Faliero of San Apostoli, Count of
Valdemarino, although seventy-six years old, and having already
served the Republic in several important offices, was elected Doge.
At this time he was Venetian Legate at Avignon, and an envoy
extraordinary was sent to inform him of his election and attend him
on his return. At Verona he was met by an escort of honor, and the
Bucentaur awaited him at Chioggia, that he might make his entrance
into Venice as became his dignity; but as the State barge neared the
city, a dense fog made it unsafe to proceed with so large a ship, and
the ducal party was forced to take small boats to land. The gondola
in which Faliero was seated drew up at the Molo, exactly between the
Columns of Executions, which was thought by the Venetians to be a
sinister augury in the beginning of a reign, and was frequently
recalled in later years.
During the forty-two years in which Faliero had filled positions of
honor, at home and abroad, he had become accustomed to deciding
important questions on his own responsibility; his life had not
prepared him to be a lay figure and enjoy it, and he soon found that
a Doge was now little more than this. Faliero, too, was of a quick
temper, and had not hesitated to box the ears of a bishop who had
kept him waiting on a public occasion when he was Podestà at Treviso.
He was vigorous in health and {141} youthful in fooling, and had
married, late in life, a second wife, who was young and beautiful;
and his jealousy led him to believe that she was admired and coveted
by every gentleman who had the privilege of her acquaintance.
Naturally, her position as Dogaressa brought her in contact with all
the nobility of Venice, and the gay and dashing young cavaliers soon
discovered the weakness of the old husband.
On Carnival Thursday, April 2, 1355, the old-time ceremony of
immolating an ox and twelve boar-pigs, which symbolized the Patriarch
of Aquileia and his canons, was celebrated in the Piazza, which was
filled with a brilliant assemblage; the court looked on from the
palace windows, and later the Dogaressa gave a magnificent
entertainment to the rank and beauty of Venice. In the course of the
festivities a knot of gay young fellows who surrounded the maids of
honor grew boisterous, and indulged a freedom of conduct which
aroused the wrath of the Doge. He singled Michele Steno as the
victim of his displeasure, and commanded his exclusion from the scene.
Steno, full of mortification and rage, sought his revenge, and before
leaving the palace, managed to write, on the chair of the Doge, a
most insulting taunt, which naturally roused him to fury. Steno was
brought before the Forty, and sentenced to prison for two months and
to exile for a year. This lenient punishment was regarded by Faliero
as a more serious cause of complaint than the insult itself had been,
and he demanded that Steno should come before the Ten and receive a
severe sentence,--if not death, at least perpetual banishment. But
the age of the culprit, who might have been Faliero's grandson, and
the consideration that his offence was a folly rather than a crime,
precluded such severity; and the old Doge was reminded that before
the court he was but the equal of the poorest gondolier on the canals.
{142}
Faliero cursed the patricians and the laws which had made the head of
the Republic so helpless; and just then the admiral of the Arsenal
complained to him of an insult which he had received, and demanded
redress. Faliero replied with bitterness that he could not obtain
for others the justice which was denied him. One thing led to
another, until the admiral darkly hinted at a revenge which would
overturn the present condition of affairs and give the Doge more
power. The two men soon understood each other, and when they parted
were already conspirators against the State. Immediately they made a
plan for a revolution; each sought to enlist his friends in the
conspiracy, and soon about twenty were pledged to its aid.
The months that had passed since Faliero had been but a figure-head
to that republic in which he had hitherto been a leading spirit, had
brought him continual mortification and suffering. He had returned
to Venice in proud triumph, having received the highest honor that
the State could confer, which should be the crown and glory of his
life. He had come to rule, but he had found the palace little less
than a prison, his power a myth, and his condition a sort of gilded
bondage. His opinion was dominated by that of the Ten; and even the
giovinastri who paraded their youth and their finery in the Broglio
could laugh him to ridicule, and insult him unpunished.
The plot of the Doge and his sympathizers was badly and hastily
devised. They believed that in ten days six hundred and fifty
poniards would be at their service; and on the 15th of April, amid
cries of "Viva il Principe Faliero," the members of the obnoxious
order were to be sacrificed as they gathered in the Piazza, the
tocsin having been rung, and a false report of the arrival of a
Genoese fleet off the Lido occupying their minds. Not a suspicion of
the insurrection existed, and even the {143} followers of the chief
conspirators did not know what they were to do; they were simply to
obey when commanded.
But, as usually happens, when the time drew near, one of the
conspirators had his own reasons for betraying the plot. In this
case it was Beltramo, the skinner, who wished to save his especial
patron, Lioni, who, being of quick wit, at the first hint from
Beltramo had him arrested, and hastened to the palace to disclose his
fears and suspicions to the Doge. Faliero made light of them, but in
so awkward and embarrassed a manner as to arouse fresh misgivings
where he endeavored to allay them; and Lioni, taking two other nobles
with him, returned for a second examination of Beltramo, who now
exposed the whole plot, taking care, however, to conceal the part
which Faliero had in it.
The news was carried to the Ten at once. They too had heard a
similar report, and were suspicious that some leaders of very exalted
position were involved in the conspiracy. The tribunal summoned all
its members to an extra sitting, _omitting only Niccolo Faliero,
nephew of the Doge_. Decisive measures were taken at once; the city
was put under martial law, and the conspirators were arrested to the
number of twenty or more. Ten of these were hanged at the casements
of the palace two days before the rising was to have taken place; one
of the Falieri was imprisoned, and a Calendario was banished for
life. Some names were entered on the Register of the Suspected; some
of the suspected were set at liberty as blameless, and others
received minor punishments.
In the course of all these proceedings the truth concerning Faliero
had become known, and on April 16 he was conducted to the Chamber of
the Great Council, attired in his robes of state, and was there
accused of treason. He made no plea of denial, but acknowledged all,
and declared himself the worst of criminals. The question of his
punishment {144} was put to vote, and but one suffrage was cast in
favor of his life. His sentence was delivered: "Marino Faliero,
being convicted of conspiring against the Constitution, should be
taken to the head of the grand staircase of St. Mark's, and there,
being stripped of the ducal bonnet and the other emblems of his
dignity, should be decapitated." The Doge was then led back to the
palace, maintaining his composure with heroic determination.
The next morning he was again led to the Great Council Chamber, where
a body of councillors, decemvirs, and advocates surrounded him and
attended him to the place of execution. To the vast concourse of all
conditions of men who were there assembled, the Doge made an address
which was received in an awful stillness. He implored the
forgiveness of the Venetians, and declared his sentence to be just.
His crown and ducal robes were then removed, and replaced by a black
cloak and cap. His head was severed from his body at a single
stroke, and the mutilated remains were viewed by thousands, in San
Marco, before the burial. This occurred at the church of SS.
Giovanni e Paolo, the "Zanipolo" which we all know so well, either
through visits or books; there Faliero was secretly buried, and no
inscription told those who walked above his grave that there rest had
been found for the body of the fiery old Doge. The Ten simply
inscribed upon their books one sentence, "LET IT NOT BE WRITTEN," and
his portrait was hung in the Hall of the Great Council after his
death; but twelve years later, the Ten substituted for the picture a
black crape veil with the inscription, "This is the place of Marino
Faliero, beheaded for his crimes." Perhaps no better method could
have been taken to keep his name alive and cause his story to be
repeated from one generation to another, ever raising the question,
Was it a crime? Is not Mrs. Oliphant near the truth when she says,--
{145}
"The incident altogether points more to a sudden outbreak of the rage
and disappointment of an old public servant coming back from his
weary labors for the State, in triumph and satisfaction to what
seemed the supreme reward; and finding himself no more than a puppet
in the hands of remorseless masters, subject to the scoffs of the
younger generation, supreme in no sense of the word, and with his
eyes opened by his own suffering, perceiving for the first time what
justice there was in the oft-repeated protest of the people, uud how
they and he alike were crushed under the iron heel of that oligarchy
to which the power of the people and that of the prince was equally
obnoxious."
It seems like the irony of fate that the informer, Beltramo, should
have been rewarded hy the Ten with a thousand ducats and the
privilege of wearing arms, while but two thousand ducats were given
to the Doge's family out of all his vast property. But Beltramo
considered his claims so poorly satisfied that he outraged the Ten by
his conduct and was thrown into prison. It is said that after his
liberation he was assassinated by one of the conspirators whom he had
betrayed.
VETTORE PISANI AND CARLO ZENO.
On April 22, 1378, the Doge Andrea Contarini, in the Basilica of San
Marco, invested Pisani with the supreme command of the Venetian
fleet. As he presented the great banner to him, the Doge solemnly
said: "You are destined by God to defend with your valor this
Republic, and to retaliate upon those who have dared to insult her
and to rob her of that security which she owes to the virtues of our
progenitors. Wherefore we confide to you this victorious and dread
standard, which it will be your duty to restore to us unsullied and
triumphant."
Pisani was fifty-four years old, and during more than half his life
had been in the active service cf the Republic, {146} sometimes in
its naval battles, again as Governor of Candia, then as Captain of
the Gulf, and everywhere successful. Now, in the full strength of
middle life, he was adored by the common people, and by the nobles
regarded with that hatred which is born of envy.
Two days after receiving his command, Pisani sailed from the Lido
with fourteen galleys, in pursuit of the Genoese fleet under Admiral
Fieschi. Not meeting the enemy, Pisani boldly sailed up the Tuscan
sea, spreading consternation in Genoa, which was just then threatened
with an attack by land. But Pisani soon sailed away, and met Fieschi
on May 30, off Porto d' Anzo.
The day was most unpropitious for battle; the sky was covered with
black, angry-looking clouds, while the rain poured down in torrents.
The galleys carried no sails, and the oars were frequently high in
air on one side while the ship rolled in the sea on the other. The
men found it difficult to stand; and when the vessels met, it was
dangerous and almost impossible to pass from one to another. At one
moment two ships were in violent action, side by side; and then,
quicker than it can be told, a mountainous wave raised one upon its
crest while the other was buried in a yawning gulf.
All through this terrible day the battle raged, and at its close
Pisani was victorious. He had taken or sunk four of the nine Genoese
ships; he had eight hundred prisoners, among whom was Fieschi
himself. Half of them were sent to Candia, and half to Venice, where
noble ladies dressed their wounds, and tended them with such
charitable piety that the names of eight of their number have been
preserved in history.
The season was spent by Pisani in constantly cruising in search of
another Genoese fleet under Luciano Doria, and in making a series of
brilliant attacks on the towns of the Hungarian and Greek coasts. He
was also sent to {147} escort Valentina Visconti to her husband,
Peter II. of Cyprus; and in the autumn, in opposition to his most
earnest wishes, he was commanded to remain at that island for the
winter.
Pisani's lieutenant was Carlo Zeno, who came of a family noted for
its bravery. He was ten years younger than Pisani, and had passed
his life in adventures worthy of a knight of fame; indeed, he had
been called "Zeno the Unconquered." He also had scoured the sea
during the summer of 1378, in search of the enemies of the Republic,
and had performed feats of daring and skill. Like Pisani, he often
acted on an impulse which savored of recklessness, while it was but
bravery. Zeno was also a scholar, and had been eminent in his
college at Padua; but his besetting sin of gambling obliged him to
fly, and his after life had been one long romance, until he entered
the service of Venice in 1377.
Pisani's forebodings for the winter at Cyprus were more than
realized; and in the spring of 1379, out of nineteen galleys six only
were fit for service, and scarcely men enough to man these were still
alive. But his personal friends in Venice built and equipped twelve
other ships, so that his fleet numbered eighteen sail. His enemies
were busy at Venice; but in spite of them and in spite of his
absence, he was confirmed in his office, and Carlo Zeno and Michele
Steno were made his lieutenants.
During the spring Pisani diligently prosecuted his search for the
Genoese fleet without success; but on the 7th of May, 1379, when he
was returning from Brindisi with a large convoy of grain, Doria, with
twenty-five sail, including two brigantines, suddenly presented
himself in the roads of Pola. Pisani had many good reasons for not
wishing to give battle to the Genoese at this time: his ships were
fewer than Doria's; there was much sickness among his men; Zeno was
absent on another expedition, {148} and he thought it wiser to act on
the defensive only. But the council of civilians who were with him
were unanimous in favor of an engagement, and even hinted at
cowardice in Pisani, whose rage at this injustice was almost
uncontrollable, and it was with great difficulty that he so far
governed himself as not to attack his accusers.
He bade his captains prepare for battle, and soon all was in
readiness. Pisani, in full armor, standing on the stern deck
addressed his men: "Remember, my brethren, that those who now face
you are the same whom you have vanquished with so much glory on the
Roman shore. Let not the name of Luciano Doria terrify you; it is
not the names of commanders that will decide the conflict, but
Venetian hearts and Venetian hands!" He then cried out, "He that
loves Saint Mark, let him follow me!" and this battle-cry was echoed
from ship to ship.
At first the day was propitious to the Venetians, who fought with
even more than their usual intrepidity, and victory seemed to be
theirs, when the Genoese vessels began a retreat and Pisani followed
in pursuit. After several miles had thus been made, and the Venetian
ships were separated from each other, by a skilful manoeuvre Doria
turned about, and renewing the combat with great vigor and ferocity,
gained a complete victory.
From seven to eight hundred Venetians perished; twenty-four hundred
were made prisoners, and but six galleys remained afloat. Near the
end of the conflict Doria had raised his visor, exclaiming, "The foe
are already vanquished; the battle is all but ours," when Donato Zeno
plunged his lance into the throat of the victorious admiral, killing
him instantly.
Venice was filled with consternation and surprise when this dreadful
news was known. Her only fleet was destroyed; the enemy was
approaching the lagoons, and {149} Carlo Zeno was far away. A
terrible cry was raised against Pisani; his enemies could now make
him pay for his popularity and greatness and for some of his
outbursts of temper from which they had suffered, and they demanded
the extreme penally. He was brought to Venice in fetters, and was
not permitted to speak a word in self-defence. In July it was moved
in the Senate that he be beheaded between the Columns; but with a
shudder, this motion was denied, and he was sentenced to prison for
six months and to exclusion from all offices for five years.
[Illustration: Molo of San Marco; Columns of Execution.]
In August the Genoese fleet appeared before Venice, under the command
of Pietro Doria. Happily, some preparations had been made, and the
ports of Lido and Malamocco were blocked with sunken vessels, chains,
and palisades, but that of Brondolo was still open, and there the
enemy entered. Genoa was now allied with Hungary, Naples, Padua,
Aquileia, Austria, and Ancona against Venice. Twenty-four thousand
men were landed, and siege laid to the citadel of Chioggia. The
Venetians who held the place under Pietro Emo were not more than
thirty-five hundred; for six days these brave men held out against
such fearful odds, and even then were defeated by accident. Hazlitt
gives a picturesque description of the event:--
"On the 16th an alarm was suddenly spread among the troops of the
Podestà that the bridge behind them was in flames. It was a
fireship, of which the combustion in the canal of Santa Caterina had
diffused the erroneous impression. The Genoese caught and echoed the
cry, and renewed their flagging exertions with fresh ardor. They are
mowed down by the guns as they advance; the carnage is terrific.
Still, like demons in whose breast the thirst for vengeance and the
lust of spoil has extinguished the fear of death, they continue to
come up. The Venetians begin to lose ground and to fall back upon
the bridge. {150} They recede a little and a little more. It is in
vain that Emo and fifty chosen men-at-arms dispute the front with
desperate tenacity and transcendent heroism, foot to foot and hand to
hand. The position is slowly forced. The allies are upon the
bridge. The Venetians quicken their retrograde pace. In their haste
they omit to destroy the communication; and they enter the gates
pell-mell with their pursuers. Thus Chioggia fell."
The allies and Venetians had each lost many men, and nearly four
thousand Venetians were prisoners. The town was pillaged, but the
women were protected from harm. Some of the Venetians paid enormous
ransoms,--Emo three thousand ducats; and others probably as much, so
that the gain to the allies was large.
No words can portray the effect of the news of the fall of Chioggia
at Venice. The bell of the Campanile was tolled, and at once the
armed citizens filled the Piazza. The sobs and moans of women were
heard; elsewhere they were seen wringing their hands and tearing
their hair in mute despair. Some men, too, yielded to fear; while
others in their avarice hid their treasures. But the majority were
true Venetians, and declared that "the State cannot be lost while
those remain who can man a galley and handle a pike;" and the aged
Doge, the Council, and Senate refused to allow any reason for
despair. There was a scarcity of food, and the Republic was much
straitened in its resources; but Venetian fidelity would endure
everything before it would submit to defeat.
Nothing had been known of Carlo Zeno since his separation from
Pisani; his arrival would turn the scale, and he might come any day,
since an envoy had been sent to recall him, and before taking any
further warlike measures it was determined to try negotiation. But
Doria, who almost felt that at Chioggia he had conquered Venice,
replied: "By God's faith, my Lords of Venice, ye shall have no peace
from the Lord of Padua or from our {151} Commune of Genoa until I
have put a bit into the mouths of the horses of your Evangelist Saint
Mark. When they have been bridled, you shall then, in sooth, have a
good peace; and this is our purpose, and that of our Commune." Some
Genoese prisoners had been sent with the embassy, and their
unconditional surrender offered as a bait to the allies; but Doria
scornfully sent them back, saying that in a few days he would come to
release them and the rest of his countrymen.
Then all Venice was roused; the bell which summoned the popular
assembly was rung, and the people were informed of their present
peril, and invited to aid the government with wisdom and advice.
There was, however, but one opinion; all desired to arm and go forth
with such galleys as were at the Arsenal,--they thought it better to
perish in defence of Venice than to perish in her palaces and squares
from want. A terrible crisis followed: all salaries were suspended;
no business was done; and by a new loan, to which the citizens
liberally subscribed, the finances were bettered. The city was
fortified by earthworks from Lido to Santo Spirito, and towers were
erected on each side the pass of San Niccolo.
A new captain-general was now to be elected, and the favorite of the
government, Taddeo Giustiniani, was nominated; but the people with
one accord refused to serve under any man save Vettore Pisani. After
a day's debate, late in the evening some Senators were deputed to
inform Pisani that the Doge and Senate were awaiting him. Naturally
the hero was much moved; and he replied that he preferred to have the
night for reflection, and to wait on the Seigniory the next morning.
Accordingly, at daybreak, the delegates, followed by the people, came
to the gates of the prison; and when he appeared with his usual
cheerful and good-humored aspect, he was lifted by some of his old
sailors and borne {152} on their shoulders to the palace, amid cries
of "Viva il Nostro Vettore! Viva Vettore Pisani!" but he chidingly
cried, "Viva San Marco!" The Doge and senators met him on the
staircase and graciously welcomed him. Mass was celebrated. Pisani
was some time in conclave with the College, the people constantly
shouting his name outside; and when he emerged he was borne, as he
had come, to his own house in San Fantino, where he had not been for
fifteen months.
As he was passing the Campanile, his old pilot, Corbaro, drew near to
him and shouted out, "Now is the time, _Compadre_, for revenging
yourself by seizing the dictatorship of this city. Behold, all are
at your service; all are willing at this very instant to proclaim you
prince, if you choose!" Pisani boiled with rage, and dealing Corbaro
a heavy blow on the cheek, burst into indignant speech, and at last
exclaimed: "Let none who wish me well say Viva Pisani! but, Viva San
Marco!" and the populace then shouted, "Viva San Marco e Vettore
Pisani! Viva il Pisani, ch'e nostro Padre!" and the throng was so
dense from the Piazza to San Fantino that not another man could have
found room to stand.
But the people soon learned that Pisani had merely been given the
command of the Lido, while Giustiniani was at the head of the navy.
Then a great tumult arose; and although the government alleged that
Pisani was needed at the Lido, the people to the number of fifty
thousand refused to embark on the galleys until Vettore Pisani was
made captain-general of all the forces of the Republic by sea and
land. The matter was then referred to the Ten, who were awed into
compliance; and the commission was granted as desired, and this but
four days after the fall of Chioggia, so hastily had all been done.
Meantime the allies had progressed less rapidly, owing to divisions
in their counsels; but they had pushed {153} forward to Malamocco,
and there erected a battery within three miles of the capital. Many
stray shots reached Santo Spirito.
Pisani had much to do to make efficient sailors and soldiers of raw
recruits, to provide for the safety of the city, to equip between
twenty and thirty skeletons of galleys which were at the Arsenal and
were ready for sea in three days, and to attend to the lists of the
volunteers. The whole city was enthusiastically patriotic. "All
classes hastened to enroll themselves. Painters quitted their
studios to be initiated in the rudiments of naval discipline on the
Giudecca; cutlers and apothecaries closed their workshops, and
devoted themselves to drilling and exercise. Artisans brought their
savings; women plucked the jewels from their dresses, and begged the
Seigniory to dispose of them as they would."
Pisani found the wooden towers which Giustiniani had erected at Porto
Lido to be insufficient, and demolished them in order to build others
of stone. Giustiniani, full of rage, endeavored to persuade the
friends of Pisani not to approve of this; and he, seeing the
hesitation, seized a trowel, crying, "He that loves Saint Mark, let
him follow me!" and laid the first stone with his own hands. The men
returned to their duty, and the castles of San Andrea and San Niccolo
were built in four days! Many other preparations were made; and when
on August 24 the Genoese attempted an attack at two different points,
they were repulsed in such a manner as to convince them of the
futility of their efforts, and the siege of Venice was raised. After
a few weeks Doria destroyed the works he had raised at Malamocco and
retired to Chioggia, there to await the fall of Venice by starvation.
The situation in Venice was so desperate that some of the councillors
even made a motion for emigration to Candia or Negropont; but this
wild notion was met with {154} declarations that death among the
ruins of Venice would be preferable to life elsewhere. Food was so
scarce and dear that a large proportion of the people were famishing;
even the wealthy families often ate their last loaf not knowing where
to get another, and they were also as charitable as it was in their
power to be to their poorer countrymen. Thus the autumn passed and
winter had come, and yet Carlo Zeno had not returned. He was the
only hope for Venice and her people. A letter found on a captured
vessel gave information of splendid successes which he had achieved
and rich booty that he had taken; his name inspired terror from the
Golden Horn to the Riviera, and he was now probably off Canea,
whither a messenger was sent to command his immediate return.
Just at this point Barbarigo captured three of the Genoese ships and
took one hundred and fifty prisoners, and Pisani advised that this
good fortune should be followed up by an endeavor to recover
Chioggia. He recognized the daring and difficulty of the
undertaking; but not to make this effort meant starvation, and they
might reasonably count on the aid of Zeno very soon. This advice was
acted upon, and a decree was published that of those families of
plebeians who should most liberally meet this emergency by the offer
of soldiers and money, thirty should be summoned to the Great
Council; that to those not thus called five thousand ducats should be
annually distributed, and continued to their heirs forever; that all
foreign merchants who showed zeal for the cause should be made
citizens, and all Venetians who eluded the burdens and hardships of
the time should forfeit all civil rights. This measure produced
immediate results. Men and money were freely offered; and the Doge
Contarini, seventy-three years old, but hale and hearty still, wished
to assume command, with Pisani as his admiral and
vice-captain-general.
{155}
Pisani had learned, by one means and another, that Doria had thirty
thousand men, fifty galleys, seven hundred or more light craft, and
full supplies of every sort. The odds against the Venetians were
overwhelming, but they delayed not, and December 21 was fixed for the
beginning of the attack. Thirty-four galleys, sixty barks, and four
hundred boats of all sorts of build and dimensions made up the
Venetian fleet. Orders were issued that every man should be at his
post in the ships, at noon, under pain of death. The whole force was
divided into three parts,--the first under command of Pisani; the
centre under the Doge, assisted by Cavalli; and the last under
Cornaro, called _Collo storto_ from his crooked neck. At the hour
for vespers the Doge, Pisani, and the leaders attended a Mass in San
Marco, and it was eight o'clock before Contarini mounted his barge
and unfurled the same great banner which had floated above the
victory over Barbarossa. All had been done rapidly and without noise.
It was a mild winter evening; the stars were bright and the sea calm,
and everything seemed propitious to the undertaking. Soon after
passing the Lido a fog came on, but speedily disappeared; and not far
from ten o'clock the fleet was off the Pass of Chioggia, at the
southern point of Pelestrina. Pisani had planned to blockade the
Genoese instead of attacking them; and in the course of three days
the Strait of Chioggia was choked and dammed on the shores of
Pelestrina and Brondolo.
But this had been done at the cost of great hardships and loss of
life. Even in this winter-time the men had worked in the water up to
their waists, all the while in danger of drowning as well as of being
shot by the enemy. They began to murmur; they declared that this was
more than flesh and blood could bear, and they demanded leave to
return to Venice. Pisani had shared all their perils, {156} but he
knew that great firmness was required to put down this discontent,
and he asked the Doge, in a tone which made his request a command, to
swear on his sword that he would not return to Venice unless Chioggia
was taken. Contarini took this oath without hesitation. This scene
occurred on Christmas eve.
The Venetian engineers, now that the blockade was complete even to
the canal of Lombardy, began the erection of a fort at Fassone, and
mounted it with cannon of the largest caliber; one, called the
"Trevisan," could throw stones weighing one hundred and ninety-five
pounds, and the "Victory" was almost as powerful. Neither of these
could be fired more than once in twenty-four hours! By the time that
this work was accomplished, December 29, the condition of the
Venetians was deplorable. They were on half rations, and every day
in collision with the enemy, while the cold was piercing. The
officers, oarsmen, and crossbowmen now declared that they would brave
all consequences and return to Venice. Even Pisani was shaken for a
little; but he summoned all his heroism and fortitude, and besought
his men to hold out until Zeno could reach them. He prevailed, but
at the cost of a pledge that if Zeno had not arrived on New Year's
day, he would raise the blockade and return home.
Upon so slender a thread was Pisani forced to hang the existence of
the Republic. Forty-eight hours might decide that the civilization
of the world was to be sunk in darkness; that art, science, and
letters were to be lost in a deluge of bloodshed. For if Venice were
conquered, by whom would she be ruled? Such contentions must ensue
as would involve all Europe, and result in consequences too
disastrous to be imagined. The suspense of the last two days of the
year was past any telling, and no change had come; but the first
glimmer of the light of the New Year revealed fifteen sail in the
offing. Can we understand {157} the anxiety of the Doge and his
leaders as they asked the question, "Are these our ships under Zeno,
or are they new forces for our enemies?" Light boats were despatched
to learn the truth, and no imagination can apprehend the delirious
joy when it was found that the Lion of St. Mark had been hoisted by
the new-comers. Carlo Zeno was there, and Venice was saved!
It is needless to dwell upon the details of the continued siege of
Chioggia and the various efforts made by the Genoese. They did not
easily submit to their fate. They tried negotiation, and made every
effort for a compromise; but the Venetians had suffered too much to
make any terms save those of unconditional surrender, and this came
at last on June 22, and Chioggia was given up to pillage by the Star
Company of Milan and the Tard Venus of Sir John Hawkwood, the
mercenary troops to which this privilege had been promised. The
booty was enormous, and the Republic gained nineteen good ships, and
large stores of salt, powder, and equipments of all kinds; the salt
alone was valued at ninety thousand crowns.
The prisoners numbered 4,440, and were more like ghosts than men, so
near starvation had they come. They were sent to Venice, where many
died in their prisons while preparations were being made for the
triumphal return of Contarini. This occurred on the first day of
July, and was as magnificent as such a spectacle at Venice was sure
to be. But rarely, even in this city, had so remarkable a trio been
seen as that of the patriotic and dauntless Doge, the single-hearted
Pisani, and the peerless Zeno.
But two days elapsed before Pisani again set sail and occupied
himself in opposing the enemies of the Republic. In pursuit of the
Genoese he reached Manfredonia on August 12. The hardships of
service and imprisonment had told on the constitution of the Admiral,
and he was {158} now attacked by fever which greatly alarmed his
friends; but he made light of it, and on the 18th despatched Corbaro,
his old companion, with eight galleys to follow the Genoese fleet,
which was in sight. But his impatience overcame his resolution to
remain behind, and in spite of all expostulation he left his
sick-bed, armed himself, and directed his sails to be set. The
enterprise failed; Corbaro was killed; Pisani was wounded slightly,
and returned at evening to Manfredonia much dejected, ill, and
fainting. He was removed to the house of the commandant of the port,
who procured a physician for him; he requested an amanuensis, and
dictated a long letter to the Senate, closing with his plans which
should "make Genoa rue the day when she entered upon the War of
Chioggia."
The letter finished, he asked for water, and then for bread, which he
began to eat ravenously, but suddenly changed color, gasped for
breath, and sank lifeless upon his pillow. He was but fifty-six
years old, and his life-work would have honored fourscore years,
since we live not by time, but by deeds. He was deeply mourned, and
the tears on the faces of the weather-beaten sailors when they
learned of the death of their "Father" proved how truly they had
loved their brave commander, who had survived the redemption of the
Doge's vow but seven weeks.
The most sumptuous funeral was decreed by the Senate, and he was to
be buried in San Antonio di Castello, where his father and brother
already rested. The whole people were so wrapped in grief, and the
public mind so occupied with the obsequies, that "if the smallest
Genoese fleet had made a descent at that conjuncture, the country
would have stood in the utmost peril." As the procession was about
to move, a popular clamor was raised, the people declaring that
Pisani ought to be buried nowhere but in {159} the Ducal Chapel; and
just when a tumult was threatened, a sailor put his shoulder to the
bier, crying out, "We, his children, are carrying this brave captain
to our Father, Saint Anthony!"
This quelled the excitement, and the procession began to move; it
extended from San Fantino to San Antonio, and yet, when the
pall-bearers were entering the church, hundreds had not found a place
in the line!
A splendid mausoleum was erected over the family vault, upon which
was placed a statue of Pisani, in the uniform of a captain-general,
grasping an ensign with two streamers, and surmounted by a cross.
The capture of Cattaro, in August, 1379, was later painted to his
honor by Andrea Vicentino in the Sala dello Scrutinio, in the Ducal
Palace.
In 1381 a peace was made at Turin between Venice and the allies, and
immediately afterwards the Senate redeemed its promise and created
thirty new councillors, selected from the loyal grocers, skinners,
apothecaries, and other plebeian traders. A series of public
festivities followed; the newly made nobles went in procession to San
Marco, bearing lighted tapers in their hands; tournaments, regattas,
and banquets were held with unusual rejoicings, for the sadness of
many months was forgotten, and thankfulness and joy filled all
hearts. We may well imagine that some patricians of ancient and
honorable descent saluted the newly ennobled masons and other
artisans with a poor grace; but that was of small account to these
men who had earned the honors that the others had simply been born
to, by sacrificing much for the Republic, and they fully enjoyed
their new estate and its privileges.
Contarini lived to witness this happy conclusion of the recent war,
and died in 1382, when seventy-four years old. He may be called the
last of the hero-princes of {160} his time. He had been a grand
central figure in the dreadful days of the Chioggian War; by his
example he had imparted courage to failing hearts, and by his oath to
conquer Chioggia or see Venice no more, he made it impossible for his
soldiers and sailors to desert him, and thus his chivalry warded off
failure and catastrophe. The generation which followed him listened
to the tales of those who had fought under Pisani on the sea, or
served under Contarini at Chioggia, with the same breathless interest
with which our youth now listen to the stories of the veterans who
were engaged in our own struggles for the preservation of our country.
When Vettore Pisani died, there was but one man thought worthy to
replace him, and Carlo Zeno was made Admiral of the Fleet. Under him
the Adriatic bore no enemies to Venice upon its bosom, and he
suffered no defeat in any encounter, although the remaining
thirty-six years of his life were largely spent in the service of the
Republic.
Jacopo Zeno, Bishop of Padua, was the grandson of Carlo, and his
biographer. He tells us that Carlo was "square-shouldered,
broad-chested, solidly and strongly made, with large and speaking
eyes, and a manly, great, and full countenance; his stature neither
short nor tall. Nothing was wanting to him which strength, health,
decorum, and gravity demanded."
The details of his life as given by the Bishop are not altogether
assuring as regards "decorum and gravity;" for although he certainly
was an admirable general or admiral, he was equally capable as a
pirate, and though his patriotism was undoubted, he could make
himself quite at home with any sort of men from any part of the
globe. Indeed, he served Galeazzo Visconti at Milan and in Piedmont
for ten years with the same zeal that he hnd served Venice. During
this time he loaned four hundred {161} ducats to Francesco da
Carrara, who then was at peace with Venice; some years later this
money was repaid, and the entry in Carrara's book was simply this:
"To Carlo Zeno, paid four hundred ducats."
After the death of the Carrarese and after Zeno's return to Venice,
this register was sent to the Ten. A suspicion that Carlo Zeno had
accepted a bribe was the natural result, and he was called before the
secret tribunal. He told the simple truth; but it availed nothing,
and he was sentenced to loss of public place and rank, and two years
in prison! The Bishop vividly portrays the indignation which
followed this sentence in Venice and in other cities where Zeno was
known; and he does not say that his grandfather was a prisoner for
two years, but he does say that when he was at liberty he went to
Jerusalem, and turned his thoughts to spiritual things.
As he was returning, he aided the King of Cyprus to defeat the
Genoese and save the island with the cunning and skill of his younger
days, though he was now past seventy; and after reaching Venice, he
married a third wife, as his grandson frankly states, "for no other
reason than to secure good domestic government, and a consort and
companion who would take upon herself all internal cares, and leave
him free to study philosophy and the sacred writings."
He surrounded himself with learned men, and his house became a centre
for the exchange of thought among scholars, statesmen, and good
citizens, while he spent his days in reading, writing, and constant
attendance on the services of the Church. "In the cold winter he had
his bed filled with books, so that when he had slept sufficiently he
could sit up in bed, and pass the rest of the night in reading, nor
would he put down his book save for some great necessity."
But this serene and undisturbed life did not continue to {162} his
end. His wife and his favorite son, the father of the Bishop, died;
the son was but thirty, and his old father was desolate. His son
Pietro was a naval commander of honorable repute, but it was on
Jacopo that the old man's heart was fixed. At last, in 1418, when
eighty-four years old, and honored by all Venice, the father also
died.
The religious orders claimed the privilege of carrying him to his
grave; but the seamen of Venice rose as one man, and hastened to the
Doge to claim their right to bear the body of their beloved
commander. "Their prayer was granted; and with all the
ecclesiastical splendors in front of them, and all the pomp of the
State behind, the seamen of Venice carried him to his grave, each
relay watching jealously that every man might have his turn."
His tomb was in a church of the Cistercians, destroyed long since.
Its site is now a part of the Arsenal. Let us hope that his bones
rest beneath so fitting a monument as this for "Zeno the Unconquered."
{163}
CHAPTER IX.
BURANO AND TORCELLO.
The town of Burano, on the island of the same name, seven miles east
of Venice, is now quite the superior of Mazzorbo, from which, in its
infancy, it begged a piece of land to build itself on. Its founders
were few and very poor, but at present there are about ten thousand
Buranelli, who well sustain the reputation for disorderliness which
they have inherited; for in the old days, even the women of Burano,
who held a market in Venice, caused the magistrates much vexation by
their quarrels, and now the Venetian gondoliers usually ascribe any
troubles that arise on the canals to the Buranei, unless they know of
the presence of those other disturbers, the Chiozzotti.
Burano is noisy and dirty. The people are rough in manner and
speech, and the children bold and persistent in following strangers.
The muscular development of the Buranelli and their statuesque
figures are the only traits that one can admire in them. The men are
occupied in fishing and towing barges, filled with lagoon mud, which
goes to enrich the soil of Pordenone. They have the reputation of
doing good work for reasonable pay.
The women are uproarious in their speech and behavior, and seem unfit
to make the soft, lovely lace which is largely their occupation. But
as one listens to their speech, it is found to be in a dialect so
soft and sweet as to make one wonder how so much noise can be made
with {164} vowels alone, for apparently all the consonants have been
lost. H. F. Brown says: "They dwell upon the vowels, redoubling and
prolonging them, so that their words seem to have no close, but die
away in a kind of sigh. For instance, they call their own town Buraâ
instead of Buran. The effect is not unpleasant, but is rather too
sweet and gripless for our northern ears."
Mazzorbo, which at the founding of Burano was the Urbs Major (the
greater city), has gradually disappeared, and is now but the kitchen
garden of Venice. Burano has annexed it by a bridge built on piles,
and high enough in the centre for boats to pass under. There is
scarcely a house left on the island, save the little inn where the
boatmen get a glass of wine. Each morning the fruit and vegetable
boats go to Venice, and their cargoes are sold near the Rialto. The
difference between the people of these two islands is striking.
Those of Mazzorbo are gentle and kind in manner, and really beautiful
in person. What can make this dissimilarity in the twelve hundred
feet which separates them?
But the special interest in Burano is the lace-making, which is now
in full revival, thanks to the Countess Marcello, and other
benevolent patrons, whose efforts have reproduced the Point de Burano
in its old patterns. The hundreds of girls in the Fabbrica di
Merletti di Burano are certainly more than good-looking, and are
improving in their work each year. Indeed, one may believe that the
old-time skill of their ancestors is not lost.
The sacristan of San Martino exhibits some fine bits of old Point de
Burano, and the robes of the priests are so exquisite that one need
not be a judge of laces in order to appreciate their beauty. One who
has ever visited this independent little island will recall its
peculiarities, and certainly its lace-makers, in whatever distant
part of the globe their handiwork may be seen.
{165}
During the sixteenth century lace-making flourished in all the
principal towns of northern Italy, but to Venice belongs the fame of
_needle-points_; and Venetian ladies were the first to wear it, in
the seventeenth century, from which time the fine Venetian
lace-making dates.
Before this time the ladies of Venice had worn lace, as their
portraits attest, but not of this particular sort. Artists of the
highest order did not disdain to make designs for Point coupé, which
was made for ladies of illustrious rank, for princesses and queens;
and bits of this exquisite point now bring prices that are simply
fabulous, and worse, to any but a collector of laces or a connoisseur
in them.
"The special character of this lace consists in high reliefs,
ornamental figures either in solid or open work, artistically formed
and arranged in petals, overlaid with fantastic flowers of very broad
design, the open blossoms of which detach themselves from rich
foliage of marvellous workmanship, and are connected by joining
threads and very delicate network stitches."
The authorities in this specialty put Venice point above all other
laces, on account of its high relief, its softness and suppleness,
and a certain velvety quality found only in needle-made laces. For
some time the secret of the stitches used in making this lace were
known only to the inventors. Its fame reached other countries
immediately, and the demand for it naturally caused imitations to
spring up. The real Venice point was made entirely with the needle.
The foliage, the flower petals, the stems, all the raised parts, and
all the connecting threads were made in one stitch. The time
necessary for its completion gave it an intrinsic value; and its
price was such that only very wealthy persons could pay it, while if
exported the duty was also heavy.
In other countries laces were made which from a {166} distance had
much the same effect, but could not be compared to the true Venetian
point. Louis XIV. gave much attention to this lace, and instructed
his ambassadors to give him all possible information about its
manufacture. He even wrote letters on this subject with his own
hand, and was greatly interested in keeping Venetian lace out of
France, thus compelling the use of French point. And on the other
hand, the Venetian ambassador to France was able to discover just
what workmen the French had induced to go to France to introduce the
lace-making, and sent a list of them to the Senate. All this
resulted in a decree of the Inquisitors, as follows:--
"If any workman or artist transports his art into a foreign country
to the detriment of the Republic, he shall be sent an order to
return; if he does not obey, his nearest relatives shall be
imprisoned, so as to reduce him to obedience by his interest in them;
if he returns, the past will be pardoned, and an establishment in
Venice will be procured for him; if, in spite of the imprisonment of
his relations, he is still determined to live abroad, an emissary
will be charged to kill him, and after his death his relations will
be set at liberty."
TORCELLO.
Torcello, that once populous city, now uninhabitable from malaria, is
a realization of complete desolation; for the few traces of its past
make its present more gloomy than if it had never been other than a
desert isle. And yet in spring-time it is full of beauty, when its
orchards and thorn-hedges are in bloom and fill the air with
fragrance, or in the golden autumn days, when the sea-lavender, with
its delicate, feather-like bloom, tinges all the meadows with its
purple.
In his book on "Italian Sculptors" Mr. Perkins thus prettily tells
the legend of the settlement of Torcello:--
{167}
"Two hundred years after the invasion of Attila had driven many of
the inhabitants of Aquileja and Altina from their homes, the province
was desolated by the Lombards. The Altinese, alarmed at their
approach, anxiously deliberated whether they should remain to face
this 'Australis plaga,' or seek safety in flight, when they beheld
vast flocks of birds, with their fledglings in their beaks, take
flight from the city walls and towers and direct their course
seaward. Regarding this as a sign from heaven, some departed to
Ravenna, some to Pentapolis, and others to Istria, leaving behind
them a band of devout persons, who, in order to obtain a more direct
manifestation of the will of Heaven, determined to fast and pray for
three days, according to the advice of their bishop, Paulus. At the
end of the time they heard a voice like thunder, saying, 'Ascend into
the city tower and look at the stars.' They beheld a vision of boats
and ships and islands, and taking this as an indication that their
course should be directed seaward, they removed their most precious
possessions to the island of Torcello.... Paulus, Bishop of Altina,
migrated with his flock, their relics and treasure, to Torcello and
the neighboring islands, A.D. 641."
The ascent of the tall, square Campanile (eleventh century) is not
easy, for its ladders are rickety; but the view from its bell-chamber
compensates for all the difficulty of reaching it. To the east lies
a large district, which is neither sea nor land, but partly both,
crossed and recrossed by broad ditches. These are the _valli_, in
which fish are bred. Many little huts stand beside the _valli_, in
which Venetian gentlemen live while duck-shooting in the winter. The
sport is so fine that, in spite of cold and the absence of all real
comfort, a shooting-party usually lasts several days.
To the south the view is over the Adriatic, and the eye follows the
line of breakwaters, even to Chioggia. South-west lies Venice, her
many towers and palaces cutting an irregular line across the azure
sky, with the Euganean {168} Hills for a background. To the north,
far away beyond the plain, with nothing to intercept the view, stand
the Dolomitic Alps, seen in perfection from Torcello. Tofano,
Antelao, and Pelmo stand out boldly, their clear-cut peaks white with
snow, and their long, lower ridges dark and shadowy. A more heavenly
sky, a lovelier sea, more striking mountain peaks, and a more
fancy-stirring city,--can these be found in any one panorama to excel
the view from the Campanile of Torcello?
The Cathedral of Torcello was so injured by the repairs under the
Austrians that one can find little pleasure in visiting it. The one
interesting feature is the arrangement of the chancel, where the
semicircular seats rise one above the other, and the bishop's throne
in the centre, reached by a steep staircase, towers above all.
Authorities agree that the fittings of this apse give a better idea
of the way in which apses were originally arranged than does any
other church, either of the same period with this (seventh century),
or even earlier. It is most unusual; and Ruskin throws such a charm
about it that it is pure pleasure to read what he says of it:--
"There is one circumstance which we ought to remember as giving
peculiar significance to the position which the episcopal throne
occupies in the island church; namely, that in the minds of all early
Christians the church itself was most frequently symbolized under the
image of a ship, of which the bishop was the pilot. Consider the
force which this symbol would assume in the imaginations of men to
whom the spiritual Church had become an ark of refuge in the midst of
a destruction hardly less terrible than that from which the eight
souls were saved of old,--a destruction in which the wrath of man had
become as broad as the earth and as merciless as the sea,--and who
saw the actual and literal edifice of the Church raised up, itself
like an ark in the midst of the waters. No marvel if with the surf
of the Adriatic rolling between them and the shores of their birth,
{169} from which they were separated forever, they should have looked
upon each other as the disciples did when the storm came down on
Tiberias Lake, and have yielded ready and loving obedience to those
who ruled them in His name who had there rebuked the winds and
commanded stillness to the sea. And if the stranger would yet learn
in what spirit it was that the dominion of Venice was begun, and in
what strength she went forth conquering and to conquer, let him not
seek to estimate the wealth of her arsenals or numbers of her armies,
nor look upon the pageantry of her palaces, nor enter into the
secrets of her councils; but let him ascend the highest tier of the
stern ledges that sweep round the altar of Torcello, and then,
looking as the pilot did of old along the marble ribs of the goodly
temple-ship, let him repeople its ruined deck with the shadows of its
dead mariners, and strive to feel in himself the strength of heart
that was kindled within them, when first, after the pillars of it had
settled in the sand, and the roof of it had been closed against the
angry sky that was still reddened by the fires of their
homesteads,--first, within the shelter of its knitted walls, amidst
the murmur of the waste of waves and the beating of the wings of the
sea-birds round the rock that was strange to them,--rose that ancient
hymn, in the power of their gathered voices: '_The sea is His, and He
made it: and His hands prepared the dry land._'"
A picturesque cloister connects the Baptistery or Church of St. Fosca
with the cathedral. The relics of the virgin martyr are said to rest
beneath the low, ancient church. The pillars of the cloisters are so
short that a tall man can touch the arches they sustain; but they are
of pure Greek marble, with delicately sculptured capitals.
Everything seems so small,--the two churches, the tower, an ancient
well, and a marble column are all that remain, save one or two old
buildings that may now have disappeared, so tumble-down were they
when last I saw them. The Piazza (!) around which these buildings
stand is such a bit of a grass-grown place! The only street is but a
{170} footpath, and yet we reverence Torcello for its age. The
banner of Venice has floated here more than a thousand years,--more
than six centuries before Columbus discovered our part of the globe.
There is a little museum in which a few antiquities are gathered,
where one may rest and think before taking leave of this
ghost-haunted island of Torcello, so well described by Helen Hunt:--
"Short sail from Venice sad Torcello lies,
Deserted island low, and still and green.
Before fair Venice was a bride and queen
Torcello's court was held in fairer guise
Than Doges knew. To day death-vapors rise
From fields where once her palaces were seen,
And in her silent towers that crumbling lean
Unterrified the brooding swallow flies."
As we row back to Venice in the lovely evening, with the orange and
purple of the after-glow dissolving into paler and colder tints, and
the stars peeping out one by one, Giacomo tells us a ghost-story
which is familiar to the gondoliers and fishermen, a group of whom we
have just met returning from Venice to their strange fishing-ground.
The story runs that once upon a time six men were fishing and living
together in a small hut among the _valli_. One of them had a little
son who stayed in the hut to cook food for the men whenever they came
in. As the night was the best time for fishing, the little fellow
was often alone from sunset to dawn. One morning, as it was growing
light, the men stopped their work and rowed toward home; and on the
way they saw the body of a drowned man, which the tide was taking out
to sea.
They lifted the corpse into their boat, and laid it on the prow, the
head resting on the arm. The little boy was watching for them; and
when he saw the seventh man, {171} he thought he was some other
fisherman who had fallen asleep after his night of work.
He cheerily called out, "Breakfast is ready; come along!" and ran to
the hut to see that all was right.
When the six were seated at the table, the boy asked, "Where is the
other man? Will he not have breakfast too?"
"Why, isn't he here? You had better run and call him," answered one
of the men.
The boy ran to the canal and called out loudly, "Breakfast is ready,
and there is enough for you. Why do you not come?" Getting no
answer, the boy went again to the hut, saying, "What ails him? He
will not speak."
"Ah," said another, "the old fool is deaf. You must shout at him and
swear a little."
Again the boy went down and shouted, "The others wait for you. Come
along, old fool!" But again the man moved not.
The third time back to the hut ran the boy, saying, "Come, one of
you! He will not wake for me." But they only laughed and said, "Go
shake his leg, and say we cannot wait till doomsday for him."
The boy did as he was bid, and clambered into the boat, and shook the
man, who then sat up on the prow and said, "Go back and tell them I
am coming." Then the boy hastened back, and found the men all
laughing and joking, and he cried out, "It is all right now, and he
is coming."
Suddenly the laughter ceased, and the six men turned ashy pale. They
heard the footsteps approaching, and soon the dead man came in and
sat in the boy's place. The eyes of the others were fixed on him,
and they could neither eat nor speak. They could not turn their eyes
from the stranger's face, and their blood was gradually chilled in
their veins; and when the sun was risen, seven {172} dead men sat
around the table, and the poor little boy was alone. It is from this
event that the _valle_ is called the Valle dei Sette Morti.
Ghost-stories are rare in Venice. There is another that one usually
hears. It concerns a house called "haunted." It stands on the most
easterly point of Venice, and is spoken of as the "Casa degli
Spiriti." The old women say that "once upon a time" a fine young
Venetian lived there with a charming bride, and the friend who had
been their groomsman visited them frequently. He was godfather to
their first child, which is a very sacred relation in Venice, and is
called "Compare di San Zuan." After a time the young wife and the
_compare_ fell in love with each other. The husband knew this very
well, and all three of them were most unhappy.
Just then the _compare_ died; and so greatly did the lady suffer that
she grieved herself ill, and was about to die. Her faithful maid
knew all the story of her love and grief, and with her last breath
her mistress begged that when she was dead no one else should be
permitted to watch beside her; and although the other servants would
gladly have kept the vigil, the maid was left alone beside her dead
mistress.
At midnight the door opened, and the dead _compare_ came in. The
maid could neither move nor cry out, and the ghost raised his dead
love up, and she began to dress. When she was ready, the ghost took
her arm, and signed to the maid to light them on their way. Then the
three went down, down to the very lowest vault beneath the house; and
there the _compare_ struck the torch from the hand of the maid, and
she swooned on the floor.
Thus runs the story of the old women; but there are other
explanations of the name of this old house, which even now bears
traces of its former beauty, though the whole edifice is going to
wrack and ruin. A second {173} story is quite as gruesome as the
first, since it says that here dead bodies were brought by medical
students, and autopsies made before they were buried in San Michele,
which is very near. This is the view adopted by J. A. Symonds, who
says:--
"Yonder square white house, standing out to sea, fronting Murano and
the Alps, they call the Casa degli Spiriti. No one cares to inhabit
it; for here, in old days, it was the wont of the Venetians to lay
their dead for a night's rest before their final journey to the
graveyard of S. Michele. So many generations of dead folk had made
that house their inn, that it is now no fitting house for living men."
But a pleasanter explanation is, that long ago an artistic and
literary society held its meetings here, and from the _beaux esprits_
who habitually gathered beneath its roof, it came to be called the
Casa degli Spiriti.
Perhaps the most amusing Venetian ghost-story is that of the parish
priest of San Marcuola, who declared his disbelief in ghosts in a
sermon, and exclaimed, "Where the dead are, there they stay!" This
made the ghosts of those who had been buried in San Marcuola very
indignant, and they revenged themselves by going at night, in a body,
to the chamber of this priest, whom they dragged out of bed, tossed
about, and soundly thrashed for the insult he had put on them.
Meantime, while this story-telling has gone on, it has grown quite
dark, and as we come into the canals, the calls, _Stalì_, _Premè_,
are very frequent. These cries of the gondoliers are curiously
startling, especially at night; but the celerity with which they are
obeyed, and the narrow escapes from accidents, prove their
usefulness. _Stalir_ means go to the right; _Premier_, go to the
left; and _Sciar_, or _Siar_, means that the boat is to be stopped by
turning the flat side of the oar against the current. Monckton
Milnes prettily explains this in his verses:--
{174}
"When along the light ripple the far serenade
Has accosted the ear of each passionate maid,
She may open the window that looks on the stream,--
She may smile on her pillow and blend it in dream;
Half in words, half in music, it pierces the gloom,
'I am coming--stalì--but you know not for whom!
Stalì--not for whom!'
"Now the tones become clearer,--you hear more and more
How the water divided returns on the oar,--
Does the prow of the gondola strike on the stair?
Do the voices and instruments pause and prepare?
Oh! they faint on the ear as the lamp on the view,
'I am passing--premè--but I stay not for you!
Premè--not for you!'
"Then return to your couch, you who stifle a tear,--
Then awake not, fair sleeper,--believe he is here;
For the young and the loving no sorrow endures.
If to-day be another's, to-morrow is yours;
May the next time you listen your fancy be true,
'I am coming--sciàr--and for you and to you!
Sciàr--and to you!'"
{175}
CHAPTER X.
THE TWO FOSCARI; CARMAGNOLA AND COLLEONI.
When the Doge Tommaso Mocenigo was about to die, he made a most
remarkable statement, summing up the past and present condition of
Venice, and giving much advice concerning its future, especially as
to the election of his successor. One of his most pronounced
judgments was against the election of Francesco Foscari. He
prophesied that under his rule Venice would be perpetually at war,
and that many other events would occur to lessen her prosperity. But
in spite of all that he said, Foscari was made Doge at the tenth
scrutiny, on April 15, 1423.
It is true that under his reign Venice was constantly at war; but
since he had even less power than any of his predecessors, the
responsibility of war or peace did not rest with him. He was a man
of great ability, and had filled many offices of trust with honor.
Abroad he had served as ambassador at several courts. At home he had
once been Chief of the Forty, three times Chief of the Ten, and twice
their Inquisitor. At the time of his election he was fifty-one years
old, the father of a large family, and the husband of a young wife
who added to the number every year.
Such festivities as satisfied even the Venetian taste for splendor
followed his election; and, indeed, the tournaments and other
spectacles were continued for a twelve-month. The thirty-four years
of Foscari's reign was a {176} period of great importance. The
Republic, by joining the Florentines against Milan, was involved in a
series of conflicts, sometimes gaining, at others losing, always
engaged in intrigues, sending and receiving embassies, making
treaties only to be broken, as it would seem, but finally, in 1454,
emerging from a struggle of thirty years indisputably the first of
Italian powers. Hazlitt says:
"The Venetian Empire was the most extensive, and promised to be the
most durable, which had been formed on any constitutional principles
since the days of the Romans. The Venetian Senate was the most
august assembly in the world. The Venetian Navy was the finest which
Europe had ever seen. During war, Venice employed, even at an
exorbitant stipend, the best troops to be procured and the ablest
generals of the age; and among her Captains of Companies it was not
unusual to find Hereditary Princes. Her patricians, so far from
being purely political in their education or sordid in their tastes,
prided themselves on the extent and versatility of their
acquirements. They excelled in all manly exercises and in all
enlightened pursuits. Not content with reading contemporary history,
with mastering the intricacies of diplomacy, or with attaining the
highest honors in the military profession, they studied the language
which Cicero spoke, the language of the Anabasis, and the language of
Holy Writ. They applied themselves to the liberal, mechanical, and
occult sciences, and to the Fine Arts. They became diligent
scholiasts. They searched for manuscripts with an avidity eclipsing
that of De Bure. They formed libraries, some of which were far
larger than the Public Collections at Oxford or Paris. Some gave
gratuitous instruction in the Elements of Euclid; others lectured on
Ethics or Metaphysics. A Trevisano devoted ten years to the
composition of a single Treatise, which he never lived to finish. A
Giorgio naturalized among his countrymen the literature of the
Troubadours and the songs of Provence. To a Polo, scientific men
were indebted for the first book on Travels in China, Kamtschatka,
and Japan. A Pisani filled Europe with the fame of {177} her beauty
and genius; and four nations competed for the privilege of doing her
honor! She chose France, and France was flattered by the choice.
'D'avoir le prix en science et en doctrine,
Bien mérita de Pisan la Christine,
Durant ses jours.'"
But the deep interest we feel in Francesco Foscari is not centred in
the affairs of Venice while he served as its figure-head and held but
a semblance of power, the real potency being in the Seigniory and
Council of Ten. In the great rush of state affairs, conducted as
they had come to be, each single man was lost. The State only
survived; and its methods of secret councils and its schemes of
unlimited ambition made of this same State a vast and overwhelming
machine, the workings of which in their completeness were only
comprehended by a few patricians, each one of whom was jealously
watching to prevent every other from the exercise of any
distinguishing or undue power.
It is with the personal experiences of the Doge that we are
concerned. Within a few years his large family was swept away by
death. Of his five sons Jacopo alone remained. He was a gay young
fellow, who paraded in the Broglio, and took his part in all the
gayeties and pleasures of his time. He was an elegant scholar, a
collector of manuscripts, and altogether a delightful companion in a
ladies' salon or on a festal day.
In 1441 Jacopo Foscari was married to Lucrezia Contarini, whose
family had given three Doges to Venice. The marriage was celebrated
in the Ducal Chapel before the immediate families of the Foscari and
Contarini; and not until the third day did the rejoicings begin,
which continued for ten days, and were very magnificent, as the
gentlemen of both families were members of the Compagnia della Calza
(Company of the Stocking). This society of {178} young noblemen was
formed for the purpose of holding jousts, serenades, regattas, and
like entertainments, and took its name from its peculiar uniform,
which consisted of a striped, party-colored stocking on the left leg,
reaching to the hip, drawn over tight breeches, and embroidered with
figures of animals and birds. With this was worn a doublet of velvet
or cloth of gold, with open sleeves and facings, and a shirt-frill.
A flowing mantle of some costly stuff was thrown back on the
shoulder, displaying a richly embroidered stocking on the lining; and
the whole was completed by long pointed shoes studded with precious
stones, and a black or red bonnet, also bejewelled. Aristocratic
ladies were honorary members, and wore a stocking embroidered on
their sleeves on festive occasions. As the society increased, it was
divided into various branches, of which the Immortelles, Royals,
Ethereals, and Peacocks were the most noted; but the most exclusive
part of the society is said never to have numbered more than eighteen.
Since Foscari and his bride were both members of the Calza, the
festivities attending their marriage were under its care; and the
presence of Francesco Sforza, Barbaro, and a hundred Brescian nobles
then in Venice, added much to the elegance of the assemblies. The
Doge and the College appointed a "Master of the Feast," whose duty
was to regulate everything that took place. At the appointed time
all the Company of the Calza, in their most gorgeous apparel,
repaired to his house, where the procession formed.
Each member had two servants in his private livery, and four others
in the livery of the Calza, besides other attendants, dressed in
silk, and men-at-arms in full armor. Masters and men were all
provided with horses caparisoned with green velvet trimmed with
silver. The bridegroom had twenty mounted attendants, while others
had {179} from ten to fifteen. The procession was magnificent. So
many jewels flashed in the sun, so many richly colored velvets and
brocades were worn with easy grace, so many horses caracoled to the
sound of trumpets, that the people in windows, balconies, and on the
housetops could do nothing but applaud. The houses of the streets
through which the cavalcade passed were hung with tapestries, silks,
and banners, or arched with flags spread on lines stretched from one
side to the other.
The procession rode around the Piazza and the court of the Ducal
Palace, and then over the Grand Canal, on a bridge of boats, to the
Contarini Palace at San Barnaba. Here the fair young bride came out
to meet the procession. She was attended by two grave and reverend
procurators of St. Mark in black dresses and cloaks, which by
contrast heightened the beauty of her robes of white silk. Twelve
children, all dressed in white, bore her train. In her dark hair
diamonds were so woven that those who would see her face were forced
to shade their eyes from the flashing of the jewels, and on her neck
were the rarest of pearls, besides precious stones of great value on
other portions of her person. She wore a cloak of lightest fur, as
the wintry air compelled her to do. Sixty maids of honor followed
her, all dressed in blue with many rare jewels, and all wearing
cloaks. The Company of the Calza and their attendants formed two
lines. Foscari descended from his horse, and made a profound
obeisance to his wife, then placed himself beside her, and they,
followed by the sixty maidens, walked between the lines of the
cavalcade to the Church of St. Barnaba, where they heard Mass. After
this the Lady Lucrezia, her maids, and the members of the Calza, with
Sforza, Barbaro, and the Brescian visitors, took their places in the
square outside the church, and listened to a eulogy upon the two
great families united by this marriage, pronounced from a pulpit by a
richly dressed priest.
{180}
The oration ended, Foscari and his bride returned to the palace of
her father, while the cavalcade rode through the city, displaying
their horsemanship, and engaging in mock battles in the squares, to
the great delight of the people.
In the afternoon a splendid repast was furnished at the Ducal Palace,
and then the Bucentaur was rowed up to the Piazzetta, where a hundred
ladies in costly dresses embarked and proceeded to the Palazzo
Contarini. Here they were joined by the Lady Lucrezia and her
husband, attended by another hundred ladies. Then the Bucentaur,
followed by numerous gayly decorated gondolas, rowed to the Palace of
Sforza, to the sound of music, and paid a visit of state to the
Captain-General, who then went on board the Bucentaur, and the whole
company proceeded to the Ducal Palace. The Doge and Dogaressa, with
a train of fifty ladies, met the barge at the landing; and they, with
their guests in procession, entered the palace, where the evening was
spent in dancing.
The next day festivities were resumed. Now a tournament was given,
in which the nobles of Venice and their honored guests tilted
together. Again a regatta was held, with large prizes, and the
gondolas were brought out which were only seen at festivals. They
were richly carved and gilded, and fitted with curtains and cushions
of silk and velvet. The best rowers competed for the prizes, and won
them amid great applause. Each day some novel feature was
introduced. Acrobats and others performed their feats of agility in
the squares, the bells rang softly all day long, bands played in the
squares at night, and the people danced, while the patricians were
entertained at a series of balls at the palaces of the nobility.
Thus ten days passed, and then, as a finale, there was a procession
of illuminated boats, every seventh one carrying musicians, which
passed through the canals, and around the islands near Venice.
[Illustration: _The Piazzetta; Ducal Palace; San Marco_]
{181}
But three years elapsed before Jacopo Foscari was suspected of having
taken bribes for his services in obtaining offices _per broglio_,
which would be called lobbying in our day. The Broglio was the lower
gallery or arcade under the Ducal Palace, which was a general
meeting-place for the higher classes, and where all sorts of schemes
and conspiracies were broached, and consultations held; in short, an
exchange which might be frequented for both good and evil purposes.
The penalties for such offences as those of which the young Foscari
was accused, were very severe, and Jacopo was doomed to banishment in
Naples, where each day he must present himself before the
representative of the Republic in that city. Before this sentence
was pronounced, Jacopo had fled to Trieste, and there fell ill.
After some months he was permitted to go to Treviso; and at length,
in answer to a pathetic appeal from his father, he was pardoned, and
returned to Venice.
Again, three years later, one of the Council of Ten who had condemned
Jacopo was assassinated as he was leaving the palace. The evidence
which connected Jacopo with this murder was so slight that it is not
worth recounting; but suspicion of him was strong enough to cause his
arrest, and it is even said that he was tortured, with no result. He
was now banished to Candia, where, separated from wife and children,
from the refinements that he loved, and without congenial pursuits,
he suffered a restlessness so intense that he further criminated
himself for the sake of returning to Venice, even though that might
mean the rack anew. He wrote a letter to the Duke of Milan, the
enemy of Venice, asking his aid with the Seigniory. This letter he
managed to have fall into the hands of the Council, never trying to
send it to Milan at all.
He was also accused of having addressed a letter to the {182} Sultan,
imploring him to send a vessel to convey him away secretly. He was
now brought to Venice, and before the Council made a full confession,
no doubt through fear of the torture-chamber, so near at hand. Some
of the Ten favored severity. Loredano even wished him to be beheaded
between the Columns, but the mild sentence of a year's imprisonment
at Candia was the final result. When this sentence was given, he
prayed that he might see his family, all of whom had been rigidly
excluded from him and from the court during his trial. His father,
mother, wife, and children were permitted to visit him; and when the
time for his removal came, he was with them in the Ducal Palace.
Even then, after all he had suffered and caused others to suffer, he
did not seem to realize that the execution of his sentence was as
sure as fate itself. He seemed rather to believe that some one could
reverse it all; and naturally that some one seemed to be the Doge,
his father, who, alas! knew but too well his utter powerlessness.
Amid the sobs and kisses all around him, once more he cried, "Father,
I beseech you, make them let me go home!" But the old Doge, in his
despair, could only reply, "Jacopo, go; obey the will of the country,
and try no more," in saying which no doubt he suffered more than he
who heard these fatal words.
All hearts were touched by these terrible griefs of the old Foscari,
and six months later a full pardon was obtained for the son. But it
was too late. He no longer lived to be condemned or forgiven. When
this news came, the Doge was eighty-four years old. His courage was
gone. He could no longer give heed to public matters, nor could he
endure to sit in that court which had tortured and exiled the last of
his sons. And so he stayed away; and soon there was a murmur against
him, and a complaint that he no longer made a pretence of {183}
having authority and of being necessary to the State,--a lie which he
was tired of acting. Foscari had more than once proposed to retire,
but the Council would not hear of it. Now, however, he was asked to
resign his office; and when he did not answer quickly enough to
please his persecutors, he was told that if he did not leave the
palace within the next eight days, his property would be confiscated.
He made no resistance. The ducal ring was drawn from his finger and
broken in his presence. The ducal bonnet was taken from his head,
and he promised to leave the palace at once.
As the deputies left him, Foscari caught the eye of one, Jacopo
Memmo, who looked at him with sympathy and compassion. He called
him, took his hand, and said, "Whose son art thou?" "I am the son of
Marin Memmo." And then the Doge: "He is my dear friend. Tell him
from me that it would be sweet to me if he would come to pay me a
visit, and go in my bark with me or a little pleasure. We might
visit the monasteries."
That very day the Doge left the palace with his old brother Marco,
followed by his household. Marco said, "It is better to go to the
boat by the stair that is covered;" but the old Doge replied, "I will
go down by the same stair that I came up when I was made Doge." And
then they rowed away to the splendid palace to which Jacopo had taken
Lucrezia Contarini sixteen years before,--the house that we may still
see on the point of the Grand Canal, where it turns to the east, with
the water on two sides, and its fine old gateway on the small canal
at the back. Here, in 1574, Francis I. was lodged, it being thought
more suited to his royalty than any other in all Venice.
And here, many years before, on Oct. 24, 1457, came the old Foscari
to die. The new Doge was elected on the 31st; and on All Souls Day,
when the new prince {184} went to San Marco to Mass, Foscari's
son-in-law there announced that Foscari was no more. His funeral was
magnificent. The new Doge was obliged to loan his crown to his
predecessor, when he was laid in state in the palace from which he
had been expelled but one short week before. Every honor was
bestowed on him, dead, that the Republic could give. He was carried
to the Frari, with many tapers lighting his way; and, to quote Mrs.
Oliphant, "there he lies under a weight of sculptured marble, his
sufferings all over for five hundred years and more; but never the
story of his greatness, his wrongs, and sorrows, which last gave him
such claims upon the recollection of mankind as no magnificence nor
triumph can bestow."
When the bell rang
At dawn, announcing a new Doge to Venice,
It found him on his knees before the Cross,
Clasping his aged hands in earnest prayer;
And there he died. Ere half its task was done,
It rang his knell.
ROGERS.
So intense was the excitement in Venice, caused by the deposition and
death of the old Doge, that the Senate forbade "the affair of
Francesco Foscari to be mentioned on pain of death."
FRANCESCO CARMAGNOLA.
The story of Jacopo Foscari affords a striking commentary upon the
changes which had come over the armies of the Republic. It would
seem that the want of any serious and engrossing occupation--a sort
of elegant idleness--had led Jacopo to his misfortunes; and this
idleness would not have been possible during so stirring a period as
that of his father's reign, if the Venetians had still done their own
fighting as they did it in the reign of Enrico Dandolo.
{185}
In Foscari's day it had come to be the custom, all over Italy and in
other countries of Europe, to hire men to kill and be killed for
money. Mercenary troops they were fitly called; for they not only
received their hire, but they robbed the peasant of his harvest, and
from the wealthy land-owner they extorted gold. Venice had employed
these bands when they were made up of Bretons, Hungarians, Gascons,
and other men, who spoke no Italian, and thought solely of gain; but
by the middle of the fifteenth century the Free Lances had come to be
an organized institution, with unwritten laws, which were well
understood by them and by their employers; and the general or leader
of these bands who was not successful was in much danger of having
his head taken off by the Seigneur or the government he served, on
the charge of treason. A most famous leader of one of these bands of
_condottieri_ was Francesco Carmagnola.
The name of his father was Bussone; but the soldier took his name
from the town, near Turin, in which he was born, in 1390. While he,
as a boy, tended flocks upon his native hills, the clash of arms and
the noise of battle which filled all Europe reached even his ears;
and fired with desire for adventure, he deserted the first duty of
his life, and through one chance and another entered the service of
Facino Cane, a great general in the service of the Duke of Milan.
Carmagnola soon proved his fitness for the profession he had chosen,
but it is doubtful if the jealousy of Cane would have permitted him
to come to the front. It may therefore be said to have been the
making of his fortune when Facino Cane and Gian Maria Visconti died
on the same day, and Filippo Maria Visconti became the head of the
house; for when this young prince needed a general, he chose
Carmagnola, who embraced his cause zealously, and at once took Milan
for him, and subsequently, one after the other, overcame the {186}
cities which had revolted. Naturally this was a work of time; and
meanwhile the great captain was high in the favor of his prince, held
a conspicuous position at court, and was the chief counsellor of the
Duke in all important matters.
So distinguished had he become that the Duke had given him a wife
from his own family, with the privilege of bearing the name of
Visconti, and the arms of that reigning house were also conferred on
him. To the large booty won in his service great wealth had been
added, and this peasant soldier lived in Milan in a style suited to
his riches and his wife's birth. He was in the midst of erecting the
Broletto, a royal palace (now used for municipal purposes), when the
shadows of misfortune first fell on him. This was in 1424, when
Foscari had been Doge of Venice for a year, and twelve years after
Duke Filippo Maria had made Carmagnola his captain-general.
This Duke suffered much from morbid timidity. His sensitiveness as
to his personal appearance amounted to torture, and caused him to
seek a seclusion that but increased his morbidness. He was so
suspicious of all who served him that he made it the duty of one set
of guards to watch over another, and so on, through several relays,
and then purposed himself to watch the last. The fear of murder
haunted him, and he used all his ingenuity in devising schemes of
self-protection, such as constantly changing his apartments, and
other methods equally futile if his fears were well grounded.
He married the widow of Facino Cane, Carmagnola's first commander,
and through the conquests and efficient counsels of his great
captain, the Duke was now the master of the Lombard plains and many
wealthy cities, while he was respected as well as feared by his
rivals. Finally Carmagnola had added Genoa to his other conquests;
and this proud rival of Venice, with her commerce {187} and her
splendid harbor, seemed to complete the glory of the Duke of Milan.
It may be that it was all suspicion on the part of the Duke (when one
has such a nature as his, who can tell?); but at all events, it would
seem that the glory which this last success brought to the Captain
was more than the Duke could support. He feared lest Carmagnola
should become too powerful, and naturally there were enemies of the
successful man who were only too ready to encourage suspicions
against him; and though there had been no thought of treachery
imputed to him, the Duke demanded the surrender of the troop of three
hundred horse, which had been Carmagnola's special command.
He implored the Duke not to deprive him of his soldiers, without
which his life would be wretched. But to his prayers no answer was
made, and he began to perceive that evil influences were working
against him. He was at Genoa, of which place he had been made
governor, and the Duke was at a fortress on the borders of Piedmont,
not far away; and his letters not being answered, he determined to
face the Prince. In full assurance of regaining the confidence of
the man for whom he had done so much, he set out with all the
impulsiveness of a generous nature.
Imagine his surprise when, arrived at Abbiate, he was not permitted
to pass the bridge into the castle. The guards had been forbidden to
admit their commander-in-chief. However, he did not yet understand
that he was insulted, and sent word to the Duke that he desired an
audience. The answer directed him to communicate with Riccio (his
deadly foe), as the Duke was too busy to see him. Carmagnola curbed
his pride and anger, and again sent to say that his message was for
the ear of the Duke alone; and to this no answer was vouchsafed.
As he waited with a handful of followers on the bridge, {188} his
only answer being a command to speak to his well-known enemy, he
thought he saw the face of the Duke at a loophole above. As he
looked down on the scene around him, he found himself in the midst of
his own hirelings, who were only too glad to see their peasant
captain humbled. The fire of his rage flamed forth, and he called
God to witness his innocence of any wrong to the Duke, in thought or
deed, and then accused his enemies as perfidious traitors, and swore
a solemn oath that they should soon feel the want of him to whom they
would not now listen.
He turned his horse and rode towards the Ticino, the border of Savoy,
his native province. This much alarmed the conspirators, who were
watching from the castle, and an attempt was made to call him back;
but he rushed furiously on, and stopped not until he reached the
castle of the Duke of Savoy, to whom he told his story and offered
his services. But Amadeo was a clear-headed, cautious man, and well
knew that he could not compete with Milan; and Carmagnola, seeing
that there was no hope for him here, remembered that he knew of a
power greater than that of Milan, and cautiously made his way to
Venice. He was received with the distinction which his fame as a
soldier commanded, and possibly more, just at the time of his
arrival, when there was already a question of war with Milan, in
behalf of Florence.
Envoys from Milan and Florence were already at Venice when Carmagnola
arrived, and the whole city was full of excitement. Indeed it was a
curious thing to watch the representatives of these two Italian
States, so near to each other geographically, both of one nation and
tongue, and yet so different,--the Florentines grave, and occupied
only in the serious affairs which had brought them hither; the
Milanese, gay in dress and manner, carelessly passing here and there,
as if their only object were to see the {189} sights in this Queen of
the Sea, of which they had heard so much. But they could scarcely
have failed to have some uneasy thoughts when they saw Carmagnola
there. The man whom they had driven from their midst by unjust
accusations, the man whom they had insulted and betrayed, was not
likely to help their cause with the Republic, nor speak to the Senate
in accord with the representations they would there make. But all
must have the privilege of speech, and the interest to hear was very
great with the Venetians.
The Florentine Ridolfi was the first to whom the Doge and Senate
listened. He made a passionate and moving appeal, begging that the
Venetians would unite with the Florentines to curb the power of
Milan, and warning them that when Philip had once overcome Florence
he would find the means to conquer Venice also. The Senate was
greatly moved by his eloquence and the force of his arguments, but
they were divided between sympathy for Florence and hesitation at the
enormous cost of aiding her, between fear of Philip for themselves
and doubt of his ability to overcome and dominate Florence and
Venice; and they thought it best to listen to the Milanese before
expressing themselves to the Florentines.
Very different from the earnest pleading of Ridolfi was the bravado
of the orator from Milan. He declared that he and his companions had
come on no important embassy, but simply to pay their respects to
Venice and her Senate in the name of their Duke. They had no league
to make, no favors to ask, since the treaties which existed between
Milan and the Republic were still unbroken. He then represented the
Florentines as false men, whose speech was full of lies. He declared
that though the former rulers of Milan had been enemies of the
Venetians, Duke Philip was their friend, as the Visconti had been for
a century, and that he desired peace and repose, being "the {190}
very model of liberality and courtesy." In fact, no new light was
thrown on any subject by the speech of the Milanese, and the Senators
were much divided in their opinions. A part were for immediate war
with Philip, who only desired to speak them fair until he could
overcome Florence; the others begged for greater caution, and
recalled the truth that to begin a struggle was much easier than to
end it.
It was now Carmagnola's turn, and a new wrong which he had suffered
filled his wrath to the full. At Treviso an attempt had been made to
poison him. It had failed, and the perpetrator of the act had paid
for it with his life; but it had turned the feeling of injury which
Carmagnola had cherished before into fierce hatred, and he appeared
before the Venetian Senate with fire in his heart and on his tongue.
With hot words he depicted the benefits he had conferred on Philip,
and the base ingratitude with which he had been treated. He declared
that he had received no rewards, but simply the just hire for what he
had accomplished; and now, he said, the prince he had thus served had
not only wounded and insulted him, not only turned his back on him,
and driven him into exile, but he had sought to kill him,--not in a
fair and open battle, such as soldiers love, but in the way of the
cowardly assassin, with poison. He then congratulated himself on his
preservation, and declared that although he had left his wife, his
children, and his wealth in the country he had lost, he was still
fortunate in that he had found a country where justice was honored
and villains did not rule.
Carmagnola then represented that Philip was far less powerful than he
was thought by the Florentines; that his soldiers were not paid, his
citizens were not rich, and his own means were much exhausted; that
the Duke's successes had depended on himself; and that without him
{191} Philip was weaker than the Florentines, and much weaker than
Venice. And finally he offered his services to the Republic,
promising to increase its dominions and to conquer Philip, and
declaring that though they might have had greater commanders, none
had been more loyal than he would be to Venice, and none had ever
hated her enemies as he hated the Milanese.
The speech of Ridolfi had appealed to the intellects of the Senators,
but that of Carmagnola moved both their heads and hearts, and almost
all pronounced for war. Foscari followed; and an old chronicler says
that "the energetic speech and great influence of the Doge, which
_was greater than that of any prince before him_," decided the Senate
to make the league with the Florentines. War was at once declared
against Milan, and Carmagnola was made general of the forces. He
speedily led to action the soldiers who were ready, while all Italy
was scoured for recruits.
The first point of attack was Brescia, and the story of its
possession is indeed a sad one. Historians disagree as to the extent
of blame to be fixed on Carmagnola; but at the best, as Bigli gives
it, it seems a cold-blooded betrayal of the many Brescian friends of
the great captain. By the aid of two men within the city, at the
dead of night, Carmagnola marched his troops into the Piazza, the
very centre of the city, and suddenly, with an illumination of
torches and blare of trumpets, announced his sovereignty in the name
of Venice, which he now served. The historian says: "Though at first
dismayed by the clang of the trumpets and arms, as soon as they [the
inhabitants] perceived that it was Carmagnola, they remained quiet in
their houses, except those who rushed forth to welcome the besiegers,
or who had private relations with the General. No movement was made
from any of the fortified places in the city."
{192}
So far all had gone well, but the real work was yet to be done; and
it was only after seven months of siege, of trenching and assaults,
of shutting out supplies, and many tasks which demanded infinite
skill and patience, that Carmagnola was master of the city with all
its wealth,--a splendid conquest for Venice. Brescia being actually
reduced, the villages and castles belonging to it surrendered without
resistance, and as far as the Lago di Garda the sovereignty of the
Republic was acknowledged.
Philip was furious, but as he was in no condition just then to make
war, he employed a legate of the Pope to make peace for him; and this
was accomplished at the cost of his relinquishing, not only Brescia,
but a portion of the Cremonese territory, in all nearly forty miles
in extent.
Meantime, in all these months, there had been some mysterious
elements in the conduct of Carmagnola, which by no means escaped the
all-searching eye of Venice. Very early in the siege of Brescia he
had left the authority with his chief engineer, and after a
plundering expedition on Lago di Garda, had retired to the Baths of
Abano, pleading that an old wound in his thigh gave him so much pain
as to unfit him for service. The Venetians regarded this as a hint
for some benefit to be conferred on their Captain-General, and they
promptly made him a noble of Venice, with the title of Count of
Castelnuovo, and offered him a principality in Cremonese territory if
he would rejoin his army and push his victory across the river Adda.
The Duke of Milan, on his part, was pursuing a tortuous policy, by
which he set a snare for the great Free Lance. He determined to make
it appear that he had some understanding with Carmagnola. His envoys
were constantly seeking the General, and whenever Philip made any
proposals to Venice, he named this officer as {193} his ambassador.
Carmagnola was weak enough to be flattered by this. He believed that
he was absolutely essential to both Venice and Milan, that everything
revolved around him, and that he might decide the fate of these two
powers from his retirement at the Baths of Abano.
The treaty which followed the fall of Brescia was signed in December,
1425, and in one clause of it the Duke promised to restore to
Carmagnola his property in Lombardy; but Visconti broke this as well
as other stipulations of the treaty, and it soon became evident that
war was again inevitable. In February, 1427, Carmagnola was summoned
to Venice to aid the government in its plans for a new campaign.
Soon after his arrival his wife joined him, and was accorded, by the
Seigniory, a splendid reception, in which neither trouble nor money
was spared; and thus the Senate indicated to its Captain that his
faithful service would be fully recognized by the Republic.
The second campaign more plainly revealed the sluggishness of
Carmagnola. In spite of the impatience of Venice and the
magnificence of the rewards she promised, there was no activity.
Again the Duke was full of intrigue, and pretended intelligence with
the Venetian commander. It began to be understood at Venice that
Carmagnola was neither as great nor as sincere as the Senate had
believed when he first addressed them; and their distrust was not
lessened when again the Duke proposed terms of peace through the
mediation of his sometime friend and commander.
Casal Maggiore had been retaken by the Milanese. Angry letters were
sent to Carmagnola, who replied that when the proper time arrived he
would recover it in three days. This he did; but as he wished to
free all his prisoners, according to the then custom of war, and as
the {194} Republic was a law to herself, and did not aim to follow
the rules of mercenaries, there was a direct disagreement at once.
The Senate ordered the captured garrisons to be detained. Carmagnola
obeyed, but considered it a disgrace to his honor as a soldier. He
so resented this infringement of his authority that he allowed his
opportunities to slip away unimproved. The Duke was now sorely
pressed by Savoy, as well as Venice, and yet Carmagnola refrained
from entering his territory, and quietly remained in camp at
Casalsecco and on Lago d' Iseo; and it was not until October, 1427,
that by the battle of Macalo he retrieved his fame, and restored the
Venetians to good-will towards him, in spite of the great
dissatisfaction and grave suspicions of him which they had
entertained for months.
A house in Venice at San Eustachio was given him, with Castenedolo in
the Bresciano for himself and his heirs; and two nobles were sent to
convey the thanks of the Republic to him, and at the same time to
exhort him to follow up his victory at Macalo with a series of
equally splendid triumphs, which were clearly within his reach. The
government also suggested that the time had arrived for passing the
Adda, and ending the war by a glorious victory which would insure an
honorable peace.
But it seemed that Macalo was deemed sufficient by Carmagnola to
quiet Venice for a time; and though all Italy agreed in the view of
his employers, he did no more, and at the end of the year asked for
permission to go again to the Baths. The disgust of the Venetians
may easily be imagined; but as the Duke had already begun
negotiations for peace through the friendly offices of the Pope, an
ungracious consent was yielded to the request of their general; and
as the envoys of the Duke came to him, even at Abano, he fancied that
he could return to Milan whenever he willed. He was playing a game
for himself, {195} like a true mercenary soldier, and he desired by
his sluggishness to lay the Duke under obligations to him. No doubt
he intended to return to the service of Visconti, whose constant wars
brought him great wealth in booty; and then his half-finished palace
was there, and we can readily imagine that his wife desired to return
to her own country.
While he was at Abano the negotiations proceeded, and a peace which
was advantageous to Venice was signed on the 19th of April, 1428.
Almost immediately Carmagnola made a triumphant entry into Venice,
and his old father came to see how his son was honored by the
Republic. Forty years ago a peasant-herder, he was now a noble of
the proudest republic of Italy. Days of festivities followed.
Venice had not realized her fullest hopes; but the Peace of Ferrara
gave her Brescia and Bergamo, and added much to her territory and her
importance.
But no peace with Milan could be long maintained, and soon the Senate
knew that a third war was inevitable. They had paid Carmagnola the
customary retaining-fee, and felt themselves quite secure of their
leader, when suddenly, just as hostilities seemed imminent, he sent
in his resignation. When the Senate met to consider this outrageous
act, Carmagnola distinctly stated his price. He must have a thousand
ducats a month, in peace or war. And now the mortification of Venice
was complete. Through distrust of her own sons, and by her own laws,
no Venetian gentleman could command more than seventy-five men. Had
their General been one of their own countrymen, with Venetian
soldiers, as in the old days, how great would the difference have
been! But now, with the Duke of Milan ready to attack them, they
were at the mercy of the great _condottiere_.
The war actually began in 1430, and this third campaign seemed only
to emphasize the conduct of the second. {196} Carmagnola was more
inactive. The Duke sent his envoys to the General with greater
frequency. The Venetians were less patient, especially as the
audacity of their General became more and more surprising. In spite
of offers to reward him with the lordship of Milan if he would reduce
it, he refused to move. He attempted no concealment of his constant
communication with Philip. He even wrote to the Senate concerning
the envoys who were with him, and took no warning from the sullen
replies he received. He was trifling with Venice, and did not try to
hide it; and he was not intriguing with the Duke, although the latter
intended to make it appear so, and succeeded in his plan.
According to Sabellico, the discussions of the Senate over the best
way to treat Carmagnola went on for months. There were those who had
always distrusted him. Others refused to desert his cause unless
proofs of his treachery could be given. The General was in Venice
during these discussions, but had no suspicions of them. This proves
the perfect faith of the councillors, for his friends would not tell
him any sooner than his enemies; and though there were those of them
who greatly needed the rewards that the General would so generously
have given for the information, not one would speak. The great court
of the palace has been the scene of comedy and tragedy, many times
repeated; but one act in the Carmagnola drama which occurred here is
by no means the least interesting of these events.
One morning as the General went to pay his respects to Foscari, he
met him passing from the Council Chamber to the Palace. The soldier
cheerfully asked if he should bid his Serenity good morning or good
evening, as he had not slept that night. To which the Doge smilingly
replied that among the many matters spoken of in the long discussion
nothing had been more frequently mentioned than {197} Carmagnola's
name,--a ghastly joke when we know that the discussion involved the
soldier's life.
At last the whole matter was put in the hands of the Council of Ten,
who at once invited the General to come to Venice to consult on
matters of importance. Utterly unsuspicious, he set out at once; and
all along his way, on the plains of Lombardy, as he rode, or as he
sailed down the Brenta, he was honored and welcomed as if he were a
royal personage. At Mestre he was met by eight gentlemen, who
blandly escorted him to his fate. We may well wonder of what they
talked to him,--if they told him of his wife and daughter who were
expecting his return; or were they silent and abstracted, as if
preoccupied with the grave questions to be discussed with him before
the Council? They conducted him directly to the palace, and there
dismissed his retainers, saying that their master would be long
detained by the Doge, who had much to say to him.
Not finding the Doge, Carmagnola turned to go to his own house; and
then his friends, under pretext of showing him a shorter way,
conducted him through intricate passages into the prisons. When he
saw to what place he had been led, he exclaimed, "I am a lost man!"
And when his friends endeavored to console him, he replied, "No, no!
we do not cage the birds we mean to set at liberty."
It is easy to understand that the Seigniory were determined on his
death. They would be free of him, and did not wish him to serve any
other power. It is said that the Doge favored his imprisonment for
life; but, be that as it may, he was examined and tortured, and
finally led, with a gag in his mouth, to the Piazzetta, and there
decapitated "between the Columns." He was buried in a church which
no longer exists, and later his remains were taken to Milan. His
family was banished to Treviso, {198} with a small pension, and
commanded not to pass beyond certain limits under pain of death.
Strangely enough, what became of them is not known.
Severe as Venice was in her treatment of her great mercenary, and
stupidly as he acted his part, they were both consistent with their
position and character. He was an adventurer, thinking only of
himself,--not a traitor in the usual sense of the word, and yet
untrue to the interests he was most generously paid to protect.
Venice was unforgiving of lighter sins than those of Carmagnola; and
in accordance with her views and policy, he must die. Each acted
logically and consistently from the stand-point of the principle, or
want of principle, by which they were governed. Carmagnola would
offer a favorable subject for the dramatic dissection of character
which is so popular in our day. And for one thing he must be
remembered and admired,--he was not a traitor in deed, whatever he
was in thought; and this can be said of none of his fellow-captains.
They all, sooner or later, betrayed one master for another; and this
fact entitles Carmagnola to be called THE GREAT SOLDIER OF FORTUNE.
BARTOLOMMEO COLLEONI.
This _condottiere_ is called Coglioni by his biographer, Spino, who
tells us that he was born near Bergamo, in 1400. His father, a noble
of no exalted rank, was driven from his fortress by a conspiracy in
his family; and Bartolommeo and his brothers very naturally sought
military service and pay, according to the custom of their time.
Having acquired a certain recognition in the service of the Queen of
Naples, Colleoni, with forty horsemen, entered the service of Venice
at the beginning of the first campaign under Carmagnola. Did we
credit his {199} biographer with perfect truthfulness, we should
esteem him to be already a great soldier. There is no doubt that he
did good service at Bergamo, when, with his own horsemen and three
hundred infantry, he warned the Bergaraese of the approach of the
army under Piccinino, and helped them to prepare for the attack so
well that the Milanese were forced to retire.
In 1448 Colleoni was made a lieutenant in the army of Sforza, as
undisturbed by his change from the enemy to the friend of Milan as
possible. In 1455 he was made the Captain-General of Venice, and
remained in that position ten years; but even while he held so
important a post, the mention of him in the Venetian records is quite
unimportant, until in 1475 it was recorded that he had died at his
castle of Malpaga, where he had lived in great luxury.
To the Republic he bequeathed arms, horses, and other objects of
value, with 216,000 ducats in money, on condition that his statue
should be placed in the Piazza of San Marco. The Seigniory were
overwhelmed by this liberality, and were anxious to show their
appreciation of Colleoni, but their laws forbade compliance with his
ambitious request to stand forever in their Piazza. The Senate,
however, considered that the condition was sufficiently fulfilled by
placing the statue in the Campo in front of the Scuola di San Marco,
and near San Zanipolo, where it now stands,--a horse and rider so
alive, so full of force and motion, that it seems like a guardian of
Venice, that would tread under foot any foe who came to harm her.
This was the second equestrian statue cast in Italy; that of
Guattemalata at Padua, executed by Donatello a little more than
twenty years before, being the first, and which, doubtless, inspired
Colleoni with the ambition to be thus immortalized.
{200}
The statue was designed by "Andrew the keen-eyed" (Verocchio), but
was completed by Alessandro Leopardi, whose name is seen on the
horse's girth. The story goes that Verocchio came to Venice, and had
modelled the horse when he was told that another artist was to
execute the rider. In his indignation at this he broke the head and
legs of the horse into fragments, and returned to Florence. The
Senate sent after him a decree prohibiting his again entering Venice
under pain of death. To this he replied that he would surely obey,
as he knew that were his head taken off no power in Venice could
replace it, while he could easily replace the head of his horse, and
doubtless improve it.
After a while the Venetians realized his value to them, and rescinded
the edict, at the same time asking him to return, with the promise
that he should be undisturbed, and should have his pay doubled.
Verocchio was thus pacified, but had not finished his horse when he
was attacked by a fatal illness, and in his will begged the Senate to
permit his pupil Lorenzo di Credi to complete the work. In spite of
this, the Venetian Leopardi received the commission, which he
executed so well as to be afterwards called Leopardi del Cavallo.
The figure of the rider of this wonderful horse sits straight in the
saddle, with its head turned so as to look over the left shoulder.
The face shows remarkable determination, and the deep-set eyes are in
accord with this expression. It is clad in armor, with a helmet on
the head. The trappings of the horse are richly ornamented, and the
mane is knotted. The elegance of the pedestal adds much to the
effect of the whole.
Mrs. Oliphant may well say: "It is a great thing for a man when he
has some slave of genius either with pen or brush or plastic clay to
make his portrait. Sforza was a much greater general than Colleoni,
but had no Verocchio {201} to model him. Indeed, our Bartolommeo has
no pretensions to stand in the first rank of the mediæval
_condottieri_." And as I have tried to trace his story I have
thought that had he not given so generous a sum of money to Venice,
and had she not made this statue, we should scarcely have heard of
him. Is not this in reality a monument to Verocchio and Leopardi
rather than to Colleoni?
{202}
CHAPTER XI.
AN AUTUMN RAMBLE.
The artist has gone on a tramp in the Alps, and now begins the long
neglected sight-seeing,--a pure delight in the golden October days.
There is no such haste in the early morning as in the summer time,
and it is usually ten o'clock when I have read my papers, written my
letters, and Anita is ready to go with me with her never-failing
luncheon-basket; for we do not like to be bound to return at a fixed
hour, and we never know quite where we shall be when we are hungry,
so we take our _collazione_ with us. As a rule we are home again at
four, just in good time for a cup of tea and a rest before dinner.
When the summer is over, it is delightful to feel that the gondola is
not obligatory, to use it only for excursions on the lagoons, for
views on the Grand Canal, for moonlit evenings, and when one is
indolent. Venice is quite another place when one walks and makes the
acquaintance of the curious, characteristic _campi_ and _calli_, as
well as of some of the people. One of the most charming walks is
along the Riva degli Schiavoni, ending at the Arsenal, after various
detours.
Passing through the Piazzetta, we turn to the left on the Molo. This
side of the Ducal Palace is beautiful in spite of the disproportion
in the height of the lower story; this is caused by the rising of the
sea-level, which is said to average three inches in a century, and
consequently the pavement must be raised; if this is correct, the
columns {203} of the palace must be fifteen inches below the present
pavement. The entire _loggie_ on this side of the palace are the
work of the Bon family; the designs on the capitals of the columns
are very curious, illustrating mediæval allegories and legends which
symbolize justice and good government. The windows are fine, and the
balcony in the centre is richly ornamented; the bas-reliefs are
wrought with great delicacy and skill.
[Illustration: _Panorama from the Campanile of St. Mark._]
From the Ponte della Paglia, at the end of the Molo, we have the best
possible view of the Bridge of Sighs, which Howells calls a "pathetic
swindle," and not without reason. It was not built until the end of
the sixteenth century, since which there has been but one victim of
political imprisonment. But there it hangs, high in air, "a palace
and a prison on each hand." Looking up from the Paglia it is most
effective, although vulgar prisoners only have passed over it to
their death. No doomed Foscari or Carmagnola ever saw it; and
perhaps its greatest interest is from that much-worn line of Byron's,
"I stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs."
Passing the Paglia, we are on the Riva degli Schiavoni, in front of
the Carceri, or public prison. As the apartments of the _Signori di
Notte_ (heads of police) were on this side, it was not made to look
like a prison. Below are rustic arches, above which Doric columns,
on pedestals, support a fine cornice with consoles in the frieze.
The upper rooms are now used for convicts and the windows are grated.
One can but wonder how it would seem to be there, shut off from the
world, and gaze out on the beautiful Church of San Giorgio Maggiore
and the lagoon beyond, with the ever-changing aspect of the divinely
colored waters; to watch the multitudes of steamers, gondolas, and
other boats passing and re-passing; to listen to the sound of steps
and voices on the Riva, and to all the different songs and cries from
the boats. It must be {204} maddening. Was it the effect of the
restless waves that Saint John watched from Patmos, in his exile,
that made him say, "And I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the
first heaven and the first earth were passed away; _and there was no
more sea_"?
Passing another bridge, we turn into a curious vaulted passage at the
left which leads to the beautiful Church of San Zaccaria; it is three
centuries and a quarter old, and the third which has been erected on
this spot. Architects lavish praises on it; Fergusson says: "One of
the finest of the early façades of Italy is that of San Zaccaria at
Venice."
In 854 Pope Benedict III. visited Venice, and the Abbess of San
Zaccaria succeeded in obtaining from his Holiness the gift of the
bodies of Santa Sabina and San Pancrazio and other sacred relics.
After these treasures had been received, the Doge Tradenigo paid a
visit of devotion to this favored shrine, and the abbess presented to
him the splendid Ducal Beretta. It was studded with rare gems,
having in the centre a large diamond surrounded by twenty-four
pear-shaped pearls; above the diamond was a ruby of dazzling
brilliancy, and in the front a cross was woven which contained
twenty-three emeralds and other precious stones. The Doge made a
solemn promise that each year he, and his successors after him, would
visit San Zaccaria at Easter, in solemn procession, and wearing the
precious Beretta.
The nuns of this sisterhood also gave a part of their garden to
enlarge the Piazza of San Marco, and proved themselves as generous
and public-spirited as they were opulent.
From the ninth to the twelfth century the Doges were buried in San
Zaccaria; and the same Tradenigo who received the Beretta was
assassinated in front of the church, where the column now stands.
Its architecture {205} is semi-Byzantine, except in the choir, which
is Gothic. The pentagonal tribune is beautiful, with its circular
arches below and its pointed arches above, which are exquisite in
proportion and effect.
Near the door of the sacristy is the monument of the "Michelangelo of
Venice," Alessandro Vittoria. He began this funeral monument
thirteen years before he died! The bust is by his own hand, and the
whole work is very interesting.
But that which holds us longest in San Zaccaria is the picture of the
Virgin and Child, with four saints, by the adorable Giovanni Bellini.
It is not one of his best, but it is a glorious picture. In 1797 it
made the sad and disgraceful journey to Paris, and the restorers have
not improved it; but in spite of all, we love it, and before we go
away must also see the same master's small picture of the
Circumcision, in a chapel of the choir, which is very much admired.
As we return to the Riva and pass on to the Ponte del Sepolcro, a
very different sort of interest is aroused by the sight of the
inscription upon the house which now replaces the Casa del Petrarca.
The Palazzo delle due Torri was given to the poet in 1362 by the
Republic, in return for a portion of his library. This frank
statement of a perfectly creditable business transaction is somewhat
of a shock to those who have thought of Petrarch as a disinterested
benefactor of Venice. But we must remember that he was now nearly
threescore years of age; he had exhausted the romance of his life
long before; he had attempted to make peace between the Italian
powers in vain; he abominated the manner in which wars had come to be
made, by employing the mercenaries who brought with them pestilence
and death; and he longed for a peaceful home for his old age more
than for anything else.
{206}
With what comfort he must have settled himself in his luxurious house
on the Riva; how differently must he have felt from those prisoners
in the Carceri, of whom we have spoken, when he gazed upon the broad
harbor and heard the bustle of the port! That it all appealed to him
is proved by the following extract from one of his letters:
"See the innumerable vessels which set forth from the Italian shore
in the desolate winter, in the most variable and stormy spring, one
turning its prow to the east, the other to the west; some carrying
our wine to foam in British cups, our fruits to flatter the palates
of the Scythians, and, still more hard of credence, the wood of our
forests to the Ægean and Achaian isles; some to Syria, to Armenia, to
the Arabs and Persians, carrying oil and linen and saffron, and
bringing back all their diverse goods to us."
He soon gathered around him a choice circle of friends; Boccaccio
came to visit him and remained three months. What a picture is
presented to our imagination when Petrarch reminds the great
story-teller of their "nocturnal rambles on the sea, and that
conversation enlightened and sincere"! He urges him to come again in
this wise: "The gentle season invites to where no other cares await
you but those pleasant and joyful occupations of the Muses, to a
house most healthful, which I do not describe because you know it."
It is not thus that we are apt to think of Laura's lover, or of the
author of the Decameron; but in Venice they seem to have been two
quiet old men seeking peace and health.
An interesting occasion when Petrarch played an important part was
that of the great tournament which terminated the festivities after
the capture of Crete in 1364. He sat beside the Doge in a balcony
behind the horses of St. Mark. The balcony was as splendid as the
richest awnings and hangings could make it, and the ducal {207} robes
and crown were in strange contrast to the black gown and hood of the
Laureate. Did he take pleasure in the thought that his fame as a
poet would be known to future millions who would not be able to call
the name of a single Venetian among the thousands who were there
assembled? Surely it was a pleasant episode in Petrarch's life, this
time in Venice; but it was all too short, and ended most unhappily.
After four years on the Riva, in that "house most healthful," a
number of the patrician _giovinastri_--all infidels and much puffed
up with their little learning--after discussing their philosophies
with Petrarch came to the grave decision that he was "a good but
ignorant man"! To us it is absurd that this great poet should have
given a serious thought to such folly; but the same sort of young men
had driven Marino Faliero to such straits that he turned traitor.
Petrarch showed his pain and indignation in a milder way, by quitting
Venice to return no more. This was certainly the worse for Venice,
since he imparted to the Republic the only poetical association
connected with its palmy days. No poet with a name to live was born
of that nation of wise statesmen, bravo soldiers, cunning merchants,
and glorious artists. We can but wonder if it would have comforted
him to know that the first exquisite book from the Aldine press in
Venice, more than a century and a quarter after his death, would be
his own poems and printed in fac-simile of his own handwriting!
Petrarch retired to Arqua del Monte, a quiet little town in a valley
of the Euganean Hills, where he lived peacefully, visited by his
friends and enjoying the many proofs that came to him of the
appreciation which the scholars of his time had for his character and
works. In 1373, again he went to Venice with Francesco Carrara
Novello, who was to make submission as the proxy of his father, {208}
after the treaty at the termination of the Carrarese War. Again, the
Laureate addressed the Doge, the peers, and senators, as the Apostle
of Peace; it was his valedictory at Venice. In July, 1374, he was
found dead in his library at Arqua.
"But knock, and enter in.
This was his chamber. 'T is as when he went;
As if he now were in his orchard-grove.
And this his closet. Here he sat and read.
This was his chair; and in it, unobserved,
Reading, or thinking of his absent friends,
He passed away as in a quiet slumber."
While thinking thus of the happenings on this very Riva five
centuries agone, we pass through the narrow calle which leads to the
campo of San Giovanni in Bragora. The pictures in this church are
very interesting, and the font by Sansovino is beautiful; but to-day
the Palazzo Badoer especially appeals to me, and yet one must almost
regret having seen it since the restorers--Heaven save the
mark!--have spoiled it. If the ghosts of the seven Badoer Doges ever
walk this way, what must they think of the squares of red and white
marble in which it is now dressed?
What a family they were, descended from Tribunes of the Rialto in the
time of Theodoric the Goth; and to what good purpose they swayed the
Ivory Sceptre during seventy-four years. It was Badoer II. who
erected the first chapel in the Ducal Palace for the body of Saint
Mark, which came to Venice during his reign. A daughter of Badoer
IV. was an abbess of San Zaccaria, and many of the sons of these
Doges entered the Church; but theirs was a proud, brave, just, and
patriotic race, better suited to governing the Republic than to the
offices of Holy Church. In their day the Doges were absolute
monarchs, and the Badoeri gave almost constant domestic tranquillity
to Venice, and won the hearts of the Venetians.
{209}
And now we are in the broadest street of Venice, the Via Garibaldi.
It leads to the Giardini Pubblici, which is a park rather than a
garden, and was made by Napoleon in 1807. The space was gained by
the destruction of four churches, as many monasteries, and a hundred
houses, none of which are now missed. It is a pleasant place to take
luncheon, with a lovely panorama before us, to which the boats and
their ever-fascinating sails give life and cheerfulness. Beyond the
canal of the Giudecca rises the dome of the Redentore; the square
tower of the Dogana and the cupolas of the Salute make a striking
effect against the cloudless sky; well round to the right we see the
top of the Campanile behind the Ducal Palace, and before us, the
island of San Giorgio Maggiore, with its picturesque church and fine
clock-tower, seems very near.
Undoubtedly, all this is best at sunset with the golden west for a
background; indeed, few points are so favorable for watching the
glorious death of day, especially if one lingers while the fires die
out and even the more delicate tints fade away. Then a mysterious
indistinctness steals over all the distant objects, but now so
clearly cut against the flaming sky. There was a reality and
emphasis about these towers and spires, the canals, and all the
moving objects that made them a part of a work-a-day, practical
world, but in the dusky twilight the outlines run together; we see
and do not see the true forms of the various parts of Santa Maria
della Salute, but a beautiful whole remains; even the nearer San
Giorgio becomes mysterious; the smaller features disappear, while the
whole is profoundly impressive and grand, seeming to clothe itself
with the night, as if retiring into its own world of peaceful and
solemn repose.
But at whatever hour one comes, this garden seems deserted, except on
the one September Monday when it is the custom to picnic here.
To-day we leave it quite empty, {210} and walk along the Riva of the
Rio di Sant'Anna, making our way to the _calle larga_ and the bridge
which connects Venice with the island called San Pietro, or Olivolo,
or Quinta Valle. Early in the history of Venice this island became
important; and the first large church of the Republic, built here
among the olives, was made the patriarchal church, and so continued
until Napoleon bestowed that honor on San Marco, and converted the
patriarchal palace of San Pietro into a barrack. After 766 the
Bishop of Olivolo was an important man; he could not have been very
wealthy, since his income depended on the mortuary tax, from which he
was called _Vescovo de' Morti_ (the Bishop of the Dead), and on an
annual poll-tax of three hens from the people of a certain district.
One evening in June, 836, as the Doge Badoer III. was leaving San
Pietro after vespers, unattended, as was his custom, he was seized by
a number of bravoes, who compelled him to submit to the tonsure and
then hurried him to a neighboring convent, where he was securely
lodged. To kidnap a Doge of Venice was a most high-handed and
extraordinary proceeding, and it is gratifying to know that his enemy
who caused it to be done, was not elected to fill the vacancy he had
created.
It was also at San Pietro di Castello, as the church came to be
called, that the "Brides of Venice" were wed. By ancient custom, on
Saint Mary's Eve, January 31, twelve poor virgins, endowed by the
Republic, came here with their lovers, parents, kinsfolk, and
friends; the brides were dressed in white with their hair hanging
loosely about the shoulders, and each one with her dower in a little
box suspended by a ribbon around her neck. Many boats dressed with
flags and flowers bore the happy company over the canals towards
Olivolo.
The Doge and the chief officers of State assisted at the ceremony,
and the Bishop preached a sermon and pronounced {211} a blessing on
all these fortunate young people, who went away wedded and joyous.
But in 939 a most unhappy interruption occurred. The pirates of
Trieste, who knew all about this wholesale wedding, hid themselves
near by until all the assembly had entered the church, and then,
rushing in, just as the brides were to be given away, they seized
them, even at the foot of the altar, and before the Venetians could
comprehend the danger, the maidens were in the barks of the pirates
and sailing towards Trieste!
No such outrage as this had ever been perpetrated in Venice, and the
Doge Sanudo II. summoned the people to arms with the bell of the
Campanile. The trunk-makers offered their boats, which were near at
hand, and the Doge with the lovers and friends of the brides were
soon in hot pursuit, and erelong hundreds of other boats followed.
They soon overtook the Istrians, and killed almost every one of them
in the conflict which ensued. The rescued brides were taken back to
the usual festivities of the evening, which were greatly enhanced by
their gratitude at being delivered from the unusual dangers that had
threatened them.
After this episode the Festa delle Marie was established. Twelve
dolls were dressed in bridal costume, and carried around the Piazza
in procession; but this dumb show did not satisfy the Venetians, and
was soon replaced by a solemn procession of twelve virgins attended
by the Doge and the clergy. They paid a visit of ceremony to the
parish of Santa Maria Formosa, where the trunk-makers who originated
this _festa_ welcomed them most hospitably. Tradition says that when
these men requested the Doge to institute this Andata, he asked,--
"And what if it should rain?"
"We will give you hats for your head; and if you are thirsty, we will
give you drink," answered they.
{212}
Accordingly, each year, the Doge received two bottles of Malmsey, two
oranges, and two hats, on one of which was his own coat-of-arms, and
that of the reigning Pope on the other. In the thirteenth century
such extravagance had crept into this ceremonial that the brides wore
crowns of gold adorned with precious stones, and cloaks of cloth of
gold, and all in the procession were treated to wine and sweetmeats.
This was continued until 1379, when the War of Chioggia interrupted
all Venetian merry-makings; and on account of its cost, and a certain
license of conduct which had been indulged in its celebration, the
Festa delle Marie was discontinued.
Another delightful story in Bandello relates that Elena was secretly
married to Gerardo, and separated from him by the same cruel fate
that presides over many secret marriages, and on the eve of an
enforced marriage she fell into a death-like trance and was laid in a
sarcophagus in San Pietro. On that very evening a more propitious
fate brought Gerardo home from Syria. When he learned of Elena's
death, he rushed to the church, snatched her from the tomb, and
carried her off; in his embrace she again found life, and the
sorrowing parents gladly forgave these most interesting young people.
Having all these associations with San Pietro in mind, I had long
wished to go there, but I found little to detain me. The Campanile
(1474) is stately and fine, but the church (1594-1621) is not
interesting. There is little to notice within. Two pictures by
Marco Basaiti are soft and graceful, as are all his works; and the
faces of the saints seem to express enjoyment of their placid
melancholy. Near one of the altars is an ancient Arabian seat or
throne, said to have been used by Saint Peter at Antioch. It was
given to the Doge Pietro Gradenigo by Michele Paleologo in 1310. The
curious inscriptions on the back are thought to be in Arabic.
{213}
Retracing our steps to the Via Garibaldi, we turn into the corte
nuova, and soon stand where one is sure to be impressed with the
power and grandeur of Mediæval Venice.
The first Doge of the Falieri had the honor to found the Arsenal,
than which nothing could be more important in that "City of the Sea."
There is a fascination in thinking of the time when the ringing
hammers were swung by brawny arms, when the pitch was always boiling,
and the primitive vessels of the Middle Ages were built with a
miraculous rapidity; but in the eight centuries that have rolled away
since its foundation there has never been a time when the Arsenal of
Venice was not of great interest, as it still is.
Formerly, more than now, it seemed to be the ever-flowing fountain of
Venetian greatness; for no matter by what enemy the Republic was
threatened or attacked, no matter whether the danger was to her
commerce or her territory, it was to the Arsenal she turned for
strength. To repulse her own enemies, whether they were Saracens
from the East, Genoese from the West, or pirates from all quarters,
her Arsenal must furnish her with ships and arms; and in order to
increase her wealth, the sea must be an open field to traffic and
enterprise. To insure this, her ships must be many and fine; and, in
short, but for her Arsenal she could never have attained or preserved
her empire of the waters.
And now, although the workshops are not teeming with artisans, and
the forges are not blazing as of old, it is not difficult to imagine
the thousands and tens of thousands of men who here forged and welded
the real strength of the beloved Republic.
The Venetians, among modern nations, first built ships on a truly
great scale. Their galleys were enormous in power; their transport
ships could carry a thousand men {214} with their stores; their
galeasses permitted sixteen hundred men to fight on board, while they
carried fifty pieces of heavy artillery, and had their prows made
cannon proof. Naturally the nations with whom they disputed the sea
endeavored to build ships equal to those of Venice; but she always
had one advantage, in that even the small vessels bore at least
fifteen guns, and the Venetian gunners were good marksmen.
Even to the end of the thirteenth century, however, the Arsenal was
not firmly established, and vessels were built in temporary
dockyards, wherever room was found. But with the beginning of the
fourteenth century the Senate determined on making the Arsenal so
fine and so strong that it could not be taken by an enemy. It was
constantly guarded, and many attempts were made to destroy it. At
the end of the fifteenth century it was under the care of a special
magistracy, and sixteen thousand ship-builders and thirty-six
thousand seamen were employed in Venice.
The three magistrates or keepers of the Arsenal were appointed for a
term of thirty-two months, and were obliged to inhabit three official
houses, called Paradiso, Purgatorio, and Inferno. Each keeper was on
duty fifteen days at a time, during which he slept within the
fortification, kept the key in his room, and was answerable with his
head for the safety of the place. But one passage led out of the
Arsenal,--that to the iron gate which opens on the small campo. With
the exception of the great lions now at the entrance,--brought from
Greece in the seventeenth century,--the exterior has changed but
little in three centuries and a half.
Small arms and artillery were made here, as well as ships; and in
each department the superiority of the manufactures resulted from the
skill of the workmen and the quality of the materials used. The ship
timber, after {215} being carefully selected and brought from various
countries, was floated near the Lido for ten years to season it. The
different parts of the vessels were cut and fitted in the workshops
with such exactness that they could be put together with marvellous
rapidity. It is said that when Henry III. of France visited Venice,
a galley was put together and launched in two hours, while he was at
a banquet; and during the famous League, before the battle of
Lepanto, for one hundred days a new galley left the Arsenal each
morning.
In truth, the Arsenal was a town by itself,--a town of foundries,
forges, magazines of arms, and munitions of war, timber-yards,
rope-walks, model-rooms, and warehouses; a town full of smoke, toil,
and uproar. Dante had been here; and when he wished to describe a
lake of pitch in which corrupt statesmen are immersed, in his
Inferno, he thus begins:--
"In the Venetians' arsenal as boils
Through wintry months tenacious pitch, to smear
Their unsound vessels; for the inclement time
Sea-faring men restrains, and in that while
His bark one builds anew, another stops
The ribs of his that hath made many a voyage,
One hammers at the prow, one at the poop,
This shapeth oars, that other cables twirls,
The mizzen one repairs, and mainsail rent."
The _Arsenalotti_, as the workmen were called, had their own
organization and certain privileges. They well merited the
confidence of the Republic, which they called their "good mother;"
and she wisely gave them pledges of her trust. The treasures of San
Marco, the Mint, and the Bank were guarded by them. Whenever the
Great Council assembled, the Guard of Honor before the Ducal Palace
was elected from their number. Each new Doge was attended by
_Arsenalotti_, when, after his election, he went through the city to
receive the congratulations of {216} the people; and, above all, the
Bucentaur was in their care when the Marriage with the Adriatic was
celebrated.
We can readily understand that the destruction of the Arsenal was the
first aim of the enemies of Venice. It was only by "eternal
vigilance" that it was preserved, and the severest punishments were
thought too mild for those who attempted its ruin. In 1428 a man
suspected of being a tool of the Duke of Milan and of intending to
burn the Arsenal was dragged at a horse's tail and then quartered in
the Piazzetta. Certainly a man who would burn the Arsenal was not
needed in Venice, and we are not surprised that the Council of Ten
were of this opinion; but they might have used a more humane method
in his taking off.
For example, in the Museum of this very Arsenal there are many
instruments of torture that one would not care to have used, even for
the worst criminal imaginable; but there is one curious little
death-dealer that claims to give its victim no pain whatever. It is
a sort of key with a spring, by means of which a poisoned needle is
shot into the victim, who dies without discomfort or the loss of a
particle of blood.
Going home from the Arsenal, we take a gondola; and as we glide
along, we recall the curious _tableaux vivants_ which we have seen in
this long ramble. All about the quarter of San Zaccaria we saw and
heard the bead-stringers, as busy with their tongues as with their
fingers. They are very skilful, and in their bright-colored
handkerchiefs, with here and there a flower or gay comb or pin in
their dark hair,--they know exactly how and where to put them in
order to make the best effect,--they are picturesque, and some of
them very handsome. They hold a tray of beads on the lap, and with a
long needle, which carries the string, they dive among the beads at
one end of the tray, push it quickly through the whole mass, and
bring it up and out at the other end, {217} well laden with the
fascinating, many-tinted little globes. They do it as if they
enjoyed it, and meanwhile they talk with each other, have a few words
with the passers-by, and amuse and scold the children who play around
them.
From San Pietro one sees, on the opposite side the canal, a
neighborhood much adorned with fishing-nets. They are spread or hung
everywhere that they can be made to stay on, and at a distance the
effect is curious and picturesque. Old sails, too, are being dried
or mended, while new ones are cut, sewed, or painted. This last
process is novel and interesting; and as Giacomo needed a new sail
for the sandolo, we saw the operation. The colors used are
principally red and orange, and more rarely a pale green and a heavy
sort of blue. If by chance you see a distant sail with a spot of sky
blue on it, you will find on nearer acquaintance that you were
looking at the real sky through a rent in the sail. The colors are
made by mixing a kind of earth with water and adding the coloring
matter; and these colors are "set" by dipping the sail, when
finished, in the sea, and drying it in the sun, repeating this
several times. The colors are applied with a sponge instead of a
brush; and when one sees in how rude a manner the painting is done,
it seems a wonder that the results are so effective. The artist (?)
simply walks around the edge of his design with his sponge full of
color, and the broad, rough outline is made. A certain slap and dash
puts in the details, and the background is laid on rapidly.
Our new sail had a red heart pierced by an orange arrow, on a blue
field, and the outer border was in stripes of dull red and orange.
It sounds uncommonly ugly on paper, but Giacomo and Anita were very
proud of it; and after it was soiled and faded it was not bad,
although the plain colors, or stripes and geometrical designs, are
preferable, we think,--but we are not Venetian gondoliers or
fishermen.
{218}
CHAPTER XII.
VENETIAN WOMEN: CATERINA CORNARO, ROSALBA CARRIERA.
In the history of Venice women play a very unimportant part. They
seem, so far as the public were concerned, to have been put away with
their best clothes, only to be brought out on such occasions as were
suitable for the display of fine attire and splendid jewels. If they
had power, it was certainly behind the throne, and so far behind that
by no chance was it ever apparent.
The names of eight women who devotedly nursed the Genoese prisoners
after the battle of Porto d' Anzo, have been preserved. There is a
tradition about a very beautiful and learned Pisani. Now and then an
abbess is mentioned, like that one of San Zaccaria, of the Morosini
family, who presented the Beretta to the Republic. All we know of
Caterina Cornaro seems to depend upon the fact that the Republic, by
adopting her and making her Queen of Cyprus, was able to add that
island to its dependencies. But for that fact we should probably not
have heard of her; and, in short, of what Venetian woman do we know,
of whom we may be proud, save Rosalba Carriera? and she was born
after Venice was far on the way to its decline.
The historical fact that such a magnificent collection of jewels as
adorned the Beretta existed in Venice in the middle of the ninth
century proves that its Oriental commerce must already have been
prosperous and extensive; and the earliest paintings of Venetian life
represent a {219} remarkable splendor of costume and ornament. We
know that the fifteenth century was the most luxurious period in
Venice; but its wealth and splendor were gradually developing during
five centuries at least, and happily the decline, though much more
rapid than the growth, did not rob its actual life of æsthetic
interest for at least a century and a half after its well-recognized
beginning.
We turn to the canvases of the Bellini, Titian, Giorgione,
Tintoretto, and Palma Vecchio to see what the Venetian ladies were
like; but we must remember, alas! that many of these were not the
honorable wives and mothers of the men who made the strength and
glory of Venice. Where else have the women who give their beauty and
their lives for the pleasures of men been so much in evidence, so
tolerated, and so luxurious in their living, as in Venice in her
palmy days? They were not even excluded from the society of the
Dogaressa herself on the occasions of balls and festivities in the
Ducal Palace.
Their houses were marvels of luxury; and in the society that gathered
about them the best wit, the most brilliant conversation, and the
most delightful music in Venice were enjoyed. It was to the
drawing-rooms of the women to whom he would not introduce his wife,
much less his daughter, that a man must go if he would meet the best
artists, scholars, and thinkers of the city. It was there and there
only that women were found who were accomplished in music and poetry,
and could interest superior men by their superior talk. Was the
conversation of the lightest matters, and did they say nothing, they
said it in a fascinating way; or were politics and the more earnest
questions of life discussed, they were strong in their opinions,
discriminating in their judgments, and quite as bold in their
expression of them as the Ten would have permitted men to be. Their
_bon-mots_ were {220} quoted, their goings and comings were noted,
and, in short, the interest of all Venetian gayety centred about
these women.
Quite the opposite was true of the real _gentildonne_. They were
rarely seen except on great public occasions, when, to the credit of
the husbands, it must be acknowledged that they were careful to see
that their wives were more magnificently attired than their
mistresses. But so rarely were they seen that this indulgence could
well be accorded them without envy. Yriarte calculates that not more
than sixty or seventy of the seven hundred noble ladies of Venice
were seen daily. Many of them were not in society more than two or
three times in a year, and then on the most formal and ceremonious
occasions.
While the more favored ones moved all about the city, clad in rich
silks and velvets, the patrician wives wore a long black silk
_cappa_; and even if they possessed beauty, nothing in their
every-day dress added to its effect. They were guarded with almost
Oriental jealousy. Why not? If a man cannot believe in himself,
cannot trust himself, how can he trust another? The remark of the
councillor when talking of the pattens that the ladies
wore--sometimes two feet in height, so that to move at all they must
lean on two attendants--gives the key to the whole theory of
suspicion and lack of confidence.
The French ambassador spoke of the pattens as most incommodious. The
Doge admitted that shoes would be more comfortable and convenient;
but the councillor, shaking his head with a cynical expression,
remarked, "Yes, far, far too convenient." God help the women who
live in such an atmosphere!
The matrons, however, were far more fortunate than the maidens, whose
dress was symbolical of retired life and domestic education. The
home was all their world, and they knew nothing of any recreation
outside the {221} family circle. Even down to the last century it
was not allowable to introduce gentlemen to the unmarried daughters
of Venetian nobles. Their dresses were most simple, of plain white
or black, and when they went to church, they wore the _fazzuolo_, a
long white veil. On other occasions this was exchanged for a silken
mantle, very thin and gauzy, through which they could see, but not be
seen.
The marriage day was the day that brought freedom. For the first
time the maiden was introduced to society, and it was intended that
on that day she should first see the bridegroom. We more than
suspect that many of the faithful and trusted nurses permitted the
_fazzuolo_ to be thrown aside for a moment when they well knew that
the lover was watching in concealment for a glimpse of the face of
his future wife; and sometimes these nurses so sympathized with the
lover as to grant him meetings, all too brief, by the church door or
in some crooked _calle_.
With the innate love for dress and gayety entirely ungratified,
without a jewel or ornament, save a simple cross or a rose from the
garden, why should the Venetian maiden not dwell with longing
anticipation on the thought of her wedding day, and if ever she
talked with other girls, of what else could they speak? But, after
all, when she saw the life of her mother and other matrons, what
great pleasure did marriage offer her? Freedom in a
sense,--servants, a gondola, ropes of real pearls, the formal court
balls, and other ceremonies, all observed under the strictest rules
of etiquette. To us there does not seem to be much brightness in the
life of noble Venetian women, married or single.
The preliminaries of a marriage having been duly arranged by the
parents and friends on either side, when the day arrived, the groom,
bearing his gifts, went to the Ducal Palace, where he was welcomed by
his own friends {222} and some of the friends of the bride. The
marriage banns were published, and all present shook hands. These
friends and the magistrates who were engaged in the ceremony, with
the bridegroom, all went that evening to the home of the bride, where
they were welcomed by her relatives and friends. And now, for the
first time, the bride appeared. She was dressed in white, and still
wore her veil, which at the proper moment was unfastened, and as it
fell disclosed her long hair falling about her shoulders, and the
marriage formula was pronounced.
The bride, followed by her maidens, with a rhythmic motion, to the
music of flutes and trumpets, then passed around the salons and
welcomed each guest, and afterwards retired to her own apartments.
Whenever new guests arrived, the bride and her maidens repeated the
dance of welcome, and at the end they all descended the staircase to
the canal, where a gondola awaited them. The bride's seat was richly
decorated, and raised in front of the cabin, and with her attendants
she went to a convent to announce her marriage. Here other relatives
and friends were waiting to congratulate her.
The next day many ladies called to pay their compliments to the
bride, and after a few days some grand festivity or a series of
banquets took place, as was the case when the marriage of Jacopo
Foscari was celebrated. Five or six hundred guests were frequently
entertained, and vast sums were expended in decorations of the house,
in choice dishes and rare wines, until at last these lavish expenses
were restricted by sumptuary laws.
About 1450 the wealth of the nobles was at its climax, and such
extravagance was indulged in dress and entertainments that in 1514
certain Senators demanded a hearing in full Senate to denounce the
ruinous manner in which money was spent by the Venetian ladies. In
1474 certain stuffs and jewels had been actually prohibited by {223}
law, and pearls were most severely forbidden. In 1514 amber, chased
silver, agates, ladies' cloaks, laces, diamond buttons, chains, silk
capes, lace sleeves, enamelled gold, damasks of all colors, velvets
of all qualities, leathers, embroideries, fans, gondolas, with their
rugs and carpets, and sedan chairs lined with velvet were all put
under regulations. The style and cost of entertainments were
limited. The expense of the gold and silver plate, the cost and
number of courses served, even the sweetmeats and smallest details of
the table, were legislated upon. For some time already the Dogaressa
had been under strict orders as to her costumes at home and abroad,
at church, on ceremonial occasions, and even in the privacy of her
own apartment.
At certain times these rules were relaxed by necessity. How could
plainly dressed women support the background of the salons of the
Ducal Palace? When there they must be gorgeously attired; and
knowing that these opportunities must come, the ladies of Venice
bought as many pearls and other jewels and as splendid garments of
every sort as they could get, and waited impatiently for a festival
when they might wear them. In 1574, when Henry III. visited Venice,
an edict announced that, "all contrary decrees notwithstanding, it
shall be permitted to every lady invited to the said feast to wear
all dresses and jewels of what kind soever seems to them most
favorable for the adornment of their persons."
One can imagine the result. How gladly these ladies, so long
restricted to plain dressing, would vie with each other in the beauty
and richness of their dress in these festal days; and from the
pictures and the written accounts of their magnificent costumes we
know with what success their efforts were crowned. Some of them
covered their arms, chests, throats, hair, and even their robes with
pearls of untold value, sometimes costing millions of ducats.
{224}
For a long time the custom of bleaching the hair prevailed. A large
hat-brim with no crown was used. The hair, being wet with some
preparation, was thrown out of the crown space and spread over the
broad brim, which shaded the person from the sun. Thus prepared they
sat on their balconies and housetops as long as a ray of sunshine
could be had. Titian and Veronese painted golden and shining hair on
women, goddesses, and nymphs because no other color of hair was in
good form. Many of the fashions in dress of the Venetian ladies of
the time of the Renaissance were artistic and elegant; others were
too grotesque for expression, and none more so than the pattens, to
which we have already referred. Not being tall and stately, they
wished to raise themselves artificially; but when pattens were
extreme in height, all elegance and dignity of carriage was out of
the question.
One can but wonder how the "potent, grave, and reverend seigniors" of
the Venetian Senate could have found time to attend to all the detail
of the dress, and even of the eating of the Signori, their wives, and
their guests; but it is plainly to be seen that the jealousy which
had led them to lessen from year to year the power and dignity of the
Doge, found food to feed upon in the privileges and honors which were
permitted to the Dogaressa.
As early as 1084 the extravagance of the wife of Doge Selvo was much
written of by the chroniclers of the time. It was said that this
Theodora, the daughter of a Greek emperor, had her cheeks bathed in
dew every morning to give them a glow of freshness. This would not
seem to have been an expensive habit. Her ablutions were made with
rose water, and her linen was scented with fine balsams; and so many
aromatic perfumes pervaded her apartments that it was not unusual for
her maids to faint while dressing her. She always wore gloves, and
fed herself {225} with a double-pronged gold fork; and all this was
so sinful in the eyes of the Venetians that the loathsome malady from
which she died was regarded as a legitimate punishment of her vanity.
We have elsewhere spoken of the custom of conducting the wife of the
Doge to be seated on the throne beside him soon after his own
investiture with the insignia of his office; and as the luxury and
pageantry of Venetian life increased, naturally the first lady of the
Republic acquired more importance and greater privileges. At length,
in 1595, the wife of the Doge, Marino Grimani, who was herself of the
Morosini family, was conducted from her home to San Marco in a style
that aroused all the jealousy of the Seigniory. She was dressed in
cloth of gold, and wore a gold crown. The Bucentaur brought her to
the Piazza, and strains of martial music there welcomed her, as well
as salvos of artillery. In the palace she occupied a throne, and was
attended by noble ladies in regal state. The festivities in which
she played a prominent part were extended unusually, and the Pope
sent her the golden rose, which is presented only to sovereign
princes.
This was more than the jealous Senators could endure. It was also
noticed that this ambitious lady wore a closed or arched crown,--a
privilege denied to all but such reigning princes as acknowledged no
superior. It was now thought to be high time to limit the state and
assumption of these ladies; and the Senate published a decree
ordering the golden rose to be taken from the Dogaressa and deposited
in the treasury of St. Mark, and good care was afterwards taken that
no other Dogaressa should be crowned at all.
{226}
CATERINA CORNARO, QUEEN OF CYPRUS.
This beautiful woman was born on St. Catherine's Day, in 1454, in one
of the distinguished Venetian families. Her mother was the
granddaughter of the Emperor of Trebizond, and her father of most
noble descent.
James Lusignan, whom, as king of Cyprus, Caterina was afterwards to
wed, had been driven from his home by the intrigues of the second
wife of his father, Elena Paleologus, who, in order that her daughter
might come to the throne, had secured James's appointment as
Archbishop of Nicosia, where he lived a gay life, little suited to
the office he held.
Many Venetian merchants frequented Nicosia; and there Andrea Cornaro,
uncle of Caterina, became the intimate friend of the youthful
archbishop. Happily for James, Queen Elena died before his father,
who at once recalled his son to his side with the intention of
securing the succession to him. But death claimed the old king
before the proper steps had been taken; and Charlotte, the daughter
of Elena, was proclaimed queen. James took the oath of allegiance,
and was about to leave the island, when he was detained and confined
in prison, and an attempt made to poison him.
But thanks to his friends and the Cypriotes, who preferred a king to
a queen, he escaped and reached his bishopric, fully determined to
dethrone his sister if possible. Genoa had favored Charlotte; and
Andrea Cornaro was confident that on this account, if for no other
reason, Venice would aid James to gain his rights,--such was the
enmity between the two republics. Queen Charlotte was greatly
alarmed by the escape of James. She knew not what to fear from his
intrigues, and she was fully conscious of her unpopularity in Cyprus.
She was {227} betrothed to Louis, son of the Duke of Savoy, who had
been selected by Queen Elena on account of the feebleness of his
character, for the desire to rule absolutely was so powerful with her
that she wished for no energetic son-in-law; and little as she could
rely on him, Charlotte begged him to hasten to her assistance. Louis
passed through Venice, and reached Cyprus before James had time to
perfect a plan of action.
At Nicosia James felt himself to be in danger, and determined to fly;
and as the Sultan was the titular ruler of Cyprus, James put himself
under his superior at Alexandria. The beauty and charming manner of
the young king of Cyprus, together with his sex,--a strong argument
in his favor to the Oriental mind,--so influenced the Sultan that in
the midst of his Mamelukes, in the great hall of the palace, he
adopted James as his son, ordered him to be robed and crowned, and
declared him King of Cyprus. It has been said, and repeated by a few
chroniclers, that James signed a recantation of the Christian faith,
and thus succeeded in his plans. Indeed, a document of this nature
was sent to Pius II.; but it is believed by good authorities that
this paper was a forgery perpetrated by the knights of Rhodes, who
were greatly in favor of Queen Charlotte.
Be this as it may, James was twenty-two years old when the Sultan
gave him ships and Mamelukes with which to conquer Cyprus. Very
shortly he was master of the kingdom. Little resistance was made,
and that was of a feeble sort. Louis returned to his father's court;
and Charlotte went first to Rhodes, and then to Rome, to implore the
aid of the Pontiff against her infidel brother and his allies. James
now saw that his enemies--the Genoese, the Duke of Savoy, and the
Pope--were far too powerful for him to struggle against them without
aid, and the only bribe with which he could repay an ally was {228}
his kingdom. Marriage was his one means of salvation, and Cyprus was
a dowry that could not fail to be acceptable. Several powers hinted
at their readiness to form such an alliance with him; but Andrea
Cornaro boldly asserted that Venice only could maintain his power,
and proposed his niece, Caterina, as his wife.
It is said that by chance James had seen a miniature of Caterina, and
had fallen in love with the sweet girl it represented; but the uncle
skilfully pretended that the original of the picture was quite out of
the reach of the king, and aroused him to a frenzy of passion. Then
he told the truth,--that Caterina was his niece, and could only be
won as Queen of Cyprus. At once James sent an embassy to demand her
hand in marriage.
The Senate accepted in the name of Venice; and that Caterina might be
the equal of her husband, they promised a dowry of a hundred thousand
ducats, and to adopt her as a daughter of the Republic. The contract
was signed by the Doge and by the ambassador of James, in 1468; and
the Hall of the Great Council was the scene of the betrothal. The
bride was conducted from the Palazzo Cornaro to the Ducal Palace by
forty ladies of quality. She was received by the Doge and Senate and
other officials. Mastachelli, as the representative of his master,
placed a consecrated ring on her finger. The Doge gave her away to
James Lusignan, and then with royal ceremony she was re-conducted to
her father's house.
Thus far all was well; but, alas! some difficulties arose in the
negotiations between her parent, Venice, and her husband, Cyprus.
Four weary years rolled on, and still Caterina remained in Venice.
She was treated as a queen, but she must many times have doubted if
this pretence would become a reality.
Ferdinand of Naples was using every means in his power to persuade
James to refuse Caterina and marry {229} his daughter. James
quarrelled with Andrea Cornaro; and finally Venice sent an ambassador
to Cyprus to declare plainly that a rupture of the marriage contract
would be revenged by the guardian of the queen, but that its
fulfilment would assure the protection of Cyprus by the Republic. In
1471 James sent his representatives to bring Caterina to him.
A most impressive ceremony now took place in San Marco, where, before
the high altar, she was made a child of Venice. No longer was she a
Cornaro, but Caterina Veneta Lusignan. The whole city rejoiced
greatly; and one chronicler says: "It seemed to each and all that the
Seigniory had won a kingdom, as by God's good grace did actually
happen."
Early in 1472 the Bucentaur lay before the Palazzo Cornaro, in
waiting for the Queen of Jerusalem, Cyprus, and Armenia. In cloth of
gold, and all regal attire, she stood in the doorway of her father's
house. The Doge himself led her into the galley, and seated himself
at her side. Slowly and majestically the splendid barge moved
through the Grand Canal, followed by the prayers and good wishes of
thousands of her countrymen, and, it cannot be doubted, by the envy
of many of her own sex. At the Lido the admiral of the Cypriote
fleet waited with his ships to take his young and beautiful queen to
his sovereign.
She was now eighteen years old; and Titian's portrait of her shows a
slight, graceful, beautiful girl with a happy face. Her robe is of
purple velvet. She wears a crown and veil, and holds a flower in her
hand. Why should she not have been happy? Fortunately she had no
prophetic vision. She was protected as few young queens had ever
been, being the daughter of Venice. The splendor and pomp which had
replaced the dead level of monotony in her home must have been
intoxicating to {230} her. She had listened with joy and pride to
the accounts of her husband's bravery and beauty. She knew that he
had preferred her before others, and she did not pay herself so poor
a compliment as to doubt her ability to retain and strengthen his
love. How beautiful her dreams as she sailed to Cyprus! and we have
reason to believe that they were realized for one brief year. And
then James died, leaving Caterina about to be a mother, with enemies
on every hand.
By his will James bequeathed the kingdom to her and to her child.
Her advisers were named by him, and her uncle was of the number; but
there were six others, little likely to favor her, since that meant
to favor Venice, of which the Cypriotes were jealous. Again
Ferdinand of Naples aspired to the throne, and Caterina was by no
means ignorant that her parent, the Republic, would not hesitate to
take her kingdom from her; but just at that time the Turk was
demanding the attention of the Seigniory, and while Venice was not
ready to occupy Cyprus, no other power would be permitted to molest
the young queen. Meantime Charlotte was enforcing her claim to the
throne, but had no support powerful enough to contend with the
Venetians.
Things were in this condition when Caterina gave birth to a son, in
August, 1473. The Admiral, Mocenigo, and two _provveditori_ of the
fleet stood sponsors at the baptism of this grandson of Venice; and
by the will of his father his birth should have settled the
succession, and brought peace to Cyprus. But Ferdinand had laid deep
plots, and had induced the Archbishop of Nicosia to act as his tool;
and no sooner had the Venetian fleet left Cyprus than a revolt
occurred, and the city of Famagosta, where Caterina was lying ill,
was seized by the archbishop, and three of the commissioners, who had
been named by James in his will as the protectors of his wife.
{231}
There was a terrible scene in the chamber of the queen, whither her
physician had fled for safety. He was pursued, and absolutely slain
in Caterina's arms. Her uncle, who had done so much for her, and her
cousin, Marco Bembo, were killed, and their bodies thrown into the
castle moat, within sight of the windows of Caterina's chamber; and
so terrified was she that she dared not have them removed until they
had been half devoured by dogs. The baby James was taken away, and
Caterina was held a close prisoner. Alfonso of Naples had been
married to Zaila, an illegitimate daughter of James Lusignan, and had
been proclaimed King of Cyprus. A letter was sent to the Venetian
Senate attributing the murder of Cornaro and Bembo to a private
quarrel with soldiers whom they had not paid; but the Venetian consul
sent a true statement of all that had been done to the Seigniory, and
Mocenigo was at once despatched to Cyprus with orders to secure the
safety of Caterina and her child at any cost.
Mocenigo had already been alarmed, and before receiving these orders
had sent his _provveditor_, Soranzo, to do what he could, promising
to follow speedily. Soranzo found the conspirators quarrelling with
each other, while the Cypriotes of Nicosia and Famagosta were in
revolt, and demanding the liberation of the queen. When Mocenigo
arrived, the chief conspirators fled. He took possession of the
forts in the name of Venice, and left them in the keeping of men
devoted to the Republic. Many of the revolutionists were executed,
and everything possible was done to impress upon the inhabitants the
fact that Caterina and her kingdom would be protected by the strong
arm of Venice, against which Cyprus was powerless in its present
unsettled condition.
Caterina presented to Mocenigo a golden shield emblazoned with the
arms of Lusignan. Apparent quiet reigned, and the admiral sailed
away. Venice had now {232} obtained a right to a share in the
government of Cyprus, which she carefully followed up by appointing a
_provveditor_ and two councillors to reside permanently at Cyprus to
aid the queen in her government.
A few months of comparative peace came at last to the young mother,
and we can picture her joy at the restoration of her baby and her
delight in watching his budding affection for her. But it would seem
that evil fortune had selected Caterina for its victim, and that she
was fated to drain the cup of sorrow and bitterness. When a year
old, the little James died. The queen wrote to the Senate of her
sorrow; and her father, Marco Cornaro, was sent out to comfort his
daughter, and bear to her the sympathy and condolences of the
Republic. He was also empowered to act with Soranzo, as the agent of
Venice, should any fresh revolution occur.
Charlotte Lusignan was a determined woman, full of resources, brave
to a fault, and as ambitious as brave. When the infant king died,
Charlotte was at the court of the Sultan. Many nobles of Cyprus
declared themselves in her favor, she being the last true Lusignan.
Caterina had allowed the annual tribute to the Sultan to fall into
arrears. This Charlotte promised to pay if the Sultan would help to
establish her as Queen of Cyprus. But by the advice and aid of
Venice Caterina paid the full tribute, and explained that her
tardiness had been due to the ravages of the locusts. By reason of
this and other diplomatic acts, all arranged at Venice, the Sultan
preferred Caterina to Charlotte, and the latter was dismissed from
his court. She then turned to Milan, Genoa, Savoy, and Rome for
assistance; and a plan for a descent on Cyprus was far advanced when
a letter of Charlotte's was intercepted and sent to Venice.
The Republic immediately ordered their admiral, Antonio Loredano, to
garrison Cyprus completely; to {233} arrest Maria Patras, the mother
of the late king, and three illegitimate children of the same
sovereign, and send them to Venice. One of these was that Zarla
whose marriage with Alfonso had not been completed. By this means
Venice held in her hand all possible claimants to the throne of
Cyprus, save Charlotte. But Alfonso would not abandon his betrothed
wife, and with his father's assistance he very nearly succeeded in
carrying her away from Venice, whereupon she was sent to Padua, where
she soon after died from the plague, as it was said. Ferdinand was
still determined to acquire Cyprus, and in spite of all
discouragements sent Alfonso to the court of the Sultan to claim the
crown of the much disputed island. Again Caterina paid her tribute,
but demanded in return a formal deed of investiture. This was sent
her, and Alfonso relinquished his pursuit of a kingdom, and was more
than content with the pleasures of life in Alexandria.
Caterina seemed now to be free from all her rivals; but she owed
everything to Venice, and her adopted parent did not forget to watch
over her constantly. Her income was limited, and so carefully was
she guarded that the Doge himself wrote that she ought to move about
more freely, and ordered that her table should be generously
provided. But this sort of care was necessary to keep her alive
until the Republic was ready to assume full possession of Cyprus, and
even now she had but a semblance of peace. Speaking of this time in
her life, Brown says:--
"The citizens, the people of Cerines, Famagosta, Nicosia, were
faithful to her; they loved their queen. But all through the island
the great nobles were her enemies, and drew with them their peasants.
They were profoundly jealous of Venetian rule; they saw the weakness
of the queen; some of them coveted the throne for themselves.
Caterina was compelled to live in {234} constant dread of revolution,
murder, or dethronement, shut within the walls of one or other of her
faithful towns. Conspiracy after conspiracy was discovered,--some
directed against her life, others against her liberty. At each new
outbreak she could see the frown gathering upon her parent's brow.
The dread of Venice was always before her eyes. Yet she was
absolutely helpless; never was queen more so, caught between
rebellious subjects whom she could not rule, and a cold,
uncompromising guardian who desired her kingdom."
For ten years this life went on; Venice constantly sending officials,
whom the Cypriotes hated and regarded as spies. Caterina's personal
dangers were increased with each new move on the part of Venice, and
in no account that I can find is there mention of any friendly woman
who was beside her to lighten her burdens or cheer these sad,
disastrous years. At length the time arrived when Venice, having
freed itself from more pressing engagements, only awaited a pretext
to assume full authority over Cyprus; and this pretext was given by
the last man in the world who would willingly have aided the
Republic,--Alfonso of Naples.
In 1488 Alfonso encountered an old conspirator, Marin Rizzo, who
persuaded Alfonso to sue for the hand of Caterina, and obtaining that
to rely on his father to seat him on the throne. Rizzo sailed for
Cyprus in a French boat, taking with him Tristan Giblet, whose sister
was a maid of Caterina. These two landed at Fountain Amorous, and
ordered the captain of their boat to cruise off the coast until he
should see a fire-signal on the head-land at night. But when Rizzo
thought to outwit the Venetians, he made a grave mistake. His whole
plan was known to the admiral, Priuli, who seized the French captain,
manned the galley with his own men, answered the signal, took Rizzo
and Giblet on board, and sent them to Venice. Giblet poisoned
himself, and Rizzo was kept a {235} prisoner for a time because he
claimed to be an agent of the Sultan; but at last he was strangled by
order of the Ten.
Venice now instructed Priuli to bring Caterina to her old
home,--willingly, if possible, but unwillingly if he must. "We fully
authorize you to bow her to our will, with or without her consent."
So ran his order, but he was also recommended to be gentle as well as
firm. The queen's brother, Giorgio Cornaro, was sent with Priuli to
assist in persuading Caterina to resign; and however her resignation
might be obtained, Priuli was instructed to declare everywhere that
she left Cyprus of her own choice. Theirs was no easy task.
Caterina clung to her make-believe royalty, and answered every
argument with the question, "Is it not enough that Venice shall
inherit when I am gone?" But no entreaties, arguments, or tears
availed; and at last, worn out by contention, she yielded. She was
promised a queenly reception at Venice, a large income, and the state
of a royal personage during her life. Again we quote from Brown:--
"In the piazza of Famagosta and of Nicosia solemn _Te Deums_ were
sung, and the banner of St. Mark was blessed and unfurled, while the
queen looked on from a baldachino. She saw her cities taken from her
one by one, the cities that had always been her own. No point in all
the long ceremony of unrobing was spared her; in every town and
village the same cruel pageant was performed. She entered each one
as a queen and left it discrowned. Venice was determined that all
the world should see how willing had been her abdication. But the
people flocked about her on her mournful progress with tears and
blessings,--tears for their liberty lost with their queen. At last,
early In 1489, it was finished. Caterina and her brother sailed for
Venice, and Cyprus became a part of the Venetian kingdom."
It was on a lovely day in early June when Caterina reached the Lido,
and landed under a gold and crimson {236} awning, whence she was
conducted to San Niccolo to await the ceremonies of the next day.
The Doge, with a train of noble ladies, came to conduct her in state
to the then Palazzo Ferrara (later Fondaco dei Turchi, and now
Municipal Museum), a residence which the city had prepared for its
daughter. As the Bucentaur, bearing his Serenity and the ladies,
neared the Lido, a great wind became so alarming that the queen's
embarking was delayed. At length, the sea having subsided, Caterina
was brought on board in the costume which Bellini painted in "The
Miracle of the Cross," where she kneels, dressed in black velvet,
with a veil and jewels in the fashion of Cyprus. The Bucentaur, with
a procession of boats following, moved up the Grand Canal. When
opposite the Cornaro Palace, the Doge knighted Giorgio Cornaro, in
recognition of his services in persuading Caterina to resign her
crown.
The three days following were devoted to banquets and ceremonials in
the Palazzo Ferrara, when all possible honor was showered on
Caterina, and her pride and vanity satisfied to the full. But one
more sacrifice was needed to content her tender parent, Venice. In
San Marco, before the same altar where nineteen years earlier she had
been made the child of the Republic, she was obliged to go through a
long and solemn office of abdication. She was then given the castle
of Asolo for life; and until it could be made ready to receive her
she was lodged in the palace on the Grand Canal, which was afterwards
called the Palazzo Corner del la Regina, in her honor. It is now the
Montè di Pietà.
It was at the most favored season when Caterina made the journey to
Asolo. She was met by olive-crowned peasants, who came to welcome
their lady, bearing garlands and flowers in their hands. They held a
gorgeous canopy above her, as they led her to the Piazza, where an
orator showered compliments, apostrophies, and hyperbole upon her in
this fashion:--
{237}
"Oh, happy land of Asolo! and oh, most happy flock that now hast
found so just and sweet a shepherdess! Oh, ship thrice fortunate,
whose tiller lies in such a skilful hand! Ye then, ye laurel boughs,
the victor's meed, endure the sharp tooth of our knife that carves on
you the name of Caterina. Sing, birds, unwonted strains to grace the
name, the glorious name, Cornelia!"
One can scarcely imagine a more charming spot than the site of the
castle of Asolo. Encircled by the Alps, the plains of the Brenta and
the Piave spread out before it. The group of Euganean Hills rises
proudly in the distance. Under a clear moon the silver threads of
the rivers may be followed to the sea; and in the rich, distant,
level country Vicenza and Padua lift their towers, while far away to
the sun-rising lies Venice, its many spires clear cut against the
blue sky and the blue Adriatic; and to the north the snow-capped
Rhœtian Alps stand forth as if to guard all the land they overlook.
In contrast to all this expanse and grandeur is the little town of
Asolo, just beneath the castle at the foot of the hill on which it
stands. It is a walled town, with genuine mediæval turrets and some
quaint house-façades, and in Caterina's day was inhabited by a people
glad to be protected with gentleness and ruled by one who cared for
their gratitude and love. To them Caterina gave good laws. She
brought grain from Cyprus, and gave it to them. She appointed a
judge to hear their causes, and established a pawnbroker's bank for
those who needed it. Her little court included but twelve maids of
honor. She had eighty serving-men besides her dwarf jester, and a
favorite negress who cared for her parrots. She had her hounds,
apes, and peacocks, and, we are glad to know, she had a generous
income.
Here she lived during twenty years, and we doubt not that her title
of Lady of Asolo came to be very sweet to {238} her. Certainly she
bore it with more peace than ever she had known as a queen. Here the
outside pleasures were rambles in gardens and woods, the harvest
_festa_, and the May Day gayety with her people; and within her
castle she had the lutes and songs at eventide, and at all hours the
never-ending speculations on platonic love and other sleep-begetting
subjects.
Pietro Bembo, when twenty-eight years old, as full of life and keen
of intellect as handsome in person, came one fine September day to
Asolo. He had been at the court of Lucrezia Borgia, at Ferrara.
Imagine the contrast between these two beautiful women, and their
lives. It was the wedding of Floriano di Floriano da Montagnana with
one of Caterina's ladies that drew Bembo away from the golden-haired
Lucrezia, and many other guests had come from Venice, and from all
the neighboring land, glad to escape from the plains to the heights
of Asolo.
Bembo describes a day, beginning with the breakfast at noon, in a
large hall with a _loggia_ on either side, breezy and cool in spite
of the heat without. Between the pillars of the loggia the spires of
the cypress come up from the gardens below, and by their deep, dark
green remind one of coolness and shadow as contrasted with the sunny
lawns outside. The meal is done; but Caterina gives no signal for
rising, and two of her maids move down the hall, and courtesy low
before her. One of them strikes her lute and sings a song decrying
love; the second answers in the opposite strain; and a third, the
favorite of Caterina, to the accompaniment of her viol, sums up the
argument on both sides.
Then Caterina and most of her guests retire, to be seen no more until
evening, when supper will call them together, and be followed by
music and dancing until dawn. But three Venetian couples go to the
gardens, the pride of Asolo, the young men in short black cloaks
{239} and close-fitting hose of many-colored silks, the ladies in
velvet and brocades, with masses of golden hair rolled tightly around
cushions. How sorry we are that on this warm day they had no more
comfortable apparel! Bembo gives a minute description of the walks,
the stream from the living rock that flowed into a basin of stone,
and similar objects, and ends by saying that they talked of platonic
love through all the afternoon.
The wedding proves that all love was not platonic here, and every
fortnight there came the lord of Rimini, Pandolfo Malatesta, a man
not well inclined to platonism. Whether he paid his suit to Caterina
or to her maid Fiammeta, we know not, but in either case it gave a
spice of something human and real to both their lives. Then
Caterina's family were always coming and going. They thought to
shine by the reflected light of her position, and she was called upon
to arrange a marriage for her niece with a prince of Naples. All
this was displeasing to Venice. The Cornari had a knight and a
cardinal in their family, which seemed quite sufficient to the
Senate, and Caterina was warned to make no attempts to confer greater
benefits. It was also surmised that she did not forget Cyprus, and
she was curtly advised to be content with Asolo, and send not her
thoughts over sea.
These suspicions were unjust. Caterina loved her home; her castle,
her gardens, her court, and her subjects were all dear to her, and
she left them but three times during her life there. Once, when the
severity of the winter made it possible for men to walk on the ice
from Mestre to Venice, she fled to her palace on the Grand Canal. A
second time she visited her brother Giorgio at Brescia, where he was
podestà. Here she was received as a queen, and entered the city in a
chariot drawn by four white horses, escorted by a splendid
procession. Pageants of one sort and another were kept up for twelve
days. It {240} was her last royal reception. Venice was jealous;
and for this honor to his sister, Giorgio was recalled and deprived
of his position.
The wars of the League of Cambray drove Caterina to Venice to return
no more. She died on July 10, 1510, when fifty-six years old.
Venice was very poor, but her funeral was as splendid as could be
afforded. The Patriarch, the Senate, the Doge, the Archbishop of
Spalato, and an immense procession of citizens followed her coffin to
the Cornaro chapel in the Church of the Sant' Apostoli on a stormy
night when the wind howled and the rain fell in torrents. The queen
was dressed in the habit of Saint Francis, with cord and cowl, but on
her coffin lay the crown of Cyprus.
The next day a full funeral service was celebrated, and an oration
pronounced by Andrea Navagero, a poet and scholar, who had known all
her life, and whose writings make one of our authorities concerning
this unhappy and gentle queen. Doubtless now that she was dead, and
no longer to be feared by those suspicious Senators, he was allowed
to speak of all the beauty of person and character of Caterina
Cornaro, and to give full expression to the love which she had
inspired in Venetians, Cypriotes, and Asolini. In 1660 her coffin
was removed to San Salvadore, and placed in a tomb in the right
transept of this church.
Few episodes in the history of Venice more clearly show her
astuteness, her prescience, and her patient determination than does
the story of Caterina Cornaro, by which we see that from the
beginning the object of the Senate was to obtain possession of
Cyprus. For this cause the little maid of fourteen was made the
child of the Republic. Venice had not the faintest claim to Cyprus.
If James justly bore the title and authority which Venice recognized
as his, his will should have been regarded. The simple truth is that
Venice coveted Cyprus, and {241} Caterina was the cat's paw with
which she could work her will. Ninety-two years later the Turks
robbed her of it, and during this short rule there were endless costs
and constant difficulties to be overcome. Historians believe Cyprus
to have been an incalculable injury to the Republic. The unbridled
luxury and license in the life of the island had its evil effect on
Venice, and the early part of the sixteenth century developed there
such expensive living as threatened financial ruin,--such license,
even in the religious houses, as brought her world-wide disgrace, and
such growth in vice, decay of health, and increase of infectious
diseases as threatened the extermination of the noble and wealthy
classes.
ROSALBA CARRIERA.
Born in 1675, this artist belongs to modern Venice. Her father,
Andrea Carriera de Costantino, was chancellor of the little village
of Gambarare, on the Brenta; and as his salary was insufficient for
the support of his wife and three daughters, Rosalba, the eldest,
worked with her mother at making Point de Venise lace. Fortunately
for Rosalba's fame, this lace went out of fashion, and she then
attempted the painting of miniatures on tobacco boxes, in which art
she was instructed by a French painter, Jean Stève, having before had
lessons in drawing from a Hungarian, Bencowich. The boxes she
painted are now much prized.
Later she studied under Antonio Lazzari, Diamantini, Balestra, and
others. She practised painting in oils, but preferred miniature and
crayons. Her taste for crayons was cultivated by an English artist,
Cole, who excelled in that art. When twenty-four years old, Rosalba
had become famous for her miniatures and portraits in crayon. Carlo
Maratti and Crespi compared her {242} to Guido Reni, and she was made
an Academician at St. Luke in Rome and at the Clementina at Bologna.
We know how, in her time, the royal personages of the whole world
loved to visit Venice; and it came to be a part of their pleasure
there to have miniatures from Rosalba's hand. In 1709 the King of
Denmark sat for his own portrait, and gave her an order for twelve
miniatures, to be portraits of some of the loveliest young girls in
the city. The Elector Palatine soon after sat for a portrait, and
sent her afterwards a golden medallion on a chain, weighing two
hundred ounces; and the enamel box containing it was of great value.
Augustus III., Elector of Saxony, after he became King of Poland, was
one of her benefactors; and her portrait of him in a scarlet dress,
with a cross on the breast and a peruke on his head, was much prized
by him. The list of her friends and admirers at this period includes
many well-known names. John Law, the Scotch financier, Vleughels,
who became the director of the French Academy at Rome, and the
distinguished author Zanetti were among them; and Pierre Crozat urged
her going to Paris, offering her the use of his own hotel.
She was so celebrated at home and abroad that she could not fill her
orders, and was aided in her crayon pictures by her sisters, who also
painted somewhat. In all the courts of Europe the miniatures of
Rosalba were preferred before those of the Florentine Giovanna
Fratellini, and she was most happy in her life and in her art, when
the death of her father prostrated her with grief. Her sister Angela
had married Antonio Pellegrini, and by his persuasion Rosalba
consented to go to Paris. Her mother and sister Giovanna were with
her; and the three were received into the Hôtel Crozat, on the Rue de
Richelieu, where all possible comforts and a carriage were at their
disposal. Pellegrini and Angela lodged near by, {243} and for a year
Rosalba was in constant association with the best society in Paris.
Crozat admired her to enthusiasm. He thought her as fine a musician
as painter. He gave concerts, at which she played the violin
accompanied by other instruments played by well-known musicians. The
guests at these musicales were celebrated artists, authors, and
prominent persons, among whom the Regent himself was glad to be
numbered. Watteau painted a picture of the principal virtuosos at
these concerts. Mariette wrote their names on it in Latin, and with
his collection it went to the Louvre. Rosalba's journal, kept while
in Paris, is very interesting, and has been published both in Italian
and French.
During her stay in Paris, Rosalba painted numerous small pictures,
made many drawings, and executed two pictures of Venus for M. Crozat,
and an Apollo and Daphne for Claude Audran, besides nearly fifty
portraits. Among her subjects were men and women of the highest
character and position. Her artistic skill was recognized by the
greatest compliment that could be paid her in France. She was
elected a member of the Academy of Painting, "no one wishing to cast
a black ball," as she wrote in her journal. She was invited there,
and presented a portrait of Louis XV. in pastel, which was praised by
the director, Antoine Coypel. Her "picture of reception," which was
sent from Venice later, is now at the Louvre.
She returned to her little house in Venice a widely celebrated woman,
whose praises were sounded in prose and verse. She dwelt in the
Quarter Dorsoduro, near the Church of San Vito. Here she received
many distinguished visitors. She was invited to various courts of
Europe; and until she reached the age of seventy her life was
fruitful in work and in triumphs such as could not have failed to
make her native city proud of her. Eleven {244} years before her
death she became blind, and from that time she received no strangers,
though many desired to see her. To her sister Angela she sent
letters, written from her dictation, which spoke all too plainly of
the loneliness she would fain have concealed from those who loved her.
By her will she remembered all her relatives, her servants and
attendants, and some of her pupils. She gave the bulk of her
property to her sister Angela, who was but two years younger than
herself. She died when eighty-two years old, and was buried in the
little church of her parish beside her sister Giovannina, whose death
she had mourned for twenty years.
Pictures by Rosalba Carriera are seen in the Louvre, and in the
Academy of Venice and the Church of San Gervasio e Protasio, but the
largest collection is at Dresden; and to be perfectly candid, it does
seem that the eighteenth-century critics have been more than kind in
their praises of her works. If we were writing strictly of art, we
could not give her a very exalted rank; but as a Venetian woman who
made herself of note in the world in her day and generation, she is
most important, and stands quite alone.
{245}
CHAPTER XIII.
THE ARCHIVES OF VENICE.
Probably no other collection of state papers exists that can compare
in interest with the archives of Venice, now preserved in the Convent
of the Frari, and most courteously at the disposal of all who
seriously wish to study them. It is said that the two hundred and
ninety-five rooms in which these archives are disposed contain more
than fourteen million documents, the earliest dating from 883. Even
so, many Venetian records were doubtless lost in the conflagrations
between the thirteenth and sixteenth centuries, of which we have
accounts, for there are some important periods quite blank; and as
late as 1797 a mob invaded the Hall of the Council of Ten, and
dispersed the papers found there, which would no doubt have been of
great value. The knowledge that has been gained from these records
and given to the world within a half-century is most important and
entertaining, and we are greatly indebted to the numerous scholarly
writers who have given us the results of their researches; but there
remains much more to be done before the stores of information and
entertainment in the archives of the Frari will be exhausted.
It is from them that the true stories of Faliero, Pisani, Carmagnola,
Caterina Cornaro, and others have been taken. They tell of all the
great ceremonials, even to the minutest details. The letters of
royal personages are there preserved. Civil and criminal trials,
reports, {246} despatches, and, in short, every imaginable thing that
could have happened, been suspected, or whispered in all Venice,
seems to be there writ down. To the casual observer, perhaps the
most striking feature of these papers is the attention given to
matters of minor importance by the government of the Republic. We
know that each department was concerned with its special subject, but
concerned in such a way that we can almost learn what was eaten in a
particular palace on a certain day centuries ago; and the manner in
which matters that are regulated by custom or individual fancy in
other countries were the subjects of special decrees in Venice, is
most surprising.
The papers of the secret chancellery, established in 1402, exceed all
others in general interest. The direction of this department
pertained to the Council of Ten; and here the story of the growth,
splendor, and decline of the Republic can be read with all its
complications. In the study of these papers, as they have been given
us by patient writers, we are impressed anew with the utter disregard
of individual interests and schemes, and the persistent devotion to
the good of the Republic, first, last, and always. Venetians formed
no syndicates, and profited by no monopolies. Venice was the
syndicate, and the monopoly was hers.
[Illustration: _Museo Civico; Formerly Palazzo Ferrara, later Fondaco
dei Turchi._]
Private owners of vessels were not allowed to send cargoes to ports
to which Venice sent fleets. Vessels were built and fitted out by
the State, and put up at auction to be bidden for by the merchants,
the voyages all being made according to regulations, and a good share
of the profits paid to the State. Private owners were licensed
before freighting a ship, and no ship not commanded by a Venetian was
permitted to sail from the lagoons. Ships of war guarded the mouths
of the rivers, and all foreign vessels were liable to inspection.
All kinds of goods {247} carried in Venetian ships were obliged to be
taken to Venice before they could be sent to any other port. Thus it
became a great mart for the merchandise of all countries, and we can
scarcely imagine the enormous supplies of costly and magnificent
Oriental products which filled her storehouses, and were thence
distributed all over the western and northern world in exchange for
other goods as well as for gold. Her commerce with Nuremberg was
important, and there was a weekly post between the two cities in
1505, when Albert Dürer made the journey to Venice.
Her unique position made Venice the chief market for all the East,
and her supremacy in the Levant forbade all rivals to attempt
competing with her; but if she thus deprived other nations of the
privileges of commerce, she protected them from the Turk. She was a
bulwark that could neither be ignored nor overthrown. Every branch
of commerce was made tributary to her, and her coffers were always
full. She expended her wealth at home, encouraging her workers in
metals, glass, and mosaics, and the manufactures of silk and wool, as
well as in cherishing the fine arts and improving the city.
From the beginning of the thirteenth century so great a number of
merchants periodically visited Venice that no sufficient provision
could be made for them in the public houses, and the question as to
how and where they could live was solved by the establishment of the
Fondachi, where they were lodged, free of cost, after reporting to
the proper magistrate, and showing their purpose in coming to Venice.
Warehouses were attached to the Fondachi, supplied with weighers and
keepers to attend to the storing and care of merchandise.
The Germans, Armenians, Moors, and Turks, all had these Fondachi, as
well as the Tuscans and other Italians. A superb palace on the Grand
Canal, which has been {248} restored, and is now the Museo Civico,
was given to the Turks. It is nearly as old as the Ducal Palace, and
very remarkable. But as the Turks were infidels, the windows were
walled up, the rooms thus being lighted only from the court. A
Catholic warder closed the doors at sunset. No women or children
were allowed to enter, and no Ottoman was permitted to lodge
elsewhere. Greeks and Syrians were allowed the utmost freedom in all
parts of the city.
The Jews were not liked, and many regulations were made for them. At
times they were excluded from Venice, but their aptitude in all
matters of trade made them almost a necessity. Indeed, they had the
monopoly of money changing, and the Senate found that they must be at
hand. Many regulations were made as to where they should live,
concerning certain badges they must wear, forbidding them to own
houses or lands, to enter any profession save that of medicine, to
open their doors between sunset and sunrise, or to go out at all on
holidays. They were not permitted to have a synagogue, and a
burial-place was given them grudgingly.
So fully did the rulers of Venice appreciate the importance and
dignity of her commerce that they permitted the Fondachi to be
splendidly decorated, and by the best artists. Nothing can give a
better idea of the wealth and luxury of the Venetian merchants than
the following extract from Mutinelli:--
"When the news of the victory of Lepanto reached Venice, the Germans
were the first who wished to celebrate it by a splendid illumination
in their Fondaco on the Rialto. All the other merchants followed
this example; and those who most distinguished themselves were the
jewellers, the Tuscans, and the mercers. The well-known portico of
the Rialto, where the drapers' shops are, was hung with
turquoise-blue fabrics, spangled with gold and lined with scarlet.
Each shop had its {249} decoration; there were panoplies of Oriental
arms taken from the Turks, and in the midst of these trophies were to
be seen pictures by Giovanni Bellini, Giorgione, Sebastian del
Piombo, Titian, and Pordenone. At the entrance of the bridge an arch
was raised on which the arms of the allied powers were represented
quartered on the same scutcheon. Banners and festoons hung from
every arch and every window; torches and silver candelabra placed on
every projection illuminated the streets, and turned the night into a
bright and splendid day."
And in a manuscript in the library of St. Mark is written:--
"Thursday was the festival of the Doge, Thomas Mocenigo; great stands
were raised in tiers on St. Mark's Place for the women. The
goldsmiths placed two silver helmets in the midst, with their
enamelled plumes, which cost a hundred ducats apiece. Then came a
procession of three hundred and fifty goldsmiths, dressed in scarlet
and mounted on richly caparisoned horses (each harness costing three
ducats) preceded by trumpeters and musicians, who marched round the
Piazza in regular order. Then followed the companies of the Marquis
of Ferrara and of the Lord of Mantua, the first composed of two
hundred and sixty horsemen; it was a great consolation to behold so
many coursers, so many devices and ornaments and flags and streamers.
The tournament lasted from seventeen o'clock [four] till twenty-two
o'clock [nine], and it was a marvel to see so many gentle deeds. One
of the silver caskets was presented by the goldsmiths to a knight of
the Marquis of Ferrara, and the other to the Lord of Mantua; and it
was a great triumph to behold. On the Sunday following, the 28th of
March, 1415, there was a joust,--a noble sight to see, with all these
lords and their companions and devices."
Gradually the trading-galleys of the Venetians, which sailed in small
fleets, left Venice at fixed seasons, and made regular voyages all
over the known seas; and at the mouths of the rivers of Europe they
met boats bringing {250} inland cargoes to be sold to the Venetian
captains, or exchanged for their goods. Venetian manufacturers were
thus supplied with raw materials, as well as with specimens of the
products of all other countries, to be imitated or excelled in
Venice. As a rule, Venetian manufactures were in demand. The armor
and weapons of Venice were equal to any that could be found at the
same period. Her cloths of gold and silver, velvets, jewelry, and
splendid adornments were unequalled, while many of the commoner
articles of trade were made there in the best manner. Their immense
commerce in beads and glass has already been described. In order to
increase their business in the different ports which the galleys
visited, Venice purchased warehouses called "factories," and put them
in charge of such agents as would wisely conduct them.
When we read how slowly the unwieldy trading-galleys moved,--not more
than twenty miles a day, and were a year in reaching England,--we can
but admire, almost with reverence, the men who could "make haste
slowly" with such perseverance as did these Venetians. In 1488 the
Senate offered a reward of £650 to any ship-builder who could build a
galley of one thousand tons burden.
Each galley required one hundred and sixty rowers, and altogether
carried about three hundred men. They suffered great inconvenience,
and encountered many dangers. The Senate made the most exact rules
concerning their wages, food, the parts of the vessel to which they
should have access, when and where they should go on shore, and many
other details. The ship of the chief captain carried a master, a
nautical adviser, eight pilots, a mate, two scribes, two doctors, a
priest, a lawyer, an oarmaker, carpenter, calker and weigher, a cook,
a cellarman, three servants, two fifers, and two trumpeters, besides
thirty bowmen in charge of four young noblemen. The duties and
salaries of each and all these men were fixed {251} by the Senate, as
well as the method of loading and unloading the ships. As we think
of all this tediousness for everybody concerned in Venetian commerce
in the Middle Ages, from the Doge down to the humblest servitor of
them all, the commerce of the present day, with our labor-saving
machinery, our swift sailing-vessels, and space-annihilating
steam-engines, seems insignificant in a way.
John B. Marsh, in his "Stories of Venice and the Venetians," gives an
account of the experiences of a merchant fleet, which has a special
interest, as Christopher Columbus acted a prominent part in the
story, which Mr. Marsh claims is authenticated in the state papers.
It is essentially as follows:--
On April 12, 1485, Bartolommeo Minio was appointed captain of four
galleys to make the Flanders voyage. They had been bidden in by some
merchants who had goods suited to the northern markets at £220 per
galley. The great galleys were loaded. The prows were fenced to
afford footing to the crossbowmen. All the different officers and
men were selected and bound to complete the voyage. The cargo of
glass, jewels, gold, silver, furs, silks, and damasks, bales of
spices, dried fruits, and Malmsey wine was all on board, and an
official from the Arsenal approved of all the preparations.
Then Minio, the commander, in presence of the whole Senate and the
captains who were to sail with him, took an oath upon the Bible that
he would obey the regulations of the Senate regarding the galleys and
the people on board, and would care for them all in good faith. The
preparations being thus completed, to the sound of trumpets the
rowers began their labor, and the galleys moved from the canal into
the Gulf of Venice.
Between Pola and Zara it was Minio's duty to pipe all hands for
action. The decks were cleared, hatches {252} fastened down, and the
four brass cannon on each galley were made ready to meet an enemy.
The bowmen took advantageous positions, and went through evolutions
as if in battle. This being done, the fleet was anchored for the
night. Supper was served to Minio and his chief officers in the
principal cabin. The bowmen and archers were in another cabin, but
the rowers ate as they sat at work. Each man received eighteen
ounces of biscuit, and an allowance of common wine daily, and in
front of each bench of rowers was a locker for food. Having passed
the Adriatic, the galleys were allowed to remain a few hours at
Otranto, and reaching Messina they anchored for four days. The
merchants went on shore, and exchanged some goods for oil and wine,
while the oarsmen enjoyed a much needed rest. At Palermo the same
stay was made, and thence they crossed to the coast of Tunis and
Algiers, and passing through the Straits of Gibraltar reached Cadiz.
Here a stay of six days was made, and then, having taken two pilots
for each galley, they prepared to pass along the coast of Portugal
and cross the Bay of Biscay. Ten hides were purchased for each
galley and stretched across the holds to protect the cargo; and all
having thus far been prosperous, they started upon the most dangerous
part of their voyage.
Near Cape St. Vincent, on an August afternoon, Minio saw a fleet of
seven armed ships bearing the French flag. They were corsairs under
the command of Niccolo Griego, and one of his chief captains was
Christopher Columbus. The two fleets anchored within sight of each
other, and during the night the Venetians made the best preparation
possible for a contest with the pirates; and at daybreak the attack
was made. The Venetians fought so bravely that the battle was
prolonged during the entire day, and only at sunset were they finally
conquered, and that at a large loss in killed and wounded to the
corsairs, and {253} serious injury to their vessels, which they were
compelled to run into the nearest port, in order to save them from
shipwreck. This port was Lisbon; and as the King of Portugal was
friendly to Venice, the pirates hastened to mend their ships,
transfer the cargoes from the three Venetian galleys, which were
worthless, to their own, and with the one that was seaworthy to sail
for Honfleur.
When the news reached the King of Portugal, he hastened to assist the
surviving Venetians, and sent them home as soon as possible. Two
captains and many noble youths had been slain. The pirates had
thrown one hundred and thirty dead men into the sea, and three
hundred others were seriously wounded, many of whom soon died.
When the Senate heard what had happened, they sent a swift fleet to
seize a French galeas then at Alexandria. They sent ambassadors to
the courts of France, England, and Burgundy, soliciting aid in
recovering their vessels and cargoes. In the following spring two
galleys, freighted with the cargoes saved from the four vessels
captured by Columbus, were sent to Southampton, and there were sold
by the Venetian Consul. The Venetians owed thanks for this to the
French, who would not permit Columbus to leave Honfleur until he had
given up his plunder. When the sum received at Southampton, and the
value of the damaged ships which were brought back to Venice was
deducted from the whole, the Senate announced the total loss which
the Republic had sustained to be £32,200. When we remember that such
disasters were not uncommon, we do not wonder at the Venetian
proverb, "If you want to learn to pray, go to sea."
This particular misfortune caused much distress to the wool-workers,
and the Senate removed all restrictions on the importation of wool
for several months, in order to relieve the pressure in that
particular trade.
{254}
This story of Columbus is in exact accord with the opinion of Charles
Kendall Adams, in his most excellent life of Columbus. He says:--
"In point of character,--considering the term in the largest and
broadest possible sense,--we shall probably not find much to admire.
The moral atmosphere which he created about him was not much better
or much worse than the general atmosphere of the age in which he
lived. He entered no protest against any of the abuses of his time.
On the contrary, he was ever ready to avail himself of those abuses
whenever he could do so to his own advantage."
To resume our study of the mercantile policy of Venice, so quick was
she to see her advantage in all directions and to take up new
industries whenever it was possible, that no sooner was the question
raised as to the introduction of the art of printing than it was
generously encouraged. Venetian printing dates from 1469, and the
honor of its introduction rests between John of Spires and Nicholas
Jenson. The latter was a Frenchman, sent by Louis XI. to Mayence to
learn printing. He never returned to France, and the only question
as to his career in Venice is the actual date of his first book.
Venice soon became a city of printers. Between 1472 and 1500 one
hundred and fifty-five printers established themselves there, some of
them being the most celebrated printers of that age. In other cities
of the Republic the printing of books rapidly grew into an enormous
industry. We can scarcely realize what the demand for books became
so soon as it could be satisfied. The slow processes of caligraphy
had only created a desire it could never content. At the same time
the exquisite ornamentation of the manuscripts had fostered a taste
for dainty books which a plain-printed page could not satisfy; and
then, too, those who could afford the silky vellum, with {255} its
lovely miniatures, decorative initial letters, and graceful borders,
did not relish books so cheaply made that any one could buy them, and
no distinction was attached to their ownership. Thus it resulted
that the early printers made a few vellum copies of their works, and
employed the miniaturists to ornament them in the style of the
manuscripts. Among these books those of Jenson, made at Venice, are
the most remarkable, and bring fabulous prices when sold in the
present day.
After 1480 the printers employed engravers, and from that time the
Venetian books were very notable. For two centuries Venice was the
centre for printing, and besides her strictly literary publications
she furnished school-books to all Italy; books of exquisite designs
to lace-makers and embroiderers; missals, breviaries and books of
hours to the devout; and to the general reader, books of romantic
adventures, poems, and numberless accounts of festivals and important
events. These, now literally worth their weight in gold, were made
in little shops where the industrious artisans actually made the
designs and executed the engravings of the books they printed. The
amount of printing and bookmaking done at Venice up to the end of the
seventeenth century, as compared with all the rest of Italy and
Lyons, is simply amazing. Of the great printer, Aldus, I shall speak
more at length elsewhere.
In 1498 the Senate granted to Ottaviano Petrucci the privilege of
printing music for twenty years, for which time Venice may be said to
have monopolized that very important art. Petrucci ceased to publish
in 1525; and it is believed that he worked alone, as later music
printers were greatly his inferiors. His books are now very rare,
and proportionately valuable.
In all these important affairs the wisdom of the Venetians is most
apparent, and the results of their system are {256} its justification
in many directions. But in the midst of great matters the smaller
ones were by no means forgotten, and jealousy of individualism was
the motive that induced the Senate gravely to make and severely to
execute laws which seem to us most puerile and unworthy.
In wealthy families, on the occasion of a baptism, it was not
allowable to invite patricians or high officials as witnesses,
because it was feared that these families would become too powerful
if too closely allied, and the position of godfather was one of very
intimate relations and sacred trusts. So in marriages, in families
of importance, as has already been shown, certain ceremonies must be
held in the Ducal Palace, thus assuring a publicity which enabled the
State to have its part in the affair, and have full knowledge of it,
the religious ceremony being apparently quite a secondary matter.
With death only did jealousy cease, and at funerals the noble and
wealthy Venetians were permitted to freely indulge their love of
pageantry. The funeral procession of a patrician was usually at
night. About two in the morning all the clergy of the quarter in
which the dead had resided, with relatives and friends, attended the
body to the church. Here it was placed on a bier, the nave being
lighted by torch-bearers, and sentinels placed on guard until the
morning hour, when the burial took place. At this ceremony a large
number of clergy, and all persons named in the will of the deceased,
preceded the body to its final resting-place.
If the dead had been eminent for services to the State, all the
clergy of the chapter of St. Mark, the prebendaries of the
Archbishop's cathedral, and the chapter of the Congregation led the
procession. Two canons of St. Mark acted as precentors in singing
dirges. Then came men bearing the ornamented and embroidered banners
of all the guilds and societies to which the deceased had {257}
belonged. Next followed the brethren of the "Scuola" with which he
had been associated. These frequently numbered two hundred, all in
white robes, and by night bearing torches. Behind them the body, on
a bier, was borne by eight men. It was most richly dressed, and
covered with a trellis of golden wire. Lastly followed the
relatives, friends, servants, and behind all others, the orphan
children of the dead man.
Next day the friends, in funeral attire, went to the Ducal Palace,
whither the bereaved family were expected to come, and there receive
condolences.
The Venetian archives throw a very favorable light on the
hospitality, benevolence, and wisdom in sanitary regulations shown by
the rulers of Venice in the Middle Ages. From the time of Michieli
II. (1117-28) the streets were lighted at night, and watchmen had
been employed earlier than that,--at least a century before they were
instituted in London, under Henry III.
From a very ancient date Venice was "a place of universal resort, the
Goshen of Italy." Strangers were constantly arriving and departing,
and as early as the beginning of the fourteenth century the
new-comer, as he landed at the Piazza of St. Mark, was met by one of
the _messeti_ or _sensali_, who were always there, and served the
stranger as the commissionaires now do wherever travellers are found,
but with one great difference: in Venice these men were in the care
of the messetaria,--a department of the public service,--and they
dared not practise deceit or cheating, being sure of paying the
penalty if they did. It was also the duty of the messetaria to see
that no imposition was practised by the keepers of hostelries, or any
advantage taken of unsuspicious strangers.
The ancient hotels of Venice were celebrated. In the fourteenth
century the Moon, the White Lion, and the Wild Savage took the lead;
and the latter was the {258} favorite of those who could pay well in
1368. Other hotels are mentioned in the books of the Procuratie of
St. Mark; and ever after 1280, perhaps earlier, it was the duty of
the police to see that clean beds, sheets, and coverlets were
provided in hotels, and all necessary comforts furnished to
travellers.
The government was constantly adopting measures against epidemics,
and in 1423 the first lazaretto was established. A Board of Health
existed very early; and during epidemics in neighboring cities no
meat, fish, or wine was admitted into Venice until it had been
disinfected. The greatest care was taken to supply wholesome water.
All impurities were removed from the streets and canals, which last
were dredged of mud periodically; and even smoking chimneys were
prohibited.
The first hospital was established by the will of Orseolo the Holy,
in 977; the first infant asylum, by the Doge Marino Giorgio, in 1312.
A surgeon named Gualtieri established a Refuge for the Indigent, and
a Home for Aged or Disabled Seamen. The Misericordia was endowed by
Giacomo Moro for poor women; and a Magdalen Asylum by Bartolommeo
Verde at St. Christopher-the-Martyr. In 1342 the Foundling, or
Pietà, was established, and in 1349 there was an Orphan Asylum on the
Giudecca. Moreover, both the State and individuals made periodical
distributions of alms to the poor; while street-begging was
forbidden, and the Signori di Notte conveyed all mendicants to the
hospitals.
[Illustration: _Piazza of St. Mark._]
We must also remember that while the Venetians took and held many
prisoners of war, they made constant efforts to relieve the
sufferings of these men. In short, the archives of Venice bear
unquestionable testimony to much in the domestic policy of the
Republic that merits the praise and is worthy the emulation of all
nations in all ages.
{259}
CHAPTER XIV.
THE TREASURES OF THE PIAZZA.
There is a world of interest in the bronzes, mosaics, and marbles of
Venice, many of which are in and about the Piazza of San Marco.
Perhaps something should first be said about this spot, already so
frequently mentioned, and in which the whole history of Venice seems
to centre; but when I think of writing it the words of the double of
the Rev. Frederic Ingham occur to me with great force: "There has
been so much said, and, on the whole, so well said, that I will not
occupy the time."
To quote some of these "well-said" things seems far the wisest
course. Mr. Howells says:--
"The Place of St. Mark is the heart of Venice, and from this beats
new life in every direction, through an intricate system of streets
and canals, that bring it back again to the same centre.... Of all
the open spaces in the city, that before the Church of St. Mark alone
bears the name of Piazza, and the rest are called merely _campi_, or
fields. But if the company of the noblest architecture can give
honor, the Piazza S. Marco merits its distinction, not in Venice
only, but in the whole world. I never, during three years, passed
through it in my daily walks, without feeling as freshly as at first
the greatness of its beauty.
"The church, which the mighty bell-tower and the lofty height of the
palace lines make to look low, is in no wise humbled by the contrast,
but is like a queen enthroned amid upright reverence. The religious
sentiment is deeply appealed to, I think, in the interior of St.
Mark's; but if its interior is heaven's, its exterior, like a good
man's daily life, is earth's; and it is this {260} winning loveliness
of earth that first attracts you to it, and when you emerge from its
portals, you emerge upon spaces of such sunny length and breadth, set
round with such exquisite architecture, that it makes you glad to be
living in this world.
"Whatever could please, the Venetian seems to have brought within and
made a part of his Piazza, that it might remain forever the city's
supreme grace; and so, though there are public gardens and several
pleasant walks in the city, the great resort in summer and winter, by
day and by night, is the Piazza S. Marco."
In his delightful "Italy," Taine, after declaring Venice to be the
pearl of that country, not equalled by anything he has seen, says:--
"The admirable Piazza, bordered with porticos and palaces, extends
rectangularly its forests of columns, its Corinthian capitals, its
statues, its noble and varied arrangement of classic forms. At its
extremity, half Gothic, half Byzantine, rises the Basilica, under
bulbous domes and tapering belfries, its arcades festooned with
figures, its porches laced with light columns, its arches wainscoted
with mosaics, its pavements incrusted with colored marbles, and its
cupolas scintillating with gold; a strange mysterious sanctuary, a
sort of Christian mosque in which cascades of light vacillate in
ruddy shadows like the wings of genii within the purple, metallic
walls of subterranean abodes. All this teems with sparks and
radiance. A few paces off, bare and erect like a ship's mast, the
gigantic Campanile towers in the air, and announces to distant
mariners the time-honored royalty of Venice. At its base, closely
pressed to it, the delicate _loggetta_ of Sansovino seems like a
flower, so many statues, bas-reliefs, bronzes, and marbles, whatever
is rich and imaginative of living and elegant art, crowd around it to
adorn it...
"Like a magnificent diamond in a brilliant setting, the Ducal Palace
effaces the rest.... Never has the like architecture been seen; all
here is novel. You feel yourself drawn out of the conventional: you
realize that outside of classic or Gothic {261} forms, which we
repeat and impose on ourselves, there is an entire world; that human
invention is illimitable; that, like Nature, it may break all the
rules, and produce a perfect work after a model opposed to that to
which we are told to conform."
Ruskin's words rush out, and seem to tumble one over the other in
their haste to express his seething thought:--
"A multitude of pillars and white domes, clustered into a long low
pyramid of colored light; a treasure-heap, it seems, partly of gold
and partly of opal and mother-of-pearl, hollowed beneath into fine
great vaulted porches, ceiled with fair mosaic, and beset with
sculpture of alabaster, clear as amber and delicate as
ivory,--sculpture fantastic and involved, of palm-leaves and lilies
and grapes and pomegranates, and birds clinging and fluttering among
the branches, all twined together into an endless network of buds and
plumes; and in the midst of it the solemn forms of angels, sceptred,
and robed to the feet, and leaning to each other across the gates,
their figures indistinct among the gleaming of the golden ground
through the leaves beside them, interrupted and dim, like the morning
light as it faded back among the branches of Eden, when first its
gates were angel-guarded long ago.
"And round the walls of the porches there are set pillars of
variegated stones, jasper and porphyry, and deep-green serpentine
spotted with flakes of snow, and marbles that half refuse and half
yield to the sunshine, Cleopatra-like, 'their bluest veins to
kiss,'--the shadow, as it steals back from them, revealing line after
line of azure undulation, as a receding tide leaves the waved sand;
their capitals rich with interwoven tracery, rooted knots of herbage,
and drifting leaves of acanthus and vine, and mystical signs, all
beginning and ending in the cross; and above them, in the broad
archivolts, a continuous chain of language and of life,--angels, and
the signs of heaven, and the labors of men, each in its appointed
season upon the earth ... until at last, as if in ecstasy, the crests
of the arches break into a marble foam, and toss themselves far into
the blue {262} sky in flashes and wreaths of sculptured spray, as if
the breakers on the Lido shore had been frost-bound before they fell,
and the sea-nymphs had inlaid them with coral and amethyst."
In comparison with the above, how curiously commonplace was Goethe,
with his very practical queries, when first he saw the Horses of St.
Mark: "A glorious team of horses,--I should like to hear the opinion
of a good judge of horse flesh. What seemed strange to me was that,
closely viewed, they appear heavy, while from the piazza below they
look light as deer." To me the mystery in which they are veiled is
their chief attraction. We know that the brave old Dandolo sent them
from Constantinople to be one of his most striking monuments.
In this temple porch,
Old as he was, so near his hundredth year,
And blind,--his eyes put out,--did Dandolo
Stand forth, displaying on his crown the cross.
There did he stand, erect, invincible,
Though wan his cheeks, and wet with many tears,
For in his prayers he had been weeping much;
And now the pilgrim and the people wept
With admiration, saying in their hearts,
"Surely those aged limbs have need of rest!"
There did he stand, with his old armor on,
Ere, gonfalon in hand, that streamed aloft,
As conscious of its glorious destiny,
So soon to float o'er mosque and minaret,
He sailed away, five hundred gallant ships,
Their lofty sides hung with emblazoned shields,
Following his track to fame. He went to die;
But of his trophies four arrived erelong,
Snatched from destruction,--the four steeds divine,
That strike the ground, resounding with their feet,
And from their nostrils snort ethereal flame
Over that very porch,
SAMUEL ROGERS.
We know that one of these horses was transported on the galley of
Domenico Morosini, and that by some accident a piece was broken off
of one of its hind legs, which {263} fragment the Senate allowed the
valiant admiral to keep as a souvenir of his experiences. He placed
it on a console of the façade of his house at St. Augustine, where
Sanuto saw it, as he tells us in his chronicles. We know of their
journey to Paris in 1797, and of their return in 1815. We know that
they weigh but a few pounds less than a ton each; but who made them,
and where and when? We know that it is said that they were treasures
of Alexandria, and were carried to Rome by Augustus after he defeated
Mark Antony, 30 B.C. But who can tell what Cleopatra thought of
them? We know that it is said that five Roman emperors placed them
on as many triumphal arches in the Eternal City, and then Constantino
took them off to the New Rome to grace his Hippodrome. But when all
these sayings are said, who knows?
[Illustration: _Horses of St. Mark._]
Above them is the winged Lion of St Mark, that had such a curiously
opposite effect on the minds of the Venetians and those of their
enemies, imparting his traditional boldness to the former, and
dissipating whatever of that quality existed in the latter. This
lion is ubiquitous in Venice, and can be found of almost any age
required; but this one is very modern. He is brave in his coat of
gold, and the field of azure sown with golden stars which makes his
background is very becoming. He rests one paw on the open book to
emphasize the words "Pax tibi Marce Evagelista meus." Above him
towers the statue of that saint whose symbol he is, the lion-hearted
Mark,--the saint whose crumbling bones below, in the great Basilica,
seem by some subtle spell to have made invincible the hearts and arms
of those who look to him as their protecting guardian.
Rising from the pavement below, and towering far above the Bronze
Horses, are the three cedar _pili_ (flag-staffs), from which in the
old days floated the banners of Cyprus, Candia, and the Morea, ever
recalling to the {264} Venetians the glorious victories they had
gained. On Sundays and festivals the Italian colors are now seen on
these masts, rising from the same magnificent bronze pedestals which
have held them almost four hundred years, and which, according to
ancient pictures, must have replaced still older ones. These were
given by Paolo Barbo in 1501 and by the Doge Leonardo Loredano in
1505, and were all the work of Alessandro Leopardo. If the graceful
tritons and sirens chiselled there could speak, how many questions we
should like to ask them!
But alas! the only bronzes of the Piazza that give any sign of life
are the two Moors on the top of the Torre dell' Orologio, and they
only to strike the bell which each time reminds us that we have one
hour less in Venice. There is a story that one of these Moors is a
murderer, but not with malice aforethought. A poor workman,
unconscious of the hour, was within the swing of the Moor's hammer,
and so was thrown to his death below.
The azure and gold dial on this tower gives much information. The
Italian hours, one to twenty-four, the quarters of the moon, and the
twelve signs of the zodiac are there. On the upper story, above the
dial, is a gigantic lion, with the starry background which he seems
to affect, and beneath him is a gilded statue of the Virgin Mary.
During the month of May, at certain hours, a door near her opens, and
the Magi appear, pass before her, salute her with their crowns, and
disappear by another door.
When all this happens at a quiet midnight hour, when the weird
moonlight leaves much in shadow, bringing out only the most prominent
objects, as the Moors and the Magi come to life, one involuntarily
looks around, expecting to see the lion between the Clock Tower and
the church shake his mane and come down from his block, to hear the
horses neigh, and to behold a long line of saints {265} and angels
who have left their dizzy heights to walk around the square in grand
procession.
There are few objects in all Venice which have a greater variety of
interesting associations than the Campanile, which so dominates the
city and the surrounding sea that from its summit the fleets that
have sailed away for war and for the pursuits of peace have been
watched for many centuries, and followed by prayers and blessings
until lost in the dim distance.
From this same height, what anxious eyes have been strained to catch
the first glimpse of victorious, home-coming galleys! Or, in times
of need, as during the Chioggian War, it was from the Campanile that
the welcome aid-bearing vessels were first seen; and in all times of
great events, for joy or sorrow, it was the tocsin of the Campanile
that called the people to the Piazza to hear the news and take
counsel for action. Nine hundred and ninety-two years has it
performed these offices; and could a diary have been written of all
its experiences, what book would be more wonderful?
Until 1518 there hung, from a projecting beam half-way up the tower,
a wooden cage, grated with iron bars, in which some criminals were
placed to endure the changes of the weather, as well as hunger and
thirst, so long as life should last; for but meagre supplies of bread
and water were let down to the cage from the top of the tower.
Perhaps it was the influence of the golden angel which crowns the
Campanile, and is kind enough to turn with every wind that blows,
that wrought the merciful reform; for the cage was banished within a
few months after he assumed the most commanding position in the
Republic.
We are told that in the old days there were four bells rung from the
tower for different purposes. _La marangola_ sounded at dawn to call
the laboring-classes to their {266} work; _la sestamezzana_ announced
the opening of the official bureaux; _la trottera_ called the
councillors to their duties; and the bell _del malefizio_ was the
knell that tolled during executions. About 1670 a fifth great bell
was brought from Candia, which was heard only on Ascension Day, when
the Doge espoused the Adriatic.
All lovers of Venice can sympathize with Arthur Hugh Clough, and will
remember with delight the view from the Campanile, when for the first
time the intricacies of this charming labyrinth can be unravelled,--
"My mind is in her rest; my heart at home
In all around; my soul secure in place,
And the vext needle perfect to her poles.
Aimless and hopeless in my life, I seemed
To thread the winding byways of the town
Bewildered, baffled, hurried hence and thence,
All at cross purpose ever with myself,
Unknowing whence or whither. Then, at once,
At a step, I crown the Campanile's top,
And view all mapped below; islands, lagoon,
An hundred steeples, and a myriad roofs,
The fruitful champaign, and the cloud-capt Alps,
And the broad Adriatic."
During the Crusades, in the cities of the East where the Christians
were in power, it was customary to assign to each nation that had
aided in the conquest a quarter in which they could live and worship
in their own church. But at St. Jean d'Acre it happened that the
Venetians and Genoese, enemies as they were, used the Church of St.
Sabbas in common. As might have been foreseen, quarrels arose, and
both claimed the building as exclusively their own. So fierce did
the troubles become that at length the Genoese burned the church,
with other buildings of the Venetian quarter. Such an insult could
not be borne, and under Lorenzo Tiepolo the Venetians completely
defeated the Genoese. In proof of the complete triumph of the
Republic, two richly sculptured pillars, a {267} part of the gateway
of St. Sabbas, and a low column of red porphyry were sent to Venice.
Naturally these were placed in the beloved Piazza; and the Senate
decreed that the pillars should stand between the church and the
Ducal Palace, at the inner entrance to the Piazzetta. The short
column near by, at the southwest corner of San Marco, was put to good
use, and called the "Pietra del Bando." From it the laws of the
Republic, the sentences of banishment, and other important decrees
were promulgated.
[Illustration: _Campanile of St. Mark._]
But the most interesting columns stand at the opposite end of the
Piazzetta, at the entrance from the lagoon. So typical were they of
the spirit of Venice that they were duplicated in other cities under
her sway. On one is a statue of that young Syrian warrior who stood
the early Venetians in good stead as their patron saint, and still
stands there upon the crocodile, at the chief entrance to the city,
crowned by a nimbus, holding a shield on his right arm, and a sword
in his left hand.
Opposite St Theodore, on the second column, is one of the many lions
of St. Mark, with the open book. This one, alas! was desecrated by
the French, and the gospel words replaced by the legend "Droits de
l'Homme et du Citoyen," which caused a witty gondolier to say that
"Saint Mark had turned over a new leaf." This lion made a part of
the brazen menagerie that went to Paris in 1797, and returned to
Venice in 1815. During his stay there he was appropriately lodged in
the Invalides, no doubt suffering keenly the pains of dislocation.
We must not forget that the Columns themselves have an interesting
history. They form a sort of open door to the Piazzetta from the
Molo, and are the first objects to attract the attention of the
stranger who enters Venice from the sea. These two and another were
brought from the islands of the Archipelago in 1127. One sank
entirely out of sight, {268} and has never been found, and these two
lay on the shore a half-century before any one succeeded in raising
them. But when the Doge Sebastiano Ziani promised any _grazia
onesta_ that might be asked by any man who could erect them on the
Piazzetta, Niccolò il Barattiere (Nick the Blackleg) placed them on
their pedestals, and demanded that gambling, which was forbidden
elsewhere in Venice, might be carried on between the pillars. For
some time this privilege brought wealth to the family Barattiere, and
ruin to so many others that the Senate resorted to a cunning device
to render the promise of the Doge of no effect. It was decreed that
all public executions should occur "between the Columns," which made
the place of such ill omen that no one could be enticed to come there
for any "chance" that could be offered.
As the criminals mounted the scaffold, they were accustomed to turn
and look at a Byzantine Madonna, high on the wall of San Marco, and
repeat the _Salve Regina_. A lamp burns before this Madonna at night
to commemorate the remorse of the Ten for having unjustly executed
Giovanni Grassi in 1611. Ten years later the truth was known; a
pardon was published, and this Madonna set up in remembrance of
Grassi, and as a warning against hasty and unjust judgments.
The Piazzetta has well been called the antechamber of the Piazza. It
is the chief resort of the gondoliers; and at all hours of the day
there is a procession of men, women, and children, carrying water
from the Ducal Palace,--the best water in all Venice. The two
splendid bronze cisterns from which the water is taken are more than
three centuries old; and besides the debt due them for good water, an
almost equal one is owing them as the centre of the picturesqueness
by which they are daily surrounded.
Entering by the splendid Porta della Carta, one sees {269} these
cisterns in the midst of the great inner court, the four façades of
which are covered with reliefs and figures that symbolize
Christianity and mythology with apparently equal approbation. Mars
and Neptune seem quite at ease in the society of Adam and Eve; and
such a wilderness of boughs and plants, of blossoms and vines, and
such numbers of griffins, fawns, and goats as can rarely be seen with
a _coup d'œil_ make a bewildering whole which may well be studied
in detail. But great powers of concentration are needed if much of
this is not forgotten while observing the moving, living actors in
the scene around these wells.
The water-bearers come and go, carrying vessels of all sizes, forms,
and colors. Some who are strong and seem to be in haste quickly fill
their cans and jars, and go away. Others, more at leisure, put down
their burdens and stay to tell and hear the gossip of the day. The
variety of faces, young and old, of dress and manners, and especially
of gestures, is most remarkable. The two distinctive charms of this
court, the artistic past and the picturesque present, make it always
fascinating, no matter how often seen; and if one would here study
Rizzo and Sansovino, it is sometimes necessary to shut the eyes and
think of what is to be done, or the human nature of to-day will prove
itself far more absorbing than the sculpture of the past.
But the treasure-house of rare and precious antiques in Venice is the
Basilica of San Marco. On the exterior, besides the Bronze Horses,
there are numerous fragments from more ancient edifices which bear
witness to the good taste and the acquisitiveness of the old
Venetians. Within and without are more than five hundred pillars of
rare marbles, mostly Oriental. During the building of the Basilica
all Venetian vessels that sailed to the East were obliged to bring
back a contribution to San Marco. Many {270} of the pillars in the
façade have Armenian and Syriac inscriptions, having once adorned
older edifices; and tablets with ancient sculptures, of which no
history can be given, are inserted in the walls. Of the three doors
which open from the vestibule into the church, that on the right is
believed to have been taken from St. Sophia, in 1203; and the eight
marble columns on each side this entrance came from the same temple.
An ancient Greek altar, with bas-reliefs of dolphins and children,
supports the basin for holy water; and within the baptistery the mass
of granite which forms the altar is said to be the stone on which
Christ stood when he preached to the people of Tyre, or, as another
tradition says, upon which he rested by the gate of Tyre, whence it
was brought to Venice in 1126 by the Doge Domenico Michieli.
The Pala d' Oro is a remarkable specimen of Byzantine art. It is
only seen on high festival days, when the candles are lighted in
front of the high altar, in the splendid candelabra given by the Doge
Cristoforo Moro in the middle of the fifteenth century.
This altar screen was originally intended to decorate the front of
the altar. It was ordered to be made in Constantinople by the Doge
Pietro Orseolo in 976, and was not brought to Venice until 1105, when
it was enlarged and enriched by Venetian artists, and this process
repeated in 1209 and 1345. Naturally the splendor it has gained
detracts from its original value. It was Byzantine; it is now also
Gothic and Venetian. The inscriptions are both in Greek and Latin;
and, on the whole, it is inferior in workmanship to other specimens
of European gold and enamel work of the Middle Ages. That portion
which was made in Constantinople consists of a picture in enamel or
gold, enriched with chasing, pearls, cameos, and precious stones.
This Pala is a fitting symbol of the Basilica, which is as composite
in its architecture {271} and as incongruous in its detail as it is
splendid and imposing as a whole.
The canopy above the altar of the Holy Sacrament is supported by four
spiral fluted pillars, said to have been brought from the Temple of
Solomon. The bronzes by the Italian masters, here and there all over
the Basilica, are of great interest. They date from the twelfth
century, two of the doors from the vestibule into the church having
been executed between 1100 and 1112. The five outer doors, made by
the Venetian goldsmith Bertuccio, were finished in 1300. The bronze
tomb of Cardinal Zeno is a magnificent specimen of the art of
Lombardo and Leopardo (1505-15). It was decreed by the Republic to
be placed in the chapel which the Cardinal had built. The statue of
the Cardinal, surrounded by figures symbolic of his virtues, the
lovely Madonna della Scarpa (golden shoe), with Saints Peter and John
the Baptist, the two lions in colored marbles, and the mosaics of the
twelfth century, make this chapel a wonderful treasure-house, and a
worthy tribute to one who loved his Venice with supreme affection.
The Treasury of St. Mark once contained the finest collection of
Byzantine jewelry in the world; and despite the demands made on it by
the Republic in its emergencies, and the ravages of the robbers of
1797, it is still rich. It contains interesting reliquaries,
chalices, cups, and similar objects in crystal, Oriental agate, gold,
and silver, ornamented with enamels and precious stones. The
reliquary containing a portion of the True Cross was given to St.
Sophia, in 1120, by the Empress Irene. Among the other remarkable
relics, all of which are in rich and costly reliquaries, are said to
be a morsel of the skull of Saint John the Baptist and a bone from
the arm of Saint George.
The altar of the Virgin Mary is continually surrounded {272} by
worshippers. A picture of the Virgin, believed to have been painted
by Saint Luke, is there. It is usually veiled; but on certain
festival days it is taken into the Piazza, also on occasions of
plagues or other public afflictions, and there the people flock to
make their prayers and vows.
But the most distinctive and interesting study in this Basilica is
that of its mosaics. So numerous are they that much devoted
attention must be given by one who would fully comprehend their order
and meaning. Nothing less than Mr. Ruskin's exhaustive treatise on
them is worthy to be offered to an intelligent student of symbolism
in art; and although one derives great pleasure from the more
superficial knowledge of these works, Mr. Ruskin speaks truly when he
says that an understanding of the mosaics changes the whole
impression and atmosphere of the Basilica. Having shown that the
mosaics give an historical epitome of Christ's teaching, he says:--
"And this thought may dispose the reader to look with some change of
temper upon the gorgeous building and wild blazonry of that shrine of
S. Mark's. He now perceives that it was in the hearts of the old
Venetian people far more than a place of worship. It was at once a
type of the Redeemed Church of God and a scroll for the written word
of God. It was to them both an image of the Bride, all glorious
within, her clothing of wrought gold, and the actual Table of the Law
and the Testimony, written within and without. And whether honored
as the Church or as the Bible, was it not fitting that neither the
gold nor the crystal should be spared in the adornment of it; that,
as the symbol of the Bride, the building of the wall thereof should
be of jasper, and the foundations of it garnished with all manner of
precious stones; and that, as the channel of the Word, the triumphant
utterance of the Psalmist should be true of it, 'I have rejoiced in
the way of thy testimonies, as much as in all riches'?"
[Illustration: _Torre dell' Orologio; Clock Tower._]
{273}
In spite of the lavishness of gold, of red, and all the varied tones
of marbles, bronzes, and mosaics with which San Marco abounds, there
are few churches so severe and profoundly impressive. The mystical
half-light which pervades it converts what might be a tawdry blaze
into harmonious poesy of color, full of the sentiment of impassioned
religion. All of spiritual emotion and aspiration is here expressed.
One forgets the detail and remembers the whole, loses the actual in
the ideal, and thanks God that in this modern, bustling,
materialistic nineteenth century there still exist "an assemblage of
saints, an infinite history, an entire legendary Paradise," like
those of San Marco.
Again in the Piazza, and in the midst of its present life. If it be
early morning, it is almost deserted, save for the softly cooing and
carefully stepping pigeons. At ten or eleven o'clock it is full of
practical life. The shops are brilliant with jewels, glassware,
beads, laces, and innumerable objects of use and uselessness. There
are many sellers and buyers of all sorts of ambulating
merchandise,--from turtles and other shell fish, vegetables and
fruits, hardware and matches, to the lovely nosegays and toothsome
caramel. Gentlemen are persecuted by persistent shoeblacks and men
who mysteriously whisper of Havana cigars, while the tourists, with
red guide-books in hand, impatiently wave off both these intruders,
and the guides who offer their services, and rush on to the Basilica
or Palace, as if they feared that these wonders would disappear
before their eyes. Oh, this wearisome hurry! At noon the energy of
the venders is somewhat subdued, and they are glad to seek the shade
of the arcades; and in the early afternoon, when all the world is
taking its luncheon or its siesta, when the pavement is burning
beneath the sun, the Piazza is again almost deserted.
{274}
But with the evening, from all parts of the city, come those who wish
to see the world, to hear the music of the military bands, to dine at
the _cafés_, and meet the friends they are likely to find there. And
soon the Piazza is like an immense salon, brilliantly lighted, full
of guests of many sorts, from the elegantly dressed ladies with their
attendant cavaliers, to the plainly dressed traveller and the
unobtrusive Venetians, who come to gaze at all who throng their dear
Piazza. The flower-girls, in pretty costumes, offer their nosegays
with a deprecating air, which is irresistible. When the band stops
playing, strolling musicians sing, or play the violin and harp. The
brilliant cafés are thronged, and hundreds of men and women, who
surround the little tables in the square, leisurely enjoy their
_sorbets_, sip the delicious coffee, and smoke the Oriental tobacco.
It will be midnight, perhaps some hours after that, when the Piazza
is again silent, "when a bright sleep is on each storied pile," when
the only sounds are the soft lapping of the water at the end of the
Piazzetta and the distant music of some belated gondolier who sings,
as ever,--
"Venite all' agile, Barchetta mia,
Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia!"
{275}
CHAPTER XV.
GLORY, HUMILIATION, FREEDOM.
All historians agree that the fifteenth century was the period of the
greatest luxury and magnificence of Venice. In 1457 it seemed that
the Republic would march on to greater power over a larger territory
than had yet been held by any one of the North Italian States.
Brescia, Bergamo, and Ravenna were securely hers. She was attempting
to cross the Adda to the west, and to encroach upon the Romagna on
the south. Could there have been peace anywhere,--at home or
abroad,--could she have had a respite in which to think and plan her
policy, she might have succeeded in becoming a powerful territorial
State; but no such breathing-spell was possible. All Italy was in a
ferment. Each power sought to lessen the strength of its neighbor.
Political combinations were made, apparently only to be broken.
Everything was in dire confusion, and Venice would have had more than
she could do to carry herself advantageously in her own nation, when
the Turks, by their conquest of Constantinople, threatened her with
the death of her commerce, which was essentially her death as a
Republic, since on that she depended for her revenue to enable her to
maintain herself against all enemies at home and abroad.
For sixteen years Venice was continually at war in the East. While,
in fact, all Europe was vitally interested in the outcome of this
struggle, yet all Europe failed to offer any aid to Venice. It was
assumed that since the {276} Republic had so largely profited by her
relations in the Levant, she alone must bear the burden of the
struggle. In the beginning she had promises of support, but all
these failed her at the outset. She spent men and money, and fought
with her accustomed bravery until she had no more to give. Then, in
1479, she made the best terms for peace that were possible, only to
be cursed for perfidy to Christianity, and to be accused of cowardly
submission to the Turks, in order to use all her strength to increase
her territory on the mainland of Italy.
Unfortunately this accusation seemed to be well founded, when, in
1481, the Republic declared war against Ferrara, whose territory
separated Venice from her own dependency of Ravenna. The Venetians
were most patriotic in the support of this war. They wished to
reinstate themselves in their own good opinion after all their
humiliation in the East, and with the support of the Pope all went to
their advantage in the beginning. But soon Sixtus IV. not only
abandoned them, but placed them under an interdict because they did
not lay down their arms at his request; and in the end the peace of
Bagnolo was made in 1484, the Republic having gained very little in
return for the vast expense of 1,200,000 ducats, great losses of men
and ships, and a mortification of her pride which vastly increased
the bitterness of the result. All these misfortunes occurred at the
time when travellers and chroniclers who wrote of Venice failed to
find words rich enough in their meaning to convey the just impression
of the magnificence of the "Queen of the Adriatic,"--the time of
which Brown says:--
"And yet, while the Republic was really hurling headlong to its ruin,
the outward pomp, the glory, the splendor of Venice were just
beginning to attract the eyes of Europe, blinding many Venetians and
all foreigners to the real aspect of the situation. Venice was
acquiring her reputation as the city of {277} magnificent private
life, the city of 'masks and balls begun at midnight, burning ever to
midday;' the city, too, of _sfrenata lasciva_, the 'Gehenna of the
Waters.' This is the period when her great palaces arose, in all
their pomp of balcony and pillared windows and frescoed façades,
along the Grand Canal; when Vivarini, Carpaccio, and Bellini were
preluding to Titian, Giorgione, Tintoret; when Bessarion presented
his priceless codices to the Marician Library; when the colony of
Greek Scribes was endeavoring to hold its own against the new
invention of printing, against John of Speyer's 'Epistolæ Familiares'
and Jenson's 'Ad Atticum;' when Aldus, by his brilliant, earnest,
passionate scholarship, and his practical acumen in the conduct of
his press, began to render the Greek classics the common property of
mankind.
"It would seem that just as the rapid extension of Venice on the
mainland under Francesco Foscari was the blossom of all her long
centuries of physical and constitutional growth, so the sudden
artistic expansion of the later fifteenth century was the flowering
of Venice in the intellectual and emotional region. The bloom
presaged decay. Death was already at the roots before the flower had
opened to its fullest splendor."
Before the end of this century another event--unfortunate for Venice,
but a blessing to all the world besides--was added to the misfortunes
which had followed her in the Levant and on the mainland. In 1486
Diaz rounded the Cape of Good Hope; and two years later, when the
news of Vasco di Gama's voyage was received, all intelligent
Venetians knew that a fatal blow had fallen on their commerce. Its
death might be a lingering one, but it was sure. Of this Brown
says:--
"A new commercial route was opened to the world. Instead of passing
up the Red Sea and across the Isthmus of Suez, or up the Persian Gulf
and through Asia Minor, breaking bulk at Ormuz or at Suez, and being
shipped again for European destinations at Alexandria or Aleppo, all
the wealth of the Indies could now be carried in unbroken cargoes
round the Cape of {278} Good Hope, to be discharged in the harbors of
Holland, of the Hanseatic towns, of England. The Mediterranean
instantly ceased to be the sole highway of communication between the
East and West; the great commercial thoroughfare was now thrown
outside the Straits of Gibraltar; and Venice, in whose hands
Mediterranean traffic had become almost a monopoly, suffered a blow
such as all her struggles with Genoa and all the victories of the
Turks had hitherto failed to inflict."
In the Diaries of Priuli we read that on the receipt of the news of
Di Gama's voyage the whole city was astounded; and the wisest
Venetians agreed that never before had any information been so
deplorable, nor could any other ever excel it in importance. Priuli
continues:
"For it is well known that Venice reached her height of reputation
and riches through her commerce alone, which brought foreigners to
the city in great numbers; and now by this new route the spice
cargoes will be taken straight to Lisbon, where the Hungarians,
Germans, Flemish, and French will flock to buy them; they will find
the goods cheaper in Lisbon than they can be in Venice, for before
the freights can reach Venice by the old route, they have to pay
exorbitant dues for transit through Syria and the lands of the Soldan
of Egypt."
Lisbon was soon the mart to which all the northern merchants
resorted; and the Florentines profited by this change to the
exclusion of the Venetians, who suffered from three causes. They did
not dare at once to break their commercial relations with the Sultan,
who was, in a way, interested to defend Venice from the Turk; and,
moreover, he had in his power the warehouses of the Venetians at
Cairo and Alexandria, filled with a wealth of Eastern products.
Again, they could not pass the Straits of Gibraltar without paying
levies on their ships to Spain; and even if they did this, the
northern men would soon forsake the dangers and toils of crossing the
{279} Alps for the less perilous and more comfortable voyage to
Lisbon.
This overwhelming commercial misfortune was soon followed by the
culmination of events which had been threatening political perils to
Venice ever since she had indulged her desire for possessions on
Terra Firma, as it was expressed. The many leagues and combinations,
made apparently but to be broken, the sending and receiving of
ambassadors, the vague replies and diplomatic avoidance of yea and
nay, all resulted in the League concluded at Cambray in 1508. Here
France, Spain, the Emperor Maximilian, the Pope, the Dukes of Ferrara
and Savoy, and the King of Hungary were all combined against the
Republic, or against what the preamble to the treaty called "the
insatiable cupidity of the Venetians and their thirst for dominion."
This is not the place to trace the steps, through a quarter of a
century and more, by which all these powers and others had gradually
crushed the prestige of Venice, in Italy, outside her own lagoons, as
essentially as the Turks had destroyed her Levantine precedence.
Meantime, in all these years of slow poison and decline, few
Venetians had recognized their danger, few had foreseen the end. Men
of courage and devoted patriotism were not wanting. There was still
great individual wealth, and it would have been given to the
ever-beloved Venice with cheerful alacrity; but the complications
were so many, and followed each other so rapidly, that the government
was unable to hold itself clearly above these circumstances, and
organize a policy which should reinstate the Republic, even in part.
When in 1499 the Grand Vizier said to the agent of the Republic, "You
can tell the Doge that he has done wedding the sea; it is our turn
now," he but told the brutal truth, as did Malipiero when, speaking
of the Italian wars, he said, "We shall have to beg for peace and
restore all we have acquired."
{280}
It would seem, too, that a sort of madness blinded the Venetians to
their true condition. They acted as if the mines of Golconda were
beneath their Piazza, and they had but to go in by their private
entrance and draw upon inexhaustible wealth. After sixteen years of
a losing war with the Turks, when the Ducal Palace was destroyed, the
proposal to build a much larger and more magnificent palace found
much favor; and at this very time Venice was impoverished.
The League of Cambray, to put it in a word, simply divided among its
members all the possessions of the Republic outside the city of
Venice and its lagoon islands. France proceeded to carry out the
treaty at once, and was so successful that by the first of June
Sanudo wrote in his chronicles that, except the towns of Asola,
Crema, and Pizzighettone not a town in Lombardy remained to Venice.
"All the rest is lost,--yielded to the French without drawing sword."
Venice prepared for a blockade. The French had nearly fulfilled all
the provisions of the League, and the Venetians might well fear the
next steps. But the remarkable activity of the French did not
altogether please the Pope, Julius II. He had by their aid recovered
the territory of the Church, and so felt no further need of their
presence in Italy; and before long he deserted the League and allied
himself with Venice, and afterward they were joined by Spain in an
alliance which the Pope called "Holy." This was in 1511; and after
various battles, which resulted in no good to the Republic, she in
turn deserted the "Holy League," and became the ally of France by the
treaty of Blois, in 1513. Again fierce battles were fought; again
the French retired, leaving the Venetians alone. Cardona, the leader
of the army of the Holy League, pushed down to the shores of the
lagoon, burning the Venetian towns in his progress, and even {281}
pointing his cannon against Venice, and firing a few shots.
But the same lagoons that had defeated all her enemies from the time
of the Huns still protected her. She was impregnable; and Cardona
was forced to retire, as the Genoese had done long years before.
During 1514 the Venetian territory was the scene of marching and
counter-marching, with little or no result; when in 1515 Louis XII.
died, and Francis I. at once declared himself Duke of Milan, and so
conducted his affairs in Italy that the Peace of Brussels, in which
Venice was included, was signed in 1516. This virtually ended the
effects of the League of Cambray, and Venice again resumed her former
territory on the mainland.
The struggles between Francis and Charles V. made little difference
to the Republic, except that Charles demanded 80,000 ducats, which
were paid; and in his settlement of Italy in 1529 he left Venice with
her frontier where Carmagnola had fixed it, on the Adda; there it
remained so long as the Republic endured. She was able to
congratulate herself that she was still an independent power,
although enfeebled beyond recovery.
And now her former strength was replaced by the only weapon left to
her, diplomacy. The Council of Ten and the Three Inquisitors became
all-powerful; while the slightest alarm raised a panic of fear and
excitement, and secrecy, vigilance, silence, and mystery were relied
on to preserve her existence, which actually depended on two
circumstances,--first, her impregnable position; and second, the
jealousy between other powers, which would not permit any one of them
to appropriate her possessions on Terra Firma.
The Venetian characteristic which proved to be "the ruling passion,
strong in death," her love of ceremonies and pleasure, was in no wise
modified through all these {282} troublous years. It would seem like
dancing on its own grave, when at the wedding of Jacopo Foscari the
ambassadors of the members of the League of Cambray were entertained
with magnificent spectacles, while Brescia and Bergamo, Verona and
Vicenza were in the hands of these very enemies. The gayety of the
life and the safety of her position made Venice a desirable asylum to
those who hated war. She was the only Italian city that had never
been at the mercy of a brutal enemy; and many came to her for safety,
as Petrarch had done. Art flourished; every comfort and luxury of
living could be had. Great license of conduct was allowed; indeed,
save committing a political fault, a man of wealth could do almost
anything he chose, as private crimes seemed to be matters of
indifference. In fact, Venice spared no pains to stand before the
world as an attractive resort, a city of pageants and pleasure, to
which all were made welcome.
From the Peace of Brussels in 1516 to the peace with the Turks in
1573 there is little to record to the glory of the Republic. In the
war of the Valtelline and in that of the Spanish succession she
simply strove to preserve her neutrality, and succeeded, but at the
expense of having her territory overrun by both armies and submitting
to humiliation in silence.
In 1537 a third war broke out with the Turks, and was concluded by a
peace in 1540, which was ruinous to Venice in the further loss of
territory in the Levant. This treaty was made with Suleiman the
Magnificent; and when at his death, in 1566, Selim the Drunkard
became Sultan, he at once determined to seize on Cyprus, and demanded
its surrender on the plea that it was a dependency of Mecca. In its
weakness the Republic appealed for help to the Pope, who promised
that all Europe should give its support. But the usual
disappointment was repeated,--the assistance was meagre, {283} and
the delay in sending it was such that although the cities of Nicosia
and Famagosta made a stout resistance, and the Venetian commandants
did all that brave men could do, hoping for relief from day to day,
yet Cyprus was conquered by the Turks without a Venetian fleet coming
within sight of the island. The details of the defence, and of the
sufferings of the Italians at the hands of the barbarous Turks, are
too heart-sickening for repetition.
At length the allied fleet of the Venetians, Spaniards, and Papal
forces, when all too late to save Cyprus, encountered the Ottoman
fleet off Lepanto, and a desperate battle for five hours resulted in
a splendid victory for the allies. The Turks lost thirty thousand
men and one hundred and seventeen galleys, while the Christians lost
eight thousand. Sebastian Venier won great renown for himself and
the Republic; and Venice had the supreme joy of once again
celebrating a victory and hearing a _Te Deum_ in San Marco. The
Venetians desired to press on at once to Constantinople, having a
reasonable hope, after such a defeat, of crushing the power of the
infidel; but the allies would not consent, and Don John of Austria
took his ships into winter quarters. By spring the Turks were ready
with a fleet of two hundred and ten sail. Venice could not contend
with them alone, and in the end made a peace which, together with
Cyprus, contented the Turk for a time.
In 1574 Henry III. arrived in Venice, on his way from Poland to
France, and afforded the Venetians an excuse for one of their dearly
loved pageants. Everything was done to make the occasion impressive
and magnificent His attendants were young nobles of high rank. He
was received under a triumphal arch designed by Palladio and painted
by Veronese and Tintoretto. He was lodged in the Foscari Palace,
with the two adjoining palaces of {284} the Giustiniani also at his
service. A large platform floated on the canal before the palace, to
accommodate the comedians by day and the musicians at night. A
regatta, a banquet and ball, and other spectacles afforded him
entertainment; and he left Venice as he might have left an enchanted
island, intoxicated with its pleasures and beauties.
It may readily be seen that after the peace with the Turks, so
different in spirit from what the Venetians had been accustomed to,
there were constant difficulties arising between the vessels of the
two powers, and it was impossible for the Republic to prevent such
acts on the part of her seamen as might give any Ottoman prince an
excuse for a declaration of war. But by the payment of indemnities
and other pacific measures peace was maintained during more than
seventy years, when the Sultan Ibrahim determined to take Candia, the
last important stronghold of the Venetians in the Levant.
The Sultan alleged that the Knights of Malta had seized a Turkish
vessel that was carrying pilgrims, and had then touched at Candia;
and although the Governor of Candia had warned the Maltese off, it
served the Sultan as the excuse that he desired for attacking the
island. Well understanding this, Venice at once did all in her power
to garrison and provision Candia, although the preparations were
quite inadequate.
In 1645 the Turks began a war which endured nearly twenty-five years,
in which time many brave deeds were done, and the true old Venetian
spirit maintained itself in spite of the greatest discouragements,
losses, and sufferings. Their determined defence of Candia
interested all the world; and more than once succor was sent from
France, and the solid ranks of the Mussulmans were impetuously
assaulted to no purpose. Other nations were fired with admiration of
the splendid resistance these {285} Christians were making, and
determined to send them aid, but all too late. "The Republic was
dying; but dying gloriously here in the Levant,--the earliest, as it
was the latest, scene of all her solid triumphs."
Lazzaro Mocenigo, the brave commander of the fleet, after many
splendid deeds, was killed by the explosion of his magazine. After
an interval the great Francesco Morosini was made admiral. He was
the last of the Venetian seamen to uphold the ancient fame of his
country upon the seas, but it was his sad fate to end this struggle
by negotiation instead of victory. The terms were honorable. Candia
was surrendered; but the guns, the people, the sacred vessels, and
the ammunition were removed to the Venetian fleet, and the roadstead
of Suda remained to Venice. Morosini also made a peace between the
Republic and the Sultan. This was in 1669, and Venice was on the
brink of financial ruin.
Sixteen years later Morosini was again in command against the Turks,
who had threatened attacks on Albania. The Admiral now conceived the
idea of reconquering the Morea, in which he succeeded. He bombarded
Athens in 1688, when one of his bombs set fire to a powder magazine
within the Parthenon, and ruined the temple. He was recalled to
Venice by the news that he had been elected Doge in recognition of
his services; but he soon returned to the Morea, where matters were
not progressing to his satisfaction. His embarkation in 1693
afforded almost the last of the great solemnities of the Republic,
which proved to be also the last honor to Morosini, for he died at
Nauplia very soon after his arrival, worn out with age ami long
service of Venice.
The results of his conquests were of small account to the Republic.
She had lost her power to maintain distant provinces; and finally, in
1718, all her long struggles in the Levant were ended by the final
resignation of her {286} claims to the Morea. But she did not forget
to emblazon the name of Francesco Morosini, the hero of her last
conflicts on that sea of which she was so long the proud mistress, on
the walls of the Sala dello Scrutinio.
We have already considered the Council of Ten, and defended it
against some of the accusations which have been too frequently made
against it. During the first two centuries of its existence it
became enormously important. The State retained the management of
the navy and army, of finance, and, in a certain sense, of diplomacy;
but all urgent or unusual business was left to the Ten, who could
call any case before its court, could make special expenditures, and
could privately instruct ambassadors,--extensive powers, which made
it the essential ruler of Venice,--and the last two centuries and a
half of the constitutional history of the Republic is simply the
story of a growing opposition to the power of the Ten.
In the early days of its existence, when a difficult question was
before the Ten, that body was accustomed to appeal to the Senate for
assistance from some of its number, appointed to the duty. These men
formed what came to be known as the Giunta, or Zonta; and having but
a temporary connection with the Ten, they were as likely to
disapprove their course as to be content with it. But in 1529 this
Zonta became a permanent body, and was composed of the most prominent
members of each of the other councils of the State. Thus, if the
action of the Ten was questioned, it was defended by the most
powerful men of the Republic, and more and more was able to enlarge
its office and increase its absolutism.
The first serious outbreak against the Ten occurred when that body
clearly overstepped its province, and asked the Doge Foscari to
resign. Legally such a request must come from the vote of the Great
Council, with the advice {287} of the Ducal Council. These councils
resented the action of the Ten; and its authority was declared to be
limited to delicate and secret matters, which might be submitted to
its consideration. These limitations were made in 1468, but were of
little effect. We find in 1483 that it was the Ten who decided on
the conduct of the Ferrarese war, and in 1508 it was the same power
that took up and decided the questions which resulted from the League
of Cambray.
A few years later a new departure was made by the Ten. In 1537 they
delegated a part of their duties, the care of the public morals, to
Esecutori contra la Bestemmia. This having been allowed, two years
later the Three Inquisitors of State were created. The special duty
of the Three was to deal with treason, which seemed to abound, as the
state secrets were constantly communicated to the ambassadors of
various countries. After the League of Cambray took effect, the
Venetians relied solely on their diplomacy. If this could not be
conducted with secrecy, their ship of state was without a rudder; and
the repeated violation of this secrecy led to the belief that even
Ten was too large a body to be trusted. The Three Inquisitors had
all the powers of the Ten, except that they were obliged to report
their sentences to the Great Council. They soon became very
objectionable to the corrupt nobility, into whose morals they had the
right to inquire; and the hatred for the Ten, and even more for the
Three, constantly increased. The first real difficulty, however, did
not occur until 1582, when the feeling developed into hostility
between the Great Council and the Ten, and was never allayed during
the existence of the Republic.
The dread of Spain, of Spanish plots and Spanish gold, had almost
paralyzed the government ever after Cambray; and when, at the
beginning of the seventeenth century, {288} Venice was involved in a
quarrel with Paul V., the Ten and the Inquisitors fully believed that
the Pope would employ the army of Spain to reduce Venice to obedience
to him. In 1612 one of the Inquisitors wrote in his memoranda:
"Right piteous is our condition. Alone we cannot resist. Allies we
have not, neither ready enough nor warm enough. Treaties we cannot
construct upon any terms which are not ruinous to us."
Six years later all the fears inspired by the Spaniards were
justified when the Spanish conspiracy was discovered. The Viceroy of
Naples, Duke of Ossuna, and the Spanish ambassador at Venice, Marquis
of Bedmar, were suspected of being the chiefs in the plot. Giacomo
Pierre was at the head of the disreputable company of questionable
characters, who were their agents, consisting of bravi, mercenaries,
and other broken-down men who went frequently to the house of the
ambassador. Pierre, however, betrayed enough of the plot to the
Venetian Resident at Naples, Spinelli, to cause him to send Pierre,
with his friends Regnault and Langlade, to Venice. They were there
left free, but constantly watched. Pierre had alleged the plot to be
the seizure of Venice. The boats of Ossuna were to enter the lagoon
at Malamocco, steal up to the Piazzetta by night, and with the aid of
confederates already there secure command of the city. Ossuna's
fleet was certainly in the Adriatic, but it did not approach Venice.
At length, by a counterplot, a full knowledge of all Pierre's plans
was brought to the Doge. Three of the conspirators were strangled,
and hanged by one leg to the gibbet between the Columns. The effect
was magical. At the sight of these three bodies, the inns and
lodging-houses, which had been full of curious and unaccountable
strangers, were immediately deserted. Thus the Spanish conspiracy
came to naught; but it was soon suspected that {289} some of the
Venetian nobles were selling information to the Spaniards, and the
discovery of the treason of Giambattista Bragadin proved these
suspicions to be correct.
Bragadin secured his election to the Senate by a fraud, and by an
ingenious method was selling to the Spanish ambassador the secrets of
the Council Chamber. He went to the Frari for his devotions, and in
a particular faldstool which he used, he left in writing his
communication for the ambassador, which was taken away by a secretary
of the embassy. A monk, who was somewhat surprised by the frequent
devotions of Bragadin, observed that the secretary always came to the
church on the same day with the Senator. This so aroused the
curiosity of the monk that he watched the two worshippers until he
discovered the secret, took one of these letters out of the faldstool
himself, and carried it to the Doge. Bragadin was hanged between the
Columns, and the ambassador hurriedly returned to Spain. In these
two cases the conduct of the Ten commended itself to all parties; but
unfortunately a sad case of another sort excited a furious hatred of
them and of their methods.
In 1609 Antonio Foscarini, who had been a wise and faithful servant
of Venice, was sent as ambassador to England. He had been there but
a short time when it was found that the contents of his despatches to
Venice were being given to other foreign ambassadors in England. His
secretary was suspected and discharged, his place being supplied by
Giulio Muscorno. After a time Muscorno and Foscarini disagreed
seriously; and Muscorno took every means to make it appear that
Foscarini was dishonest, and finally, at Venice, declared that the
ambassador had himself sold the secrets of the State. The
Inquisitors made a long and careful inquiry, which resulted in the
acquittal of Foscarini and the imprisonment of Muscorno, in 1618.
{290}
But Foscarini, having been once suspected, was carefully watched; and
when Lady Arundel of Wardour, who had been his friend in England,
came to Venice for the education of her children, his visits to her
house, where the ambassadors of different countries were also
frequently received, attracted much attention. Girolamo Vano, a
professional spy, now accused Foscarini to the Ten. He was arrested
and tried for selling state secrets by the Three Inquisitors, who
reported him to the Ten as guilty, in April, 1622. He was condemned,
as a traitor, to be strangled in prison that night, and to be hanged
by one leg between the Columns the next morning. Foscarini calmly
dictated his will to his jailer, and died with fortitude.
But it would have been wiser in the Ten to have buried him privately.
The public exposure of his strangled corpse angered the nobility,
while it also terrified them; and when, four months later, it was
proved that Foscarini had been an innocent man, the rage against the
Ten and the Three was fully justified. Everything possible was done
to repair the ghastly error. Girolamo Vano was strangled in his
turn. An order was published at home and sent abroad, acknowledging
the fatal mistake. The body of Foscarini was exhumed and reburied
with all the pomp due a senator; but such an exposure of the Ten
absolutely forbade confidence in them or their methods. They never
recovered from its effect, and their opponents took every advantage
of their grave and even criminal blunder.
The jealousy of the Great Council and the Senate brought about a
feeling of opposition to the Ten, which was shared by a large party
of the people; and at length, in 1627, a commission was appointed to
revise the laws by which the Ten were governed. From time to time
the hostility to the Ten and the Inquisitors was fanned to a brighter
flame, and in the eighteenth century the opposition {291} to them
became more active. In 1761 the Great Council refused to elect new
members of the Ten; and it is both sad and amusing that so grave an
act should result from a quarrel over a lady's caps!
A modiste had made caps for a lady, and failed to please her. A
second lady was a friend of a Senator, Angelo Querini, who, in order
to please the friend of his friend, procured an order for the
expulsion of the cap-maker. The modiste appealed to the Three, and
they cancelled the order for expulsion, and declared it unjust.
Querini then began to complain of the tyranny of the Inquisitors, and
found much sympathy among the nobles. All this so incensed the Three
that they resolved to arrest Querini and exile him at Verona; and
this folly gave the Great Council its opportunity to declare its
hostility to the Ten and the Three, and to refuse to perpetuate these
offices.
An examination into the affairs of the Ten and the Inquisitors
resulted in their triumph; but there was a revolutionary spirit in
Venice which was rapidly growing. An order was issued closing cafés
and wine-shops at dark, and forbidding political discussions. The
following reply to this was posted up: "The company of night thieves
thanks the Ten for giving them the opportunity of winning their
supper at a reasonable hour." The chief mouthpiece of the liberal
party was Giorgio Pisani, and he was bold in the declaration of his
opinions; but the Three were too powerful as yet to permit the
theories of the Republicans to be thus freely expressed, and Pisani
was deported to Verona in 1780. In that year the Doge Paolo Renier
said: "If there be any State in the world which absolutely requires
concord at home, it is ours. We have no forces, either on land or on
sea. We have no alliances. We live by luck, by accident, and solely
dependent upon the conception of Venetian prudence which others
entertain about us."
{292}
"How are the mighty fallen!" What would Sebastiano Ziani, Enrico
Dandolo, Pietro Gradenigo, and many another Doge have thought of such
a fate as this for the Venice of their love and pride?
The time was soon to come when another Doge, deposed by a resolution
of the Great Council, should give the beretta to his servant,--we may
believe with a sense of relief,--and say, "Take it away; we shall not
use it any more." Napoleon had come to relieve him of his cares; and
we cannot doubt that he was half welcome to those who were so weary
of the rule of the Ten and the Three, the party who believed in
revolution. The efforts made to keep the Republic alive were so
feeble as to seem ridiculous. But what could be done without an
army, without a navy, and without money? A deputation was sent to
Napoleon, and his reply was sufficiently clear and comprehensive: "I
have eighty thousand men and twenty gunboats. I will have no more
Inquisitors, no more Senate. I will be an Attila for Venice."
On May 3, 1797, Bonaparte issued his proclamation: "The
Commander-in-Chief requires the French minister to leave Venice;
orders the several agents of the Republic of Venice to leave Lombardy
and the Venetian Terra Firma within twenty-four hours! He orders the
different generals of divisions to treat the Venetian troops as
enemies, and to destroy the Lion of Saint Mark in all the towns of
the Terra Firma."
The whole government--Doge, Senate, the Ten, and the Three--seemed to
vanish into oblivion. The great Venetian Republic fell without a
sound. Eight days after the manifesto the tricolor waved above the
Piazza, a popular constitution was declared, and a provisional
government established. The Venetian fleet was manned and sent to
Toulon. The French took possession of Corfu; and Venice was wholly
in the power of France, to be {293} disposed of as might suit the
will or the need of that nation. And the need soon came; for when,
after a summer of fruitless negotiation with the Emperor of Austria,
the snow appeared on the mountains, Napoleon decided to make peace.
He would not risk a winter campaign, and said to Bourrienne, "Venice
shall be exchanged for the boundary of the Rhine, and thus be made to
pay for the war."
The treaty was signed at Campo Formio on the 17th of October. The
ex-Doge, Lodovico Manin, when taking the oath of allegiance to
Austria, sank insensible on the ground, and lived but a few days
afterward. Thus he was spared the second humiliation of Venice,
when, in January, 1798, the tricolor was replaced by the
double-headed eagle, and the days of its captivity and oppression
began.
Venice seemed now to be a make-weight to be used in Napoleonic
treaties; and in 1805, at Presburg, the kingdom of Italy was ceded to
its first conqueror, and Venice came within the government of the
French Viceroy, Eugene Beauharnais. During ten years northern Italy,
while not independent, was awake. New and broader ideas replaced the
older theories; and the hearts of the people were filled with
aspirations and hopes that were all blasted by the so-called
Restoration of 1815, which confirmed a reign of tyranny in Venice.
An Austrian Archduke, under Metternich, acted as Viceroy; and a
system of secret courts, police spies, barbarous punishments, and
oppressive taxation was inaugurated.
Under the French rule Italian soldiers remained at home, or won
honors in the wars. Under the Austrians they were sent beyond the
Alps, and the white-coated foreign troops held the Venetians as in a
prison. The civil offices were filled by Germans, whose harsh
gutturals conveyed no meaning, and inspired dislike in the {294}
soft-speaking Venetians, who were in turn incomprehensible to these
officials. The simplest matters were laboriously referred to the
Aulic Council at Vienna. Letters were not safe, since the spies
opened them. No redress could be had through the press, which was
gagged. The pillory, flogging, and other equally barbarous customs
were revived; and, in short, no method was spared that could impress
on the Venetians the thought that they were living and breathing by
the permission and according to the will of a cruel tyrant. To quote
from "The Dawn of Italian Independence," by W. R. Thayer:--
"The Italian must obey laws imposed upon him by a foreigner,--laws
which had been framed without his voice, for the benefit of a master
who dwelt at Vienna. Were a law good, he hated it because it was a
cog in the great wheel of tyranny; were it bad, he hated it because
it threatened directly his property, his freedom, or his life.
Napoleon's rule had been despotic, but it had been despotic on a
grand scale; he had conquered by force; he had opened avenues to
glory; he had awakened a virile spirit, and shed round him large and
stirring ideas: but these Austrians had sneaked into their supremacy;
they were arrogant and conceited; their emperor was bigoted, petty,
and unyielding; a man who depended on eavesdroppers and tricksters
for his information; a man who had not a single heroic attribute, nor
uttered, during the course of a long life, a single thought whereby
mankind was made stronger or wiser; a martinet, only fitted to be the
superintendent of a small reformatory school for juvenile criminals.
So to the Italians the contrast between the recent French rule and
the present Austrian was typified by the contrast between Napoleon
and Francis; but the incompatibility between the two peoples had the
deepest source,--it sprang from racial antipathy."
When, in 1848, Metternich was driven from Vienna, and the Austrians
from Milan, the Venetians also were ready to demand and to conquer
their liberty. Manin, who had been imprisoned a few weeks before,
was released, {295} upon an order from the governor, who dared not
refuse it. A few days later he agreed to withdraw with all foreign
soldiers, leaving the munitions and public treasure behind. The
Venetian Republic, with Manin as President, was at once declared in
the Piazza; the Italian tricolor again streamed from the three masts
before the cathedral, and without fighting or bloodshed Venice was
free. Her oppressors departed; her flag waved over her borders on
the south and west. Her independence was recognized by the Consul of
the United States; and all the people, with one accord, assembled in
San Marco to thank God and their glorious saint that again Venice was
a Republic.
The Republic was declared on the 22d of March, 1848, and on the 18th
of June the Austrians began to draw trenches round Mestre, thus
cutting off communication between the mainland and Venice. The
National Assembly did not meet until July 3, when, after attending
Mass in the cathedral, one hundred and thirty-three deputies ascended
the Giants' Staircase, and entered the Hall of the Great Council. It
was a remarkable gathering, and momentous consequences hung upon its
decisions. Thayer says:--
"If ever the monuments of a splendid Past might inspire men of a
later generation with a sense, a hallowing sense, of the glory and
dignity of which those monuments were the products and witnesses, it
would be in that Hall of the Great Council, when those
representatives of free Venice met there to determine her fate. Let
a deputy look where he would, he saw reminders of the strength and
beauty of the State which his ancestors had raised to a unique
position among the nations of the world. Venice, though built on the
shifting mud where sea-gulls made their nests, yet had, through the
indomitable courage of her sons, a foundation more permanent than
that of rock-born cities; she counted her life, not by decades nor by
{296} generations, but by ages, she had been strong when her
neighbors were weak; she had been civilized when Paris and London
were but half-barbarous settlements, and the site of Berlin was a
morass; in her great days she had bowed neither to pope nor to
emperor; and she had ever been so surpassingly beautiful, floating
there on the Adriatic for fourteen hundred years, as delicate and
wonderful as a nautilus, yet firm as marble and stancher than the
stanchest ship. And now, after fifty years of servitude, she was
again free, robed in the glory of her incomparable Past, and
resolutely facing the strange world and perils upon which she had
reawakened. No son of hers on that 3d of July could sit in the Great
Hall and not feel that his action, must not only match the solemn
exigencies of the Present, but also be worthy of the city to which
forty generations of his ancestors had consecrated their lives, and
to which Dandolo and Morosini, and many another as just and brave as
these, had brought the offering of their individual fame."
The Assembly, after listening to all the arguments for and against
the measure, voted to unite with Piedmont, and a deputation was sent
to announce this decision to Charles Albert. We will not here
recount the unhappy failure of this king, nor the armistice by which
Piedmont was again placed under the Austrian yoke. It is enough to
say that Venice was left alone, that no help came from France or
England; and when, on March 27, 1849, news of the fatal defeat of
Charles Albert at Novara was brought to the Venetians, with a summons
to surrender, they knew that they must rely on themselves alone. The
Assembly voted to resist Austria at any cost, and to give unlimited
power to Manin. A red flag was unfurled from the Campanile, as a
sign that Venice would resist to the death; and a copy of the vote
was sent to the Austrians without a word of comment.
Then began the preparations for defence. The condition of the troops
was discouraging. There were less {297} than thirty thousand men,
and but two hundred and fifty in the engineer corps. The soldiers
had suffered for want of proper food, clothing, and shelter all
through the winter, and there was much sickness at the forts in the
low, malarial places. But her position gave the inhabitants of
Venice great courage. At one point alone, the newly completed
railway bridge, could she be reached from the land. Much, too,
depended on the defence of the fortifications of Brondolo, which
overlooked the passage of the Brenta. To prevent a successful attack
at these two points, and a blockade by sea, would make Venice
impregnable, protected as she was by sand-bars, marshes, pools, and
canals.
The Austrians seemed in no haste; and throughout April the Venetians
were busy in fortifying Marghera and in various defensive
preparations. They also tried by every argument and offer in their
power to persuade England and France to come to their aid. But on
May 4 the attack on Venice began in earnest. As earnest was its
defence; and the experience of the next three months and more is one
that merits a far more detailed and careful history than can be given
here,--such an one as may be found in "The Dawn of Italian
Independence." During those months the heroism, the patriotism, and
the devotion of the Venetians were such as has not been surpassed.
They knew that without aid from some outside power they must at last
succumb, not to the Austrians, but to famine and disease. The aid
never came. Both French and English men-of-war lay in sight of
Venice, beyond the line of danger, watching the bombardment as they
might watch a harmless parade. They saw the corpse-laden boats
passing and repassing to San Michele. In one week fifteen hundred
died of cholera; but when the Venetian director of hospitals asked
the French naval commander for medicine, he replied, "That would be
{298} contrary to the Law of Nations, since it is natural that the
besieger seeks to do as much injury as possible to the besieged "!
Through all that summer Manin was the soul of Venice. On him
devolved all responsibility, and he bore his trust with absolute
fidelity. At length, when food was exhausted, the wells dried, and
the city was being rapidly depopulated by famine, he capitulated. On
the 30th of August Radetzky found that he had triumphed over a
pest-ridden, starving, dying city. Forty Venetians had been
condemned to banishment. Manin was of the number; and early on the
28th, followed by the prayers and blessings of the people, he sailed
away, never to see Venice again. But as he looked back upon her
beloved towers, as she faded from his sight forever, no foreign flag
floated above her. The kindly exile saved him from the actual sight
of her dismemberment by the Hapsburg bird of prey.
The enemies of Italy now believed that the last hope of Italian
liberty was destroyed. Save in Piedmont, that little kingdom, no
remnant of freedom could be discovered. The various princes who
ruled, from the Alps to the Sicilies, ruled by Austrian permission,
and maintained themselves by Austrian support. But there were those
who still hoped, still prayed, still labored for the full liberty of
all Italy; and among these Manin was with the foremost. Garibaldi
never despaired, and even the defeated and dying Charles Albert
wrote:--
"If Divine Providence has not permitted that the regeneration of
Italy should be accomplished, I have confidence that at least it is
only deferred; that so many examples of virtue, so many acts of
courage and generosity, emanating from the nation, will not remain
sterile, and that past adversities will only engage the peoples of
Italy to be another time more united to be more invincible."
{299}
This prophecy was fulfilled. Venice was not the scene of the great
struggle. It was on the mainland that the battles were fought, and
in other parts of Italy that the diplomatic tournaments were held.
It requires little imagination to see with what interest every action
was watched, how eagerly all news was heard by the Venetians, ground
as they were beneath the Austrian heel; and when, after the battle of
Solferino, in 1859, from the Campanile the fleets were visible off
the lagoons, the heart of Venice throbbed with that of all Italy in
the feeling of a national life which was every day growing stronger
and stronger.
But the end was not yet. The Peace of Villafranca brought the
Venetians no release, and the fresh disappointment was hard to bear.
They had rejoiced with each success of the allied Piedmontese and
French. They had even dreamed dreams, and anticipated choosing their
own ruler and being again an independent people. They longed to
bring home their dead Manin, and by their respect to his remains
testify their love for him. Every house in Venice in an hour became
a house of mourning; and a feeling of utter desolation, of being
deserted, forgotten, was like a black pall over all. Even Milan,
which had so long shared the fate of Venice, was now free.
The truth was better than this. All Italy was rebellious at the fate
of Venice; and at Milan, least of all, was she forgotten. No
settlement was desired that did not give freedom to Venice. Every
Italian in reality wished but one thing,--a united, a single Italy.
In the new Parliament, in October, 1860, Cavour spoke of the union of
Venice to the rest of Italy as a fact that must soon be accomplished;
and we have trustworthy proof that neither the successful Garibaldi
in the quiet of Caprera, nor the king amid his cares at Turin, was
forgetful of Venice and Rome. In the midst of the exacting duties of
these {300} days, when a new government was to be organized and
established, and that government was weighed down with debt, with
brigandage, and with many other evils of a more subtle nature, which
taxed the wisdom and forbearance of the king and his ministers, their
thoughts were often fixed upon the injustice to Venice; and the only
methods by which she could be freed--war or negotiation--were
discussed with untiring interest, and there was constantly growing a
determination to force a solution of the Venetian and Roman questions.
However, it was not until 1866 that the real struggle came. To the
call for soldiers the most satisfactory responses were made. They
came from all classes, from the most aristocratic families, as well
as the middle and lower classes; and the Italian army soon numbered
about two hundred thousand men. The Venetians had contributed
fourteen thousand men before this; and when the call for volunteers
was made, many more succeeded in passing the frontier and joining the
army.
On the 24th of June the Austrians were triumphant at Custoza; but the
Prussian allies of Italy, on the 5th of July, so defeated the
Austrians at Sadowa, that through the French emperor an offer was
made to restore Venetia to Italy. The final treaty was not concluded
between Austria and Italy until Oct. 3, 1866; and meantime, in a
naval battle off Lissa, the Italians had suffered a most mortifying
defeat, under such circumstances as deprived Admiral Persano of his
rank, and dismissed him from the service.
Three days after the treaty was signed, the troops of Italy were
received in Venice with an enthusiasm which was only exceeded by that
of the reception of Victor Emmanuel himself a month later. Now
acknowledged as King of Italy by all other governments, with the iron
crown of Lombardy and the famous quadrilateral {301} peacefully in
his possession, he had but one thing more to gain,--the submission of
Rome,--before he could proclaim the unification of Italy; and this
was sure to come, as it did but four years later.
In 1873 the Emperor of Austria invited the King of Italy to Vienna on
the occasion of the Great Exhibition. The invitation was most
courteously given and as courteously accepted; and two years later
the Emperor Francis Joseph proposed to return the visit of Victor
Emmanuel, and suggested Venice as the city in which they should meet.
One must reflect for a moment on the meaning of such a visit to
Venice. It was the fulfilment of the prophecy of Daniele Manin: "The
day will come in which Italy, reconstituted as a nation, will be the
first friend of Austria." This great patriot believed that freedom
and right must triumph over despotism and wrong. But one month
before the visit of the Austrian Emperor the statue of Manin had been
inaugurated with splendid ceremonies, and the most heartfelt tributes
to his honor paid by the Venetians whom he had served so faithfully.
His remains had been brought from Paris, in 1868, and deposited in a
temporary tomb in the Cathedral of San Marco, the only interment
there for more than three centuries. The church of S. Paterniano was
taken down, and the statue of Manin erected on the site near the red
house in which he had lived; and the campo is now called by the name
of the patriot instead of that of the saint.
It was on the 5th of April, 1875, that a procession of gondolas, all
in gala dress, passed up the Grand Canal. The most magnificent of
all these hundreds of boats bore the King of Italy and his guest, the
Emperor of Austria and King of Hungary. The whole city demonstrated
its good will in every possible way; and when the two sovereigns
landed at the Piazzetta, there was a great demonstration {302} of
welcome. The bands played alternately the national airs of the two
countries, and in every possible way the people strove to express the
fact that the hostility against Austria which had so long reigned at
Venice, was absolutely a thing of the past. Victor Emmanuel was so
much gratified by the conduct of the Venetians on this occasion that
he frequently referred to it as a proof of the nobility of a people
who could so soon forget and forgive all that Venice had suffered in
the long years of her bondage under the Austrian rule.
From these beginnings, which we have so cursorily considered, in
little more than a quarter of a century, the Italy we now know has
arisen.
{303}
CHAPTER XVI.
SAINTS AND OTHERS.
In the earliest days of the Venetian Republic a church was built on
the Rialto, and dedicated to Saint James; and when in 452 the decree
was issued at Padua which ordered the gathering together of the
straggling inhabitants who had fled from Attila and his Huns, and the
formation of a town under the rule of consuls, it was to this notable
warrior saint that these people looked for protection. Tradition
teaches that this earliest church in Venice stood on a portion of the
land now covered by the Cathedral of San Marco.
About a century later, when already the Republic of Venice was rising
in importance and esteem, Narses, coming from his victory over the
Ostrogoths, visited the Venetians, and built them a new chapel, which
he dedicated to Saint Theodore,--a young Syrian soldier saint, much
honored in the Oriental church. He was apparently a satisfactory
protector, for all went well with the Venetians under his tutelage.
Their numbers and wealth increased so that one island was quite
insufficient for their habitations, and no one church could suffice
for the growing state or city.
During these important years images of Saint Theodore, whom we have
seen standing on a column in the Piazzetta, opposite the lion of his
more fortunate successor, were cherished and worshipped by the
people, who looked to him as their efficient patron and guardian; and
with {304} reason,--for if his symbols were rightly understood, his
saintship taught the Republic the wise policy of exerting its
strength for protection and defence rather than for invasion and
assault. But the time came when Saint Theodore was superseded, in
spite of the good services he had rendered Venice during nearly three
centuries,--centuries, too, when the struggle to live and grow and
build up the Republic taxed the heads and hands of all, and required
an able defender to watch over them.
There is a legend that during the first Crusade, in 1099, when Vitale
Michieli was Doge, a flotilla of two hundred and seven vessels sailed
from Venice in command of the son of the Doge, Giovanni Michieli, and
Arrigo Contarini, Bishop of Castello, whose father had been Doge
about twenty years before.
Their alleged object was to succor Godfrey de Bouillon; but they seem
to have been far more successful as relic-hunters than as Knights of
the Cross, and brought back rich treasures to the churches of Venice,
among which was the body of Saint Theodore, which they found at a
small town near the city of Myra. It was received with joy at
Venice, and deposited in the Church of San Salvatore; but as this
saint had already been superseded by the great Evangelist, he seems
to have been left principally to the Confraternity of San Teodoro,
whose _scuola_ is close to San Salvatore.
In 829 two Venetian merchants, Buono of Malamocco and Rustico of
Torcello, with ten galleys, were trading clandestinely in the port of
Alexandria, just at the time when the Caliph of Egypt was building a
splendid palace, and for its decoration was contemplating denuding
all the Christian temples of their treasures and ornaments. Hearing
this, these merchants feared that the Church of St. Mark, where that
Evangelist was honorably reposing, would be desecrated; and they
determined if possible to {305} rescue the sacred body and bear it to
Venice. When they proposed to the Greek priest of the temple to aid
them in their designs, he naturally refused, and represented to them
the sin and danger of such an act; but their promises of riches and
prosperity at Venice overcame his scruples, and he yielded to their
wishes. The body of Saint Mark was wrapped in the linen shroud of
Saint Claudia, and laid in a deep basket. It was then covered with a
thick layer of herbs, on which joints of pork were laid. The
Venetian seamen who carried the basket to the ship walked leisurely,
taking the precaution to cry out _Khanzir! Khanzir!_ (pork, pork),
which effectually prevented any examination by Mussulmans. When
safely on the vessel, the basket was hoisted into the shrouds, and
was thus safely borne away.
A tradition adds that during a tempest on the voyage the saint
appeared to a priest, who was one of the passengers, and commanded
the sails to be furled. This being done, the ship next morning
reached the port of Olivolo, while the remainder of the fleet were
scattered by the furious storm.
The saint was welcomed with immense satisfaction, and his arrival was
of great importance to the State. It increased the courage and the
commerce of the Republic. Pilgrims of all ranks, from crowned heads
to the poorest sailors, came to worship at his shrine. A commercial
fair was instituted in his honor; and although Saint Theodore was not
discarded, Saint Mark was by common consent placed above him, his
image and name being stamped on the coins of Venice, and woven in her
banners, while the battle-cry from this time was _viva San Marco!_
Very soon the Doge Badoer II. died, and in his will provided for the
erection of a mausoleum for the sacred bones of the new patron saint,
which was the beginning of the Basilica of San Marco. Meantime the
relics {306} of Saint Mark were deposited in the Chapel of St.
Theodore, and there worshipped; and as if that were not sufficiently
humiliating to the superseded warrior, the chapel itself was
demolished to make room for the more imposing edifice of the newly
arrived saint. More fortunate than his predecessors, Saint Mark has
retained his honored place in the hearts of the Venetians, through
all the days of their glory, and alas! through those of their decline.
The people treasure many legends of their saint, and their love and
reverence for him survive their knowledge of their former state. San
Marco the Saint, San Marco the Cathedral, and San Marco the Piazza
remain to them,--facts of which they may well be proud,--but the
Doges, the Bucentaur, the coronations, the tournaments, the pomp,
luxury, and wealth,--where are they?
If one doubted the miraculous benefits which Saint Mark has conferred
on Venice, he need but to listen to some pious Venetian while he
recounts in his soft and fascinating dialect the saving of the city
in 1340.
He would hear that on the 25th of February in that year a terrific
storm prevailed. The sounds that came from the sea were as if some
frightful enemy were approaching with shrieks and curses, which rent
the air as no storm was ever known to do. For three days the floods
had been swelling, and the water was three cubits higher than ever it
had been, and threatened the destruction of the city.
Affrighted and helpless before an enemy whom they could neither
attack nor repulse, the people sought the Basilica, and prayed to San
Marco for succor. Masses were constantly repeated, and the vast
throngs prayed and watched by turns for an answer to their prayers.
An old fisherman made his way from one of the islands with great
difficulty, having vowed to San Marco that if {307} he would but
guide him home in safety, his earnings for the rest of his days
should be devoted to the saint. More dead than alive, he reached the
Riva di San Marco; for, more than the storm, and more than all his
exertion in rowing, the unearthly shrieks and yells he had heard had
unfitted him for further exertion,--he was paralyzed with fear.
But scarcely had he reached the Riva when a man suddenly stood beside
him, and asked to be taken to San Giorgio Maggiore. He would listen
to no refusals, and so entreated the fisherman that he believed it
must be the will of God that he should go. Strangely enough, though
going against the waves, a path seemed to open before them, and the
rowing was far lighter than it had been when he was alone in the
boat. At San Giorgio the stranger landed, and bade the boatman await
his return.
When he came he brought with him a much younger man, and now bade the
fisherman row to San Niccolo del Lido. Aghast at such a distance in
such a sea, the poor man begged for mercy and release; but he was
encouraged to row boldly, and promised strength for all his task.
And so it was: the boat seemed to leap over the waves; and when they
reached San Niccolo, the two men landed, and soon returned with a
third, and bade the boatman row out beyond the two castles.
When they came to the sea, they saw a bark full of demons coming to
overwhelm the city with water. The three men in the boat made the
sign of the cross, and bade the demons depart. Instantly the bark
vanished, the sea was calm, and the waters began to subside. Then
the men commanded the boatman to land them at the places from which
he had brought them; this he did, and of the third demanded payment
for what he had done.
"Thou art right," replied the man; "go now to the {308} Doge and to
the Procuratori of St. Mark. Tell them what thou hast seen, for
Venice had been overwhelmed but for us three. I am Saint Mark the
Evangelist, the protector of Venice. The other is the brave knight
Saint George, and he whom thou didst take up at the Lido is the holy
bishop St. Nicholas. Say that you are to be paid, and tell them
likewise that this tempest arose because a certain schoolmaster of
San Felice did sell his soul to the Devil and then hanged himself."
The fisherman replied that his story would not be believed. Then
Saint Mark gave him a ring from his finger, saying, "Show them this,
and say that when they look in the sanctuary they will not find it;"
and as he spoke he disappeared. The next morning, when the boatman
went to the Doge and the Procuratori, it all happened as had been
said. The man was paid, and a solemn procession was ordained to give
thanks to the three saints. The boatman received a pension, and the
ring was replaced in the sanctuary. If any one doubts this, let him
go to the Accademia, and look at the pictures which commemorate this
story. Would Giorgione have taken all the trouble to represent the
scene if it had never occurred; or would Paris Bordone have repeated
it, as may be seen in the same gallery?
Another legend of the benefits which Saint Mark loved to confer on
his people is perpetuated by a wonderful picture of Jacopo
Tintoretto's in the same collection. A poor slave who persisted in
worshipping at the shrine of Saint Mark had for this reason been
condemned to torture by his cruel master. Just when the brutal
executioners were about to begin their fiendish cruelties, the saint
descends like a whirlwind; the executioners are confounded, their
instruments are broken, and the slave is free!
Another miracle of Saint Mark's is connected with the {309}
preservation of his own relics. In 976 a fire destroyed a large
portion of San Marco; and when the repairs were completed, the place
in which the body of the saint had rested was forgotten. This was a
true sorrow to the Doge and the people, and at last they determined
to keep a fast and pray God to show them what no man could tell. The
25th of June was appointed for this fast, and a solemn procession was
made; and while in the cathedral all were fervently imploring the
manifestation of their treasure, with great joy they beheld a pillar
shake, and then fall to the ground, disclosing the bronze chest in
which the body of the Evangelist was preserved. These sacred relics
are now beneath the high altar in San Marco, as is recorded on a
marble slab at the back of the altar.
Sanudo gives a curious account of the acquisition of another saint.
He says that in 992 Pietro Barbolano, together with Pietro
Giustiniani, was sent to Constantinople on a diplomatic mission.
There the future Doge saw the remains of Saint Saba, and was seized
with the desire to obtain them for his beloved Venice. At length
Barbolano, by one argument and another, prevailed on the guardians of
the saint to sell her to him; but when the night came on which he was
leaving the Golden Horn, these men showed signs of breaking their
bargain. The rain was falling in torrents, and the Greeks construed
this as an omen that they ought not to permit the saint to undertake
the voyage.
But Barbolano had with him his two sons and several servants, and he
quickly ended the matter by ordering the chest which contained the
sacred relics to be taken to his ship, which was soon under way, and
made a prosperous voyage to Venice, where Barbolano ordered the chest
to be put in a gondola and taken to his house, next the Church of San
Antonino at Castello. But when this was attempted, the chest had
become so heavy that it could {310} not be lifted; and at the same
moment the bell of the Campanile began to toll, with no visible
agency, and with such violence as threatened destruction to the tower
itself.
This caused many people to gather in the Piazza; and in their midst
Barbolano threw himself on his knees and exclaimed, "We will carry it
to the church, for the Saviour of Men has declared his will that this
body shall be placed in the shrine dedicated to Saint Antonino." It
is not easy to understand how the devout Barbolano knew all this; but
apparently he was right, for the chest was now as light as before,
and was placed in a gondola, taken to the church, and deposited on
the altar. Then the bell ceased ringing, and a dove with
miraculously white plumage hovered over the relics while a _Te Deum_
and other services were celebrated, and then vanished.
A new altar was erected for Saint Saba, near that of San Antonino,
and the bones were placed in the reliquary of the church; and on the
evening of that day, as the curé of San Antonino walked in his
garden, he "marvelled not a little to observe among the flowers a
rose of surpassing beauty; and the good man hesitated not to
associate the fair vision with the miracle of which he had just been
a witness, looking upon it as a symbol of that yet fairer flower
which had been so recently transplanted from the soil of
Constantinople to that of Venice."
It would seem strange that such a wonder-working saint should not
frequently have proved her power in the midst of the great events of
the Republic, and at times when miracles in behalf of the Venetians
were sorely needed; but doubtless she soon felt that those of her sex
did not assume power publicly in this City of the Sea, and whatever
she did was done _sub rosa_.
The same Michieli and Contarini who had brought to Venice the relics
of Saint Theodore were extremely {311} fortunate in their
relic-hunting; for they also brought home the _due corpi di San
Niccolo_, the greater and the less, and deposited them in the Church
of San Niccolo del Lido. Saint Nicholas of Myra is a protector
against robbers and violence, and is a favorite saint with sailors,
travellers, and merchants. He is also a patron of poor maidens, of
children, and especially of school-boys, and the legends of his
goodness and kindly acts are innumerable; in fact, he is so
celebrated and so important a saint that it is all the more grievous
to recount that the majority of the people who have lived since the
ninth century who have understood these matters and known all about
saints do not allow that the relics of this sainted Lycian are, or
ever were, in Venice, and Bari is the happy place wherein he is said
to repose. Thus it happens that he is often called San Niccolo di
Bari; but I should not like to speak of him thus to any of my devout
Venetian friends, least of all to my good gondolier.
Another Venetian fleet which had been to the aid of Baldwin in the
Holy Land, when returning, about 1125, obtained the body of Saint
Isidore at Chios, and that of Saint Donato at Cephalonia. These were
brought to Venice at the same time with the "great stone which had
stood near one of the gates of Tyre since the time when Our Lord,
weary after a journey, sat down to rest upon it," as well as vast
treasures of jewels, gold and silver, embroideries and carpets, and
all the splendid fabrics of the Orient. But to the reverent
Christian all else paled before the bodies of the saints. Saint
Isidore is believed now to rest in his own chapel in San Marco. San
Donato, the once saintly Bishop of Evorea, was given by Domenico
Michieli to Murano, and the Church of Santa Maria soon assumed his
name. To Torcello was brought Saint Fosca, a noble virgin who had
been martyred under the persecution of Decius at Ravenna; and her
church was second {312} only to the Cathedral of Torcello. When to
this list of saints we add the bodies of San Pancrazio and Santa
Sabina, which were given to the Abbess of San Zaccaria by Pope
Benedict III., and Saint Christina, the patron of the Venetian
States, and likewise Saint Justina of Padua,--another patron of
Venice who is represented in Venetian costume, with the city or the
cathedral of San Marco in the distance,--we may call Venice the City
of Saints as justly as the City of the Sea.
SAN LAZZARO.
One saint still remains to whom we must pay our respects; and since
his island lies some miles away to the southeast, we must devote to
him at least half of a precious Venetian day. The gondola glides
like a spirit through the narrow canals, out on the sea, where the
motion is but enough to rock one into forgetfulness of all care, even
that of self; and the mood which follows is just that in which one
should come to the old Armenian convent, with its garden of figs and
orange-trees, pomegranates and flowering shrubs.
The welcome from the monks adds still another element of peace; and
one roams quietly through the restful old place, with its church and
convent, and wonders if a less gifted mortal than he who here dwelt
and wrote,--
"Around me are the stars and waters,--
Worlds mirrored in the ocean, goodlier sight
Than torches glared back by a gaudy glass,"
could tarry here and grow forgetful of the ought and must of life.
At each window a pause is made; and the fascination of the views
leads to a feeling of sympathy with that good Mechitar, who founded
his convent here one hundred and seventy-six years ago. From the
courteous monk who {313} is our guide, we learn that this same
Mechitar, who at nine years of age desired to be a priest, and
entered a convent at fifteen, was a wonderful scholar, a writer and
poet. Some of his hymns are used in the churches of Armenia.
Mechitar, having exhausted the learning at his command in the
institutions to which he could obtain admittance, and having learned
from missionaries whom he met of the far greater advantages in
Europe, conceived the idea of establishing a literary institution for
the Armenian nation, and after many struggles founded a
Mechitaristican Society at Constantinople in 1700. Here he began to
print books in the Armenian language, and sent out some preachers to
various cities of Armenia; but soon he became the object of such
persecution that he barely escaped the galleys by putting himself
under the protection of the French ambassador.
Again, in spite of immense hindrances, he gathered his disciples at
Modon, in the Morea, and anew began the erection of a convent and
church. For twelve years he labored, when war broke out between the
Turks and the Venetians, and his property fell into the hands of the
former. Meantime Mechitar had commended himself greatly to the
Governor Emo, and to the General of the Marine, Sebastiano Mocenigo,
both of whom had given him money for his building, and the aid of
their friendship; and now he naturally turned to Venice, where he
landed in 1715. After much consultation and at the recommendation of
Emo and Mocenigo, in 1717 the Senate decreed to him the island of San
Lazzaro, which had been used as a hospital for lepers until it was no
longer needed.
Mechitar found little to help him in the old church, deserted
dormitory, two wells, and a garden, which were the only remnants of
the former buildings which existed. {314} He obtained from Rome,
where he presented his cause in person, permission to send
missionaries to the East. Rich Armenians, of whom there are many,
came to his aid; and in the remaining thirty-two years of his life he
established his convent on such a basis, and made it of such manifest
benefit to the world, that in 1810, when the monasteries of Venice
were suppressed, the Mechitaristican Society was granted its
independence.
Mechitar received only Armenians into his schools. The advance of
his own nation was the object for which he lived, labored, and
prayed. His courses of study were comprehensive, his discipline not
severe, and his whole attitude towards pupils and monks that of a
father. Seven hours a day for study, and seven for repose; in summer
one hour in the day for sleep; after dinner two hours for
conversation, and one hour at evening for walking in the garden and
for games; forty days in the summer at the country residence on the
Brenta; fifteen days in the Carnival devoted to instructive dramatic
representations; attendance on the public festivals in Venice, with
occasional outings on adjacent islands and in the neighborhood on the
mainland,--such is the outline of the rule of Mechitar. On the other
hand, his novitiate was long and exacting, and no members were
admitted unless proved to be virtuous, talented, of strong health,
and desirous, of their own choice, of joining the Society. If found
to be of indifferent abilities, they were sent back to Armenia. He
had prayers three times a day, according to Armenian custom, but
excused the younger pupils from morning prayer in church. He made no
rules of abstinence, and provided plenty of food. He allowed no monk
to leave the island without permission, and gave as few rules of
conduct as possible, his object being to strengthen them in virtue
for virtue's sake.
It is difficult to leave the windows and fix one's {315} attention
within, even to see the treasures of the library, with its Oriental
manuscripts, illuminated missals, rare books, and goodly collection
of prints. One can readily admit its claim to be the centre of
Armenian literature in all the world, but why not a great Polyglot
centre, since books are printed here in thirty-two different
languages? Hare says that this convent "obtained a fictitious
celebrity through Byron, who studied here for six months." However
one may view this, it is most interesting to read Byron's letter to
Moore (December, 1816), in which, among other things, he says:--
"By way of divertissement, I am studying daily at an Armenian
monastery the Armenian language. I found that my mind wanted
something craggy to break upon; and this--as the most difficult thing
I could discover here for an amusement--I have chosen, to torture me
into attention. It is a rich language, however, and would amply
repay any one the trouble of learning it. I try, and shall go on;
but I answer for nothing, least of all for my intentions or my
success.... Four years ago the French instituted an Armenian
professorship. Twenty pupils presented themselves on Monday morning,
full of noble ardor, ingenuous youth, and impregnable industry. They
persevered, with a courage worthy of the nation and of universal
conquest, till Thursday, when fifteen of the twenty succumbed to the
six-and-twentieth letter of the alphabet. It is, to be sure, a
Waterloo of an alphabet,--that must be said for them."
After Byron's death, a Preface to the Armenian Grammar was found
among his papers. It was probably intended for the Armenian and
English Grammar which Byron helped Dr. Aucher to prepare. The
following is an extract from this "Preface":--
"The society of the convent of S. Lazarus appears to unite all the
advantages of the monastic institution, without any of its vices.
The neatness, the comfort, the gentleness, the unaffected devotion,
the accomplishments, and the virtues of the {316} brethren of the
order, are well fitted to strike a man of the world with the
conviction that 'there is another and a better, even in this life.'
"These men are the priesthood of an oppressed and noble nation, which
has partaken of the proscription and bondage of the Jews and of the
Greeks, without the sullenness of the former or the servility of the
latter. This people has attained riches without usury, and all the
honors that can be awarded to slavery without intrigue. But they
have long occupied, nevertheless, a part of the 'House of Bondage,'
who has lately multiplied her many mansions. It would be difficult,
perhaps, to find the annals of a nation less stained with crimes than
those of the Armenians, whose virtues have been those of peace, and
their vices those of compulsion. But whatever may have been their
destiny,--and it has been bitter,--whatever it may be in future,
their country must ever be one of the most interesting on the globe;
and perhaps their language only requires to be more studied to become
more attractive. If the Scriptures are rightly understood, it was in
Armenia that Paradise was placed,--Armenia, which has paid as dearly
as the descendants of Adam for that fleeting participation of its
soil in the happiness of him who was created from its dust. It was
in Armenia that the flood first abated, and the dove alighted. But
with the disappearance of Paradise itself may be almost dated the
unhappiness of the country; for, though long a powerful kingdom, it
was scarcely ever an independent one, and the satraps of Persia and
the pachas of Turkey have alike desolated the region where God
created man in his own image."
The hours pass imperceptibly away. In hearing what the monk tells,
and in reading what he gives us concerning the Society,--like the
above and kindred facts,--the day declines, until the sensation of
the lessening light reminds us that there is still something to be
done, delightful as this reading and musing is. Within twilight has
come; but without, although the east is dusky, it is so by contrast
with the west. The setting sun has sunk {317} so far that it
illumines the sky alone, where golden minarets are reaching toward
mid-heaven, and low, sleeping clouds of purplish hue sink with the
sun beyond the horizon. At the last there are flashes of brilliant
flame, and then sea and sky are blended. The twilight grows less and
less. How silent the world seems! The gentle dip of the oars alone
is heard, until, as we come nearer the city, a snatch of song falls
on our ear, a gondola overtakes us, and Giacomo cheerfully greets a
comrade. As we near the Piazzetta, all light is gone from the sea.
We leave an inky darkness behind, which makes the blinking lamps on
the Molo seem brilliant by contrast.
Now comes a new pleasure,--for even in dreamy Venice mortals are
still doomed to eat,--and to-night we leave our better-loved Zattere
to meet friends at the Café Florian, with its frescos and mirrors and
cosey cabinets, from which, while being served, we catch glimpses of
the fast-filling square. The lights are multiplying; the concerts of
violins and harps, and the songs of the singers are beginning. The
flower-girls are tying their nosegays or weaving garlands, and gazing
wistfully at the windows of the brilliant little shops; and hundreds
of figures pass and repass, now in the shadow and now in the light.
But even this dinner will end. The delicious sorbet and the fragrant
coffee are, all too soon, things of the past. However, we do not
stay to regret them, since this evening affords one of the rare
opportunities to see La Fenice open in summer. It is always
entertaining to watch the coming and going of the gondolas to and
from this theatre; but at this season, when most of the wealthy
Venetians are away on the mainland, the audience is not brilliant,
the play not very good, and we are glad to be back in the Piazza for
an hour beneath the summer moon, and then to walk home through the
crooked _calli_, that seem more like the make-believe of the stage
than like {318} real life. There are corners so dark that they might
well be used for an ambush. But we have no enemies in Venice, and so
by aid of Giacomo's lanthorn may safely explore these narrow ways at
any hour we choose, and hang the pictures of them in our mental
gallery to look at and think about when thousands of miles away. For
who that loves Venice ever forgets her? and that which in her midst
seems dreamlike and unreal, with time and distance crystallizes into
the sharpest and clearest of memories.
On such a night as this impassionedly
The old Venetian sung these verses rare,
"That Venice must of needs eternal be,
For Heaven had looked through the pellucid air,
And cast its reflex in the crystal sea,
And Venice was the image pictured there."
I hear them now, and tremble, for I seem
As treading on an unsubstantial dream.
Who talks of vanished glory, of dead power,
Of things that were, and are not? Is he here?
Can he take in the glory of this hour,
And call it all the decking of a bier?
No, surely as on that Titanic tower
The Guardian Angel stands in æther clear,
With the moon's silver tempering his gold wing,
So Venice lives, as lives no other thing.
LORD HOUGHTON.
{319}
CHAPTER XVII.
HISTORIANS AND SCHOLARS.
When we consider the literature of Venice, we are amazed to find how
few names are in its list of authors, and how narrow the field they
occupied. Of poets there were none; and, indeed, the only writers of
importance were the early annalists and the later historians. That
peculiarly self-centred trait of which we have spoken as belonging to
the Venetians in various directions, was eminently characteristic of
their writers. It was Venice, and only Venice, that interested them;
and from its earliest days there were those, nameless now, who were
so impressed with the growth, the strength, and the splendor of the
city that they saw growing and spreading around them, that they wrote
it all down, and thus furnished invaluable material to those who came
after them and wrote in a more elegant and systematic style. Some of
these early annals still exist. They are read by the learned, and
are said to be a strange medley of history and fable, all expressed
in language of such vigor as to emphasize the earnestness of the
writers, and frequently with such realism as would eclipse the
authors of our day who cultivate that quality. His Serenity Marco
Foscarini, in his work on Venetian literature, gives the names of
such a host of these imperceptible writers, who are more than half
lost in the ancient fogs in which they existed, that one must be
brave even to read these names, much more so to attempt their works.
{320}
Sagornino, of the eleventh century, is more real; and no aspect in
which Venice could be viewed was neglected by him and his followers.
Its ceremonials, treaties, ecclesiastical and other important
matters, are treated with no more attention and respect than are the
merest details and most common events. They were all lovers of this
mistress, Venezia, to whom the slightest variation in her pulse was
almost a matter of life and death.
But not until the fourteenth century were these chronicles put into a
form which could be called history. Andrea Dandolo, Petrarch's
friend, the first scholarly Doge, may also be called the first
Venetian historian. His family had already given three Doges to the
Republic, and he had not only the early annals, but the state papers
and those of his ancestors, on which to rely for the facts which he
wove into a formal, dignified, and conscientious narration of the
lives and deeds of the rulers of Venice who had preceded him.
After him, for a half-century, again there were but the chronicles of
monks who wrote of their orders, soldiers who fought their battles
over on parchment, or idle patricians who amused themselves by
keeping diaries. A history of Venice was talked of, was ardently
desired; but no one undertook it, until Marco Antonio Sabellico, a
native of Vicovaro, was seized with the desire to write such a book,
which was published in 1487. It seems almost impossible to believe
what we are told,--that he had seen no authoritative book on Venice,
that he knew neither Dandolo's history, nor that best account of the
Chioggian War, written by the nephew of the great Zeno. But be this
as it may, in fifteen months he completed a work which, though not
without its errors, stands as an authority, and is without doubt the
most eloquent of Venetian annals. It was at once accepted with
enthusiasm; and the Senate graciously gave to Sabellico two {321}
hundred ducats a year. The translation from the Latin by Dolce
retains the telling eloquence of the original. It is a wonderful
account of the internal and external affairs of the Republic, given
with a pen so graphic as to make its word pictures full of the charm
that we find in the work of the artist who places before the eye the
color and the details of what he represents.
Again an interval of dilettantish essays transpired, until, in 1515,
Andrea Navagero, whom Foscarini calls the most elegant Latin writer
in Italy, was made the Historian of the Republic. But in spite of
this great honor, which came to him early in his life, we have no
history by him; and his own story is tragical. Fifteen years passed
after his appointment to office, and the work done by Sabellico in as
many months was not yet forthcoming, when, in 1530, he was sent on an
embassy to France. Soon after reaching Paris he sickened and died,
and on his last day burned all his papers,--ten books, it is said, of
the history of Venice. It is believed that this was done in a
delirium; but the sensitive nature of Navagero, and his morbid
dissatisfaction with his work, leave a doubt as to his condition when
he committed this deplorable act.
Then, too, another writer, older than he, of infinite research,--Mrs.
Oliphant calls him "one of the most astonishing and gifted of
historical moles,"--Marino Sanudo, was collecting and putting
together that work of his for which we all thank him and his
Maker,--an endless procession of facts with all possible details,--an
_omnium gatherum_ from which all seekers can select that which suits
their needs.
Here we must note a curious coincidence. We have a chronicle written
by another Andrea Navagero, sometimes quoted, but finished while the
historian was a child. And likewise was there a second Marino
Sanudo, called {322} Torsello, again the elder of the two, who wrote
more than a century before the oft-quoted historian. This Sanudo
Torsello wrote of the Crusades and of other matters more distinctly
Venetian, and although sometimes quoted, is of little importance
beside the younger man. In fact, the two elders, Navagero and
Sanudo, serve principally to create a confusion by their names, and
are of no special value in any direction.
The younger Sanudo is very important among Venetian historians, and
really began his researches when but nine years old. He was of a
noble house, had all possible advantages of education and travel, was
keen in his observations, and in a very sober manner makes many a
humorous remark, like that one so often quoted: "If the story had not
been true, our brave Venetians would not have painted it." When
Marino was seventeen years old, his cousin Marco Sanudo was appointed
one of the Syndics of Terra Firma, and took the young author with him
to Padua. From this time he noted in his diaries all that came under
his observation, and all he heard. He left, besides his voluminous
published works, fifty-six volumes of these journals, many, if not
all, of which are now published, and afford an almost momentary
account of the life in Venice for a half-century before 1533. He
collected a great library, and was active in his public life. He
records his speeches in the Senate, and they were almost numberless.
He held many important offices, and was extremely active in the
discussions of all public matters in the Great Council as well as the
Senate. He was usually in the minority; but that never discouraged
him, and he more than once records his determination to "let no day
pass without writing the news that comes from day to day, so that I
may the better, accustoming myself to the strict truth, go on with my
true history, which was begun several years ago. Seeking no
eloquence of {323} composition, I will thus note down everything as
it happens." He also records his determination "to do something in
this age in honor of the eternal majesty and exaltation of the
Venetian State, to which I can never fail, being born in that
allegiance, for which I would die a thousand times if that could
advantage my country, notwithstanding that I have been beaten, worn
out, and evil entreated in her councils." And thus it resulted that
his diaries became an unequalled storehouse of minute and general
information, and it is largely to them that we owe that fascinating
and curious information which admits us, so to speak, into the houses
and palaces, the social gatherings, the august assemblies, even into
the Council of Ten, and the innermost recesses of life in mediæval
Venice.
When one reviews a life like that of Marino Sanudo, and is impressed
with the fact that he lived and breathed in exactly the atmosphere
that suited him,--that from his earliest years he was inexpressibly
busy in doing just that for which he was best fitted by nature, that
which of all the world he would have chosen,--it naturally seems that
he must have been a very happy man. But he had his trials,--some of
them very heavy to him. Again and again he is excluded from public
office. At first he congratulates himself on having more time, but
later it becomes evident that he feels his unpopularity keenly, as
one may see when he says:--
"In the past year [1522] I have been dismissed from the Giunta
[Zonta], of which two years ago I was made a member; but while I sat
in that Senate I always in my speeches did my best for my country,
with full honor from the senators for my opinions and judgment, even
when against those of my colleagues. And this is the thing that has
injured me; for had I been mute, applauding individuals as is the
present fashion, letting things pass that are against the interest of
my dearest country, acting contrary to the law, as those who have the
{324} guidance of the city permit to be done, even had I not been
made Avvogadore, I should have been otherwise treated.... I confess
that this repulse has caused me no small grief, and has been the
occasion of my illness; and if again I was rejected in the ballot for
the past year, it was little wonder seeing that many thought me dead,
or so infirm that I was no longer good for anything, not having
stirred from my house for many months before. But the Divine bounty
has still preserved me, and, as I have said, enabled me to complete
the diary for this year; for however suffering I was I never failed
to record the news of every day which was brought to me by my
friends, so that another volume is finished."
But the signal grief of his life must have come from the appointment
of the young and inexperienced Navagero as the historian of the
Republic. He speaks of this Messer Andrea Navagero, who was paid for
writing history, with gentle contempt; but the speedy death of
Andrea, and the fact that he left nothing behind to be placed in
comparison with the work of Sanudo, disposes of this matter with
comparatively few words.
But when Pietro Bembo was appointed to succeed Navagero, what must
have been Sanudo's indignation,--a man who had lived out of Venice,
who did not even remove to that city to write its history, who had
done nothing to prove his fitness for the office, and who hesitated
not to ask Sanudo to lend him the precious diaries from which to
extract materials for his own writing!
Well did Sanudo answer that he would "give the sweat of his brow to
no one." And then Bembo wrote from Padua, asking the Doge to compel
Sanudo to open his collections to him. But at last the poor,
slighted man did give his "sweat" to his unconscionable rival; and
the result is much to his credit, for beside his animated and
entertaining narrative Bembo's writing is as dry as desert sands.
{325}
Very late in his life the Ten gave him one hundred and fifty ducats a
year as a recognition of his books,--"which I vow to God is nothing
to the great labor they have cost me," as he remarks. Until within
two and a half years of his death he continued his diaries; and as
soon as he ceased to write them he made a will, in which he gave them
bound and enclosed in a book-case to the Signoria, to be placed where
they should think best. And now comes the most astounding fact.
These treasures, which we should naturally think would have been
placed with care and pride where they could be seen and consulted,
were put no one knows where, and in 1805 were found in the Royal
Library at Vienna, having got there nobody knows how!
Sanudo's library and his collections of pictures and curiosities,
from the celebrated _mappamondo_ to matters of slight importance and
value, had become famous; and we are told that "the illustrious
strangers who visited Venice in these days went away dissatisfied
unless they had seen the Arsenal, the jewels of S. Marco, and the
library of Sanudo." Sometimes they were forced to be "dissatisfied;"
for the old historian grew weary of "illustrious persons," and said
them nay with a will, when asked to display his collections.
To him personally, while he had been greatly interested in all his
_roba_, the books were the most precious, and at one time he had
intended to make a gift of them to the library of S. Marco; but
although long promised, this library was not begun. Sanudo was poor.
He could not even reward Anna of Padua, who had served him faithfully
for twenty years, and had not been paid. He also felt himself
compelled to relinquish the marble sarcophagus in San Zaccaria, for
which a previous will had provided; and so at last, he directed his
executors to sell his collections, to pay the worthy Anna, to bury
him "where {326} he falls," preserving only the epitaph which he had
written to his great comfort. No one knows where he was laid; and
not a word to his honor and remembrance existed in Venice until Mr.
Rawdon Brown, who has rescued the name and works of Sanudo from
oblivion, placed an inscription on his house, still standing, with
the Sanudo arms upon it, behind the Fondaco dei Turchi (Museo
Civico), in the parish of S. Giacomo dell' Orio. Mrs. Oliphant
says:--
"Would it have damped his zeal, we wonder, could he have foreseen
that his unexampled work should drop into oblivion, after historians,
such as the best informed of Doges, Marco Foscarini, knowing next to
nothing of him--till suddenly a lucky and delighted student fell upon
those volumes in the Austrian Library; and all at once, after three
centuries and more, old Venice sprang to light under the hand of her
old chronicler, and Marino Sanudo with all his pictures, his
knick-knacks, his brown rolls of manuscript and dusty volumes round
him, regained, as was his right, the first place among Venetian
historians,--one of the most notable figures of the mediæval world."
To be held in everlasting remembrance was the reward that Marino
Sanudo ardently coveted; and though never appreciated by his
contemporaries, and utterly forgotten by the whole world for hundreds
of years, he is now respected and valued, and that _eterna memoria_,
to earn which he valued no toil, at last is his.
It remains to speak of Theobaldo Mannucci, or Manutio, familiarly
called Messer or Ser Aldo, best known to us as Aldus, the great
printer of Venice, whose house may still be seen, in the Campo San
Agostino, near the Scuola di S. Giovanni Evangelista, near by the
spot on which stood the house of the _gran cavaliere_, Bajamonte
Tiepolo. Aldus was not a Venetian, having first seen the light in
Bassiano, near Rome. The history of {327} his earlier years is
indistinct; but this much seems to be true, that, being a great
scholar and student, he had also been a tutor in the family of the
Pii, princes of Carpi. He was also the friend of Count Giovanni Pico
at Mirandola, one of the most scholarly men of his age.
At length, for one reason and another, too many and too involved to
be given here, he decided to go to Venice, and begin that making of
books which in his hands became such an honor and advantage to that
city; and in this he was much encouraged, and probably substantially
aided, by Count Pico. Thus a Florentine and a Roman brought to this
Mistress of the Sea a kind of prestige which no son of hers had
given. Aldus probably knew that foreign printers, of whom we have
spoken, had been encouraged to do their work at Venice; but he was no
mere printer, and although it is by that name that he is most
frequently spoken of, he was a scholar before he was a printer, and
became a printer because of his scholarship. He had found how meagre
and incorrect were the text-books of his time; and to supply these
defects and give to the world books free from blemishes in substance
and form, was his untradesmanlike motive.
It is believed that he went to Venice about 1488, and his first
publication appeared six years later. Meantime he had prepared the
manuscripts he wished to print, and had drawn around him a large
number of men, old and young, from senators and priests to the youths
who sought learning, to listen to his reading and exposition of the
Greek and Latin authors. The Neacademia of Aldo became a most
important factor in Venetian life. To quote Mrs. Oliphant:--
"Sabellico, the learned and eloquent historian, with whose work
Venice was ringing; Sanudo, our beloved chronicler, then beginning
his life-long work; Bembo, the future cardinal, already one of the
fashionable semi-priests of society, holding a {328} canonicate; the
future historian who wrote no history, Andrea Navagero, but he in his
very earliest youth; another cardinal, Leandro, then a barefooted
friar,--all crowded about the new classical teacher. The enthusiasm
with which he was received seems to have exceeded even the ordinary
welcome accorded in that age of literary freemasonry to every man who
had any new light to throw upon the problems of knowledge. And while
he expounded and instructed, the work of preparation for still more
important labors went on. It is evident that he made himself fully
known, and even became an object of general curiosity, one of the
personages to be visited by all that were on the surface of Venetian
society, and that the whole of Venice was interested and entertained
by the idea of the new undertaking.... It was a labor of love, an
enterprise of the highest public importance, and as such commended
itself to all who cared for education or the humanities, or who had
any desire to be considered as members or disciples of that highest
and most cultured class of men of letters, who were the pride and
glory of the age."
His house, though "far from the busy haunts," was soon a
gathering-place and centre for such men as were seriously interested
in what was there transpiring; and Aldus skilfully employed all who
could and would aid him in the preparation of the almost
indecipherable manuscripts, in proof-reading, and in many matters
which demanded keen intelligence and infinite patience.
The picture of his busy shops, to which these men turned and where
they labored, leaving the fascinations of the Piazza and the exciting
life of Venice at her best, makes one of the most interesting of the
many remarkable scenes of that unique and marvellous city. And it is
curious to note how in the lives of men like Aldus in the present day
his vexations are repeated, reminding us that there is nothing new
under the sun. He complains that if he attempted to answer the
letters he receives, both night and day would be too little for the
task; and {329} troublesome visitors were as numerous then as now,
wherever great men live. He humorously wrote of these:--
"Some from friendship, some from interest, the greater part because
they have nothing to do,--for then 'Let us go,' they say, 'to
Aldo's.' They come in crowds and sit gaping,--
'Non missura cutem, nisi plena cruoria hirudo.'
I do not speak of those who come to read me either poems or prose,
generally rough and unpolished, for publication, for I defend myself
from these by no answer or else a very brief one, which I hope nobody
will take in ill part, since it is done, not from pride or scorn, but
because all my leisure is taken up in publishing books of established
fame. As for those who come for no reason, we make bold to admonish
them in classical words in a sort of edict placed over our door,
'WHOEVER YOU ARE, Aldo requests you, if you want anything, ask it in
few words and depart, unless, like Hercules, you come to lend the aid
of your shoulders to the weary Atlas. Here will always be found in
that case something for you to do, however many you may be.'"
We can well understand that the publication of the Greek Grammar,
Aristotle, and kindred authors must have been a work of time. But
five books were produced in two years, and that with the aid of two
scholarly editors, besides the zealous help of friends, to which we
have referred above. In addition to the costly methods that Aldus
was forced to pursue, he could find no type that suited him, and set
himself to invent one; that known at first as Aldino, and later
Italic, was the result. There is a tradition that he aimed to
reproduce the even and clear chirography of Petrarch, and himself
described the result as a type "of the greatest beauty, such as was
never done before." Aldus hastened to ask of the Signoria the sole
right to use this type for ten years, which privilege was granted him
upon the following appeal:--
{330}
"I supplicate that for ten years no other should be allowed to print
in cursive letters of any sort in the dominion of your Serenity, nor
to sell books printed in any other countries in any part of the said
dominion, under pain to whoever breaks this law of forfeiting the
books and paying a fine of two hundred ducats for each offence, which
fine shall be divided into three parts,--one for the officer who
shall convict, another for the _Pietà_, the third for the informer,
etc."
Query, was this not putting a strong temptation before the informer
and the convicting officer?
The type we now use in italics is the descendant of the Aldino, but
not so delicate and graceful as the ancestor. The first book printed
in this manner appeared in 1501, and, as seems most fitting, was the
poems of Petrarch, printed directly from his own manuscript. The
Aldine mark on the titlepages of this great printer's books was the
anchor and dolphin; and Lorenzo of Pavia said of this volume to the
Duchess Isabella Gonzaga, it is "a rare thing, which, like your
Ladyship, has no paragon."
After a time Erasmus of Rotterdam wrote to Aldus concerning the
publication of his "Adages," and finally came to Venice, and became
one of the assistants of the printer,--this man of great fame,
greater than those Italians who called him "that Dutchman" and
laughed at his moderation and large appetite. Jealousy and envy
invaded the Stamperia, where the sounds of the gayety of fashionable
Venice never were heard, and where little interest was felt in the
struggles, the feuds, and the betrayals which were rampant there,
from the Great Council and that of the Ten down through the many
"sets" of _maggiori_ and _minori_ in that busy, overflowing city.
What a contrast to all this was that conclave of the Neacademia on
the days when the obscure passages of Aristotle, Virgil, and other
ancient authors were discussed! How gravely did they give their
reasons why an {331} adverb would better express the meaning than an
adjective, and what lengthy arguments were needed to decide for or
against a relative pronoun!
Sadly we record the total changes that came with the wars of the
first decade of the sixteenth century. Aldus, his Stamperia, his
precious manuscripts collected with such pain and care, all
disappeared; and though he returned to his labors with characteristic
zeal, he gained fame only, and died poor. He did not work for
profit. His copyright in type, if we may use the word, was of little
use, and his thoughts were bent on other things than money-making.
He never swerved from his decision, in the preface to the Greek
Grammar, to devote his life to the good of mankind. Renouard, the
French critic, tells us how his devotion to his chosen calling became
a passion. If he heard of a manuscript that could explain an
existing text, he rested not until he got it. He valued no labor,
expense, travel, or study that could further his ends, and it was
wonderful to see with what readiness he was assisted. Some for
money, some without reward, and others for the same reasons which
influenced him, gave all the aid possible to further his success; and
from distant places, without solicitation from him, precious
manuscripts were sent for his advantage.
He was succeeded by his son called Aldo _il Giovane_, and his
grandson; but even with the advances made in processes, no imitator
nor rival excelled the scholarly bookmaker, _Aldo il Vecchio_, whose
books are now among the very choicest treasures of the richest
libraries in the world. Quoting again from the "Makers of Venice,"--
"Let us leave Aldo with all his aids about him,--the senators, the
schoolmasters, the poor scholars, the learned men who were to live to
be cardinals, and those who were to die as poor as they were famous;
and his learned Greek Musurus, and his poor student from
Rotterdam,--a better scholar perhaps than any {332} of them,--and all
his idle visitors coming to gape and admire, while our Sanudo swept
round the corner from S. Giacomo dell' Orio, with his vigorous step
and his toga over his shoulders, and the young men who were of the
younger faction came in, a little contemptuous of their elders and
strong in their own learning, to the meeting of the Aldine academy
and the consultation on new readings. The Stamperia was as distinct
a centre of life as the Piazza, though not so apparent before the
eyes of men."
It is a singular fact that the Senate of Venice, in 1362, should have
thought it worth while to present Petrarch with a palace, that he
might in return, "with the good will of our Saviour, and of the
Evangelist himself," make Saint Mark the heir of his library, and yet
should have postponed the beginning of the building in which the
books should be kept nearly two centuries; for it was not until 1536
that Sansovino commenced the Libreria Vecchia, which Aretino
considered superlatively beautiful. Meantime the gift of Petrarch,
stored in a small chamber of San Marco, was quite forgotten. No one
lived who knew its whereabouts; and the legacies of Cardinal
Bessarion, of Cardinal Grimani, Contarini, and Nani, were the glory
of the library which Petrarch wished to found. Not until 1634 were
his precious manuscripts discovered. But a meagre number could be
saved from the mass of corruption they had become; and for all time
the neglect and destruction of these precious parchments will remain
a disgrace to Venice.
In 1812 the splendid collection of one hundred and twenty thousand
volumes and ten thousand manuscripts was transferred to the more
spacious halls of the Ducal Palace, leaving the Great Hall of the
Libreria with its paintings by Veronese and Tintoretto, and the row
of Greek philosophers which look down from between the windows.
Ruskin calls these last the finest paintings of {333} the kind in
existence. One of these is the Diogenes, which Tintoretto painted
with the greatest care, because Titian had told the Procurators of
St. Mark that Tintoretto was not worthy to be employed in the
decoration of this hall. But these officials thought this a little
severe, and gave Tintoretto his opportunity.
Diogenes is nude and seated, with his legs crossed. One elbow rests
on the thigh, and the raised hand supports the chin. It is the
impersonation of profound meditation. There is such power in the
modelling of this figure, and the light is so managed, that it stands
out as if it did not intend to remain in the niche where it is
placed. Two other works of Tintoretto's are also here, in spite of
the efforts to deprive him of the honor. They represent the removal
of the relics of Saint Mark from Alexandria, and Saint Mark rescuing
a sailor.
When, under Eugene Beauharnais, the Procuratie Nuove were converted
into the Palazzo Imperiale, the Libreria Vecchia was made a part of
the Palace, and united to the buildings of the Piazza.
{334}
CHAPTER XVIII.
PALACES AND PICTURES.
Venice has no plan. The canals are bordered with edifices that
appear to rest upon the water; and many of its palaces are so
beautiful that they seem as worthy to have risen from the white
sea-foam as was Venus Anadyomene herself. Behind these palaces,
winding in and out like serpents, are the _calli_, which appear to
begin nowhere and to lead to the same place, twining now and then
about the little _campi_, which afford breathing-spaces on land, as
the canals do on the water. It would seem that one must be Venetian
born, or, forsaking all others, must cleave to Venice itself for
better or worse, if he would learn to thread these mazy ways with
confidence.
It appears, too, that this want of plan permeates the life of Venice.
Everybody and everything seem to be guided by the fancy of the
moment. It is charming and so easily acquired,--this _dolce far
niente_. One feels it, and acts upon it without realizing it; it is
inhaled with the air itself.
[Illustration: _Ca' d' Oro, on the Grand Canal._]
The stranger, when in the privacy of his own apartment, makes his
plan for the morrow. He resolves to throw off this idleness; he will
rise betimes and visit the Academy, and later go to several churches.
He awakes to find it already late, and by the time he steps into his
gondola he has forgotten what he was to do, and straightway decides
to go once more up the Grand Canal {335} and gaze at those lovely
palaces, which can only be seen to advantage in this way.
Emerging from the water as they do, their reflections in it add
vastly to their attractiveness, much of which, I fancy, would be lost
did they rise from the usual city sidewalk or even from green turf.
Doubtless the lofty horseshoe arches of the lower arcades, the
lightness of the open _loggie_ or _pergoli_, and the style of their
decorations were all considered in regard to the effect of their
reflections, as much as to that of the edifices themselves. Then,
too, their space is so prescribed that grandeur and breadth of design
were not possible, and must be replaced by picturesque effects of
decoration and fancy.
The plan of the old palaces of Venice is much the same in all. They
rest on a very solid basis of oaken piles driven down until they meet
the hard, Caranto stratum which underlies the silt. Larch timbers
are then laid on the piles, and marble slabs in cement are built up
above the water-level. The ground floor is principally devoted to
storerooms intended for heavy goods, and has a broad entrance leading
to them. The next floor, the mezzana, is the place of business, the
mercantile portion of the establishment.
From the court the ascent is made to the third floor, where the
family apartments begin. Many of the staircases are stately, and
very beautiful in their ornamentation. They lead to the principal
saloon or drawing-room of the house. Frequently these palaces are
built with a central portion, with wings on each side. The great
saloon occupies the whole of the central part, having on its front
the loggia, overlooking the canal. On each side are smaller rooms.
The next floor is less lofty, and has a spacious kitchen, besides
several sleeping-apartments. Still above these are garrets and
store-closets, close under the roof.
{336}
The principal pleasure to be derived from the palaces of Venice in
these days is found by gazing at them while floating up and down the
Canalezzo at various hours of the day, noting the exquisite effects
of light and shade at morning, midday, and evening, especially the
latter when there is a brilliant moonlight. Few of them now contain
much that one cares to see, and few, indeed, have been kept up in
such a way as to be anything but depressing. Those that are open to
strangers are filled with the atmosphere of "the banquet-hall
deserted." But all must agree with Ruskin in what he says of their
exteriors:--
"The charm which Venice still possesses, and which for the last fifty
years has made it the favorite haunt of all the painters of
picturesque subjects, is owing to the effect of the Gothic palaces,
mingled with those of the Renaissance.
"The effect is produced in two different ways. The Renaissance
palaces are not more picturesque in themselves than the club-houses
of Pall Mall; but they become delightful by the contrast of their
severity and refinement with the rich and rude confusion of the sea
life beneath them, and of their white and solid masonry with the
green waves. Remove from beneath them the orange sails of the
fishing-boats, the black gliding of the gondolas, the cumbered decks
and rough crews of the barges of traffic, and the fretfulness of the
green water along their foundations, and the Renaissance palaces
possess no more interest than those of London or Paris. But the
Gothic palaces are picturesque in themselves, and wield over us an
independent power. Sea and sky and every other accessory might be
taken away from them, and still they would be beautiful and strange."
Perhaps the Palazzo Vendramin Calergi is the most interesting of the
Renaissance palaces, because it is well kept up, and its garden, with
white statues and gilded railings, which are reflected in the water,
adds much to the cheerfulness of its whole effect. It is more than
four centuries old, and was built by Santi Lombardo for {337} Andrea
Loredan. A century later it was bought by the Duke of Brunswick, and
then by the Duke of Mantua; but some legal quibbles made it necessary
to sell it again, and since 1589 it has been in the families Calerghi
and Grimani, has been owned by the Duchesse de Berri and the Comte de
Chambord, as well as the Duca della Grazia.
If some imitator of Sanudo could have kept the annals of these four
hundred years in this house, their interest and variety would have
been fascinating. Palma Giovane painted a frieze there, representing
the Triumph of Cæsar; and the furnishing and pictures have been very
attractive, perhaps all the more so for the reason that there have
usually been some paintings and artistic objects for sale.
The Palazzi Farsetti and Loredan, separated by the Traghetto di San
Luca, are very interesting. The Loredan dates from the twelfth
century, while the Farsetti is in the Byzantine-Lombard style of that
period, its front having been made from the pillars and columns of an
older edifice. These palaces are now used for municipal offices. In
the Farsetti, Canova first studied his art, and on the staircase are
some of his earlier works.
The Palazzo Loredan is one of the few really old edifices in the
Byzantine-Gothic style. It is this architecture that gives the
unusual, fairy-like, and mysterious impressions which all artists get
from Venetian exteriors; and the central arcade of the Loredan is a
precious example of it. Ruskin says: "Though not conspicuous, and
often passed with neglect, it will be felt at last, by all who
examine it carefully, to be the most beautiful palace in the whole
extent of the Grand Canal." The arms of Peter V. Lusignan are above
the entrance and windows. This king of Cyprus lived here early in
the fourteenth century as the guest of Federigo Corner Piscopia; and
here Elena Cornaro Piscopia was born.
If one really lives in Venice, and has leisure to seek {338} for
them, there are enchanting bits of architecture, sculpture, and
painting which are quite unknown to the usual tourist. In Palazzo
Contarini and Palazzo Bembo alla Celestia there are admirable
staircases in the courtyards, and other details from the fourteenth
and fifteenth centuries. In Palazzo Sina (formerly Grassi), a modern
edifice, there is a noble staircase, its walls being decorated with a
representation of the Carnival of 1745. The portraits of the family
are looking over the balustrades.
Behind the Church of San Gian Crisostomo, in the Corte del Millone,
is the remnant of the Palazzo del Poli, the house in which Marco Polo
first saw the light, in 1259, and where he died in 1323. It dates
from the twelfth century, and in the little that remains of it one
sees enough to admire to make it a matter of regret that so much is
lost.
The little Marco was but a year old when his father, Niccolo, and his
uncle Matteo started on their first great journey, which extended to
the city of the powerful Kublai Khan. They returned, having seen
many marvellous things, and again left Venice to repeat their
travels, taking Marco with them when he was fifteen years old. All
knowledge of them was lost for many years. The Casa Poli was filled
with kinsmen who knew little of those who had gone away more than
twenty years before, when suddenly, one evening in 1295, three
strange figures appeared at the gate.
[Illustration: _Dario Palace, on the Grand Canal._]
They were in Tartar garb, their hair and beards were long, and their
skins dark from exposure, while their curious speech was most
un-Venetian. We are told that the doorway through which we pass
to-day in the Corte della Sabbionera, with its Byzantine arch, and
the cross above it, is the very same at which the travellers knocked.
At first they were not believed to be the Poli; and a great
excitement was aroused, not only in Palazzo Poli, {339} but through
all the neighboring quarter as well, and it seemed for a while very
doubtful if they could ever come to their own again.
But at last they hit upon a plan by which they could prove themselves
to be _the Poli_ by their peculiar conduct. They invited all their
relatives to a magnificent banquet, and when the time arrived,--
"the three came out of their chamber dressed in long robes of crimson
satin, according to the fashion of the time, which touched the
ground. And when water had been offered for their hands, they placed
their guests at table, and then taking off their satin robes put on
rich damask of the same color, ordering in the mean while that the
first should be divided among the servants. Then after eating
something [no doubt, a first course], they rose from table and again
changed their dress, putting on crimson velvet, and giving as before
the damask robes to the servants; and at the end of the repast they
did the same with the velvet, putting on garments of ordinary cloth
such as their guests wore. The persons invited were struck dumb with
astonishment at these proceedings. And when the servants had left
the hall, Messer Marco, the youngest, rising from the table, went
into his chamber and brought out the three coarse cloth surcoats in
which they had come home. And immediately the three began with sharp
knives to cut open the seams and tear off the lining, upon which
there poured forth a great quantity of precious stones, rubies,
sapphires, carbuncles, diamonds, and emeralds, which had been sewed
into each coat with great care, so that nobody could have suspected
that anything was there. For on parting with the Great Khan they had
changed all the wealth he bestowed upon them into precious stones,
knowing certainly that if they had done otherwise they never could by
so long and difficult a road have brought their property home in
safety. The exhibition of such an extraordinary and infinite
treasure of jewels and precious stones, which covered the table, once
more filled all present with such astonishment that they were dumb
and almost beside themselves with surprise; {340} and they at once
recognized these honored and venerated gentlemen of the Ca' Polo,
whom at first they had doubted, and received them with the greatest
honor and reverence."
The news soon spread all over Venice, and the Poli were besieged with
visitors. The eldest, Matteo, was created a magistrate, and Marco
was put forward to tell the story of their wanderings in answer to
the many questions which were asked of them; and as he constantly
told of millions as the revenue of the Great Khan, and of millions on
millions as the wealth of Cathay, he came to be called Marco Milione.
This sounds like a derisive title, and doubtless was so at first; but
it was a most reputable one later, especially after Marco Polo had
contributed large sums towards fitting out a fleet to oppose the
Genoese, and himself went to the war, the results of which, as
concerned him, have already been related. There is a puzzle to me in
the foregoing tale: Why did the possession of their treasures prove
the three men to be the Poli?
It goes without saying that in historic interest all other Venetian
palaces fade away when compared with the Palazzo Ducale, which, as we
have seen, played its part in all affairs of importance in Venice,
since it was not only the residence of the Doge, but the place in
which the councils were held, and all momentous matters of the State
decided. It was the scene alike of the gayest festivities and of the
most heart-rending tragedies. The splendid ball might be at its
merriest in one grand saloon at the moment when the Ten in their Sala
were decreeing the death of one of the dancers, and another of their
sentences was being executed at the prison near by, where "most
nights arrived the prison boat, that boat with many oars, and bore
away as to the Lower World."
This palace is to-day a great library and picture-gallery, in which
the pictures that reproduce the great events {341} in the history of
the Republic are of a value that cannot be over-estimated. The
masters here represented by religious and mythological subjects can
be studied in other Italian and European galleries; but here, in the
very halls where the wars, the embassies, and the pageants of Venice
were decreed, they have been pictured upon the walls most fittingly,
by the great masters of the flowering period of Venetian Art.
In the Sala della Bussola, where was the inner opening of the Lion's
Mouth, into which the cowardly, secret denunciations to the Ten were
dropped, are pictures of the "Surrender of Bergamo" and of Brescia to
the Venetians. They are the work of Aliense (or Antonio)
Vassilacchi, and like other pictures by him, in various portions of
the palace, are affected, bizarre, and sometimes extravagant in their
characteristics, but most interesting by reason of their subjects.
The Sala delle Quattro Porte is adorned by paintings of the "Capture
of Verona," in 1439, by Giovanni Contarini, who may be described in a
word as an expert imitator of Titian.
"The Arrival of Henry III. at Venice" is also of interest, although
its painter, Andrea Vicentino, is an artist who merits attention and
adverse criticism at the same time. This is his masterpiece. The
Doge Mocenigo receives the King of France and Poland on a bridge
which leads to Palladio's famous Triumphal Arch, erected in honor of
this royal visitor. There are many portraits of famous men. Near
the king on the right are the Cardinal San Sisto, Paolo Tiepolo, and
Jacopo Foscarini, procurators of St. Mark, and other gentlemen,
besides the pilot of the royal galley, Antonio Canale, whom the King
of France embraced and knighted on this occasion.
"The Reception of the Persian Ambassadors by the Doge" is noteworthy,
because it is the work of Carl (or {342} Carletto) Cagliari, the son
of Paul Veronese. His father, not wishing the son to be merely his
own imitator, had placed him in the studio of Jacopo Bassano; and at
one time the young man spent some months on his father's Trevisan
estate, sketching from Nature, and introducing animals and shepherds
into his landscapes.
He was but sixteen when his father died, and he lived but eight years
after, having overworked, and dying from the consequent exhaustion.
His pictures display a feeling for the picturesque, and some of his
heads are admirable; but the inimitable grace, brilliancy, and gayety
of his father are not his, while his composition is much colder.
This is impressed on us when in the next Sala, the Anticollegio, we
come upon the "Rape of Europa," which Gautier calls "the marvel of
this sanctuary of Art" And finally he exclaims: "What beautiful
white shoulders, what round and charming arms! What a smile of
eternal youth is in this marvellous canvas where Paul Veronese seems
to have said his last word! The heavens, clouds, trees, flowers, the
earth, the sea, the carnations, draperies, all seem to be steeped in
the light of an unknown Elysium."
In the Sala del Collegio, Veronese appears in a far different manner.
Above the throne where sat the Doge and the Privy Councillors when
receiving foreign ambassadors, is a representation of Venice
triumphant after the Victory of Lepanto in 1571. The portraits of
the hero of the battle, the Doge Sebastiano Venier, and of Agostino
Barbarigo, who perished there, are introduced. It is a grand
picture, but confused; for besides the figures we have mentioned are
those of the Saviour in glory, Faith, Saints Mark and Justine, and
other subordinate personages, and these are massed in the centre of
the canvas. He certainly was an astounding painter. We must not
think of his curious mingling of people who would {343} seemingly
never be associated either on earth or in heaven; we must not note
his improprieties of chronology, costume, and place; we must but
feast on his dignified and splendid crowds,--his light, his color,
and, on the whole, in its general effect, now so mellowed and
harmonized by time. Who can resist his charm?
The Sala del Senate is also called dei Pregardi, because in the early
times, before Wednesday and Saturday were fixed upon as the days for
the meeting of the Senate, messengers were sent to pray the Senators
to attend at the palace. It is principally decorated with religious
subjects, and the centre of the ceiling is occupied by Tintoretto's
conception of "Venice as Queen of the Sea;" but the historical
pictures of the "Election of S. Lorenzo Giustiniani as Patriarch of
Venice," by Marco Vecelli, and the "League of Cambray," by Palma
Giovane, are attractive, although one can scarcely understand why
"Venice seated on a lion and daring all Europe" should be chosen to
represent the Republic just at that epoch, when she was at the mercy
of other powers, and for a time quite helpless. To Art in Venice
this league was almost fatal, since the patrons of artists were
forced to give their attention and money to the affairs of the State,
and the painters were forced to seek other cities where peace
permitted them to gain a livelihood. Even Titian left his beloved
Venezia, and went to Padua, where he was fully occupied.
Passing through the Ante-Chapel and the Chapel, in which there is
little of interest, we reach a staircase leading to the private
apartments of the Doge, at the foot of which is the only fresco known
to have been painted by Titian, which remains in Venice, and is only
shown by special permission of the _Conservatorio_. It is most
carefully painted, and represents Saint Christopher, who is of a
splendid Venetian type. The head of the saint is noble; {344} while
the child is like an inferior earthly baby, and appears to be in
great fear of falling. Tradition teaches that this was painted in
honor of the arrival of the French at San Cristoforo, near Milan, in
1523. Titian's patron, the Doge Andrea Gritti, was very fond of the
French, and at his election the French ambassador at Venice made
great feasts in his honor. Had a patron saint of France been
represented, it would have caused comment, perhaps suspicion of the
Doge; therefore Saint Christopher was chosen.
In the Sala del Consiglio dei Dieci is the "Meeting of Alexander III.
and the Doge Ziani on his Return from his Victory over Barbarossa,"
by Leandro Bassano. This remarkable portrait-painter had here a
great opportunity to show his skill, and he improved it. The figures
are evidently painted from life, and well present the patricians of
his time, the end of the sixteenth and the beginning of the
seventeenth century. The Doge Marino Grimani figures as Ziani in
this canvas, and in the suite of the Pope Leandro has given us his
own portrait. He is ordinary in type. His thick black hair rises
above a receding forehead, and his commonplace head and whole bearing
suggest the peasant in a borrowed garb. He carries the umbrella
behind the Pope.
On the opposite wall is the "Congress at Bologna, in 1529, which
concurred in the Peace between Clement VII. and Charles V.," by Marco
Vecelli. It represents the whole assemblage; and while one of the
secretaries of the Emperor reads the treaty, a Dominican is making an
address, drums are beaten and trumpets sounded, and in the distance
two cavaliers are riding a tournament, lances in hand. Charles Blanc
happily suggests that it is fortunate that painting is dumb, when so
many noises are represented. Curious and incoherent as this picture
is, it is full of life and movement, and is interesting in {345} its
costumes of cardinals, bishops, pontifical guards, ambassadors, and
pages.
Naturally the immense Sala del Maggior Consiglio is of the greatest
interest. It is now the Bibliotheca di San Marco or Marciana, the
books having been brought here in 1812. The decorations are
unchanged since the days of the Republic, and the same magnificent
works of art which surrounded the meetings of the Great Council make
a fitting setting for the treasures of the Library. This hall was
burned out in 1577, three years after the great banquet to Henry III.
had been given here; and thus the present paintings are by the later
Venetian masters. The ceiling is very important, having been painted
by Tintoretto, Palma Giovane, and Paul Veronese, whose "Triumph of
Venice" far surpasses the works of the other two masters. I know of
no description of this picture which can be compared with that of
Taine, who says:--
"This work is not merely food for the eye, but a feast. Amidst grand
architectural forms of balconies and spiral columns sits Venice, the
blonde, on a throne, radiant with beauty, with that fresh and rosy
carnation peculiar to the daughters of humid climates, her silken
skirt spread out beneath a silken mantle. Around her a circle of
young women bend over with a voluptuous and yet haughty smile,
possessing that Venetian charm peculiar to a goddess who has a
courtesan's blood in her veins, but who rests on a cloud and attracts
men to her instead of descending to them. Thrown into relief against
pale violet draperies and mantles of azure and gold, their living
flesh, their backs and shoulders, are impregnated with light or swim
in the penumbra, the soft roundness of their nudity harmonizing with
the tranquil gayety of their attitudes and features. Venice in their
midst, ostentatious and yet gentle, seems like a queen whose mere
rank gives the right to be happy, and whose only desire is to render
those who see her happy also. On her serene head, which is thrown
slightly backwards, two angels place {346} a crown. What a miserable
instrumentality is language! A tone of satiny flesh, a luminous
shadow on a bare shoulder, a flickering light on floating silk,
attract, recall, and retain the eye for a long time, and yet there is
but a vague phrase with which to express the charm.... Beneath the
ideal sky and behind a balustrade are Venetian ladies in the costume
of the time, in low-neck dresses cut square and closely fitting the
body. It is actual society, and is as seductive as the goddess.
They are gazing, leaning over and smiling; the light which
illuminates portions of their clothes and faces falls on them or
diffuses itself in such exquisite contrasts that one is moved with
transports of delight. At one time a brow, at another a delicate ear
or a necklace or a pearl, issues from the warm shadow. One, in the
flower of youth, has the archest of looks; another, about forty and
amply developed, glances upward and smiles in the best possible
humor. This one--a superb creature, with red sleeves striped with
gold--stoops, and her swelling breasts expand the chemise of her
bodice. A little blond, curly-headed girl in the arms of an old
woman raises her charming little hand with the most mutinous air, and
her fresh little visage is a rose. There is not one who is not happy
in living, and who is not merely cheerful, but joyous. And how well
these rumpled, changeable silks, these white, diaphanous pearls
accord with these transparent tints, as delicate as the petals of
flowers! Away below, finally, is the restless activity of the
sturdy, noisy crowd; warriors, prancing horses, grand flowing togas,
a trumpeter bedizened with drapery, a man's naked back near a
cuirass, and in the intervals, a dense throng of vigorous and
animated heads, and in one corner a young mother and her infant; all
these objects being disposed with the facility of opulent genius, and
all illuminated like the sea in summer, with superabundant sunshine.
All this is what one should bear away with him in order to retain an
idea of Venice.... I got some one to show me the way to the public
garden; after such a picture one can only contemplate natural
objects."
The only unbroken wall in this Great Hall is occupied by the
"Paradiso" of Tintoretto, in some respects the {347} greatest of
modern pictures; while the remaining wall-spaces are filled with
twelve pictures illustrating the story of Pope Alexander and
Barbarossa, and nine others of scenes connected with the Fourth
Crusade. These splendid paintings are among the earliest which were
executed on large canvases, and for that reason are important in the
History of Art, while they bear witness to the wealth and generosity
of the Republic at the time when they were painted. Much blackened
by age as they are, and often villanously repainted, they are still a
worthy study for the art student for many reasons.
Carlo and Gabriele Cagliari represented two scenes in the earliest
period of the association of the Pope and the Doge Ziani. In the
first the Doge and the Senators have found the Pope in the Convent of
La Carità, where Alexander took refuge from Barbarossa in 1177. This
convent, now the Academy of Fine Arts, is on the Grand Canal; and not
only are the Senators and a crowd of people represented as
surrounding the two principal personages, but there are fishermen in
their boats, with baskets full of fish, a group of people in a
gondola, and other figures which add much to the life and movement of
the scene. The Pope is habited like a poor priest, in order that he
may the better conceal his personality.
The second is a much smaller composition, divided by columns. On one
side there is light; on the other, shadow. The subject is the
"Embassy from the Pope and the Republic to Frederick II. at Pavia."
The groups are animated, and the costumes varied, as senators,
soldiers, and priests are all represented.
Above a window Leandro Bassano has painted a picture of "the Doge
receiving a lighted taper from the Pope," commemorating this act
which conferred on all future Doges the privilege of having a taper
borne before them.
The fourth, by Jacopo Tintoretto, presents the scene at {348} Pavia,
when Barbarossa declares that if the Pope is not surrendered to him,
he will "plant his eagles above the portal of San Marco." Both the
good and the bad in Tintoretto's manner are displayed in this work,
but the figures of the two ambassadors are admirable. The more his
pictures are studied, the better is the saying of the Venetians
understood, "There are three Tintorettos,--one of bronze, a second of
silver, and a third of gold."
The fifth painting, by Francesco Bassano, represents "the Pope
presenting a consecrated sword to the Doge." It is a most
interesting study, it being a representation of the Piazza as it
appeared at the end of the sixteenth century. The scene is actually
in the Piazzetta, between the landing and the column of the Lion. In
perspective, on one side the Ducal Palace appears, and on the other
the Campanile and the angle of the Procuratorie, while in the
distance is the Clock-Tower. The Piazza is full of people. Priests
in fine vestments, Senators in their robes, soldiers with nodding
plumes in their hats, trumpeters and drummers, all witness the
ceremony. The Doge, wearing the ducal crown, in his crimson velvet
dress, beneath the mantle of the cloth of gold, is most impressive,
as he slightly bends his knee when receiving the sword.
Francesco Bassano excelled in giving an air of reality to his
paintings, and in his aptness in invention; and while this scene
actually occurred in 1172, he has surrounded it with the Piazza of
four centuries later, which greatly adds to its value for us,--he
wrought better than he knew.
Above a window Fiammingo painted "The Doge receiving the Parting
Benediction of the Pope;" and next that is the "Battle of Salboro,"
in which Otho, the son of Barbarossa, was taken prisoner. This is
the work of Domenico Tintoretto, who showed himself at his best,
{349} and seemed a worthy son of his father, in his pictures of naval
battles. When we are told that the battle of Salboro was never
fought, and that the whole story is but a piece of Venetian boasting,
it is impossible to feel the same interest in the work that a
representation of a well attested fact would arouse; but this does
not prevent the study of the details of costume, armor, and naval
equipments, which are very curious.
Above a door Andrea Vicentino painted a picture of "The Doge
presenting Prince Otho to the Pope;" and in the next scene Palina
Giovane represented the "Release of Otho by the Pope." After
Veronese and Tintoretto, and among the secondary artists who were
honored by commissions in the decoration of the Ducal Palace, Palma
Giovane may well claim attention. Domenico Tintoretto alone rivals
him in their class. He was skilful in design, but lacked sentiment
and intensity of spirit. He knew all the optical effects in
painting. He used his brush dexterously. He had studied and copied
from Michael Angelo until he had mastered foreshortening. He handled
his colors after Titian's manner. In short, he only lacked soul, in
order to have been a great painter. But through the friendship and
influence of Alexander Vittoria he became the fashion, and his
pictures are seen in all the churches, and other edifices of honor in
Venice, as well as in many galleries of the chief cities of Italy,
and other European countries. His drawings and engravings were much
valued, and were sold for nearly as large sums as were paid for his
pictures in oil.
"The Emperor submitting to the Pope" affords one of the most
interesting scenes and best artistic opportunities in the series. It
is by Federigo Zucchero, who was by no means a great artist; yet this
work is very attractive.
Above another door Girolamo Gamberato painted "The Doge landing at
Ancona with the Pope and the Emperor {350} after the Reconciliation."
Tradition teaches that on this occasion the people of Ancona came out
to meet their visitors bringing umbrellas or canopies for the Pope
and the Emperor only, and Alexander ordered a third to be brought for
Ziani, who, under God, had been the means of establishing this peace.
The series ends with the scene in St. John Lateran in Rome, when
"Pope Alexander III. presents consecrated banners to the Doge Ziani."
It is the work of Giulio dal Moro, and so badly done that it merits
no attention here nor when one stands beneath it. We need not be
surprised when we remember that this "Jack at all trades" signed
himself "painter, sculptor, and architect."
Of the pictures of the Fourth Crusade, the first is by Le Clerc, and
represents the scene in San Marco, in 1201, when the alliance was
concluded between the Venetians and the Crusaders,--a most
interesting subject, which should have been treated by a greater
master. The second, by Andrea Vicentino, is the "Siege of Zara;" and
next, above a window, the "Surrender of Zara," by Domenico
Tintoretto, which is followed by "Alexius Comnenus imploring the Help
of the Venetians for his Father," by Andrea Vicentino.
Domenico Tintoretto represents the "Second Taking of Constantinople,
in 1204." "The Election and Coronation of Baldwin" follow, by Andrea
Vicentino and Aliense, and close the story of this Crusade, the final
space being filled by Paul Veronese's representation of "The Return
of Doge Contarini after the Defeat of the Genoese at Chioggia."
The frieze of this Hall of the Great Council is composed of the
portraits of seventy-two Doges. The reign of the earliest dates from
809; and many of them must, of course, have been painted from fancy.
A large number are from the hand of Tintoretto. The space where the
{351} portrait of Marino Faliero should have hung is covered with a
black veil, and has the inscription, "Hic est locus Marini Falethri
decapitati pro criminibus" (This is the place of Marino Faliero,
beheaded for his crimes).
What a world of associations must rush through the mind as one
traverses the halls of this magnificent palace! What scenes of
splendid gayety are called up by the pictures of the luxurious and
splendor-loving men and women of the Republic! And then, when
reading this inscription, we recall that other scene, the tragic
extreme; and between these two types of association there are
hundreds of others, which fill the distance between them with every
shade of sentiment from "grave to gay." But just here we can only
remember that "the Council of Ten was hastily summoned. The minor
conspirators were first executed. Then the Doge, stripped of his
insignia of office, was beheaded in the closed palace; and one of the
Council, taking the bloody sword to the space between the Columns,
brandished it, saying, 'The terrible doom hath fallen on the
traitor.'" We are glad that the steps on which Faliero fell no
longer exist, and that no such scene has been enacted on the splendid
Staircase of the Giants, over which Mars and Neptune now preside, and
where, since 1485, the Doges have been crowned with the formula,
"Accipe coronam ducalem ducatus Venetorum." The author of the "Story
of Italy" says: "It was a serious matter to be Doge of Venice. Five
of the first fifty Doges abdicated; five were banished with their
eyes put out; nine were deposed; five were massacred, and two fell in
battle."
We remember that in the Sala dello Scrutinio is a picture of the
Triumphal Arch erected in 1694, in honor of Francesco Morosini,
called Il Peloponnesiaco from his conquest of the Morea, and whose
name, alas! is now oftenest recalled in connection with the
destruction of the Parthenon.
{352}
One of the best works of Palma Giovane is also here,--"The Last
Judgment," in one part of which he represents his mistress in heaven,
and in another she is consigned to hell. "The Taking of Zara" is one
of the wonderful pictures by Tintoretto. Charles Blanc says that he
was possessed by the genius of battles, and in depicting such scenes
seemed to be himself engaged in the assault. This work is full of
fire. It is confused; but here and there a single picturesque figure
stands out from the heroic disorder of this tumultuous story.
Blanc relates that an abbé who acted as his guide in the Ducal Palace
called his attention to the fact that the portrait of Marino Faliero
did not appear in "The Taking of Zara," which should have made his
name immortal as much as his tragic death has done; but the Senate
forbade Tintoretto to place him on his canvas, since his head had
fallen by the hand of the executioner. Blanc asks: "If the Doge had
betrayed the Republic, was that a reason why the Republic in its turn
should betray the truth?"
The frieze of the portraits of the Doges is concluded in this hall,
where the forty-one nobles were chosen who afterwards elected these
rulers. It is now the repository of the manuscripts, the early
printed books, and the Aldine editions of the Library.
The Sala dello Scudo is rich in a very different sort of decoration
from that of the halls we have described. It is hung with maps, many
of which represent the discoveries made by Venetian navigators. Here
is the famous _Mappamondo_ of Fra Mauro, dating from 1457 to 1459,
which is of great value in connection with mediæval history, showing
as it does the geographical knowledge or ignorance of that era.
There is a class of pictures in the Ducal Palace so numerous that we
have not space to speak justly of them. They are those of which Rio
says:--
{353}
"It was no doubt the passage of the Psalmist--_Non nobis, Domine, non
nobis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam_--which was so often repeated by the
Venetians in the Crusades, which suggested to the Doges and naval
commanders the idea of being represented in a kneeling attitude
before the infant Christ or the Holy Virgin, in the pictures destined
to transmit their names or the recollection of their exploits to
future generations. This mode of pious commemoration, which offers
the touching contrast of an humble attitude with great dignity or
glory, continued in use during the whole of the sixteenth century, in
spite of the paganism so universally triumphant elsewhere. After
Giovanni Bellini and Catena, came the celebrated artists who adorned
the second period of the Venetian school, and who also paid the
tribute of their pencils to this interesting subject. It is on this
account that pictures representing the Madonna seated, with a doge or
a general kneeling before her, are so frequently to be met with in
private collections, in the churches, and above all in the Ducal
Palace, in which these allegorical compositions, intended to express
the close alliance between Religion and the State, seem to have been
purposely multiplied."
In no other place in all Venice does the atmosphere of the Middle
Ages linger as it does in the Palazzo Ducale. The atmosphere of the
days when the scroll in the hand of Venice enthroned bore this
inscription, "Fortis, justa, trono furias, mare sub pede, pono"
(Strong and just, I put the furies beneath my throne, and the sea
beneath my foot). Emerging from this palace, with one's brain full
of more thoughts than it can hold, it is restful to find a part of
them so happily expressed as in these words of Taine:--
"We see here with surprise and delight oriental fancy grafting the
full on the empty instead of the empty on the full. A colonnade of
robust shafts bears a second and a lighter one decorated with ogives
and with trefoils; while above this support, so frail, expands a
massive wall of red and white marble, whose courses {354} interlace
each other in designs and reflect the light. Above, a cornice of
open pyramids, pinnacles, spiracles, and festoons intersect the sky
with its border, forming a marble vegetation bristling and blooming
above the vermilion and pearly tones of the façade, reminding one of
the luxuriant Asiatic or African cactus which on its native soil
mingles its leafy poniards and purple petals.
"You enter, and immediately the eyes are filled with forms. Around
two cisterns covered with sculptured bronze, four façades develop
their statues and architectural details glowing with the freshness of
the early Renaissance. There is nothing bare or cold; everything is
decked with reliefs and figures, the pedantry of erudites and critics
not having intervened, under the pretext of purity and correctness,
to restrain a lively imagination and the craving for that which
pleases the eye. People are not austere in Venice; they do not
restrict themselves to the prescriptions of books; they do not make
up their minds to go and yawn admiringly at a façade sanctioned by
Vitruvius; they want an architectural work to absorb and delight the
whole sentient being; they deck it with ornaments, columns, and
statues; they render it luxurious and joyous. They place colossal
pagans like Mars and Neptune on it, and biblical figures like Adam
and Eve; the sculptors of the fifteenth century enliven it with their
somewhat realistic and lank bodies, and those of the sixteenth with
their animated and muscular forms. Rizzo and Sansovino here rear the
precious marbles of their stairways, the delicate stuccoes and
elegant caprices of their arabesques: armor and boughs, griffins and
fawns; fantastic flowers and capering goats, a profusion of poetic
plants and joyous, bounding animals. You mount these princely steps
with a sort of timidity and respect, ashamed of the dull black coat
you wear, reminding one by contrast of the embroidered silk gowns,
the sweeping, pompous dalmatics, the Byzantine tiaras and brodekins,
all that seigneurial magnificence for which these marble staircases
were designed; and, at the top, to greet you, are two superb women,
Power and Justice, and a doge receiving from them the sword of
command and of battle.
[Illustration: _Court of the Ducal Palace; Giants' Staircase._]
"At the top of the staircase open the two halls, the government {355}
and state saloons, and both are lined with paintings; here
Tintoretto, Veronese, Pordenone, Palma the younger, Titian,
Bonifazio, and twenty others have covered with masterpieces the walls
of which Palladia, Aspetti, Scamozzi, and Sansovino made the designs
and ornaments. All the genius of the city at its brightest period
assembled here to glorify the Republic in the erection of a memorial
of its victories and an apotheosis of its grandeur. There is no
similar trophy in the world: naval combats, ships with curved prows
like swan's necks, galleys with crowded banks of oars, battlements
discharging showers of arrows, floating standards amidst masts, a
tumultuous strife of struggling and engulfed combatants, crowds of
Illyrians, Saracens, and Greeks, naked bodies bronzed by the sun and
deformed by contests, stuffs of gold, damascene armor, silks starred
with pearls, all the strange medley of that heroic, luxurious display
which transpires in Venetian history from Zara to Damietta, and from
Padua to the Dardanelles; here and there, grand nudities of
allegorical goddesses; in the triangles the 'Virtues' of Pordenone, a
species of colossal virago with herculean, sanguine, and choleric
body; throughout, a display of virile strength, active energy,
sensual gayety, and, preparing the way for this bewildering
procession, the grandest of modern paintings, a 'Paradise' by
Tintoretto, eighty feet long by twenty wide, with six hundred figures
whirling about in a ruddy illumination, as if from the glowing flames
of a vast conflagration."
{356}
CHAPTER XIX.
THE ACCADEMIA; CHURCHES AND SCUOLE.
The Accademia delle Belle Arti, although on the Grand Canal, may be
reached by a short walk from the Piazza, passing San Moisè and Santa
Maria Zobenigo, and through the Campo San Stefano to the ugly bridge
which leads directly to the Campo della Carità. The Convent of
Charity was one of the edifices upon which Palladio lavished the
greatest care and study. Much, of it was burned in 1630, and the
pride of the old architect no longer remains. After the suppression
of the convent it was used as a barrack; but in 1807 Napoleon decreed
the establishment of an Academy of Art, and the spacious buildings of
La Carità were devoted to its use.
Here are pictures from the very earliest days in which even the
glimmerings of a Venetian Art could be discerned; and this was as
late as the middle of the fifteenth century, when the Vivarini of
Murano painted their dry, meagre Virgins and other figures in colors
so rich as even then to foreshadow the glorious blooming time which
followed.
As we are not writing of Art with any special method, we will speak
only of a few works of interest to all,--to the picture-lover as well
as to the connoisseur and student,--merely saying, _en passant_, that
one who has time will do well to spend a good share of it here.
It is to be expected that, as in other portions of Italy, the early
pictures should almost without exception be {357} devoted to
religious subjects; and none could be more sweet and attractive in
sentiment than are those of Giovanni Bellini, whose Madonnas are good
and simple, self-effacing mothers, anxious only to show the sacred
Child to all beholders, and offer him for the world to worship. How
many of these pure, grave, reverential mothers the good Zuan painted!
and we can never see them too often. We are sure that he who
represented this Divine Mother, with the "splendid column of her
throat, holding her head high in a noble and simple abstraction," and
the Infant King, with his lovely angelic children in attendance,
tenderly respected women, and idolized children. We are almost sure
that he reproduced on his canvas the inmates of his own home. One of
these Madonnas, in the Contarini collection of the Academy, is an
exquisite example of this younger and most excellent Bellini.
Two unusually interesting works by Gentile Bellini are "Miracles of
the Holy Cross," and were painted in 1466 and 1500 for the School of
St. John the Evangelist. The first represents a scene in the Piazza
when a miraculous cure is made by a fragment of the True Cross there
displayed. This Bellini could not confine himself to an endless
repetition of Madonnas and Saints; his interest in the humanity about
him was far too strong for him to turn from it to paint the ideal,
and we rejoice in his realistic picturing of the Venice of his day.
He shows us San Marco with but a single mosaic that still remains;
the bell-turrets of the façade; the Corinthian (?) horses; the
statues, less numerous than now; and the foliage-like decorations,
all brilliant with gold and color. The loggietta was not yet built;
but the Campanile was there, not, however, unattached as now. The
Clock-Tower was not in existence, and the Procuratie were so
different from those of to-day as to be scarcely recognizable.
{358}
The procession has entered the Piazza through a gateway between San
Marco and the Ducal Palace. Groups of idlers here and there are
watching the ceremony, and are composed of Oriental merchants,
Venetian gallants, and an occasional magistrate in his toga, or
perhaps some women and children. Mrs. Oliphant says:--
"The picture is like a book, more absolutely true than any chronicle,
representing not only the looks and customs of the occasion, but the
very scene. How eagerly the people must have traced it out when it
first was made public, finding out in every group some known faces,
some image all the more interesting because it was met in the flesh
every day! Is that perhaps Zuan Bellini himself, with his hair
standing out round his face, talking to his companions about the
passing procession, pointing out the curious effects of light and
shade upon the crimson capes and berettas, and watching while the
line defiles with its glimmer of candles and sound of psalms against
the majestic shadow of the houses?"
The fragment of the True Cross which performs, in this first
painting, the miracle of a great cure, was presented to the
Brotherhood of the Scuola di San Giovanni Evangelista by the Grand
Chancellor of Cyprus, who had in turn received it from the Patriarch
of Constantinople. This relic had performed so many wonders that the
Confraternity felt the importance of recording them, so to speak, on
these enormous canvases, that all the world might see and believe.
A second picture commemorates an occasion when the sacred relic was
carried in procession to the Church of San Lorenzo, and when on the
bridge near the church it was dropped into the canal. Many persons
among the profane crowd which followed the procession leaped into the
water, and are seen in the picture swimming about in search of the
relic. Some boats also have come near for the same purpose; but not
until Andrea Vendramini, the {359} chief warden of the Scuola,
descended into the canal in his full habit, could the precious object
be found. For him it floated upright, because, as the tradition
teaches, of his being granted this great privilege by miraculous
favor.
This scene is even more characteristic of Venetian life than the
first. The houses near the bridge are ornamented with draperies; and
heads of women in coifs and hoods are seen in the windows. The
bridge is crowded densely by the procession arrested to watch the
search for the relic, and the light is thrown on the faces of the
priests and monks who chiefly compose it. All along the Fondamenta
is a concourse of richly dressed ladies in magnificent costumes and
gorgeous jewels, whose shoulders and faces are increased in beauty by
the thin veils that soften but do not conceal their features or their
rich necklaces and coronets. They kneel closely together, and no
doubt will follow the procession when it moves. They are not young,
but in the height of womanly dignity and grace; and it is said that
she who wears a crown is Caterina Cornaro, who has come from Asolo to
see this ceremony at San Lorenzo. In one of the boats stands the
priest of San Lorenzo, his hands clasped in prayer; and Ridolli
declares that Gentile introduced his own portrait in the crowd at the
side of the canal. Charles Blanc places great value on this picture
on account of its accurate representation of the costumes and manners
of the time, the ceremonials, buildings, bridges, and quays of
Venice; but as a work of art he finds it inferior to the "Procession
in the Piazza of St. Mark."
We have not space to speak with any justice of that marvellous series
of nine pictures by Carpaccio, which tell the story of Saint Ursula
with such power as to strike all beholders with astonishment. We can
mention but one work by this master,--a work in the same vein as
{360} the two by Gentile Bellini of which we have spoken. It is
called the "Patriarch of Grado;" and the bridge of the Rialto, then
built of wood, is seen, as well as the gondolas, which were open,
decked with garlands, and painted in colors, as if ready for a fête.
I can scarcely equal Mr. Ruskin in enthusiasm for Carpaccio; but it
is certain that this man, whose origin is unknown and the date of
whose death cannot be given, whose whole history, in fact, is
enveloped in impenetrable shadows, was a great poetic artist; and
Blanc well says: "His works are not precious to Venetians only; they
have an infinite charm for all the world, because they reveal the
imagination of an artist. In them one admires the ingenuousness of a
precursor, and feels the soul of a poet; and nothing is more true
than the saying of Zanetti, 'Carpaccio bears the truth in his heart.'"
The "Assumption" and "The Presentation of the Virgin" by Titian are
among the invaluable treasures of the Accademia. As we gaze on the
magnificent Assumption, we can but wonder, and even feel indignant,
at the dense stupidity of those monks of the Frari for whom it was
painted. They were like buzzing, stinging gnats about him while the
work was going on, and only accepted it at last because a minister of
Charles V. offered a goodly sum for it, and wished to take it away
from Venice. Its only worth in their eyes depended on the fact that
others wished to have it.
It is really in three parts. At the top is the Eternal Father, in
resplendent glory, with arms open to receive the Holy Virgin, who
ascends to him surrounded by an aureole of cherubim. Below the
grand, colossal figures of the Apostles are grouped. The Virgin is
modest, and yet triumphant. She has no mystic expression, but is of
the same healthy, vigorous race which Titian saw all about him. She
might be a sister or daughter of one of {361} the bronzed apostles
below. Her double mantle of red and blue, in its many folds, does
not disguise the athletic grace of her superb form, in which there is
neither languor nor effeminacy.
In this picture, in which the climax of Venetian painting was
reached,--which is by its position and arrangement in the Academy the
acknowledged Queen of Pictures,--a wonderful power of invention is
displayed, and a boldness of execution is shown which Titian had not
before employed, and which was much criticised at the time of its
completion; but it has endured the chances and changes of almost four
centuries only to be placed in the first rank of existing paintings.
In the "Presentation of the Virgin" we have a truly Venetian
treatment of a subject which has been made of small effect in the
hands of other masters. The nice little girl, with her plump face
and blue gown, can have no possible conception of the meaning of her
pale aureole. She is childishly innocent of what is to be done, and,
in fact, has simply been used by Titian as an excuse for bringing
together fifty people, an obelisk, a portico, the façade of a temple,
a long flight of gray stone steps; and not content with these, he has
added hillsides, mountains, and trees, with banks of clouds above all.
The Pontiff and a group of priests are above the child at the top of
the steps. She raises her hand towards them. Below are her father
and mother, and near the steps the famous old countrywoman, with her
basket of eggs. There are also men and women of quite another class,
dressed in long garments, who make a sort of passing procession. It
is as if one were in the midst of a city where people of various
classes are occupied with their personal affairs,--a city in the
midst of a noble landscape, which is glowing with sunlight,--a city,
too, on which its people have bestowed the riches of art, and {362}
everything that money can produce to make life luxurious and
attractive. It is no wonder that Titian lived without a rival; that
his works were sought by emperors and kings, and that in his power of
portraiture he has not been surpassed.
"The Supper in the House of Levi" was painted by Paul Veronese for
the Refectory of SS. Giovanni and Paolo, in 1572; and a year later
the artist was summoned before the Sacred Tribunal to answer to the
charge of irreverence, based upon his having painted "dwarfs,
buffoons, drunkards, Germans, and similar indecencies" at supper with
Our Lord. Veronese defended himself on the ground that Michael
Angelo, "in the Papal Chapel at Rome, painted Our Lord Jesus Christ,
His Mother, Saint John, and Saint Peter, and all the court of heaven,
from the Virgin Mary downwards, naked, and in various attitudes, with
little reverence." Veronese was dismissed with a command to correct
his picture within three months; but more than three hundred years
have passed, and it remains untouched.
The suppers of Christ and his disciples and friends were so often
painted by Veronese, that he could scarcely vary them very much.
That in the house of Levi is subject to criticism on account of the
prominence given to the architecture, which is of too florid a type
to please a severe taste, although it may correspond with the
disorder and movement of the peculiar figures of the composition to
which the Sacred Tribunal objected.
Rich in masterpieces as the Ducal Palace and the Academy are, one
must still go elsewhere for some of the grandest works of the
Venetian school. For example, the Santa Barbara of Palma Vecchio is
in the Church of S. Maria Formosa, which I always remember was built
in 1492, that important year in which our part of the world may be
said to have been born. This church is very near {363} the Piazza;
and the walk from the Academy, where one so often is, after crossing
the bridge, leads through a maze of _calli_ in the very heart of the
city.
Santa Barbara was the patroness of soldiers, and this picture was
painted for the Bombardieri. She makes the centre of an altarpiece,
having two male saints on each side, and a Pietà above. The whole
work is excellent, and were the central figure not seen, the Virgin
above would attract much attention; but the Saint Barbara fills the
place.
She stands there in full majesty, a beautiful young girl, proud in
her bearing, but full of human attraction. She is not saint-like,
and wears her crown with no humility, and holds her palm as it might
be a sceptre. Her rich brown robe, carelessly held about her waist
by a knotted ribbon, is in exquisite contrast with her crimson
mantle. A white veil is twisted in her golden crown, falls on one
side, and crosses her breast; while her magnificent hair falls in
wavy tresses on each side her throat, and rests on her bosom. Cannon
are at her feet, and her tower is seen behind her. It is a splendid,
lovable woman who is here portrayed in a marvellous manner.
Charles Blanc tells us that when he first entered this church with
his friend, Mass was being said before the altar of Santa Barbara;
but in spite of the ceremony and the place they were both surprised
into cries of admiration as they saw the picture. Naturally the
priests and worshippers were scandalized, and our author was publicly
reproved.
Tradition teaches us that this Barbara was a portrait of Palma's
daughter, Violante, who was passionately loved by Titian. So good an
authority as Blanc tells us that "it is certain" that Palma's
daughter was the mistress of Titian late in his life. Both these
masters made several portraits of her, introducing her into a variety
of scenes. {364} One knows her by her limpid, wide-open eyes, her
voluptuous mouth and peculiar nose. She is often represented in
dishabille, with her large shoulders and beautiful bosom half bare.
When attired, she is much decorated, with puffs and slashes in her
gowns, with bows of ribbon, and numerous chains and other ornaments.
Just at the left of the western front of Santa Maria Formosa is the
entrance to the Ponte del Paradiso, with its exquisite Gothic
archway.--one of the most charming bits of old architecture in Venice.
A very short walk takes one to the Campo of SS. Giovanni and Paola,
on which are situated the grand Dominican church of the same name;
the Scuola of San Marco, now a hospital; and the chapel of Santa
Maria della Pace, in which the Falieri were buried, and where, in
1815, the skeleton of the unhappy Doge was found with the head
between the knees.
Here too is the splendid statue of Verrochio's, of which Ruskin says,
"I do not believe that there is a more glorious work of sculpture
existing in the world than the equestrian statue of Bartolommeo
Colleoni,"--which to me seems rather extreme praise.
The church, best known as San Zanipolo, is in the cheerful Italian
Gothic, and with its broad arches and white windows does not at all
suggest its grand sepulchral character. But it is crowded with
monuments and tombs. Here many Doges were laid in state, and here
their funeral services were held. While living they also came here
on the 7th of October, in all their bravery and dignity, to celebrate
the anniversary of the victory over the Turks in the Dardanelles.
But now, these pageants being over, it is essentially a great tomb;
and taken together with Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari, we have the
double Mausoleum of Venice.
San Zanipolo was founded because of a dream which {365} the Doge
Giacomo Tiepolo dreamed in 1226. Were dreams of more consequence in
those days, or are we less attentive to them? The Doge saw in his
sleep the little chapel of the Dominicans surrounded with the most
lovely red roses, so fragrant that all the air was sweet with their
perfume; and in the midst of the roses white doves with gold crosses
on their heads were flying all about. Then angels descended, bearing
smoking golden censers, and they passed through the chapel, and out
among the flowers, and the incense was like clouds, and a voice said,
"This is the place I have chosen for my preachers."
Instantly the Doge awoke and went to the Senate to tell his dream;
and at once a large plot of ground was added to the domain of the
Dominicans, and after eight years the foundation of the church was
laid under the supervision of the Doge and the Senators.
The two great pictures of this church--the "Death of Saint Peter
Martyr" by Titian, and a beautiful work by Giovanni Bellini--were
burned, and the remaining paintings are scarcely as interesting as
are the monuments, some of which are very curious, and many of which
perpetuate the names and deeds of the greatest men of the Republic.
The most absurd, perhaps, is the monument to the two Doges Valier,
and to the Dogaressa, the wife of the younger. The effect of the
enormous curtain, perhaps seventy feet high, with ropes, fringes, and
tassels galore, and sustained by cherubs, thus making a background
for the effigies of the three figures, is something indescribable.
Victory, Fame, the Virtues, Genii, a lion, and a dragon have all been
made to contribute to the glory of this family; and the inscription
tells us that this ugly Dogaressa, with her jewels, laces, furs,
ruffs, and embroidery, was "Distinguished by Roman virtue, Venetian
piety, and the Ducal Crown." One wonders what she could have asked
for in her prayers. Having all this, {366} what could be added unto
her? Would beauty have been worth while?
The two Bellini and Palma Giovane are entombed at San Zanipolo, while
the tombs of Titian and Canova are at the Frari, all of them being in
most masterful company; but in the last-named church there exists a
beautiful Madonna and Saints by Giovanni Bellini, and the splendid
altarpiece by Titian called "La Pala dei Pesari." It is a Madonna
with Saints and some of the Pesari family. It is the finest
_ex-voto_ picture in the world. It was ordered in 1519, and Titian
was paid ninety-six ducats for it.
We have barely mentioned Tintoretto, his "Paradiso" and his "Miracle
of Saint Mark." He is to many the most unusual man among the
Venetian painters of his time, and to others an artist who was not
surpassed. He seized and still holds his own domain in the Church of
Santa Maria dell' Orto and the Scuola di San Rocco. "Boiling with
thoughts," having means to live without earning, he but desired space
and opportunity to paint; and these he secured when he offered to
work without price for the fathers of the Orto.
The two enormous pictures of the "Last Judgment" and "The Israelites
worshipping the Golden Calf" still remain to prove that he was no
vain boaster when he proposed to satisfy himself and win a glorious
fame; and these two great pictures finished, he proceeded, so to
speak, to decorate the whole church.
It was not alone in the palaces and churches of Venice that the
artists found opportunities for the indulgence of their imagination
in depicting historical and ideal religious subjects. The Scuole, of
which there were five, were associations of private individuals for
benevolent purposes. They are remarkable monuments to the people,
not to the government, and are all the more interesting {367} because
in this regard they are unique. They were largely endowed; and their
edifices, built by voluntary gifts, are among the chief ornaments of
Mediæval Venice. Among their objects were the provision of
occupation for boys, and the gift of dowries to maidens, fifteen
hundred of these being annually married by the aid of these
confraternities.
Perhaps the Scuola di San Marco on the Campo of the same name, was as
remarkable as any one of these institutions. For this brotherhood
Tintoretto painted the "Miracle of Saint Mark," now in the Academy.
No words can describe this picture, of which Taine says: "No
painting, in my judgment, surpasses or perhaps equals his Saint Mark
in the Academy; at all events, no painting has made an equal
impression on my mind." And Blanc says: "Tintoretto has here
employed all his knowledge, all his love. It is the work of a
colorist, who could be made to pale by no other, even in Venice....
By this resplendent painting Tintoretto attained to the highest rank,
and he could no longer be ignored in the decoration of the Ducal
Palace."
Vasari and Ridolfi concur in the account of the bold manner in which
Tintoretto bore off the prize in a contest at the Scuola di San
Rocco. This was the most interesting and the richest of the Scuole;
and the Brotherhood, having obtained the relics of the saint, albeit
in a manner not to be commended, had built their fine church and
Scuola in his honor. From Antonio Grimani to the fall of the
Republic, the Doges were enrolled in this order, and the
Confraternity of San Rocco was a liberal patron of art. Mrs. Jameson
gives this account of the acquisition of the relics:--
"In the year 1485 the Venetians, who from their commerce with the
Levant were continually exposed to the visitation of the plague,
determined to possess themselves of the relics of {368} S. Roch. The
conspirators sailed to Montpellier, under pretence of performing a
holy pilgrimage, and carried off the body of the saint, with which
they returned to Venice, and were received by the Doge, the Senate,
the clergy, and all the people with inexpressible joy."
When on one occasion the Brotherhood of San Rocco demanded cartoons
for a picture they wished to have painted from five celebrated
artists, Tintoretto secretly measured the space, and painted the
scene in a few days. When the day of competition arrived, he managed
to fasten his canvas in the place for the intended decoration and
covered it; and when the other designs had been displayed, he
snatched the covering from his picture, and electrified all present.
The judges were as angry as the competitors, and told the painter
that they had met to judge of cartoons, and not to have a picture
forced on them. Tintoretto replied that this was his only method of
design; that designs and models should always be so executed that the
full effect of the completed work could be seen; and, finally, he
said that he set no price on his picture, which he wished to present
to them. As they were not permitted to refuse a gift to their saint,
they were forced to keep it.
At length, the excitement having passed, the larger number of votes
was cast in favor of Tintoretto, and he was formally appointed to do
all that was necessary for the decoration of the Scuola, receiving a
hundred ducats a year during his life, and promising to paint for it
one picture annually. The picture which he nailed to the roof while
his rivals made their drawings may still be seen there. It was
executed in 1560, and represents "The Apotheosis of Saint Roch."
Thus it happened that the Lower and Upper Halls, the Staircase and
the Albergo of the Scuola became galleries of the works of
Tintoretto, while still others are in the {369} Church of San Rocco.
When the Scuola was finished, it became, in a sense, a school of
painting. Ridolfi says it was--
"the resort of the studious in painting, and in particular of all the
foreigners from the other side of the Alps who came to Venice at that
time: Tintoretto's works serving as examples of composition, of
grace, and harmony of design, of the management of light and shade,
and force and freedom of color; and, in short, of all that can be
called most accurate, and can best exhibit the gifts of the ingenious
painter."
All over Venice his works exist,--in the humblest chapels and
sacristies, as well as in the Hall of the Great Council; and yet many
have been burned, have perished by neglect, or have become
indistinguishable with time.
It is a curious fact that of all the Venetian school of painters
there were but two born in Venice,--Giovanni Bellini and Tintoretto;
and yet, so perfectly have the others suited themselves to her
atmosphere that we feel their art to be hers individually, in perfect
accord with her spirit and her needs.
So, in architecture, Scamozzi, Palladio, Sansovino, and San Micheli
were all born on the mainland; not one of them first saw the light in
Venice. But who that stands in the Piazza, or passes up and down the
Grand Canal, feels for a moment that any other architecture would
have suited Venice, or that this would please us were it reproduced
elsewhere? Assuredly Mediæval Venice possessed a charm which worked
its spell on all who dwelt within her borders, which enabled her to
impress them with her own signet, and draw out in her service the
best that was in them. Venice was of old an enchantress; and in
spite of years and the many maladies from which she has suffered, she
has not yet lost her spell. The charm is still there. It is over
you while within her borders, and fills you with delight. It surges
around you from time to {370} time when you are far, far away, and
you long to be with her again as you long for the beloved faces into
which you cannot look, and which distance and time make no less dear.
You shut your eyes on what is near you, and you think of the shimmer
of her lagoons, the pearly tints of the cool hours of day, and the
rosy, golden atmosphere of the warmer time. Her domes and palaces
rise before you. You almost feel the motion of the gondola as you
sweep around a curve, and a new and fascinating vista reveals itself.
You hear a soft, musical language, or listen to the well-known cries
of the gondoliers and the distant song or serenade, and you echo the
words of Saint Victor: "Other cities have admirers; Venice alone has
lovers."
{371}
INDEX.
A.
Abano, Baths of, 192, 194, 195.
Abbiati, 187.
Abydos, 47.
Academy of Fine Arts, 347, 363, 367.
Accademia delle Belle Arti, 356, 360.
Adams, Charles Kendall, 254.
Adda, The river, 192, 194, 275, 281.
Adrian IV, Pope, 3.
Adrianople, 67, 68.
Adriatic, The, 48, 70, 167, 237, 266.
Ægean, The, 48, 70.
Alberti, Pietro, 61.
Aldus the Printer, 255, 326-332.
Alexander III., Pope, 3-9, 11, 13, 31, 90, 347, 350.
Alexandria, 227, 233, 263, 278, 304.
Alexius, 44-47, 49, 50, 52-58.
Alexius III., 68.
Alexius Ducas, 56.
Alexius the Elder, 48, 51.
Alfonso of Naples, 231, 233, 234.
Aliense, 341, 350.
Altina, 167.
Amadeo, Duke of Savoy, 188.
Anafesto, Luca, 25.
Ancona, 31, 149, 349, 350.
Andata alli due Castelli, 9.
Angeli, The, 55, 59.
Angels, Church of the, 134.
Anna of Padua, 325.
Antelao, 168.
Anti-Doge, The, 10, 11.
Aquileia, 149, 167.
Archipelago, The, 48.
Armenia, 313, 314.
Armenia, Queen of, 229.
Armenians, 68, 69.
Arqua del Monte, 207, 208.
Arrengo, The, 28, 29.
Arsenal, The, 30, 161, 202, 213-216, 251, 325.
Arsenalotti, The, 215.
Arundel, Lady, 290.
Ascension Day, 6, 11, 12.
Asolo, 236-239, 280, 359.
Asolo, Lady of, 237.
Athens, 285.
Aucher, Dr., 315.
Austria, 149.
Austria, Emperor of, 293, 294, 301.
Avignon, 140.
B.
Badoer, 109, 110.
Badoer II., 305.
Badoer III., 210.
Badoeri, The, 208.
Bagnolo, Peace of, 276.
Bajumonte, 108-113.
Baldwin, Emperor, 65-68.
Ballerini, Giorgio, 138.
Bandello, 212.
Bank of Venice, 31.
Barbara's Day, St., 121.
Barbaria, Giorgio, 130.
Barbaro, Daniel, 95.
Barbarossa, 3-5, 7, 31, 347.
Barberigo, 154.
Barberigo, Doge, 124.
Barbo, Paolo, 263.
Barbolano, Pietro, 309, 310.
Basaiti, Marco, 212.
Baschet, M. Armand, 118.
Bassanio, 326.
Bassano, Francesco, 348.
Bassano, Jacopo, 342.
Bassano, Leandro, 344, 347.
Beauharnais, Eugene, 293, 333.
Bedmar, Marquis of, 288.
Belegno, Filippo, 110.
Bellini, 236.
Bellini, The, 219, 366.
Bellini, Gentile, 70, 357, 359, 360.
Bellini Giovanni, Juan or Zuan, 124, 205, 357, 365, 366, 369.
Beltramo, 143, 145.
Bembo, Marco, 231.
Bembo, Pietro, 238, 324.
Benedict III., Pope, 204, 312.
Benevolent Institutions, Early, 258.
Beretta, The, 25, 28, 204.
Bergamo, 195, 198, 199, 275, 282.
Bernini, 121.
Beroviero, Angelo, 129, 131-135, 137, 138.
Beroviero, Marino, 138, 139.
Berri, Duchesse de, 337.
Bessarion, Cardinal, 332.
Béthune, Conon de, 55.
Bibliotheca di San Marco, 345.
Blachernæ, Palace of, 52, 55, 61.
Blanc, Charles, 344, 352, 359, 360, 363.
Blois, Count of, 33, 46, 69.
Boccaccio, 206.
Bocconio, Marino, 101, 106, 108.
Boniface Marquis, of Monteferrato, 36, 43, 44, 46, 47, 49, 65-67.
Bordone, Paris, 307.
Borgia, Lucrezia, 238.
Bosphorus, The, 48, 49, 51, 54, 58.
Boucoleon, Palace of, 61, 65, 67, 69.
Boulogne, 33.
Bourienne, 293.
Bragadin, Giambattista, 289.
"Bravo, The," 114.
Brenta, The, 197, 237, 241, 297, 314.
Brescia, 191-193, 195, 239, 275, 282.
Bresciano, The, 194.
Briati, Giuseppe, 130.
"Brides of Venice," 210.
Bridge of Sighs, 203.
Broglio, The, 142, 177, 181.
Broletto, The, 186.
Brondolo, 149, 155, 297.
Bronze Horses, 269.
Brown, H. F., 112, 164, 233, 236, 276, 277.
Brown, Mr. Rawdon, 326.
Brunswick, Duke of, 337.
Brussels, Peace of, 281, 282.
Bucentaur, The, 9-11, 13, 140, 180, 216, 225, 229, 236, 306.
Buckingham, Duke of, 130.
Bulgaria, King of, 68.
Buono of Malamocco, 304.
Buranelli, The, 163.
Burano, 163, 164.
Byron, Lord, 80, 315.
C.
Cagliari, Carl or Carletto, 342, 347.
Cagliari, Gabriele, 347.
Caledonian Boar, 55.
Calendario, 143.
"Calza, Compagnia della," 177-179.
Cambray, League of, 240, 279, 280, 282, 287, 343.
Campania, 127.
Campanile, The, 150, 152, 159, 160, 209, 211, 265, 266, 296, 299,
310, 348.
Campo della Carità, 356.
Campo Fornio, 293.
Campo di San Agostino, 113, 326.
Campo dei SS. Giovanni e Paolo, 364.
Campo di San Marco, 367.
Campo di San Polo, 113.
Campo di San Stefano, 356.
Canabes, Nicholas, 57.
Canale, Martino da, 102, 131, 132.
Candia, 67, 146, 153, 181, 182, 263, 266, 284.
Cane, Facino, 185.
Canea, 154.
Canova, 337.
Cape of Good Hope, 277.
Capo d' Istria, 94.
Cappelari, 122.
Carceri, The, 203, 206.
Cardona, 280, 281.
Carita, La, Convent of, 347, 356.
Carmagnola, 175, 184-198, 245, 281.
Carnival Thursday, 141.
Carpaccio, 359, 360.
Carrara, Francesco da, 161.
Carriera, Andrea de Costantino, 241.
Carriera, Rosalba, 218, 241-244.
Casa degli Spiriti, 172, 173.
Casalsecco, 194.
Casal Maggiore, 193.
Castellani, The, 83.
Castello, The, 83.
Castelnuovo, Count of, 192.
Castenedolo, 194.
Cattaro, 159.
Cavalli, 155.
Cavour, 299.
Cephalonia, 123, 311.
Chambord, Comte de, 337.
Champagne, Count of, 33.
Chancellerie Secrète, Histoire de la, 118.
Charles Albert, 296, 298.
Charles V., 281, 360.
Charlotte Lusignan, 226, 227, 230, 232.
Chartres, Count of, 33.
Chicago, 125.
Chioggia, 98, 140, 149, 150, 152-158, 160, 167, 212.
Chios, 311.
Chiozzotti, The, 163.
Christina, St., 312.
Clerc, Le, 350.
Clough, Arthur Hugh, 266.
Colbert, 130.
Colleoni, 175, 198-201, 364.
Columbian Exposition, 125.
Columbus, Christopher, 251-254.
Columns of Executions, 140, 149, 197, 267, 208, 288-290, 351.
Comans, The, 68-70.
Como, Lake, 113.
Confederacy of the Lombards, 4.
Conon de Béthune, 55.
Constantine, 67.
Constantine, Prefect, 51.
Constantine, Square of, 55.
Constantinople, 32, 42, 45-49, 53, 56, 57, 60, 62, 63, 65, 66, 71,
262, 283, 309, 313.
Contarini, 91, 332.
Contarini, Doge Andrea, 145, 154-157.
Contarini, Arrigo, 304, 310.
Contarini, Giovanni, 341.
Contarini, Lucrezia, 177.
Contarini Palace, 179, 180, 183.
Cooper, 114.
Corbaro, 152, 158.
Corfu, 46, 47, 292.
Cornaro, 155.
Cornaro, Andrea, 226, 228, 229.
Cornaro, Caterina, 218, 226, 228-241, 245, 359.
Cornaro, Giorgio, 235, 236, 240.
Cornaro, Marco, 232.
Corpus Domini, 72.
Council of Three, 114, 115.
Council of Ten, 111-120, 126, 129, 143-145, 152, 161, 177, 181, 182,
197, 216, 219, 235, 245, 246, 281, 286-292, 323, 325, 330, 340, 351.
Credi, Lorenzo di, 200.
Crema, 280.
Croatia, 67.
Crozat Hotel, 242.
Crozat, Pierre, 242, 243.
Curzola, 96.
Custom House, 83.
Custoza, 300.
Cyclades, The, 67.
Cyprus, 147, 161, 226-235, 263, 282, 283.
Cyprus, King of, 226, 227, 231.
Cyprus, Queen of, 218, 226, 228, 229, 232.
D.
Dalmatia, 67, 115.
Dandolo, 91, 98.
Dandolo, Andrea, 96, 97, 320.
Dandolo, Enrico, 32, 35, 40-45, 47, 49, 51, 57, 58, 65-71, 184, 262.
Dandolo, Giovanni, 93.
Dandolo, Raniero, 39, 46.
Dardanelles, The Straits of, 48.
Deacon John, 26.
Decameron, The, 206.
Decemvirs, The, 116, 117.
Diaz, 277.
Didymotichos, 67.
Dogado, The, 121.
Dogana, The, 80, 209.
Dogaressa, The, 9, 104, 105, 113, 141, 219, 225, 365.
Dolomitic Alps, 168.
Donatello, 199.
Donato, Marco, 108, 110.
Donato, St., 311.
Donato, San, Cathedral of, 123, 124.
Don John of Austria, 283.
Doria, 153, 155.
Doria, Lampa, 96, 97, 99.
Doria, Luciano, 146-148.
Doria, Pietro, 149-151.
Ducal Chapel, 159, 208.
Ducal Palace, 8, 27, 41, 71, 76, 103, 105, 106, 134, 159, 179-183,
202, 209, 215, 219, 221, 223, 228, 248, 256, 257, 268, 280, 332, 340,
349, 352, 358, 362, 367.
Ducas, Alexius, 56.
Durazzo, 46, 67.
Dürer, Albert, 247.
E.
Elena, Queen, 227.
Elena, St., 2.
Elenora of Portugal, 134.
Elisabetta, Sant', 23.
Emo, Governor, 313.
Emo, Pietro, 149, 150.
Erasmus, 330.
Ethereals, The, 178.
Euganean Hills, 167, 207, 237.
Evorea, Bishop of, 311.
F.
Falieri, The, 364.
Faliero, Marino, 140-144, 207, 245, 351, 352.
Famagosta, 230, 231, 233, 235, 283.
Fassone, 156.
Fenice, La, 317.
Ferdinand of Naples, 228, 230.
Fergusson, 204.
Ferrara, 238.
Ferrara, Peace of, 195, 276.
Festa delle Marie, 211.
Fiammingo, 348.
Fieschi, Admiral, 146.
Filippo Maria, Duke, 186.
Flanders, Count of, 46, 58, 61-63, 65.
Florence, 188-190, 200.
Florentines, The, 176, 188, 189, 191, 278.
Florian Café, 317.
Fondachi, The, 247, 248.
Fondaco dei Turchi, 236, 326.
Fondamenta Nuove, 121.
Forty, The, 175.
Fortunato, Patriarch, 27.
Fosca, Saint, 311.
Fosca, St., Church of, 169.
Foscari, The, 175.
Foscari, Doge Francesco, 175, 177, 182-186, 196, 286.
Foscari, Jacopo, 177-184, 222, 282.
Foscari Palace, 76, 283.
Foscarini, Antonio, 289, 290.
Foscarini, Doge Marco, 319, 321.
Foulkes of Neuilly, 32.
Fountain Amorous, 235.
Fourth Crusade, 347, 350.
Francis I., 183, 281.
Francis Joseph, Emperor, 301.
Frari, The, 289, 366.
Frari, Convent of the, 245, 360.
Frederick Barbarossa, 3, 4, 6.
Frederick III., Emperor, 132-135.
Free Lances, 185.
Furber, Mr. H., 125.
G.
Galata, Tower of, 50, 59.
Gama, Vasco di, 277, 278.
Gambarare, 241.
Gamberato, Girolamo, 349.
Garibaldi, 84, 298, 299.
Gautier, 342.
Geminiano, San, Church of, 31.
Genoa, 106, 115, 146, 149, 151, 158, 186, 187, 226, 232.
Ghost Stories, 170-173.
Giants' Staircase, 295, 351.
Giardini Pubblici, 3, 209.
Gibbon, 43, 48, 50, 60, 62, 63.
Giblet, Tristan, 334.
Gibraltar, Straits of, 278.
Giorgio (Ballerino), 132, 134-136.
Giorgio, San, 76, 79, 83, 84.
Giorgio Maggiore, San, 14, 203, 209, 307.
Giorgione, 219, 308.
Giudecca, La, 74, 75, 84, 153, 209.
Giustina, Rosso, 110.
Giustiniani, 109, 152, 153, 284.
Giustiniani, Casa, 74.
Giustiniani, Niccolo, 73.
Giustiniani, Pietro, 309.
Giustiniani, Taddeo, 151.
Goethe, 262.
Golden Horn, The, 48, 50, 58, 70, 154, 309.
Golden Rose, The, 9, 225.
Gondolier's Cries, 173, 174.
Gonzago, Duchess Isabella, 330.
Good Friday, 88.
Goro, 4.
Gradenigo, 90, 94, 95, 101, 106, 108, 109, 111-113, 212.
Grand Canal, 76, 81, 229, 236, 239, 247, 301, 334, 347, 369.
Grassi, Giovanni, 268.
Great Council, The, 12, 13, 286, 287, 290-292, 330, 345.
Great Council-Chamber, 144, 346, 350, 369.
Gregory XVI., Pope, 122.
Grimani, Antonio, 367.
Grimani, Cardinal, 332.
Grimani, Doge Marino, 225.
Gritti, Doge Andrea, 344.
Guattemalata, 199.
Guy, Abbot of Vaux-Cernay, 41, 42.
H.
Hagia Sophia, 63.
Hall of the Great Council, 228, 295.
Hawkwood, Sir John, 157.
Hazlitt, 7, 33, 64, 112, 115, 149, 176.
Hellespont, The, 67.
Henry III., 215, 222, 257, 283, 345.
Hippodrome, 55.
Histoire de la Chancellerie Secrète, 118.
Holy Land, 33.
"Holy League," 280.
Horses of St. Mark, 64, 262.
Hospital, Public, 27.
Hotels, Ancient, of Venice, 257.
Howells, Mr., 121, 203, 259.
Hungary, 149.
Hungary, Ring of, 43.
Hunt, Helen, 170.
I.
Ibrahim, Sultan, 284.
Illumination, The, 79.
Illyric Islands, 67.
Immortelles, The, 178.
Inner Temple, 115.
Innocent III., 32, 35, 42, 43, 45, 65, 66.
Inquisitori dei Dieci, 117.
Inquisitors of the Ten, 117, 281, 287-292.
Ionian Sea, 48.
Irene, 51.
Irene, Empress, 271.
Iron Crown of Lombardy, 300.
Isaac, Emperor, 44, 49, 62, 56-58.
Isidore, St., 311.
Istria, 167.
J.
James Lusignan, 227-231.
Jameson, Mrs., 367.
Jenson, Nicolas, 254.
Jerusalem, 34, 40, 45, 66, 161.
Jerusalem, Queen of, 229.
John of Venice, 26.
John, King, 69, 70.
Julius II., Pope, 280.
Justina, Saint, 312.
K.
Knights of Malta, 284.
Knights of Rhodes, 227.
Knights Templars, 80.
L.
Lace and Lace-making, 164-166.
Lace-work Goblet, 133.
Lago di Garda, 192.
Lago d' Iseo, 194.
Lascaris, Theodore, 68, 69.
La Sensa, Feast of, 12.
Lateran, St. John, 350.
Lazzaro, San, 39, 312, 313.
Legnano, Battle of, 4.
Leopardo, Alessandro, 200, 264, 271.
Lepanto, 215, 283, 342.
Levant, The, 70, 247, 276, 282, 284.
Library of St. Mark, 122, 345.
Libreria Vecchia, 332, 333.
Libro d' Oro, 92.
Lido, The, 23, 36, 73, 76, 122, 142, 146, 149, 151, 152, 156, 215,
229, 235, 236.
Lido, Porto di, 2, 153.
Lioni, 143.
Lion of St. Mark, 8, 9, 99, 157, 267, 292.
Lion's Mouth, The, 341.
Lisbon, 253, 278, 279.
Lombardo, 271.
Lombardo, Moro, 121.
Lombardo, Santi, 336.
Lombards, The, 167.
Lombards, Confederacy of, 4.
Lombardy, 193, 197, 280.
Longfellow, 24.
Loredan, Andrea, 337.
Loredano, 182.
Loredano, Doge Leonardo, 2, 64.
Louis XI., 254.
Louis XII., 281.
Louis XIV., 166.
Louis, Count of Blois and Chartres, 33.
Louis of Savoy, 227.
Lucrezia Contarini, 179, 180, 182.
Luke, Saint, 64.
Lusignan, Caterina Veneta, 229.
Lusignan, James, 226, 228.
M.
Macalo, 194.
Mahomet the Second, 64.
Malamocco, 2, 149, 153, 288.
Malatesta, Pandolfo, 239.
Malpaga, 199.
Malpasso, Bridge of, 108.
Manfredonia, 157, 158.
Manin, Daniele, 294-298, 301.
Manin, Ludovico, 293.
Mannucci or Manutio, 326.
Mappamondo, The, 122, 352.
March of Treviso, The, 108.
Marcello, Countess of, 164.
Marciana, The, 345.
Marco Milione, 96, 340.
Marco Polo, 96-100, 338-340.
Marghera, 297.
Mark, St., Horses of, 64.
Mark, St., Library of, 122, 345.
Marmora, Sea of, 48.
Marne, The, 33.
Marriage of the Adriatic, 9, 216.
Marsh, John B., 133, 251.
Martin IV., Pope, 93.
Marzoufle, 56-59.
Mastichelli, 228.
Mauro, Frate, 122, 352.
Mazzorbo, 163, 164.
Mechitar, 312-314.
Mechitaristican Society, 313, 314.
Medici, 91.
Memmo, Jacopo, 183.
Memmo, Marin, 183.
Merceria, The, 108, 110.
Mestre, 197, 239, 295.
Metternich, 293, 294.
Michael Angelo, 349.
Michieli, 91.
Michieli, Anna, 73.
Michieli III., 29.
Michieli, Doge Domenico, 270, 311.
Michieli, Giovanni, 304, 310.
Michieli, Doge Vitale I., 128.
Michieli, Doge Vitale II., 27, 153, 257, 304.
Milan, 157, 160, 176, 181, 186, 188, 189, 191, 193, 195-197, 199,
232, 299, 344.
Milan, Cathedral of, 129.
Milan, Duke of, 181, 185-187, 192, 195, 216, 281.
Milnes, Monckton, 173.
Minerva, Statue of, 56.
Minio, Bartolommeo, 251, 252.
Mocenigo, 131, 132, 137, 139, 230, 231.
Mocenigo, Admiral, 230, 231.
Mocenigo, Lazzaro, 285.
Mocenigo, Sebastiano, 313.
Mocenigo, Doge Tommaso, 175.
Mocetto, Girolamo, 129.
Molo, The, 140, 202, 203, 267, 317.
Montagnana, F. di F. da, 238.
Monté di Pietà, 236.
Monteferrato, Boniface, Marquis of, 36, 41, 43-45, 62.
Montferrat, 61.
Montfort, Simon of, 43.
Montmorency, Baron de, 41.
Morea, The, 67, 70, 263, 285, 351.
Moro, Doge Cristoforo, 270.
Moro, Giulio dal, 350.
Morosini, 65, 66, 218, 225.
Morosini, Domenico, 262.
Morosini, Francesco, 285, 286, 351.
Municipal Museum, 10, 236.
Murano, 2, 77, 112, 121-131, 135, 137, 311, 356.
Muscorno, Giulio, 289.
Museo Civico, 248.
Music, Publishing of, 255.
Mutinelli, 248.
N.
Nani, 332.
Naples, 4, 149, 181.
Naples, Viceroy of, 288.
Napoleon, 209, 210, 292-294, 356.
Nauplia, 285.
Navagero, Andrea, 240, 321, 322, 324.
Negropont, 153.
Niccolo il Barattiere, 268.
Nicetas, 61.
Nicholas Canabes, 57.
Nick the Blackleg, 268.
Nicosia, 227, 231, 235, 283.
Nicosia, Archbishop of, 226, 230.
Nola, 127.
Novara, 296.
Novello, Francesco Carrara, 207.
O.
Oliphant, Mrs., 73, 144, 184, 200, 321, 326, 327, 358.
Olivolo, 210, 305.
Olivolo, Bishop of, 210.
Orio, Malipiero, 30
Orologio, Torre dell', 264.
Orseolo I., 27.
Orseolo, Pietro, 12, 270.
Oelle, 30.
Ossuna, Duke of, 288.
Otho the Great, 123.
Otho, son of Barbarossa, 6.
P.
Padua, 149, 160, 199, 233, 237, 324, 343.
Paglia, The, 203.
Pala dei Pesari, La, 366.
Pala d' Oro, 270.
Palazzo Bembo alla Celestia, 338.
Palazzo Contarini, 338.
Palazzo Cornaro, 228, 229.
Palazzo Corner della Regina, 236.
Palazzo delle due Torri, 205.
Palazzo Farsetti, 337.
Palazzo Ferrara, 236.
Palazzo Foscari, 76.
Palazzo Imperiale, 333.
Palazzo Loredan, 337.
Palazzo dei Poli, 338.
Palazzo Vendramin Calergi, 336.
Paleologo, Michele, 212.
Paleologus, Elena, 226.
Palestine, 32, 36, 45, 52.
Palladio, 283, 356, 369.
Pallium, The, 28.
Palma, Giovane, 337, 345, 349, 352, 366.
Palma Vecchio, 219, 362, 363.
Palm Sunday, 72.
"Paradise," The, 61.
Paris, 205
Paris Opera House, 125.
Parthenon, The, 285, 351.
Paterniano, St., 301.
Patmos, 204.
Paul V., Pope, 122, 288.
Paulus, Bishop of Altina, 167.
Peacocks, The, 178.
Pears, 63.
Pelestrina, 155.
Pellegrini, Antonio, 242, 243.
Pelmo, 168.
Pentapolis, 167.
Pera, Quarter of, 53, 55.
Perkins, Mr. C. C., 166.
Persano, Admiral, 301.
Pesari, The, 366.
Peter of Capua, 37.
Peter II. of Cyprus, 147.
Petrarca, Casa del, 205.
Petrarch, 205-207, 282, 320, 329, 332.
Petrucci, Ottaviano, 255.
Philip, Duke, 189, 190-192.
Philip, Emperor of Suabia, 44-46, 66.
Phinea, 58.
Piane, The, 237.
Piazza of St. Mark, 3, 6, 7, 31, 37, 74, 79, 81, 93, 102, 105, 108,
141, 150, 179, 199, 204, 211, 225, 236, 259, 265-268, 272-274, 280,
295, 310, 328, 333, 348, 356-358, 363, 369.
Piazzetta, The, 3, 5, 24, 79, 180, 197, 202, 216, 267, 268, 288, 301,
317, 348.
Piccinino, 199.
Pico, Count, 327.
Piedmont, 160, 187, 296, 298.
Pierre, Giacomo, 288.
Pietra del Bando, 267.
Pietro, 129.
Pietro in Castello, San, 12.
"Pilgrim," The, 61.
Pisa, 32.
Pisani, The beautiful, 176, 218.
Pisani, Giorgio, 291.
Pisani, Vettore, 145-148, 152-158, 160, 245.
Pizzighettone, 280.
Pol, St., Count of, 46, 62, 66.
Polo, 176.
Ponte della Paglia, 203.
Ponte del Paradiso, 364.
Ponte del Sepolcro, 205.
Pordenone, 163.
Porto d' Anzo, 146, 218.
Portugal, 252.
Presburg, 298.
Priuli, 235, 236, 278.
Procuratie, The, 79.
Procuratie, Nuove, 333.
Pyrenees, The, 23.
Q.
Querini, Angelo, 291.
Quirini, 97, 108-110.
Quirini, Marco, 107.
Quirini, Pietro, 107.
Quinta Valle, 210.
R.
Radetzky, 298.
Ravenna, 167, 275, 276, 311.
Redentore, Church of the, 74, 80, 82, 209.
Redentore, Féte of the, 74, 75.
Regatta, The, 76.
Renier, Doge Paolo, 291.
Renouard, 331.
Rhodes, 227.
Rhœtian Alps, 237.
Rialto, The, 164, 303, 360.
Riccio, 187.
Ridolfi, 189, 191, 359, 367, 369.
Rio, 352.
Rio di Sant' Anna, 210.
Riva di San Marco, 307.
Riva degli Schiavoni, 14, 76, 202, 203, 205-208.
Riviera, The, 154.
Rizzo, 269.
Rizzo, Marin, 234.
Romagna, The, 275.
Romanian Empire, 67.
Rome, 227, 232, 299.
Rosso, Giustina, 110.
Royals, The, 178.
Ruskin, Mr., 122, 168, 261, 272, 332, 335, 337, 360, 364.
Rusticiano, 100.
Rustico of Torcello, 304.
S.
Sabellico, Marco Antonio, 196, 320, 321.
Sadowa, 300.
Sagornino, Giovanni, 26, 320.
Sagra, The, 85.
Saint Victor, 370.
Sala del Anticollegio, 342.
Sala della Bussola, 341.
Sala del Collegio, 342.
Sala del Consiglio dei Dieci, 344.
Sala del Maggior Consiglio, 345.
Sala dei Pregardi, 343.
Salla delle Quattro Porte, 341.
Sala dello Scrutinio, 159, 286, 351.
Sala dello Scudo, 352.
Sala del Senato, 343.
Salboro, Battle of, 5, 348, 349.
Salute, Madonna della, 80.
Salute, Maria della, Church of, 79, 209.
Salviati, 124, 125, 128.
San Andrea, 153.
San Antonio, Church of, 159.
San Antonio di Castello, 158, 309, 310.
San Apostoli, 140, 240.
San Barnaba, 179.
San Donato, Cathedral of, 123, 124.
San Eustachio, 194.
San Fantino, 152, 159.
San Gervasio e Protasio, 244.
San Giacomo dell' Orio, 326.
San Gian Crisostomo, 338.
San Giorgio, 76, 79, 83, 84.
San Giorgio Maggiore, 203, 209, 307.
San Giovanni e Paola, 129, 362.
San Giovanni in Bragora, 208.
San Lazzaro, 312, 313.
San Lorenzo, 358, 359.
San Luca, Campo of, 109.
San Marco, 3-6, 9, 24, 27, 32, 34, 37, 38, 40, 64, 79, 81, 103, 127,
128, 144, 145, 155, 159, 184, 210, 215, 225, 229, 236, 267-269, 272,
273, 283, 295, 301, 303, 305, 306, 308, 311, 332, 358.
San Marcuola, 173.
San Michele, 21, 121, 122, 297.
San Moisé, 356.
San Niccolo, 2, 4, 11, 36, 73, 83, 151, 153, 236, 307.
San Niccolo di Bari, 311.
San Niccolo del Lido, 311.
San Pietro, 210, 212.
San Pietro di Castello, 210.
San Pietro, Island of, 210, 217.
San Salvadore, 240, 304.
San Silvestro, 4.
Sansovino, 208, 269, 332, 369.
Santa Maria Formosa, 211, 362.
Santa Maria Gloriosa dei Frari, 364.
Santa Maria dell' Orto, 366.
Santa Maria della Pace, Chapel of, 364.
Santa Maria Zobenigo, 356.
San Teodoro, 310.
Santo Spirito, 151, 153.
Sanudo II., Doge, 211.
Sanudo or Sanuto, Marino, 263, 280, 309, 321-326, 337.
San Vio, 72.
San Vito, 110, 243.
San Zaccaria, 204, 205, 208, 218, 312, 325.
San Zaccaria, Quarter of, 216.
San Zanipolo, 199, 364.
Saracens, 32.
Sarpi, Fra Paolo, 121.
Savoy, 194, 232.
Savoy, Duke of, 227.
Scamozzi, 369.
Scuola di S. Giovanni Evangelista, 326, 358.
Scuola di San Marco, 199, 364, 367.
Scuola di San Rocco, 366, 367.
Scutari, 48, 49.
Selim the Drunkard, 282.
Selvo, Doge, 224.
Serenade, The, 78.
Serrata del Consiglio Maggiore, 95, 100.
Servia, 67.
Sforza, 199, 200.
Sforza, Francesco, 178.
Sforza Palace, 180.
Simon of Montfort, 43.
Sixtus IV., Pope, 276.
Soissons, Bishop of, 61.
Solferino, 299.
Solomon, Temple of, 271.
Sophia, St., 32, 53, 57, 64-67, 70, 270, 271.
Soranzo, 231, 232.
South Kensington Museum, 125.
Spalato, Archbishop of, 240.
Spanish Conspiracy, 288.
Spanish Succession, War of, 282.
Spinelli, 288.
Spires, John of, 254.
Sporades, The, 87.
Sposalizio, The, 11, 12.
Star Company of Milan, 157.
Steno, Michele, 141, 147.
Stocking, Company of the, 177.
Straits of Gibraltar, 278.
Strike of the Gondoliers, 20-22.
Suabia, Philip, Emperor of, 44.
Suleiman the Magnificent, 282.
Syria, 47.
T.
Taine, 260, 345, 353, 367.
Tard Venus, The, 157.
Ten, Chief of the, 175.
Ten, Council of, 111, 112, 114-117, 119, 120, 126, 129, 143-145, 152,
161, 177, 181, 182, 197, 216, 219, 235, 245, 246, 281, 286-292, 323,
325, 330, 340, 351.
Ten, Inquisitors of the, 117, 175, 287-292.
Thayer, W. R., 294, 295.
Theobald, Count of Champagne, 33, 36.
Theodora, Dogaressa, 224.
Theodore, St., 267, 303-306.
Thessaly, 67.
Thessalonica, King of, 70.
Thrace, 51.
Three, Council of, 114, 115.
Tiepolo, 73, 91, 93, 109, 111, 113.
Tiepolo, Bajamonte, 107, 326.
Tiepolo, Doge Giacomo, 365.
Tiepolo, Lorenzo, 103, 266.
Tintoretto, Domenico, 348-350.
Tintoretto, Jacopo, 219, 224, 283, 307, 332, 333, 343, 345-347, 349,
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Titian, 219, 229, 333, 343, 349, 360-363, 365, 366.
Tofano, 168.
Torcello, 166-170, 311, 312.
Tradenigo, Doge, 204.
Trajanople, 67.
Treasury of St. Mark, 271.
Trebizond, Emperor of, 226.
Treviso, 140, 181, 189, 197.
Treviso, March of, 108.
Trieste, 2, 33, 181, 211.
Troyes, Bishop of, 61.
True Cross, 271.
Turin, 159, 299.
Tyre, 270, 311.
V.
Valdemarino, Count of, 140.
Valier, The Doges, 365.
Valle dei Sette Morti, 172.
"Valli," The, 167.
Valtelline, War of the, 282.
Vaporetti, The, 20.
Varangians, The, 50, 52, 55, 57, 67.
Vasari, 367.
Vassilacchi, Antonio, 341.
Vatican, The, 66.
Vaux Cernay, Abbot Guy of, 41, 42.
Vecelli, Marco, 343, 344.
Vendramini, Andrea, 358.
Venier, Sebastian, 283, 342.
Verocchio, 200, 201, 364.
Verona, 140, 282, 291.
Veronese, 224, 283, 332, 342, 345, 349, 362.
Vicentino, Andrea, 159, 341, 349, 350.
Vicenza, 237, 282.
Victor Emmanuel, 300-302.
Vidaore, Andrea, 129.
Vienna, 294, 301.
Vienna, Royal Academy at, 325.
Villafranca, Peace of, 299.
Villa Marocco, 108.
Villehardouin, 33, 34, 47, 52, 63, 69.
Vio, San, 72.
Visconti, 91, 186, 189, 193, 195.
Visconti, Filippo Maria, 185.
Visconti, Galeazzo, 160.
Visconti, Gian Maria, 185.
Visconti, Valentina, 147.
Vittoria, Alessandro, 205, 349.
Vivarini, The, 356.
Y.
Yriarte, 128, 220.
Z.
Zanetti, 360.
Zanipolo, The, 144, 199, 364.
Zara, 37, 41-44, 66.
Zaratines, The, 41, 42, 46, 99, 115.
Zarla Lusignan, 231, 233.
Zattere, The, 23, 317.
Zeno, Cardinal, 271.
Zeno, Carlo, 145, 147, 149, 150, 154, 156, 157, 160, 161, 320.
Zeno, Donato, 148.
Zeno, Jacopo, 160.
Zeno, Marino, 71.
Zeno, Pietro, 161.
Zeno, Doge Renier, 102, 103.
Zeno the Unconquered, 162.
Ziani, 91.
Ziani, Doge Sebastiano, 4, 5, 13, 30-32, 268, 350.
Zonta, The, 286.
Zucchero, Federigo, 349.
Zurla, Placido, 122.
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