Salve Venetia, gleanings from Venetian history; vol. I

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Title: Salve Venetia, gleanings from Venetian history; vol. I
Author: Crawford, F. Marion (Francis Marion)
Language: English
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VENETIAN HISTORY; VOL. I ***

SALVE · VENETIA

[Illustration: THE SALUTE]

SALVE · VENETIA

GLEANINGS
FROM VENETIAN HISTORY

FRANCIS MARION CRAWFORD

_WITH 225 ILLUSTRATIONS BY JOSEPH PENNELL_

IN TWO VOLUMES

VOL. I

New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
1906

_All rights reserved_

Set up and electrotyped. Published December, 1905. Reprinted
January, 1906.

Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing & Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.

CONTENTS

PAGE

SALVE VENETIA! 1

I. THE BEGINNINGS 9

II. THE LITTLE GOLDEN AGE 24

III. THE REPUBLIC OF SAINT MARK 35

IV. VENICE UNDER THE FAMILIES OF PARTECIPAZIO, CANDIANO,
AND ORSEOLO 55

V. VENICE AND THE FIRST CRUSADES 93

VI. VENICE AND CONSTANTINOPLE 124

VII. THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY IN VENICE 160

VIII. ON MANNERS AND CERTAIN CUSTOMS IN THE FOURTEENTH
CENTURY 257

IX. THE FEAST OF THE MARIES 278

X. THE DOGES IN THE EARLY PART OF THE FOURTEENTH
CENTURY 288

XI. CONSPIRACY OF MARINO FALIERO 309

XII. THE SUCCESSORS OF MARINO FALIERO 342

XIII. CARLO ZENO 353

XIV. THE WAR OF CHIOGGIA 369

XV. VENICE IN THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY 416

THE DOGES OF VENICE 495

TABLE OF THE PRINCIPAL DATES IN VENETIAN HISTORY 499

BOOKS CONSULTED 501

INDEX 507

ILLUSTRATIONS

PLATES

The Salute _Frontispiece_

Evening in the Lagoon _To face page_ 4

Midnight, the Lagoon 6

Hall of the Globes, Ducal Palace 84

The Piazzetta 117

A White Morning from S. Georgio. The Campanile,
1903 179

When the Fishing Boats are in 204

Clouds of Sunset 207

Ponte Veneta Marina 249

The Pulpit, St. Mark’s 296

The Chapel of St. Mark’s 300

A Rainy Night, The Rialto 307

Door of the Treasury, St. Mark’s 308

The Tombs in SS. Giovanni e Paolo 338

The Nave, SS. Giovanni e Paolo 340

The City in the Seas 400

IN TEXT

PAGE

From Outside the Lido 1

Rio della Pace 2

The Mists gather on the Lagoons 3

Looking towards St. George’s 8

The Custom-house, Venice 9

The Lights of the Lido 10

Chioggia 11

Bridge at Chioggia 13

The Cathedral at Murano 16

The Islands 23

The Approach from Mestre 24

Fish Baskets 34

Venice from the Lido 35

Shops near the Rialto 36

Grand Canal, near Rialto 39

A Water Door near S. Benedetto 45

Narrow Water Lane 48

On the Giudecca 50

The Steps of the Salute 53

The Riva at Night 55

St. Mark’s 57

A Chapel, St. Mark’s 59

The Porch, St. Mark’s 60

St. Mark’s 63

Door of St. Mark’s 67

From the Gallery, St. Mark’s 69

The Great Doorway, St. Mark’s 71

The Christ of St. Mark’s 75

A Shrine, St. Mark’s 77

The Great Window, St. Mark’s 81

Fishing Boats at the Riva 92

The Grand Canal from the Ca d’Oro 93

The Post Office 98

Off the Public Gardens 101

The Clock Tower 107

The Dogana and the Salute 115

Chioggia 119

S. Pietro in Castello 122

Ponte Malcantone 124

The Salute 129

Fondamenta S. Girolamo 137

Venice from the Lagoon 142

Campiello S. Giovanni 147

Campo, Santa Ternita 154

The House of Faliero, Ponte dei S. S. Apostoli 160

The Tiepolo Palace 161

Boats off the Public Garden 167

Court of Appeals, Grand Canal 168

The Flags flying in the Piazza 177

The Campanile 178

St. Theodore 182

S. Severo 187

S. Pietro in Castello 193

The Great Lamp, St. Mark’s 195

The Canarreggio 197

The House of the Spirits 198

S. Paolo 199

The Little Fish Market 203

Off the Public Gardens 209

Rio della Pieta 215

Rio S. Agostin 222

Rio Jena Seconda 227

Calle del Spezier 236

Rio di S. Pantaleone 246

The Abbazzia 257

A Campo 262

Rio della Panada 271

Fondamenta Marcotta 278

The Abbazzia 288

Campo S. Maria 290

S. Lorenzo 299

Rio S. Stin 305

Zattere, the Morning Mist 309

Calle Occhialera 313

Campo S. Maria Nova 320

Ponte e Fondamenta di Donna Onesta 327

Ramo della Scuola 331

Campo S. Agnello 342

The Three Bridges 353

Rio della Guerra 359

Rio Pertrin 363

Bridge at Chioggia 369

Street in Chioggia 372

The Shrine at Chioggia 373

The Salute, Night 376

Calle Casalli 383

Calle della Donazella 385

Campo S. Benedetto 389

The Horses over the Great Door, St. Mark’s 397

On the Giudecca 399

Rio S. Polo 403

Moonlight Night, S. M. dell’ Orto 409

The Carmine 416

Rio de S. Pantaleone 421

The Church of the Frari 425

Ponte Fiorenzola 435

Land Gateway, Palazzo Foscari 439

Palazzo Regina di Cipro 446

Ramo Corte della Vida, S. Francesco della Vida 455

The Frari 457

The Choir Screen, Frari 459

S. Rocco 461

Grand Canal looking to Canarreggio 467

Tombs in the Frari 475

Ca d’ Oro 481

Entrance to S. Zaccharia 487

The Piazzetta, Misty Morning 493

[Illustration: FROM OUTSIDE THE LIDO]

SALVE VENETIA!

Venice is the most personal of all cities in the world, the most
feminine, the most comparable to a woman, the least dependent, for her
individuality, upon her inhabitants, ancient or modern. What would Rome
be without the memory of the Cæsars? What would Paris be without the
Parisians? What was Constantinople like before it was Turkish? The
imagination can hardly picture a Venice different from her present self
at any time in her history. Where all is colour, the more brilliant
costumes of earlier times could add but little; a general exodus of all
her inhabitants to-day would leave almost as much of it behind. In the
still canals the gorgeous palaces continually gaze down upon their own
reflected images with placid satisfaction, and look with calm
indifference upon the changing generations of men and women that glide
upon the waters. The mists gather upon the mysterious lagoons and sink

[Illustration: RIO DELLA PACE]

away again before the devouring light, day after day, year after year,
century after century; and Venice is always there herself, sleeping or
waking, laughing, weeping, dreaming, singing or sighing, living her own
life through ages, with an intensely vital personality which time has
hardly modified, and is altogether powerless to destroy. Somehow it
would not surprise those who know her, to come suddenly upon her and
find that all human life was extinct within her, while her

[Illustration: THE MISTS GATHER ON THE LAGOONS]

own went on, strong as ever; nor yet, in the other extreme, would it
seem astonishing if all that has been should begin again, as though it
had never ceased to be, if the Bucentaur swept down the Grand Canal to
the beat of its two hundred oars, bearing the Doge out to wed the sea
with gorgeous train; if the Great Council began to sit again in all its
splendour; if the Piazza were thronged once more with men and women
from the pictures of Paris Bordone, Tintoretto, Paolo Veronese, and
Titian; if Eastern shipping crowded the entrance to the Giudecca, and
Eastern merchants filled the shady ways of the Merceria. What miracle
could seem miraculous in Venice, the city of wonders?

[Sidenote: _Mut. Less._]

It is hard indeed to recall the beginnings of the city, and the time
when a few sand-ridges just rose above the surface of the motionless
lagoon, like the backs of dozing whales in a summer sea. The fishermen
from the mainland saw the resemblance too, and called them
‘backs’--‘dorsi’--giving some of them names which like ‘Dorso duro’ have
clung to them until our own time, and will perhaps live on, years hence,
among other generations of fishermen when Venice shall have disappeared
into the waste of sand and water, out of which her astonishing
personality grew into being, and in which it has flourished and survived
nearly fifteen centuries.

We are not concerned scientifically with the origin of the Venetian
people or of their name; we need not go back with Romanin to the
legendary days of the first great struggle between Asia and Europe, in
the hope of proving that the Venetians were of the great Scythian race
and took the side of Troy against the injured Atrides; it matters not at
all whether the Venetians were the same as the Eneti, whether Eneti was
a Greek name signifying those that ‘went in,’ the ‘Intruders,’ or
whether it came from the Syriac Hanida, meaning a ‘Pilgrim.’ Venice did
not begin under the

[Illustration: EVENING IN THE LAGOON]

walls of Troy, nor even in the great Roman consular province of the
mainland that bore the name and handed it down. Venice began to exist
when Europe rang with the cry of fear--‘The Huns are upon us!’--on the
day when the first fugitives, blind with terror, stumbled ashore upon
the back of one of the sand whales in the lagoon, and dared not go back.

Venice was Venice from the first, and is Venice still, a person in our
imagination, almost more than a place. To most people her name does not
instantly suggest names of great Venetians, as ‘Florence’ suggests the
Medici, as ‘Rome’ suggests the Cæsars and the Popes, as ‘Paris’ suggests
Louis XIV. and Bonaparte, as ‘Constantinople’ suggests the Sultan and
‘Bagdad’ the Caliphs. ‘Venice’ calls up a dream of colour, of rich
palaces and of still water, and at the name there are more men who will
think of Shylock and Othello than of Enrico Dandolo, or Titian, or Carlo
Zeno, or Vittor Pisani. Without much reading and some study it is almost
impossible to realise that Venice was once a great European power and a
weighty element in the alternating equilibrium and unrest of nations;
Venice seems to-day a capital without a country, an empress without an
empire, and one thinks of her as having always existed simply in order
to be always herself, a Venice for Venice’s sake, as it were, and not
for the purpose of exercising any power, nor as the product of
extraneous forces concentrated at a point and working towards a result.

These considerations may explain the charm felt by all those who know
her, and the attraction, also, which is in most books that treat her as
an artistic and romantic whole, complete in herself, to be studied,
admired, and perhaps worshipped, with only an occasional allusion to her
political history. So, too, one may account for the dry dulness and
uncharming prosiness of most books that profess to tell the history of
Venice impartially and justly. There is no such thing as impartial
history, and impartial justice is an empty phrase, as every lawyer
knows. It is only the second-rate historian, or the compiler of school
primers, who does not take one side or the other in the struggles he
describes; and a judge who feels no instinctive sympathy for right
against wrong, while as yet but half proved, can never be anything but a
judicial hack and a legal machine.

[Sidenote: _Preface Chron. Alt._]

Who seeks true poetry, said Rossi, writing on Venice, will find it most
abundantly in the early memories of a Christian nation; and indeed the
old chronicles are full of it, of idyls, of legends, and of heroic
tales. Only dream a while over the yellow pages of Muratori, and
presently you will scent the spring flowers of a thousand years ago, and
hear the ripple of the blue waves that lent young Venice their purity,
their brilliancy, and their fresh young music. You may even enjoy a
pagan vision of maiden Aphrodite rising suddenly out of the sea into the
sunshine, but the dream dissolves only too soon, grace turns into
strength, the lovely smile of the girl-goddess fades from the commanding
features of the

[Illustration: MIDNIGHT, THE LAGOON]

reigning queen, and heavenly Venus is already earthly Cleopatra.

It is better to open our arms gladly to the beautiful when she comes to
us, than to prepare our dissecting instruments as soon as we are aware
of her presence. Phidias and Praxiteles were ignorant of medical
anatomy; Thucydides knew nothing of ‘scientific’ methods in history; the
Rhapsodists were not grammarians. No man need be a grammarian to love
Homer, nor a scientific historian if he would be thrilled with interest
over the siege of Syracuse, nor an anatomist when he elects to dream
before the Hermes of Olympia.

And so with Venice; she is a form of beauty, and must be looked upon as
that and nothing else; not critically, for criticism means comparison,
and Venice is too personal and individual, and too unlike other cities
to be fairly compared with them; not coldly, for she appeals to the
senses, and to the human heart, and craves a little warmth of sympathy;
above all, not in a spirit of righteous severity, for he who would
follow her story must learn to forgive her almost at every step.

She has paid for her mistakes with all save her inextinguishable life;
she has expiated her sins of ill-faith, of injustice and ingratitude, by
the loss of everything but her imperishable charm; the power and the
will to do evil are gone from her with her empire, and her name stands
on the subject-roll of another’s kingdom; she is a widowed and dethroned
queen, she is a lonely and lovely princess; she is the Andromeda of
Europe, chained fast to her island and trembling in fear of the monster
Modern Progress, whose terrible roar is heard already from the near
mainland of Italy, across the protecting water. Will any Perseus come
down in time to save her?

[Illustration: LOOKING TOWARDS ST. GEORGE’S]

[Illustration: THE CUSTOM-HOUSE, VENICE]

THE BEGINNINGS

In the beginning the river washed sand and mud out through the shallow
water at the two mouths of the Brenta; and the tide fought against the
streams at flood, so that the silt rose up in bars, but at ebb the salt
water rushed out again, mingled with the fresh, and strong turbid
currents hollowed channels between the banks, leading out to seaward,
until the islands and bars took permanent shape and the currents
acquired regular directions, in and out, between and amongst them. In
the beginning the spirit of unborn Venice seemed to say, more truly than
Archimedes, ‘Give me a place whereon to stand, and I will move the
world’;

[Illustration: THE LIGHTS OF THE LIDO]

and the rivers and the tides heaped up the sand and made a dry place for
her in the midst of the sea.

The lagoon is a shallow basin, roughly shaped like a crescent, its
convexity making a bay in the mainland, its concave side bounded against
the open sea by the curving banks, called ‘Lidi,’ beaches, which are
long and narrow islands, to distinguish them from the islets of less
regular shape that rise above the surface here and there within the
confines of the lagoon, those on which Venice stands, and Torcello and
Murano, and others which make a miniature archipelago, ending with
Chioggia, at the southern point of the crescent.

[Illustration: CHIOGGIA]

This archipelago contains twelve principal islands, some of which were
inhabited by families that got a living by trading, by hunting and by
fishing, selling both fish and game to the ships that plied between
Ravenna and Aquileia.

Very early the people of the latter city had made a harbour for their
vessels on the island of Grado, which was nearest to them, and the
Paduans made small commercial stations on the islands of Rialto and
Olivolo. Now and then some rich man from the mainland built himself a
small villa on one of the wooded islets, and came thither for his
pleasure and for sport. For some of these islands were covered with
pine-trees and cane-brakes, while some were muddy, naturally sterile,
and inhospitable; but the early settlers had soon solidified and
modified the soil, and reduced it to the cultivation of fodder for
cattle, and of vines.

The archipelago was therefore not so much a barren solitude as a quiet
corner in very troubled times, and while the small farmers and fishermen
knew nothing of Italy’s miserable condition, the rich sportsmen who
spent a little time there were glad to forget the terrible state of
things in their own great world.

[Sidenote: _Rom. i. 26._]

For since the capital of the Empire had been transferred to
Constantinople, Italy had fallen a prey to the greed of barbarians, and
the province of Venetia had been left under the very intermittent
protection of a few paid troops supposed to be commanded by a Count or
‘Corrector’ appointed by the Emperor.

On the rich mainland stood the cities of Venetia, Aquileia, Altinum,
Padua, and many more; and the wealthy citizens built villas by the sea,
with groves of noble trees, trim gardens and wide fishponds, and marble
steps leading down to the water’s edge; and they hunted the wild boar
and the stag in the near forests, all the way to the foot of the Julian
hills. The land was rich, and far removed from turbulent Rome and
intriguing Constantinople, and many a Roman noble took sanctuary from
politics on the enchanting shore, to dream away his last years in a
luxurious philosophy that was based on wealth but was fed on every
requirement of culture, and was made sweet by the past experience of
danger and unrest.

[Illustration: BRIDGE AT CHIOGGIA]

[Sidenote: _About 406 A.D._]

Then came the first Goths, with fire and sword--‘more fell than anguish,
hunger or the sea’--and then a score of years later fair-haired Alaric,
the Achilles of the North, and, like Pelides, untiring, wrathful,
inexorable, bold, yet just, according to his lights, and high-souled if
not high-minded, destined first to terrible defeat at Pollentia, but
next to still more awful victory, and soon to death and a mysterious
grave.

Before the Goths men scattered and fled, the rich to what seemed safety,
in Rome, the poor to the woods, to the hills, to the wretched islets of
the lagoon. Back they came to their villas, their sea-baths and their
groves, when it was surely known that great Alaric was dead and laid to
his royal rest in the bed of the southern river.

They came back, the poor and the rich, while the world-worn, luxurious,
highly-cultivated men of the last days of the Empire enjoyed their
hunting and fishing in peace; and over their elaborate dishes and their
cups of spiced Greek wine they quoted to each other Martial’s lines:--

‘Ye shores of Altinum, ye that vie with Baiae’s villas--thou grove, that
sawest Phaëthon’s fiery end--and Maiden Sola, fairest of wood-nymphs
thou, espoused beside the Euganean lakes with Faunus of Antenor’s Paduan
land--and thou, Aquileia, that rejoicest in Tamavus, thine own river,
sought by Leda’s sons where Castor’s steed drank of the seven waters--Ye
shall be unto mine old age a haven and resting-place, if but mine ease
may have the right to choose.’

But while they repeated the fluent elegiacs they remembered the Goths
uneasily, for the Empire was in its last years and weak, and Venetia was
protected against the barbarians north and east by a handful of
Sarmatian mercenaries. What had happened once might happen again, and as
the years slipped by, each one seemed to bring it nearer; and in half a
century after Alaric’s first descent, there came another conqueror more
terrible than the first, whom men called Attila, the Scourge of God; but
he told the Christians that he was the dreadful Antichrist, and the
people cried out, ‘The Huns are upon us,’ and they fled for their lives
into the cities. Aquileia, at that time the second city of Italy, and
Padua, Altinum and others, defended themselves and fell, and the people
who could not escape perished miserably.

[Sidenote: _D’ Ancona._]

This is history, single and clear. But here springs up legend and says
that Attila, who never crossed the Po, laid waste all Tuscany, and his
name is a byword of terror, for blood and massacre, and destruction and
all bestial ferocity. Legend says, too, that while he was besieging
Aquileia, the Hun king saw the need of a fort on high ground, where
there was none; and that in three days his hordes piled up the hill on
which Udine stands, bringing earth in their helmets and shields and
stones on their backs. Then the Aquileians attempted to flood the
country and drown out their besiegers, and they broke through the dykes
that kept out the waters of the Piave; but the Huns cut down the grove
of Phaëthon and made a vast dam of the trees.

It is also told by Paul the Deacon how on a certain day Attila came too
near the walls, spying for a weak point, and a party of the besieged
folk fell upon him unawares; but he escaped, with his bow in his hand
and his crooked sword, the sword of a Scythian war-god, between his
teeth, ‘dire flame flashing from his eyes,’ and all that his enemies had
of him was his crest.

So Aquileia resisted him long, and the Huns were discouraged, until
Attila saw a flight of storks flying from the walls and knew thereby
that there was famine within.

Then, says the legend, the king of the Aquileians, Menappus, who seems
to be quite mythical, took

[Illustration: THE CATHEDRAL AT MURANO]

counsel with his brother Antiochus, how the people might escape over the
lagoon before the city fell. So they set up wooden images as soldiers
with helmet and shield on the ramparts, to represent sentinels, and the
Huns were deceived. But one of Attila’s chief warriors flew his hawk at
the walls, and it settled upon the head of one of the wooden soldiers.
So, when the Huns saw that the sentinel was an image and not a man, they
scaled the battlements and sacked the almost deserted city and burned
it.

It is told also, and the fishermen of those waters still believe the
tale, that before they escaped the Aquileians dug a deep well and hid
their treasures in it; and deeds of sale of land are extant, dated as
late as the year 1800, in which the seller of the property reserved his
right to the legendary treasure well, if it should ever be found. The
truth is, however, that after the destruction of the great city and the
disappearance of the Huns, many of the fugitives went back and recovered
what they had hidden.

The tide of legend sweeps down the coast with the wild riders to
Altinum, where mythical King Janus fights, like a Roland, on a steed
that has human understanding and that bears him out of Attila’s reach,
half dead of his wounds. And inland, then, towards Padua, and up to its
very walls, the heroes fight; this time Attila is wounded and is saved
only by his horse’s marvellous speed, but on the next day the two kings
meet again in the presence of their armies to decide the war in single
combat.

Janus unhorses Attila, and strikes off his ear, and would cut off his
head too, but five hundred Hunnish knights rush to the rescue of their
king, and Janus is prisoner. But Attila’s anger is roused against them.
They have broken the laws of knightly combat. His honour is tarnished
because his life is saved. To clear it, he sets King Janus free and
hangs his five hundred knights as a vast sacrifice for atonement. Then
Padua is overpowered and sacked and burned.

The myth goes on to the end in a blaze of impossibilities. Before Rimini
Attila disguises himself as a French pilgrim, hides a poisoned knife
under his robe, and steals into the besieged city to murder Janus. He
finds him playing at dice with one of his knights, and armed from head
to foot. He interrupts the game, asks questions, forgets himself, shows
his wolfish teeth, and Janus recognises him by the absence of the one
ear lopped off at Padua. In an instant the king and the knight overpower
the great Hun and slay him on the spot; and so ends Attila, and the
myth.

* * * * *

Of all this legend little enough remains, and that is best summed up in
the now almost forgotten line quoted by Professor d’Ancona in his
_Leggende_:--

... nata ella sola
Di serve madri libera figluola.

‘The only daughter--among many--of enslaved mothers that was ever born
free.’ Truly well said of Venice.

The chronicles tell the true story of the first beginnings, and how the
people of the pillaged cities found a precarious refuge in the little
archipelago. They crossed in their light boats and landed safely,

[Sidenote: _Rom. i. 56-57._]

[Sidenote: _554-564 A.D._]

[Sidenote: _568 A.D._]

and forthwith made huts and tabernacles of branches to shelter the
relics of the saints which they had saved as possessions more precious
than their household goods or little hoards of gold and silver. But the
people themselves beached their boats high and dry and lived in them,
sheltered from the weather only by awnings, just as the last of the
sailor traders still live wherever they find a market on the Calabrian
shore; for they hoped to go back to their homes. And so indeed they did,
when the Huns departed at last; they returned to their cities and
rebuilt the battered walls of Aquileia and Altinum, trusting to dwell in
peace. But the second destruction was not far off: the Ostrogoths came,
and the Lombards, and the people fled once more, never to return.

The unknown author of the Chronicle of Altinum carries on the tale in a
most amazing compound of history, fiction, poetry and statistics. More
than one scholar has indeed been tempted to surmise that this document
is the work of several writers.

From them, or from the one, we learn something of the circumstances
which drove the inhabitants of Altinum to take to their boats and seek a
final refuge in the lagoons; and the story of the second flight, like
that of the first, is fantastically illuminated by the writer’s poetic
imagination.

‘In the days of the Bishop Paul’ is the only date the Chronicle gives,
and doubtless that was very clear to the first monk who took down the
manuscript

[Sidenote: _Chron. Altin._]

from its place in the convent library and first pored over its contents.
In the days, therefore, when Paul was bishop in Altinum, there came out
of the west a pestilence of cruel pagans, fierce Lombards, who destroyed
cities in their path as the flame licks up dry grass, and who would
surely have made an end of the peaceful people of Altinum if Heaven had
not sent signs warning them to escape.

For one day Bishop Paul looked up to the towers and turrets of the city
and saw that the birds which had their nests therein were flying round
and round in agitation, and were chirping and chattering and cawing,
each after his kind, as if they were gathered together in consultation.
But suddenly, as Paul looked, the birds all took their flight
southwards; and those that had young which could not yet fly, carried
them in their beaks.

The good Bishop knew at once that this portent was a warning, and he
called his flock together and told what he had seen. Then many of the
people, never doubting but that he was right, fled at once towards
Ravenna, and to Istria, and to the cities of the Pentapolis; but the
rest fasted three days and prayed that God, by another sign, would show
them the path of safety.

On the third day, therefore, a strong and clear voice was heard, saying,
‘Go up into the great tower and look towards the stars.’ And they went
up; and the stars’ reflections made paths upon the water, towards the
islands of the lagoons. Then the people who had remained filled their
boats with their possessions; and the good Bishop Paul led them, and the
two holy priests Geminianus and Maurus, and two noble knights, Arius
and Arator; and they came safely to the island of Grado, and landed
there, and were saved. But soon afterwards they spread over some of the
other islands and gave names to these, which recalled memories of their
old home.

Now, as has been pointed out already in speaking of the first flight,
the little archipelago was by no means uninhabited. Fishermen lived on
the islands, and small farmers and some herdsmen, none of whom, it may
be supposed, were inclined to give the newcomers a warm welcome. In
plain fact the people of the mainland, well provided and well armed,
made an easy conquest of the islands; but in the fiction of the
Chronicle it seemed necessary to account for the high-handed deed on
grounds of virtue and religion, and the author forthwith launches into
legend, showing us how Arius and Arator set at rest the scruples of the
conquerors, if peradventure they had any.

God and the saints intervened. One day the holy Maurus looked towards
one of the islands, and behold, two bright stars stood together above
it, and a great voice was heard saying, ‘I am the Lord, the master and
the Saviour of the world. Raise thou here a temple to my glory.’ But
from the other star came a soft clear voice which said, ‘I am Mary, the
mother of God. Build unto me a church.’

There was no possibility of questioning such a form of investiture, or
of disputing the right of invaders who received their orders audibly
from heaven.

A little farther on there was a very beautiful island, covered with
grass, whereon pastured great flocks of cattle and sheep; and Maurus
asked whether perchance these herds belonged to any man, and received
answer immediately. For suddenly there appeared in a rosy brightness
like the dawn two figures of divine beauty; and one was that of an old
man, but the other was young and little more than a lad. Then spake the
old man and said, ‘I am Peter, the Prince of the Apostles, who am set
over all flocks, and have power to forgive all sins. I give unto thee
this island, and thou shalt build a temple in honour of my name.’ Also
the youth spake, saying, ‘I am the servant of God. I am called
Autolinus, and I gave my life for Christ’s sake. Build me a little
church. My name is nowhere spoken in the liturgy with those of the
martyrs; I enjoin upon thee to name me in thy prayers, both night and
day, and I will pray God to grant all that thou shalt ask, for thee and
thine.’ Moreover, the two saints, before they vanished, traced on the
ground the plans of the churches they desired for themselves.

Again, a little white cloud appeared to the holy Maurus, and it was the
footstool under the feet of a most fair maiden, who spake and said, ‘I
am Justina, whom they put to death in Padua because I confessed the name
of Christ. I beseech thee, thou priest of the Lord, that thou wilt raise
upon this island a little church, to honour me; wherein thou shalt sing
praises to me every day and every night, as a Martyr and a Virgin, and I
will grant whatsoever thou askest of me.’

Afterwards many other heavenly visions came to comfort the people of
Altinum, and, amongst other saints, Saint John the Baptist also received
the promise of a fair temple.

By heavenly or earthly means, therefore, the fugitives had now obtained
for themselves a home, and they began to consider how they should
establish themselves in it conveniently, so that it should not be taken
from them. Then, such of the people as had occupied a high position in
Altino were charged by the leaders to take each the command of one
island--here a Marcello, there a Faliero, and farther on a Calciamiro;
all names which appear again and again throughout the history of the
maritime state which was then and there founded and began to live, while
the Lombards were tearing down the walls of the old homes on the
mainland and burning what could not be destroyed in any other way.

[Illustration: THE ISLANDS]

[Illustration: THE APPROACH FROM MESTRE]

THE LITTLE GOLDEN AGE

As soon as the fugitives had given up all hope of returning to the
mainland, they began that tremendous struggle with nature which built up
the Venice we still see, and which, in some degree, will end only when
it shall have finally disappeared again in the course of ages. The
beginners displayed an almost incredible activity, which their
descendants sustained without a break for centuries.

They strengthened the muddy islands with dykes and rows of driven piles;
they dug canals and lined them first with timber and then with stone;
they straightened the course of the currents, lest these should wash
away the least fragment of land, where there was so little; they worked
like beavers to win a few poor yards of earth from the restless flood.

The different tribes led strangely independent existences, though living
so near together in the islands they had seized. Each one endeavoured to
model the new home as much as possible upon the old, celebrating the
same feasts in honour of the same saints, upon altars that enshrined the
same long-treasured relics, and clinging with the affection and tenacity
of unwilling exiles to the traditions and customs of the fatherland.

[Sidenote: _Rom. i. 73._]

Though living almost within a stone’s throw the one from the other, the
people of Aquileia, of Altinum and of Padua held at first hardly any
communication, and had little in common; but they all clung to the
patriarchal life, as is easily proved by very ancient documents. It is
quite certain that each group had a chief, chosen to govern the little
colony on account of his superior experience, riches, and authority. He
was the guardian of the old home traditions, and strove to preserve them
ever young, and to him appeal was made in all questions of justice and
equity.

It is most important to remember that all these early settlers were
descended from people who had been subject for centuries to Roman
influence, as well as to

[Sidenote: _Rom. i. 95._]

Roman government; and it was only natural that they should long
afterwards show traces of such early national training, if I may use the
expression. Their society almost instinctively sifted itself into
castes: there were nobles--that is, the rich; there were the burghers,
and there were the ‘little people,’ as they were called--‘minori.’ It
was the duty of the nobles to provide all the rest with the means of
living, as well as to govern and protect them. Custom required

[Sidenote: _Rom. i. 60._]

that every rich man should entertain under his protection a certain
number of families of lower rank, who were called the ‘convicini,’ that
is, ‘fellow-neighbours,’ a usage which recalled the Roman system of
patron and client. The father of the family, as in Rome, had almost
unlimited power over his children. All meetings of importance were
presided over by the clergy.

[Sidenote: _Rom. i. 76._]

[Sidenote: _Chron. Altin._]

It was, in fact, an assembly of the clergy and of fathers of families
which, in each group of emigrants, had given the leader of the
expedition the Roman title of Tribune; and after a leader’s death his
successor was elected in the same way, very generally from amongst his
direct descendants. If this occurred during three or four successive
generations, his family became naturally invested with a real hereditary
authority. The relation between the head of the family and the
‘fellow-neighbours’ consisted of generosity on the one hand and of
gratitude on the other, a species of exchange of sentiments not likely
to produce undue tension. But where the head of the colony was
concerned, an ambitious tribune, who showed signs of trying to turn
himself into an autocrat, was held in check by the necessity of being
re-elected to his office every year. For in each island, on the feast of
its particular patron saint, the people met together, either in the
church or on the shore, to choose the chief for the next twelve months,
and they often elected the same tribune again and again; but if he had
done the slightest thing to displease them, they had it in their power
to choose a better man in his place.

During his term of office the tribune took for himself tithes on game
that was killed, fish that was caught, and crops that were harvested.

Properly speaking, there were neither magistrates nor tribunals at that
time, for the tribune himself judged all causes in public, most often in
the church. A few fragments of written law existed, no doubt, but they
were wholly inadequate; and though it was attempted to supply their
deficiencies by adding some articles from the Lombard code, the real law
was tradition. Such was the good faith of that little golden age, that
the sworn evidence of two respectable persons was enough to convict any
misdoer without any further form of trial, and condign punishment
followed directly upon conviction.

According to the accounts they have left of themselves, these primitive
Venetians were a simple and devout people, who divided their time
between honest labour, the singing of psalms and devout hymns, and the
narration to each other of beatific visions of Apostles and Virgin
Martyrs, who appeared for the purpose of ordering themselves churches.
The churches were undoubtedly built in great numbers, largely out of the
better fragments which could still be gathered amidst the ruins of the
old forsaken cities on the mainland. The nobles of Padua, who were
probably the best of the colonists, brought enough old material to build
themselves the whole town of Heraclea, on the island of that name; but
even there the best and most artistic pieces of stone and marble were
used in the construction of the churches and monasteries.

The people worked in the fields, cultivated the vine, bred cattle, and
dealt in salt, which latter was one of their chief resources. They were
not yet rich, but they were already economical, and their gains more
than sufficed for their needs, so that the slow accumulation of wealth
began at a very early period.

[Sidenote: _Rom. i. 67._]

The ancient Venetian type, described in Roman times, continued to
dominate even beyond the fourteenth century. The men were large,
fair-haired, and strong; the women were rather inclined to be stout, and
it was noticed that their hair turned grey comparatively early.

[Sidenote: _Vecellio._]

Both sexes dressed with great simplicity, and for a long time clung to
the old Roman fashions. They had always shown a remarkable liking for
blue clothes; during many centuries the inhabitants of Venetia had been
known as the ‘Blues,’ and long after the division of the Empire one
faction in the games of the circus went by that name.

[Sidenote: _Dalmedico._]

Their speech was still Latin at that early time, but soon afterwards the
influence of the Greeks and Lombards began to make itself felt in their
language, as well as in their dress and ornaments, and even in their
architecture.

[Sidenote: _Mut. Costumi._]

They lived in a certain abundance, and ate much meat, after the manner
of all young nations. One may dig almost anywhere and come upon layers
of the bones of wild boar and other game, as well as of cattle and
sheep. Among fish they are known to have thought the turbot the best,
and they preferred wild ducks to all other birds. The vine throve also,
and produced good wines which soon gained a reputation on the mainland.

At first the emigrants needed no occupations beyond husbandry, fishing,
and the preparation of salt; but as the population increased and prices
rose accordingly, since saving had begun, the need of a wider field of
activity was felt, and the Venetians rapidly developed the seafaring
instincts of all healthy and active island peoples. Two hundred years
had not elapsed since the raid of the Huns before the small archipelago
at the head of the Adriatic was in possession of the finest fleet of
vessels that Italy could yet boast.

Such a golden age as the chroniclers describe could not last long. In
every newly-peopled country the rule is good faith, mutual help and
charity between man and man, so long as there is a common adversary to
be overcome, whether in the shape of natural difficulties, as was the
case in the Venetian islands, or of wild

[Sidenote: _Rom. i. 68._]

beasts, or of human enemies, as in North America. So long as the
settlers in the archipelago had to fight against the elements to win a
stable foundation for their towns against the changeful, hungry
currents; so long as they had to work hard to break and plough the land,
to plant the vine, to build habitations for themselves and temples for
their protecting saints, just so long did they abstain from coveting
their neighbours’ goods. There was even a sort of rough-and-ready
federation between the islands for the joint protection of their
commerce and their ships, and now and then, in exceptional
circumstances, the tribunes of the different isles had met together in
debate for the common welfare. Their improvised parliament even received
a name; it was called the Maritime University.

But as the general wealth increased, and the energetic struggle with
nature settled into a steady and not excessive effort, the people of
each island very naturally began to think less about themselves and more
about their neighbours. Leisure bred vanity, vanity bred envy, and envy
brought forth violence of all sorts.

The evil began at the top of the communities and spread downwards. The
families of the tribunes became jealous one of another, and tried to
outdo each other in wealth and display and power; and the poorer sort of
the people took sides with their leaders and vied with each other,
island with island, so that before the end of the seventh century much
blood had dyed the lagoons.

Naturally enough, such internal discord laid the communities open to
attacks from without; and the Slav pirates came sailing in their swift
vessels from the Dalmatian coast, and gathered rich booty in the
archipelago. In the face of a common danger home quarrels were once more
forgotten, and the people of the islands met to consider the general
safety.

[Sidenote: _697-717 A.D._]

It was soon decided that internal peace could only be maintained by
electing a single leader over all, a Dux, a Duke, a Doge, and the first
choice fell on Paulus Lucas Anafestus, of Heraclea. Each island was to
preserve its own tribune, its own laws, and its own judges, if it had
any, and the Doge was to meddle with nothing that did not concern the
common welfare of the whole federation. Moreover, no measure proposed by
him was to become law until the people had voted upon it in general
assembly called the Arengo.

Such was the remedy proposed, and in it lay the germ of the future form
of government. But at first it produced a result the contrary of what
was expected. The families of the different tribunes had envied and
hated one another; they united to envy and hate the family of which the
head was in power as Doge.

[Sidenote: _Rom. i. 107._]

A violent dispute between the partisans of Anafestus and those of the
tribune of Equilio brought about the first conflict. Equilio was in part
overgrown with pine-trees, and the angry adversaries met in the dusky
grove and fought to the death; and it is recorded that the small canal,
which drained the land under the trees, ran red that day, wherefore it
was afterwards called ‘Archimicidium,’ which I take to mean ‘the
beginning of killing’; but it is now the Canal Orfano, in which
criminals were drowned during many centuries.

That day was indeed the beginning of murder between the people of
Equilio and those of Heraclea, and their hatred for each other was
handed down afterwards from generation to generation, to our own times,
so that even when the two islands were both included in the city of
Venice, and both governed by the same municipal laws, the people still
formed two hostile factions, of which more will be said hereafter.

[Sidenote: _737-742 A.D._]

After having elected three doges, the people concluded from the result
that they had been mistaken in choosing such a form of government, and
by common agreement the power was placed in the hands of a military
head, who was called the Chief of Militia; but as this experiment proved
a failure after a trial of five years, the federation went back to the
election of a Doge.

During all this period, and up to the ninth century, the islands were
nominally under the protection of the Eastern Empire, if not under its
domination; but a little study of the subject shows that the actors more
than once changed parts, and that the protected were as often as not
besought to become the protectors. For instance, the Exarch Paul, the
viceroy of the Emperor, could never have re-entered his city of Ravenna,
after the Lombards had taken it, unless the Venetians had helped him;
and when the Doge Orso received of the Emperor the title of ‘Hypatos,’
it must have been given to him rather as the acknowledgment of a debt of
gratitude to an ally than as a recompense granted to a faithful subject.

In such a difference there is something more than a shade that
distinguishes two similar formalities; and historians have interpreted
the Emperor’s brief, and other acts of the Court of Constantinople,
according to their varying pleasure. Yet the truth is clear enough. The
new-born Republic possessed a real independence, based on the good
relations she maintained with her neighbours in general. She was
satisfied with her power of governing herself, and was not inclined to
quarrel with the Court of Constantinople, or with her nearer neighbours
on the peninsula, about such trifles as words and forms. Her early
policy was rather to escape notice than to boast of her liberty; yet it
cannot be denied that during the seventh and eighth centuries the Greek
influence predominated, both in the spirit of the laws and in the
commercial activity of the Republic.

Meanwhile the more discontented citizens, and notably the more powerful
families, which were jealous of each other, did their best to stir up
faction and to bring about a revolutionary change which would have been
ruinous. In the hope of internal quiet, the capital was transferred from
Heraclea to Malamocco, of which the inhabitants were considered the most
peaceful and law-abiding in all the lagoons; but the remedy was not a
serious one, and the doges were successively murdered, or exiled, or
forced to abdicate.

The Republic was on the point of perishing in these inglorious struggles
when an unforeseen danger from abroad saved it from ruin by forcing all
the Venetians to forget their differences and unite against a common
enemy.

The year 810 marks the beginning of a new era.

[Illustration: FISH BASKETS]

[Illustration: Venice From The Lido]

III

THE REPUBLIC OF SAINT MARK

During some time the influence of the Franks had been felt in the
islands, and was beginning to counter-balance that of the Greeks. The
great families now separated into two distinct parties, one of which
favoured the rising Empire of the West, while the sympathies of the
other remained firmly attached to the Court of Constantinople. These
opposite leanings, however, were caused by questions of trade and
money-making much more than by any political tendency, and neither side
had any inclination to accept a master.

Yet one man seems to have seriously meditated betraying the Republic to
Pepin, the son of Charlemagne, who had received the Kingdom of Italy as
his

[Illustration: SHOPS NEAR THE RIALTO]

portion, and desired to extend his dominions by wresting Dalmatia and
Istria from Nicephoros,

[Sidenote: _Rom. i. 140._]

the Emperor of the East. The traitor was the Doge Obelerio, who had
spent a part of his youth at Pepin’s court, and is said to have married
his daughter.

The army of the Franks appeared on the mainland, by a secret agreement
with the Doge, and before preparations could be made for opposing it.
But the common danger became at once a bond of union; the Venetians
forgot their discords and their quarrels, and rose as one man to defend
their liberty. Almost from the first the Doge was suspected of
treachery; he was watched, he was convicted by his own acts, he was
taken, and he paid for his treason with his life. His severed head was
set up on a pike on the beach of Malamocco, where the enemy could watch
how the carrion birds came daily and picked it to a skull.

[Sidenote: _Mol. Dogaressa, 29._]

[Sidenote: _809 A.D._]

[Sidenote: _Pepin at the siege of Rialto, A. Vicentino; Pepin’s defeat,
by the same; Ducal Palace, Sala dello Scrutinio._]

But the Franks took the nearer islands one by one, till at last the
Venetians left Malamocco and sought refuge on the Rialto and Olivolo,
which were the more easy to defend, as it was harder for the enemy to
reach them. A legend says that one poor old woman stayed behind,
resolved to save Venice or perish in the attempt, and we are told that
she went to meet Pepin and counselled him to build a wooden bridge that
should extend all the way from Malamocco to Rialto, and that Pepin
followed her advice; but the horses of his army were scared by the
dancing lights on the water, and by the swaying of the light bridge, and
they plunged and reared and fell off into the lagoon, and they and
their riders were drowned by thousands, like Pharaoh and his host in the
Red Sea.

A more likely story tells us that the Franks had no light boats of
shallow draft, and that in pursuing the Venetians their heavier vessels
got aground in the intricate channel, so that the Venetians surrounded
them, ship by ship, and did them to death conveniently and at leisure.

Be that as it may, Pepin was defeated and forced to give up the attempt,
and when he had burned everything on the islands he had taken, he went
away, in anger and humiliation, towards Ravenna. Thereafter, when peace
was made between him and the Eastern Empire, Venice was reckoned with
the East.

Among those who most distinguished themselves during the short struggle
was Agnello, or Angiolo Partecipazio, a member of one of the most
renowned families of the former tribunes. Sismondi says, I cannot find
with what authority, that this noble house changed its name to Badoer,
in the tenth or eleventh century, under which name it still lives. It
was this Angiolo who persuaded the people to retire to Rialto, by which
measure Pepin was defeated, and when the war was over he was soon
elected Doge.

His first step was to fortify Rialto, which from that day became the
seat of government, and the small neighbouring islands were soon united
to it. Upon them grew up what was the beginning of modern Venice, eleven
hundred years ago, and the waste land was covered with dwellings,
towers, churches and religious houses in a wonderfully short time.

The devout tendencies of the people had changed little since the first
fugitives had placed the islands under the protection of those several
tutelary saints whose relics they had saved, and the descendants of

[Illustration: GRAND CANAL, NEAR RIALTO]

those early emigrants now cast about for a holy patron who should, as it
were, guarantee to them the blessing of heaven. They then remembered the
ancient legend: how Saint Mark the Evangelist was shipwrecked and cast
upon the shores of Rialto, and how he heard a mysterious voice saying,
‘Pax tibi Marce, Evangelista meus’; that is, ‘Peace be with thee, O
Mark, my Evangelist.’ And the words became the motto of the Republic.

The devotion to Saint Mark grew at an amazing rate after the revival of
this old tradition, and it became the dream of every Venetian to obtain
relics of the Evangelist’s body. This precious treasure was at that time
preserved in Alexandria, and was therefore in the power of the
Musulmans; but a strict ordinance of the Emperor Leo, to which the Doge
had been obliged to agree on behalf of the Venetians, forbade all
intercourse with the unbelievers, even for purposes of commerce.

[Sidenote: _Rom. i. 168._]

Two Venetian merchants and navigators, Buono da Malamocco and Rustico da
Torcello, determined to risk their lives and fortunes in disobeying the
imperial decree. They fitted out a very fast vessel and freighted her
with merchandise for the Eastern market and set sail without declaring
their real destination. Reaching Alexandria with a fair wind, they
proceeded at once to the basilica in which the body of the saint was
kept, and obtained possession of it by the simple process of bribing the
men in charge of the church. Here the story says that they placed their
treasure in the bottom of a cart, and heaped salt pork upon it, as much
as the mules could draw, sure that no Musulman would touch the unclean
meat; and so they passed through the city and got on board of their
ship, and put to sea that very night.

When they came near home, sailing with a fair wind and the blessing of
heaven and Saint Mark, they sent

[Sidenote: _About 828 A.D. Translation of the body of St. Mark, mosaic
of the XIIIth century on the façade of the Basilica._]

a light boat into the lagoons to inform the Doge that they were bringing
the Evangelist’s body; for they were sure that he and their
fellow-citizens would gladly forgive them for having disobeyed the
imperial decree. Then all the people gathered on the shore as the ship
came in; and the noblest of Venice took the priceless burden upon their
shoulders and bore it to the private chapel of the ducal palace, where
it was to remain in state until a church could be built for it; and a
great cry of ‘Viva San Marco’ rang from street to street, and from
island to island, even up to Grado and down to Malamocco, and it was
ever afterwards the war-cry of Venice. Thus was Saint Mark proclaimed
protector of the Republic, and the words which he himself had heard
became the nation’s motto; and Saint Theodore took the second rank,
though he had been patron of the lagoons ever since the days of Narses
and Justinian.

It was clear to those simple believers that Saint Mark had not come
among them against his will. Had he been displeased with the change from
Alexandria to Venice a storm would surely have arisen in the night, and
the holy relics would have disappeared in thunder, lightning, and rain,
to return to their former resting-place or to be miraculously
transported to another; for such was the pleasure of the saints in the
dark ages. But Saint Mark remained where he was, pleased, no doubt, with
the homage of that glad young people, and rejoicing already in the
glories they should attain under his patronage; and from this
complaisance the Venetians naturally concluded that a divine blessing
had descended upon them, and they became once more a single family,
bonded as brothers to stand and win together.

But before pursuing the great story of what came afterwards, let us
stand a while on the threshold of the tenth century and look at Venice
as she was a few years after Saint Mark had taken her under his special
protection.

In the first place, the alternate currents caused by the tide and the
rivers were not yet completely controlled by stone-faced canals, and in
many places the soil still consisted of long stretches of unstable mud,
upon which the tide threw up masses of seaweed that lay rotting in the
sun. The only means of obtaining a firm foundation for a stone building
on such ground lay in laboriously driving piles, side by side, and so
close that each one touched the next, and the whole formed a solid
surface. It was a slow method, it was costly and required considerable
skill; but the result was good, and has stood the test of a thousand
years, for there are buildings standing to-day on piles driven in the
year 900.

It follows that in the tenth century the majority of dwelling-houses
were still only light constructions of wood, which could stand upon the
mud without danger of sinking. There were many stone buildings already,
however, but like their humbler neighbours they mostly had only one
story above the ground floor, with small windows on the outside, and
larger ones on the inner court, and all alike were roofed with thatch.
It is hard to imagine Venice a thatched city, of all cities in the
world; yet the reason of the peculiarity is plain enough. Neither brick
nor tiles could be made from the soft mud of the lagoons, a wooden house
cannot have a flat roof, and the construction of a vaulted roof upon a
stone house requires a greater skill in building than the Venetians then
possessed.

[Sidenote: _Sagredo._]

In building ordinary dwellings, Sagredo tells us that the usual method
was to lay down a floor of heavy planks, upon which a thick layer of
mortar and small pebbles was spread out and beaten down to a hard
surface; upon this again a second layer of cement mixed with pounded
bricks was spread, and this was beaten with heavy wooden beaters till it
was perfectly hard and even. Precisely the same method is employed
to-day in southern Italy; and it was from this beginning that the
so-called ‘Venetian pavement’ soon developed. For rich people caused
small pieces of coloured marbles, and even of mother-of-pearl, to be set
into the cement of the second layer, which was then no longer beaten,
but rolled with a ponderous stone roller and then rubbed down with a
smooth stone and sand and water, and at last polished to a brilliant
surface. To this day the ‘Venetian pavement’ is made in this way in all
parts of the world. The Venetians had probably inherited the art
directly from the Romans, together with some knowledge of mosaic, which
it roughly resembles. The polished floor of the main room was an
especial object of pride in the eyes of good housekeepers.

The Venetian houses resembled those of the Romans in many respects. A
covered portico, surrounding a closed court, gave access to the ‘hall of
the fireplace,’ as the principal place of gathering for the family was
named, and to the kitchens and offices. The upper story consisted
entirely of bedrooms, and had a wide balcony called the ‘liago’--a word
corrupted from the Greek _heliacon_, ‘a place of sunshine.’ Here in warm
weather the family spent the evening. Higher still, a rustic wooden
platform was built over a part of the gabled and thatched roof, and was
called the ‘altana.’ It was here that the linen was dried after washing,
and later, in Titian’s day, it was here that the Venetian ladies exposed
their hair to the sun after moistening it with the fashionable dye.

[Sidenote: _Mut. Costumi._]

The ‘hall of the fireplace’ was more than any other part of the house a
special feature of Venetian dwellings, and was as necessary to them as
the balcony that ran round the inner court. To this day the Venetians
boast that their ancestors invented the modern chimney flue, and that
while King Egbert still warmed himself like a savage before a fire of
which the smoke escaped through a hole in the roof, the poorest Venetian
fisherman had a civilised fireplace before which he could warm his toes
as comfortably, and with as little annoyance from smoke, as any fine
lady of the twentieth century.

Another peculiarity of the early Venetian house which has come down to
our day was that it almost always had two entrances, the one opening
upon the

[Illustration: A WATER DOOR NEAR ST. BENEDETTO]

water, and the other, at the back, upon land. In those days this back
door almost always gave access to a bit of garden, in which flowers and
a few kitchen vegetables were carefully cultivated, but these gardens
were soon crowded out of existence by the necessity for larger and more
numerous houses.

The palace of the Doge differed from other Venetian dwellings chiefly by
its size and its battlemented walls, and was very far from resembling
what we see to-day in its place. It was destroyed by fire again and
again, and only here and there some fragment of the original walls was
incorporated in the new buildings which the doges were so often obliged
to construct for themselves. A high battlemented wall joined the island
of Olivolo with Rialto and enclosed the ducal palace.

The churches were out of all proportion richer and better cared for than
the private dwellings, and were generally built after the model of the
Roman basilica, with an apse and a portico for worshippers, which
frequently served as a shelter for all sorts of little shops and
money-changers’ booths, very much like the temple in Jerusalem. These
churches have been rebuilt and repaired again and again till there is
little left of the originals; but many fragments of them have been used
again, here a light column, there a bit of mosaic, a carved capital, a
piece of early sculpture or a delicate marble tracery--all of them, more
often than not, of better workmanship and in purer taste than the later
buildings they now help to adorn.

The centre and focus of Venetian life was Saint Mark’s Square, but it
was altogether a different place in those days. It was, indeed, nothing
but an irregular open space, a field of mud in winter, a field of dust

[Sidenote: _Monumenti artistici ecc. 1859._]

in summer, divided throughout its length by a small dyked canal called
the Rivo Battario. On opposite sides of the latter, and opposite to each
other, there were then still standing the chapels dedicated by Narses to
Saint Theodore and to the holy martyrs Geminianus and Menus.

Furthermore, the foundations of the Campanile, which fell in 1902, were
already laid, but the work was not advancing quickly, and the
surrounding space was obstructed by the heaps of materials which had
been prepared for the construction. As for the church of Saint Mark, the
one that was then standing must have strongly resembled the next, which
was built on its ruins by the Doge Pietro Orseolo after it had been
burnt down in 975. It was in the shape of a Greek cross, and was
approached by a portico like almost all churches of that time. We know
also that it was roofed with thatch.

There were as yet no bridges across the canals, though we may perhaps
suppose that there was a single one, built of wood, between Rialto and
Olivolo, and at that time there was no great number of boats, and there
were none that resembled the gondola for its lightness and speed. Many
of the smaller canals were afterwards dug for the convenience of getting
about by water, where in the tenth century there were narrow lanes, dark
and muddy, and the receptacles of whatever people chose to throw out of
their windows. Then, and long afterwards, men went about on foot if they
were poor, or on horses and mules if they were rich. When water had to
be crossed there were flat-bottomed ferry-boats

[Illustration: NARROW WATER LANE]

for man and beast. The word ‘gondola’ seems to have been applied
indiscriminately to several kinds of boats, at least by writers, and
even included the heavy barges, manned by many oars, which towed
sea-going vessels in and out of the harbour, through the intricate
channels of the lagoons.

[Sidenote: _Mut. Costumi._]

There were trees in Venice in those days, both scattered here and there,
and also growing in little groves, where young people gathered in the
fine season to pass an hour in singing and dancing and story-telling,
and in making music on stringed instruments of fashions and shapes now
long forgotten. The most common trees were the oak, the cypress, and the
‘umbrella’ pine, which latter is believed to be indigenous in Italy; but
there were cork-trees, too, and one of them afterwards played a part in
the tragedy of Bajamonte Tiepolo, the great conspirator.

Venice had charm even then, in spite of her narrow and unsavoury lanes,
her winter’s mud, and the dust of her summer heat. The pretty little
thatched houses, side by side along the water’s edge; the handsome
churches gleaming with mosaic fronts; the dark cypress-trees and stone
pines, and the vividly green oaks; the battlemented towers reared here
and there against the clear blue sky; the rippling waters of the lagoon;
the vessels great and small, with sails pure white or dyed a rich madder
brown--there was colour everywhere, then as now, there was air, there
was sunshine; and there was then, what now there is no more, the
movement, the elastic youth, the gladness of a people’s life just ready
to bloom for the first time.

They led easy lives, those early Venetians, compared with the existence
of the Italians on the peninsula, easy and even luxurious, and their
constant intercourse had given them the love of jewels and silk and all
rich and rare things. Even in the days of Charlemagne, the

[Illustration: ON THE GIUDECCA]

dames of Venice wore robes and mantles and veils which an empress would
not have disdained.

[Sidenote: _Mut. Costumi._]

Charlemagne himself, on his way to Friuli, once halted at Pavia just
when the great fair was held which best of all others displayed the
wealth and industry of all Italy; and the Venetians had brought thither
the rich merchandise with which they had loaded their ships in the East,
and had spread out their splendid stuffs, their soft Persian carpets,
and their costly furs.

Then the rough Franks were ashamed of their coarse garments, and began
to buy all manner of fine woven materials to take the place of their
woollen tunics and their leathern coats. But not long afterwards, when
they were all hunting in the deep forest, a great storm came up and
broke upon them, and the rain beat through their silks and the thorns
tore their finery to shreds, and they were in a sad plight. Then the
giant Emperor laughed aloud at their mishap, and asked them whether the
goatskin jerkin he wore was not worth ten of their soft Venetian dresses
when the rain was pelting down and the winter wind was howling through
the wild-boar’s lair.

The old paintings leave us in no doubt as to the Venetian fashions of
the tenth century. The nobles wore a long tunic tightened to the waist
by a belt or girdle, and over this they threw a mantle of rich material
which in winter was lined with fur, and which was fastened on one
shoulder with a golden pin, like the fibula of the Romans or the brooch
of the Highlander. On his head the noble wore a cap oddly adorned with
two ribbands which made a Saint Andrew’s cross in front.

The dress of the matrons was not very different, but the cloak was
pinned together on the breast instead of on one shoulder, and was cut
with a train. The ladies, moreover, wore tunics cut low at the neck,
even in winter and out of doors, which seems strange enough, though it
accounts for the quantities of rich fur they used. Their splendid hair
fell loose upon their shoulders from beneath a little gold-embroidered
cap, instead of which young girls often wore a very fine gauze veil.

The labouring people seem to have confined their taste for variety to
the selection of colours suitable to the occupations they followed, and
therefore least likely to show wear and tear and stain.

[Sidenote: _Mut. Costumi._]

Every one worked hard in those young days, from the Doge downwards, at
the administration of the Republic, at beautifying the city, at commerce
and the development of navigation; and as for play, they were passionate
lovers of the chase and of grebe-shooting. The latter sport was the
delight of rich and poor alike, apparently without much regard to the
time of year, but its strict rules hindered any wholesale slaughter. The
sportsman dressed himself in green in order that his figure might not
scare the grebes, as he poled his narrow punt--the ‘fisolara’--amongst
the sedge and reeds at the mouths of the rivers. If he had boatmen to
help him, they wore green too. Now it seems to have been the rule that
no weapon should be used in this sort of shooting but the cross-bow,
charged with clay bullets or with small bolts, and it would have been
thought as unsportsmanlike to snare the birds as it is nowadays to catch
trout with worms; and as the grebe is a great diver, when in danger, and
is by no means easy to hit with a good shot-gun, it must have required
remarkable skill to shoot him with such a poor weapon as the cross-bow
of the tenth century. The Venetians used to fasten the heads of the
birds they killed upon doors and windows as trophies, just as a Bavarian
gentleman or a Black Forester of our own time mounts the horns of every
roebuck he shoots and hangs them in his hall.

If I have dwelt too long upon these details it is

[Illustration: THE STEPS OF THE SALUTE]

because I am inclined to think that a sportsmanlike spirit has
characterised all young nations; and the spirit of the true sportsman is
not to kill wantonly, but to measure himself in strength, or skill, or
speed, against his fellow-man, and against wild things, and often
against nature herself, with fairplay on both sides; and the true
delight of his sport lies in doing for pleasure what his ancestors were
forced to do in the original struggle for life.

And so after this brief glance at early Venice, I go on to speak of the
circumstances and the men that presently directed the young state to a
form of development which was without example in the past history of
nations, and was destined to have no imitators in the future.

[Illustration: THE RIVA AT NIGHT]

VENICE UNDER THE FAMILIES OF PARTECIPAZIO, CANDIANO, AND ORSEOLO

For historical purposes it is best to consider that Venice was really
founded in the year 811. From that date till 1032 the ducal throne was
occupied, with only three exceptions, by a Partecipazio, a Candiano, or
an Orseolo. It is true that every Doge was elected, but the great
families would hardly have been human if they had not done their best
to make the dignity hereditary.

They were not afflicted by that strange fatality under which the Roman
Cæsars almost always died without male issue, and which led the Emperors
to adopt their successors and to make them coadjutors in their
government, generally with tribunitian powers; and four centuries were
to elapse before the race of Hapsburg was to fasten itself at last upon
the Holy Roman Empire, never to be shaken off so long as it could beget
sons, or even daughters. The great Venetian races were vital and
fortunate, and reared generation after generation for ages, with hardly
any diminution of strength or wit.

But the principle on which they attempted to secure to themselves the
succession to a power which was hereditary was the same which the Romans
followed before them and which the Hapsburgs were to adopt long
afterwards. They chose their own successors amongst those nearest to
them, educated them to government, made them helpers in their rule, and
designated them in their wills to succeed in their places.

There was always discontent after each election, and there were often
serious riots; several doges of this period were forced to abdicate, or
were even exiled, and one of them, at least, was assassinated; but the
thirst of the great families for hereditary power was not diminished,
and each revolutionary rising was directed by an aristocratic faction
which had everything to gain by overthrowing the one in office.

Yet, strange to say, this disturbed condition of things neither hindered
nor retarded the growth of national prosperity. The three factions
quarrelled about the ducal throne for two hundred years, but their
commercial activity was not in the least diminished by their

[Illustration: ST. MARK’S]

differences. They and the less powerful nobles possessed the financial
instinct in the highest degree; the citizen class vied with them as
traders and usurers, and though they could not outdo them, having
started behind them in the race for wealth, they often rivalled them;
and as for the people, they were the ready and willing instruments of
their masters, they were intrepid sailors, they were patriotic
soldiers, they were hard-working labourers, and they seem to have cared
very little who was Doge, so long as every effort they made contributed
directly to their own well-being. And this was always the case, as in
every young and successful state.

Nevertheless, the continual state of discord between the strongest
families of the aristocracy was not without its bad results, and enemies
abroad found it easy to strike unexpected blows at the Republic, when
she was least prepared to retaliate. Chief among these enemies were the
Dalmatian pirates, whose principal stronghold was the city of Narenta,
situated at the head of the gulf of that name, almost over against
Ancona. The Venetians seem to have been more than a match for the
corsairs when actually at sea, for their merchant vessels were fast
sailors and were well armed; but the Dalmatians lost no opportunity of
descending upon any corner of the Republic’s island territory which
chanced to be left unprotected, and they plundered and laid waste the
land, and carried off the people into slavery.

[Sidenote: _Molmenti, Vita Privata._]

One of these sudden descents of the corsairs on the day of the yearly
marriage ceremonies was not only strikingly dramatic in itself, but
became one of the turning-points in the history of the Republic. In
order that what happened may be clearly understood, I must in the first
place briefly explain how marriages were made and how they were always
celebrated in Venice on the thirty-first of January at that time; for I
cannot remember that a similar custom ever obtained in any other city
ancient or modern. I may add, however, that in their claims to an
extravagantly ancient descent the Venetians pretended

[Illustration: A CHAPEL, ST. MARK’S]

to have inherited the usage directly from the Babylonians.

However that may be, it is quite certain that in those days the brides
of Venice were all married on the thirty-first of January, the
anniversary of the translation of

[Illustration: THE PORCH, ST. MARK’S]

Saint Mark’s body, in the church of San Pietro d’Olivolo, which was
always the cathedral, and which now became the scene of one of the
strangest and most romantic events in the history of any nation,
rivalled, but certainly not surpassed, by the half-mythic rape of the
Sabines in the Forum.

[Sidenote: _De Gubernatis e Bernoni._]

In old Venice the women were treated very much as they have always been
in the East. They were naturally dignified and reserved, or enjoyed that
reputation, but the men were jealous, and would not trust in anything so
inward and spiritual as good qualities. They held that the equilibrium
of feminine virtue, though always admirable, is generally of the kind
described in mechanics as unstable; in other words, that it resembles
the balance of a pyramid when poised on its apex rather than its
security when established on its base. They therefore watched their
wives and daughters and kept them at home a great deal, insisting that
they should veil themselves when they went to church, and on the rare
occasions when they were allowed to go elsewhere. The maidens wore veils
of pure white, but the married women were allowed colours. The only
exception to the rule of the veil was made on the days of the ‘Sagre,’
the feasts of the patron saints in the different parishes of the city;
then even the girls were allowed to wear their beautiful hair floating
on their shoulders, and confined only by chaplets of flowers. Those were
the only times when the men had a chance of seeing them to judge of
their beauty, and perhaps to choose a wife amongst them, and they made
the most of it; we may even suppose that the custom had been originally
introduced as a necessary one if young men and maidens were ever to be
betrothed at all.

One sight sufficed, perhaps, and a glance or two exchanged as the long
processions of men and women went up into the churches or came out
again; and after that, when the nights were fine, the youth took his
lute and went and made music under the chosen one’s window. But she
never looked out, nor showed him so much as the tips of her white
fingers in the moonlight; that would have been unmaidenly and bold. If
her heart softened to his appealing song, a single ray of light from
between the close-drawn shutters was answer enough; if not, all remained
dark, while the unhappy lover sang his heart out to the silent lagoon.
But being reassured by the friendly ray, not once but many times, the
aspirant went to the girl’s father and begged permission to make her his
‘novice’--that meant his betrothed--until the next feast of blessed
Saint Mark.

When the youth and maid were secretly agreed, the course of love
generally ran smooth, and the real courtship began. Manners were simple
still, dowries were small, the only conditions to be considered were
those of rank and faction; and few lovers would have been bold enough to
play a Romeo’s part in Venice, while the lines of caste were even then
so closely drawn that still fewer would have thought of overstepping
them. Therefore, if the young man was of as good a family as the young
girl, and if he did not belong to some rival faction, the betrothal was
announced at a great dinner, at which the families of both met in the
house of the maiden’s parents. Then the youth renewed his request
before them all, and the maid was brought to him dressed all in white,
and he slipped upon her finger a

[Illustration: ST. MARK’S]

very plain gold ring, then called the ‘pegno,’ which is to say, the
pledge. Sometimes the engagement was presided over by a priest, and
became thereby more solemn and unbreakable.

The time of betrothal was called the noviciate, as if marriage were one
of the holy orders to enter which a term of trial is exacted; and while
it lasted small gifts were exchanged. So, at Easter, the young man
brought a special sort of cake; at Christmas, preserves of fruit; on
Lady Day, a posy of rosebuds. On her side the young girl gave him a silk
scarf, or something made with her own hands. It is told that the
daughter of a Doge spent three years in embroidering with silk and gold
a shirt which she meant to give to the unknown youth whom she expected
to love some day.

When the young people came of rich families they gave each other also
small trinkets, notably those little chains of gold called ‘entrecosei,’
which were specially made by Venetian goldsmiths. Moreover, whether the
presents were trinkets or silk scarfs, cakes or rosebuds, they all had
reference to good luck much more than to anything else, and it would not
have been safe for either party to send a gift not included in the
old-fashioned list. For the Venetians were superstitious. Like all young
races whose fortune lies before them, they saw signs of success or
failure in small things at every turn. They judged of the immediate
future by the pictures they saw in the coals of their great wood fires,
especially in cases of approaching marriage, by the accidental spilling
of red wine on the cloth, by the passing of a hunchback on the right or
the left. To upset red wine was lucky, to upset olive-oil presaged
death; it was thought to indicate a great misfortune if a man going out
of his own house came first upon an old woman. Similarly, when young
people were betrothed, there were objects which they could on no account
give each other as presents. The forbidden things were chiefly such as
magicians were supposed to use in their incantations, and among these,
strangely enough, nothing was reckoned more certainly fatal to happiness
than a comb. If any youth had dared to offer one, however beautiful, to
his future bride, she would have unhesitatingly returned his ring.

At that time the church did not require the publication of bans, a
regulation which became necessary in order to put a stop to abuses of a
less simple age. Instead, a second festive meeting was held at the house
of the bride a few days before the marriage; and this time, besides the
near relations of both families, the ‘convicini,’ the
‘fellow-neighbours,’ were bidden, as the ancient Romans entertained
their clients on great occasions.

The bride now waited in her own room, which was always upstairs, until
all the guests were assembled in the ‘hall of the fireplace’ on the
ground floor. When the time came, the oldest man of the family went up
to fetch her, and she appeared leaning on his arm. She stood still a
moment on the threshold of the hall and then made a step and
half--neither more nor less--towards the assembly. Next, and leaving her
companion’s arm, she made a ‘modest little leap’ forwards, which she
followed with a deep courtesy, and then, without saying a single word,
she went upstairs to her room and stayed there while the feast
proceeded. The only variation in the ceremony occurred in cases where
the family was of such high rank that the bride and bridegroom, with
their friends and near relations, were expected to visit the Doge.

When the long-expected day, the thirty-first of January, came at last,
every house in which there was a novice was astir hours before daybreak,
and the friends of each were waiting under the windows in their boats
long before the sun was up. Meanwhile the bride was dressed for the day,
more or less richly according to her fortune, but always in a long white
gown, and with fine threads of gold twined amongst her flowing hair.

She then came down from her own room to the hall of the fireplace, where
her father awaited her, and she knelt meekly before him and her mother
to receive their solemn blessing and her dowry, which it was customary
that the bride should carry to the church herself, enclosed in a casket
called the ‘arcella’--the ‘little ark.’ The historians tell us that it
was never a very heavy burden in those days.

This little ceremony took place at early dawn in every house where there
was to be a wedding, and before the sun was up the brides were all
gathered in the cathedral, where they ranged themselves round the altar,
holding their caskets in their hands. Then at last the bridegrooms made
their appearance, arrayed in the richest of their clothes and
accompanied by their best men, as we should say--their ‘sponsors of the

[Illustration: DOOR OF ST. MARK’S]

ring’ in their own phrase. But I find no mention of any bridesmaids.

The bishop blessed all the young couples, and each bridegroom slipped
upon his lady’s finger the symbolic ring, which was the same for all.
After that, gifts of virgin wax were left for the candles of the
cathedral, and each newly-married man was expected to give a sum of
money ‘in proportion with his opinion of his wife’s beauty’--probably
the most elastic measure ever ordained for the giving of alms. This
money formed a fund out of which poor brides of the people received a
dowry in the following year. A malicious writer even hints that this
secret fund was sometimes misapplied to compensate for such ugliness as
would otherwise have been a bar to marriage altogether.

The Doge himself was invariably present in state during the ceremony,
which therefore had a distinctly official character.

On leaving the cathedral sweetmeats and small cakes were showered upon
the crowd that waited without, and the respective wedding parties
returned to the homes of the brides to spend the rest of the day in the
rather noisy gaiety and uproarious feasting that belonged to those
times, and to which each bridegroom’s best man was expected to
contribute with a present of rare liquors and rich old wines.

When evening came at last the brides were led to their new homes with
song and playing of many instruments; and on the next morning each young
couple received from the best man a symbolical gift of fresh eggs and
of certain aromatic pastilles of which the composition is unfortunately
forgotten. Last of all, the bride was

[Illustration: FROM THE GALLERY, ST. MARK’S]

given a work-basket, containing a needle-case, a thimble, and similar
useful objects, to symbolise the industry she was expected to display in
her household duties.

[Sidenote: _Rom. i. 234._]

Now it came to pass, in the reign of the Doge Pietro Candiano III.,
about the year 959, that a gang of Istrian pirates conceived the bold
idea of descending upon the cathedral on the marriage morning, and of
carrying off bodily the brides and their dowries.

At that time the Arsenal was not built, and the little island on which
it stands, and which lies close to Olivolo, was still uninhabited.
During the night between the thirtieth and the thirty-first of January
the corsairs ran their light vessels under the shelter of this island,
and stole ashore while it was yet dark, to lie in wait in the shadow
near the cathedral.

As usual the brides came first, with their families, and ranged
themselves round the high altar, with their caskets in their hands, to
wait for their affianced husbands. At that moment the pirates rushed
into the church, armed to the teeth and brandishing their drawn swords
in the dim light of the lamps and candles. There was no struggle, no
resistance; the unarmed men, most of them elderly and at best no match
for the daring robbers, were paralysed and rooted to the spot, the women
screamed, the children fled in terror to the dark corners of the church,
and in a moment the daring deed was done. It had been so well planned,
and was executed with such marvellous rapidity, that the robbers reached
their vessels, carrying the girls and their caskets in their arms, and
succeeded in pushing off almost without striking a blow; and doubtless
they laughed grimly as the light breeze filled their sails and bore
them swiftly out through the channels of the lagoons.

[Illustration: THE GREAT DOORWAY, ST. MARK’S]

One may guess at the faces of the cheated bridegrooms when they reached
the cathedral and came upon the hysterical confusion that followed upon
the robbery. There was no loss of time then, and there was little waste
of words. The Doge headed them, dressed as he was in his robe of state,
men found weapons where they could, and all made for the nearest boats,
and sprang in and rowed like demons; for the pirates were still in
sight. Then the breeze that had sprung up at sunrise failed all at once,
and the Istrians tugged at their long sweeps with might and main; but
the men of Venice gained on them and crept up nearer and nearer, and
nearer still, and overtook them, and boarded them in the Caorle lagoon,
and slew them to a man, themselves almost unhurt. Also the chronicler
says, that of all those fair and frightened girls not one received so
much as a scratch in that awful carnage; but the men’s hands were red
with the blood, and they could not wash them clean in the sea because it
was red too; and so, red-handed and victorious, they brought their
brides back to land and married them before the sun marked noon, and the
rejoicing was great.

These things happened as I have told, and though the chroniclers do not
all agree precisely as to the year, the differences between their dates
are not important, and all tell how the event was commemorated down to
the last days of the Republic. For it appears that a great number of
those men who so bravely pursued the pirates were box-makers,
‘casseleri,’ of the parish of Santa Maria Formosa, and when that famous
day was over the Doge asked them what reward they desired. But they,
being simple men, asked only that the Doge of Venice should come every
year to their church on

[Sidenote: _Rom. i. 240._]

the second day of February, which is the Feast of the Purification. ‘But
what if it rains?’ asked the Doge, for that is the rainy season. ‘We
will give you a hat to cover you,’ they answered. ‘And what if I am
thirsty?’ the Doge asked, jesting. ‘We will give you drink,’ said the
box-makers. So it was agreed, and so it was done, and the feast that was
kept thereafter was called the Feast of the Maries, and it was one of
the most graceful festivities of all the many that the Venetian
imagination invented and kept. I shall describe elsewhere more fully how
the Doge came to Santa Maria Formosa every year on the appointed day,
and how, in memory of the bargain, the people of that quarter made him
each year a present of straw hats and Malmsey wine. It was a sort of
public homage to the women of Venice until the war of Chioggia, towards
the end of the fourteenth century, and it is only fair to say that the
lovely objects of such a splendid tribute did much to deserve it. But
after that time many things were changed, and there remained of the
beautiful Feast of the Maries nothing more than the Doge’s annual visit
to the church, instituted by Pietro Candiano III.

The immediate result of the bold attempt and condign punishment of the
Istrian pirates was a series of punitive expeditions against them which
laid the foundation of Venice’s power on the mainland, and in this
struggle, if in nothing else, the Doge was fortunate in his last years.
But an evil destiny was upon him at home.

In his old age he associated one of his sons with him in the ducal
authority, also called Pietro, ‘at the suggestion of the people,’ says
Dandolo in his chronicle. As I have said, this was the usual plan
followed by the families that sought to make the dogeship hereditary.
The younger Pietro was wild, ambitious, turbulent, and wholly without
scruple, and he at once took advantage of his position to plot against
his father, in the hope of reigning alone. But he was found out and
hindered by the people, who rose suddenly in stormy anger and laid
violent hands upon him, to kill him without trial. Yet his father was
generous and succeeded in saving him from death, and tried him for his
deeds, and sent him into exile.

[Sidenote: _Mol. Dogaressa._]

Then Pietro the younger turned pirate himself, and armed six fast
vessels and harassed the Venetian traders all down the Adriatic. But
meanwhile he still had a strong party of friends for him in Venice, and
their influence grew quickly, even with the people, and many secret
influences which we can no longer trace were brought to bear for him;
until at last the Venetians themselves, who had tried to murder him,
decreed him the ducal crown and the supreme power, and recalled him and
deposed his aged father. The old man died within a few weeks, and all he
could bequeath to his wife was ‘a vineyard surrounded by walls’ on the
shore of San Pietro; and Pietro Candiano IV. ruled alone.

He did outrageous deeds to strengthen his power. To win the protection
of the Emperor Otho he forced his wife to take the veil in the convent
of Saint Zacharias, and obliged his only son by her, Vitale, to become
a monk. Having thus disposed of them, he took to wife Gualdrada, the
sister of the Marquis of Tuscany,

[Illustration: THE CHRIST OF ST. MARK’S]

a princess of German origin, of great wealth, a subject and a relative
of the Emperor himself.

Trusting in this great alliance, Pietro no longer concealed the designs
he entertained for himself and his family, branches of which were
established in Padua and Vicenza, where they enjoyed, and certainly
exacted, the highest consideration. Indeed, most of the Candiano men
seem to have married women allied to reigning princes.

The Doge, their head, now garrisoned with German soldiers a number of
fortresses in the neighbourhood of Ferrara, which had come to him with
his wife; lastly, he did what every tyrant has done since history began,
he surrounded himself with a mercenary bodyguard of desperate men who
had everything to gain by his success, and everything to lose if he
fell. After this he showed plainly enough that he meant to emancipate
himself altogether from those counsellors which the Republic imposed
upon him in all the important affairs of state.

He might have succeeded in any other state, but in Venice his was not
the only family that aspired to the supreme power. His deeds had been
violent, high-handed, outrageous, such as would condemn the chief of any
community that called itself free; the Orseolo watched him, lay in wait
for him, trapped him, and compassed his end. Following their lead, the
people formed themselves into a vast conspiracy, and at a signal the
ducal palace was surrounded on all sides.

[Sidenote: _976 A.D._]

The Doge would have fled, but it was too late, for every door was
watched and strongly guarded. In his despair he attempted to take
sanctuary in Saint Mark’s church, which was connected with the palace by
a dark and narrow entry. Thither he hastened, with his wife, their
little child, and a few of his faithful bodyguard; but the conspirators
had remembered

[Illustration: A SHRINE, ST. MARK’S]

the secret corridor and were there, and they hewed him down, him and the
child and every man of his attendants. The women they suffered to go
unhurt.

Then they dragged out the dead bodies, even the child’s, and gave them
over to the rage of the furious populace to be spurned and insulted,
until one just man, Giovanni Gradenigo, stood forth and claimed them, by
what right I know not except that of decency, and buried them in the
convent of Saint Hilary. Meanwhile the rabble had fired the palace, and
the flames devoured it and spread to the church of Saint Mark; and
further, a great number of houses were burnt down on that day, whereby
the chiefs of the conspiracy were brought into discredit with those
whose property was destroyed. But Pietro Orseolo was chosen to be Doge.

Now the dogess Gualdrada, breathing vengeance on them that had murdered
her husband and her little son, took refuge on the mainland and came to
Piacenza, to the court of the Empress Adelaide, who was the widow of
Otho I. and the mother of Otho II., then reigning. There Gualdrada cast
herself at Adelaide’s feet and told her grief, imploring justice and
righteous vengeance; and her cry was heard, for soon the young Emperor
summoned Venice to account, not for the assassination of the Doge, but
for violence done against Gualdrada and for the murder of her son.

Venice was in no state to face the Holy Roman Empire alone, and she
obeyed the summons by sending the patrician Antonio Grimani to Piacenza,
with orders to explain to the Empress that the Republic was not
altogether responsible for the cruel deeds done by a handful of her
citizens. The ambassador spoke long and well, setting forth the
iniquities of the Doge Pietro Candiano, and promising to make full
reparation to Gualdrada.

[Sidenote: _Rom. i. 252. Mol. Dogaressa._]

There they sat, in the hall of the castle of Piacenza, the old Empress
in her robes, surrounded by the flower of her northern knights, and
before them Antonio Grimani, the ambassador, representing the person of
the Doge Orseolo; and Gualdrada was not there, but the envoy of her
brother, the Marquis of Tuscany, came to speak for her, appealing to the
just sense of the court.

At a gesture from the Empress this personage came forward, bearing a
sealed letter as his brief, written with Gualdrada’s own hand, and he
broke the seal, and presented to the ambassador of Venice the note of
her demands. Then and there an inventory was made out of all the
property, both personal and real estate, which had either composed her
dowry, or which had been promised to her by her husband, or which should
have been hers as the heiress of her murdered child; and Antonio Grimani
did not hesitate, but promised for the Republic that everything should
be restored.

On her side Gualdrada then declared that she gave up all thoughts of
vengeance against the state of Venice, the reigning Doge or his
successors, and she signed with her own hand the solemn act which the
imperial notary drew up, and by which the mutual engagement was
ratified. So the grim business ended; and Gualdrada took lands and gold
for her child’s blood and her husband’s, as was the manner in the Middle
Ages, and went back to her Tuscan home, and lived finely, and married,
for aught I know, and was happy for ever afterwards.

Here, on the heels of tragedy, follows romance, in the same family of
Candiano; or perhaps it is only legend, of the kind the old chroniclers
loved so well.

Elena, the lovely daughter of a Pietro, we know not which, fell deep in
love with Gherardo Guoro; and this love of hers was a great secret, for
he was neither rich nor noble, and had small hope of being accepted as a
son-in-law by a Doge who was always intriguing to make brilliant
marriages for his family. But Elena had a nurse who loved her dearly and
pitied the pair, and helped them to meet again and again, till at last
they were married, and none but the old nurse knew it. Now, therefore,
Gherardo sought fortune and set out on a voyage to the East; and while
he was away, Pietro Candiano told his daughter that he would betroth her
to Vittor Belegno. In her terror the girl’s heart stood still, and she
fell into a trance so death-like that it was mistaken for death itself,
and on the same day, according to the immemorial custom of Italy, she
lay in her coffin in the cathedral. But within a few hours, as love and
fate would have it, Gherardo Guoro came sailing back, only to learn of
her sudden death. Wild with grief he rushed to the cathedral, and by
prayers, entreaties, and bribes prevailed upon the sacristan to open the
tomb, and help him to wrench off the lid of the coffin. When he saw her
face his passionate tears broke out, and, lifting the beloved head, he
kissed her again and again; and his kisses brought the colour to her
cheek, for she was not dead, and he held her in his

[Illustration: THE GREAT WINDOW, ST. MARK’S]

arms, and she grew warm, and he took her alive out of the place of
death, in a dream of wonder and joy. So when Pietro the Doge saw that
his daughter was alive again, he was glad, and forgave them both and
blessed them; and afterwards they lived happily.

In point of age I think this is the oldest existing version of the story
of Romeo and Juliet, and the one from which all the other forms of the
legend were afterwards derived. It would be interesting to pursue the
inquiry further, to find out how many different shapes the tale has
assumed in the course of ages, and in how many instances it has been
founded on fact; for that some of the stories are more than half-true I
have not the slightest doubt.

[Sidenote: _976 A.D._]

The power of the Candiano family was broken when Pietro IV. and his
little son were murdered, and the strong race of the Orseolo now seized
the ducal throne, and tried to make it hereditary with themselves. They
had cleared the way by violence, and they pursued their way to power
without scruple. It was Pietro Orseolo who had been the soul of the
revolution against the last Candiano, and it might have been expected
that his supporters would set him up as Doge; but it seemed wiser to
proceed more cautiously, and with singular foresight they put forward
another member of the family, also called Pietro, a man of the most
profound religious convictions, and who had led such a holy life that he
was regarded as a saint on earth.

The family were not mistaken in proposing his candidacy, a parallel to
which may be found in the election of the saintly hermit, Pietro da
Morrone, to be pope, by way of solving the difficulties which had
produced a long vacancy of the papal see. Pietro Orseolo was acclaimed
Doge without opposition.

But piety is not always energy, and virtue has little or nothing to do
with the greatness of princes. The holy man felt himself weak in the
face of the troubles caused by the hatred of his own family for that of
its predecessors in power, and when he saw what great responsibilities
were accumulating upon his shoulders, and what dangers menaced the
state, he quietly made up his mind to leave the world behind him and to
end his life in a Camaldolese monastery in Aquitaine. I find the best
account of this extraordinary vocation in Mr. Hazlitt’s recent work
(published in 1900); and incidentally I feel bound to say that this
writer, whose original book has now developed to very solid dimensions,
has searched the chronicles and later authorities upon Venetian history
with a care and a conscientious thoroughness quite unequalled by any
other historian who has treated of the same subject. We are free to
differ with Mr. Hazlitt as to some of his conclusions, and as to the
particular stories he has preferred to follow where the legends are many
and contradictory; but for thorough and detailed accounts, according to
the different chronicles, the English reader must go to him.

[Sidenote: _Rom. i. 256._]

In the late summer of the year 977 the good Doge Orseolo received the
visit of a learned and holy Frenchman, Warin, who was the Superior of
the Abbey of Saint Michel de Cuxac in Aquicaine, and who had come to
Venice to see for himself

[Sidenote: _Hazlitt, i. 90._]

the place where the Evangelist was laid. The Doge received him as became
his rank in the church, and the two good men were drawn to each other by
that profound though instantaneous sympathy which most of us have felt
at least once in life. Of the two, Warin had the stronger nature, and
recognising the true monk in the devout Doge, he bade him give up the
world, to which he had never really belonged, and follow his manifest
vocation.

Pietro Orseolo had been married at the age of eighteen to a maiden as
virtuous as himself, and when one son had been born to the pair they had
exchanged vows of chastity, and had afterwards given up their lives to
the care of the poor, and to visiting the hospices and hospitals.

And now, long after that, Warin argued with Pietro and urged him more
and more to renounce the world altogether; but Pietro was as wise as he
was good, and he knew that it was his duty to leave everything in order
for his successor, and he accordingly claimed a year in which to prepare
for his retirement.

The monk Warin had to admit that he was right, and they parted on the
first of September. On that same day, one year later, Warin returned and
waited for the Doge in the monastery of Sant’ Ilario. Pietro left his
house alone in the night and joined him, dressed as a pilgrim; at
midnight they mounted swift horses and set out upon their long journey
westwards, and the fugitive was not missed till late on the following
morning. Some accounts say that Orseolo’s wife had

[Illustration: HALL OF THE GLOBES, DUCAL PALACE]

already taken the veil in the nunnery of Saint Zacharias; others assure
us that she was dead. It matters little, for the one fact stands
undenied, that Pietro Orseolo fled from the dogeship of Venice to be a
novice in France, in one of the most rigid religious orders of that
time. There he lived in peace for nineteen years till he died in the
odour of sanctity; but over seven hundred years passed before he was
officially canonised and took his place in the calendar, after which the
French king returned his bones to Venice. There is a picture in the
Museo Civico representing him and his wife dressed as monk and nun, and
kneeling before a Madonna.

The policy of the Orseolo family in putting forward a saint to represent
them had not been very successful, for after Pietro’s flight they found
themselves deserted by the factions they had led against Pietro Candiano
IV.; and in the election which followed the holy man’s sudden
abdication, one more Candiano was chosen Doge in the person of Vitale,
of that name. At the same time two powerful alliances were formed, the
one between the Candiano and the Caloprini, of which the object seems to
have been to set up some sort of despotic government under the
protection of the Holy Roman Empire; the other between the Orseolo and
the Morosini, who held to the old alliance with Byzantium and the East.
Sismondi and others seriously derive the names of these two families
from Greek words signifying, for Morosini, the ‘Friends of Fools,’ and
for Caloprini, the ‘People who bow themselves skilfully’--in other
words, perhaps, the dupes and their flatterers. Of the two it was the
flatterers that came to grief, however, whereas the Morosini have
continued to flourish even to our own time. I know not whether these
derivations have any value. Victor Hugo, who did not know Greek, once
suggested that the French word ‘ironie’ might be derived from the
English word ‘iron.’

Many bloody encounters took place, in which the nobles of Venice took
sides with one party or the other, as their personal interests
suggested, and at last the Caloprini, who were hated by the people, were
forced to leave Venice. Yet trusting to the support of the Empress
Adelheid, or Adelaide, in an evil hour they ventured to come back a few
years later; but the Morosini, who had grown stronger in the meantime,
fell upon them and put them all cruelly to death, so that of that great
house only three widowed women remained alive to mourn the dead.

It was time that some strong hand should grasp the reins and drive the
car of state through the slough of chaos and blood in which it was stuck
fast, out upon the broad highway of fame. The hand was ready, and the
time had come; in the year 991 Pietro Orseolo II. mounted the ducal
throne.

From the first he threw all his energy into a systematic campaign
against the pirates of the Adriatic, whose fathers had carried off the
Venetian brides. They had paid for their rashness with their lives, and
their descendants had never again come so near the city, yet the
affront was not forgotten, and an expedition which had their destruction
for its object appealed to the men of Venice as few other incentives
could.

With a strong fleet the Doge set sail, and visited the coast cities of
Istria and Dalmatia one by one. They hailed him as a liberator, for they
were especially exposed to the attacks of the corsairs, and in return
for the protection of the Republic they placed their liberty in Pietro
Orseolo’s hands. He wisely received them as federal allies rather than
as subjects of Venice, though they, in their haste to be protected,
would not have refused to submit themselves to him as conquered cities.
He received them indeed under the shadow of the standard of Saint Mark,
but he left to each one full and unhampered liberty to govern itself as
it should see fit, requiring only a small yearly tribute in
acknowledgment of what was to be a feudal supremacy. The town of Arbo
was to pay ten pounds of silk, for instance, while Pola paid two
thousand pounds’ weight of olive-oil yearly to feed the lamps of Saint
Mark’s church, and so on, through a long list; and so, by token of a few
skins of oil, of a handful of silk, Venice first got supremacy over the
eastern Adriatic cities, with all the vast advantage to her commerce
that lay in owning harbours and warehouses all along the coast almost as
far as Greece. From that time Trieste, Capo d’ Istria, Rovigno, and all
the sea-coast cities of Istria became Venetian, and Zara, long an ally,
and Salone, and Spalatro and Ragusa; and the islands too, Coronota,
Brazza, and many others, down to the islets of Corsola and Lazina,
which stood firm for the pirates, guarding the approach to Narenta,
their chief city. But there, as all the chronicles agree, the Doge put
forth his strength, and he took those places in hard-fought battle and
smote them, and utterly wasted them with fire and the sword, so that
from that day their strength was gone, and the Adriatic was for many
centuries freed from the terror of their deeds.

Then, turning homeward, Pietro Orseolo visited the vast provinces he had
annexed to Venice, and because he had destroyed the corsairs the people
everywhere received him with great joy, and acclaimed him Duke of
Dalmatia by common consent; and the Doges who came after him bore the
well-earned title during many hundreds of years.

[Sidenote: _998 A. D. Rom. i. 284. Zanetti._]

Now it came to pass that when the young Emperor Otho III., mystic,
fiery, enthusiastic, heard of all this success, he felt a very great
longing to visit Pietro Orseolo and to see the wonderful water-city of
which all the world was beginning to talk; and he secretly told his
wishes to his privy councillors, but they would not hear of such a
thing, and he, being very young, would not act openly against their
advice. Yet he persisted in his intention, while he held his peace.

So at last, on a warm and moonlight night in the year 998, a boat manned
by eight men silently approached the little island of San Servolo, not
far from the city; and two men stepped out upon the shore and went up
and knocked at the door of a half-ruined building, once a monastery of
Benedictines. A man of imposing stature opened and let them in; but soon
three fishermen came out by the same way and got into a skiff that lay
waiting hard by, with two of their companions, for the larger boat had
disappeared; and they pulled over to the city.

Then in the moonlight the skiff was quietly rowed all about the city,
stopping here and there, wherever there was something worthy to be seen;
and if any of the belated townsfolk noticed the little boat and its
crew, no one guessed that it bore the young Emperor Otho himself, and
the Doge, and the Secretary, Paul the Deacon, who himself tells the tale
of the nocturnal visit. Having succeeded once, the Emperor came again,
less secretly, and spent days in the Doge’s palace, but still he
preferred not to be openly known, so that he might be the more free to
go about the city. There was a romantic strain in his short life, in his
intense enthusiasm, in his profound belief in a divine right to reign;
there was a faint foreshadowing of a stronger Emperor who is come in our
own day to claim what he claimed, and to do, perhaps, what he could not
do. With the strenuous reaching out after higher things Otho felt
youth’s longing to know, in an age when it was possible for one man to
master all the knowledge of his time, and it was surely this desire that
most of all brought him over to Venice that first time. Doubtless, too,
because Venice was counted with the East, his advisers foresaw trouble
in a too open friendship between him and the Doge. But his early death
ended such danger, if it ever existed, and all that remains is the
story of his wanderings by night, in fisherman’s dress, through the
still and moonlit waterways of the young city.

Like the Partecipazio and the Candiano houses which had ruled before
him, Pietro Orseolo now took measures to make the sovereignty hereditary
in his family, by associating his own son Giovanni in the ducal honour,
and further by marrying him to a Princess Mary, who was the daughter of
one of the joint Emperors of the East and the niece of the other. The
pair were united in Constantinople according to the Greek rite, and with
the utmost pomp and magnificence, and Giovanni was given the rank of an
imperial patrician. On their return to Venice, he and his beautiful
bride were received by the people with demonstrations of enthusiastic
joy, and, according to Sansovino, it was on this occasion, and at the
express request of the Venetians themselves, that Giovanni was invited
by his father to share in the power. It may well be, and it matters
little.

[Sidenote: _Mol. Dogaressa._]

Orseolo was much preoccupied by the still smouldering hatred of the
Candiano family, and he sought to satisfy their ambition by marrying his
second son, Domenico, to Imelda, grand-daughter of Pietro Candiano IV.
and Richelda. His third son, Ottone, when still very young, he married
to Geiza, sister of Saint Stephen, King of Hungary; and his daughter
Hicela was given to the King of Croatia.

Strong in these alliances, still young in years, and richly endowed with
the health and beauty that were hereditary in his family, Orseolo II.
might well have looked forward to a long and happy career, and to the
certainty of leaving the sovereignty to his descendants throughout
centuries to come. Then, about the year 1009, a comet suddenly appeared
in the sky, and famine and plague ravaged Venice and the world. Amongst
the very first victims were Giovanni and his young wife, and Orseolo
himself did not long survive them. The mortality was such, according to
old Dandolo, that there was not time to dig graves for all who died, and
such tombs as were not full were opened and crammed with dead.

Ottone Orseolo succeeded his father, when the power of the name seemed
at its height; but under him came the fall and exile of his family, and
the end of the period during which the dogeship was more or less
hereditary in the houses of Partecipazio, Candiano, and Orseolo. That
period is a labyrinth of uncertainties and a maze of conflicting
anachronisms. Scarcely two chroniclers place the same events in the same
year, and they are rarely agreed as to matters even more important.
Unmistakable history does not make its appearance in Venice till the
eleventh century, and not till the descendants of Pietro Orseolo II.,
the greatest Doge who had yet reigned, were exiled from Venice, and
excluded for ever, by a special law, from holding office under the
Republic. They may have found some consolation in the fact that one of
their house inherited the throne of Saint Stephen.

A few years later, the Doge Domenico Flabianico,

[Sidenote: _About 1032._]

or Flobenigo, sustained by an assembly of the clergy and the people,
introduced a law by which the chief of the Republic was forbidden to
associate any one with himself in the power, and by which he was
constrained to accept the ‘assistance’ of two counsellors. The
nomination of these was the first step towards the creation of those
many offices by which the Doge’s action was limited little by little,
till he became the mere figure-head, if not the scapegoat, of the
Republic he was supposed to govern.

[Illustration: FISHING BOATS AT THE RIVA]

[Illustration: THE GRAND CANAL FROM THE CA D’ ORO]

VENICE AND THE FIRST CRUSADES

It is not my intention to attempt in these pages an unbroken narrative
of early Venetian history. Such attempts have been made by men of great
and thorough learning, but they have failed in part or altogether
because it is quite impossible to trust the only sources of information
which have come down to us. These agree, indeed, more or less; that is,
they agree just nearly enough to make it sure that something like the
event they narrate in such widely different ways actually took place, in
some year to be chosen at will from the several dates they give. But
that is all, until nearly the end of the Middle Ages.

One thing must not be forgotten: Venice was not the only maritime
republic in Italy, even in the ninth and tenth centuries. There were at
least three others, Amalfi, Genoa, and Pisa, which at that time were as
prosperous, and seemed likely to be as long-lived, and of which the
commerce in the eastern Mediterranean was already much more important
than that of Venice. In the end Venice outdid them because she was
isolated from Italy; literally ‘isolated,’ since she was built on
islands in the sea.

England owes her independence, and the British Empire therefore owes its
existence, to twenty-one miles of salt water. A much less formidable
water barrier gave Venice a thousand years of self-government. The vast
advantage of protection by water was perhaps not evident to the
Venetians more than two or three times in their history, any more than
the same advantage has been actually felt by Englishmen more than twice
or thrice, but those few occasions were most critical; it has been
present all the time, and the enemies of Venice, as of England, have
always realized with dismay the difficulty of attacking a nation to
whose country men cannot walk dry-shod.

The other three great maritime republics did not possess this prime
permanent advantage of isolation by water. Amalfi was taken and retaken
by land powers; Pisa was ultimately subjugated by the Florentines, the
landsmen who lived nearest to her; and Genoa, with a surviving semblance
of freedom, became tributary to the House of Savoy in the eighteenth
century. Venice alone of the four held her own till the days of
Napoleon, protected to some extent, perhaps, by a sort of tacit but
general European agreement to consider her a city of pleasure, but also,
and always, by that water barrier, which multiplies the strength of a
city’s defenders tenfold, and divides to dangerously small fractions the
powers of those that assail her.

It may seem fruitless to try to recall in a few words how Pisa and Genoa
rose to maritime power; but it is not possible to pass over in silence
the period during which Genoa, Venice’s great rival, was growing up on
the opposite side of the peninsula, nor the time in which Amalfi and
Pisa were becoming powers in the Mediterranean.

Amalfi, most strange to say, though she was the first to disappear, left
to the civilised world at large the greatest legacy. To one of her
citizens, Flavio Gioia, we owe the mariner’s compass; to her we owe the
manuscript of the Pandects of Justinian, by which, as Sismondi justly
says, all western Europe came back to the study and practice of Roman
law; to Amalfi we owe those laws regulating maritime traffic, which are
the foundation of the modern sea-law of civilised nations. And as if
this were not enough for her glory, it is to Amalfi that the order of
Knights Hospitallers of Saint John of Jerusalem owes its existence, the
oldest order of knighthood that still survives, now known as the
Sovereign Order of Malta.

At its greatest, the Republic of Amalfi embraced not more than fifteen
or sixteen villages besides the little capital itself, scattered along
the southern side of the Sorrentine peninsula, some perched on the
inaccessible flanks and spurs of a mountain that rises out of the sea to
a height of nearly five thousand feet, some built where wild gorges
widen at the water’s edge. That breakwaters were built out into the sea
before Amalfi and Positano against the terrific south-westerly gales, we
partly know and partly guess; that the capital and the dependent
villages were strongly fortified may easily be proved. But what is left,
though beautiful beyond description, is so little, and that little is so
exiguous, that the thoughtful traveller asks with a sort of unbelieving
wonder how the Amalfitans can ever have disputed the lordship of the sea
with the greatest, and possessed their own rich quarter in every
thriving harbour of the East; and how they can have given the maritime
world its first rules of the road, or sent out rich and splendid trains
of knights to one crusade after another. Yet they did all these things
before they sank from power and disappeared and were lost in the turmoil
of South Italian history.

Next greater in strength to survive came Pisa, a contrast to Amalfi in
almost every condition, and a power which, when at its height, was of
more importance in history because history was then less chaotic. Not
backed against steep mountains like Amalfi and Genoa, but built in the
rich alluvial soil of the delta of the Arno, where the widening stream
afforded a safe harbour for ships; not isolated in a natural fortress of
rocks, but easy of access by land as well as by sea, and therefore easy
to quarrel with and often in danger, Pisa possessed the natural
advantages of a modern capital like London or Paris rather than the
natural defences of a strong city of the Middle Ages. But the times were
not ripe, and Florence was too near, jealous, turbulent, commercial and
usurious, a dangerous enemy in war, and a terrible competitor in peace.
No country has produced simultaneously so many cities as Italy, any of
which might have become the capital of a nation. I can only compare the
tremendous vigour of her growth at many points at once to that of a
strong oak-tree broken off near the ground by a tornado, and sending up
shoots from the stump, so tall, so straight, so vital that each one, if
the others were cut away, would grow in a few years to be a tree as tall
and robust as the parent. Venice, Palermo, Naples, Pisa, Genoa,
Florence, Milan--might not any one of these have grown to be a nation’s
capital? And can any other nation of Europe show as much?

The tenth century was not far advanced when Pisa possessed an immense
fleet and was already governing herself as a republic. A proof of her
importance lies in the fact that when Otho the Second was at war with
the South and meditated annexing to his Empire what remained of the old
Greek colonies, he applied to Pisa to lend him ships wherewith to
transport his troops to Calabria. His sudden death, however, put an end
to the negotiations, and the seven nobles whom he had

[Illustration: THE POST OFFICE]

sent to Pisa to represent him were so much delighted with all they saw,
as well as with their reception, that they asked to be made citizens
themselves, were granted the privilege, and became the founders of that
great Ghibelline party by which the destinies of the Pisan Republic were
guided so long as she maintained her independence.

Amalfi sent out traders to the East and knights to fight for the holy
sepulchre; but her knights did not fight to win land for her, nor did
her traders ever become colonists. Pisa, like Venice, sought to extend
her territory. At that time the daring Saracen chief named
Mousa--Moses--settled himself on the eastern and southern coast of
Sardinia, and carried his depredations far and wide on the Italian shore
and through the Tuscan archipelago. Seizing his opportunity when the
Pisan fleet had sailed southwards to help the Calabrian Greeks against
the Saracens of Sicily, Mousa and his pirates entered the mouth of the
Arno by night and landed in the suburbs of Pisa. The terrified citizens
were waked by the yells of their assailants amidst the flames of their
own dwellings, and if the corsairs had possessed any local knowledge of
the city its history might have gone no further than that night. But in
their ignorance they had landed on the wrong bank of the river, and had
fired the suburb instead of the city itself; a woman, and some say that
she was a noble lady, made her way through the confusion across the
bridge to the Consul’s dwelling, the church bells were rung backwards
and roused the sleeping garrison to arms, and the Saracens, surprised by
the prospect of energetic resistance, withdrew hastily to their ships
and dropped down the river. The peril was past.

But when the fleet came back from the South vengeance was sworn upon
Mousa and his pirates, and the conquest of Sardinia was a foregone
conclusion. So Pisa rose to power, and Genoa envied her and Florence
too, and those long wars began which ended in her destruction and her
absorption. While Venice had been distracted by internal factions, by
the feuds of Candiano and Orseolo, Morosini and Caloprini, the ‘Dupes
and the Flatterers,’ Pisa had at least enjoyed the honour of fighting
and vanquishing a horde of unbelievers. And meanwhile Genoa had risen
also to much the same degree of prosperity and strength, so that when
Peter the Hermit’s cry rang through the Christian world, rousing the
faithful to win back the Holy Land, the four great Italian maritime
republics were almost equals in wealth and influence, and in the fleets
of which they could dispose.

In what is by no means to be considered a complete history of Venice, my
readers will be grateful if I spare them the too untrustworthy details
with which the chroniclers fill up their accounts of the eleventh
century. In addition to what I have said about the growth of the rival
republics, however, it may be mentioned that before the great movement
of the first crusade, the Venetians had more than once measured
themselves with the Normans in the Levant, and perfectly well understood
the position of affairs in the south of Italy and Sicily, where the sons
of Tancred of Hauteville had carried everything before them.

Venice, Genoa, and Pisa played almost equal parts in the general
European movement that followed, and the Venetians need not be greatly
blamed if they derived profit from a source that should have yielded
only honour to those who sought it. The Venetians

[Illustration: OFF THE PUBLIC GARDENS]

combined glory with business, it is true, but, on the other hand, no one
expected them to transport men and horses to the East for nothing; and,
since they were the best provided with vessels suitable for that
purpose, it was a foregone conclusion that a large part of the
transportation should be done by them. Moreover, when all is told, there
were few indeed amongst all those hundreds of thousands who wore the
cross who had the right to reproach their fellows and companions for
hoping to combine the salvation of their souls with some improvement in
their earthly fortunes.

It was, of course, natural that the Italians, who are the least
sentimental people in Europe, should understand the worldly advantages
which were sure to follow in the wake of that great tidal wave of
sentiment which rose from the depths of Europe at Peter the Hermit’s
cry, advanced, tremendous and irresistible, over land and sea to the
most eastern limits of Christian civilisation, to topple and break at
last upon Jerusalem itself in a thunderous chaos of disaster and
success.

The confused history of the wars in which Venice was engaged during the
twelfth century is intimately connected with that of the first and
second crusades, though it cannot be said that the Venetians played a
very great part in either as fighting crusaders. It is hard to follow
exactly what took place when the whole world that surrounded the
Mediterranean was in a state of ferment and wild confusion; but it
cannot be denied that the Venetians made the most of the new
opportunities presented to them, and they never neglected a chance of
enriching themselves at a time when a vast amount of money was brought
into circulation to pay for the transportation and victualling of armed
hosts. The Republic, even at the outset, was in possession of a fleet
that elicited the admiration of Europe. No other nation owned ships of
such varied types well suited to different purposes. They had vessels
called ‘hippogogi,’ intended, as the name indicates, for the
transportation of horses, of which each was able to carry a considerable
number. They had fast vessels called also by a Greek name, ‘dromi,’ some
of which are stated to have been a hundred and seventy-five feet over
all; and though of light draught, such ships can hardly have been of
less than three hundred tons register and over. They had a main deck and
an upper deck, which the chronicler, who was totally ignorant of
nautical matters, presumes to have been assigned respectively to the
fighting men and the seamen who worked the ship. Several of these
vessels carried timber, so fitted as to be rapidly built up into a
turret, reaching to the battlements of sea-girt fortresses and towns,
and they were provided with engines for throwing stones, heavy wooden
bolts with iron heads, and boiling pitch.

It was undoubtedly at this time that the great rivalry rose between
Venice and Genoa, when both were supposed to be helping the Christian
cause in the East. It happened more than once that a convenient pretext
for these quarrels presented itself in the shape of sacred relics of
saints, coveted alike by Pisans, Genoese, and Venetians; and to obtain
such precious spoil they slew each other without hesitation or remorse.
They not only trusted that the saint, when bodily in their possession,
would bestow his richest blessings upon those who had fought for him,
but they were also well aware that

[Sidenote: _1099. Defeat of the Pisans off Rhodes, A. Vicentino; ceiling
of Sala dello Scrutinio, Ducal Palace._]

his shrine would without doubt attract numerous pilgrims to their city,
and thereby prove a permanent source of gain. It was in this way that
the Venetians succeeded in carrying off from the island of Rhodes the
body of Saint Nicholas, in order to exhibit it to the veneration of the
faithful in the church they had already built to him on the Lido; not
many years passed before they succeeded in stealing from Constantinople
the body of Saint Stephen the martyr, and in the course of the century
they possessed themselves of numerous treasures of the same kind.

It must not be supposed, however, that they confined themselves to the
discovery and seizure of such pious plunder. The end they pursued was of
a more practical nature, and the whole result of their activity during
their first wars in the East is found in the establishment of
flourishing colonies throughout the Levant, and in the gradual, but in
the end surprising subjection of the Byzantine Empire to their
commercial interests. They made enormous sacrifices, they shed blood
like water and spent money without stint, in order to establish
themselves as the masters of the Ionian islands.

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 42._]

Though they hardly fought at all as crusaders, they derived immense
advantages from the conquest of the Holy Land. In the kingdom of
Jerusalem they acquired the right to own a street, a square, a bakery,
and a public bath in every city; in the cities of Sidon and Acre, the
ancient Ptolemais, they

[Sidenote: _1123. Defeat of the Turks at Jaffa, Sante Peranda; same
ceiling._]

obtained even more ample privileges; finally, in the year 1123, they had
made themselves masters of one-third of the city of Tyre, while leaving
the other two-thirds in the possession of the king. They immediately
established there an ambassador to represent the Republic, with the
title of Bailo, and a consul to protect their financial interests.

[Sidenote: _1123. Fall of Tyre, Aliense; same ceiling._]

The taking of Tyre was largely due to the personal courage and firmness
of the Doge Domenico Michiel. Under apparently hopeless conditions, and
when his troops were thoroughly discouraged, without money to pay their
wages or supplies to feed them, he succeeded in maintaining his
influence over them, and ultimately led them to victory. One of the most
extraordinary devices to which he had recourse in the absence of coin
was the creation of a leather currency. He actually had vast quantities
of leather cut into tokens and stamped with a sign that promised
redemption if they were presented to the treasury in Venice when the
expedition reached home; and these tokens circulated as notes do
nowadays, and were ultimately redeemed in gold. It is to this
circumstance that the arms of the Michiel family make allusion,
displaying one-and-twenty pieces of money upon alternate bends, azure
and argent.

The influence which the Venetians acquired in Constantinople during the
first half of the twelfth century showed itself in the construction of
churches and convents in the city itself, and in the establishment of
great commercial storehouses and markets, where they used their own
Venetian weights, measures, and money, as if they were in Venice itself.
Their wares paid no duty

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 61._]

on entering the Greek Empire; they required the Greeks to speak of the
Doge under the title of Protospartos, or august prince, and the
patriarch of Venice was designated as ‘Hypertimos,’ and derived
considerable fees from the Eastern capital, while the basilica of Saint
Mark enjoyed a tribute from the Byzantine Empire. In fact, during a
certain length of time, the importance of the Republic was almost as
great in Constantinople as in Venice itself, and

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 49, 61._]

was a source of considerable anxiety to the emperors. They did their
best to oppose the growing power of the Venetians, but the assistance of
the latter was absolutely necessary to them in order

[Sidenote: _1148. Defeat of Roger, Marco Vecellio; same ceiling._]

to repulse the attacks of the Normans of Sicily, who even succeeded in
penetrating into the suburbs of Constantinople; and for some time the
Greeks were obliged to bear with the official pretensions of the
Republic, as well as with the insults and humiliations suffered by the
Greek soldiers at the hands of their foreign allies.

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 82-87._]

Under the reign of the Emperor Manuel, however, the affairs of the
Republic in the East suffered a severe check. During an expedition, of
which the real object was nothing less than the conquest of Greece, an
outbreak of the plague brought terror and confusion upon the Venetian
fleet. The attacking force consisted largely of volunteers, who lost
heart as the terrible sickness spread amongst

[Illustration: THE CLOCK TOWER]

them. A mere remnant of what had seemed a brilliant army reached Venice
with the remains of the fleet, and the arrival of these few spread
mourning and desolation amongst the citizens. Outraged at the weakness
and lack of wisdom displayed by the Doge during the expedition, the
people united to wreak their vengeance upon him, and he was promptly
assassinated. Amongst the many families whose youngest and bravest were
victims of this fruitless expedition, none was more nearly exterminated
than the Giustiniani. One hundred men of their name and race had sailed
away to Greece; not one came back. The Venetians

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 89._]

felt that the city itself was bereaved by their loss. One man of
marriageable age alone survived in Venice to stand between the name of
Giustiniani and its extinction, and he was

[Sidenote: _Lazzarini, Guida, 270._]

a monk in the monastery of Saint Nicholas. Thither the people proceeded
in a body, they claimed him from the order, they brought him

[Sidenote: _Mol. Dogaressa, 75._]

home to his ancestral palace, they besought the Pope to free him from
his vows. Alexander III. readily acceded to a request so unanimous; at
the same time, as if to provide him with a wife whose position should be
somewhat similar to his own, the pontiff liberated also from her nunnery
the daughter of the former Doge, Vital Michiel II. The former monk and
the former nun were united in bonds of matrimony, and became the parents
of no less than twelve children, nine of whom were sons. When the twelve
were all grown up, Giustiniani founded in the island of Amiano a
convent, to which his wife and their three daughters retired while he
returned to his monastery of Saint Nicholas on the Lido.

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 118._]

The immediate result of the disastrous expedition to Greece seems to
have been that Venice momentarily lost her hold upon the Levant, and was
obliged to retire from the strong commercial position she had acquired
in Constantinople; but an alliance with William, the king of Sicily and
the son of Roger, soon turned the scale in favour of the Republic. The
Emperor Manuel Comnenos, terrified at the thought of a coalition between
Sicily and Venice, paid the latter a large sum of money by way of
indemnity.

Such, on the whole, were the principal events in the foreign history of
Venice, which were more or less connected with the First Crusade and its
consequences. But it must not be supposed that while Venice was doing
everything in her power to extend her commerce and influence in eastern
Europe and in Asia, she was neglecting to improve her opportunities in
Italy. As early as 1101 the Venetians had installed themselves as
masters in the city of Ferrara, which they had helped the great Countess
Matilda to recover from her imperial enemy. At the same time the
Republic required all its prodigious energy to maintain its hold upon
Dalmatia, the possession of which was contested by the king of Hungary.
One of the numerous expeditions to the Dalmatian coasts cost the life of
the Doge Ordelafo Falier; this was in 1116, and fifty years elapsed
before the Republic recovered possession of all the fortresses on that
coast. Stephen III. of Hungary now thought only of winning the good
graces of his country’s former rivals, and married two princesses of his
family, the

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 77._]

one to Niccolò, a son of the Doge Michiel, who had been created Count of
the island of Arbo in Dalmatia, and the other to the Count of Ossero.
Venice had become a European power, and foreign sovereigns sought
alliance with her by marriage.

Much interest attaches to the relations between the Doges, the Emperors,
and the Popes in the twelfth century, more especially as the long
quarrel ended in the institution of the memorable feast of the
Ascension, which was kept in Venice to the very last year of the
Republic.

The Emperor Conrad died in the year 1152, leaving an only son who was a
mere boy. The electors of the Empire, judging that the times required a
strong hand and a sovereign who should not be under the control of any
regency, elected the late Emperor’s nephew, Frederick of Hohenstaufen,
surnamed Barbarossa. Brave, ambitious, and energetic, Frederick’s object
from the first was to bring all Italy under the direct rule of the
Empire. By a piece of good fortune which rarely befell any of the
Emperors, he found himself supported by the Pope, who, according to the
amiable traditions of those times, should have been his natural enemy.
Nicholas Brakespeare, the Englishman who reigned under the name of Pope
Hadrian IV., was at that time in considerable anxiety owing to the
progress made in Rome by the revolutionary teachings of Arnold of
Brescia, and viewed with satisfaction the Emperor’s intention of
descending into Italy at the head of an imposing army. For such an
expedition a pretext was soon found. Frederick convoked a general diet
of the Empire at Roncaglia, not far from Piacenza, which had generally
been the official residence of his predecessors when they visited the
peninsula.

The Venetian Republic does not appear to have been at all alarmed by
what was known of the Emperor’s intentions, and sent three patricians to
represent her at the diet. The Emperor was indeed chiefly opposed by the
Lombards, who entirely refused to acknowledge the claims he now made,
and he was accordingly obliged more than once to resort to arms to
enforce them, even after his coronation in Rome.

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 73._]

A dangerous epidemic which broke out in Italy obliged him to return to
Germany for a short time, but he soon came back and convoked a second
diet at Roncaglia, the prime object of which was to define exactly what
the situation of the Italian states ought to be with regard to the
Empire. The diet fully supported the Emperor in the claims he made upon
Lombardy, and that province, having been placed under the ban of the
Imperial Diet, broke out in open revolt. In the war which followed
immediately a number of the Lombard cities were besieged, including
Milan and Crema. When the latter place was starved to a surrender, and
was obliged to open its gates to the Germans, it is recorded that the
whole population emigrated in a body, preferring exile to submission.

At this time Hadrian IV., Frederick’s friend and ally, died, and the
conclave elected as his successor Cardinal Bandinelli, who assumed the
name of Alexander III., and became one of the Emperor’s bitterest
enemies. Even before his election this Pope had been well known for his
strong Guelph sympathies, and his election was a source of profound
displeasure to the Emperor. The latter could not easily accomplish his
purpose in Italy during the reign of a Pope whose patriotic object it
was to liberate his country from all foreign influence. Following the
astonishing custom which prevailed in those times, Barbarossa
immediately proclaimed a Pope of his own, known to us as the Antipope
Victor IV., who united the suffrages and enjoyed the support of that
very numerous party which desired to see the Germanic influence of the
Empire prevalent south of the Alps.

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 75._]

There was therefore throughout Italy a condition of schism in which the
Pope and the patriotic party were opposed to the Antipope and the
Imperialists. The Venetians with their patriarch did not hesitate to
espouse the cause of Alexander III. At that time the patriarch was still
the Bishop of Grado, and as it chanced that he was at odds with the
Archbishop of Aquileia about certain questions connected with the
Dalmatian bishoprics since that province had passed into the hands of
the Venetians, Aquileia very naturally joined the Imperial standard, and
proceeded to sack the diocese of the rival bishop. The Doge interfered
in person, and with the help of a few faithful troops succeeded in
capturing the hot-headed Bishop of Aquileia, a dozen of his canons, and
a number of Friulese country gentlemen who had joined the quarrel in
the hope of plunder. These prisoners were all brought to Venice, but
were set at liberty when the bishop and his canons had signed a treaty
or perpetual agreement, whereby they bound themselves and their
successors for ever to pay a yearly tribute consisting of twelve loaves
of white bread and twelve fat pigs. The Republic judged that the memory
of this victory of the rightful Pope’s party over his adversaries should
be preserved, and as a means of doing so decreed that the aforesaid
fattened swine should be handed over to the populace on the Thursday
before Lent, to be hunted to death in the piazza of Saint Mark. This
carnival diversion was so highly appreciated by the people that when in
the year 1420 the Pope abolished the two patriarchates of Grado and
Aquileia, and created instead the patriarchate of Venice, the government
was obliged to provide the pigs at its own expense.

It is only fair to say here that the patriarch of Aquileia made act of
submission to Pope Alexander III. himself.

Meanwhile, in the year 1162, that Pope was forced to take refuge in
France to escape from the dangers that beset him in Rome; and the
bishops and cardinals who were faithful to him, and who now found
themselves fugitives, received a hospitable welcome with promises of
protection in Venice. It was but natural that this should irritate the
Emperor, and foreseeing that there was to be trouble the Republic
hastened to conclude alliances with the Greek Emperor and the king of
Naples, whose interest it was to check the growth of German influence in
Italy.

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 81._]

On his side Barbarossa assured himself of the support of Genoa, and
returned to Germany to raise fresh troops, while Alexander III. took
advantage of his enemy’s absence to come back to Rome. It was in the
midst of these party struggles that the Lombard League first took shape
and began to grow; in 1167 a congress was held at which were present
deputies from the cities of Venice, Verona, Vicenza, Padua, Treviso,
Ferrara, Brescia, Bergamo, Mantua, Cremona, Milan, Lodi, Parma, Modena,
Bologna, Novara, Vercelli, Reggio, Asti and Tortona. The representatives
of these powerful towns met together and swore a solemn oath in a great
fortress which they had built for the common defence, and around which a
city had already sprung up. The city and fortress were named
Alessandria, in honour of Pope Alexander III., who was the soul of the
patriotic Italian ‘Concordia.’ It is worth noting that the city of
Piacenza, which up to this time had been considered the central focus of
Germanic influence in Italy, sent representatives to the congress of
Alessandria, and afterwards took an active part in the alliance which
was formed there.

The Emperor spared no effort to obtain possession of the stronghold of
the League; but while the garrison opposed the most determined
resistance from within, the cities of the League harassed the Germans
from without, and forced them to raise the siege within four months. Not
very much later, though too late, the Imperial army received
considerable reinforcements; but during

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 100._]

that time the army of the League had been able to make every preparation
for a decisive battle. The armies met at Legnano on May 19, 1176, and
the encounter resulted in a disastrous defeat for Frederick. He himself
was thrown from his horse, the

[Illustration: THE DOGANA AND THE SALUTE]

great standard of the Empire was captured, and the Imperialists were
driven to ignominious flight. The Venetians had no troops in this
battle, which was fought at a considerable distance from their
territory, but they had contributed large sums of money as well as
munitions of war to the cause.

During the six years which had preceded this decisive battle, Alexander
III. had led a life of hardship and danger. Beset and pursued by his
enemies, he wandered and sometimes fled from Benevento to Veroli, and
thence to Anagni, feeling himself safer anywhere than in Rome, where
party feeling ran high and took the side of Frederick. But the latter’s
signal defeat at Legnano convinced Barbarossa at last that his true
interest lay in making peace with the sovereign pontiff, in spite of the
great difficulty which must attend any negotiations towards such an end;
for Frederick dreamt of nothing less than reconciling himself with
Alexander III. without abandoning the Antipope whom he had set up in
opposition. The first point agreed upon was that a meeting should take
place in some city of northern Italy, and that the Pope should attend it
in person.

[Sidenote: _1177. Departure of the Doge’s ambassadors and Papal legates
for Pavia, school of Paolo Veronese; arrival of the envoys before
Barbarossa, Tintoretto; Hall of the Great Council._]

As a preliminary step the Pope proceeded to Venice, being conveyed
thither by the galleys of the king of Sicily, and visiting on his way
the principal cities of Dalmatia. He was received in Venice with the
most profound respect and with demonstrations of the greatest joy by the
Doge, the clergy, and the people. During his stay in the city there was
a constant exchange of messages between him and the Emperor regarding
the city to be chosen for a congress to discuss the peace. Then the Pope
himself was obliged to travel to Ferrara, a town which the cities of the
League would have preferred, though it was too small to lodge the great

[Illustration: THE PIAZZETTA]

[Illustration]

number of persons who would have to be present. The Pope returned to
Venice after discussing the question with the envoys of Milan, and
called together the ambassadors of the Empire, the legates of Sicily,
and the principal Lombard chiefs. All these personages presented
themselves in answer to the pontifical summons, and proceeded to discuss
the situation at great length. The result of the congress was that the
Emperor agreed to recognise the legitimate election of Alexander III.,
to renounce his own Antipope, to sign a truce of six years with the
Lombard League, and of fifteen years with the king of Sicily.

These preliminaries having been properly and minutely established, the
Emperor was invited to meet the Pope in Venice. It was his Canossa. He
arrived in Chioggia in 1177, and was met at the entrance of the lagoons
by a deputation of bishops, who exhorted him to abjure his schism before
entering upon Venetian territory. Barbarossa complied with good grace
and was forthwith freed from the ban of excommunication. On the
following day he proceeded to the capital. The Doge, the patriarch of
Grado, and all the bishops of the Venetian state went out to meet him in
their barges. The whole company landed at the Piazzetta amidst the
acclamations of the crowd, and the Emperor was at once conducted to the
Basilica. Here the Pope, in full pontificals, awaited him under the
porch, surrounded by his cardinals and numerous representatives of the
Venetian clergy. When he saw before him the august pontiff whom he had
so long and so cruelly persecuted, the

[Sidenote: _Barbarossa kneeling before Alexander III., Federigo Zuccaro;
Hall of the Great Council._]

Emperor seems to have felt a sudden impulse of penitence, for he threw
himself upon his knees and bowed down to kiss the Pope’s feet; but
Alexander would not allow him to go so far, and raising him to his feet
bestowed upon him the kiss of peace. Side by side the temporal and the
spiritual sovereigns of the world went up the ancient aisle together to
the steps of the high altar, and with the clergy and people intoned the
‘Te Deum Laudamus.’

On the first of August of that year the truce with the Lombard League
was signed, and at the same time the Venetians obtained for themselves
certain especial promises from the Emperor, one of which was that no
imperial ships should navigate the waters of the Adriatic Gulf, which
Venice now looked upon as her exclusive property, without the consent of
the Republic. On his side the Pope accorded numerous privileges to the
city which had given him such abundant proof of its fidelity.

A great part of the importance which was attached to the Doge’s annual
visit to the Lido on Ascension Day had its origin in the fact that
Alexander III. was present in Venice at that feast. It is true that the
custom of the visit dated from the days of Pietro Orseolo II., but the
ceremony of espousing the sea was first performed in 1177, when the
Pope, on presenting the Doge Sebastian Ziani with a magnificent ring,
accompanied the gift with the words: ‘Take this as a token of the
sovereignty which you and your successors shall exercise over this sea
for ever.’ In memory of this speech the Doge afterwards dropped a

[Illustration: CHIOGGIA]

golden wedding-ring into the sea every year with imposing ceremonies.

These are the simple facts upon which is founded

[Sidenote: _Alexander III. recognised in the monastery of the Carità,
school of P. Veronese; Hall of the Great Council._]

the amazing legend of Alexander’s arrival in Venice. Tracked and
pursued, the story says, by his imperial enemies, the fugitive Pope
reached Venice in disguise and at night. After wandering for hours
through the dark and winding ways of the city, he sank down at last upon
the steps of a church, worn out with fatigue and sleep, to wait for the
day. At dawn he took up his staff again, and on seeing a building which
was evidently a monastery, he knocked at the door and asked for shelter.
The house was that of Santa Maria della Carità. He was admitted, and,
according to at least one chronicler, was installed in the kitchen as a
scullion. In this humble office he lived uncomplaining for six months,
until a French traveller, who had often seen him in France, recognised
him, and hastened to inform the Doge of his presence. The emotion
created by the intelligence may easily be imagined. The ducal palace and
the whole city were in a ferment of excitement, and a vast procession
proceeded at once to fetch the sovereign pontiff from the convent
kitchen and conduct him to the palace of the patriarch of Grado. Strong
in the support of the Venetians, the Pope now sent ambassadors to
Frederick requiring him to restore peace to Church and State. The
Emperor, according to the story, sent an arrogant reply, and swore that
he would plant his victorious standard before the very door of Saint
Mark’s. The natural result of such a reply could only be a war, and the
legend did not fail to invent one of the most dramatic nature. Sixty
galleys from the Empire, from Genoa, and from Pisa, entered the Adriatic
under the command of the young Otho, the Emperor’s son, a boy of
eighteen years, endowed with superhuman strength, courage, and
experience. Against this powerful fleet

[Sidenote: _Alexander III. presents the Doge with the sword, Francesco
Bassano; same Hall._]

the Venetians could only send a force of thirty ships. But right was on
their side, and especially the right of legend to give the victory to
its favourites. The Doge knelt before the Pope, the Pope blessed him,
presented him with a golden sword and promised him the victory. On
Ascension Day a great and bloody sea-fight

[Sidenote: _Battle of Salvore, Domenico Tintoretto; same Hall._]

was fought off Salvore, not far from Parenzo, and the Venetians utterly
discomfited their enemies, taking from them forty-eight galleys and a
vast number of prisoners, including the Prince Otho himself. Like all
legendary

[Sidenote: _The Venetians present Prince Otho to the Pope, A. Vicentino;
and other pictures representing scenes from the same legend, in the same
Hall._]

people, these legendary Venetians were noble and generous beyond words,
and at once sent the Prince back to his father with twelve ambassadors.
Touched by so much kindness, the Emperor requested a safe-conduct for
himself to visit Venice, and having arrived there he was kept waiting an
unconscionable time while the terms of a treaty of peace were drawn up.
When he was at last admitted to the presence of Alexander III. Frederick
was made to lay aside all the insignia of royalty, and was forced to lie
down flat upon his face while the Pope placed one foot upon the back of
his neck and recited from Psalm xci. verse 13, ‘The young lion and the
dragon shalt thou trample underfoot.’ Frederick answered, ‘I bow not
before thee, but before Peter.’ ‘Both before Peter and before me,’
insisted the Pope.

The historian Romanin is justified in declaring that it would be hard to
accumulate a greater number of absurdities in a single tale, and the
most elementary historical criticism has sufficed to destroy all such
fables.

[Illustration: S. PIETRO IN CASTELLO]

They are, indeed, so manifestly imaginary that the so-called proofs of
the dramatic events they describe have been allowed to remain untouched,
and they exist to the present day. They consist of an inscription cut in
marble, which recalls to the inhabitants of Salvore the victory of the
Doge Sebastian Ziani, over the fleet of Otho of Hohenstaufen; of an
inscription on the outside of the church of Sant’ Apollinare informing
the public that Pope Alexander III. passed a bad night on the steps of
that church; and of similar inscriptions upon the churches of Santa
Sofia, San Salvatore, San Giacomo, and some other churches, which
dispute with Sant’ Apollinare the honour of having offered the pontiff
the hospitality of the doorstep.

[Illustration: PONTE MALCANTONE]

VENICE AND CONSTANTINOPLE

The most conflicting judgments have been formed upon the action of the
Venetian Republic at the decisive moments of her career, as well as upon
the true sources of her wealth and importance. One writer, for instance,
gravely tells us that Venice, like England, grew rich by usury and the
slave trade; another, whose good faith cannot be doubted, assures the
world that the two great mistakes which led to the final downfall of
the Republic were the ‘Serrata del Gran Consiglio,’ which excluded the
people from the government, and the unjustifiable sack and seizure of
Constantinople. It would be hard indeed to produce any satisfactory
proof of the former statement; for though the Venetians undoubtedly
supplied themselves and one part of Italy with white slaves from the
East, and although the Republic at times lent money at interest to
poorer governments in distress, yet I do not think that these sources of
income were ever to be compared with that derived from a great and
legitimate commerce, and from less justifiable but not less lucrative
conquest.

As for the second statement, it is enough to consider the length of time
which elapsed between the taking of Constantinople and the closure of
the Great Council about a hundred years later, say in 1300, on the one
hand, and the final destruction of Venetian independence in 1797 on the
other. When, in history, an effect is separated from its supposed cause
by an interval of five hundred years or more, I do not hesitate to
assert that the connection is a little more than doubtful. As for the
exclusion of the people from the government having been a source of
danger to the Republic, it is interesting to note that almost in the
same year the Republic of Florence adopted precisely the opposite
course, that it led directly to internal discord and the wars of the
Blacks and Whites, and that in less than two hundred years the city
which had adopted the democratic view was under the dominion of
tyrants--a striking instance of the truth of some of the most important
conclusions reached by Plato in the _Republic_.

In the year 1198 Pope Innocent III. called upon Christendom to undertake
a fourth crusade, and the voice of Fulk of Neuilly preached the delivery
of the Holy Sepulchre, and roused to arms the most valiant barons and
gentlemen of France.

It was not till 1201 that the new army of crusaders was sufficiently
organised to consider the means of reaching Palestine, and they then
decided that they must make the journey by sea. Accordingly they sent an
embassy to Venice, the only maritime power then able to furnish the
ships and transports required.

Enrico Dandolo, the Doge, entertained their request, and, speaking in
the name of the Republic, offered to convey to Palestine four thousand
five hundred horses and nine thousand squires and grooms on large
transports, and to take four thousand five hundred knights and twenty
thousand men-at-arms on other vessels, and to furnish provisions for men
and horses for nine months; and, further, to send fifty armed galleys to
convoy the transports to ‘the shores whither Christianity and the
service of God called them.’

For this transportation the Republic required the payment of 85,000
marks of silver before the army embarked, and the promise of an equal
division of all conquests and of all spoil, Venice to receive one-half
of everything.

To these terms the ambassadors agreed, and they obtained from the Pope a
solemn approval of the agreement, which the Republic fulfilled with
great exactness, but which many of the crusaders violated in a manner
far from honourable; for a large number, deeming that they could make
the journey more cheaply on their own account, embarked from other
European ports without any regard to the engagements made in their names
by the ambassadors they themselves had chosen.

The consequence was that at the time agreed upon for meeting in Venice,
the crusaders found their numbers much inferior to those provided for in
the contract; and, as was natural, those who presented themselves were
not able to produce the sum of money agreed upon for the whole number.

But, according to the agreement signed, if the whole sum was not paid
before embarking, whatever was paid in was forfeited to the Republic,
which had been put to great expense and trouble in fitting out so large
a fleet.

In this extremity Enrico Dandolo pointed out to his countrymen that
Venice should play a generous part, rather than exact the letter of the
contract; that a compromise should be made on some sound basis; and that
the most obvious way of settling the matter was to ask of the crusaders
some service, during the voyage to Palestine, which should be accepted
instead of the balance of the money still unpaid, amounting to no less
than 30,000 marks of silver (about £60,000 sterling). To this proposal
the crusaders agreed, though not without considerable opposition on the
part of some of their number.

Let it be observed here, in defence of what the Venetians afterwards
did, that they were connected with the Fourth Crusade in two totally
distinct characters. In the first place, they themselves took the cross
in great numbers, and were therefore crusaders in the true sense;
secondly, they were a company for the transportation of a great number
of other crusaders at stated rates, under a guarantee. Moreover, they
did not, as some have supposed, include their own forces amongst those
for whom the French were to pay.

According to Sismondi, the estimate they made for the transportation of
the French was as follows:--

For 4,500 horses, at 4 marks of silver each 18,000 marks
“ 4,500 knights, at 2 marks of silver each 9,000 “
“ 9,000 squires and grooms, at 2 marks of
silver each 18,000 “
“ 20,000 men-at-arms, at 2 marks of
silver each 40,000 “
------
For 4,500 horses and 33,500 men, total 85,000 marks
Equal to about £170,000 sterling.

This represented what may be called the business side of the
transaction. As crusaders, the Venetians who accompanied the expedition
appeared not as business men but as allies, and provided for themselves
in every way; and it was as allies that they claimed an equal share of
conquest and spoil.

The weakness of the Pope’s subsequent position lay in the fact that
while he could, and did, excommunicate the crusaders for going out of
their way, he could not possibly have excommunicated them if the
Venetians, as

[Illustration: THE SALUTE]

business men, had insisted on the performance of the contract and had
refused to start at all.

In giving a brief account of the taking of Constantinople, I shall not
offer any criticism of a deed which has been generally condemned, and
which it is certainly not easy to excuse, but I shall present it very
nearly as it appeared to Romanin, himself a Venetian, and one of the
greatest and most just of the Venetian historians.

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 154._]

[Sidenote: _1201. Dandolo takes the cross, Giovanni Le Clerc; Hall of
the Great Council._]

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 97._]

It was on a Sunday, and in the year 1201, that the decision was reached
which sent a Venetian fleet and army to the East under the aged Doge
Enrico Dandolo. A vast crowd filled the basilica of Saint Mark, and was
swelled by the foreign knights and their attendants, who had descended
from the ducal palace after being received by the Doge. Moreover, there
were many pilgrims in the throng, wearing upon their coats and cloaks
the emblem of the cross. High mass was to be celebrated, and the high
altar was already prepared for the solemn function. Before it began,
however, a very old man of venerable aspect, but still preserving
something of his earlier energy, appeared in the pulpit of the
cathedral. He was almost sightless--so blind, indeed, that he had to be
led when he walked. But, in spite of age and infirmity, Enrico Dandolo
was still one of the most remarkable men living in an age which produced
many characters of wonderful individuality and strength. Even his
blindness was not the consequence of weakness or old age, but of the
fiendish cruelty of the Emperor Manuel Comnenos, who had almost
destroyed his sight when he had been ambassador in Constantinople nearly
a quarter of a century earlier. He had now reached the age of
ninety-four, and had been Doge already eight years.

He stood up in the pulpit and spoke to the people, not long but
earnestly, and though he was nearly a hundred years old his voice rang
clear and distinct through the vast church, and the words he spoke were
heard and long remembered.

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 154._]

‘You are allied,’ he said, ‘with the bravest of living men for the
greatest purpose which man can embrace; and I am old and weak and my
body has sore need of rest, yet I clearly see that no one can lead you
in this enterprise with the authority which is mine as chief of the
Republic. I pray you give me leave to take the cross that I may lead you
and watch over you, and let my son take my place here to guard the
territories of Venice while I go forth to live or die with you and with
these pilgrims.’

A great cry went up from all the people, ‘So be it for God’s sake! Take
the cross also and come with us.’ And therewith a great wave of
enthusiasm moved the whole host--strangers, pilgrims, and Venetians
alike; and one who stood in the crowd has recorded that there was
something in the bearing of the ancient Doge, in his prayer for
permission to take the cross, in the sacrifice he offered of the last
strength that was in him, that brought tears to the eyes of them that
saw and heard.

Then Enrico Dandolo, laying one hand upon the shoulder of him who went
before to lead him, came down and knelt before the high altar; and he
asked that the cross should be sewn upon his great cotton bonnet that
all might see it, and a great number of Venetians followed his example
and took the cross also.

The fleet sailed out of the harbour of Venice on the eighth day of
October 1202, a fleet of three hundred sail, the noblest and best
equipped that had yet been seen. Three huge vessels led the line--the
_Aquila_, the _Paradiso_, and the _Pellegrina_. Above the broad sails
the standard of the Republic floated from the masthead, while the flags
of other nations that were sending crusaders with the fleet were
displayed below it and at the yard-arms. The three hundred vessels were
manned by a force of forty thousand men in the bloom of their youth and
strength.

The crusade that followed has been too often described for me to
describe it. I shall merely endeavour to present a short statement of
the main facts and their consequences.

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 155._]

Pope Innocent III. had strictly enjoined upon the crusaders to stop
nowhere by the way, but to proceed directly to the Holy Land without
turning aside to pursue any purpose or undertaking foreign to the end
for which they had bound themselves together by solemn oath. The Pope’s
command was peremptory; it is hardly necessary to say that it was also
prudent, since the first three crusades had shown clearly to what extent
the interests of commerce and the desire for gain could thwart the true
purpose of the Holy War. Nevertheless the Venetians considered that the
Pope’s words could be interpreted with a breadth convenient to their
own ends, and in spite of the resistance of the French knights, who
wished to obey the Pope to the letter, the fleet anchored off the coast
of Dalmatia in order to retake the strongholds which had fallen under
the domination of Hungary. Enrico Dandolo’s argument in favour of this
was by no means illogical, whatever his real motives may have been, for
he pointed out that it was absolutely necessary to take possession of
all harbours on the way to the East from which pirates might sail out to
harass the fleet.

[Sidenote: _1202. Zara attacked by the crusaders, A. Vicentino; Hall of
the Great Council._]

No sooner had he taken the city of Zara, however, than the French
knights were perplexed and terrified by a message from the Pope, who
threatened to excommunicate all who had fought in this incidental war
unless they made honourable amends. Ambassadors were at once sent to
Rome to explain Dandolo’s specious argument to the Pope and humbly to
implore the latter’s pardon. Innocent granted his absolution readily
enough, on condition that the crusaders should not turn aside again on
their way to the Holy Land.

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 160-1._]

But meanwhile a still greater temptation presented itself to attract the
crusaders out of their straight course. For a long time past the Empire
of the East had been distracted by civil wars. At the time when the
crusaders set sail from Venice the Emperor Isaac had been dethroned and
blinded by his brother Alexis, who had seized the power. But Isaac’s
son, the younger Alexis, had succeeded in eluding his uncle’s vigilance,
and had escaped from Constantinople. He had visited Rome with the
intention of obtaining assistance from Pope Innocent

[Sidenote: _Quadri, 117._]

III., but only to find that his purpose had been forestalled by his
uncle, the reigning Emperor. The latter, fearing the Pope’s
interference, had already sent an embassy to him with instructions to
beguile him with promises of a reconciliation between the Greek and
Latin Churches. As this reconciliation, or submission, was the principal
inducement which the younger Alexis had to offer in return for help, the
Pope considered that it would be wiser to treat with the uncle, who was
in possession, rather than with the nephew who was a fugitive. Deceived
in his hopes, the younger Alexis proceeded to Germany, to the court of
King Philip of Swabia, who had set himself up as Emperor against Otho
IV., and had married a sister of the young Prince. It is not clear
whether it was Philip himself who suggested to Alexis the possibility of
attracting the crusaders to Constantinople, but he appears to have
recommended the plan and to have strongly urged the Venetians to agree
to it. At all events Alexis

[Sidenote: _Alexis Comnenos asks help of the Venetians, A. Vicentino;
same Hall._]

now proceeded to Zara and soon interested the aged Dandolo in his cause.
He made great promises if the crusaders would help him to get back the
throne; he would bear the whole expenses of the crusade for one year; he
would divide amongst the crusaders a sum of two hundred thousand silver
marks; he would guarantee for all future time that five hundred knights
should be supported by the Greek Empire in the Holy Land to guard it
from the attacks of unbelievers; and finally, he promised to bring the
Eastern Church back to the spiritual dominion of the popes. These
magnificent offers on the one hand, and the moving picture which, on the
other, he drew of his father Isaac’s sufferings, produced a profound
impression upon his hearers, and especially, perhaps, upon those who had
already been in Constantinople and had formed an opinion as to the value
of such a prize. In the eyes of the Venetians, too, there was even
another object to be accomplished, namely, the destruction of the power
of Pisa and of her commerce in the East.

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 162._]

It was in vain that the Pope, who wished to manage matters himself, and
who was more than half pledged to the usurper of the throne, raised his
voice in threats and protestations; it was in vain that he insisted on
the wretched condition of the Christians in Palestine and the
extremities to which they were reduced, pointing out that their welfare
was to be considered rather than a blind prisoner’s claims to the throne
from which he had been ousted, no matter how unjustly. Nothing that the
Pope could say had the slightest effect upon men whose conscience agreed
to an act of justice in which their ruling passion for gain anticipated
an opportunity for almost unbounded plunder. Those who feared to
displease the Pope, or were terrified by the menace of excommunication,
were told that they were free to leave the ranks if they chose. A few
French knights took advantage of this alternative and left the army;
amongst these was Simon de Montfort. But the principal French nobles
espoused the cause of the younger Alexis, including Boniface of
Montferrat, Baldwin of Flanders, Louis of Blois, and Hugh the Count of
Saint Paul. These and the great majority, with their followers, threw in
their lot with Enrico Dandolo, and looked on with indifference when the
Pope’s cardinal legates left the crusade and proceeded to the East by
themselves.

Sismondi considers that the subsequent attitude of Venice towards the
Holy See throughout her history had its origin at this time; for when,
before the expedition sailed, Cardinal San Marcello arrived in Venice,
as the Pope’s legate, to take command of the crusading fleet, he was
informed that if he shipped as a Christian preacher he should be treated
with the highest honours, but that if he came with the slightest idea of
giving orders he could not be allowed on board; whereupon, having
thoroughly understood the situation, he returned to Rome.

As the fleet proceeded eastwards it was very naturally obliged to put in
at a number of Greek harbours, not only to obtain provisions, but
because it was absolutely necessary to land the crusaders’ horses from
time to time for exercise; and when we consider the conditions of
navigation and the dimensions of vessels in those days, we are surprised
that such a body of cavalry could have been successfully transported at
all from the Venetian islands to the very walls of Constantinople. It
was generally considered at that period that Constantinople shared the
dominion of the sea with Venice, but it appears that the Emperor’s
brother-in-law, who was high admiral of the fleet, had deliberately sold
for

[Illustration: FONDAMENTA S. GIROLAMO]

his own advantage the sails, rigging, cables, and even anchors of the
ships of war, and that the vessels themselves had been allowed to rot
in the Bosphorus till even the hulks were unfit for sea. It is easy to
understand why the magnificently-equipped fleet of the Venetians could
proceed from one imperial harbour to another without meeting even a show
of opposition. Moreover, wherever the crusaders went they found the
cities they visited well disposed towards the younger Alexis. In this
way they touched at Durazzo, Corfu, Cape Malea, Negroponte, Andros and
Abydos, and came at last, on the eve of Saint John’s day (twenty-third
of June) to the town and abbey of San Stefano, famous in many a later
war, to our own times, and well within sight of the city. Here, says
Geoffrey de Villehardouin, the Marshal of Champagne, and the eyewitness
and chronicler of the whole expedition, the masters of the ships,
galleys, and transports took harbour and anchored their vessels: ‘Now
you may know that long they looked upon Constantinople who had never
seen it yet, and they could not believe that so rich a city could be in
all the world. When they saw those lofty walls and those rich towers
which close it in all round about, and those rich palaces and tall
churches of which there were so many as no one could have believed if he
had not seen them with his eyes, through all the length and breadth of
that city, which among all others was sovereign; know ye well that then
there was none so brave but that his heart trembled, and this was no
wonder, for never was so great a matter undertaken ... then each looked
to his arms, considering that in them soldiers must trust when they
shall soon have need of them.’

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 170._]

[Sidenote: _Attack on Constantinople, Palma, Giovane, Hall of the Great
Council._]

I shall not attempt to describe the memorable events which followed.
Here, as in many passages of his history, it may be said of Gibbon, as
of Titian by Taine, that ‘he absorbed his forerunners and ruined his
successors.’ It is enough to say that the city was fortified with double
walls and four hundred towers, and that the garrison was estimated by
Villehardouin at no less than four hundred thousand men. The resistance
was obstinate, but the attack was irresistible. The French, judging at
first that they could fight better on land, concentrated their strength
against the northern wall; the Venetians, from their ships, scaled the
fortifications that rose from the edge of the sea. The aged Dandolo led
the general assault himself, twenty-five of the towers were captured,
and the fall of Constantinople was a foregone conclusion. But the whole
siege, with intermissions, lasted from June until the following April.
During that time the deposed and imprisoned Emperor Isaac, surnamed
Angelos, succeeded through his friends in organising a revolution in his
favour, in regaining the throne, which he divided with his son Alexis,
and finally in quarrelling with his liberators, the Venetians and the
French crusaders, after considerable demonstrations of friendship,
because he could not carry out the clause in the agreement relative to
the subjection of the Greek Church to the popes. He, and even his son,
the younger Alexis, though not to blame for this, seem to have been very
little better than his brother, the elder Alexis, who had fled for
safety, and the student is not sorry to learn that they were put to
death by such patriots as remained in the corrupt capital before the
final assault.

The besiegers, on their side, had made a treaty among themselves for the
division of the spoil, with the following conditions:--

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 177. Quadri, 122._]

First, after the taking of Constantinople, a new emperor was to be
elected from among the crusaders by a body consisting of six Venetians
and six of the French barons.

Secondly, whichever nation should be the one from which the emperor was
chosen was to leave to the other the church of Saint Sophia, with the
right of designating the patriarch.

Thirdly, the other churches of the city were to be equally divided
between Venice and the French.

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 182._]

Fourthly, all future conquests, including the city itself, were to be so
divided that the elected emperor should receive one-quarter of the
whole, while the remaining three-quarters were to be divided equally
between the French and the Venetians. It was, however, provided that
Venice was to receive the balance of the sum due for transporting the
crusaders before any division of the spoil took place.

The city was finally taken on the twelfth of April 1204, the final
assault having lasted three days, but as it was late in the day when the
allies got possession of the fortifications they did not venture into
the interior of the city until the following morning. It has been
estimated that nearly one-half of the city

[Sidenote: _1204. Storming of Constantinople, Domenico Tintoretto; Hall
of the Great Council._]

with all the treasures it contained had been destroyed by the three
great fires which had taken place during the preceding months, yet the
spoil that remained far exceeded anything recorded in history, and it is
not to be denied that both the French and the Venetians committed
frightful excesses in the first intoxication of their immense triumph.

[Sidenote: _Election of Baldwin, A. Vicentino; same Hall._]

The articles of the treaty the victors had made among themselves were
strictly observed. The spoil was divided in the manner and proportions
stipulated, electors were chosen, and they proceeded to the choice of an
emperor. It was but natural that the majority should agree at once upon
the Doge Enrico Dandolo, to whose judgment, determination, and personal
courage the success of an apparently impossible enterprise was largely
due. A force of between thirty and forty thousand men, coming in ships
from a distant country and facing every possible strategic disadvantage,
had destroyed the Eastern Empire in a few months, and had captured the
most strongly fortified city in the world against odds of more than ten
to one. From first to last they had been counselled, directed, and led
by the aged Doge; assuredly no one was more worthy than he to receive
the highest reward and the greatest share of honour. One Frenchman and
one Venetian, however, dissented, and it was the Venetian who argued
convincingly against Dandolo’s election. He pointed out clearly that the
chief magistrate of a free republic

[Sidenote: _Dandolo crowns Baldwin, Aliense; same Hall._]

could not in conscience be at the same time the despot of an empire, and
he advised that Baldwin of Flanders should be chosen instead. The
Venetians themselves were easily persuaded of the justice and good

[Illustration: VENICE FROM THE LAGOON]

sense of this view, and it was forthwith unanimously adopted.

The conquerors proceeded next without delay to the dismemberment of the
Empire, dividing amongst themselves provinces and cities of which they
barely knew, and could not correctly write the names, and omitting many
of the very existence of which they were

[Sidenote: _Quadri, 127._]

in ignorance. Amongst the lands and strongholds which fell to the share
of the Venetians may be mentioned Lacedaemon, Durazzo, the Islands of
the Cyclades and Sporades, and the Island of Crete, or Candia, taken
over in a friendly exchange from the Marquis of Montferrat, and all the
eastern coast of the Adriatic. The Doge of Venice added to his titles
the one of ‘Lord and Master of a quarter and a half-quarter of the Roman
Empire,’ and in official acts the new Emperor was to address him as
‘Carissimus Socius nostri Imperii.’

This vast and sudden extension of territory, while it at once placed the
Republic on an equal footing with the greatest European powers, had many
disadvantages, and was fraught with dangers. Venice consisted properly
of nothing more than the city and the duchy, with a population which
Sismondi estimates at two hundred thousand souls; the partition of the
Empire conferred upon Venice, by a stroke of the pen, many thousand
square miles of land and seven or eight millions of subjects, and
Venice, as the author I am quoting very pithily says, though not able to
annex Padua, only twenty miles from the lagoons, was now undertaking to
subdue what constituted a powerful kingdom, and to defend it against
Turks, Bulgarians, Wallachians, and possibly even against the Latins of
Constantinople.

It was clear that though the commerce of the Republic might gain
immensely by this extension of her dominions, the responsibility assumed
by the Republic was far beyond that which so limited a population could

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 183._]

bear, and that the expenses of administering and defending the distant
provinces would be enormous. Nor could the Venetians afford to overlook
the fact that their great rivals, Genoa and Pisa, would spare no effort
to drive them from their new possessions by fair means or foul. Before
the taking of Constantinople the rich citizens either lived at home
altogether or returned after each voyage to fit their ships for another;
but so soon as the Republic became the possessor of important colonies
in the East, it was manifestly necessary that a considerable number of
the most experienced and bravest Venetians should remain constantly
abroad to administer and defend those new possessions.

The position of Venice at this time may be not inaptly compared with
that of Rome when, after the annexation of Sicily, she found herself
obliged to inaugurate that system of provincial government which she
ever afterwards followed. But Venice was not Rome, and even if the
Venetians had possessed the qualities of the Romans in addition to their
own, they could not have succeeded as the Romans did, since in Genoa and
Pisa they had competitors as civilised and as wealthy as themselves and
far more numerous. Rome went on and conquered the world; Venice drew
back in the face of a manifest impossibility, retiring, with much common
sense and not a little dignity, from a career of successful conquest to
the less brilliant but more stable condition of a commercial people.

The Venetian senate after due deliberation gave up all idea of retaining
possession of the new conquests, and in the year 1207 issued an edict
authorising all Venetian citizens to fit out at their own expense armed
expeditions to seize anything they could in the Greek archipelago or on
the Greek coast; the Republic bound itself to leave each individual
adventurer the lands or cities he was able to take, as his property in
perpetual fee, reserving itself only the right of sovereign protection.
It is true that the coast and the islands named in this edict formed a
part of Venice’s share in the division of the Eastern Empire, yet I
doubt whether at any time in the history of nations any government has
ventured to issue such a wholesale charter to piracy, and none was ever
more literally interpreted.

As for the short-lived Empire of the Latins in Constantinople, it was
brought to an end by the family of the Paleologi with the assistance of
the Genoese, whose principal object was to procure the expulsion of the
Venetians from the East. But Michael Paleologos had the good sense to
understand that the ruin of Venetian commerce would entail serious
damage to his own, and he did his utmost to maintain good relations
between the two Italian Republics. In this he did not altogether
succeed, as he found himself under the necessity of irritating Genoa by
confirming many of the ancient privileges of Venice. On these conditions
the Venetians consented to turn a deaf ear to the complaints and
entreaties of Baldwin II., the dethroned Latin emperor, who wandered
about Europe in the vain hope of obtaining help.

By the end of the thirteenth century the political influence of Venice
in the Greek Empire had dwindled to insignificance compared with her
great commercial importance. As the latter increased, the jealousy of
Genoa grew more and more dangerous, and the colonies held by Venetian
vassals were in constant peril.

It was the misfortune of Venice that her last development had been too
sudden. The slightest matter might compromise the safety of her
colonies, and through them her own.

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 186._]

Yet her position was brilliant, and her strength was not fictitious. The
terms of the treaty concluded with Michael Paleologos were such as might
well flatter even the pride and vanity of a Venetian, and the Doge
continued to call himself Lord and Master of a quarter and a
half-quarter of the Roman Empire, while the permanent ambassador of
Venice at Constantinople continued to be treated by the Paleologi as an
ally and a friend.

Before leaving the thirteenth century I shall say a few words about the
early laws and those who made them, as an appropriate introduction to
the story of the great conspirators who attempted to grasp the supreme
power in spite of them.

From what has gone before, it must be clear that the Venetian Republic,
as it was when it first took its place among the European powers, was
the result of circumstances rather than of the growth of a race; and it
is much easier to trace a result to its cause than a growth to its
primitive type. Having got so far, the student will naturally be curious
as to the internal mechanism of a government which began so early,
lasted so long, and worked, on the whole, with such wonderful precision
and certainty.

[Illustration: CAMPIELLO S. GIOVANNI]

It will not be necessary to recapitulate the attempts and experiments of
the first fugitives after they reached the islands. I need only recall
to my reader the ‘University of the Tribunes,’ by which the different
tribes were represented and were respectively governed, the first doges,
the short return to the system of tribunes, and the second and final
establishment of a doge as head of the Republic. At this point in
history two main facts stand out at once: on the one hand, the unlimited
power of the doges, whose authority was not restrained by any positive
law, still less by any body of men in the shape of senate or council,
whose chief aim was generally to make their dignity hereditary, and who
were to all intents and purposes the absolute masters of their country’s
destiny while they lived; on the other hand, we find an assembly of the
clergy and people, generally very far from exacting as to the doge’s
conduct, but ready and able to wrest the sovereignty from him if he
pushed his absolutism too far for their taste. In those days a great
simplicity prevailed. The chosen chief used his position unhesitatingly
for his own advantage; the clergy were simple-minded; the people were
very busy with their own affairs.

When these reactions led to bloodshed, it was usually because one or
more of the great families had interests at stake and aimed at the
supreme power; and one of the most common causes of discord was removed
when the Doge Domenico Flabianico caused the popular assembly to pass a
law forbidding the doges to associate any one with them in the
sovereignty. This reform checked the tendency of the government to turn
into an hereditary monarchy, and another law passed at the same time
gave the Doge two permanent counsellors, with power to add to their
numbers others, chosen from the prominent citizens, when any very
important matter presented itself. The latter measures had no practical
result, for the Doge was left free to call in these ‘notabili pregadi,’
or ‘invited notables,’ or not to do so at his pleasure, and he
invariably forgot their existence. As for the two counsellors, they
might as well not have existed for any mention of them that is to be
found in the documents of the twelfth century.

It gradually became clear that the rights and powers of the Doge must be
more exactly defined, and that some means must be found for subjecting
him to the will of the people without constantly calling together a
general assembly, which was not a slight matter. This need seems to have
found expression for the first time about the year 1172.

Six months were spent in deliberations before an institution was agreed
upon which should represent the nation. The general assembly then
determined upon the election of a certain number of councillors, who
were to serve only for one year, and were to have the management of all
affairs of state. They were to be eighty in number for each of the six
‘sestieri’ of the city, and therefore in all four hundred and eighty.

[Sidenote: _1172._]

This was the origin of the ‘Great Council,’ of which the duties were to
distribute the offices of government amongst those who were best able to
fill them honourably and to the advantage of the state; to frame laws,
which were submitted to the approval of the General Assembly; and to
examine all proposals that came from the Pregadi, with the consent and
collaboration of the Doge and the six counsellors whose assistance, or
guidance, was now imposed upon him without consulting his wishes.

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 137._]

In order to lighten the labours of the Great Council, another assembly
of forty citizens was created, whose business it was to prepare the
material for the Council’s sessions. Little by little this assembly
acquired more and more importance, till it shared with the Pregadi an
authority which weighed perceptibly upon the decisions of the Great
Council. The Pregadi, who became the Senate, and the Quarantine, or
Council of Forty, were two similar and parallel powers, which it might
have been to the advantage of the Republic to turn into one.

The position of the Doge was now clearly defined. Under no circumstances
could he any longer exercise absolute authority; and if he desired any
reform, or had any law to propose, he was constrained to obtain, before
acting, the approbation of his counsellors and of the Pregadi in the
first place, and afterwards to get his measure accepted by the Forty,
which then had to obtain the sanction of the Great Council, which, in
its turn, if the matter were important, was bound to bring the bill
before the General Assembly, to be voted on by the clergy and the
people.

In time the custom was introduced according to which the Doge took an
oath before the people on

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 244._]

the day of his coronation, called the ‘promission ducale,’ the ‘ducal
promise.’ At first this oath was simply a promise to obey scrupulously
the laws of the Republic, but little by little clauses were added to it
which went so far as to deprive the Doge even of certain rights common
to all other citizens of Venice. In the fourteenth and fifteenth
centuries the ‘ducal promise’ reached a stage of development at which it
destroyed the liberty of the chief of the state, and became almost an
insult to his dignity. During the interregnum between the death of each
doge and the coronation of his successor, three grave magistrates were
chosen by the Great Council, called the ‘Inquisitors upon the deceased
Doge,’ who held a solemn trial of the dead man’s actions and of his
whole life; at the same time five other personages studied the wording
of the next ‘ducal promise,’ of which they were termed the ‘Correctors,’
their business being to examine the situation, and to ascertain how it
might be possible for the future sovereign to advance his own fortunes
at the expense of the public interests; to judge, or merely guess, what
matters he might be able to influence too much, and thereby to decide in
what way his actions and powers could be still further restrained and
limited by introducing new clauses into the promise.

The first law which was elaborated and passed by the Great Council was
one which reformed the election of the doges. The Council wished to
reserve the electoral right to eleven of its own members, but the
people protested against this encroachment on ancient traditions. The
legislators then went to work to prove, with all the eloquence at their
command, that the law they wished to pass did not in any way infringe
the rights of the national assembly, but that it was simply a wise and
paternal effort on the part of the Council to help the people in their
choice; for the law provided that eleven electors were to appear before
the assembly and present their candidate with the words, ‘Here is your
Doge, if this choice pleases you.’

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 95._]

Incredible as it seems, the people were prevailed upon to accept this
proposal, not seeing that in so doing they were forfeiting their most
valuable privilege. They even acclaimed with enthusiasm the first Doge
who was elected under the new law in 1172. He was Sebastian Ziano. ‘Long
life to the Doge,’ the people cried, ‘and may he bring us peace!’

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 123._]

On this occasion, it is true, the popular enthusiasm was justified, for
the rule of Ziano was just and honourable. But, in spite of the success
of the experiment, the Great Council introduced a further change in the
law, and at the next election the number of electors was increased to
forty, and later still to forty-one, in order to prevent a tie.

Looking back on the labours of the Great Council in the twelfth and
thirteenth centuries, one cannot help being struck by the unchangeable
purpose which runs through all the laws it passed, from the time it came
into existence till it shut its doors in the face of the people, never
to open them during the five hundred years of history which then lay
before the Republic. One cannot but acquire the conviction that the
aristocracy set to work very early to get possession of the supreme
power, to the exclusion even of the Doge himself, and that they worked
out their plan in the course of a hundred and fifty years--say, five
generations--without ever hesitating or turning aside after new ideas;
and, moreover, that during that time the eyes of the people were never
once really open to what was going on.

As soon as the relations between the Doge and the government were
established, the Great Council, always paternally ‘guiding’ the popular
assembly, set to work upon laws affecting the administration, and the
conditions and relations of commerce. And here it must be said that
several of the doges who reigned in the thirteenth century exhibited
remarkable talents for legislation; the names of Orio Mastropiero,
Enrico Dandolo, and Jacopo Tiepolo mark so many stages in Venetian
progress and civilisation.

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 241._]

The first of these, Orio Mastropiero, the successor of Sebastian Ziano,
occupied himself actively in drawing up a criminal code, which should
render less arbitrary the sentences of judges who were often incompetent
and were always elected provisionally. This code received the name of
‘Promission del Maleficio,’ the ‘promise to, or with regard to, crime,’
and it was frequently improved upon during the years that followed its
promulgation. It provided for almost all possible crimes, and
established for each one a punishment which seemed just according to the
spirit of the times. These penalties in many cases seem barbarous to us,
though it was

[Illustration: CAMPO, SANTA TERNITA]

not the Venetians who invented strangulation, or the cutting off of the
hand, or torture by red-hot iron, or the tearing out of the eyes and the
tongue. The tribunals of all nations had long ago adopted these
punishments, and it is certain that there was no country where fuller
proofs were required than in Venice before any severe penalties could be
inflicted on a citizen. One of the chief merits of the Venetian code of
that period, as compared with the codes of other countries, is that it
points out to the judge the causes of crime, and the small misdeeds
which may lead to great ones, as distinguished from those which are not
likely to leave any results. Thus, for instance, the smallest act of
disrespect to a respectable woman was punished almost as severely as an
assault upon her.

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 137._]

For a long time the only permanent tribunal in Venice had been the
‘Magistrato del Proprio,’ which dealt with civil questions. The quarrels
of the common people were judged by five ‘wise men’--‘savii.’ Orio
Mastropiero succeeded in passing a law for the institution of a court to
deal with differences arising between Venetians and foreigners, or
amongst the latter, and this was named ‘Magistrato del Forestiero,’ the
‘foreigners’ court,’ so to say. In addition to these courts, which were
subject to the authority of the Great Council, there were the ‘Avogadori
del Comun,’ the municipal advocates, as we should probably say, who had
authority in fiscal questions, and the list is complete. The state of
Venice was directed and judged by the bodies I have enumerated.

In matters of commerce all Europe recognised the superiority of Venice
at that time, and long afterwards. A single illustration of the
practical sense of Venetian merchants will suffice: they invented
percentage, and the word that expresses it. Before them, the world had
always said, ‘so many pence in the pound,’ or ‘four-fifths,’ or
‘seven-eighths.’ The Venetians first conceived the idea, and introduced
the practice, of reducing all commercial fractions to the common
denominator, one hundred.

Orio Mastropiero further enriched the state with a permanent source of
income by giving it a regular monopoly of salt and the salt trade.

Jacopo Tiepolo, elected Doge in 1229, was undoubtedly one of the most
enlightened and intellectually well-balanced men of his age, and he
seems to have embraced at a glance all those questions which his
predecessors had examined one by one, and often only from a single side.
He conceived the idea of compiling a complete code which should be a
sort of permanent charter for the Republic, and he entrusted the
execution of his plan to four ‘learned, noble, and discreet persons,’
for that is all that is to be learned of them, through the note that
precedes the original text of their work. That text consisted of five
books destined to become famous in the history of European legislation.

This is no place to discuss a legal code, but no one who glances at
Tiepolo’s body of laws can fail to be struck by the many provisions it
contains for the protection of women and their property. I do not know
whether we ought to think that this speaks well or ill for the condition
of Venetian ethics at a time when the slave trade was already thriving,
and when there were a great number of Eastern female slaves in the
capital. On the whole, the laws may have been made with a view to
protecting honest matrons from being plundered, directly or indirectly,
by their handsome and perfectly unscrupulous rivals, whose influence was
already becoming great, and was destined to be portentous.

At any rate, the honour and the lives of honourable women were not more
carefully protected than their material interests. Every husband was
obliged to render an account to his wife of the dowry she had brought
him, and she could dispose of it by will as she pleased. A widow enjoyed
the whole income left by her husband during a year and a day from his
death, and during that time no one could by any means drive her from his
house. If she declared her intention of not marrying again she preserved
her right of residence all her life. Nevertheless, an unfaithful wife,
if proved guilty, forfeited her dowry to her husband, and he could turn
her out of his home.

Tiepolo’s civil code provided also for a case which seems to have been
not uncommon--namely, that in which a married couple, like the Doge
Pietro Orseolo and his wife, agreed to take vows and part, each entering
a religious order. The law here introduced the form of a separation of
goods, leaving each party free thereafter to administer his or her
fortune at will.

In addition to the immense labour connected with his body of laws,
Tiepolo also occupied himself with the nautical regulations which had
obtained authority by long use. I have no doubt that in so doing he used
the Amalfi marine code, as in his laws he made use of the Pandects of
Justinian, discovered in Amalfi about a hundred years earlier.

Some of the clauses are curious. Captains and owners of ships are
forbidden, for instance, to delegate their authority ‘to a pilgrim, a
soldier, or a servant.’ In case of shipwreck, the whole crew was bound
to work fifteen full days, but no more, at saving the cargo, of which
they could then claim three per cent. Every ordinary vessel was to carry
two trumpets, presumably as foghorns. Very large ships were to carry a
sort of orchestra, consisting of two bass drums, one drum and one
trumpet. The marine code has some interest also, as indicating the
general nature of the merchandise carried by Venetian vessels: woven
stuffs, pepper, incense, indigo, sugar in the loaf, myrrh, gum arabic,
aloes, camphor, rice, almonds, apples, wine and oil are to be found
mentioned, with many more articles of commerce.

Tiepolo’s code bears the stamp of a sort of generous but not foolish
simplicity, which really survived in the Republic until dreams of
foreign conquest brought her into danger, and she awoke to find that
dangerous enemies had wormed their way even into the ducal palace. It
was then that she began to multiply magistracies and to frame
innumerable laws that interfered with and neutralised each other; and so
she lost in strength what her system gained in details. There was far
more wisdom in the five books of Jacopo Tiepolo’s ‘Statuto’ than in the
innumerable volumes of laws that were put together from the fifteenth
century to the eighteenth. It may be asked whether Tiepolo’s code
sufficed because the people in his time were virtuous and law-abiding,
or whether virtue and the love of law declined as the number of laws
increased. The latter hypothesis can certainly be defended.

[Illustration: THE HOUSE OF FALIERO, PONTE DEI S. S. APOSTOLI]

VII

THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY IN VENICE

To the majority of people the fourteenth century in the history of
Venice is memorable only for the great conspiracies which took place in
that period, and which, even in the minds of cultivated Italians, seem
to fill it completely, though only two, or at most three, are recorded,
and the action of each in turn was of short duration. These three great
conspiracies were those of Marino Faliero, of Tiepolo, who was at the
head of a

[Illustration: THE TIEPOLO PALACE]

vast movement, and the third may be described as that of Marino
Bocconio, whose history is not yet known in all its bearings. Bocconio,
in lack of trustworthy details, has been crowned the martyr of the
aristocracy; Tiepolo has been exalted as one who nobly and generously
sacrificed the interests of his caste for the general good; as for
Faliero, he is almost universally looked upon simply as the jealous
husband of a young and beautiful wife. Thanks to the efforts of
innumerable novelists and playwrights, these three figures represent to
the average reader of history a synthetic picture of the whole century,
and stand out gigantic, dark, and blood-stained against a gloomy
background of barbarism, imploring pity or crying out for vengeance to
all future ages.

The most striking pictures are not always the best portraits, as we all
know, though we are often inclined to forget it. Most of us at one time
or another have stood before a painting by Caravaggio or Gherardo delle
Notti, in which men are seen in the act to move, half lighted by a
flaring torch, and we have felt a strange and strong desire to know
where they are supposed to be and whither they are supposed to be going.
Our eyes search the black depths of the picture as if we were peering
out into the darkness of a starless night, with an instinctive wish to
distinguish some detail that may explain the figures in the foreground;
and, failing to find anything, we turn away as from a vision seen in a
bad dream. We shall not forget the strong features, the tremendous
muscles, the mysterious anxious eyes, and when we think of them we shall
still wonder where those men were, in a cavern or out of doors, in the
crypt of a church or in the forest, and whether they were alone or were
followed by a crowd in the darkness. Who saw them pass? Who heard their
low and anxious voices? Upon what nameless errand were they bound?

I have often thought that impressions much like these are produced on
most minds by the names Bocconio, Tiepolo, Faliero. Yet each of them, in
true history, had his companions, his friends, his enemies; and if each
stood alone as a type, yet all were the result of their own times, and
every one of the three was in himself the cause of a separate train of
events.

Hitherto the story of Venice has been that of her growth; she has risen
from the waves in the clear breath of the northern Adriatic, at once
gentle and full of life; she has grown up into the light, full of a
sweetness of her own, but burning with youthful courage, and suddenly,
in the period of which we now have to treat, she has changed from a
child to a full-grown woman. Pursuing, or pursued by, the impression of
her strong personality as a living creature rather than as the capital
city of a great power and the scene of action in the lives of great men,
we may compare her to a woman of divine beauty, yet almost tragically
jealous of her own freedom, fierce to her enemies, dangerous to those
who trust her, a loving mother to her children so long as they are
obedient, but a ruthless and cruel queen towards her rebellious
subjects. A woman, in short, possessing a sort of dual nature, aspiring
to the dignity of being feared, yet moved by the desire of love; so
unwilling to submit to the slightest influence of another that she would
willingly despoil herself of all her riches and of every possession, and
shed even the last drop of her blood, rather than forego the smallest
shred of her proud independence.

It is true that the figures of the great conspirators are very prominent
in the picture we evoke of those times; yet beside them stand great
captains, law-givers, and artists, and the background is filled with a
most interesting population devoted in turn to labour and pleasure, to
commerce and to war, and full of the pride of a life of its own. The
germs of corruption are already manifest, but they will not develop
until a later time, when the beautiful lady, Venice, less young indeed,
but imbued with a charm more subtle, descends to the slow enjoyment of
the fruits of her victories, and loses herself in the intoxication of a
perpetual carnival.

Historically speaking, the fourteenth century in Venice begins two or
three years before 1300, since the year 1297 is separated from those
which preceded it by a far greater distance than it is from the
beginning of the fifteenth century, owing to the profound changes
brought about in the government and life of the city by the closure of
the Great Council.

The history of the century in which the Republic reached the culminating
point of her strength and development begins quite naturally with a
glance at this memorable law and its consequence. The famous measure
which, officially at least, changed the already ancient commonwealth of
Venice into a government which, though aristocratic, still proposed to
be republican, was not the work of a day any more than it was the
creation of any one doge. It was not a revolution, but rather the result
of a slow, inevitable evolution, peaceful in character, of which the
first beginnings can barely be traced, far back in history, in the
struggles of rival factions of the aristocracy.

So far as factions are concerned, none but those of the nobles ever had
any influence on Venetian history, for the parties that existed amongst
the people never engaged in politics, and while they bore one another
many a traditional grudge that had its origin in the early jealousies of
the settlers, we never find them mixing in conspiracies against the
government or breaking out in sedition and rioting. Even the mutual
hatred of Niccolotti and Castellani disappeared completely as soon as
the need of public defence called out the genuine patriotism of both.

In brief, the following is the story of the ‘Serrata,’ the closing of
the Great Council for the exclusion of the people, a measure without
parallel, except, perhaps, in the legislation of Rome.

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 90, 341._]

According to a statute which regulated the election and the offices of
the Great Council in 1172, and which was perhaps instituted in that
year, the Council was composed of a variable number of members,
originally four hundred and eighty, and never more than five hundred,
who were elected every year without any distinction of class from the
principal citizens, and undoubtedly, in the great majority, from the
aristocracy.

The position it occupied in the Republic has, I think, no example
elsewhere. In one shape or another it had always existed, and there was
an aristocracy amongst the first fugitives from the mainland; from that
time on, the nobles and the people, the tribunes and the artisans, had
fought like comrades against the barbarians, as well as against the
elements of nature. Like shipwrecked men of one country, speaking one
language, they had been as brothers; the noble families had been the
chief defenders of the new home, and its earliest law-givers, and they
transmitted to their descendants a traditional influence which was
rarely misused in earlier times. The people did not hate them, as the
populace has always hated the aristocracy in agricultural countries; for
agriculture, where the poor work on the estates of the rich, seems to
degrade both alike, or at least to brutalise them, whereas men who till
their own lands almost always grow in character and independence. In
Venice, while the people looked up to the nobles as their intellectual
and social betters, they did not cease for a long time to regard them as
their allies and helpers.

The nobles, therefore, had taken the lead from the beginning, and they
kept it without difficulty and almost without opposition; in politics
the people effaced themselves, trusting to the ruling class to maintain
the liberties of the maritime state abroad, both in the east and the
west, and confident that the commerce and art of Venice would continue
to develop under its influence. The nobles were ambitious, it is true,
but they had nothing to gain by oppressing the people, for they were
themselves the principal creators of the public wealth. They dominated
the people,

[Illustration: BOATS OFF THE PUBLIC GARDEN]

which is quite another matter; until the fifteenth century they cannot
fairly be said to have abused their power, and the privileges they kept
for themselves involved the heaviest responsibilities. If they held
control of the tribunals, yet were these as ready to try the nobles, and
even the Doge himself, as to judge the poorest fishermen of the lagoons;
and though the Doge could only be a noble, his head might fall under
the axe of the common executioner, the lowest of the

[Illustration: COURT OF APPEALS, GRAND CANAL]

low. Unlike the aristocracies of other countries, that of Venice never
claimed for itself exemption from justice.

These facts, which cannot be denied with truth, seem to me to show that
the closure of the Great Council was not such a violation of the rights
of man as it has often been represented to be. Soon after the middle of
the thirteenth century, the nobles seem to have judged the times ripe
for the great change, and a sort of preliminary weeding of the Council
began.

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 342._]

In 1277, apparently in order to lend dignity to an assembly performing
such high duties, a measure was passed which rigidly excluded from the
Council all persons who were not of legitimate birth. In 1286 the
Council of Forty, in order to assure to the nobles a constant and legal
supremacy, proposed to limit eligibility for their own number to the
members of the Grand Council, and to those only whose fathers and
paternal grandfathers had already sat there. This attempt failed, and
the bill was rejected, principally owing to the opposition of the Doge,
Giovanni Dandolo, who was an honest man, free from the prejudices and
passions of caste, and who wished the aristocracy to maintain its
position by sheer superiority of intelligence and judgment without any
legalised privileges.

[Sidenote: _Mol. Dogaressa._]

At that time, as has been shown in a separate chapter, the families of
Partecipazio, Candiano, and Orseolo, and most of all the Tiepolo, had
assumed the position of princes in the Republic. Each of them could
boast of several doges, and all hoped to make the dignity hereditary for
themselves. The Tiepolo cherished the most ambitious designs, and were
always doing their best to win over the people. In 1289, on the death
of Dandolo, the electors within the palace heard the populace under the
windows acclaiming Jacopo Tiepolo. To have submitted to the people’s
dictation would then have meant a step towards an hereditary monarchy,
and the electors paid no attention to the cries from the street. Amongst
the candidates was Pietro Gradenigo, a man who, though ambitious, was
highly gifted and sincerely devoted to his country, and had always
endeavoured to guide the Great Council towards an ideal aristocratic
form of government which alone, in his judgment, could save the State
from a selfish monarchy on the one hand and a feeble democracy on the
other. The electors chose Pietro Gradenigo.

[Sidenote: _Rom. i. 344._]

In 1296 he brought forward a measure which, it must be admitted, would
have been an act of vengeance upon the people for attempting to proclaim
Jacopo Tiepolo as Doge, and for receiving the announcement of
Gradenigo’s regular election in silence and ill-concealed discontent.
The Doge now proposed to reform the process of election, as had been
contemplated by the bill of 1286, but at the first attempt the measure
failed, owing to the determined opposition of the Tiepolo family and
their friends, who formed themselves into a party, which they called
conservative. It was brought forward again in the following year,
however, and passed by a majority of votes. It restricted the right of
eligibility at each annual election to those who had sat in the Great
Council during one of the four preceding years, and it required that
they should receive at least twelve votes from the Council of Forty
which elected them. This was a successful stroke, for the Council of
Forty consisted wholly of nobles, who would use their elective power
altogether in accordance with Gradenigo’s intention.

In order not to rouse the opposition of the people by giving the law an
absolute form, it was declared to be only provisional, and to be in
force from one Saint Michael’s Day to the next, that being the date of
the election.

A year passed. So great was the prestige of the aristocracy and its
power, and so completely accustomed were the people to be guided by it
and to be despoiled by it of their rights, that the resentment aroused
by this so-called provisional law was not enough to prevent its becoming
a lasting one, though its general form was still subject to possible
variations.

[Sidenote: _Galliccioli, i. 330._]

Grave dissensions, however, appeared in the caste of patricians.
Gradenigo found himself opposed on the one hand by the Tiepolo faction,
on the other by certain families which, although descended from the
ancient tribunes of the island, and consequently of most ancient and
respected race, were excluded from the Great Council, merely because
they had not been represented in it during the last four years. It
became necessary, therefore, to modify the law in the following
manner:--

It was decreed that all who had sat in the Council themselves, and all
who, though they had not had a place there themselves, could prove at
least one ancestor a member of the Council since 1172, should be
eligible for the Council, by the vote of the Forty. It is a remarkable
fact that the word ‘nobles’ is not to be found in any of these decrees;
but it was clearly useless to insist upon a mere word when the whole
aristocracy, which had proposed and passed the law, was to profit by it.
The nobles never lost sight of a possible danger to themselves in the
resentment of the people.

Last of all, it was decreed that those who had never themselves sat in
the Council, nor had any ancestors who had been members, should be
considered as ‘eligible by grace.’ This was done in order to leave a
shadow of hope to ambitious men of other classes, an idea that they
might some day be admitted as ‘new men’ into an assembly which was
shutting its gates for ever. As a matter of fact, in the beginning a
limited number of councillors ‘by grace’ were created, and some were
chosen for their own personal merits, or to quiet the ambition of
certain turbulent citizens. In order to be admitted in this manner, it
was necessary in the first place to receive twenty-five votes from the
Forty, and the votes of five out of six of the Doge’s counsellors. A few
years later, admission was made still more difficult by requiring thirty
votes from the Forty, and it is likely that under this law very few ‘new
men’ were ever elected. Venice was still far from the days when the
first comer would be able to buy a seat in the Great Council at
auction, in order that the proceeds might help to pay the interest on
the public debt. The exclusion of illegitimate sons, which was already
in force, was maintained, and it was further ordained that no one under
twenty-five years of age should enter the Council. The latter measure,
however, was soon followed by a palliative one. Each year, on the fourth
of December, the feast of Saint Barbara, the Doge placed in an urn the
names of all young nobles twenty years of age, who at twenty-five would
have the right to a place in the Council, and thirty of these were drawn
by lot, and received permission to be present at the assemblies of the
Council from that day, but without the right of voting; this constituted
a sort of novitiate in those duties to which, at the regular established
age, the young men would be called. The process of admission was called
‘coming to the Barbarella.’

It appears to me that the last word contains a play on words; for it may
mean ‘the little Barbara,’ the saint on whose feast the lots were drawn,
or it may mean the down on the chin of a youth of twenty, ‘the little
beard,’ for though an improperly formed diminutive, it is quite a
possible one in dialect.

As may be imagined, the nobles showed the utmost haste and anxiety to
prove their rights before the ‘avogadori,’ or counsel to the
commonwealth, whose duty it was to decide upon them. In some cases there
was evidence that an ancestor had sat in the Council at the end of the
twelfth century, but it might be that there were no documents to prove
it, and the most

[Sidenote: _Galliccioli, i. 331._]

extraordinary means were resorted to, to persuade the judges of the
truth of the assertion. Some families, in order to prove that they were
nobles, which of course was the real object of the inquiry, adduced the
fact that they possessed great quantities of arms in their houses. The
number of persons who, without the slightest chance of proving their
rights, inscribed their names on the books of the avogadori, beginning
in 1315, was so great that it was found necessary to impose a fine upon
those who had done so without any chance of establishing their claim,
and all titles whatsoever were carefully examined before being allowed.
It is almost needless to say that the families about whose right there
was no doubt possible did their very best to exclude all the rest.

As soon as the first list of members by right, and members who were
eligible, was made out, it was decreed that they required to be elected,
if they had attained the age of twenty-five years, in order to sit at
the Council. It appears that no matter what the precise number of the
members under this category might be, a certain number were always
elected from among the ‘eligibles,’ a fact which explains the changing
number of councillors in each year. There is reason to believe that the
assembly had never consisted of more than five hundred members before
1297, but that after the law passed in that year it reached (1340) the
number of twelve hundred.

It is clear from all this that the measure known as the Closure of the
Great Council did not consist so much in any regular elections yearly
as in a close limitation of the class of candidates, and the fact that
it was necessary that they should be elected by the Council of Forty;
whereas in former times they were elected by the people, represented in
their turn by one or two electors in each of the six regions of the
city, or else by two electors from the regions on one side of the canal,
and two from the regions on the other.

Little attention has been paid to the law of 1298, which at the time
appeared to be of secondary importance, but which had close connection
with the others that had been framed by the aristocracy. The law of 1298
established that no one should belong to the Forty who had not already
sat in the Grand Council, or whose father or grandfather had not sat
there. By this law each assembly was strictly dependent on the other,
and the right to sit in the one, like the possibility of sitting in the
other, became a privilege of noble birth.

The aristocracy had now completely got the upper hand, almost without a
struggle, by skill, persuasion, and tact. Henceforth the history of
Venice is that of the nobility, who had monopolised the power, and, with
it, all responsibility. If Venice was great, healthy, and vigorous in
the fourteenth century, she owed it to the nobles, who still treated the
people generously and kindly. And later on, when the people allowed
themselves to be intoxicated with the amusements provided them while
their last rights were trodden under foot, the nobles were to blame. So
they were, too, in the end, when the Lion of Saint Mark was torn down
from its column in the Piazzetta and broken upon a soil no longer free.
The people were not oppressed at any time, but they suffered what was
morally worse, for they were systematically hypnotised into a state of
utter indifference to real liberty.

The assemblage of so many nobles in the hall of the Great Council must
have presented a splendid spectacle. It was rigidly required that all
should wear the cloak, or toga, of violet cloth, with its wide sleeves
and hood lined with warm fur in winter and with ermine in the milder
seasons. Here and there a few red mantles made points of colour, those
of the High Chancellor and of the avogadori of the commonwealth, though
the latter appear to have worn only a red stole over the cloak of
violet. There were black cloaks, too, and they marked the ecclesiastics
who belonged to the Council, for until 1498 priests who proved that they
were nobles were eligible like the other members of their family.

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 263._]

When the Council was to meet, an official called the ‘comandatore,’ a
sort of public crier, proclaimed the summons from a fragment of a
porphyry column, which stood upside down on its capital at the corner of
the Piazza of Saint Mark towards the ducal palace, and another issued
the proclamation from the steps of the Rialto, these being the two most
frequented points of the city; at the same time full notice was given of
the offices which were to be distributed at the coming Council by the
High Chancellor. At the appointed hour the cavaliers appeared in the
neighbourhood of Saint Mark’s, spurring their comely mules; but it was
forbidden to cross the Piazza itself, except on foot, because it was
paved, so that the riders left their mules tied up to the elderbushes

[Illustration: THE FLAGS FLYING IN THE PIAZZA]

which formed a thick growth, exactly on the spot where now stands the
Clock Tower at the entrance to the Merceria.

About 1356 the public crier’s office was abolished, his place being
supplied by the ringing of a bell in the tower of Saint Mark, in the
evening after vespers, when the Council was to meet on the following
morning, and

[Sidenote: _Galliccioli, i. 245._]

at the hour of tierce (half-way between dawn and noon), if it was to
meet in the afternoon. At the time of assembling in council this bell
was rung again, and the people nicknamed it the ‘trotter,’ because
councillors who came late always

[Illustration: THE CAMPANILE]

reached the entrance to the Piazza at a sharp trot before the last
strokes had rung.

By this time the appearance of the Piazza and the Piazzetta had been
considerably modified. The ‘Rivo Battario,’ which formerly ran through
the length of the square, had been filled up; the little church of Saint
Gemignano had been demolished, and the great

[Illustration: A WHITE MORNING FROM S. GEORGIO

The Campanile, 1903]

[Illustration]

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 361._]

Campanile had been built. The nobles used to meet before the Council
upon the old platform, which was turned into a convenient place for
walking, and here also there was built a covered loggia, as a protection
in bad weather. The first time that a young patrician came to the
Council, either on his election by lot after the manner of the
‘Barbarella,’ or because he had reached his twenty-fifth birthday, a
little ceremony took place on the platform or under the loggia, in which
he was presented to his older colleagues, and a sort of civil bond began
here between the man who was introduced and the person or persons who
introduced him, which lasted through life, and received the general name
of ‘sponsorship.’ I may remind the reader here that all bonds of
sponsorship, called generally ‘comparatico’ throughout Italy, are under
the special protection of Saint John the Baptist, and even now have an
importance which foreigners find it hard to understand.

Before the meeting of the Council the throng on the platform was swelled
by those who came to solicit the councillors on private matters of their
own, or were seeking offices or dignities which it lay with the Great
Council to bestow, such as judgeships and magistracies. The ‘private
matters’ might include anything connected with taxation, money loans,
laws in general, pardons, and even the public peace and national
alliances.

A curious custom was connected with such interviews. Those who had
favours to ask of the Great

[Sidenote: _Galliccioli, i. 355._]

[Sidenote: _Mut. Costumi._]

Council were accustomed to show their respect by taking the strip of
cloth that hung down from their shoulder to the ground on the right
side, and tying it or rolling it upon the arm, and this action was
called ‘calar stola,’ and appears to have been the equivalent of the
later custom by which the inferior takes off his hat to speak with his
superior.

If any member of the Great Council had recently been bereaved of a near
relation, it was upon the platform or under the loggia that he received
the condolences of his peers, being himself wrapped in a black mantle
with a train, of which the length diminished little by little as his
time of mourning came to an end, until at last it was only a short black
cloak; this in its turn was replaced by a simple leathern belt worn over
the ordinary clothes instead of the usual girdle, which was made of
velvet.

This meeting of the nobles in the Square was naturally the occasion for
carrying on all sorts of intrigues; and in Venice, as in the early days
of ancient Rome, the relations of client and patron played a large part
in public affairs, and were productive of no small evil, especially in
the creation of great numbers of minor offices merely for the purpose of
satisfying the claims of dependents.

So the nobles loitered and talked between the Campanile and the two
columns, one of red and the other of grey stone, which stand near the
Grand Canal. These two columns, which had been brought

[Sidenote: _Lazzari, Guida._]

[Sidenote: _Gall. i. 271._]

to Venice from the archipelago in 1127, under the Doge Domenico Michiel,
had been set up about fifty years later by the skill of a certain
Lombard named Nicola Barattiere. A chronicler tells in Venetian dialect
that this engineer went to the Signoria, asked for ropes, timber, and
beams, and then set to work with eight men, and no more. He drove down
piles for the foundations, and having completed these in seven days he
set up the columns on the eighth by means of ropes and capstans. When he
was asked what reward he wished for his work, he only requested that so
long as Venice should exist his descendants should be enfranchised and
be free to keep gaming-tables between the two columns he had set
up--contrary to the law which forbade all games of chance in Venice--and
he asked for a decent lodging for himself and a small stipend. It may be
noted that his name, ‘Barattiere,’ means at once a money-changer and a
dishonest gambler, and it may have been given to him as a nickname after
the fact. At all events, his requests were granted, and he set up gaming
establishments, with tables, between the columns for his own profit. At
a later time this privilege became a monopoly of other speculators, and
it only ceased to exist in 1529, nearly three hundred and fifty years
later, when the destruction of all gaming-tables and booths, which
marred the beauty of the Square, was commanded by the government.

This story recalls the action of Charles II., who, in order to reward
certain Cavaliers who had sacrificed their fortunes in his interest,
and finding himself insufficiently

[Illustration: ST. THEODORE]

supplied with funds, conceded to a number of them the right to keep
gambling-tables between the columns and under the arches of Covent
Garden. These persons were known as ‘lottery Cavaliers.’

[Sidenote: _Dalmedico._]

At the end of the thirteenth century the Lion of Saint Mark had been
placed upon one of the two columns in the Piazzetta, while upon the
other was set up the statue of Saint Theodore, the co-patron of the
city; so that the common people of Venice, by way of expressing that a
man was driven to the last extremity, used to say, ‘He is between Mark
and Theodore.’ In connection with the column of Saint Mark it is worth
while to quote the answer given not many years ago by a gondolier to a
lady in regard to the emblem of Saint Mark. All the other winged lions
visible in Venice hold an open book under their paw, and the book is
placed in such a way that one may read the usual motto--‘Pax tibi,
Marce.’ But though the book of the lion on the column is really open, it
lies down, so that from below it appears to be shut; and the lady in
question inquired of her gondolier what the cause of this difference
might be. ‘It is because,’ replied the gondolier, ‘when a man got
between these columns his account was closed’! The story shows how
vividly the people still remember that the gallows were sometimes
erected there. It seems strange, however, that the young patricians,
while waiting for the first hour of the Council, should have patronised
gaming-tables set up so close to the place of public execution, and it
is now generally considered that executions originally took place
between the red columns in the high first story of the ducal palace,
overlooking the Square, and that the object of transferring them to the
spot between the columns of the Piazzetta was to drive people away from
gambling there.

After this brief glance at the development of the aristocracy and its
legal institution as the ruling caste, it is necessary to consider the
nature of that body which lay between it and the working people, and
which included all well-to-do Venetian citizens in general.

[Sidenote: _Daru, i. 314._]

For in Venice, as in most countries where the social equilibrium of
large numbers of mankind is natural and not artificial, the population
had long separated spontaneously into three classes. As long as the work
of organising the new republic was going on the three fraternised, for
the law granted no privilege to any one, and the men who imposed their
opinions and their will upon the rest, without any sort of violence,
were without doubt the most gifted members of the community. Nothing, as
Daru justly observes, assured to the nobles, up to the end of the
thirteenth century, any right not possessed by all the other citizens.
Nevertheless, as he adds, the important office of High Chancellor had
been especially reserved for non-nobles several years before the closing
of the Great Council, which shows that custom, if not law, accorded
other privileges to the descendants of the early tribunes.

It was not to be expected that after the final closure of the Great
Council all the rest of the people should remain in a condition of
thoroughly legal equality. There were, for instance, artists of great
merit,

[Sidenote: _Rom. ix. 8._]

magistrates whose families throughout many generations had commanded the
general respect, and were by no means willing to be thus forced down to
the level of the fishermen of the lagoons. The nobles considered that
this high middle class constituted a danger to themselves by its wealth
and solidarity, and special measures were taken to propitiate it. As
early as 1298, and while the noble class was acquiring its legal
existence, we find mention of the citizen class, and of the manner in
which it was divided. To belong to it certain requisites became
necessary; he who aspired to its privileges must have been born in
Venice of parents properly married, and without any taint of
criminality; he was to owe nothing to the State, to have been exact in
the duties of standing guard, etc., and he was obliged to prove that
during three generations none of his ascendants had followed any
mechanical or vulgar trade.

[Sidenote: _A. Baschet, Archives, 133._]

In the same way in which the so-called ‘Golden Book’ of the aristocracy
was compiled little by little under the supervision of the avogadori of
the commonwealth, who were themselves chosen from the citizen class, at
least in the beginning, so also under their authority another book was
begun, called the ‘Silver Book,’ in which were inscribed the names of
citizens ‘de jure,’ afterwards called ‘original citizens.’ After the
closure of the Great Council the office of High Chancellor continued to
be strictly reserved to this class, as when the office itself had been
created some years earlier. It was of a nature

[Sidenote: _A. Baschet, Archives, 138._]

[Sidenote: _Mutinelli, Lessico._]

to satisfy any reasonable and justifiable ambition. The High Chancellor
was the head of the ducal chancery; he signed all public acts, all
nominations to any important office, and was present at all the most
secret meetings of the Councils, though only as a witness, and never
with the right to vote. He was elected by the Great Council, and took
office with a ceremony almost as solemn as that accorded to the Doge
himself, and like the latter he held his position for life; he received
a generous salary, and had precedence over all nobles, both in meetings
and processions, both over the nobility of the Great Council and over
the sons and brothers of the Doge, and was preceded only by the
procurators of Saint Mark and by the six counsellors of the Doge. He
wore the ducal purple with scarlet stockings, was forbidden to dress in
black in public, and like the Doge he was privileged to wear his hat on
all occasions. The form of address used to the head of the Republic was
‘Domino, Domino’; that used in addressing the Chancellor was ‘Domino,’
without repetition; whereas all other patricians were addressed as
‘Messer,’ the usual prefix to the names of knights throughout Italy.

When the High Chancellor died his funeral took place in Saint Mark’s
with a pomp equal to that accorded to a dead doge.

Very valuable privileges were attached to the condition of a citizen ‘de
jure’; all chancellors were taken from those included in the ‘Silver
Book,’ so that in the course of time, in the fourteenth century, a
special course of study was prescribed for young men destined for that
career; and those who embraced it were

[Illustration: S. SEVERO]

frequently sent to the smaller courts of Europe as ‘ministers resident,’
but not as ambassadors, and they could aspire to the highest commands in
the army.

From all this it is clear that the position of the ‘original citizen’
class in Venice had a strong resemblance to that of the ‘magistrate’
class in France, for instance; and on the whole it had enough privileges
to ensure its not being hostile to the nobility.

The art of glass-making contributed in such a degree to the wealth of
Venice that glass-makers were regarded as benefactors of the State, and
all the glass-makers of Murano were inscribed from their birth in the
class of citizens ‘de jure.’ Another very wise measure of the Venetian
government with regard to this intermediate class between the
aristocracy and the people was the concession of its privileges to
foreign persons of respectable origin established in Venice. It was only
in the middle of the fourteenth century that citizenship ‘by grace’ was
regularly admitted, and it was of two kinds: the one ‘de intus,’ and the
other ‘de intus et de extra.’ The first conferred only a certain number
of privileges, as that of engaging in commerce, and of holding some
office of secondary importance in the public administration; the second
conferred the full privileges enjoyed by the citizens ‘de jure,’
including those of sending vessels to sea under the flag of Saint Mark,
and of carrying on business in the cities and ports where Venetian
commerce was established, with the full rights of a Venetian.

Although it was only in 1450 that the law regularised the admission to
citizenship, a number of admissions took place before the time of the
foundation of the caste.

[Sidenote: _Molmenti, Vita Privata, 48._]

The miserable conditions of navigation in the fourteenth century, and
the depredations of pirates, caused many to request the privilege of
navigating under the protection of the Venetian Republic. Those who
asked this were generally noble and rich persons. For instance, in 1301
we find the favour asked by the Scrovegni of Padua, by Azzone, Marquis
of Este and Ancona, in 1304 by the lords of Camino, mentioned by Dante,
by Ludovico Gonzaga, lord of Mantua, and many others. Venice not
infrequently offered the title of citizen, with all rights belonging to
it, to persons who had exhibited special marks of talent in other parts
of Italy; it was offered to Messer Ravagnino, a student of physical
science in Belluno, and to Petrarch. It was frequently given to
foreigners who had lived as long as twenty-five years in the city, and
to others who had voluntarily submitted during a certain number of years
to standing guard, paying taxes, and the like; and further, to those
who, having married Venetian women of the citizen class, desired to fix
their residence in the island of Rialto. Among the foreigners who were
thus generally adopted, some of the most interesting in the fourteenth
century were the inhabitants of Lucca, who between 1310 and 1340 fled
before the tyranny of Castruccio Castracane. These were about thirty
families, almost all of which had been in their own country spinners and
weavers of silk, and they had brought a numerous retinue of weavers and
spinners with them. The Venetians at once understood the advantage to be
derived from this immigration of an

[Sidenote: _Galliccioli, ii. 274._]

industrious people. Until then the richest stuffs had been imported from
the East, but from this time forward Venice began to develop a new
industry. The fugitive families were received not only with courtesy,
but with something like enthusiasm. The Senate assigned them a quarter
in the Calle della Bissa, between the square of the Rialto and the
church of Saint John Chrysostom, allowing them to govern themselves with
their own magistrates, on condition that they should teach their art to
the Venetians. The same courtesies were extended in the case of German
and Armenian colonies. The race of Venetian citizens in this way
received a new element, with new prospects of life and industry, by the
introduction of the best element that could possibly have come to Venice
from without. The Jews, however, attempted in vain at the same time to
obtain the same liberty of existence in Venice. After being barely
tolerated during fifty years, and kept under the closest supervision,
they were at the end of the fourteenth century ignominiously expelled
from the city, and obliged to keep within the confines of Mestre. I have
not been able to discover the date at which they were again allowed to
reside within the city in the quarter which is still pointed out as
theirs.

A singular circumstance, already noticed in passing, presents itself in
connection with all the conspiracies of the fourteenth century. The
people continually sided with the nobles who had deprived them of their
power, and they outnumbered them and were superior to them in strength
and moral force. They never lent any important help to any one who
attempted to rouse rebellion against the existing civil order. It can
hardly be supposed that this was the result of indolence, or of a lack
of patriotism, since the Venetians were naturally very proud and
extremely energetic. They seem to have considered themselves as bound to
the aristocracy by the bond of gratitude, of common memories, and of
common hopes; and while they led an existence of generous comfort and
ease, it satisfied them to be joint possessors of a country which had
grown glorious in Europe. They looked upon the Venetian nobility as the
first in the world, and Molmenti says, with truth, that the surnames of
certain great Venetian families not yet extinct existed before the names
of even reigning families were known in the rest of Europe. Until quite
modern times, the ‘people’ very rarely gave any trouble unless they were
hungry.

[Sidenote: _Sagredo._]

It has already been noticed here that in the other Italian republics the
great houses had nothing in common with the people they ruled--neither
their origin, nor their traditional points or view, nor even as a rule
their interests; and more than once they showed themselves ready to sell
their country to the highest bidder, regarding it as their adoptive
rather than their real home, and the population as property that went
with the fields.

But the nobles of Venice were true Venetians, and their ancestors had
led those of their own people, by sheer superiority, before Venice had
been founded; and the government of the islands had in reality been
always aristocratic. The people had really never had much to say beyond
confirming by a sort of acclamation the result of elections held by the
nobles. The individual elected was sure to be one of the latter, chosen
for his courage in war, or for his pious generosity in founding a church
or a monastery in time of peace.

The Serrata only made a law of a practice which had existed a long time;
and this sufficiently explains why the people did not rebel against it,
accepting laws which only affected formalities, without in any way
threatening the true sources of the Republic’s vitality. The nobles
legally monopolised a power which they had always succeeded in reserving
for themselves; but the State did not monopolise commerce, nor industry,
except as regards the salt trade and shipbuilding, and in these
occupations the workmen received such compensation that many of them
grew rich.

Furthermore, the government supported all persons not able to work for
themselves. Men and women who had reached an age at which heavy manual
labour was no longer possible, but who were not helpless enough to do
nothing, were licensed to sell vegetables and fruit in the public
squares; but the State and the guilds supported regular asylums for the
aged and infirm, for cripples, for widows, and for old sailors. Every
one felt that the State could be relied upon, and no one feared to die
of hunger.

The closing of the Great Council might affect the ambitious designs of a
few men who had recently grown

[Illustration: S. PIETRO IN CASTELLO]

rich, and whose fathers had never sat there, but it could not possibly
have any immediate effect on the lives of fishermen, seamen,
salt-refiners, shipbuilders, and artisans to none of whom it had ever
occurred that the Council was meant for them. When a conspirator made a
pretext of vindicating the rights of the people, the people laughed at
him, and the motive which in all other countries has been the mainstay
of revolutionaries was found not to exist. The people of Venice were, on
the whole, honest, contented, and happy, and both laws and traditions
combined to preserve them in that enviable state; and the government
itself provided wise alternations of work and rest, which greatly
contributed to the same end. For every Venetian, whatever his condition
might be, was expected to be a good sailor and a good soldier, and the
regattas, public archery matches, and gymnastic exercises, which I shall
presently describe, helped to make men both. In 1332 these competitions
were made obligatory for all youths who had reached their eighteenth
birthday. But another matter must be briefly explained before proceeding
further.

In the story of the Venetian conspiracies no mention is ever found of
the two famous factions, the Castellani and the Niccolotti, although the
most bitter hatred was alive between them at the very time when Tiepolo
was conspiring against Gradenigo. It is interesting to follow the rough
and strong threads of those famous popular factions through the woof and
web of Venetian history; and it is curious to find oneself convinced
that they never did the slightest harm to the government of the
Republic, for the reason that both of them loved their country
sincerely.

[Illustration: THE GREAT LAMP, ST. MARK’S]

The reader may remember that in the days of Paulus Anafestus, the first
Doge elected by the popular assembly, a violent dispute arose between
the inhabitants of the islands of Heraclea and Jesolo, which turned into
a pitched battle in the woods of Equilio, so that the stream which
became the Canal Orfano was red with blood.

The former combatants, finding themselves shut up within the walls of
one city, cherished their ancient grudges from generation to generation,
and for more than five hundred years they gave vent to their hatred as
best they could, keeping themselves divided, first as separate parties,
then as separate wards, and finally both in wards and districts,
according to the later divisions of the city; and fighting freely with
one another whenever the public games brought them into conflict, under
the names of Castellani and Cannaruoli, taken from the parts of Venice
they inhabited--the one in the three districts of Castello, Saint Mark,
and Dorsoduro, the other in those of Santa Croce, San Paolo, and
Canarreggio at the other end of the city. They had continued their
separate existence about three hundred years without, seriously
disturbing the public peace, never intermarrying, never even entering
the cathedral by the same door. But in the year 1307 a certain Ramberto
Polo was the bishop of Castello, and the bishop of Castello was ex
officio the bishop of Venice, and depended from the patriarch of Grado.
Now this Ramberto attempted to exact certain tithes which his
predecessor had considered it right to renounce. Five districts of
Venice, and among them that of Saint Nicolas, refuse to pay these
tithes. The bishop insisted, and in spite of the threats of the people,
who had grown

[Illustration: THE CANARREGGIO]

riotous, he determined to visit the church of Saint Nicolas, situated in
that quarter, and to go on foot. At the turn of the street, being
accompanied only by a few persons, he was attacked and cruelly put to
death. That part bears to this day the name of ‘Malcantone,’ the ‘Evil
Corner.’ Those of the Castellani who were held responsible for this
murder were promptly

[Illustration: THE HOUSE OF THE SPIRITS]

excommunicated; and the others, who had submitted to the bishop, refused
to hold any communication with them, or to have any interest in common
with them, even after the removal of the interdict. The consequence was
that, by way of spite, they now joined the party of the Cannaruoli, thus
forming a numerous faction, which from that time forth was called that
of the ‘Niccolotti,’ and maintained as its device the black banner and
costume of the Cannaruoli, whereas the

[Illustration: S. PAOLO]

faction of the Castellani kept the red. The murderers repented and
obtained pardon, but the new hatred, which had grown upon the old
grudge, was relentless.

[Sidenote: _Mutinelli, Costumi._]

Up to this time the custom of fighting only with reed-canes had been
maintained by both sides; but having heard of the celebrated pugilistic
encounters which were practised at Siena, they now determined to
introduce a custom which offered such excellent opportunities for
fighting. From September to Christmas regular encounters took place
every Sunday upon the bridges, mostly built without parapets, where the
two factions met, each endeavouring to knock and throw as many of their
adversaries as possible into the canal. The bridge which was preferred
for this form of exercise was that of Saint Barnabas, which soon got the
name of ‘Ponte dei Pugni,’ the ‘Bridge of Fisticuffs.’ A less dangerous
form of competition was also practised by the factions, under the name
of ‘Forze d’ Ercole,’ literally the ‘Strength of Hercules.’ A platform
was erected upon empty hogsheads, if the game was to be played on land;
or on punts, if it was to be tried on the canal, as more usually
happened; and upon this foundation the men built themselves up into a
sort of human pyramid. The base was formed by a number of individuals
standing close together, and linking themselves still more firmly by
means of light joists which they held upon their shoulders; on these
joists other men stood, and others again above them, until the pyramid
came to its point in a small boy at the top. The prize belonged to that
faction which could set up the highest pyramid in this way, and keep
perfectly steady while the unenviable little boy at the apex performed
acrobatic feats. This lad received the name of the ‘crest,’ as if the
whole were a coat of arms.

The popular songs of that time exhibit the deep hatred that smouldered
between these divisions of the people; and they have come down through
the centuries to the Venice of to-day, with such little changes of
speech as give new life to a thought without changing its substance.

[Sidenote: _Dalmedico._]

The Castellani and Niccolotti, being constantly opposed to each other,
systematically abused each other in verse during the days that preceded
the encounters. Here is one from the side of the Niccolotti, for
instance:--

O thou great Devil, Lord of Hell!
Grant me this I ask of thee.
I recommend to thee the Niccolotti!
I pray thee carry all the Castellani off to hell!
Give the winning flag to the Niccolotti.

The following is a fine example of party pride:--

When a Niccolotto is born, a god is born!
When a Castellano is born, a brigand is born!
When a Niccolotto is born, a count is born!
When a Castellano is born, he turns out a gallows-builder!

And here is another:--

We are the Niccolotti, that is enough!
We will march with the black scarf, and with the flower in our hat;
and there are knife-wounds for the pigs of Castellani!

On the other hand, the Castellani sang as follows:--

Swine of ill-born Niccolotti, how can you expect the girls to love you?
All night you wallow in the mud, you ill-born swine of Niccolotti.

The mud is that of the lagoons, the Niccolotti being fishermen.

In spite of this constant exchange of amenities, and in spite of their
love of fighting each other, neither Bocconio nor Tiepolo nor Faliero
ever got any advantage from the popular factions. I can recall no other
case nor similar instance in history. They abused each other, but they
all felt that they were sons of Saint Mark, a sentiment which strongly
appears in another song of more generous type which was sung by the two
factions together on occasions of common peril:--

Are we not all of one nation?
Sons of Saint Mark, and of his state?
May God preserve it, and make it grow,
For all the good we have we get from Him!

[Sidenote: _Mutinelli, Less._]

[Sidenote: _Cecchetti, Corte._]

[Sidenote: _Sagredo._]

The Niccolotti had a species of constitution; they had special customs
of their own, and a head who was officially called their ‘gastaldo,’ but
who by an old tradition bore the title of the ‘fisherman’s Doge’; and
who on all public occasions arrayed himself in red like the High
Chancellor, with wide skirts lined with fur in the winter, and, like the
real Doge, wore red stockings and shoes of red morocco. He held so much
to the right of wearing these red hose that he never appeared without
them, even in ordinary life, and when fishing in his boat.

Little by little this chief of the people obtained the right to follow
the Doge to the ‘Espousal of the Sea’ in a beautifully decorated boat
towed by the Bucentaur; he was granted the privilege of dining with the
Doge

[Illustration: THE LITTLE FISH MARKET]

on solemn occasions of the year, and he received the more material
benefits of levying a duty on the fishing-boats of his district, and of
keeping two counters for selling his fish, one at Saint Mark’s and the
other at Rialto; for all the Niccolotti were fishermen by profession,
and they were associated together by their common interests like members
of one numerous family. These fishermen elected their head by a
complicated system, in a solemn assembly held in the church of Saint
Nicolas of the Mendicoli, in the presence of their parish priest and of
the real Doge’s doorkeeper, who acted as ducal ambassador, and regularly
presided over these assemblies in the name of the sovereign, in order to
put down any disturbance which might arise out of differences of opinion
between the voters. At a later time, instead of the porter, the Doge
sent one of the secretaries of the Senate for this purpose. After the
election was decided the Doge’s representative stood forth, carrying the
standard of the Niccolotti, and the new ‘gastaldo’ knelt down before
him, and received the flag with the following words of investiture: ‘I
confide to you this standard in the name of the Most Serene Prince, in
token that you are head and chief of the people of Saint Nicolas, Saint
Raphael, etc.’

The bells of the church were then rung out; and on the following day, or
within two or three days at the latest, the elected man, accompanied by
the parish priests, and preceded by drums, trumpets, and one halberdier,
who carried the standard with the image of Saint Nicolas, went to
present himself to the Doge, in order to receive confirmation of his
office. The Doge

[Illustration: WHEN THE FISHING BOATS ARE IN]

received him in one of the great halls, and exhorted him to be ‘a good
father to that family (of the Niccolotti), and to be careful of the
public dignity’; assuring him that if he did so the Doge himself would
constantly be his protector, and assist him on every occasion. Then the
head of the fishermen came near to the Doge, and knelt down before him
and kissed his hand and the border of his mantle.

The chronicles are inclined to explain the conflicts between the two
factions as the result of exaggerated rivalry in everything resembling
public games. The latter were very common, as the government took every
occasion to provide amusements for the people; and as Signor Molmenti
justly says, ‘the extreme frequency of popular festivals in Venice might
seem surprising, if one did not take into consideration the enormous
energy continually expended in business and work, which brought with it
the necessity of frequent interruptions and amusements.’ After all,
there was a great deal of hard work connected with the Venetian manner
of conducting such diversions. As early as the beginning of the
fourteenth century, there were rowing matches of small boats and skiffs
on all important occasions, and, moreover, races for vessels of fifty
oars. These boats were a species of outrigger canoes, each capable of
carrying fifty rowers, who stood to their oars. Similar boats, if they
may be dignified by that name, were rowed by the Castellani and the
Niccolotti, all wearing their red and black costumes or badges, and
their emulation was shown as much in the manner of adorning their craft
as in the

[Sidenote: _Mutinelli, Costumi._]

race itself. These rowing matches became celebrated throughout the
world, and first received the name of ‘regatta.’ The government
encouraged them as being useful for a people that depended chiefly upon
navigation for its livelihood, and offered large prizes to the winners.
The first prize was a red purse full of gold; the second purse was green
and filled with silver; the third blue, containing small change; the
fourth was empty, and of a yellow colour, and the figure of a little pig
was embroidered upon it, which denoted that the winner was to receive
the live animal for his share.

The practice of shooting at the mark was also very popular in Venice,
and as usual the government managed to derive advantage from it. All men
were obliged to take part in it after the age of eighteen, nobles,
citizens, and plebeians; and during the competition, a fact not
overlooked by the wise administrators of the Republic, the young
fisherman was in all respects the equal of the son or nephew of the Doge
himself, and if he won a prize over him was practically his superior.
The weapon most commonly used in those times was a cross-bow, which was
made entirely of walnut until 1352, and after that was constructed of
wood and steel. It was so cleverly made, we are told, that eight bolts
could be shot from it in quick succession; this being accomplished in
some way not clearly explained, by means of a wheel with eight cogs.

Bows and arrows were also used for shooting at the mark, the arrows
being made in a place which received,

[Illustration: CLOUDS OF SUNSET]

and still retains, the name of the ‘arrow manufactory,’ the
Frezzeria. They were of pine or poplar, about thirty inches long,
thicker at the point than at the butt, and provided with three feathers,
like most of the arrows used in the Middle Ages.

Great magnificence was shown in these shooting matches, both in regard
to the cross-bows and the quivers. We still have specimens of quivers of
that period, made to hold from fifty to a hundred bolts, of red leather
embossed under heavy pressure and carved with a sharp tool, being
ornamented at the top with double lions of Saint Mark. The targets were
set up at different points of the city, but the most famous was on the
Lido. On the appointed days, boats manned by thirty oars were in
readiness at the entrance to the Grand Canal, near the Piazzetta, and it
was the rule that these were to be rowed only by competitors in the
shooting. At twelve o’clock the heads of the ‘duodene,’ which seem to
have been sub-districts, arrived with detachments of from ten to twelve
men each, recruited in all classes of the city; they made their way to
the scene of the competition, followed and encouraged by the multitudes
that came to look on. Lots were drawn to determine the order in which
the young men were to shoot. At the meeting held at Christmas, whoever
hit the bull’s-eye first received ten yards of scarlet cloth; the second
received six yards; the third won a cross-bow and quiver. At the meeting
held in March, the prizes were of another stuff called ‘borsella’; and
in May, a third kind of material was given, called ‘tintilana.’

Among other popular festivals of the Venetians, the free fair held at
the Ascension was of great importance. Until 1357 this lasted eight
days, but, after that, it was prolonged during a fortnight. It was at
this time, as I have said elsewhere, that the famous function of the
‘Espousal of the Sea’ was held. During the fair, every kind of
merchandise was allowed free entrance to the port and was sold in the
Square of Saint Mark’s, in booths and on improvised counters, which gave
that enormous space the air of a market. About the beginning of the
fourteenth century it began to be the custom to wear masks during this
period of mingled business and amusement. It is needless to say that the
fair became a source of large wealth to the treasury, and an opportunity
for making money for many, since at that time an immense number of
foreigners came to Venice from all parts of the world. It has been
estimated that at times as many as two hundred thousand strangers were
present in the city for this occasion, which I shall hereafter take an
opportunity of describing with more detail in the form it had acquired
in a later age.

[Sidenote: _Cecchetti, Mercato._]

Strangers who visit Venice often wonder idly whether there is any
meaning in the half-cabalistic signs coarsely painted on the dyed sails
of the fishing-boats that glide in towards evening, one after the other,
and take their places for the night, like weary live things coming home
to sleep. There shines the roughly-drawn presentment of a cock,
apparently in an attitude of ecstasy before a rising sun that bears a
strong resemblance to an omelet; and there a mystic beast that may be
meant for a donkey, unless it stands for a grasshopper. You may wonder
which, unless you ask of some superannuated old fisherman loitering on
the quay at sunset with his pipe for company. But he will tell you that
the cock and the rising sun are the hereditary emblems of all the
descendants

[Illustration: OFF THE PUBLIC GARDENS]

of ancient Josaphat, a fisherman of Padua who adopted them long ago; and
that the monster grasshopper-donkey is really a horse, and belongs to
another family of fishers, the Cavallarin; and so on, through as many as
you can point out. It is the heraldry of the fisher people, begun long
ago by the Niccolotti and preserved religiously by their descendants to
this present time; and though heraldry is ancient in Venice, there may
be stone coats of arms on walls of time-worn palaces that look down upon
the Grand Canal, less old than some of these rude ancestral bearings of
the sea, that have been handed down from generation to generation
through uncounted centuries.

Possibly, though no one would be bold enough to call it certain, the
fishermen who were the Niccolotti formed the first and oldest guild in
Venice; at all events the others bear a strong resemblance to theirs
when we first hear of them.

[Sidenote: _Molmenti, Vita Privata._]

[Sidenote: _Cecchetti, Corte._]

[Sidenote: _Sagredo._]

They grew up in Venice, as they did in Florence and other cities of
Italy, close corporations of arts and trades, which were protected by
the State, and assured many privileges to those who belonged to them,
chief of which was a sort of monopoly of each branch of industry, which
enriched the workmen without injuring the State. Under laws by which no
new object could be sold except in properly authorised shops, there was
no fear of foreign competition nor of home depression. Each guild was a
little republic in itself, thriving in the heart of the great maritime
Republic, occupied in administering its own affairs, and never making
itself a source of anxiety to the government by meddling in politics.

It thus appears that on the whole the people not only entertained a sort
of natural devotion and a feeling of gratitude towards the nobility, and
lived a life of tranquillity and contentment, with plenty of holidays
and public feasts, with ample means of earning a livelihood, and under
such provisions of public charity as made anything like pauperism next
to impossible; but also that their true strength consisted in the
institution of the arts and guilds, which were recognised and protected
by the laws. I have already said, in respect of the eleventh century,
that each art existed like a small republic in the midst of the great
one; and in the fourteenth century more than one hundred of these
so-called arts had their individual constitutions. One of these
constitutions contained a statute which forbade the members of the arts
and guilds from doing anything which might interfere with or oppose the
ordinances of the government, and most expressly forbade anything which
could be looked upon as conspiracy. Each art had its own ‘gastaldo,’ or
judge, and a certain number of elders, who ruled it according to its
constitution, and as connecting links between their own tribunal, which
might be called a family court, and the central government of the State.
There were also three judges called ‘justiciaries,’ who were elected by
the Great Council. It was morally impossible for any one to exercise
even the simplest and humblest of these arts until he had been admitted
by the council of the one in which he wished to work. It would have been
as dangerous as to introduce into Venice any sort of merchandise that
was already manufactured there, and by that means bring about
competition between Venetian and foreign products. So far as the higher
arts and trades were concerned, such as, for instance, glass-making, it
was strictly forbidden to allow any workman to leave Venice who was in
a position to take abroad the secrets of an industry of which it was
intended to keep the monopoly at home.

Every sort of guild comprised many degrees and a number of officers, so
that the liveliest competition went on between the members, the
apprentice constantly striving to become a craftsman, while the
craftsman thought of nothing but the moment at which he should be able
to stand the test, which was a real examination, by which he might
obtain a right to the title of ‘master,’ not only because the latter
represented the highest degree to which he could aspire, but because it
conferred upon the sons of whoever obtained it the right to become
masters without being required to stand the test. The test examination
for the ‘degree’ of master consisted in executing a difficult piece of
work within a certain number of hours or days. For instance, a man
became a master of mosaic paving when he could lay out and finish the
pavement of a large room, so that not the smallest crack or crevice or
flaw could be detected in it, and so that the level of the whole surface
should nowhere vary by more than the thickness of a ducat.

In some of the arts apprentices were not admitted under the age of
twelve; in others, such as shipbuilding, where the work was done in the
open air, they could begin from the time when they were eight years old.
Glass-workers were forbidden to make use of children’s labour in such
work as grinding glass, or in any kind of occupation that could injure
their health, such as tending the furnaces during the hot season.

The workmen of the arsenal also formed several guilds of a superior
order, and had special rules, which I shall notice in another place, for
the arsenal did not reach the height of its importance and activity till
the sixteenth century.

Each corporation or guild elected its ‘gastaldo’ by a majority of votes,
and his authority may be described as partaking of the paternal, and of
that of a justice of the peace. When any conflict arose between two or
more members of the guild he was appealed to, and his verdict was
perfectly legal. In grave cases, where it became absolutely necessary to
appeal to the public tribunals, the latter were bound to take into
consideration the rules of the charter of that guild to which the
parties belonged; those rules were called the mariegole,’ and no
sentence was lawful which was in contradiction with them.

Within the guilds brotherhoods were formed, the aims of which were both
religious and co-operative; and these took the name of ‘schools,’ which
vied with each other in building churches and hospitals and in making
pompous appearances in public during the religious or civil festivals.
The number of artisans inscribed in a guild was not determined, but the
number of brethren in each school was limited by its statutes. Each
school was directed by a ‘gastaldo’ and a number of elders, who were
generally the senior members of the guild from which it was derived.
This council of management was to admonish with grave words any brother
who led an immoral life, to punish blasphemers, and to be vigilant lest
any of the brethren should play at games of chance, even dice being
prohibited. The ‘gastaldo’ himself might be admonished by the elders,
and required to perform ‘great and good’ penance, according to the terms
of some of the charters. The brethren paid a tax of admission, and in
many schools bound themselves to flagellation at Lent. A certain number
of priests were admitted without any obligations, and from four to six
physicians; both ‘doctors of physic,’ as they were then called, and
‘doctors of wounds,’ as surgeons were designated. No brethren were
admitted under the age of sixteen years.

The brethren had a right to receive assistance from the schools in the
form of money and of medicine, if they were ill, either at home or in
the hospitals which were annexed to the abodes of some brotherhoods. We
find it stated that in some cases the schools assisted a brother with a
sum as large as three hundred of the ‘small lire,’ which was a very
considerable sum for that time, being equal to about fifty pounds
sterling. Among the advantages enjoyed by those who belonged to a school
was that even when absent from the city they could claim succour from
the brethren. The following words, translated from the statutes of the
School of the Holy Apostles, framed in Venetian dialect of the
thirteenth century, well express the general purpose of these
institutions: ‘Let the brethren be twelve good and honest men, who for
the love of our Lord Jesus Christ are to live holily, in peace and
charity, without fraud, pride, or murmuring, having ever before their
eyes the example of the apostles and the command of Christ, to wit, Love
peace and charity, and love your neighbour as yourself.’

[Illustration: RIO DELLA PIETA]

The worst of the misdeeds for which one of the brethren could be
subjected to the dishonour of being expelled from the school was openly
leading a bad life. The head of the brotherhood, upon the information
of other brethren and by his own knowledge, then warned the culprit to
correct his ways. ‘Let him be told to amend his life openly, for
charity’s sake; and if it be amended within fifteen days, then praise be
to God, and let him go in peace.’

It sometimes happened that a brother, of his own accord, rather than be
expelled, wished to quit a school, in entering which he had perhaps
experienced some difficulty. To this end the statutes of some schools
laid down that he should pay a considerable fine, that in the presence
of his companions he should be placed upon a bier, and that while the
bells tolled as for a dead man he should be carried round the church.
After the passage of this law such cases grew much less frequent.

In the end the schools became very rich institutions, for the members
not only contributed money, but they and their families, and doubtless
many members of the guilds, worked for nothing on their churches, their
hospitals, and their asylums for the old. The competition between
different schools was keen, and led to their beautifying their oratories
and their places of meeting with magnificent works of art, so that
almost all the great painters of Venice first acquired fame under their
protection.

In the fourteenth century such men as Carpaccio and Bellini, and later,
Titian, Veronese, and Tintoretto, were all humble brethren of the Guild
of Painters and Varnishers, and they all, without exception, submitted
in their schools to the authority of men who were very likely nothing
better than house-painters by profession, though they were undoubtedly
men of high morality and probably of considerable cultivation.

As for the treasure that accumulated in the name of the Guild, it was
not only used for the sick and in aiding young artists, but it was also
not unusual to give dowries to the daughters of poor brethren, and
sometimes considerable sums were sent to members of the Guild whom some
urgent matter detained abroad without sufficient means of livelihood.

[Sidenote: _Cecchetti, Corte._]

It is a singular fact, mentioned only by Cecchetti, that a number of
nobles, possibly in the hope of obtaining; influence over the guilds,
but pretexting religious devotion, requested and were permitted to be
inscribed as brethren. It appears that some of the brotherhoods
attempted at the very first to defend themselves from this invasion, but
were afterwards obliged to yield to the will of the Great Council,
though they limited the number of nobles to be admitted so as to make it
very small compared with that of the citizens. Later, however, in 1407,
the Great Council, considering that this was a slight upon the
aristocracy, required that all nobles should be admitted to the schools
who wished it, provided that they were of good repute. But the nobility
were not satisfied with this; they wished to join the schools and yet be
exempt from the usual dues. A few of the guilds yielded, but we find
among the papers of the school of Santa Maria della Val Verde, of the
year 1320, that all nobles who joined it must submit to all the
requirements of the statute, and that for them the admission fees should
be even larger than for ordinary citizens--‘and let him be what he
pleases,’ concludes the article of the statute with some disdain. In
other statutes we find that nobles could be admitted for nothing, but
that if they chose to pay something as conscience-money, of their own
free will, their offering would not be refused. Another right that the
nobles arrogated to themselves was that of refusing to submit to
flagellation in Lent, and the only schools where this custom was kept up
decided that the nobles, by way of compensation, should pay a
considerable increase of dues, and that the same immunity should be
accorded for nothing to all brethren over sixty years.

On the whole, the effect of the guilds was to keep alive in the people a
sense of their own dignity, and to distract them from hankering after
the offices of state, for which quite another education, different
studies, and an altogether different point of view would have been
required. For the equilibrium of a permanent state one prime condition
is that people should soberly, consistently, and, if possible,
intelligently, mind their own business.

In the fourteenth century Venice was unlike all other cities, both as
regards her external and internal administration, and the singularly
divers elements of which her strength was made up. In order to gain a
clear idea of the city’s condition at that time, a word must be said
concerning the numerous strangers who, though not taking up their abode
permanently in the city, passed through it or came to it on their way
to the East, and during the great fairs. I have spoken already of those
who established themselves in Venice and who sometimes became citizens
‘de intus et de extra’; I speak now only of that constant stream of
travellers, merchants, and men of business--Italians, Frenchmen,
Germans, and Orientals--who came and stayed a few weeks, or even months,
where people would now stay as many days, who transacted their business,
bartered their merchandise, and made acquaintance with the city,
visiting its monuments, its churches, and even its war-galleys in times
of peace. Venice showed them the most unbounded courtesy, and frequently
offered them the most magnificent hospitality. Their presence never
created the least disorder, and the manner in which the government
provided for their welfare is one of the most surprising things in the
internal economy of the city.

[Sidenote: _Mut. Costumi._]

When a stranger arrived in Venice and took up his lodging in one of the
many inns, some of which, like the ‘Luna,’ the ‘Selvatico,’ and the
‘Leon Bianco,’ are still nourishing in our own time, and were famous in
the fourteenth century, he found provided for him a tariff of prices,
which protected him against any possible imposition on the part of the
landlord; and he could hire a licensed guide to serve him lest he should
lose his way in the streets, or be cheated in the shops. The authorities
exercised a direct supervision over the rooms of the inns, requiring the
most perfect cleanliness of beds and linen and blankets, and they
forbade the crowding of strangers beyond a reasonable limit. For the sum
of fourteen soldi horses were provided with sufficient oats, hay, and
straw.

At times, when many strangers visited Venice, the population of the city
was almost doubled; and as the inns could not suffice to receive such a
number, the municipality placed at the disposal of visitors such empty
houses as it owned, and allowed private citizens to let rooms to
strangers; but severe penalties were imposed upon any who should venture
to let lodgings without a proper licence, or who should in any way
impose upon lodgers.

Pilgrims were received in hospices built for the purpose, and were there
served with reverence by the most distinguished persons in Venice; and
if they chanced to arrive at the time of any solemn festival they were
invited to join in the procession, walking on the right of the
patricians with wax torches.

[Sidenote: _Mut. Commercio._]

There was a special court for deciding questions between strangers, or
between strangers and Venetians; and it was the duty of this tribunal to
punish citizens who wronged any foreigner, or, if the latter was proved
to be the offender, to expel him from the city. Moreover, an express law
of 1317 required that the judges should ‘gently instruct’ persons who
did not present their passports in order, instead of sending them away
roughly or imposing a fine for an irregularity arising from ignorance of
the Venetian law.

When any very noble guest was in Venice, the State spared nothing that
could make his visit memorable to him as a time of wonder and delight.
The Duke of Austria never forgot the reception he met with, at a time
when he had little expectation of being so hospitably treated, for the
relations between the Duke and the Republic had been strained during
some time past. One of the Duke’s great vassals, the lord of Sench, who
was devoted to the king of Hungary, had stopped and imprisoned three
Venetian senators when they were on their way to the Court of the
Emperor Charles IV. to request, in the name of the Republic, the
investiture of certain lands to which the king of Hungary laid claim.
The Duke of Austria had at first tolerated this high-handed act, but had
at last yielded to the reiterated instances of the Republic, delivered
the prisoners, and sent word that he would bring them to Venice himself.

Though surprised, and a little uneasy at this proposal, the Council
determined to receive him with lavish hospitality, and several senators
were sent to Treviso with richly-adorned vessels to meet him. He
embarked, accordingly, with the restored captives, thirty knights, and a
train of two hundred young nobles and squires. Not far from Venice he
was met by the Doge with the famous barge, the Bucentaur, and the two
sovereigns met with every demonstration of friendship. The noble
Austrians were lodged at the charge of the State in the Dandolo and
Ziani palaces on the Grand Canal, and so magnificent were the
entertainments offered them that the expenses of their visit--for Venice
always knew precisely what she was spending--amounted to ten thousand
ducats--say, seven or eight thousand pounds sterling, when money was
worth three times what it is now.

My chronicler remarks that the money was well

[Illustration: RIO S. AGOSTIN]

invested, as the Duke was made a firm friend of the Republic, and
himself proposed a treaty by which he abandoned his claims to Trieste
for seventy-five thousand ducats--about fifty-six thousand pounds.

In the latter part of the fourteenth century Petrarch was received with
a hospitality as open-handed, and much less interested. The great poet
and famous ambassador was treated like a king; the palace of the Quattro
Torri on the Grand Canal was fitted up for him and placed at his
disposal for as long a time as he would stay in Venice, and at every
public function or festivity he appeared on the right hand of the Doge.

Touched by such consideration, Petrarch bequeathed a part of his
priceless library to the Republic, and Venice, on her side, refusing to
be outdone in generosity, presented him as a gift with the palace in
which he had been living.

The palace had originally belonged to the Molina family, and ultimately
became a religious house under the Sisters of the Holy Sepulchre. As for
the poet’s books, they came to a melancholy end. They are sometimes said
to have been the beginning of the library of Saint Mark. The authority
from which I quote says that amongst them were a manuscript of Homer,
given to Petrarch by Nicolas Sigeros, ambassador of the Emperor of the
East, a beautiful copy of Sophocles, a translation of the whole of the
_Iliad_ and of a part of the _Odyssey_, copied by Boccaccio himself, he
having learned Greek from the translator, Leontio Pilato, an imperfect
Quinctilian, and most of the works of Cicero transcribed by Petrarch
himself. Such treasures would make even a modern millionaire look grave;
yet it is said that when the celebrated Tomasini asked to be allowed to
see the books towards the end of the seventeenth century, he found them
stowed away in an attic under the roof of Saint Mark’s, ‘partly reduced
to dust, partly petrified’--‘in saxa mutatos’--a phenomenon of which I
never heard, and which I am at a loss to explain.

The tendency of Anglo-Saxons to extol and help conspiracy against every
government but their own has led Englishmen to waste sympathy on
Bocconio and Tiepolo, of whom it is now time to speak. The system of
laws and government which became defined after the closure of the Great
Council, though it already existed in great part so far as practice was
concerned, was designed to check every impulse of personal political
ambition in all classes of Venetians, beginning with the Doge himself.
Indeed his life, both public and private, was so hampered and hedged in
that his position at ordinary times seems to us far from enviable. Yet
in spite of this, and it is a singular reflection, it was quite possible
for a great man like Enrico Dandolo or Andrea Contarini to exercise
tremendous personal influence at decisive moments and to perform acts of
the highest heroism. Is there anything more heroic in all romantic
history than the aged Dandolo kneeling to receive the cross of the
crusader, and then leading a great allied host to one of the most
astounding conquests ever recorded? Was ever a man more of a hero than
old Contarini, swearing on his sword, when all seemed lost at Chioggia,
that he would never go back to Venice till the enemy was beaten--and
gloriously keeping his word? It seems to me that the heroism of both
those men grows when one considers that if either of them had been even
suspected of any personal interest or ambitious design he would have
been ruthlessly put out of the way by the men who had elected him.

The whole system was created to make anything like self-aggrandisement
impossible, and it worked so infallibly that during something near six
hundred years not one attempt to break it down was successful; and when
at last it fell, in its extreme old age, of weakness and corruption, it
was not finally destroyed by any inherent defect except old age, when it
was attacked by the greatest conqueror since Charlemagne.

It may not be possible to bring it under any philosophical theory, and
it bore but a small resemblance to Plato’s ideal State; but it had the
merit of being the most practical plan ever tested for maintaining the
balance between public and private forces, public welfare and private
wealth, national dignity and individual social importance. Of the three
great conspiracies only one was the work of an ambitious aristocrat;
another was a disappointed rich burgher’s ineffectual effort at revenge;
the third was headed by the Doge himself, partly out of private
resentment. None of them had any great chance of success, yet so great
was the apprehension they created that they were the source and origin
of all that terrible machinery of secret tribunals, spies, anonymous
accusations, and private executions which darken the later history of
Venice; a machinery which was almost always at work against the very
nobles who had constructed it, who feared it, but who never even
thought of doing away with it, though they could have voted it out of
existence at any meeting of their council; a machinery which hardly
affected the masses of the people at all, and which powerfully protected
the merchant burghers, but at the mere mention of which the greatest
noble became silent and looked grave.

Elsewhere in Italy the nobles of the twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth
centuries, iron-clad, hard-riding, and hard-hitting, were the natural
enemies of the people, whom they could kill like flies when they liked.
In sea-girt Venice they wore no armour, the people mostly loved them,
and the burghers needed their protection and shared in all the sources
of their wealth. The nobles’ only possible enemies at home were among
themselves.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 5._]

History has not left a very clear account of the conspiracy of Marin
Bocconio against the aristocratic Republic in 1300. We know that he was
a man who had a great following, chiefly on account of his immense
wealth, and Romanin remarks that his intelligence was not equal to the
arduous undertaking he had planned. We know that on the discovery of the
plot he was taken, that he was first confined in the prison of the ducal
palace, and afterwards hanged with ten of his principal accomplices
between the two columns, probably those of the Piazzetta, and we have a
list of those executed, showing that none of them were noble; but a few
noble names appear among those of persons exiled as having been
favourable to a revolution. Bocconio was certainly one of those
malcontents who were not satisfied with the position and privileges of
a

[Illustration: RIO JENA SECONDA]

Venetian burgher, and he was desirous of opening himself a way into the
Great Council by means of his fortune. The story that he knocked at the
door of the council chamber with the hilt of his sword, and armed to the
teeth, is an empty fable. He plotted, like the other conspirators, in
the dark, and he was betrayed by an accomplice.

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 323._]

The facts as well as the details of the conspiracy of the Tiepolo and
the Quirini are better known, and it was this attempt at revolution
which first gave the government of the Republic that suspicious and
inquisitorial character which it never afterwards wholly lost. Mention
has already been made of that popular movement in 1296, which attempted
to seat upon the ducal throne Jacopo Tiepolo, son of the former Doge
Lorenzo, a man distinguished in the career of arms, and who was
therefore thought fit to take charge of affairs at the beginning of the
great struggle with Genoa. It will be remembered that the government
opposed the popular choice, partly in order not to yield an inch to the
popular demand, but also, on the other hand, because it was already
suspected that the Tiepolo family, which had previously given Venice two
doges, was desirous of making that dignity hereditary.

The doge chosen by the government was Gradenigo, and against him the
Tiepolo family and their friends, such as the Quirini, the Badoer, and
the Doro, continued afterwards to nourish resentment, and showed
themselves sternly opposed to the law of the closure of the Great
Council, which they looked upon as the triumph of Gradenigo’s policy.
The Tiepolo were very numerous, and so also were the Quirini. They
possessed many houses, were provided with vast stores of arms, and had
many servants and slaves. The two families were not united by friendship
only, for Bajamonte Tiepolo had married a daughter of the Quirini. Her
father, Marco, was of that branch which inhabited the palace situated on
the island of Rialto, in a little square beyond the Ruga degli Speziali.

Both families belonged by right to the Great Council, and during its
meetings they took advantage of the smallest incidents to give vent to
their wrath against the Doge and his policy. Sometimes they raised such
tumults during the sittings that the meetings had to be adjourned, and
on the following days they fanned the embers of disturbance into flame
in the public streets. The government showed its anxiety by renewing the
prohibition to wear arms abroad, and the greatest vigilance was
exercised by the ‘Lords of the Night,’ who were six magistrates,
generally nobles, charged with the duty of superintendents of police in
the city after dark, and were in command of the armed watch. Orders were
issued that no one was to keep fire burning, except in barbers’ shops,
after the ringing of the third hour of the night, _i.e._ three and a
half hours after sunset. At that time the streets were only lighted by
means of lamps that burned here and there before shrines set up by pious
persons, but the government now greatly increased this illumination. In
a word, every precaution was taken lest the discontent fostered by the
great families should suddenly break out into open revolt.

One evening the brother of Marco Quirini, Pietro surnamed ‘Pizzagallo,’
was met in the street by Marco Morosini, one of the Lords of the Night,
who was going his rounds. The magistrate’s suspicions were at once
aroused; he stopped Quirini, and insisted upon searching him to see
whether he were armed or not. Pietro Quirini, by way of showing his
displeasure at what he considered an offence, promptly kicked Morosini
off his feet, and left him lying on the ground. An action was of course
brought against the offender, who was condemned to pay a heavy fine for
his irascibility in thus gravely insulting an officer of the State.
Nevertheless a number of similar incidents took place, for prudence was
not among the virtues of the Quirini and Tiepolo families, and they
appear to have given themselves infinite trouble in seeking occasions
for disturbing the public peace. Nor was it difficult at that time to
stir up the elements of discord, for Venice was involved in a disastrous
war with the lords of Ferrara, a conflict which we must now briefly
explain.

In the eleventh century, during the War of the Investitures, the Church
under Gregory VII., Hildebrand, made common cause with the party of
Italian independence against the German Empire, and was vigorously
sustained by Matilda, Countess of Tuscany. She, on her side, naturally
found allies among those powers which desired to obtain the goodwill of
the Holy See. When the Countess wished to get back Ferrara, which she
had lost some years previously, the Venetians lent their help, both with
vessels and with armed forces; and in return they obtained many
privileges for their commerce in the city of Ferrara, and, among others,
that of placing there a ‘Visdomino,’ a sort of consul-general, to watch
their interests.

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 19._]

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 12._]

It will be remembered that the Countess Matilda left all her vast
estates to the Church. Ferrara, therefore, remained under the supremacy
of the Holy See, and when the city was seized by the Ghibelline
Salinguerra the Venetians drove him out, and the city came under the
domination of the family of Este, with the consent of the Pope. By the
end of the thirteenth century this family had already reached such a
high position that the Marquis Azzo had married the daughter of Charles
II., king of Naples. Venice remained on excellent terms with this
Marquis Azzo, and constantly lent him assistance in his struggles with
his neighbours who threatened his liberty. He, however, fell dangerously
ill in the year 1307, and Venice, being well aware of the discord which
was brewing between his sons, seized the opportunity of furthering her
own interests. During his illness three Venetian envoys remained
constantly at Ferrara on pretence of sending information regarding the
health of the sick man, but in reality to watch the condition of affairs
and the disposition of the people. The old prince died, and left a will
so worded that one of his illegitimate sons, named Fresco, attempted to
have his own son, Folco, proclaimed lord of Ferrara, and to this end
asked help of Venice. Azzo’s two legitimate sons, Francesco and
Aldobrandino, however, turned to the Pope and obtained his support,
renewing their oaths of allegiance as feudatories of the Church.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 20._]

A hot contest now ensued, and Fresco, realising the weakness of his own
cause, made over his rights, such as they were, to Venice. The troops of
the Pope and of the Marquis Francesco now entered Ferrara, and the city
was declared under the dominion of the Pope in 1308. But Venice
protested, and refused to surrender the fortresses she had taken over
from Fresco. It was in vain that the Pope attempted every means of
conciliation. The Republic had long coveted Ferrara as a possession, and
now refused to give up the part of the principality which she held, or
her claim to the rest. The negotiations therefore came to grief, and
ended in a solemn Bull of Excommunication against the Doge, his
counsellors, all the citizens of Venice, and all persons whatsoever who
had helped them; declaring, further, that Venice was dispossessed of all
she held in the principality of Ferrara and elsewhere; all men were
forbidden to engage in commerce with her; all men were permitted
thenceforth to make slaves of Venetians--if they could; the wills of all
Venetians were declared null and void; and all clergy were ordered to
quit the Venetian territories ten days after the expiration of the
thirty days which were allowed the Republic to consider whether she
would repent or not.

Venice, however, obstinately resisted; and in this place it should be
noted that the Venetians, though very devout, and always ready to decree
new festivities in honour of their saints, besides being extremely
generous in building churches and endowing religious institutions,
continuously showed themselves averse to all intervention of the Church,
where their political or material interests were concerned. Though they
respected the clergy, the latter never had any privileges in Venice
beyond those of ordinary citizens, and both priests and monks were
constrained to mount guard at night, and to appear before civil
tribunals in civil suits, like ordinary citizens.

Venice was still under the papal excommunication when the quarrel
between the Quirini and the followers of the Doge Gradenigo had reached
its climax, and when the anti-papal party, which we may fairly call the
Ghibellines, and which had the support of the Doge, overcame the
resistance of its opponents. Marco Quirini determined to take advantage
of the discontent of the greater part of the citizens in order to set on
foot an immense conspiracy. He was indeed the soul of this attempt, but
his son-in-law, Bajamonte Tiepolo, was the visible mover in it, for he
was beloved by the people, who called him the ‘Great Cavalier’; and he
was inspired by a profound hatred of the person of the Doge, who,
according to him, had usurped the dignity which had been conferred upon
the Tiepolo by the will of the people.

Friends of the two great families began to meet in the Cà Grande, which
was the palace of the Quirini. Marco made a speech, which to modern
democrats might seem a model of justice and patriotism, in which he did
not fail to prove that he was not impelled to take arms against the
head of the Republic by any motive of personal grudge or private
ambition, but that he was driven to extremities by the unwise policy of
the government and the extremely unjust laws which were being
promulgated to the destruction of the public liberties. A sort of report
of this speech is still preserved in the library of Saint Mark.

Tiepolo, at once more frank and more persuasive, replied to the words of
his father-in-law, explaining clearly that it was their joint design to
give the Republic a doge acceptable to the people and capable of
restoring to the latter their original and ancient rights. It is
possible that the meeting might have determined to take arms openly at
once, if old Jacopo, another of the Quirini, a man of wise counsel and
of little personal ambition, had not replied to these first two speeches
by attempting to persuade his hearers that they ought to desist from
what was a criminal attempt, and from bringing about the calamities of
bloodshed. This Jacopo was about to leave Venice as ambassador to
Constantinople. The conspirators, who respected him, but had not the
slightest intention of accepting his advice, pretended to yield, putting
off the moment for action until after his departure. When he had left
the city, they made every arrangement for carrying out their
revolutionary plans at dawn on Sunday, June 14, 1310.

During the night the conspirators were to meet in the Cà Grande in small
detachments. In the palace arms sufficient for all were hidden, with a
flag upon which was inscribed the word ‘Liberty.’ Marco Quirini and his
sons, Niccolò and Benedetto, were to go to Saint Mark’s by the Calle dei
Fabbri and the Bridge dei Dai, with a number of armed men; the other
conspirators were to enter the Piazza from the Merceria, under the
leadership of Bajamonte. For some time past Badoero Badoer had been in
Padua and its neighbourhood gathering a desperate band, and on the
appointed day he and his men were to be ready at the palace of the
Quirini. The plan was boldly conceived, and there was no small
likelihood of its success. But one of the conspirators, a burgher named
Marco Donà, lost courage at the last, or suffered himself to be seduced
by promises of rich reward from the Doge, including his admission to the
nobility. Early in the night he entered Gradenigo’s apartment, and
revealed everything to him. The Doge did not lose his presence of mind
for an instant, but gathered round him his counsellors, the Lords of the
Night, the heads of the Forty, and all his friends; every man then
quietly armed his servants, thereby gathering together a large number of
defenders. At no great distance from the palace was the Arsenal, where
there were a great number of artisans of every kind employed in the
construction of ships, and these men, both from their intelligence and
honesty, represented the pick of the Venetian lower class. They composed
the bodyguard of the Doge, and had the right to assist at all public
ceremonies, their chiefs having the privilege of entering the palace
freely. These men slept in the shipyard by turns, and were always ready
at the call of their ‘provveditori,’ who were three nobles elected at
intervals of thirty-two months for the direction and administration of
the

[Illustration: CALLE DEL SPEZIER]

Arsenal. With such forces at his command, it is perhaps not surprising
that the Doge was not intimidated by the conspiracy. As soon as he was
assured of being defended by his servants and the workmen, he sent
messages to the Mayors of Chioggia, Torcello, and Murano, with orders to
arrest the conspirators who were to enter Venice under the guidance of
Badoer. At the same time the members of the School of Charity and many
of the guild of painters took arms to watch the entrance to the Piazza.

Meanwhile the conspirators made their way through a tempest of rain and
wind to the Quirini palace, and arms were distributed to them; Badoer,
however, did not come, and his absence was attributed by his friends to
the storm. Without waiting for him they went out at dawn, during a
terrific thunderstorm, crying ‘Death to the Doge Gradenigo!’ The
Quirini, following the direction agreed upon, came out at Saint Mark’s
by the Bridge dei Dai, which thereafter received the name of ‘Ponte del
Malpasso’ (the Bridge of Evil Crossing). But instead of finding the
Square deserted, as they had expected, they were assailed by a strong
contingent of armed men. Marco and his son Benedetto were soon killed;
the other son, Niccolò, was wounded, and he probably obtained on that
day the surname of ‘the Lame,’ which he ever afterwards bore. The
remaining conspirators now scattered, to meet again soon afterwards in
the Square of Saint Luke, where they were again defeated by the guild of
painters. Meanwhile Bajamonte was coming down towards Saint Mark’s from
the Merceria, and in order to gather his followers together he halted at
the knot of elder-trees, where it was the custom to tie up the horses of
the councillors on the days of assembling. Here, by chance or by
intention, a woman of the people, who lived in a little house
overlooking the trees, dropped from her window a stone mortar, or the
stone of a hand-mill, which killed Bajamonte’s standard-bearer. The
banner inscribed with the word ‘Liberty’ was dashed to the ground, and
Tiepolo’s men fell into such confusion that he had great difficulty in
taking them back to the island of Rialto, burning behind him the bridge
which connected the island with the rest of the city. A regular siege
now followed, the insurgents defending themselves with the courage of
despair; and they might even then have been victorious if Badoer had
been able to reach Venice and to take the Doge’s forces in the flank,
but Badoer, with a great number of his rebellious companions, had been
taken and thrown into prison early in the morning, having been caught on
his way to Venice by the Mayor of Chioggia, who was a Giustiniani.
Tiepolo now held his own upon the island of Rialto, where he had
entrenched himself; but the Doge, in order not to prolong the bloodshed
of a conflict between citizens, wished to prevail by some gentler means,
and promised all the rebels their lives, provided they would submit,
throw down their arms, and quit the territory of the Republic. The
negotiations were first attempted by some Milanese merchants, and then
by Giovanni Soranzo, who, as the father-in-law of Niccolò Quirini, the
latter having married his daughter Soranza, seemed to have a better
chance of being heard; but it was in vain. Tiepolo continued to resist
with mad obstinacy, and preferred anything rather than submission;
until at last one of the counsellors of the Doge, a certain Filippo
Belegno, succeeded in bringing about an understanding. Tiepolo consented
to retire from the island of Rialto, and to go into an exile which was
to last four years ‘in the Slavonic countries beyond the island of
Zara,’ but not in any country that was hostile to Venice; his noble
followers were also to be exiled during four years, and might reside in
any part of Italy that was outside the Venetian territories, but not
within the territories of Padua, Treviso, or Vicenza. They were informed
that if they were found beyond the limits to which they were assigned
they should pay for the indiscretion with their lives. By a decree of
the Great Council their wives were ordered to follow them into exile,
and were instructed to leave Venice within eight days. The other
conspirators, _i.e._ the servants of the nobles, and those who were
considered less responsible, were pardoned on condition that they would
submit and lead quiet lives. Thus of all those who had taken part in the
revolutionary movement, only Badoer and his friends were in the hands of
justice on the evening of the fatal day. When, according to the custom
of the times, they had confessed their crime under torture, Badoer was
beheaded, and the rest were all hanged between the columns. One-third of
the Quirini family property having been claimed by Giovanni, who had
taken no part in the conspiracy, the remaining two-thirds of the Quirini
palace on the Rialto were demolished, the share in the Cà Grande being
allowed to stand which had been Giovanni’s; but lest it should remind
posterity of the greatness of the family, the Republic bought out his
third part and turned it into a place for raising and killing poultry.

It is a singular circumstance, but quite authentically recorded, that
the government was just then without sufficient funds to pay Giovanni
for his share in the house, and it was actually proposed to pawn the
city’s silver trumpets, which were used in all public solemnities. The
government, however, succeeded in raising the sum in a more dignified
way.

[Sidenote: _Lazzari Guida, 171._]

The house of Bajamonte Tiepolo, at Sant’ Agostino, was levelled to the
ground, and on the spot a column recorded the traitor’s infamy. This
space is still open and desolate in our own time, after a lapse of six
hundred years.

The column was set up in 1314, and it bore the following inscription,
which is one of the most ancient specimens of Venetian dialect. It is in
the form of a rhymed quatrain: ‘This ground belonged to Bajamonte, and
now for his infamous treachery it has been turned common, that all may
look upon it now and ever, and be afraid.’

[Sidenote: _Cecchetti, Dubbii._]

It is not long since writers of democratic tendency still attempted to
make Tiepolo seem a martyr to liberty. The Provisional Government of
Venice, on July 13, 1797, invited the citizens to restore to honour the
memory of those heroes, born in times of tyranny, who had fallen victims
to their own generous efforts, and much more in the same manner. It was
proposed to set

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 39, note 2._]

up a statue to Tiepolo, as well as to the proto-martyr, Marin Bocconio;
but in the end, even the democratic government was obliged to concede
that its hero had been nothing but a seditious egotist, and the name of
Bajamonte has not lost the odium it deserves even to our own time; for
in spite of his standard blazoned with the word ‘Liberty,’ he had really
meant to seize the government of his country and to make the dogeship
hereditary in his family. After the conspiracy the public feeling
against the Tiepolo and Quirini families was so strong that those
branches of the Tiepolo which had remained faithful to the republic
changed their coats-of-arms. The innocent branches of the Quirini,
however, resorted to an expedient which is quite unique in heraldry, so
far as I know. In Italian ‘bono’ means ‘good’; the Quirini simply
charged their coat with a capital B, to show how good they had been!

Marco Donà, the man who had revealed the plot, was rewarded by being
admitted to the Great Council, and his name was inscribed in the ‘Golden
Book,’ making the honour hereditary. The woman who had killed
Bajamonte’s standard-bearer, and whose name was Rossi, on being asked
what reward she would prefer, requested to be allowed to fly the
standard of Saint Mark from her window on the day of Saint Vitus (June
15), and on the other solemn festivals of the year; and that neither she
nor her descendants should ever be required to pay a higher rent for the
house in which she lived, and which belonged to the patrimony

[Sidenote: _Fulin, Arch. Ven. (1876), and Soranza Soranzo._]

[Sidenote: _Molmenti, Dogaressa._]

of the Basilica of Saint Mark. There exists under date of the year 1468
the protest of a certain Rossi, her descendant, whose rent had been
raised from fifteen ducats to twenty-eight. He won his case. The house
is called in our own time the ‘House of the Miracle of the Mortar.’ It
is in the Merceria, at the corner of the Calle del Cappello. The
standard which Lucia Rossi used to display at her window is preserved in
the Correr Museum.

The Rector of the guild of painters also received special honours, as
well as the brethren of the Carità, who had lent armed assistance.

One might be surprised at the lenity with which the Republic judged the
ringleaders of the Tiepolo-Quirini conspiracy; but it must not be
forgotten that the conspirators, entrenched on the Rialto, were beyond
the Doge’s power, and still threatened the safety of the city and of the
Republic, which was no doubt glad to be rid of them at any price.
Moreover, we have record of a pitiful episode, which shows that the
Venetian government could be severe to cruelty without necessarily
employing the executioner.

Among the nobles who went into exile beyond Zara after the affair at
Rialto was Niccolò Quirini, Marco’s son, surnamed ‘the Lame.’ His wife,
who was, as we have said, the daughter of Giovanni Soranzo, joined him
in his exile. At the end of four years, says Molmenti, she felt an
irresistible longing to see her family again, and asked permission to
return home, but it was not granted to her. Her father, however, had
been made Doge in 1311, and she began the journey, trusting to his
influence. No sooner had she reached Venice than she was arrested and
condemned to perpetual confinement in the convent of Sta. Maria delle
Vergini, in one of the most distant districts of the city.

[Sidenote: _Galliccioli, vi. 58._]

[Sidenote: _Giustina Renier Michiel, Origini ii. 73._]

In connection with this story it should be noted that the convent in
which she was imprisoned was not one of cloistered nuns. Until the end
of the fifteenth century they bore the title of ‘canonesses’; they were
under the government of an abbess, but took no solemn vows, wore no
veils, and could even leave the convent and marry. The convent itself
was under a sort of tutelage of the Doge. It had been founded and
endowed at the beginning of the thirteenth century by the Doge Pietro
Ziani, together with a church dedicated to the Virgin Mary, and became
the common residence of many noble ladies, and of many noble girls who
were educated there. The Doge conferred the investiture upon the abbess,
according to the custom of those times, by means of a golden ring, and
once a year he went to visit the convent. This was in the month of May;
and after hearing mass the Doge went into the parlour, where the abbess
received him, being dressed in a magnificent white mantle, with two
veils upon her head, one white and the other black. She presented the
Doge with a small bunch of flowers, set in a golden handle, for which
the Doge expressed his thanks in a set form. The Doge Soranzo must have
gone through this function many times while his own daughter was a
prisoner in the nunnery, and not allowed to assist in the ceremony. The
old building of the Vergini was destroyed by fire in 1375, but was
restored with greater splendour than before as a place for educating
noble Venetian girls.

It must not be supposed that the convent had barred windows, nor that
there were gratings at the parlour door, from behind which the novice
never returned again to the outer world. Gratings and bars and the
strict cloister were not introduced into the rules of Italian nuns until
much later, when the Church was obliged to check the grave abuses which
had gradually crept into convent life. In the time of Soranza, and
particularly in the convent of the Vergini, there was much freedom, and
any reasonable excuse was admitted for allowing the canonesses to go out
into the city; they not infrequently visited their relations, and even
stopped with them in the country.

Soranza had been placed in custody in a little house that was built
against the wall of the convent; its door had two different keys, one of
which was given to the abbess, and the other to the housekeeper sister,
so that the two were obliged to enter together, and while guarding their
prisoner they watched each other. Soranza was allowed one woman servant,
who was allowed to go out in order to wash linen, but she was warned
that she would be condemned to a heavy fine if the smallest bit of
writing were ever found upon her.

Four years Soranza languished uncomplaining in her narrow dwelling.
Then she appealed to the Council of Ten for permission to walk in the
convent garden. The Council allowed her this liberty for only four
months. Fearing that it would not be continued to her she wrote again
before the term expired, to beg that it might be extended, representing
that she could not live without a little air; and the Council made the
permission permanent.

At last it was known that Niccolò was dead, stabbed by an unknown hand,
and Soranza was a widow; nevertheless, for the sake of the name she yet
bore, the Republic still treated her as a prisoner. Amongst the archives
of the Council of Ten are found more than sixty documents concerning
her, and there are letters from her entreating to be allowed to visit
her father, the Doge, at the ducal palace, or to go and take care of a
sick friend. Sometimes she obtained what she asked, sometimes the most
innocent indulgences were refused her, and it is clear that the Republic
did not mean her to think that she could have anything otherwise than as
a special favour.

When Soranza breathed her last in the little house that had been her
prison, she had occupied it for twenty-five years. During the last ten
years, however, the wife of Andreolo Quirini was confined with her.

She was not the last of those unhappy ladies who had been exiled with
their husbands. In 1320 a man called Riccio arrived in Venice, bringing
the head of Pietro Quirini who had been treacherously assassinated by an
‘unknown’ hand--possibly the hand of Riccio himself, who brought the
victim’s head in order to claim his fee. Pietro left a widow, still
young, who at once asked permission to come home to Venice. She was told
plainly that if she had no children and expected none she might return,
but that otherwise she must remain in exile ‘at the disposal of the
Ten.’

[Illustration: RIO DI S. PANTALEONE]

In the following year another Niccolò Quirini died abroad, and his widow
was allowed to return on condition of living in a convent, never to go
out without permission of the Council of Ten. She had in Venice a
devoted admirer, one Angelo Bembo, who obtained permission to have her
placed in the convent of Santa Maria di Valverde, on the island of
Mazzorbo, a lovely and retired spot, where seclusion would be more
bearable than in the city. The young widow seems to have made good use
of her stay there, for the papers in the archives of the Ten which
concern her contain the information that she soon afterwards married her
friend, and was allowed to return to the world. She had recovered all
her liberty by the mere change of name.

As some justification for this excessive rigour on the part of the
government, it should be remembered that the exiled Tiepolo and Quirini
families had never ceased to plot against the Republic after their
defeat, both in the countries where they were allowed to live and in
Venice itself, by means of agents. A letter of the Council of Ten
confers upon Federigo Dandolo and Marin Falier full powers to get rid of
the obnoxious Bajamonte, in any way they might, for the good of the
country. The note is dated in 1328. From that time forward his name was
never pronounced in council, nor mentioned in any document; and it may
be supposed that he, like Niccolò Quirini, came to his end, murdered by
some emissary of the Republic. The fact that we find no allusion in the
subsequent history of Marin Falier to the part he possibly played in
that side tragedy is not evidence that he failed to carry out his
instructions.

[Sidenote: _Armand Baschet, Archives, 514._]

A careful examination of early documents seems to show that the Council
of Ten existed before the Tiepolo-Quirini conspiracy, which is generally
held to be the circumstance which called it into existence. It is
certain, however,

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 39 sqq., 52._]

that in earlier times the Council had not such great importance, and it
was always more or less a temporary affair until the year 1335. Ten
magistrates, who were called together, on the occasion of the
conspiracy, to form a sort of court-martial, gave their judgments, but
by no means in an arbitrary manner. They were elected for a period not
much longer than three months, which was to expire on Saint Michael’s
Day, September 29, a day always kept as a great festival in Venice. But
when that date was reached, it appeared necessary to prolong the time of
their power, as their task was not yet finished; for it consisted not
only in punishing the guilty, but also in closely watching the immediate
consequences of the conspiracy. The same extension was granted again and
again, until the following year, when it was determined to establish the
tribunal for a term of five years, appointing its members anew, however,
on every successive Saint Michael’s Day. These five years being passed,
a further decree prolonged the tribunal’s existence ten years more, and
so on. Finally, in 1335, it was decreed to be permanent, under an
extremely strict code of rules called the ‘Rite,’ well devised for a
body which was to treat of the very important affairs that came before
it. On election, every member of the Ten took an oath, which included
the

[Sidenote: _A. Baschet, Archives, 531._]

following clauses: ‘I, as one of the Council of Ten, do swear upon the
holy Gospels of God to act for the advantage and honour of Venice; and
in good faith and conscience to advise our Lord the Doge and his

[Illustration: PONTE VENETA MARINA]

counsellors such things as I shall believe useful to the honour and
preservation of our country; and I swear to obey our Lord the Doge and
to do what the heads of the Ten shall command me.... I bind myself to
keep secret whatever is said or commanded to me, concerning all matters
which may be proposed by the said Council, communicated or discussed in
the sittings, and concerning any letters or reports which may be
communicated to us, etc., etc.’

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 35 sqq._]

The ordinary meetings of the Ten were held by day in the ducal palace;
not in a room hung with black and feebly lighted, as some have written
and believed, but in a hall appointed for that purpose by the Doge,
until one should be properly furnished and decorated for the tribunal.
Under extraordinary circumstances the Council also met by night. All
sittings began with an invocation to the Holy Spirit. These sittings
were never attended by the Ten only; from the time of the institution of
the tribunal, the Doge and his counsellors, one avogador of the
commonwealth and the High Chancellor, who, it should be remembered, was
not a noble, were also obliged to be present. The imagination of
posterity, amused by fantastic tales which have no historic basis, has
lent this tribunal a character of mystery and arbitrary authority which
it never possessed, as is proved by documents still in existence. In all
trials, after the accusation had been read, the defence was heard
immediately, and when the defendant was not able to conduct his own
case, a law of 1443 allowed him to be represented by a

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 66, 68._]

lawyer. The avogador put the following question to the Ten: ‘According
to what has been read and said, is it your opinion that the accused
should be condemned?’ Sometimes the following question was asked: ‘Is it
your opinion that the accused, in consequence of what has been already
heard, should be put to the torture, in order to obtain from him the
whole truth, and further details; or that the court should proceed, as
having already sufficient proof of his guilt?’ The Council of Ten could
not impose fines; their sentences necessarily affected the body of the
condemned person. When a vote had decided that the accused was
convicted, each member of the Council could propose the punishment which
he thought fit, but it was not usual to propose any more severe penalty
than that asked for by the avogador. He was the first to make the
proposition, then came the heads of the Ten, then the Doge’s
counsellors, and last of all the Doge himself. Each proposal was
balloted for, every member of the Council retaining the right to propose
a diminution or commutation of the sentence, or to ask for a new trial.

We know that the Council of Ten had a fund for secret service, ever
since the fourteenth century. It also possessed a small armoury.

It cannot be denied that on more than one occasion the execution of the
verdicts of the Ten was performed quickly and in a secret manner; yet it
does not appear that this was done because the sentence had been passed
from any motive of private hatred or vengeance, but only because
prudence required that the public should not be allowed to express an
opinion on the matter. It may be remarked that in European countries the
procedure nowadays is often similar in court-martials. If we take away
the right of torture, the violet cloaks and hoods of the seven, and the
red hoods of the three chiefs--in a word, if we erase from the picture
the mediæval setting of the Council of Ten which looks theatrical to us,
we may find that after all there is not such grave cause for accusing
the famous Venetian tribunal of arbitrary cruelty. The proceedings of a
military court-martial in our own times are often quite as secret and
expeditious, and much more summary.

The manner in which the members of the Council were elected shows
clearly enough that the abuse of authority was always feared on their
part. In the year 1310 it was decreed that no two persons who were
relatives might sit together in the Council, and that when a relative of
any member was to be tried, that member should be excluded from the
sitting. The members soon ceased to be elected on Saint Michael’s Day;
and in order that greater prudence might be exercised in choosing them,
they were elected one at a time at the meetings of the Great Council as
each one’s term expired. Until 1356, when a place was to be filled, two
candidates were proposed, and sometimes there were even three
nominations. No member of the Council of Ten might receive gifts under
pain of immediate death, nor was any salary attached to the office. At
the end of their term they went back into private life, and were not
protected in any way from such accusations as might be brought against
them for their actions during their administration.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 57._]

Nearly fifty years after the date of the Tiepolo-Quirini conspiracy,
August 9, 1356, a number of rules were introduced, to increase the
severity with which the powers of the Council of Ten might be exercised,
and at the same time to ensure justice in their dealings with criminal
cases. It is amply proved by documents of the fourteenth century that in
the majority of cases, though possibly in those which were considered of
minor importance, there was neither mystery nor secrecy about the
meetings of the Ten, and that, on the contrary, the door of their place
of meeting was sometimes open to the public. No other meaning can be
attached to the law of 1575, which was passed in order to limit the too
great facility of ingress to the hall of their meetings, on the ground
that the proceedings might be prejudiced by too much publicity, as they
were constantly interrupted by the persons present, so that practically
any one might watch the trials, as Romanin says, even in cases of the
highest importance. There was never at any time the least tendency to
diminish the legal character of the tribunal in order to confer upon it
an arbitrary power, since it disposed of weapons so powerful as to place
it above the need of intrigue. As has been said, although the Ten were
all chosen from the nobility, the High Chancellor was present at the
sittings, albeit he had no right of voting, and his presence alone
sufficed to remind the councillors that the citizens, whose chief
representative he was, were all witnesses of whatsoever the Ten
accomplished. On the whole, M. Baschet is right in saying that the
Council’s activity was chiefly exercised against the nobles themselves
for the protection of the people.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 54, note 3._]

It undoubtedly disposed of great powers, and no one could expect a
tribunal to be infallible in those times, or perhaps in any other; but
though the Ten were no doubt sometimes guilty of grave mistakes, they
were never at any time the instrument of a tyrannical government for
oppressing the poor and innocent.

[Sidenote: _A. Baschet, Archives, 536. Rom. ii. 359._]

They elected three heads every month, whose duty it was to conduct the
affairs of the Council, to study the cases it was to try, and to see to
the execution of its judgments. The Council had under its immediate
control the executives of its justice, which consisted of a large force
of police, controlled by six principal officers, and by the so-called
‘Missier Grande,’ who was the head of the whole body.

[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 359._]

The criminal and political prisons were under the special supervision of
the Doge himself during the first half of the fourteenth century, and it
was the duty or two or his counsellors to visit them once every month,
and to make inquiry of the prisoners confined there concerning their
wants and wishes. During the second half of the century this supervision
and the duty of visiting became a part of the office of the heads of the
Ten. I shall attempt to describe in passing the state of the prisons in
which criminals and persons accused of grave crimes were confined in the
fourteenth century, these only having been under the supervision of the
Ten.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 74._]

[Sidenote: _Mutinelli, Less._]

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 77._]

In the first place, there were certain narrow but not unhealthy prisons
in the tower which formerly existed at the east end of the ducal palace,
and these were on the same floor as the hall where the Council of Ten
met, and were called the ‘upper’ prisons. Accused persons were generally
kept here during their trial. In 1321 an order was issued for the
construction of the so-called ‘Lower’ prisons, which the common people
afterwards called ‘pozzi,’ wells; and these were undoubtedly hideous and
narrow cells, though probably not worse than those in use at that time
in other countries. They are not below the level of the ground, or
rather of the water, as novelists have described them; but the fact that
criminals descended to them from the hall of the tribunal by means of a
little staircase less than a yard wide, which soon became quite dark,
and the sound of the lapping water outside, helped to give the prisoner
the impression that he was being taken down alive into a tomb dug deep
in the earth, although he was actually on the level of the courtyard. A
small door in the wall of the courtyard was opened in 1407, in order
that the family of Vittor Pisani might enter the prison when he was
lying there ill, and it was afterwards closed at his expense. On the
side of the canal was a

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 75._]

corridor, little more than a yard wide, and faced with marble, through
which escape was impossible. Upon this opened the doors of certain very
small cells, marked with Roman numerals, in which, for some reason now
impossible to explain, the ‘V’ was always turned upside down. The cells
were completely lined with deal, but received air only from the dark
corridor through an aperture in the door about eight inches square. The
prisons on the other side, towards the harbour, had various names, among
which we may mention that of ‘Mosina’ and ‘Liona’; then such names as
‘The Refreshing Joy,’ ‘The Vulcan,’ ‘The Strong,’ ‘The Lightless,’ and
other similar epithets, probably suggested by the grim humour of the
gaolers. Until 1357 the counsellors of the Doge went down into these
places every month; and at that time the heads of the Ten inquired into
the state of each individual prisoner, and gave an account thereof to
the Doge and to the Council. There also the prisoner was allowed to
speak, probably through the little aperture in the door, with his
attorney, if he feared lest he should be unable to defend himself when
called to justice. To this place came also at night the monk whose duty
it was to comfort the last hours of such unfortunates as had received
sentence of death, either by hanging between the columns of the
Piazzetta, or, as frequently happened, at the place where the crime was
committed, or in the cell, if the tribunal had decreed that the prisoner
should be strangled. Sometimes, though more rarely, the sentence was
this, ‘that to-night So-and-so be conducted to the Orfano Canal, with
his hands tied behind his back and weights fastened to his body, and let
him be drowned, and let him die.’

I shall have occasion to speak further of the prisons as they were in
the sixteenth and eighteenth centuries.

[Illustration: THE ABBAZZIA]

VIII

ON MANNERS AND CERTAIN CUSTOMS IN THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY

In the natural order of things it is now time to say a few words about
the manners and customs of the Venetians in the fourteenth century.
Owing to lack of documents the subject is by no means an easy one. An
ideal history would be a careful account of the daily doings and habits
of a nation, concisely told and not out of proportion with the greater
events of which an account is due. Such a history would be a
fascinating tale, though it might be an almost interminable one. As in
an endless gallery, the writer would show his readers an unbroken series
of pictures, and the mind would be led without surprise, but without a
moment’s dulness or boredom, from the beginning to the end of a people’s
career.

Unhappily no such method can ever be even attempted where the remote
past is concerned. The men and women of those times lived their own
daily lives, found them not always interesting, and passed away without
leaving us a single true record of twenty-four hours in the life of a
man or a woman. Yet how intensely interesting even one such record would
be! How the weary historian, seeking for the simple details of some
simple life six hundred years ago, longs to discover a Horace Walpole, a
Madame de Sévigné, or most of all a Paston family, amongst the yellow
and dusty archives! Something, however, may still be got together to
give an idea of what the non-political, non-historical Venice was in the
thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.

To begin with, though the Republic never showed much inclination to
submit to any dictation from the popes, the Venetians were a practically
religious people and extremely charitable. With the possible exceptions
of Rome and Florence, no city of Italy possessed at that time so many
hospices for the poor and hospitals for the sick; and considering the
necessary limitations of all philanthropy at that early period, those
institutions were managed and kept up with astonishing intelligence and
care. I have no intention of compiling a catalogue of the buildings in
which old people, invalids, widows, and pilgrims found a temporary or a
permanent refuge, as the case might be; but it is worth while to notice
here and there the sensitive delicacy with which charity was often
exercised, and which seems so little in harmony with the nature of the
more important historical events of the period.

[Sidenote: _Molmenti, Calli e Canali._]

There is something very touching, for instance, in the origin of the Ca’
di Dio--literally, ‘The House of God,’ as the old building is called to
this day. In the year 1272, one of those pious souls that feel the true
and natural intuitions of charity came across that saddest sort of
misery which exists here and there in the world, hiding itself as far as
possible from every eye, and preferring actual starvation and death to
the humiliation of asking alms. These poor people were ladies of good
birth, reduced to a condition in which they positively had neither a
crust to eat nor a place to lay their heads. The charitable person who
found them here and there gathered them at first into a refuge with
other poor women where they could at least live and die in peace, but,
even in the simplicity of those days, he soon understood that it was
moral torture for a starving patrician woman, or the widow of some high
magistrate of the Republic, to share bed and board with the poor widows
of sailors, fishermen, and artisans, and he created for them, out of
sheer delicacy and kindness of heart, a separate refuge in the Ca’ di
Dio, where they could enjoy something more than the illusion of a home,
and where they were at least blessed with that privacy which is almost
the first and last necessity of the well-born.

One is reminded of the rules of that Florentine Confraternity for the
relief of the ‘poor who felt shame,’ a body to which Dante belonged. By
those rules the brethren were bound to give assistance without lifting
the hood that covered their faces, or giving their names, or in any way
betraying their individuality, lest the poor person whom they helped
should be in some degree humiliated. This really exquisite delicacy of
feeling showed itself in the very midst of the worst and fiercest
quarrels of Guelph and Ghibelline, and the rule of the Confraternity
expressly commanded the brothers to help their foes as freely as their
friends, and to be especially careful never to do anything which could
humiliate an enemy in distress.

The chronicles of Florence say nothing of that, and if the Venetian
historians mention the Ca’ di Dio at all, it is only in the most passing
way. But the historical writers of both cities carefully record the
murders, poisonings, and stabbings which brought disaster on their
citizens. Should not a true history of civilisation sometimes count also
the tears that charity has dried and the anguish she has helped to
soothe? The chroniclers abound in accounts of the trials, the sentences,
and the executions of the fourteenth century; they can scarcely spare a
line to tell us how the Doge and many other devout persons heard mass
daily at dawn and recited the Office for the Dead in Saint Mark’s. We

[Sidenote: _Galliccioli, vi. 150._]

know with the utmost exactness the precise number of light ladies who
were living in Venice just then: there were eleven thousand six hundred
and fifty--a respectable, or rather a disreputable, number for a city of
two hundred thousand inhabitants. The quarter of the Castelletto, which
had originally been given over to them, no longer sufficed for their
needs, and they lived very much where they pleased.

[Sidenote: _Bembo, Beneficenza._]

We know these things, but few remember that at that very time a gentle
beseeching voice was heard every evening in the streets and squares of
Venice, crying out ‘Pity, pity!’ It was the voice of a poor monk slowly
pursuing his way under the balconies of the great palaces, and through
the narrower ways where the rich middle class had chosen its abode, for
ever asking alms for the poor little children whom he found nightly
thrust out, new-born, to die in the streets before morning, even as is
done to this day in China. And though it was Venice that cast her
children out to perish thus, yet Venice poured alms into the poor monk’s
hands so abundantly that his labours prospered beyond his highest hopes.
A lady of the Delfini family gave him no less than seventeen houses for
his foundlings, and yet these were not enough; he appealed to the
government for more room; and this same government, which seems in our
view of its history to be for ever deep in politics, in commerce, and
above all in spying upon its own citizens, answered Fra Pieruzzo della
Pietà, as the monk was called, with a decree that has a very human and
tender note in it. It was declared therein that the little foundlings
should bring blessings and fortune to all honest people who would offer
them a home; and whosoever adopted one of the children was thereby
freely licensed to open a shop or to exchange a mean and vulgar
occupation for one of the nobler arts. Besides this, the State settled
upon

[Illustration: A CAMPO]

the Hospice of the Pietà one-half of the fines imposed upon blasphemers,
which amounted to a very large sum.

The religious spirit of Venice in the thirteenth century is reflected
not only in the public charities of the times, but also in the legends
that have come down to us, founded on some small original basis of
truth, concrete or abstract. There is one in particular which it is
impossible to overlook, though it has been told by many writers of all
nations during many hundred years. I mean the story of the little
Countess Tagliapietra.

[Sidenote: _Vita della Contessa Tagliapietra, Anonymous._]

In the year 1288 a noble couple dwelt in their palace, not far from the
home of Bajamonte Tiepolo, the great conspirator, in the central parish
of Saint Agostino, which is one of those most cut up by the numberless
lanes and canals which cross it in all directions. It pleased heaven to
send a little girl child to Count Pier Nicola Tagliapietra and his wife
Elena, one only, but she was of such exquisite beauty and rare
loveliness of character that her parents esteemed themselves more
blessed than those who could boast often stalwart sons. From her
earliest years the child seemed destined to saintliness, and her
chiefest pleasure was to follow her mother to church, for in the
thirteenth century it had not yet become the custom to keep girls
closely shut up at home from year’s end to year’s end.

The title of Countess was unheard of in Venice at that time, and yet
every account of the legend assigns it to the little saint. Her
favourite church was that of San Maurizio, and the little Countess
seized every possible occasion for going there; sometimes she even went
alone, for every one knew her, and she was perfectly safe in the
streets; but in order to get there she was obliged to cross the canal in
a boat--gondolas did not exist in that day. Now her father entertained
ambitious projects for the marriage of his only daughter; and from
having been at first merely surprised by her extreme devoutness, he now
became seriously anxious for her future, and forbade the child to go to
church except on feast-days and with her mother. She replied with quiet
decision that he had no right to impose such a sacrifice upon her, and
she continued going to San Maurizio every day. Her father did not wish
to seem harsh or unkind, and he imagined that he could gain his end by
simply forbidding the boatmen to take her across the canal. Having done
so, and having doubtless enforced his wishes by giving the men money,
Pier Nicola felt perfectly at ease, for he could not see that the girl
had any chance of getting to San Maurizio without a boat.

On the following morning she went down to the ‘traghetto’ as usual, and
called to one of the boatmen. One after the other they all refused to
take her over, explaining that they were acting under her father’s
orders. The little girl looked at them all sweetly with deep and
innocent eyes; then, without the least hesitation, she took off her
little apron, spread it upon the smooth water of the canal, and stepped
upon it securely as if it had been the largest of the boats.

It not only carried her weight, but began to move of its own accord, and
bore her swiftly across to the opposite bank; and when the boatmen and
those who passed by saw what was done they raised a loud cry and praised
God for the miracle they had seen, and it was noised abroad throughout
all the city.

The first consequence seems to have been that a vast number of very
eligible noble youths asked for the young saint in marriage, and her
father had only to choose amongst so many brilliant matches the one
best suited to his taste; but the child steadfastly refused matrimony,
and declared that she would never live in the world. As she grew older
it became harder and harder to sustain the struggle, and at the age of
twenty she daily implored God to deliver her from this wicked world. And
so, indeed, it pleased heaven, for she departed this life on the Feast
of All Saints, in the year 1308. The whole city followed her to the
grave, numberless wax candles were lit before her tomb, and no man dared
to extinguish them. Is not the voice of the people the voice of God? The
clergy would not interfere, and from the day of her death the little
Countess received the title of Beata, and the church of San Vito, where
she was buried, became the goal of constant pilgrimages. It was not
until the sixteenth century that the Church interfered to put limits to
a veneration which had degenerated to a superstition. It was no longer
enough to invoke the prayers and aid of the blessed little Countess; it
had become the custom to open her coffin at stated intervals, and
mothers laid their infant children upon her bones to preserve them from
the danger of drowning.

But now the sepulchre was sealed, the little Countess was officially
admitted to be a saint, and those who should dare to profane her relics
with any superstitious practice were threatened with immediate
excommunication.

Another legend, of a slightly later date, has been gloriously handed
down to us by the genius of Paris

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 143._]

Bordone. On the fifteenth of February 1340 a terrific storm burst upon
the lagoons, lashing the shallow water into foam and howling through the
narrow canals and dark byways of the city. It was late at night when a
poor fisherman, who had narrowly escaped destruction, ran in and began
to moor his boat. He had not finished when three venerable old men, of
majestic countenance, suddenly appeared out of the darkness and
earnestly begged him to take them across the lagoon in the teeth of the
gale. The fisherman hesitated, and was on the point of refusing a
request which seemed most unreasonable; but there was something in the
faces, in the manner, gestures, and tone of the three which imposed
itself upon him in spite of himself. They entered the stern of the
fishing boat, and he shoved off into the rough water, which was close at
hand. The wind howled, the frail skiff rocked as if she would capsize,
the salt spray blinded the poor man as he stood up and bent to his oars
in the Italian fashion, but the presence of the three venerable
strangers gave him superhuman strength to go on.

They were already far out upon the seething water when an appalling
vision burst upon his sight. In the heart of a black squall a great
barge full of fire came flying towards the city, and the fire was full
of demons, and fiery fiends swung red-hot oars that hissed each time
they dipped into the water. The poor fisherman gave himself up for lost
and fell upon his knees, but behind him in the stern of the boat the
three majestic passengers stood upright and made the sign of the cross
with wide and potent gestures; and suddenly the fiery barge stood still
as if she had struck a rock and was thrown into the air, and turning
upside down fell with all her fiery crew hissing into the raging sea,
and all was dark, and suddenly the storm subsided and the moon shone out
between the clouds as on a summer’s night.

[Sidenote: _About 1340._]

[Sidenote: _The fisherman gives the ring to the Doge Gradenigo, Paris
Bordone; Accademia._]

Then said the oldest of the three old men to the fisherman, ‘Take me to
the island of Saint George, for there I dwell.’ And the fisherman put
him ashore there. The second of the old men then said, ‘I am Saint
Nicholas, take me over to the Lido.’ The fisherman set him ashore there,
wondering at his own strength, for it is far. Then said the last, ‘I am
Saint Mark, set me ashore at the Piazza.’ When they were there the
fisherman fell upon his face before the saint, who raised him up and
gave him his blessing, and, moreover, bade him go at once to the Doge,
though it was late, and tell him what he had seen, and to prove that it
was truth and not a dream the saint drew from his finger a ring and gave
it to the fisherman as a token.

The legend has been too often told for me to dwell upon what followed,
but it contrasts characteristically with the tale of the little Countess
Tagliapietra, which is only forty years older, but which still retains
that subtle perfume, that air of peace and light, which belong to the
earlier Venetian legends. The story of the fisherman belongs already to
those nightmare tales of terror which became so very common in Venice
that in the sixteenth century all the popular tales represent devils and
fiends struggling against the supernatural powers of saints. Last of
all, even the saints and demons disappeared, and the degenerate
eighteenth century expressed its love of fiction in a set of ghost
stories as terrifying as any that the human imagination has ever evolved
out of darkness.

Next to all that is connected with religion, that which would do the
most to give a clear idea of the fourteenth century would be the study
of women and their position at that time, but an almost total lack of
documents makes this absolutely impossible. We can learn from old family
papers and carefully preserved accounts what women were, and we may even
to some extent reconstruct the frame of their outward existence; but the
soul of it all escapes us. The story I have told of the little patrician
girl alone stands out to give us some idea of what a spotless child’s
thoughts could be in a city which was even then one of the most perverse
in Europe. But of the many other Venetian ladies whom history mentions
by name we know absolutely nothing, so far as their private lives are
concerned. One dogess after another appears in magnificent garments; but
we feel no more interest in them than if they were so many gorgeous wax
figures, for no one has taken the trouble to tell us whether this one
was beloved or that one hated; whether one was a woman of heart, or
another proud, ambitious, and vain. In most cases we do not even know
their ages. Why should any one care? Each one was ‘the dogess of her
day,’ and that was enough; she was the companion and consort of the
doge, but beyond that, in a state in which the supreme dignity was not
hereditary, her value was purely decorative.

The fourteenth century was not remarkable for much luxury or feminine
display. Among the most characteristic objects used in those times were
the extraordinary clogs, with double heels and enormously high, on which
women went about in order to keep their skirts out of the mud. For the
streets and lanes were not even paved, and there seems to have been no
great effort made to clean them. The principal scavengers seem to have
been the little pigs of the monastery of Saint Anthony of Padua, which
had an official right-of-way about the city, and devoured greedily
whatever the good wives of Venice chose to throw into the streets when
they cleaned out their kitchens. It will easily be understood that clogs
might be useful in such a town. As another illustration of the times,
here is a list of the exiguous outfit provided for a young lady of great
family on her marriage in the year 1300: One bed, two down quilts, two
pillows, four sheets, one coverlet, six silver spoons, one copper pail;
one piece of scarlet stuff long enough to make a bodice, one skirt of
the same material; one skirt of striped stuff, and one trimming for the
said skirt of the price of nine soldi grossi; one skin of a fox; seven
amber beads, one ornament made of pearls, an ornament of gold, a silver
belt and some silver beads.

The display of jewellery on that occasion was certainly not magnificent,
but the list of clothes leaves even more to be desired. The document
explains further and determines precisely how the wedding is to be
conducted, and what it is to cost the family of the bride. The bride,
when she reaches Padua, is to receive twelve soldi grossi for her pocket
money, a like sum to pay for the drums, and the same again for the cook;
but only half as much for the duenna who is to accompany her, and who
rejoices in the high-sounding name of Richadonor, ‘rich in honour’!
Furthermore, forty soldi grossi were to be spent on beef, pork, poultry,
biscuits, apples, birds, eggs, bread, torches, wax candles, and the hire
of boats.

Living was certainly not dear in those days, and we have no means of
calculating the value of the coins used, about which learned men have
fruitlessly quarrelled for generations; we cannot by any means establish
the value of such an outfit, but we can affirm most positively that the
outfit itself bore no resemblance whatever to those provided two
centuries later for brides of the very same family.

[Sidenote: _Galliccioli. vi. 18._]

In this connection it is as well to say that the marriage customs of
Venice had changed considerably during the thirteenth century. It had
become altogether impossible to celebrate all marriages on the same day
of the year in the same church, as was formerly done, and weddings now
took place throughout the year in the different parishes.

An edict of the year 1255 recommends the publication of marriage bans
in Venice, but very little attention was paid to this regulation, and
clandestine

[Illustration: RIO DELLA PANADA]

marriages became one of the great evils of the day. If, for instance,
an unmarried woman of any condition found herself hopelessly in debt,
she had only to marry in order to be safe from any legal action on the
part of her creditors. It was so easy to get the ceremony performed, if
one wished to keep the affair quiet, that it was not even necessary to
go to church. A priest could be sent for to a private house, or even to
an inn, the witnesses heard the necessary words pronounced, the priest
blessed the couple, and the union was irrevocable.

The government took cognisance of the innumerable abuses which resulted
from this manner of proceeding, and a law was passed which would have
introduced a real reform if it had been rigorously enforced. But instead
it was so completely overlooked and forgotten that the archives of the
law-courts a century later teem with amusing anecdotes of such
marriages. The following is a specimen taken from the case of a certain
Dame Caterina of the parish of Saint Gervasio.

One evening, as this good lady was lingering on the threshold of her own
door, a certain Pierin da Trento came by, selling brooms. Having greeted
Dame Caterina, who appears to have been an acquaintance, the man said,
‘Good madam, I pray you find me out some handsome girl.’ Thereupon the
good lady was immediately very angry, and loaded Pierin with the
choicest epithets in the Venetian language, all of which are
scrupulously quoted in the report of the case. Pierin, however,
protested, ‘No, no, Dame Caterina, I did not mean what you think! I am
asking you to find me a nice little wife to whom I will be a model
husband.’ She answered, ‘Well, well, on my faith I will try and find
one for you. Come back to-morrow.’ She immediately thought of a young
girl called Maria who waited upon herself and her daughter. On the
morrow the parties met in the house of Dame Caterina, and one Menego
Moisè, who was there, asked, ‘Maria, does Pietro suit you as a husband
according to the commandments of God and Holy Church?’ She answered,
‘Yes.’ So they took each other by the hand, and all the company sat down
to table with great joy.

This was apparently all that was necessary to make a marriage binding.
It is not even explicitly stated that the man Menego who asked the
ritual question was a priest; but unless we suppose that something like
common-law marriage was legal in Venice, we may take it for granted that
he was.

Of course, in the absence of a divorce law, the chief object of such
summary marriages was that they might be denied, and such cases led to
some lively fencing between the civil and religious authorities.

In spite of these abuses, however, and in spite of the numerous regular
and proper marriages that took place in the parish churches, the old
custom of marrying wholesale on the thirty-first of January had not
fallen wholly into disuse. I shall describe in another place the Feast
of the Maries, instituted to recall the one which had been disturbed
long ago by the Dalmatian pirates, and which was celebrated every year
with the same mixture of simplicity, display, and jollity.

One might get married quietly, with closed doors and without sound of
drum or trumpet, but it was quite impossible to be buried with the same
simplicity and privacy. All the chroniclers of those times have left
accounts of funerals, which remind one very strongly of the East, and
even of ancient Egyptian and Assyrian rites. It was absolutely
indispensable that a husband on the death of his wife, or a wife on the
death of her husband, should exhibit in public the most extravagant
grief. The bereaved widow or widower was expected to scream, to roll
upon the ground, to tear out his or her hair by the handful, to howl and
moan with scarcely a moment’s intermission.

When at last the friends of the dead came to carry away the body, the
frenzied relict was always found stretched upon the threshold of the
house, to prevent the funeral from passing, and had to be dragged out of
the way by main force. The body having been carried out of the house at
last, the whole family followed it to the parish church with screams and
howls, and kept up the same terrific noise during the chanting of the
whole funeral service. This insane custom was so deeply rooted amongst
the people that centuries elapsed before the Church could put it down,
and only threats of excommunication sufficed to prevent the unseemly
interruption of the Office for the Dead. Those who have lived in the far
East, and especially in India, are familiar with such sights. No one who
has heard the lamentations of hired mourners at an Asiatic funeral is
likely to forget the impression he received; but it is hard to
understand such doings amongst the Venetians of the fourteenth century,
and that the poor sometimes even went so far as to expose their dead in
the streets during several days, in order to excite the compassion and
solicit the alms of those who passed by.

[Sidenote: _Schupper, Manuale della Storia del Diritto._]

It is quite certain that slavery was not only common but almost
universal in Venice until the fifteenth century at least. The custom of
keeping household slaves was indeed general throughout Italy in the
Middle Ages, but it was nowhere so deep-rooted as in Venice. Church and
State laboured in vain to put down the traffic and to discourage the
purchase of slaves. In the year 960 the Doge Pier Candiano IV.
threatened with very severe punishments all those who should either
engage in or encourage the slave trade. And at the same time the
patriarch declared himself as follows: ‘Moreover, we and our brother
bishops will excommunicate all those who shall be proved guilty before
the tribunals of the state; they shall be deprived of the sacrament of
the Holy Eucharist; they shall not be allowed to enter any church; and
if they do not repent, they shall burn everlastingly with Judas, who
sold our Lord Jesus Christ.’

The civil and ecclesiastic authorities could not have expressed
themselves in stronger language, but it is clear that their edicts could
not be enforced, for slavery continued to flourish during four centuries
after that time. We have not even the satisfaction of telling ourselves
that it was at last put down by a noble impulse of humanity, since the
most superficial examination proves to us that slavery did not begin to
diminish in Venice until the general depravity of women had brought them
down to the moral level of slaves. That very depravity was itself in
great part produced by the presence of an immense number of Eastern
female slaves, absolutely without any moral sense, and having no object
whatever in life except to extract favours from their masters by making
themselves the willing instruments of every passion and of every vice.
They possessed many means of accomplishing this end, and in particular a
great many of them claimed the secret knowledge of philtres, which would
not only heal every malady, but which could instantly satisfy their
masters’ thirst for love or revenge. They pretended, by means of
incantations, to destroy by degrees the life of an enemy who could not
be safely stabbed or otherwise violently put to death; and in a vast
number of cases the victim actually died, if not by supernatural means,
by subtle poisons administered to him by some slave of his own in
collusion with the witch. Often, too, men and women went suddenly raving
mad from poison thus secretly administered, and remained permanently
insane. This crime was so common that it had a name of its own, and was
called ‘Erbaria.’

[Sidenote: _Mutinelli, Costumi._]

The whole of Venice was undermined by these slave intrigues. The Eastern
woman possesses beyond all others the secret of secrecy. The thousands
of them who lived in Venice were in communication with each other,
helped each other, and could accomplish for their respective masters
almost anything they desired. There was a certain number of male slaves
also, who, though far less astute than the women, often rendered their
owners great services, sometimes to their own destruction; for there are
records of their having been imprisoned, tortured, and hanged instead of
their masters, and sometimes with the latter, for having committed
crimes of which their owners did not wish to take the responsibility.

[Illustration: FONDAMENTA MARCOTTA]

THE FEAST OF THE MARIES

The reader will not have forgotten how the Venetian brides were carried
off by pirates of Narenta towards the middle of the tenth century, in
the reign of Pier Candiano III. When, at a later date, the custom of
celebrating all marriages on the same day of the year and in the same
church was abandoned, the ceremony called ‘the Maries’ was continued
each year in memory of the romantic event.

The brides were replaced by twelve young girls, who were chosen among
the most well-behaved in the city, so that the choice became a sort of
prize of virtue--a ‘Prix Montyon’--and the selection was made with the
utmost care. At that time the city was divided into six wards, each of
which contained thirty ‘contrade,’ or districts. Two of the latter were
named each year to furnish the ‘twelve Maries.’ The headmen of the
districts, who were like police magistrates, called together the people
in the principal open place of the district, and the election began. The
chroniclers do not agree upon the qualities which were required in
candidates; some say that they were all to be noble, some that they were
to be poor, another says that they were the most beautiful. There is
only one point upon which all agree: their behaviour was required to be
perfect.

The twelve Maries having been chosen, the meeting proceeded to elect the
twelve nobles at whose houses the young girls were to be entertained.
These personages were to be of the same district, or were at least to
live in the immediate vicinity; and it was no sinecure to fulfil this
office of hospitality. The district spent from eight hundred to a
thousand ducats in decorating the streets and houses, and the boats that
conveyed the Maries; and the patrician whose ill-luck had designated him
as one of the patrons was obliged to make such a display and to furnish
such a magnificent banquet in honour of the girl he was supposed to
protect, and such a reception for the inhabitants of the whole
district, that his pocket suffered severely, and he was obliged to
economise for some time afterwards. It often happened that there were
not so many as twelve rich nobles living in the district, and in that
case matters were arranged by giving two Maries to one, who was thus
condemned to a double expenditure, if not to actual ruin, for the
greater glory of patriotic institutions. However, as time went on, the
State was moved by such misfortunes, which were not really justified by
any serious necessity, and the Great Council voted that the Doge should
exercise a certain control over the election of the Maries and their
official protectors. By this means it became possible for a noble in
poor circumstances to pass on the burden of the feast to some richer
man. It was further decided that the procurators of Saint Mark should be
authorised to lend on security, to the districts and to the patrons
chosen, all the jewels from the treasure of the basilica, with which to
adorn the attire of the twelve young girls. These jewels consisted of
numerous necklaces and diadems of immense value, and the fact that they
were lent for such an occasion proves the great importance which the
Venetians attached to the festivity. For the time being the Republic
behaved as if it had fallen in love with the maidens whose part was to
recall to memory the stolen brides of old. On one occasion it is
recorded that no less than 72,000 ducats were expended on the feast.

By far the most interesting and charmingly simple account of the feast
is that left by a certain Martin da

[Sidenote: _Arch. Stor. Ital. Series I., vol. viii._]

Canal, written in a dialect half French and half Provençal. It describes
the Feast of the Maries in the second half of the twelfth century, when
Ranier Zeno was Doge; and though a few modifications were afterwards
introduced in the ceremonial, this account continues to be quite the
most accurate that has come down to us. The only way of accounting for
its having been written in the Provençal tongue is that the latter was
the language of polished society in that age. Here is an attempt to
translate it as simply and accurately as possible:--

I shall now tell you about the festival which the Venetians hold on
the last day of January, to wit, in remembrance of how our Lord St.
Mark came to Venice; and of the beautiful festival which the
Venetians hold in reverence of our Lady St. Mary. You must know
that the Lord Doge has divided the districts of Venice into thirty
parts, two districts to each part. Now on the eve of our Lord St.
Mark a company of young gentles come by water, and when they have
reached the palace they land and hand their banners to little boys,
and go two by two before the church of our Lord St. Mark; and after
them come trumpeters, and after them again young gentles who carry
silver dishes loaded with confectionery, and with them are brought
vessels of silver, full of wine, and cups of gold and silver
carried by more young nobles, and last of all come clerks singing,
dressed in their copes of velvet and gold, and they all together go
as far as the church of St. Mary, which is called Formosa; and they
find women and maidens in great numbers, and present them with the
confectionery and with wine to drink....

So far I have told you of the eve, and now I shall tell you of the
day of our Lord St. Mark.

You must know, sirs, that on the last day of January is the feast
and double procession, when come youths and men of age to the
palace of our Lord the Doge by water; and they get out upon the dry
land, and give more than one thousand banners to little children,
and send them before them two and two to the church of our Lord St.
Mark; and after them come the older children carrying in their
hands more than a hundred crosses of silver; and afterwards come
the clergy, all dressed in copes of velvet and gold; and trumpets
and cymbals; and a clerk comes in the midst of the company, dressed
in a cloth all of gold damask, after the manner of the Virgin, our
Lady St. Mary; and that clerk is placed upon a very richly
ornamented chair, which is carried by four men on their shoulders;
and before him, and on each side, the standards of gold, and the
clerks go singing in the procession. While they are thus going,
three clerks come out of the procession, and where they see our
Lord the Doge at the windows of his palace, in company with noble
Venetians, they go up to a platform singing with a loud voice, and
they all sing as follows:--‘Christ is King. Christ reigns!’ ‘To our
Lord Ranier Zeno, by the grace of God Doge of Venice, Dalmatia, and
Croatia, and ruler of the fourth part and one-half a fourth part of
all the empire of the Romans, health, long life, and victory!’ ‘St.
Mark, help thou him!’ When the praises are finished they come down
from the platform, and our Lord the Doge causes to be thrown down
to them a quantity of his medals, and they return into the
procession with the rest who have meanwhile been waiting for them;
and then comes forward a clerk who wears a crown of gold, and is
richly attired after the manner of the Holy Virgin, as I have told
you; and when he is very near our Lord the Doge he greets him, who
returns his greeting, and then those who carry him on their
shoulders go forward, and the procession follows them, and they go
their way into the church of our Lady St. Mary, and wait there
until those of the other district have also entered. Now these
others come in the manner which I have explained, with banners,
crosses, and priests, and cause three clerks to sing the same
praises of our Lord the Doge, as did the others, and our Lord the
Doge causes medals to be thrown down to them. You must know our
Lord the Doge is dressed in cloth of gold, and has a crown of gold
upon his head; and in order to see the procession, which is made in
honour of our Lady, there are present the nobles of Venice, all the
people, and a great number of ladies and maidens, and there are
many of them both in the streets and at the windows of the palaces.

When the three clerks have sung the praises of the Lord Doge, in
the same manner in which those who came first had done, they go on
in procession again, and another clerk comes forward, who sits upon
a seat most richly adorned, in the dress of an angel, and he is
carried on the shoulders of four men. When he is near our Lord Doge
he salutes him, and the Lord Doge returns his salute; and then they
go on in the procession, and the clerks go on singing. [It is
amusing to note that until 1328 the priests who figured as the
Madonna and the angel rose in the presence of the Doge, but this
was discontinued from that date as improper.] You must know that
both clerks and laymen have good ‘ramarri’ (?) and they go until
they enter the church of our Lady St. Mary. When the priest who is
arrayed to resemble the angel has entered into the church and sees
the other who is arrayed to resemble the Virgin Mary, he stands up
and says as follows: ‘Hail, Mary, full of grace! The Lord is with
thee. Blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy
womb. Thus saith the Lord.’ And the priest who is arrayed to
resemble our Lady answers and says, ‘How can this be, oh thou angel
of God, since I know not a man?’ And the angel answers, ‘The Holy
Spirit descends in thee. Oh, Mary, fear nothing, thou shalt
conceive the Son of God.’ And she answers and says, ‘Behold the
handmaiden of the Lord. Let it be with me according to Thy word.’

What shall I tell you? After these words they leave the church and
go to their own houses, and after they have eaten, the people, men
and women, go into the districts that have made these processions,
and they find in twelve houses the twelve Maries, so beautifully
arrayed as is a wonder to see. Each one has a crown of gold with
precious stones upon her head, and they are dressed in cloth of
gold, and on their robes there are precious stones and pearls
without number. The ladies and maidens sit around them, very richly
dressed, and the men present their friends with confectionery to
eat and with wine to drink. And on the following day they make
other feasts in their twelve houses. And our Lord the Doge wears
the crown of gold on the eve of our Lady, as he wears it at
Pentecost, and after vespers he returns to the palace in the same
manner in which he came. On our Lady’s day, the second of February,
each of the two districts which give the beautiful and rich
festival, as I have narrated, prepare six great barges, and have
them rowed to the head of the city, exactly where the Bishop of
Venice lives; these six barges are very richly draped with cloth of
gold and carpets. And then ladies and maidens are taken on board
four of them, very richly habited, and they put the Maries in the
midst, and in another barge go forty men well armed, with their
drawn swords in their hands; and in another go the clerks arrayed
with the richest treasures of the Church. Then comes the Bishop,
and gives his benediction, and when he has blessed them they all
return into their barges, and the Bishop goes with them, with two
abbots in their great barges, so richly dressed, and they are all
arrayed in copes of cloth of gold. The Lord Bishop has his canons
in his company, and the two abbots have their monks. Then the
barges set forth from the palace of the Lord Bishop, adorned as I
told you, and they meet upon their way two magnificent barges,
which are to be for the same festival next year. They all go thus
before the church of our Lord St. Mark, and there they drop anchor,
and lie to wait for the coming of our Lord the Doge. When the
Bishop and the two abbots have come to the shore they go out upon
dry land with all their company, and go together into the church of
our Lord St. Mark, and find our Lord the Doge at mass; and after
mass they come back to the barges. The Lord Doge comes under the
umbrella, with the Bishop by him on one side and the senior canon
on his other side, and both the abbots before them. The Doge is
crowned with gold, and the Bishop wears his mitre, and the abbots,
the chaplains, and the canons go singing in procession; the
trumpets and the cymbals go before every one, and the crosses
afterwards. In this manner the Lord Doge goes as far as his great
barge, and enters it with the nobility of Venice, and his Judge is
beside him, and behind him is placed in the ship he who carries the
Doge’s sword. When our Lord Doge has entered the great ship in
company with the nobility of Venice, and of many honourable men, he
sits down between the senior canon and his Judge, and they sit down
upon the barge; and the Bishop and the two abbots enter their
barges; then the men of the barges weigh anchor, and they go to the
other end of the city, and you must know that the city is very
long, a league and a half, or more. But if you were there, sirs,
you might well see the water covered with boats, full of men and
women who follow, of whom you must know that you could never tell
the number. And in the windows of the palaces and on the banks
there is a throng of ladies and maidens, as many as there are in
all the city, and so richly dressed that you could see none finer.
With such joy and festivity they go to the other end of the city,
and then return to their own districts, and the Lord Doge with all
his company returns to his palace, and finds the tables set, and he
eats with all those who have been with him.

It is worth noting that in the fourteenth century the Doge’s vessel was
no longer called the principal barge, but the Bucentaur, the name being
probably, as some say, derived from ‘Buzeus aureus,’ and so called in
some documents. It was a rich vessel, adorned with carvings, stuffs,
carpets, and paintings. Up to 1311 it was not rowed, but was towed by
another boat, which was draped and rowed by men of Murano; but after
that year it had its own rowers.

[Sidenote: _G. R. Michiel, Origini._]

It is easy to understand that such a festival as Martin da Canal
describes might be the ruin of more than one great house, and it cost
even the State enormous sums, which is one reason why it was not always
celebrated with equal magnificence. In 1350, when the plague had greatly
reduced the budget, it was decided to substitute painted wooden statues
for the twelve young girls, but the public strongly opposed this
innovation. The recollection of these wooden dolls has never been wholly
effaced; it is still common in Venice to call a woman who is thin, cold,
stupid, and pretentious, ‘a wooden Mary.’

The feast was given up at the end of the fourteenth century, at the time
of the final struggle with Genoa. The treasury was empty, and excessive
anxiety kept the public spirits in a state of nervous tension; moreover,
the age of the ideal Venetian woman was past, and she no longer inspired
profound and chivalrous devotion as in the old days when she had been
more modest, more retiring, and more gentle.

Of all that splendid show and pageant nothing remained but the Doge’s
visit to the church of Santa Maria Formosa, and his largess of small
coins to the street boys at the moment of loosing the line with which
the rector of the church pretended to bar the way to the bridge.

[Illustration: THE ABBAZZIA]

THE DOGES IN THE EARLY PART OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY

Pietro Gradenigo reigned twenty-two years, during a very eventful
period. In 1298 he had placed the aristocratic supremacy on a permanent
basis, and a few months later he crushed the sedition of Marin Bocconio;
eight years afterwards he put down the much more dangerous insurrection
of Tiepolo and the Quirini; but he was less fortunate abroad than at
home, and his foreign policy resulted in the wholesale excommunication
of the Venetian people and government, as the direct consequence of the
attempt to annex Ferrara, a step which had also led to the organisation
of the Tiepolo conspiracy. When Gradenigo died the papal interdict was
still in full force.

The forty-one patricians who were to elect his successor were duly
chosen and shut up in the ducal palace, though not yet with any great
precautions to prevent them from communicating with their friends. They
understood well enough that the interests of the State required a Doge
whose genuine piety should move the Pope to forgiveness; such a man was
found in the senator Stefano Giustiniani, and in a short time the
majority of votes was in his favour. He was not only a man of
irreproachable life, but also a first-rate statesman, and he was
personally well known and liked in Rome, where he had once resided as
Venetian ambassador. The choice was a good one, but the patrician was
too virtuous, or too wise, or both, to accept the supreme office at such
a moment, foreseeing clearly that his conscience and reputation would be
simultaneously at stake, and in such a way that to save the one would
probably have been to imperil the other.

He had long nourished the hope of retiring from the world, and when he
knew that he was elected he lost no time in carrying out his pious
design. Instead of going from his house to the ducal palace, he
disappeared within the doors of the monastery of Saint George, and on
the same day put on the habit and took the obligations of a novice.

The stupefaction and embarrassment of the electors may be imagined; it
was perhaps within the powers of the all-powerful government to drag
Giustiniani from the refuge of his cell, and to place him by force upon

[Illustration: CAMPO S. MARIA]

the ducal throne, but such a course would certainly not have improved
the relations of the Republic with the Pope, a result which had been the
sole object of the election. On the other hand, it seemed impossible
even to agree upon the names of candidates, in order to proceed to an
election. The electors fell into a state of apathy of which there is
probably no example in history; they moved about in an objectless way,
talking listlessly of anything that occurred to them; they even lingered
at the open windows of the palace, to watch the people passing in the
street.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 83._]

As they looked down, they saw an aged nobleman slowly walking toward the
postern gate of the prisons, followed by a servant who carried a big
sack of bread, so full that the loaves protruded from the open mouth. It
was Marin Zorzi, a charitable and devout person, on his way to
distribute food to the poor prisoners. He was the very man. Before he
had left the prisons, he was elected Doge.

Unhappily this hasty choice did not improve matters. An old chronicler
sums up in a few words the short reign that followed: Zorzi lived ten
months, during which he never saw the sea calm nor the sun without
clouds. All that remained to mark his reign was an asylum for poor
children, the earliest foundation of the kind in the world.

In less than a year, therefore, another election took place, and as the
experiment of looking out of the palace windows in the hope of seeing
the right man pass in the street had been a failure, the electors were
shut up, windows and balcony doors were closely sealed, and the
forty-one were driven to look at each other. In a short time they
elected Giovanni Soranzo by a considerable majority.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 89, 103, and notes._]

So far as I can ascertain, he was born in 1240, and was therefore about
seventy-one years old in 1311; but the longevity of the Venetian nobles
was always remarkable, and he was destined to reign seventeen years. He
had rendered the Republic very eminent service on more than one
occasion, and was a man of astounding activity. To mention only a few
incidents of his busy life, in its later years, he had commanded a fleet
of twenty-five galleys against the Genoese when already fifty-six years
old, had taken possession of the port of Caffa and had defended it
during a whole winter against the combined attacks of the Genoese and
the Tartars, and had captured a goodly number of richly laden Genoese
vessels. On his return to Venice he had been received with honours
resembling those of a triumph, and had soon found himself in arms again,
but on land this time, against Padua first, and then against Ferrara,
which he had already governed as Podestà. When at last recalled to
Venice he had occupied the important position of a procurator of Saint
Mark, from which post he was elected Doge to succeed Marin Zorzi.

Soranzo was undeniably one of the most illustrious men elected to the
Dogeship in the course of its existence of exactly eleven hundred years.
It is enough to say that he reconciled the Republic with the Pope, and
reconquered Dalmatia; and that, in spite of the vast sums of money which
both these undertakings cost, he protected and developed Venetian
manufacture and commerce so diligently as to increase the public wealth
instead of diminishing it. It was during his reign that the weaving of
silk stuffs in Venice reached a perfection hitherto undreamt of,
surpassing, according to the taste of the day, the fabrics of the Levant
and driving them out of the market. Under Soranzo the glass-works of
Murano produced mirrors that outdid the very best that could be made in
Germany, for clearness and brilliancy. At the same time, the Arsenal of
Venice was greatly extended by the addition of new basins, windmills
were set up all over the islands, many like improvements, then modern,
were introduced, a general condition of ease and well-being extended
through all classes, and the population increased more quickly than ever
before. The State could count forty thousand men between the ages of
twenty and sixty years who were able to bear arms. For a silver ducat a
man could buy enough meat and flour to support him for a week, with as
much wine as he needed, and wood to cook with and to warm him.

So Giovanni Soranzo reigned in success and plenty and honour to the very
end of his long life. Yet in all those seventeen years he cannot have
counted one day truly happy, and many must have been profoundly saddened
by the knowledge of his own daughter’s sufferings in her captivity at
the convent of the Vergini. Time and again she poured out her heart to
him, in letters which he was not even allowed to answer without
permission of his counsellors, and probably of the recently elected
Council of Ten; and the old captain, whose commanding voice had been
heard above many storms at sea, and many a fight on land, had to humble
himself before the Power, and humbly beg a little sunshine, an hour’s
liberty, for the daughter he adored.

They saw each other rarely enough for a long time. It was not till the
great old man’s strength was breaking down beneath the weight of nearly
ninety years that his daughter was allowed to leave her prison more
frequently that she might tend him and cheer his declining days. He died
in her arms in the end, on the last day of December in the year 1328,
eighty-eight years old; and the unhappy woman must have found some small
comfort in the universal grief that rose to meet her own. She went back
to her cell; but the body of the great Doge was laid out in a hall of
the palace, dressed in the mantle of state and the ducal cap. He was
borne thence to Saint Mark’s, whither the Dogess had gone before with
her ladies, and when the last requiem had been sung Giovanni Soranzo was
laid in the chapel of the baptistery. His simple tomb bears the arms of
his family and little else that tells of his glory, as all may see to
this day.

The great bell had scarcely ceased to toll for him, when it rang out the
summons to elect his successor, and the Council met to this end. But
Soranzo’s reign had made changes, which, as they came gradually, were
not noticed, but which were plain enough now that a new Doge was to be
chosen. Prosperity had increased vastly, and with it luxury, and the
magnificence of all that represented the Republic’s power. Soranzo had
been very rich, but his successor might be poor. Soranzo had filled the
ducal palace with his own plate, his own array of servants and footmen,
and all his rich belongings. Ambassadors had come and gone, and had seen
how the Doge lived; it might not be that they should come again, and
find a poor man living under the same roof, dining off earthenware
dishes and served by a few threadbare retainers. Venice had many faults,
and Venice, as a city, loved money, but Venice, the Republic, was never
sordid, nor miserly, nor mean. Before the Council elected the next Doge,
a large provision was settled upon his office for ever; his salary was
increased from four thousand ducats to five thousand two hundred, which
is far more, considering the value of money, than the President of the
United States receives to-day; the ducal palace was amply furnished with
vessels of gold and silver; it was made a rule that the Doge was
henceforth to keep five-and-twenty servants, neither more nor less, and
that each should have two new liveries every year. In case the new
sovereign should not have ready means at hand to defray the expenses of
his coronation and of his change of domicile, it was decreed that a loan
(for business was business) of three thousand lire should be placed at
his disposal out of State funds; and, finally, a jeweller was ordered to
make a very rich crown, which the Doge was to wear on great occasions,
and which was to be in the keeping of the procurators of Saint Mark.

When Soranzo had been elected, an ancient custom still prevailed by
which the population was allowed to joyously plunder the house of the
new Doge of all it contained that was movable, precisely as the
populace of Rome plundered the house of the cardinal who was elected
Pope, until a much later date. This half-civilised practice was now
forbidden in Venice under heavy penalties.

All this was agreed upon, set down and made law, before beginning the
process of balloting by which the forty-one electors of the Doge were
chosen.

Their choice fell upon Francesco Dandolo, the skilful diplomatist by
whose efforts Clement V. had been induced to remove the excommunication
of Venice, and the enthusiasm of the people on learning the result was
in proportion to what they had suffered during the period of the
interdict, not yet forgotten. The multitude moved with one will towards
his dwelling, and were for carrying him in triumph to the ducal palace;
but he strongly protested against any such show, though the throng
pressed upon him on his way to Saint Mark’s. There he knelt before the
high altar and received the investiture of his high dignity, and took
the oath of fidelity before the headmen of the districts as
representatives of the people of the city and of all the Venetian
territory. Himself bearing the standard of Saint Mark in his right hand,
he entered the ducal palace, ascended the great staircase--not yet the
‘Giants’ Staircase’ of our time--and on the highest step took oath to
observe all the obligations contained in the ‘Ducal Promise.’ The senior
member of his own Council made a solemn acknowledgment of this oath, and
the people listened in breathless silence to Dandolo’s short but
brilliant speech, breaking out in

[Illustration: THE PULPIT, ST. MARK’S]

renewed and yet more enthusiastic applause when he had finished.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 109._]

During the following days festivities were organised for the coronation
of the Dogess, much more various and of longer duration than those which
greeted her husband’s elevation to the throne. In older times, when the
head of the Republic still possessed real power, his wife played no
official part in State ceremonies. She lived as before, and the Doge
could retire to her apartments and be in his home as if he were a
private person, much as the modern Turk takes refuge in his harem. At
most, the Dogess, as the first matron of the city, might outdo other
patrician women in assisting public and private charities; but when the
Doge’s personal authority was almost gone, and he was required, in a
degree, to compensate its loss by a certain amount of display and
ceremony, intended to please the people and impose upon the
representatives of foreign powers, the presence and influence of a woman
became temporarily necessary. The Dogess then received a court of her
own, and was required to wear a special dress, and for her a complete
ceremonial was devised, from which she could not withdraw herself
without incurring the displeasure of her husband and of the State
itself.

From the moment when the joyful multitude pressed to the doors of
Dandolo’s palace, his wife remained within, according to the new laws of
conduct laid down for her. Then came the High Chancellor, as
representative of the people, and the Doge’s six counsellors, to
present their congratulations and to ‘request’--or require--her strict
observance of such clauses in the Ducal Promise as directly concerned
herself. When these personages withdrew, she presented each with a
magnificent gold-embroidered purse.

[Sidenote: _Molmenti, Dogaressa, 123._]

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 109 sqq._]

A few days later, when all was ready for the ceremony, they came to
fetch her with the Bucentaur, and in her honour was renewed the
spectacle which had been given half a century earlier for the wife of
Lorenzo Tiepolo. The vast and splendid barge had but a few times its own
length to move from Dandolo’s palace to the landing of the Piazzetta. An
immense crowd was gathered there, from the borders of the canal to the
door of the Basilica, a sufficient space being kept open in its midst
for the display of the Dogess’s pageant.

The guilds of the arts and trades had been privileged to escort the wife
of Lorenzo Tiepolo to the church: first the blacksmiths with flying
banner; then the merchants of fur, dressed in their richest garments and
most priceless sables, and wearing ermines fit for an emperor; the
weavers next, singing at the top of their voices to the music of
trumpets and cymbals, and bearing both silver cups and flagons full of
wine. After the weavers the tailors came in the dress of their trade
guild, white robes embroidered with red stars; and the wool-merchants
bore olive branches in their hands and had crowns of olive leaves on
their heads; also the makers of quilts and coverlets were crowned with
gold beads, and wore on their shoulders white cloaks embroidered with
fleur-de-lis; and there

[Illustration: S. LORENZO]

were the sellers of cloth of gold, and the shoemakers, the mercers, the
pork-butchers, the glass-blowers, the jewellers and the barbers, all
displaying the rich and fantastic costumes of their guilds in the great
procession, a very splendid sight.

Thus escorted the Dogess entered Saint Mark’s, and knelt at the high
altar, and before she went away she deposited thereon an offering of ten
ducats. Then she was led to the throne-room of the palace and took her
seat beneath a canopy beside her husband the Doge. The ceremony ended
with a huge and sumptuous banquet, to which were invited all the heads
of the guilds who had appeared in the procession.

Francesco Dandolo was a man of wit and of many resources. It is related,
though without serious proof, that he had moved Clement V. to pity by
appearing, as ambassador, in a penitent’s dress, and wearing an iron
collar, weeping and moaning, and remaining prostrate at the pontiff’s
feet. It has even been said that one or more of the cardinals kicked him
as he lay there, called him a dog, and otherwise insulted him; but that
he bore all patiently for his country’s sake. One authority explains,
however, that the nickname of ‘dog,’ or ‘watch-dog,’ had been bestowed
upon his family long before that time, as ‘Cane,’ dog, and ‘Mastino,’
mastiff, were actually used as baptismal names in the great family of
Scala.

He reigned ten years, with fortune good and evil, but chiefly good. More
than once, in his time, the safety of the State was gravely menaced, but
all ended well, and the sum of his administration was a gain to Venice.

Since the beginning of the fourteenth century the

[Illustration: THE CHAPEL OF ST. MARK’S]

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 115_]

city of Padua had been a prey to faction and internal strife. The
aristocratic party fought for the family of the Scala, while the
citizens and people were devoted to the house of Carrara. By turns the
two families got the advantage and held the power, but the Carrara were
really the stronger, for the Venetians helped them, on the ground that
one of them, Jacopo, had married a daughter of the Doge Pietro
Gradenigo.

At last Cane della Scala made a sort of alliance with his rivals, and
having got the mastery in several other cities, installed Marsilio
Carrara in Padua as his lieutenant and representative. Had Cane della
Scala lived this might have worked well enough; on his unexpected death,
his sons began to contrive how they should get rid of Marsilio; but they
lacked skill and decision, and could neither conceal their intentions
nor agree upon definite action. To make matters worse, one of them,
Alberto della Scala, became madly enamoured of the wife of Albertino
Carrara, and when every means failed to seduce her, took her to himself
by brutal violence. After this outrage, the thirst for vengeance drove
the Carrara further than mere ambition could have done.

The crimes of the Scala, no less than their miserable weakness in all
political matters, had excited the profound resentment of Venice, of
Florence, of Lucca, and of the Gonzaga and Este families; war was
declared, and it was not long before the lords of Padua were reduced to
extremities. Though they had always maintained a haughty bearing
towards Venice, they now attempted a reconciliation, and chose as their
intermediary Marsilio di Carrara, whom they believed to be a traitor to
his own family and devoted to their interests, and for whom the Republic
had always shown a certain partiality, appreciating him, no doubt, at
his true value, and anticipating the time when he might be useful.

But Marsilio, like every other Carrara, dreamt only of revenge upon the
Scala. At a great public spectacle he was seated by the Doge. ‘What will
you give,’ he asked in a quick whisper, ‘to him who places Padua in your
hands?’ ‘The city itself,’ answered Francesco Dandolo without the
slightest hesitation. The unsigned treaty of betrayal was agreed upon in
those few whispered words, and was executed to the letter and at once.
Padua was taken by the Venetians and handed over to the Carrara under a
sort of agreement from which each of the allies derived some advantage,
and there was an exchange of high-flown speeches, amongst which that of
the Venetian Loredano recommended the most serene Republic’s new
favourites to behave with great goodness to her subjects, and to exhibit
much gratitude towards her. On his side Marsilio begged that her ‘kind
offices’ might be continued to him and his.

The consequences of this treaty were soon clear. Venice nominally gave
Padua over to the Carrara in order to obtain the annexation of Treviso,
which was much more important to her, and Alberto della Scala was not
set at liberty till he had ceded the latter city to the Republic.

At the death of Francesco Dandolo, one naval battle lost to the Genoese
represented Venice’s loss during the reign; her gain was an extension of
territory of immense value; the whole result was to involve the Republic
in intrigues which very nearly led to her destruction.

[Sidenote: _Muratori Scrip. xvii. 32._]

At the very end of Dandolo’s reign, according to a strange story told by
Gabaro., a half-comic, half-dramatic incident occurred which showed well
enough that the ‘kind offices’ of the Republic and the ‘goodness’ of the
Carrara were not destined to last for ever. Marsilio was dead and
Ubertino Carrara held Padua as his successor. Before long he was
denounced by certain Venetian senators as a traitor and a secret enemy
to the Republic. The words were reported to him, and he resolved to make
sure, at any hazard, that they should not be repeated. Incredible as it
may seem, he caused the senators who had accused him to be seized by
night in Venice itself, gagged and bound, and at once brought before him
in Padua.

He threatened them at first with instant death, then allowed himself to
be mollified by their entreaties, and finally dismissed them with a
warning. If they ever raised their voices against him in the Senate
again, or if they breathed one word of their nocturnal adventure, he
would have them stabbed without mercy. They promised, and they kept
their word; from that time forward no attack was made upon Ubertino
Carrara in the Senate, the story of their forcible abduction remained a
profound secret, which was not revealed until many years afterwards,
when one of the Carrara’s henchmen, who had helped to carry off the
senators, lay dying and confessed his share in the bold deed.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 142._]

Dandolo was succeeded by Bartolommeo Gradenigo, during whose reign there
were constant relations between the Republic and England, the latter
continually soliciting the aid of Venice against Philip VI. of France,
who was helped by the Genoese. Gradenigo did not fail to express
gratitude to King Edward III. for the thankful anticipation of an
assistance which was never forthcoming, and took no steps to induce the
Senate to listen to England’s tempting proposals. The king hoped to
obtain from Venice forty ships of war, fully manned and equipped; but
Venice either doubted his ability to pay, or was scared by the
triumphant progress of the Turks in the Levant, which required her to
act sentinel to Europe against the Mohammedan advance, and therefore to
keep all her naval resources well in hand and ready for war; and,
moreover, she was engaged in continual fighting in Candia (Crete), which
was an unceasing drain upon her resources.

[Sidenote: _1346. Zara taken back from the Hungarians, Tintoretto; Sala
dello Scrutinio._]

At this critical time, when the position of Venice was by slow and sure
degrees becoming one of great danger, the Doge died, and the great
Andrea Dandolo was elected in his stead. Under the leadership of a less
gifted and brave man, the ship of the Republic might well have foundered
in the storm that broke over her. The King of Hungary disputed with
Venice for Zara and the territory that belonged to it; the Genoese were
exasperated in the highest degree by the commercial success of the
Venetians in the East; the

[Illustration: RIO S. STIN]

Pope was angry with the Republic because its government would not make
obligatory the payment of tithes to the bishops. These were but a few
of the half-grown troubles that were rapidly growing to maturity when
the plague broke out in 1348 and devastated Italy from Genoa in the
north, where forty thousand persons died, to Sicilian Trapani, where not
one soul survived the universal death. In six months Venice lost more
than half her population.

Boccaccio has left a description of the pest in Florence which is the
greatest masterpiece of the kind ever produced by a great writer’s pen;
for his story fills us with horrow, with pity, with sadness, but never
arouses our disgust. The sufferings of Venice in those same six months
have found neither poet nor novelist to describe them, but her careful
chroniclers have left us the details of the defence she made against the
ravages of the sickness, and of the medicines used in the attempt to
save life.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 156._]

As soon as the first cases of the plague had proved beyond doubt that it
had crossed the lagoons and reached the city, the Council appointed
three nobles, designated as ‘Wise Men of the Plague,’ with power to take
all possible measures to stop the spreading of the contagion. Their
first decree forbade the poor to expose the bodies of their dead in the
street in order to obtain alms. A separate burial-place was marked out
and consecrated for the free burial of the victims of the disease. The
port was closed, and sentinels were placed all along the outer shore of
the islands to hinder all outsiders from landing or from introducing
suspicious merchandise.

[Illustration: A RAINY NIGHT, THE RIALTO]

[Sidenote: _Cecchetti, Medicina._]

[Sidenote: _A. Baschet, souvenirs._]

[Sidenote: _Mutinelli, Less._]

The physicians were at that time already organised in a guild of their
own, and received from the State a modest yearly stipend of three
hundred lire of ‘piccoli,’ about £50. They were now ordered to visit
diligently both the hospitals and private houses, and a formal inquiry
was made into the resources of the public apothecary, whose place was
near the Rialto at the sign of the Golden Head. It was most important to
ascertain whether there was a sufficient supply of ‘Teriaca,’ a medicine
which, in the opinion of all Venetians, could not fail to cure the
plague or any other sickness. The recipe for it, they believed, had come
down from a Greek called Andromachos, and required a mixture of aromatic
herbs, amber, and other ingredients, which were imported at great
expense from distant Eastern countries. The State itself superintended
the concoction of this universal panacea, lest its quality should in the
least deteriorate, and lest the great reputation acquired for it
throughout Europe should suffer. No stranger who could afford to buy it
left Venice without taking at least a small supply, and so great were,
or are, its virtues that it is made to this day, and sold at the same
sign.

But, to the stupefaction of the three ‘Wise Men of the Plague,’ Teriaca
would not cure the malady, and even the sensible precautions of
quarantine which they had taken came too late to be of any use. The
malady was raging, and ran its fearful course to the terrible end. Fifty
noble families were completely destroyed, not leaving one of the name.
It was only with difficulty that a meeting of the Great Council could be
got together, and the Council of Forty was reduced to twenty members. In
a few weeks Venice presented the aspect of a pestilent desert; and when
at last the pest wore itself out, it was necessary to bring in from
neighbouring provinces a great number of families, upon whom all those
privileges were bestowed at once which were generally accorded only in
consideration of some service to the Republic, or after a prolonged
residence in Venetian territory.

The selection of the immigrants was conducted with the greatest
prudence, and it may easily be believed that the great influx of new and
energetic blood, of the same descent, was of vast benefit to the city
and the Republic. It may even be asked whether, without this wholesome
sifting and renewing of her people, Venice could have performed the
prodigies of courage and endurance which not long afterwards turned the
tide of the Chioggia war.

Andrea Dandolo did not long survive these events. Worn out with facing
the storm, with fighting enemies by land and sea abroad, and pestilence
at home, he died when barely fifty years of age, leaving to posterity
the precious manuscript of his history, which has even now not been
entirely published. His Chronicle is one of the richest sources of
information for the history of the fourteenth century.

Dandolo was succeeded by Marino Faliero.

[Illustration: DOOR OF THE TREASURY, ST. MARK’S]

[Illustration: ZATTERE, THE MORNING MIST]

CONSPIRACY OF MARINO FALIERO

The conspiracy of Bocconio has no very distinct character; it was
neither an attempt at popular revolution, nor an effort on the part of
the burghers against the people on the one hand and the aristocracy on
the other. The outbreak under the leadership of Tiepolo and the Quirini,
although they succeeded in giving it the appearance of a democratic
movement, was in reality an attempt on the part of an ambitious noble to
seize the power wielded by the Doge Pietro Gradenigo, a man perhaps as
ambitious as Tiepolo himself, but who at all events had been regularly
elected to be the head of the Republic. The third conspiracy of which we
find an account during the fourteenth century was undoubtedly meant to
overthrow the government, and to gather into one hand the whole of that
authority which belonged equally to all members of the same class. The
conspiracy of the Doge Marino Faliero has been related in many ways--as
a romance, as a poem, as an instance of political passion, but very
generally without a careful consideration of the facts. Most writers
represent the old Doge as driven to betray his country by outrageous
calumnies against his wife, invented by some youths of the aristocracy.
Others, like Byron, believe that he wished to free his country from the
petty tyranny and real oppression it suffered under the complicated
system of councils:--

We will renew the times of truth and justice,
Condensing in a fair, free commonwealth,
Not rash equality, but equal rights.

In his dramatic upholding of what he believed the truth, Byron was so
far carried away as to cause the Doge to be decapitated in 1355 on the
steps of the ‘Giants’ Staircase,’ which was not constructed until 1485,
between the two colossal statues set up there by Jacopo Sansovino in
1554. A careful examination of historical documents would seem to
destroy almost altogether the common version of the tragedy.

[Sidenote: _Lazzarini, Marin Falier in Arch. Veneto._]

Marino Faliero was born between 1280 and 1285, the son of Marco Faliero
and Beriola Loredan. He belonged to the Falieri of the Santi Apostoli,
so called from the name of the district in which they lived, to
distinguish them from the Falieri who lived in other parts of the city,
some of whom did not belong to the same family, and were not even
nobles. He was called Marino Junior, in order not to confuse him with an
uncle of the same name, who was known as Marino Senior.

Very little is recorded concerning his youth, but Lazzarini finds that
his education was not very different from that of his peers, and was
probably conducted by the sort of tutor then called a Master of Grammar;
and that the young man must have become familiar from his earliest years
with navigation, commerce, and the public affairs of the Republic.

At twenty years of age, by the privilege of the Barbarella, he was
present at the assemblies of the Great Council; and when little more
than thirty we find him one of the heads of the Ten, and he constantly
appears in that capacity, and by alternation in the office of
‘Inquisitor.’ When exercising the functions of the latter, which may
seem strange for one who in later time was to betray his country, he was
charged, with another of the Ten, Andrea Michiel, to bring about,
‘rapidly and diligently,’ the ruin and death of Bajamonte Tiepolo and
Pietro Quirini, who had already been in exile ten years; and he was
authorised to spend ten thousand lire of the ‘piccoli,’ or about £1600
sterling, in order to kill the first, and two thousand for killing the
second.

Marino Faliero was a man of uncommon intelligence and resistless energy,
as may be seen from the fact that the Republic, which certainly had a
considerable choice of such men, constantly made use of him, sometimes
giving him important posts at home, and sometimes as ambassador to the
Pope or to foreign sovereigns; sometimes, again, as military governor or
podestà of cities under the Venetian dominion, once at least
commissioning him as commander-in-chief of the fleet. He was the first
podestà of Treviso after that city became subject to Venice in 1339. A
podestà was a sort of foreign governor, whom the independent
commonwealths chose for themselves in order to assure the peaceable
execution of their own laws without party prejudice; but conquered towns
were required by their conquerors to submit to this officer. He was
generally named for two years; he was not allowed to bring his wife or
children with him; he could not absent himself for one day without
special permission from the Senate; he was never to form any close
friendship among the citizens, lest his impartial authority should be
compromised by his surroundings. There was a podestà in almost every
city of central and northern Italy, and Venice imposed one on each city
she conquered. But he had no power to change the statutes of the city in
his charge; his office was to see that those statutes were approved by
the Most Serene Republic and were properly enforced.

When it seemed likely that an understanding might be brought about
between the Venetians and the Genoese,

[Illustration: CALLE OCCHIALERA]

the former sent Marino Faliero, being well aware that the result of the
mission would depend largely upon the character and gifts of the
ambassador; but, owing to quarrels which broke out in the East between
merchants of the rival Republics, the embassy was abandoned in 1350, and
Faliero turned back before reaching the end of his journey. At the siege
of Zara he distinguished himself so much that a contemporary chronicler
attached to his name the epithet Audax, the Brave; and when in 1352 the
fleet commanded by Niccolò Pisani left Venice to sail against the
Genoese, Marino Faliero was designated beforehand to succeed the admiral
in case the latter should fall ill. He was in no less esteem abroad than
in the Republic itself. The Carrara, who were lords of Padua, chose him
twice, in 1338 and 1350, as podestà of their city.

A chronicler of Treviso in the fifteenth century accuses Faliero of
having been exceedingly overbearing and violent, and most historians
have followed this writer. The latter narrates that when Faliero was
podestà of Treviso in 1346, it was his duty on one occasion to assist at
a procession of the ‘Corpus Domini.’ The Bishop came to the ceremony,
carrying the sacrament and accompanied by the clergy, but kept the
procession waiting so long that Faliero, losing his temper, gave the
astonished prelate a resounding box on the ear, which was heard to the
end of the church. No contemporary documents can be found to prove or
disprove this tale, which may be historical or legendary; yet the
chroniclers of the fourteenth century constantly reported such
anecdotes, although the Venetians were ardent in their faith and
generous in the endowment of churches and convents. There is much
evidence to prove that Faliero ruled his own family with despotic
authority, as may be seen from many documents. He made marriages and
distributed inheritances as he pleased, though it does not necessarily
follow that he did so in an unlawful manner. On the contrary, in spite
of his overbearing character, he seems to have enjoyed the esteem and
affection of all the members of his house.

Petrarch, who, if not his friend, was at least an intimate acquaintance
of his, wrote not long after his death that he had enjoyed during many
years the reputation of a wise man, and Matteo Villani says that he was
a man of high character, wise and magnanimous. The Giustiniani
chronicle, which judged his conspiracy very harshly, admits that as a
man he was generous, wise, and brave. The chronicler Caresini regrets
that a man so virtuous by nature should have so far departed from
virtue.

From evidence recently discovered, it appears that Marino Faliero had
two wives, and some have even said that he had three. Of the two whose
names we know, the first was Tommasina Contarini, and the other, who was
afterwards the Dogess, was Ludovica Gradenigo. He had a daughter, Lucia,
by the first wife, and no children by the second. Some of the later
chroniclers, who may be said to have constructed the fable of Marino
Faliero, say that the Dogess belonged to the house of Contarini, and it
is not hard to understand how a superficial examination of the papers of
that time should either have confused the first wife with the second,
or have confused the Doge Marino with Marino Ordelafo, who was his
nephew, and dear to him as his own son. This confusion resulted in
mistaking Cristina Contarini, who at the time of the conspiracy must
have been young and beautiful, with the Dogess, who was then undoubtedly
nearly forty-five years of age.

Andrea Dandolo died on the night of the seventh of September 1354; and
on the day following steps were taken to begin the election of his
successor, and to introduce as usual a number of corrections and
improvements in the ducal oath of allegiance. The five correctors
elected for the latter purpose, in a meeting of the Great Council from
which all members under the age of thirty were excluded, presented on
the next day the list of their proposed amendments. These were numerous,
and were all intended to restrict the authority of the Doge, which was
already sufficiently reduced. The yet unchosen successor of Dandolo was
to be forbidden to receive an ambassador, or any foreign emissary, or to
give any answer to such an one, except in the presence and with the
approval of his counsellors and the heads of the Forty. On the same day,
the ninth of September, at the ninth hour, the ‘Arengo’ was summoned,
which was the general assembly of the people, and which still gave the
lower classes the illusion of participating in the affairs of State.
This assembly was now called upon to ratify the proposed changes in the
ducal oath of allegiance.

Even before the commencement of the election there was talk of Marino
Faliero for the office; and he was at that time Venetian ambassador to
Pope Innocent VI. in Avignon, being there to treat for peace with Genoa
and the Visconti, lords of Milan. On the eleventh of September his name
was pronounced before another assembly of the people, and contemporary
historians say that his election was extremely well received by all
classes of Venetians. Until the Doge-elect should reach the capital, it
was decreed that the government should remain in the hands of the ducal
counsellors and the heads of the Forty; two counsellors and one of the
heads of the Forty remaining by turn constantly in the ducal palace.
Faliero had left Avignon before he received notice of his election, so
that he was in the neighbourhood sooner than was expected. On the
twenty-eighth of September twelve ambassadors, chosen for each of the
offices of the city, went out to meet him. Each one of these was
accompanied by a noble and three young gentlemen, who altogether
received daily a salary of forty ducats of gold. The actual value in
gold of a Venetian ducat is now usually estimated at about fifteen
shillings English money, rather less than the equivalent of the French
twenty-franc piece. The purchasing power of the coin was, however, very
much larger than at the present day.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 181._]

The delegates met the Doge at Verona, and accompanied him thence to
Padua, where the Carrara received them all with great honour. Taddeo
Giustiniani, son of the podestà of Chioggia, met the whole company there
with fifteen of the small barges called ‘ganzaruoli,’ splendidly
decorated, in which the Doge embarked with all his company. On the fifth
of October, at a small distance from Venice itself, he was met by the
famous Bucentaur, which bore the ducal counsellors and a great number of
nobles. A remarkable circumstance which accompanied this journey is
narrated by Lorenzo dei Monaci, whom Lazzarini calls a grave and
contemporary historian. The Doge, on reaching Venice, landed at the pier
of Saint Mark’s, instead of going to the other side, to the Riva della
Paglia, according to former custom; and in order to reach the ducal
palace he passed between the two columns where malefactors were often
executed. At the time no one paid any attention to this, but after his
tragic death the incident was reputed to have been a presage of the evil
future; so that Petrarch, writing from Milan on the twenty-fourth of
April 1355, a few days after the Doge had been decapitated, alludes to
the fact in these words: ‘Sinistro pede palatium ingressus,’ _i.e._
‘Having entered the palace with ill-omened step.’

In the church of Saint Mark’s he was presented to the people, and
received the usual threefold laudation and salutation. It is worth
noticing that Faliero was the last doge who was saluted by the pompous
title of ‘Lord of a quarter and an eighth of the Roman Empire.’ Then,
according to the regular ceremonial, he was carried round the square
amid the acclamations of the multitude, to whom he threw money, and at
last he was crowned upon the landing of the staircase that descended
into the courtyard of the palace. This staircase was of stone, and led
down from the hall of the Great Council to the story where was the
covered loggia, and thence continued downwards in the open air, entering
the courtyard, and following the same direction as the modern ‘Giants’
Staircase,’ but at the opposite extremity. It was demolished in the
fifteenth century. Upon the same landing of the staircase the Doge took
the oath of allegiance, with the amendments of which we have already
spoken, and we may well believe that the new restrictions contained in
the ‘Ducal Promise’ were unwelcome to his despotic nature.

During the reign of Marino Faliero, Venice continued the struggle with
Genoa, and remained on the side of the Lombard League against the
Visconti. The defeat of the Venetian fleet at Porto Longo, November 4,
1354, almost caused a panic in Venice, where it was expected that at any
moment the Genoese would appear again before the Lido. The Doge and the
government, however, met the danger with energetic measures, obtained
help from the neighbouring principalities, and vigilantly watched the
more exposed outlying districts, such as Cape d’Istria and Zara; but the
agitation in Venice was not wholly allayed, and the need of peace was
felt more than ever. Charles IV., king of Bohemia and king of the
Romans, who had recently descended into Italy in order to assume the
imperial title, found it no easy matter to make terms between the
parties. From Avignon also Pope Innocent VI. was using every means to
pacify the divers Italian states; but neither the Emperor nor the Pope
were

[Illustration: CAMPO S. MARIA NOVA]

wholly successful, and in the winter of 1355 the condition of affairs in
Venice was such as to favour a conspiracy. It was not long, in fact,
before the plot of Marino Faliero was discovered, and it turned out to
be the most important of those which darken the history of the
fourteenth century.

Almost every one is acquainted with the legend of this conspiracy, and
may compare it with the truth so far as a recent examination of the
facts has made it known.

A grudge of long standing existed at that time between the houses of
Faliero and Steno. In the summer of 1343 a certain Paolo Steno
approached the house of Piero Faliero at San Maurizio late in the
evening, and calling out a German serving-woman, called Elizabeth or
Beta, with whom he seems to have been acquainted, he persuaded her with
specious arguments, or with the promise of reward, to let him enter the
room of Saray, who some say was the beautiful daughter of the master of
the house, but who Romanin says was a slave, as her name would seem to
indicate. A recent authority, Lazzarini, says that Romanin was mistaken;
but however this may have been, Saray, who was taken by surprise,
defended herself desperately, but could not escape the embraces of Paolo
Steno. A regular action was brought against the latter, and a number of
documents in the criminal archives of the Forty, dated in August and
September 1343, prove that the culprit was condemned to be imprisoned a
year in the lower dungeons called pozzi, and to pay a fine of three
hundred lire. The German serving-woman, who had escaped beyond the
frontier, was condemned in default to have her nose and her lips cut
off, and was perpetually banished; an accomplice, a servant in the
house of Faliero, was imprisoned six months in the lower dungeons, and
then banished. Three years later the mother of Saray, on her death,
named ‘Saray Steno’ among her children in her will, and it would appear
from this that Steno had satisfied justice and repaired his fault by
marrying the girl; but in this case it is certain that he did not long
survive the date of the deed, for before the conditions of the will
could be fulfilled we find that Saray was already the wife of a certain
Niccoletto Callencerio of Oderzo. It is impossible to say how far this
incident was the cause of the hatred between the families of Faliero and
Steno, but we may be sure that when Michel Steno insulted the Doge
eleven years later he was already influenced by the existence of the
family grudge.

On the tenth of November 1354 a request came before the Council of Forty
to proceed against the authors of certain words written in the Hall of
the Hearth in the ducal palace against the Doge’s nephew. There is no
mention of the Dogess. Amongst those cited to appear before the tribunal
within eight days we find the name of a Steno called Micheletto, the
diminutive of Michel, and son of the late Giovanni, coupled with that of
Piero Bollani, as the principal authors of the insulting lines, and a
certain Rizzardo Marioni is accused of having scrawled obscene symbols
beside what his companions had written. Besides these, certain other
noble youths were cited to appear, but were acquitted for lack of proof
that they had taken part in the deed. It must be taken for granted that
Romanin was not acquainted with the document cited by Lazzarini, since
he says that no proofs exist that Steno was either accused or punished.

Micheletto Steno was condemned to be imprisoned during a few days in the
lower dungeon; Piero Bollani and Rizzardo Marioni got off with less than
a week’s confinement.

Tradition, as corroborated by the Doge’s own words afterwards, justifies
us in believing that Faliero complained of the lenity shown to the
culprits; but though he might have been displeased, it would have been
impossible that he should be astonished. Since the insult was directed
against the Doge or his nephew as private individuals, and not against
the head of the Republic, a discriminating tribunal of Venice could only
treat the affair as if it had happened between any other members of the
nobility. Venice never incarnated any ‘divine right’ in the person of
her Doge, and Faliero must have known that though a single word of
slight against the honour of the ‘Lord Duke’ might cost him who uttered
it both his eyes and his tongue, as happened in the same year to a
certain Niccolò Cestello and to another Micheletto of Murano, even a
grave insult against the person of the Doge was never legally punished
by more than two months’ imprisonment, and generally by a shorter term
and a small fine. The legend built up upon the later accounts says that
Micheletto Steno was the head of the Forty, _i.e._ President of the
Senate, when he wrote the insult of which he was convicted; but we have
clear proof that at the time he was hardly more than twenty years of
age, so that he had not even the right to vote at the meetings of the
Great Council; and no one could belong to the Senate who was under
thirty, much less be the head of that formidable body. So far as the
Dogess is concerned, chroniclers and novelists have described her as
taking part in a dance at the time, whereas she was a woman already of
middle age, and her name is never mentioned in any of the numerous
documents regarding the famous trial. There is one more argument against
the fable that the insult was directed against her. The Venetian
tribunals were extremely severe in all cases where the honour of a woman
was touched. The mere fact of laying a hand on the shoulder of a woman
not the man’s own wife or relative might be punished with a very heavy
fine and many months of imprisonment, and a libellous writing against a
noble lady was punished with two months in the pozzi and a fine of one
hundred ducats. It would seem to follow that if Steno’s offence had been
committed against the first matron in Venice, the tribunal would not
have treated the matter with that indulgence of which the Doge
complained on his own account. Moreover, it should be noted that Marino
Faliero was elected on the eleventh of September 1354, and that the date
of the trial was the tenth of November of the same year; but the
legendary account says it was on the Thursday before Lent, which cannot
come earlier than February and may be as late as March, that the
insulting words were written. The scandal must have taken place very
early in November, and probably happened during the festival held in the
ducal palace on the occasion of the marriage of Santino Faliero and
Regina Dandolo, a nephew and niece of the Doge, a marriage,
consequently, for which the papal dispensation would have been
necessary. This hypothesis would in some measure explain the fact that
the writing was directed against the Doge and one of his nephews.

Whatever the true facts were in the Steno-Faliero trials, it is certain
that the Doge entertained feelings of the strongest resentment against
the aristocracy, against the judges, and, on the whole, against all the
decrees of the government. There is no doubt but that the young nobles
of that day deserved the indignation they excited in the minds of
sensible people, for during several years past their insolence had
become boundless, and they went to all lengths of violence, and worse,
sometimes even making use of false keys to get into houses that were
closed against them, and sparing neither matron nor maid. The lower
classes especially suffered by their outrageous conduct in word and
deed, and when the Doge conceived the idea of breaking down the power of
the aristocrats, he fully believed he might count upon the sympathy and
help of the people.

Now when the war with the Genoese was still raging, a certain Bertuccio
Isarello, a sea-captain, and Giovanni Dandolo, a patrician, who was one
of the superintendents charged with getting war-vessels ready for sea,
got into a violent discussion. To be a sea-captain in those days not
only indicated great energy and personal courage, but also implied a
certain amount of consideration. Isarello had reached his present
position after a life of many labours and adventures. He had been a
merchant in the Rialto for a year; he had then been the navigating
officer of a vessel trading to the East, belonging to a certain
Jacopello Lombardo, and after that he had been promoted to be captain,
or ‘patrono,’ of a galley, the property of Marin Michiel, with a salary
of five lire of grossi monthly (about twenty-five shillings), and
permission to take with him on his voyages three families as passengers.
Like most other sea-captains of whom we have any account in the
archives, Isarello owned several houses in Venice, and possessed
considerable prestige among the seafaring class. The account of the
incident here given is taken from the contemporary chronicle of de’
Monaci. It happened that in the course of manning a number of ships of
war Dandolo had business with this Captain Isarello, and, finding him
unexpectedly obstinate upon some point of which we have no account,
proceeded to enforce his arguments with a box on the ear. The offended
captain left the office where this took place, and told his friends what
had happened. They promised at once to support him if he wished to be
avenged. Accompanied by them, Isarello thereupon went at once to the
square before the ducal palace, and walked up and down nursing his wrath
until Dandolo himself should pass. The Doge and his counsellors, being
apprised of the matter, sent for the captain and had from his own lips
an account of the injury he had

[Illustration: PONTE E FONDAMENTA DI DONNA ONESTA]

suffered; but while they promised him every satisfaction which the law
would allow, they severely reproved him for having dared to think of
taking vengeance in person.

The Doge, however, on hearing Isarello’s story, recognised in him an
instrument that might be useful against the aristocracy; and sending for
him privately on the following night, received him in his own apartment,
and laid before him the plan which he had been maturing for some time.

The most reliable accounts say that within a few hours Isarello gathered
twenty conspirators, each of whom promised to furnish forty armed men;
but of these twenty heads, only Isarello himself, Filippo Calendario,
his father-in-law, erroneously stated to have been the architect who
restored the ducal palace, but who was in reality only a master
stone-cutter in the work, and two or three other trusty friends, were
aware that the Doge himself was the prime mover in the conspiracy, the
others supposing that the only object of the movement was to punish the
nobles for their overbearing conduct, and to force the government to the
better administration of justice. During a few days the principal
conspirators came by night to the ducal palace, in order to prepare
their plan of action. Meanwhile, in order to increase the unpopularity
of the aristocracy, they practised a singular deceit. Two or three of
them wandered about the city in the evening, apparently disguised as
nobles, insulting the plebeians whom they met, and singing low songs
under the windows of honest artisans’ wives; then separating, they
loudly bade each other good-night, calling each other by the names of
the most illustrious Venetian houses, so that the offended persons
supposed they had been annoyed by the fashionable young
good-for-nothings of the highest nobility. Meanwhile the conspirators
discussed various means for getting possession of the city, and it was
finally agreed that they should all meet, fully armed, on the night of
the fifteenth of April 1355 in the Square of Saint Mark, before the
ducal palace, when the Doge would cause the great bell to ring the
alarm, and news would be bruited abroad among the people that the
Genoese were at the mouth of the harbour with fifty galleys. Thereupon
it was expected that the nobles would flock to the palace, as they
always did in cases of danger, to meet in council, and the conspirators
would be able to kill them without difficulty as they arrived. After the
massacre, they intended to proclaim the absolute sovereignty of the
Doge, who bound himself to confer all the important offices of the State
upon men belonging to the working-classes. The plan failed, apparently
for two reasons.

In the first place, it appears that among those whom the Doge invited to
take part in the conspiracy was a certain Niccolò Zucuol, a close friend
of the house of Faliero, a rich citizen of burgher origin, who was
allied by marriage with the most noble families in Venice. The Doge,
knowing that he could trust this man, revealed to him the whole plan,
but Zucuol was opposed to it, and by prayers and arguments caused Marino
Faliero to waver in his intention. Some chroniclers say that this honest
Niccolò Zucuol obtained authority from the Doge to dissolve the
conspiracy, and to induce the conspirators, if he could, to give up all
idea of vengeance; others say that his arguments only frightened the
Doge for the time, without really shaking his resolution.

Secondly, we find that a certain Vendramin, who was in the fur trade,
made revelations to a sponsor of his, Niccolò Lion, a noble, in order to
save him from the general massacre of the nobles, which was a part of
the conspiracy. This Lion, who was a senator, heard the story late at
night in his own house, and lost no time in acting on the information.
He dressed in haste, and with no companion save the fur-merchant, boldly
entered the Doge’s apartment, told him that he knew the truth, and
threatened to bring him to account before his counsellors.

Marino Faliero did not lose his self-possession in this sudden turn of
affairs, but coolly pretended to pity the credulity of the old senator.
He even had the audacity to say that this was not the first he had heard
of what he called an egregious calumny; that he himself had made most
careful inquiry into the conspiracy, and had assured himself that there
was not a word of truth in the story. Lion, however, placed no faith in
the Doge’s statements, and insisted so forcibly that the ducal
counsellors should be called in that the Doge was obliged to yield.

The chronicler Matteo Villani observes that it was here that the Doge
lost his head, because he might easily have locked up Lion and
Vendramin, or might

[Illustration: RAMO DELLA SCUOLA]

even have murdered them, and thus gained the time necessary for putting
his plans into execution. It soon became known that the Privy Council
had been summoned at that unusual hour, and this alone spread alarm
through Venice. A number of nobles accompanied the six counsellors to
the palace, and groups of curious and inquisitive persons gathered in
the neighbourhood of Saint Mark’s. It was known that during the last few
days, and under various pretexts, there had been frequent gatherings of
seafaring men, and many of the nobles had noticed the threatening
attitude of the working-men they passed in the street, and had even
heard menacing speeches indistinctly spoken when they had gone by,
though they had paid little attention to such matters at the time. But
now, while the Privy Council was sitting within the palace, the whole
population felt a sort of premonition of a terrible mystery, and of some
great event that was not far off. Meanwhile two gentlemen of the house
of Contarini requested to be immediately admitted to the presence of the
Council. They said that a friend of theirs had been asked only a few
hours previously by a friend of Filippo Calendario to take part in a
conspiracy which was about to break out. The person they referred to was
immediately called, and turned out to be a seafaring man named Marco
Negro, who was able to give chapter and verse for all he stated. His
story at once exhibited the conduct of the Doge in the strongest light.
Following the example of the two Contarini, many more persons presented
to the ducal counsellors very grave accusations against the Doge.
Without losing time, and before daybreak, officers were sent out to
arrest all persons suspected of having joined in the conspiracy. Amongst
the first that were brought to the palace was Calendario himself and one
of his accomplices, named Zuan da Corso. The latter, having been put to
the torture, confessed everything, and Calendario, without waiting until
similar pressure had been brought upon him, disclosed everything he
knew, without the least attempt to hide the responsibility of the Doge.
As soon as the Doge’s guilt was clear, the Council decided to proceed
with its deliberations without regard to him, and immediately called in
the Council of Ten in order to divide with the latter the
responsibilities of government and justice. Niccolò Faliero, who was a
near relative of the Doge’s, was not allowed to take part in the
deliberations, that being the rule in such cases.

Word was immediately sent to all the nobles then in Venice to arm
themselves, and to bring their servants and retainers armed to the
squares near their habitations. During the whole day and the following
night these armed men remained constantly on the watch, ready to act
under the orders of the Privy Council at a moment’s notice. Eighty or
ninety nobles and trusty citizens continually rode through the city from
post to post to preserve order and unity.

After the first hours of agitation, arrangements were made for a regular
succession of watches at all the principal points. Meanwhile some of the
conspirators sought safety in flight, while some were arrested in their
houses. Isarello was taken in a garden, immediately after the first
revelations of the conspiracy. Some of the other chiefs were chased as
far as Chioggia, and brought back. On the same day Filippo Calendario
and Isarello were hanged between the red columns of the loggia of the
old palace, from which the Doge usually assisted at the Carnival
festivities. Others suffered the same sentence, and as their bodies were
not taken down directly after they were dead, there was soon a row of
eleven corpses hanging from the balcony, beginning with those of the
chief conspirators, who had been hanged with gags in their mouths, lest
they should cry out to the people. The minor conspirators were spared
this indignity.

The Doge during this time was under guard in his own apartments, until
at last one counsellor, Giovanni Mocenigo, one inquisitor, Luca da
Lezze, and one avogador, Orio Pasqualigo, entered together to examine
him. As the Council was not willing to accept the sole responsibility of
the trial, a committee was chosen, consisting of twenty nobles of the
most ancient and illustrious families of Venice; these, however, were
only to have a vote in consultation, but not upon the final sentence. It
was in this way that the ‘Zonta,’ or supplementary committee of the
Council of Ten, was constituted, and its usefulness was so readily
recognised that from that time on it was always called to assist in
cases of unusual importance. It followed that the court, before which
the Doge was to be tried, consisted of thirty-seven persons, _i.e._
nine of the Council of Ten, since Niccolò Faliero could not sit, six
ducal counsellors, twenty of the committee of nobles, and two avogadori
of the Commonwealth. The High Chancellor, I presume, however, must also
have been present; in which case the court consisted of thirty-eight.
Contemporary documents give us the names of all these judges except the
last.

On the seventeenth the three individuals who had been with Marino
Faliero by night opened the case. The accusations having been heard,
examined, and discussed by the court, the following proposal was
made:--‘Does it seem to you that from what has been said and read,
proceedings should be taken against Marino Faliero, the Doge, for
attempting to betray the State and Commonwealth of Venice?’ Following
the so-called Rite of the Council of Ten, the heads and the avogadori of
the Commune proposed the sentence, and this was discussed until evening.
It was finally decided that Marino Faliero should be beheaded on the
landing of the stone staircase, where he had sworn the ducal oath of
allegiance. It was further decreed by the sentence that all his goods
should be confiscated, with the exception of two thousand lire of
grossi, equal to five hundred pounds, which he was to be allowed to
leave as he would by will. All that now remained was to announce to the
Doge the sentence of death, and to strip him of the ducal insignia.
Giovanni Gradenigo was charged with this duty, the same man who was
presently to take his place upon the ducal throne. He was of the family
of the Dogess; and it is possible, though I think extremely improbable,
that the Council intended to send to the condemned man a person who
might in some measure show him sympathy in his last moments. If the
tribunal really had any such intention, it must be admitted that the
manner in which it was carried out left much to be desired. A chronicler
of a later time says that he heard the story told as follows:--‘Messer
Zuan Gradenigo was the person who received the orders of the chiefs of
the Ten to go to the Doge; and he found him walking up and down in the
hall of his house (the palace). At once he said to him, “Give me that
cap.” And he, the Doge, with his hands, gave it up, not suspecting a
sentence of death. And he (Gradenigo) said to him, “You are condemned to
have your head cut off within the hour.” Having heard which he (the
Doge) was in great anguish, and could not answer anything.’

It is certain that Marino Faliero immediately made his will by the hand
of a notary. This document is still wholly preserved, and is the best
argument that could be produced of the honour of the Dogess. By it the
Doge, who was about to die, leaves his wife sole executrix of his last
will; leaving it also to her to do for his soul what she could with what
he left her, in the way of pious services and charities.

About sunset the condemned man, deprived of all his ducal insignia, came
down from his apartment to the landing of the staircase, and on the same
spot where he had sworn, _bona fide, sine fraude_, to uphold the
constitution of the State, his head was cut off.

The bloody sword with which the execution was performed was shown to the
people from the loggia of the palace.

The following quotation is taken from an anonymous chronicler of the
sixteenth or seventeenth century, quoted by Lazzarini, and gives some
further details of the end of Marino Faliero, though it is impossible to
guarantee them as wholly trustworthy:--

‘You must know that when this Marino Faliero was condemned to death, the
tocsin was sounded; and that bell which rang for him was never rung
again. It was put away by the Council of Ten, who ordained that if any
one should propose that it should ever be rung again hereafter, his head
should be cut off. And wit ye that the said bell was not at that time in
the bell-tower of Saint Mark, but was in the palace; and its use was to
give a signal to the “pregadi”; and afterwards it was put out of use,
and taken away and hidden. However, not very long after that, it was
hung in the bell-tower of Saint Mark’s, and it is the bell which has no
tongue, no rope, and no lever; and the said bell is in the shape of a
hat, as may be seen to the present day; and is reserved for some like
princely occasion.’

The body of the unfortunate man was laid upon a matting, with the head
at the feet, in one of the halls of the ducal palace, and remained there
during twenty-four hours, during which time the people were freely
admitted to gaze on the mournful spectacle. On the evening of the
eighteenth, without honours and without any procession, it was laid in a
coffin, and taken by boat as far as San Giovanni e Paolo, to be laid in
the tomb of the Faliero family. This was an enormous sarcophagus of
Istria stone, of truly huge dimensions, upon which were carved the arms
of the Falieri.

In 1812 Giovanni Casoni, a student who was collecting all possible
information regarding the Arsenal and other principal points in Venice,
was in the church of San Giovanni e Paolo when this sarcophagus was
opened. It was quite full of human skeletons, placed in layers, which
were very carefully taken out and laid upon the pavement of the court,
in order to be transported elsewhere. When almost at the end of the
operation, a decapitated skeleton was found, with the skull between the
legs. Casoni says that he felt instantly, with intimate certainty, that
the remains were those of the Doge, Marino Faliero. ‘At that moment,’ he
says, ‘I was far from recalling memories of the Doge, and did not in the
least suspect that I should ever have found his ashes, or held his skull
in my hands.’ With admirable simplicity the writer remarks that it was
only his regard for the regulations of the Health Office, and his
reluctance to get into trouble with the representatives of the city
government, which prevented him from immediately taking possession of
the skull, and carrying it off.

Lord Byron, in 1819, knew nothing of this discovery, and making
inquiries about the tomb of the beheaded Doge in San Giovanni e Paolo, a
priest showed him a small tomb built into the wall, and tried to
persuade

[Illustration: THE TOMBS IN SS. GIOVANNI E PAOLO]

him that this was Marino Faliero’s last resting-place; a matter
concerning which the poet expressed considerable doubt.

The great stone sarcophagus spoken of by Giovanni Casoni was used
afterwards during many years as a reservoir by the apothecary of the
Civil Hospital, and is to-day in the outer loggia of the Correr Museum,
bearing no trace of inscription or arms. The latter were probably
shipped off.

With regard to the absence from the archives of the Council of Ten of
all documents relating to the trial of Marino Faliero, many historians,
among whom are Romanin and Rawdon Brown, are inclined to suppose that it
was not entered in the acts of the Council, owing to what they call a
certain praiseworthy shame on the part of the judges, which hindered
them from inserting the name of the head of the Republic among those of
other condemned persons. There are sufficient reasons and sufficient
proofs, however, for supposing that the whole account of the trial was
set down in a special book, which had no place in the regular series of
the archives of the Council; and that this volume was either lost, or
was burned in one of the fires which have at different times done damage
in the ducal palace. The official report was evidently known to the old
chroniclers, who translated long passages from it, from the original
Latin into the vulgar tongue. This volume is referred to in a marginal
note found in a document of 1355, referring to the conspiracy--‘Ponatur
in libro processum.’

The Council of Ten was never subject to such praiseworthy crises of
shame; and the secretary of the Council, as Lazzarini observes, would
have been very much astonished if he could have had cognisance of the
conjectures which our modern sentimentalism would form regarding the
facts. A number of other documents are missing from the archives of the
Council of Ten, of which the absence does not suggest either a poetical
interpretation, or any explanation of a political character; the papers
were simply lost.

The unfortunate Dogess, who perhaps quitted the ducal palace with the
body of her beheaded husband, was obliged soon afterwards to leave his
own house, where she had taken refuge to hide her grief. The
municipality took possession of all property which had belonged to
Marino Faliero, but restored to his widow the whole amount of her dowry,
and two thousand lire left her by the will of the deceased. The wretched
widow was obliged to swear that she did not keep any object of value
that had belonged to her husband; but the Council restored to her a
little brooch of gold, with a silver pendant, which had been improperly
confiscated, since it had come to her from her own family. Furthermore,
certain objects were returned to her which she and her sister Engoldisia
had inherited from Fiordalise Gradenigo, their mother. The poor woman at
first retired to the convent of Saint Lawrence, in the district of San
Severo; soon afterwards she went to Verona, where she had some lands,
but at last she established herself in a house of her own in Venice.

[Illustration: THE NAVE, SS. GIOVANNI E PAOLO]

During many years she occupied herself altogether in charities. Little
by little her intelligence began to give way, as is amply proved by the
great number of wills she made, which are still extant. These all prove
that she was not only deeply attached to the relatives of her husband,
but that it was her intention to be more generous to them than to her
own, especially to Federigo Giustiniani, son of Marino Faliero’s
daughter by his first wife. In one of her wills, probably executed at
the instigation of some nephew, she says that she may change her mind,
and says that the only will of hers which is to be considered valid is
the one which begins ‘Libera animam meam, Domine’; which, as Lazzarini
says, sounds like a cry from the heart of the unhappy woman, tormented
throughout her long and sad old age by relations who gave her no peace,
and expected to profit largely by her wealth.

[Illustration: CAMPO S. AGNELLO]

XII

THE SUCCESSORS OF MARINO FALIERO

[Sidenote: _1335. Rom. iii. 194._]

Giovanni Gradenigo, who succeeded Marino Faliero, was fortunate enough
to conclude a treaty of peace with the Genoese; and Giovanni Dolfin, the
next Doge after him, showed some skill in obtaining from the Emperor the
recognition of Venice’s suzerainty over the territory of Treviso. It was
on this occasion that the lord of Sench arbitrarily threw into prison
two Venetian ambassadors, as I

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 209._]

have told in speaking of the treatment of strangers. The immediate
effect of the outrage was to rouse in the highest degree the resentment
of Venice against the Duke of Austria and his vassal, and matters were
at a critical pitch when the Doge died.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 211._]

The electors quickly agreed upon a Gradenigo, a Dandolo, a Cornaro, and
a Contarini as candidates for the ducal dignity; but before they had
come to a choice between these news was brought that Lorenzo Celsi, the
‘Captain of the Gulf,’ had taken a number of Genoese vessels with
contraband cargoes. By one of those sudden caprices which have always
affected the minds of electors, the hero of the hour at once became the
only candidate on whom every one could agree. Celsi was not of the
highest nobility and was barely fifty years of age, but these objections
were insignificant compared with the prestige he now enjoyed. The choice
fell upon him by unanimous consent, and his election was announced to
the people almost at the moment when the report of his victories was
discovered to be a fabrication. Yet, almost incredible as it must seem,
his election to the throne caused no discontent in spite of this
chilling disillusionment.

At that time he was cruising in the waters of Candia, and a deputation
of twelve nobles departed to inform him of his election, while a special
council assumed the management of affairs until his coming.

An incident marked his arrival which, if not important, is memorable as
having caused a modification in the adornment of the ducal bonnet.
Lorenzo Gelsi landed at the Ponte della Paglia on the twenty-first of
August 1361, and proceeded to the palace through the midst of a dense
crowd, in which every man uncovered his head as the Doge passed, except
one. Celsi’s aged father could not admit that an old man should take off
his hat to his own son, and entirely refused to do so. But the Doge, who
was a diplomatist, found means to reconcile his father’s prejudice with
the rules of Venetian ceremonial. He fastened a small golden cross upon
the front of his cap, and explained to his stiff-necked parent that it
was no derogation of dignity for an old man to salute the sacred symbol.

Celsi also introduced the custom by which the Doge wore a dress of pure
white when he appeared in public at any of the festivals kept by the
Church in honour of the Virgin Mary, and this innovation found favour
with most of his successors.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 217._]

His reign, though short, was brilliant. He received the friendly visit
of the Duke of Austria, of which mention has been made, and which
brought about excellent results. The King of Cyprus also spent a short
time in Venice during the reign, when he made his journey through Europe
to preach a crusade against the Turks. The most important event which
occurred under Lorenzo Celsi, however, was the Cretan war.

The turbulent spirit of the natives of the island, and the excessive
love of independence exhibited by the Venetian nobles, to whom the
Republic had granted fiefs in Candia, had brought matters to the verge
of a revolution. The people flatly declined to pay tribute to the mother
city, and strongly resented the remonstrances made by the Venetian
government through Donato Dandolo, the governor of Crete.

At last, when he demanded the payment of a tax which had been voted in
order to strengthen the fortifications of the harbour, the Cretans
replied that they would not pay a farthing until they had sent a
deputation of twenty intelligent men to Venice, who should lay before
the Senate a statement of the so-called rights of the colony. With more
readiness than prudence, one of the governor’s Council answered that
there were not twenty intelligent men in the island.

The observation may not have been altogether unjust, judging from the
total lack of sense afterwards shown by the Cretans, but it had the
immediate and not surprising effect of irritating them, and the standard
of revolt was raised within the hour. The flag of Saint Mark was torn
down and replaced by one bearing the image of Saint Titus, the protector
of the island, and before long the two parties were fighting under the
war-cries of ‘Saint Titus!’ and ‘Saint Mark!’ the noble colonists and
the natives on the one side, and the governor and his soldiers on the
other.

Venice at first attempted to recall the island to its allegiance by
pacific embassies, but these were repulsed with indignity and insult,
and a fleet of thirty-three galleys, carrying six thousand men, was
despatched under Luchino dal Verme, a noble of Verona. The Candiotes
had appealed in vain to the Genoese for help, the arch-enemies of their
mother-country, and being left to their own resources they exhibited
neither courage nor skill. In three days six thousand men reduced the
hundred cities of the island to submission, and, after executing the
ringleaders and taking due precautions against a fresh revolt, the
victor set sail for Venice.

Petrarch was in the city at the time, and in one of his letters he has
left a brilliant and poetic account of the triumph that followed.

[Sidenote: _Lettere senili di Petrarca (Basle) i. 782, quoted by G. R.
Michiel._]

It chanced that I was leaning at my window towards the hour of
sixte, and mine eyes were turned toward the open sea; and I talked
with the Archbishop of Patras, whom I did once love as a brother,
and whom now I venerate as it were a well-beloved father. Then I
saw entering the harbour a great ship, a galley, all decked with
green branches, and it came rowed by many rowers. Now when we saw
this, we ceased from talking; for the crew of the ship were of
joyous mien, and they swung the oars with such right goodwill that
we guessed them to be bearers of glad tidings. The sailors all wore
crowns of leaves on their heads, and in their hands they waved
banners, and they that stood in the bows shouted joyfully. Then the
sentinel who watched on the top of the first tower forthwith made
signal to give warning that a ship from abroad was in sight, and
all the people together, full of curiosity, went over to Lido. As
the ship came nearer we saw also trophies of war set up on her
forward part; for surely this was the news of a victory which they
were bringing in, but in what war it had been won, or in what
battle, or at what stormed city, we knew not.

When the messengers had landed they went before the Great Council,
and there we learned that which we had not dared to believe nor
even to hope; for our enemies were all dead or taken prisoners or
put to flight, and the honest citizens were freed out of slavery,
the cities also were won back, and all the island of Candia had
submitted to the Republic. So the war was over without striking a
blow, and peace had been got with glory.

Petrarch’s logic here evidently went to pieces in the storm of his
satisfaction, for he speaks of a bloodless victory immediately after
telling his correspondent that all the enemies of the Republic were
slain or prisoners.

The Doge Lorenzo Celsi [here the poet indulges in a pun connecting
‘Celsi’ with ‘excelsus’], unless my love for him has deceived me
altogether, is a man of most noble heart, of purest life, one who
follows all the virtues, most wonderfully pious and devoted to his
country; and when he learned the good news he openly gave thanks to
God, thereby showing the people that in every happy event man must
acknowledge the divine hand, and dispose his own happiness under
the protecting shield of faith. And prayers were offered throughout
the city, but were especially in the basilica dedicated to the
Evangelist Saint Mark....

Now the whole feast ended with two pageants; but I confess that I
know not by what name to call them, and so I shall describe them in
such manner that thou mayest easily understand them. The one was,
as it were, a race and the other a combat; and both were on
horseback, the first without reins and only with staves and
banners, that it seemed to be some military exercise; but in the
second game arms were needed, and it was like unto a real battle.
Both in the one and in the other we marvelled at the gifts of the
Venetians, who are not only wonderful sailers of ships, but are
also very skilled in all those exercises which belong to the art of
war.

For they showed such experience of riding and such deep knowledge
of the handling of arms, and such endurance of fatigue, that one
might set them up for examples to other warlike nations. The two
games were held in that square of which I deem there is not the
like in the world, that is over against the marble and gold front
of the temple of Saint Mark.

No stranger had a share in the first of the games, but four and
twenty nobles, the goodliest and most richly clad, kept for
themselves this part of the pageants....

It was a good sight to see so many young men, in clothes of purple
and gold, curbing and spurring their well-shod steeds, all
shiningly caparisoned, that seemed hardly to touch earth in their
swift course. These young men obeyed the gesture of their chief
with such precision that as the first reached the goal and left the
field, a second took his place on the track, and then a third, and
so on till the first began again, so well that they kept up the
racing all day long, and that at evening one might have believed
that there had been but one cavalier who rode; and while they ran
thou wouldest have seen now the gilded tips of their staves flying
through the air, and now thou couldest have heard their red flags
stiffening in the breeze with a sound as of wings.

One might scarce believe what multitudes thronged in the square of
Saint Mark’s on that day. There were both sexes and all ages and
every class. The Doge himself was on the terrace which is built on
the front of the church, with many nobles; from its height he saw
almost at his feet all that moved in the square below. Thus he was
in the midst of those four gilt horses, the work of an ancient and
unknown craftsman, that look ready to measure themselves against
living coursers, and seem to paw the air. Lest the summer sun
should dazzle the eyes, curtains of many colours had been hung here
and there. I myself was bidden, as often the Doge deigns that I
should be, and he made me sit at his right.... The great square,
the church, the towers, the roofs, the porticoes, the windows, were
all crowded with lookers-on. At the right a high platform had been
raised whereon sat four hundred matrons, of the noblest, and
fairest, and most richly-dressed in the city; and they continually
ate the sweetmeats which were offered to them; and in the morning,
and at noon, and at evening, it was as if they were a company come
down from heaven. There were also bidden to the pageant several
English noblemen, kinsmen to the king, who had come to Venice by
sea, to exercise themselves in the art of navigation; and these
gentles very freely shared our joy over the victory.

This racing lasted several days, and there was no prize but the
honour, for in this first game there were no victors and no
vanquished.

But for the second game prizes were made ready, for there were
dangers to be faced, and the result could not be alike for all.
There was a crown of gold adorned with precious stones for the
first winner, and a richly-chiselled silver belt for the second. An
edict had been sent forth, written in the military and vulgar
tongue, under the Doge’s seal, to invite the people of the
neighbouring provinces to take part in this contest on horseback;
and indeed there came a good number of contestants, not Italians
only, but also strangers who spoke other languages, hoping to win
the prize and to cover themselves with glory.

The jousting lasted four days, and since Venice was, there never
was seen a fairer sight. On the last day the Doge, the nobles, and
the strangers who had been present, and also he who ordered the
combat, to whom, after God, was due all the joy of the tournament,
gave the first prize to a gentleman of Venice, and the second to a
stranger from Ferrara.

Here ends the feast, but not the rejoicing. Here ends also this
letter, by which I have endeavoured to show unto thine eyes and to
make heard in thine ears that of which sickness has deprived them,
that thou mayest know what is doing amongst us, and understand that
even among navigators there are found excellent warriors, and souls
of choice, and contempt of gold and thirst for honour.

[Sidenote: _Smedley, Sketches of Ven. History, I. chap. vii._]

Unhappily the triumph so vividly described by Petrarch was not final,
and two years later, before Lorenzo Celsi had closed his eyes for ever,
another revolt broke out in Candia. This time Venice took such radical
measures that, in the words of one of the ‘provveditori,’ ‘another
rebellion was impossible, terrible examples had swept away the
ringleaders, fortresses which gave them asylums, the cities of Lasitha
and Anapolis, every building which might afford a stronghold, were razed
to the ground; those of the inhabitants who were not put to the sword
were transported to other districts, the surrounding neighbourhood was
converted into a desert, and thenceforward no one, on pain of death, was
permitted to cultivate, or even to approach it.’

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 202._]

This was in 1366, but Celsi had died at the fresh outbreak of the
revolution, most opportunely, some historians say, for his reputation
and honour. It was even thought that if he had lived a few years longer
he would have ended like Marino Faliero. Grave accusations were made
against him during the last months of his life, but the Council of Ten
declared them to be false, and his successor was instructed to declare,
when presiding the first time at the meeting of the Grand Council, that
the memory of the deceased Doge was untarnished.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 229._]

This successor was the aged Marco Corner, whose election was warmly
contested. The accounts left us of what happened in the ducal palace
during the interregnum which followed the death of Lorenzo Celsi
enlighten us as to the objections which might be raised by the electors
against a candidate to the throne. Marco Corner was too old; he was too
poor; he was on good terms with several foreign princes, whom he had
known when he had been abroad as ambassador; but the gravest charge, or
objection, was that he had married a burgher’s daughter, whose family
would not know how to behave towards the head of the Republic.

Marco Corner, who was present amongst the electors, at first said
nothing to the other objections; but when slighting mention was made of
his wife, the thin old man with snow-white hair stood up in his place
suddenly, and cried out that he honoured and esteemed his aged wife, who
was ‘so good and virtuous that she had always been respected by all the
women of the Venetian state as much as if she came of one of the
greatest families.’

[Sidenote: _Molmenti, Dogaressa, 154._]

He added bluntly that as for his acquaintance with foreign princes, his
friendships had profited the Republic more than himself; since, if he
had sought his own advantage, he would not have deserved to be
reproached with his poverty, nor would his wife be obliged ‘to turn her
dresses again and again, lest they should be seen to be worn out.’

The brave old patrician’s heartfelt words made a deep impression on his
hearers; the objections that had been raised fell away in an instant,
and he was elected, I believe, unanimously. He took his place on the
ducal throne, and his wife Caterina, the companion of his life-long
poverty, left their poor little house for the splendours of the palace.
The chronicles speak no more of her; we do not even know whether she
died during her husband’s three years’ reign, or survived that quiet
interval of tranquillity for the Republic.

Marco Corner died in the belief, no doubt, that his country would long
enjoy the peace which his prudence and skill had brought about. Yet a
day was at hand which came near to being fatal to the Republic. One
might almost conclude that when Andrea Contarini had buried himself in
the country on the mainland after having twice refused the ducal
honours, and very shortly before Corner’s death, he had prescience of
the storm that was brewing.

The time had come when he could refuse no longer; for modest though he
was, he knew his own strength, and knew also, as men of genius sometimes
do, that he alone could save his country from destruction in the
greatest crisis of her existence. The memorable war of Chioggia was at
hand.

[Illustration: THE THREE BRIDGES]

XIII

CARLO ZENO

At this period a man appears upon the scene who deserves to be taken as
the highest type of a Venetian noble and of a dauntless soldier, in that
remarkable age. He played such a part throughout his own time, the
effect of his sudden appearance at the most critical moment in all
Venetian history was so incalculably great, and the generalship he
exhibited was of such a superior order, that it is worth while to give
him a place apart in this work. I shall condense the account of his
earlier years as far as possible.

[Sidenote: _Muratori, Script. xix. 295._]

His history, written with great detail by his grandson Jacopo Zeno,
Bishop of Feltre and Belluna, has been preserved by Muratori in the
nineteenth volume of the _Scriptores_. Other histories confirm most of
the facts therein related, and there is no reason to doubt the rest; yet
taken altogether, as the life of a possible human being, the story must
appear to most readers less probable than the wildest fictions of the
elder Dumas or Victor Hugo, and there is certainly no tale in the
English language, short of Malory’s _Morte d’Arthur_, at once so
fascinating and so incredible. Fortunately it is supported by the
evidence of contemporaries, by the acts of the Venetian government, and,
lastly, as to the dangers he survived, by the testimony of those who
prepared his body for burial when he died of extreme old age, and who
found upon him the scars of five-and-thirty wounds, a great number of
which would have been fatal to an ordinary man.

Carlo Zeno was the son of Pietro Zeno and of Agnese Dandolo, and
therefore came of the best blood in Venice. Pietro had been for some
time governor of Padua under the Carrara, and had subsequently won the
favour of Pope Clement VI. by his zeal against the Turks when in command
of a Venetian squadron in the East. The Emperor Charles IV. was also
well disposed towards him, and Carlo was named after that sovereign,
who sent a representative to appear for him at the child’s baptism.

Pietro died seven years later, leaving ten other children and a very
exiguous fortune, for he had always sought glory rather than wealth, and
his search had been rewarded.

It was decided to make a clerk of Carlo, and to send him at once to the
court of the Pope at Avignon. His Venetian schoolmaster wrote out for
him a Latin eulogium of his father and taught it to him, and when the
small boy was brought before the pontiff and the cardinals he knelt down
and recited this production without a fault. His august hearers were
moved by his beauty, his spirit, his memory, and his bodily grace, and
the performance seemed to them little short of miraculous for a child of
seven years. The Pope received him into his household, the future man of
war was dressed like a little priest, and before his education was half
finished he was designated to be a canon of the cathedral of Patras with
a rich benefice. After a time he was sent back to his uncle in Venice,
and his relations decided that he should be sent to the University of
Padua to make his studies.

Before he was thirteen he had his first taste of wounds and his first
narrow escape. When returning to Venice from the country he was robbed
by a shabbily dressed individual who imposed on him in order to be
allowed to make the trip in his boat. The robber left him for dead, but
he revived, and reached Mestre, where his hurts were dressed; and it was
characteristic of the future man that although a mere boy he succeeded
in tracking his aggressor with blood-hounds and handed him over to the
justice of Padua, where the man was executed.

After a considerable time he regained his strength, and returned to his
studies at the University, but his taste for excitement and adventure
led him into bad company; he gambled away his ready money, and even sold
his books in order to play, until at last, being quite penniless and
ashamed to go home, he disappeared from Padua, not yet a grown man, and
joined one of those many fighting bands of mercenaries which were
employed by the Italian princes of the time. During the following five
years he was not heard of in Venice, his relatives gave him up for dead,
and when he suddenly appeared at last he was greeted with no small
delight by his brothers and sisters.

He stayed a while with his family and then went to Greece, thinking that
it was high time to take possession of his canonry of Patras. The
governor received him with open arms, having no doubt heard that Zeno
was fond of fighting, for the Turks were just then very troublesome; and
the young man at once rendered good service, and would no doubt have
done much more, had he not been severely wounded--‘mortally,’ says the
good bishop of Feltre. During the night he fell into a syncope which
those who attended him took for death; they accordingly proceeded to
prepare him for interment, and only waited for the morning in order to
bury him; but he revived, a little before daybreak, and escaped being
buried alive. He was in such a condition of weakness that he had to be
taken to Venice to recover.

While he was there, Peter, King of Cyprus, came to the city and soon
took a strong fancy to Zeno, who seems to have made himself useful to
this new patron in various ways; but soon the Emperor Charles IV., who
was Carlo’s godfather, appeared in Italy, and finding his godson to his
liking carried him off and kept him with him for some time, employed him
on business which gave him a chance of seeing France, Germany and
England, and at last allowed him to return to Patras and to his somewhat
neglected ecclesiastical career.

But he was destined to be a soldier. Scarcely had he reached his
destination when Patras was threatened by an army of ten or twelve
thousand Cypriotes and Frenchmen, horse and foot; so, at least, says
Carlo’s grandson the bishop, in not very good Latin. The bishop of
Patras turned at once to Zeno and placed under his command the small
force of which he could dispose, being about seven hundred riders. With
this handful of men, against odds of fifteen to one, Carlo kept the
enemy at bay during no less than six months, without losing one man, and
so harassed his adversaries that they abandoned the enterprise, made
peace, and retired. Yet, as if whatever he did must lead always to more
fighting, his success made him an object of envy to many, and especially
to a certain Greek knight, named Simon, who had the audacity to accuse
him of treachery. Thereupon Zeno challenged his calumniator to single
combat, and the day and place of meeting were named. The duel was to be
fought in Naples, under the auspices of Queen Johanna, of evil fame. It
was in vain that Carlo’s friends besought him to forgive Simon, and his
friend the bishop exhausted his eloquence in trying to reconcile the
two. The hot-blooded young Venetian preferred to throw up his
ecclesiastical benefice; and seeing himself thus free to marry, since he
had not yet actually taken orders, he forthwith espoused a noble and
rich lady of Clarentia, who was very much in love with him, and whose
fortune at once supplied the place of the large income he had forfeited.

He was obliged to leave his bride almost immediately in order to meet
his antagonist in Naples, and as the Neapolitan kingdom was distracted
by wars he had some difficulty in reaching the city. To his surprise,
and probably not much to his satisfaction, the Queen chose to treat the
quarrel as something more like a question of law than a point of honour;
a regular inquiry took place, Simon was declared to have been wholly in
the wrong, and was ordered to pay all the expenses to which Zeno had
been put on his account, and Queen Johanna forbade the duel.

His honour being now cleared beyond all possible calumny, he returned to
Greece and was at once named governor of a province, though he was not
yet twenty-three years of age, and his subsequent career might have been
more peaceful than it turned out but for the sudden death of his wife.
Her relations, or the Duke of Achaia, promptly cheated him of her dowry,
and he once more turned his face towards Venice, a good deal saddened
and nearly penniless.

[Illustration: RIO DELLA GUERRA]

And now, during the term of his mourning, he seriously thought of
bettering his fortunes in some permanent way, by following the example
of so many of his countrymen and engaging in trade. As a first step, he
made a good marriage with a daughter of the Giustiniani family; soon
afterwards he left his native city to establish himself in the East as a
merchant, and he spent seven years away from home, partly in the ‘city’
of Tanais, which I take to be the modern Rostov, at the mouth of the
Don, and partly in Constantinople.

Now at that time the rightful Emperor Calojohannes, who had been
friendly to the Venetians, was kept a close prisoner by his son
Andronicus, who had dethroned him, and favoured the Genoese.
Calojohannes was shut up in a certain fortress which overhung the sea,
and was guarded by a captain who was responsible for him. Andronicus
probably did not know, however, that this captain’s wife had in former
times yielded to the seductions of Calojohannes, and was still devoted
to him. It now occurred to the captive Emperor that she could safely
convey letters between him and Zeno, whose father had received many
favours at his hands in former years, and who would certainly be willing
to help him now.

The ‘little woman,’ as the bishop calls her, succeeded in her dangerous
errand, and it is needless to say that the mere suggestion of a perilous
enterprise instantly fired Zeno’s imagination. With incredible speed and
with absolutely marvellous skill, he won over no less than eight hundred
Greek soldiers who promised to obey him implicitly when called upon, and
to be secret. The latter obligation was not hard to perform, as they
would certainly have lost their heads if they had not observed it.

All being ready for the bold stroke, it only remained to bring the
Emperor safely out of prison before attempting a revolution, of the
success of which the sanguine Zeno had not the slightest doubt. This was
not exactly an easy matter, and Carlo undertook it himself. The
Emperor’s bedroom had one window high above the water, from which escape
must have been considered impossible since it was not protected by any
grating. Beneath this window Zeno came on a dark night by agreement with
the captain’s wife, and a rope was let down from the Emperor’s chamber.
The rest was child’s play to the athletic young Venetian, and in a few
moments he was in the presence of Calojohannes. But he had not counted
upon the hesitating character and the soft heart of the man he wished to
set free. With many tears the unhappy captive expressed his gratitude to
Zeno for risking his life in such an adventure; but two of his sons were
in the power of his third son, Andronicus, who would not hesitate to
murder them on learning that the Emperor had escaped, and Calojohannes
was not willing to sacrifice the children he loved for the sake of a few
short years of life on the throne.

Carlo answered that there was no time for weeping and hesitating, and
that Calojohannes should have considered these matters sooner; that if
he would climb down the rope at once Zeno was ready to do all he had
promised, and more also, but if not, Zeno would refuse to have anything
to do with the matter again. The Emperor continued to hesitate and to
shed tears, and Zeno left him at once.

Nevertheless, no long time passed before the captain’s wife was again
the bearer of an entreating letter from the captive, who once more
implored his friend’s assistance; and by way of an inducement he added
that he had made a will leaving the island of Tenedos to the Venetian
Republic. The will itself accompanied the letter, to prove the writer’s
good faith. Zeno answered, accepting the proposal on behalf of his
country, and the little woman hid the letter in her shoe. Unhappily for
her and for the prisoner it dropped out just before she entered the
Emperor’s room, and was instantly picked up by a sentinel and sent to
Andronicus. The poor messenger was seized, tortured, and made to confess
the whole plot, including of course the part played by Zeno.

His life was now in imminent danger; he could neither remain in
Constantinople nor leave without great risk of being taken and executed
for high treason. Venice at that time sent a Bailo, or military
ambassador, to the capital of the East, who had jurisdiction over all
Venetians residing there; in due course, and with the proper
formalities, Andronicus applied to this high official to have Zeno
arrested as having conspired against the throne, and the ambassador’s
position would manifestly have been extremely delicate if Zeno had not
opportunely made his escape by the aid of a soldier who was grateful to
him, and who helped him to get on board one of the Venetian men-of-war
which periodically visited the city in order to protect the interests
of the Republic.

Zeno now showed the Emperor’s will to the officer

[Illustration: RIO PERTRIN]

in command, and the latter considered that, in view of a possible
attempt on the part of the Genoese, it would be justifiable to try to
seize Tenedos. On reaching the island it was found to be in the keeping
of a Greek officer, who still held it in the name of the dethroned
Emperor. The fortress was ascertained to be fully provisioned and
provided with an abundance of arms, and by no means to be taken by
assault. But Carlo obtained an interview with the governor, and soon
persuaded him that his best course, in the interests of Calojohannes,
would be to place the island under the protection of Venice. Thereupon
the squadron left a strong garrison in the town and returned to Venice
with Zeno.

The Senate did not altogether approve the high-handed annexation;
nevertheless, fearing lest the Genoese should help Andronicus to recover
the island, they determined to send a fleet of fifteen ships to guard
it, under Pietro Mocenigo, and not long afterwards two more vessels were
sent to join the squadron, the one commanded by Zeno himself and the
other by Michel Steno, who was afterwards Doge. Thereupon the Genoese
immediately sent a large fleet to the East, Venice sent more
reinforcements, and a conflict became imminent. Vittor Pisani now took
charge of the whole Venetian force, with orders to make a naval
demonstration before Constantinople; but though Zeno actually landed
with some of his men by means of ladders, nothing worth mentioning was
accomplished beyond the recovery of a Venetian man-of-war, which the
Greeks had seized on hearing of the occupation of Tenedos. Thither the
fleet now returned, and three galleys were left under Zeno to protect
the island.

Before long the Genoese, having heard of the departure of the main body
of the Venetian fleet, sent twenty-two galleys to capture the object of
contention. Zeno had only three hundred regular soldiers and a fair body
of archers, and the Genoese proceeded to land their troops in great
numbers, which was an easy matter, as the sea was absolutely calm and
motionless although the month was November. Zeno occupied the suburbs of
the town, and the castle was in charge of Antonio Venier.

The fight that followed was perhaps the first of those heroic deeds of
arms which shed undying lustre on Carlo Zeno’s name. The enemy had
scarcely expected that the little force he had would oppose them; but
instead, they encountered the most determined resistance as soon as they
approached the outlying buildings of the town; they fought some time,
were repulsed, and retired to their ships at dusk.

On the following morning they proceeded to land engines of war with the
evident intention of laying regular siege to the town, and their
movements soon showed that they meant to attack it on the side farthest
from the castle. Zeno hastened to dispose a detachment of his men in
ambush in a number of half-ruined and empty houses that stood in that
quarter. With his remaining force he retired farther in, waited until
the enemy were close to him, and then charged them furiously. They were
but half prepared, and at the same instant the soldiers he had placed in
hiding attacked them suddenly in the rear, and a large force found
itself completely surrounded by a small one of which it naturally
exaggerated the numbers.

The Genoese were at first slaughtered like sheep, for while the Venetian
regular soldiers hewed down the outer ranks, the bowmen shot their
arrows into the central press with deadly effect; but rallying, I
suppose, they broke through the thin line of their assailants, and again
retired to their ships.

Zeno was badly wounded in the calf of the leg by an infected arrow, no
uncommon thing in those days, when arrows were drawn from the bodies of
the dead after battle and were used again and again. A ‘poisoned arrow’
in the warfare of the Middle Ages by no means implied that the enemy had
dipped the barb in venom. As usual, Zeno paid no attention to such a
trifle as a wound, and when the enemy returned on the morrow they were
greeted by terrific discharges of artillery from the cannon which he had
moved into place during their absence, and they were driven off with
such slaughter that they gave up the enterprise, and sailed away on the
next day. But in this last affair Zeno had been twice wounded again, in
the hand and knee, and was so exhausted that he fell into spasms
followed by syncope, like a man dying. His grandson tells us, obscurely
enough, that he must have died indeed but for the assistance of a
Gallo-Greek surgeon, whose novel mode of treatment consisted in burning
the sound knee in order to draw health into the injured one. It is
slightly more probable that Zeno’s iron constitution had something to do
with the cure. The weather became cold, and winter set in soon
afterwards, and he returned to Venice covered with glory.

He deserved the praise that was freely given to him, for he had beaten a
fleet and an army by sheer genius and courage with a handful of men and
three ships, and had preserved to Venice the valuable island which
guards the entrance to the Dardanelles. The hatred and rivalry between
the two republics were of too long standing to be much embittered by his
victory; but his success certainly helped in some degree to precipitate
the final struggle.

I have sometimes thought that the behaviour of Venice to her most
distinguished generals and statesmen may be compared with that of
sea-captains who have a brave but unruly crew to deal with, and who
alternately ‘keep the men busy’ and clap the roughest hands in irons in
order to impose respect upon the rest; and at times, it may be said
without levity, that the conduct of the government was like that of an
unpopular and cowardly schoolmaster, who is a little nervous about his
personal safety, and loses his nerve in matters of reward and
punishment.

On the whole, Venice would have preferred that her battles should be won
for her by paid condottieri; but when one of her own sons insisted on
being a hero, something had to be done at once lest he should get into
mischief. If there was no reasonable ground for imprisoning him, as
Vittor Pisani was imprisoned, and as Carlo Zeno was himself imprisoned
at a later date, he must be ‘kept busy.’ On this occasion Carlo had
hardly reached Venice when he was appointed to the important post of
military governor in Negroponte, being at that time little more than
thirty years of age.

The time which intervened between the date of this appointment and the
siege of Chioggia was spent by him chiefly in fighting the Genoese at
sea, with almost unvarying success, and some of his exploits will be
referred to hereafter in their proper places. It would be impossible to
narrate them all in any space less than a volume, and I have here told
enough, it is to be hoped, to give the reader an idea of what his youth
had been before the fortunes of war offered larger opportunities to his
genius and patriotism.

[Illustration: BRIDGE AT CHIOGGIA]

XIV

THE WAR OF CHIOGGIA

The long rivalry of Venice and Genoa has been sufficiently explained,
and frequently alluded to in the previous pages. To give a connected
account of the almost constant warfare waged between the two republics
in Eastern and Mediterranean waters, from the Sea of Azov to Cape Corso,
is beyond the scope and limits of the present work; for in order to
understand the nature of the last tremendous struggle that took place at
Chioggia, almost within sight of Venice, it is only necessary to
recapitulate briefly those events which, during the latter half of the
fourteenth century, led directly to the crisis--a crisis after which the
vanquished aggressor retreated, definitely beaten and for ever
humiliated.

At the outset I shall inform my readers that I have preferred the
account given by Romanin to that of the more romantic Daru; for the
latter evidently followed the older historian Sabellico, even into the
regions of the fabulous, whereas Romanin writes largely upon the
authority of Caroldo and of Stella, the latter a Genoese whose account
of his countrymen’s disaster is above suspicion.

[Sidenote: _1345. Rom. iii. 152._]

In the year 1345, a powerful Tartar chief named Zani Beg barbarously
murdered certain Venetian and Genoese merchants established in the
Crimea. For a short time this outrage united the two republics in a
common desire for revenge, and they signed a treaty by which they
mutually agreed to suspend all commercial relations with the Crimea--to
‘boycott’ the peninsula, as we should say. This was perhaps their only
possible means of punishing Zani Beg for his wanton cruelty, since it is
idle to suppose that two maritime nations could or would have carried
war against a barbarian horde into the interior of such a country as the
Crimea.

But the agreement had not been made with any sincere purpose, and before
long the merchants of the two countries secretly resumed the trade, each
trying to outwit the other. The result could not be doubtful; in 1350
the Genoese seized several Venetian ships with rich cargoes on the
coast of Syria, and war broke out between the republics.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 169._]

The first two engagements, off Negroponte and on the Bosphorus, were
disastrous to the Venetians, but the third, which took place off Lojera
on the coast of Sardinia, resulted in an important victory for them; and
the honour of the standard of Saint Mark would have been redeemed if
Niccolò Pisani, the Venetian admiral, had not caused nearly five
thousand prisoners of war to be drowned, a barbarity which accords ill
with the man’s real courage, and would be incredible if it were not
proved beyond the possibility of contradiction.

It was after this defeat that the Genoese Republic placed itself in the
hands of Giovanni Visconti, Archbishop of Milan, the strongest of the
Lombard princes. This extraordinary act was prompted solely by the
desire of immediate revenge upon the Venetians, and Visconti was not
slow to lend the required means for continuing the war, though he was
cautious with regard to actual hostilities, and attempted a
reconciliation by sending Petrarch as ambassador to Venice. The
negotiations failed, however, and each republic sent out a new fleet;
with extraordinary daring, Doria, the Genoese admiral, sailed up the
Adriatic and ravaged Istria and Parenzo, threatening Venice itself, but
retiring after inspiring something very like a panic. It was at this
moment that the Doge Andrea Dandolo died, and that Marino Faliero was
elected to succeed him.

On his side, Pisani, the Venetian commander, attempted no such
undertaking. Deceived, doubtless, by Doria’s clever manœuvres, he sought
him in the Archipelago, and thither Doria sailed, after his exploits in
the Adriatic. The hostile fleets met off Modon, opposite Sapienza, and
the engagement resulted in the

[Illustration: STREET IN CHIOCCIA]

total defeat of the Venetians. Niccolò Pisani himself, six thousand
other prisoners, and thirty galleys of war were carried off by Doria to
Genoa; and it has been justly said that had he placed his prisoners in
safety, manned his prizes, and sailed with them to Venice, the city must
have fallen an easy prey to his attack.

By this disaster Venice was reduced to great straits, and while private
citizens equipped men-of-war at their own cost, to help the country, the
Republic appealed to Giovanni Visconti and obtained a four months’
truce.

The battle of Modon, or Sapienza, was fought on the third of November
1354; the truce was obtained soon afterwards, and on the sixteenth of
April 1355 Marino Faliero was beheaded for treason.

[Illustration: THE SHRINE AT CHIOGGIA]

More than twenty years had elapsed and another and younger Pisani had
reached maturity and eminence before the two republics again resumed the
contest for the mastery of the sea. It would not, I think, be possible
to accuse either of having been at any time more aggressive than the
other had been, or was, without unfairness. There was an element of fate
in the struggle; it was the inevitable contest for final superiority
which takes place whenever two individuals, or two bodies of men, or
two nations, are pitted against each other in the same pursuit under the
same circumstances. The disastrous wars with Lewis of Hungary for the
possession of Dalmatia, in which Venice became involved after the death
of Faliero, the repeated revolts in Candia, and above all, the ravages
of the plague, reduced the population and the wealth of Venice until, at
last, she seemed an easy prey. Most assuredly the neutral powers that
calmly watched the approach of the war which broke out in 1378 did not
believe that Venice could come out of the trial still keeping her
independence.

[Sidenote: _1378._]

On the morning of the twenty-second of April in that year, a vast
multitude thronged the square and the basilica of Saint Mark’s. Vittor
Pisani was to receive his commission as commander-in-chief of the fleet
at the steps of the high altar, to hear the solemn high mass, and then,
kneeling before Andrea Contarini, he was to take from the Doge’s hands
the great standard of the Republic.

The chief of the Republic spoke to him briefly in tones that rang
through the hushed cathedral. ‘You are chosen by God,’ he said, ‘to
defend the honour and the possessions of your country, and avenge the
offences of those who would destroy the freedom which our fathers gave
us. Into your hand we commend the flag that has ever been the terror of
our enemies; see that you bring it back victorious and unstained.’

Vittor Pisani sailed out of the harbour with only

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 263._]

fourteen vessels, intending to thwart any attempt on the part of
Fieschi, the Genoese admiral, to enter the Adriatic. But the Genoese
were still far away, delayed by contrary winds, and Pisani sailed round
Italy to the Roman shore before he sighted the enemy’s fleet. The battle
that followed was fought within sight of Anzio on the thirtieth of May
1378.

In a heavy south-westerly gale, which, as often happens in the
Mediterranean, was accompanied by terrific thunderstorms, the Venetians
bore down upon their opponents. They evidently had the advantage of
being before the wind, while the Genoese must have been obliged to heave
to in order to hold their own, a matter of no small difficulty for a war
vessel of the fourteenth century. Yet in spite of their superior
position at the time of the attack, four out of the fourteen Venetian
galleys were so hopelessly separated from the rest as to be unable to
join in the fight. Any seaman will at once understand that they must
have run past the Genoese to the northward, and that they were then
unable to beat back to the scene of action before night. On the other
hand, one of the Genoese ships got aground on the dangerous lee shore
and went to pieces.

The result of long and fierce fighting was a complete victory for the
Venetians. They captured five of the enemy’s galleys and took Fieschi
himself prisoner. He must have had gloomy forebodings when he was taken,
remembering how Pisani’s terrible namesake had drowned five thousand
prisoners of war after the battle of Lojera, or Cagliari. And the
Venetian admiral doubtless remembered and hoped to atone

[Illustration: THE SALUTE, NIGHT]

for that barbarous deed, for he treated his captives with every
kindness; and even after they had reached Venice they were not confined
in the prisons, but were merely shut up and guarded in vast warehouses,
where they had plenty of air and were abundantly provided with
necessaries. A committee of noblemen was deputed to take care of them,
and to see that they lacked nothing. The ladies of Venice also organised
themselves in a sort of sisterhood, for the purpose of ministering to
the not over-great sufferings of the vanquished, and the noblest names
of the Republic stand on the list of those charitable women. Anna
Falier, Francesca Bragadin, Margherita Michiel, Marchesina Bembo, and
several others are especially mentioned by the historians as ‘angels of
goodness and devotion.’ All Venice sought to be forgiven by Europe for
the horrors of Lojera.

Pisani had been far too prudent to push on to Genoa with a fleet which
only counted nineteen sail, including his five prizes, and he deemed it
wiser to return to the Adriatic and to harass the Genoese on the coast
of Greece and Dalmatia, whence, under the protection of the King of
Hungary, they constantly made piratical excursions against the Venetian
merchantmen.

[Sidenote: _Storming of Cattaro, A. Vicentino; Sala dello Scrutinio.
Rom. iii. 265._]

After taking possession of several strong places, Pisani asked
permission to return to Venice in order to rest his men and refit while
waiting for the spring, but the Senate ordered him to continue cruising
off Istria in case the Genoese should unexpectedly enter the Adriatic.
There is no doubt but that this measure was prudent in itself, but, on
the other hand, Pisani’s fleet was altogether in too bad a state to
keep at sea through the winter, and in a more or less hostile
neighbourhood. A sickness of some kind, not explained by the
chroniclers, decimated the crews of his galleys, and he seems to have
lacked suitable and sufficient provisions, as well as stores for
repairing his rigging and sails. He obeyed the Senate’s orders, however,
and he made his headquarters at Pola.

In February he was informed that he was confirmed in his charge of
admiral of the fleet, but at the same time the Senate appointed him two
advisers, or counsellors, following the true Venetian method of
watching, and often hampering, the commander in the prosecution of the
war. These ‘provveditori,’ as they were called, were the famous Carlo
Zeno and a certain Michel Steno--whether the one who had precipitated
the conspiracy of Marino Faliero twenty-four years earlier or not does
not appear certain. At all events, he reached his post and remained with
Pisani, but Zeno did not.

Later in the spring Pisani received a reinforcement of eleven galleys,
sent him in order that he might be able to protect the Venetian vessels
that regularly plied between Venice and Apulia to supply the Republic
with corn.

While he was convoying a number of these vessels, a storm forced two of
his galleys to take shelter in Ancona, where they were seized by the
Genoese; but a few days later Pisani encountered the latter, beat them
in a short engagement, and recaptured his ships. Scarcely had he got to
anchor in the harbour of Pola, however, when twenty-five Genoese
men-of-war hove in sight, under the command of Luciano Doria. Pisani
could not reasonably hope to fight such a fleet with any chance of
victory, and would have preferred to await the arrival of his
reinforcements under Carlo Zeno, who was expected in a few days; but his
officers clamoured for battle, and Michel Steno, the provveditor, even
went so far as to hint that Pisani was a coward to stay in port. This
was more than the admiral could bear, though he was the mildest and most
long-suffering of brave men; and in the shortest possible time he got
his fleet under way, calling upon all who loved Saint Mark to follow
him.

I know not whether the wind gave him any advantage at first, as at
Anzio, or whether the brilliant little victory he won was due to the
fury of his attack. Be that as it may, he slew, or helped to slay,
Luciano Doria with his own hands, and put the imposing Genoese fleet to
flight.

But the enemy, in the absence of pursuit, soon rallied, and in a few
hours inflicted upon Pisani a most disastrous defeat. He himself barely
escaped with six galleys out of the nineteen or twenty that had composed
his force. Poor in ships, as Venice was at that time, this was a blow
that threatened her existence; for the Genoese now had nearly forty
vessels, including the prizes recently taken, some of which were perhaps
the very galleys they had lost to Pisani at Anzio.

How far Pisani’s misfortune was the result of the unwise advice he was
obliged to submit to from Michel

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 268._]

Steno, it is not easy to say; but he was certainly badly handicapped by
the non-arrival of his other appointed counsellor, Carlo Zeno, with the
promised reinforcements. The Senate took neither the one question nor
the other into consideration, any more than it showed the slightest
grateful recollection of his many former services to the Republic. He
was hastily tried, convicted of having failed to do his duty, and
sentenced to six months’ imprisonment, with the loss, during five years,
of all emoluments he received from the State and of all public office
for the same period. Venice always acted on the principle that no amount
of success could condone one failure, and that defeat was next door to
treason. Michel Steno fared somewhat better, for he was not actually
imprisoned, but he and all the officers of the fleet were suspended from
all public functions for a year.

These drastic measures did not improve the position of the Republic in
that time of immediate danger. It was easy to consign Vittor Pisani to
the pozzi, but it was quite another matter to replace him, especially in
the absence of Carlo Zeno, the only other man of the same calibre upon
whom Venice could count.

Pietro Doria had taken the place of Luciano, whom Pisani had killed in
battle, and he worked his way steadily up the eastern coast, retaking
one by one all the fortified places which Pisani had recently seized,
until at last his fleet appeared off the Lido, literally within sight of
Venice.

The consternation was indescribable, and it is more than likely that if
Pietro Doria had boldly forced the entrance to the lagoons, the city
would have fallen an easy prey. Indeed, the situation of the Republic
seemed even then almost desperate, for while she was beaten at sea and
assailed by the Genoese fleet, the Carrara had leagued themselves
against her with the King of Hungary, and threatened her land boundaries
on the north and west.

But it always happens in the history of nations, as it generally does in
the private lives of individual men, that the last extremity of danger
calls forth the true character of peoples, as of persons. It is then
that the hero is a hero; it is then that the coward performs miracles of
speed in flight.

Venice called out every man able to bear arms. A patrician, Leonardo
Dandolo, was entrusted with the defence of the Lido; two others were
charged with the protection of the basilica of Saint Mark’s and the
adjoining square; another was made responsible for the quarter of the
Rialto; and others again were told off to defend the outlying islands,
Torcello, Murano, and Mazzorbo. Finally, Jacopo Cavalli, a foreign
captain, was promised a very large recompense if he could perform the
almost impossible feat of defending the Venetian territory on the
mainland with four thousand horse, two thousand footmen, and a not
inconsiderable number of bowmen.

The monastery of Saint Nicholas on the Lido was converted into a regular
fortress. Three huge hulks, which I conjecture to have been old
transports from

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 268._]

the days of the crusades, were lashed together with triple chains, and
sunk at the entrance to the lagoons. As far as possible all the male
inhabitants of the city were armed, and were so organised as to be ready
to fight whenever the great bell of Saint Mark’s should give the signal.

Meanwhile ambassadors were sent one after the other, and in haste, to
the court of Hungary in the hope of detaching the King from his alliance
with the lords of Padua, but they utterly failed to bring about the
desired result; for both the Carrara and the Genoese spread abroad in
Buda the report, by no means exaggerated, that Venice was at the last
extremity, and must soon yield to her allied enemies; and the King,
trusting to this welcome news, answered the Venetian ambassadors with
such arrogance that they had no choice but to take their leave.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 273._]

The Genoese fleet lay at anchor off the Lido, and the only chance of
safety seemed to lie in attacking it boldly, for as yet it consisted of
no very large number of vessels. Six good Venetian ships of war, manned
by picked men, would no doubt suffice, and these could still be
produced. They were placed under the command of Taddeo Giustiniani, and
they sailed out through the narrow channel that had been left navigable.

Now it chanced that on board of one of the Genoese galleys there was a
certain man, a Venetian sailor, who had been taken prisoner with the
galley commanded by Giovanni Soranzo when Vittor Pisani was defeated;
and he was brave and loved his country, but his name has not come down
to us. When he saw the Venetian ships making ready, inside the Lido, he
managed to drop himself overboard, and he swam for his life towards the
entrance; and as Giustiniani sailed out he

[Illustration: CALLE CASALLI]

saw this man ahead swimming, and making desperate signals to the
Venetians to bring to.

The commander recognised him as a Venetian either by his appearance or
by his language, laid his topsail to the mast and took him aboard, to
learn that the Genoese vessels before him were but the vanguard of a
huge fleet which was itself at hand, and would soon be in sight. To
engage was now out of the question, and could only end in the total loss
of the six Venetian vessels; Giustiniani put about and re-entered the
lagoons, to take the bad news to Venice.

The first fault committed by the Genoese was that, having surprised the
city, they did not profit by their advantage and storm it at once, at a
moment when at least half the population must have been paralysed with
fear. Instead, they seem to have followed a consistent but mistaken
plan; for they pillaged and laid waste the outlying islands one by one
with the evident intention of destroying the city’s supplies, and of
ultimately cutting off all communication between it and the mainland.

In the course of this more or less systematic operation they came before
Malamocco on the sixth of August 1379; but here they met with a first
check, for they perceived that the place was too strongly fortified to
be rashly attacked, and they therefore sailed past it towards Chioggia,
which was, and is, the most important strategic point of the lagoons.

Chioggia is close to the mainland, at the western extremity of the
Venetian archipelago. The name belongs vaguely, in old maps, to the long
island properly called Brondolo, on the western end of which is built
the town of Brondolo; more particularly to the Port, or entrance between
this island and the one called Palestrina, between which two the ‘Lupa,’
the Tower of the She-Wolf, rises out of the water; and especially to
the small city of Chioggia. The latter is divided into two parts--the
greater Chioggia, built on a

[Illustration: CALLE DELLA DONAZELLA]

number of very small islets, and the lesser, which stands on the inside
shore of the main island. There was a bridge between the two parts.

The entrance to the port of Chioggia being deep and safe, the Venetians
had deepened also a natural channel, twenty-five miles long, which led
thence through the shallow lagoons to Venice, and this was one of the
best and safest approaches to the city from the outer sea, a fact which
was well known to the Genoese, who looked upon Chioggia as the real key
to the capital, and the name of the place has been given by all
historians to the war that followed. It is almost needless to say that
the extreme shallowness of the lagoons was a real defence against an
enemy not well acquainted with the channels, which, as every one knows,
are marked by tall timbers that project from six to fifteen feet above
the water. To remove these was a first measure of defence.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 274._]

The most tremendous exertions were made by the Venetians to prepare
themselves for an attack, which would almost certainly have been fatal
to them if the Genoese had not put it off too long. Reinforcements were
at once sent down to Pietro Emo, the Podestà of Chioggia, who anchored a
large armed hulk in the channel, manning it with soldiers and supplying
it with provisions to last some time.

The lesser Chioggia, on the shore of the island, was abandoned as not
defensible, but the main town was very effectually fortified, and each
little islet became a separate stronghold. On the side of the allies
Carrara succeeded with great difficulty in conveying a considerable
force of men from Padua down the old branch of the Brenta, which the
Venetians had obstructed by sinking a hulk across it. Carrara is said
to have dug a channel round this point in a single night. The allies had
now about twenty-four thousand fighting men.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 275._]

Pisani had been beaten at Pola in May; it was on the sixth of August
that the Genoese reconnoitred Malamocco and anchored off Chioggia
harbour, and their attack upon Chioggia itself began on the eleventh. On
that day the armed hulk which Emo had moored in the channel was captured
and burned, and the Genoese fleet was able to enter the port and lie
before the besieged town, while Carrara and the Paduans assailed it from
the side of the lagoons in their light boats. Every day the united
forces renewed their attack, and hour by hour they won their way into
the strong little place, taking the bridges and fortifications one after
another. By the fifteenth of the month, the bridge to Brondolo having
been taken, it was clear to the Venetians that Chioggia was lost, and
Dandolo considered how he might withdraw his force to Venice. It seemed
only too certain that every man who could be saved alive would be needed
for the defence of the capital, and it was still possible to escape
across the shallows, where the Genoese could not follow in their ships
and the Paduans did not know their way. The carnage had already been
frightful. It is said that six thousand Venetians were slain, and that
three thousand and five hundred were taken prisoners. Dandolo saved a
large number in his retreat; but the heroic Pietro Emo refused to leave
the town, and remained with fifty devoted men to fight to the very
death within his own palace walls. The town was sacked forthwith, and
much of it was burned; over what was left the standards of Genoa, of
Carrara, and of Hungary were displayed where the banners of Saint Mark
had floated for centuries, until that bloody day.

Chioggia fell as the sun went down, and the news reached Venice late
that night. The city was all awake and in desperate anxiety, and when
the truth was known, fear turned almost to panic. Women rushed
frantically to the churches to confess and receive the sacraments, as if
the Last Judgment of God were upon them. The men were at first silent,
paralysed in absolute consternation; since Chioggia was gone, the
Genoese might be upon Venice by morning.

But again they let the opportunity pass, and the Venetians were
vouchsafed a breathing space, which might seem but enough to show them
how desperate their situation really was. For Treviso was already
besieged by Carrara’s troops when Chioggia fell, and the allies were
closing in upon the city like a wall of iron.

The Doge Contarini displayed a coolness and a courage altogether heroic.
The Republic had oppressed its chief by an intolerable system of spying
and petty limitations that reduced his personality to a nonentity in
ordinary times. It had forbidden him almost everything; but it had not
forbidden him to die for his country. The example of one man could still
revive the courage and sustain the calm of thousands. Venice was not
lost, so long as that one true citizen remained alive.

[Illustration: CAMPO S. BENEDETTO]

The Doge and the Senators gave all their own treasure to the public
fund, and imposed regular taxes on the citizens; they distributed the
supplies of arms with great good judgment, and sent out scouts upon the
lagoons in the lightest and swiftest skiffs, in order that no movement
of the enemy should escape observation.

But the people murmured against the government, even in their constant
terror; for Vittor Pisani was their idol, and he was still in prison.

It may have been the intention of the Genoese and their allies to starve
Venice to a surrender; but I think it more likely that Doria’s
procrastination was in accordance with his own character, and that it
was in part due to the almost inevitable complications which arise where
military command is not vested in one person, but is shared almost
equally by a number of allied captains.

The very first and most pressing danger was past when Contarini called a
general assembly of the people, on the thirteenth of September, by
causing the great bell of Saint Mark’s to be rung. It was long since the
summons had been heard, and the population answered it eagerly. The
cathedral was soon thronged to suffocation by men of all ages and
conditions, who listened in profound silence to the eloquent words of
the senator Pietro Mocenigo. He spoke from a high balcony or pulpit, and
his ringing voice was heard in the farthest corners of the great
building.

He told his hearers that the time had come when they must think of the
honour of their women, the lives of their young children, and the safety
of their worldly goods; he said that whosoever lacked necessary food for
himself and his family need only ask for what he needed at any
patrician house--he should be treated as a friend, as a brother, the
last crust of bread should be shared with him. That was all, save that
he called upon all sensible men to speak, if they had any advice to give
which would be for the public good and safety.

The impression made by this simple speech was profound, for the people
owed the aristocracy no long-standing grudge as in other Italian cities.
The nobles had neither ground them down, nor tormented them, nor
dishonoured them, but had only taken the political power and, with it,
the responsibilities of government. In the wars of Venice the nobles had
shed their blood for their country much more abundantly, in proportion
to their numbers, than the people themselves; and in peace, their
suspicions, their spyings, and their eternal repression had been
directed against each other, and never against the poor man. And now
they reaped their reward; they stooped to call the poor man brother, and
the mere words flattered him, and cheered him, and made a hero of him.
Happy Venice, even in that dire extremity!

Then many rose up in the church and cried out that every ship in the
arsenal that would float must be manned to attack the enemy rather than
yield to starvation.

Mocenigo, the orator, being satisfied with this answer of the people,
went on to the question of choosing a leader, and proposed Taddeo
Giustiniani; but the multitude would none of him, and shouted for
Vittor Pisani. Under him they would win or die, they cried as one man,
and they would have no other.

To resist such a demand would have been madness, and for once the lordly
Signory bowed before the plebeian will. The captain was forthwith led
out of prison, and the crowd, frantic with joy at his release, carried
him in triumph on their shoulders round the square of Saint Mark’s.

‘Long live Vittor Pisani!’ they shouted.

‘No,’ he cried, answering them in commanding tones. ‘Long live Saint
Mark!’

Some obeyed him, and some would not, and the two cries mingled together,
‘Pisani, Saint Mark, Saint Mark, Vittor Pisani.’

[Sidenote: _Daru, ii. 217._]

The historian Daru, whose passion for romance sometimes led him far,
says that Pisani asked to be allowed to spend one more night in
confinement, in order that he might prepare himself by prayer for
performing his devotions the next morning, and that it was from the
window of his prison that he rebuked the crowd for cheering him. Yet
Daru himself, a few pages earlier, had just described the prisons of
Venice in the fourteenth century as horrible dens which had neither
light nor air except from a narrow corridor, adding that the most
piercing screams could never be heard outside.

Men like Pisani have little need of acting or posing in order to
increase their prestige, for it is enough that they should show
themselves and brave men will follow them. The captain was taken from
prison at once and, after saying a prayer in the basilica, went before
the Doge.

The mutual position of the two men was a strange one. Contarini must
have been well aware that Pisani’s condemnation had been utterly unjust;
Pisani had suffered that condemnation without complaint, and well knew
that the Doge had voted for it; both were brave and patriotic men, who
believed devoutly in the system by which their own aristocracy repressed
among its members any attempt at individualism, spied upon itself, and
treated failure as a crime. Pisani, if the situation had been reversed,
would have condemned Contarini as unhesitatingly as Contarini had
condemned him. It was certainly against the theory of the Republic that
he should be taken out of prison before he had expiated his defeat; but
it was inevitable, and he was free.

Yet both men found something to say in these almost absurd
circumstances, which was neither commonplace, nor undignified, nor
merely complimentary.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 278._]

‘Your prudent and wise conduct,’ said the Doge, ‘will efface your
misfortunes, and avenge not only any offence which you may have received
yourself’--Pisani had been called a coward by the provveditor of the
Republic--‘but also the injuries which our country has suffered at the
hands of our enemies; you will therefore consider rather the favour done
you now than the past disgrace in which you have been, and you will
gladly seize this occasion of proving how unfounded those accusations
were which were made against you, and how much you desire to earn in
future the gratitude of our country.’

To this cleverly-worded and not wholly inane speech Pisani replied that
he had altogether forgotten the past, and that he should find means, by
the grace of God, to deserve the confidence placed in him.

Before he was allowed to depart he was informed that he was not to have
sole command of the Venetian troops, since Taddeo Giustiniani had been
entrusted with the defence on the side towards the Lido. Pisani bent his
head and answered that he had at all times obeyed the orders of the
Signory.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 279._]

But the people were less submissive to this schoolmaster justice; they
would have Pisani, and no one but Pisani. Even the soldiers who came
from the little island of Torcello protested. ‘Command us what you
will,’ they said to him, ‘we will do whatever you order us, but it must
be under your own eyes.’

So a deputation of the younger ones among them went to the ducal palace,
carrying the banner of Torcello before them, and addressed the
counsellors. ‘For the love of God,’ they said, ‘give us three galleys,
which we will equip at our own cost, on condition that we be always, and
everywhere, under the orders of Vittor Pisani.’

By way of answer they were ordered to go to the Lido and fight under
Taddeo Giustiniani. ‘We will be cut into small pieces rather than fight
under him,’ cried the men of Torcello, who were assembled in the square
when the deputation brought them the answer of the Signory.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 280._]

The Venetians took up the cry, and again the government was obliged to
yield. To paralyse the people’s enthusiasm at such a moment, to shake
their confidence, to trample upon their wholesale sympathies, was to
lose Venice herself. When it was known that Pisani was appointed
commander-in-chief of all the forces, the enthusiasm of the city broke
out in wild cheering for Saint Mark, for the Doge, for the government;
all the men hastened to enroll themselves under his standard, and all
the women brought whatever they possessed of value to the palace, both
jewels and other objects; they even ripped the silver trimmings and
embroideries from their clothes. Forty galleys which lay in the arsenal
were fitted out in three days, and in the same time two-thirds of the
crews necessary had been found.

The government promised great rewards to all who should distinguish
themselves in the struggle. It was announced that thirty citizen
families, whichever should contribute the most directly to the salvation
of the Republic, should be inscribed in the Golden Book of the nobles;
that all strangers who would take arms to defend Venice should be
adopted as children by the State, and should enjoy all the privileges
accorded to the original burghers; finally, the government promised to
distribute five thousand ducats, or over thirty-seven hundred pounds
sterling, to the poorer families of the city not belonging to the
nobility. Having made these promises, the State, by its decree,
proceeded to threaten vengeance against all who should desert the posts
assigned to them, or attempt to leave Venice so long as it was menaced
by the enemy.

When all was ready for the bold attempt the Senate took final measures
for the disposition of the troops, as well as for the police of the
city. In those quarters which were most exposed to an attack, as, for
instance, that of the Niccolotti, the inhabitants were to be continually
ready to fight at a moment’s notice; in the remaining quarters only
one-third of the men were to remain at home as a garrison, while the
rest placed themselves under the orders of Pisani at the front. A
careful watch was kept upon all vagabonds, idlers, and other suspicious
persons as long as the war lasted, lest any of them should enter into
correspondence with the enemy’s fleet.

When we consider the condition of the Republic at this moment, it must
seem little short of amazing that Venice should have survived at all.
The territory of the State was reduced by the invasion of the allies to
little more than the city itself; every outpost except the tower of the
salt-works was in the hands of the enemy; a large fleet with a very
strong force of men was in safe possession of Chioggia, the key to the
lagoons; and all attempts at negotiating with the enemy had signally
failed. The Republic had, indeed, gone so far as to send a suppliant
embassy to her former vassal, Francesco Carrara; he was addressed with
humility as ‘Powerful and magnificent lord,’ and a fair sheet of blank
paper was laid before him on which he was requested to note with his own
hand his own terms for peace, with the sole condition that Venice should
still be considered independent; and the ambassadors had brought with
them some Genoese prisoners whom

[Illustration: THE HORSES OVER THE GREAT DOOR, ST. MARK’S]

they offered to return without ransom. But these humble proposals were
haughtily refused, Carrara bade the suppliants to return and take their
prisoners with them, threatening that he would ere long bridle the
bronze horses of Saint Mark’s and keep them quiet for ever.

I have quoted this incident as it is given from Chinazzo’s chronicle in
Smedley’s _Sketches from Venetian History_, and there seems no reason to
doubt the authority of the Italian historian, whose work is to be found
in Muratori.

Pisani had lost no time, while the allies were wasting theirs in useless
reconnoitring and futile skirmishes. He had fortified the entrance of
the Lido with temporary towers built in the short space of four days, he
had sunk hulks in all the important channels, and had got ready a great
number of small boats with which to convey his men across the shallow
water. Moreover, as many among his troops had no experience of the oar,
he had trained them as well as might be, in the short time, on the canal
now known as the Giudecca. But he had kept his own plan a secret, and it
does not appear that when the Venetians made their bold attack upon the
allies they knew what their leader purposed. It was enough that he led
them; they followed him, to do or die.

Andrea Contarini, eighty years of age, but still as brave as any youth
in the host, would not suffer the expedition to go forth without him,
and his example not only roused the enthusiasm of every fighting man,
but was followed by a number of senators too old to bear arms. In the
last extremity of danger Venice had one vast advantage against
overwhelming odds, for her people were united to a man. Men gave not
only themselves but all their fortunes to save their country, and for
the first and, I believe, the last time in history, a commercial people
forgave one another their commercial debts for the sake of the common
safety. One individual burgher fitted out a galley at his own expense;
another bound himself to support a thousand men throughout the war; all
those who had anything to give gave it freely, and those who had nothing
gave themselves.

[Illustration: ON THE GIUDECCA]

The offensive movement of the Venetians had been preceded by several
successful skirmishes in October and November, the result of which had
been that the Genoese had more or less abandoned operations for the
winter, and had withdrawn their fleet into the safe harbour of Chioggia
to await the spring, leaving only three galleys to cruise before the
entrance in case a surprise should be attempted. They seem to have been
as sure of taking Venice as if they had been anchored opposite the
Piazzetta; and in accordance with the military practice of those days,
they and their allies hibernated, apparently taking it for granted that
the Venetians would do the same, and wait resignedly to be destroyed in
warmer weather. They were rudely awakened from their secure dreams of
victory and spoil.

[Sidenote: _1379. Rom. iii. 285._]

The Venetian fleet stole out to sea on the evening of the twenty-first
of December, consisting of thirty-four galleys, sixty smaller armed
vessels, and hundreds of flat-bottomed boats. Pisani led the van, towing
two heavy old hulks laden with stones. There is a disagreement of
authorities as to the day of the month on which he left Venice, but all
agree that the Venetians appeared off the Chioggia entrance and landed
four thousand men on the point of Brondolo island at dawn on the
following morning--no inconsiderable feat, though the night had been the
longest of the year. The distance, on a modern admiralty chart, from the
port of Lido to the Chioggia entrance, outside the islands, I find to be
about thirteen nautical miles; by the canals within the lagoons it is
considerably farther, but it is certain that Pisani went by the open
sea.

The Genoese were taken by surprise. The three cruisers on duty as
sentinels outside the port were not where they should have been, and we
hear no more of

[Illustration: THE CITY IN THE SEAS]

them; it almost looks as if, in their security, the invaders must have
given up that last precaution.

In the face of a heavy fire and with the loss of one vessel, burned by
the enemy, Pisani succeeded in sinking his hulks across the entrance. To
the last the Genoese do not appear to have understood his intention, for
they themselves, or their own fire, helped to sink the heavily-ballasted
vessels, and it was not until all was over, and the barrier had been
made insurmountable by heaping other material upon it, that they plainly
saw what had happened. They were caught like mice in a trap, unless they
could get their fleet out by some other way. The mouth of the Brenta
river at Brondolo, two miles to the southward, still remained navigable,
and Pisani proceeded to blockade it in the same way, though with far
greater difficulty. Federico Cornaro was entrusted with the dangerous
and difficult task, and accomplished it under a terrific fire, Pisani
protecting him meanwhile from any attack from the Genoese vessels.

This being done, the enemy’s fleet was paralysed, and the result could
only have been a matter of time, if Pisani had been in command of a
regular force. Instead, his men were volunteers and raw recruits,
capable of magnificent courage in a single engagement, as they had
shown, and ready to shed their blood as they had given their treasure;
but they were ill accustomed to exposure, to night work at sea in the
depth of winter, to a hundred small daily sufferings to which a trained
seaman is hardened and indifferent. Clearly, Pisani could not leave the
scene of action, even for a day, and even if he had consented to such an
act of folly, there was the old Doge, swearing upon the hilt of his
sword never to return to Venice till the enemy was thoroughly beaten.
Yet the volunteers of the people cared little for such an example, and
threatened to go home to Venice in a body, leaving the Genoese to dig
their way out if they could, and indifferent to the fact that if left to
themselves they could certainly find means of reaching Venice within a
few days, though they could not bring their fleet. They had been in real
danger now, and they would waste no more time in idleness or futile
skirmishing.

It was in vain that Pisani tried to cheer such a force by reminding them
that Carlo Zeno, with a strong fleet manned by veteran seamen, was
expected to return. The people knew well enough that he had been
expected for months, and that there was no reason why he should appear
providentially at the present juncture. It was the Christmas season;
they had fought like lions, shut up their enemies, and momentarily
averted extreme danger; for amateur soldiers this seemed enough, and
they clamoured to be allowed to go back to their wives and children.

Like Columbus, Pisani saw himself on the very verge of losing the result
of all his labour, for lack of a little more trust on the part of his
men. To keep them by force was impossible, for they themselves were the
male population of Venice, and for the time being they held good and
evil in their hands. Even the senators and other nobles murmured at
being obliged

[Illustration: RIO S. POLO]

to keep at sea, and often under fire, because the Doge had rashly sworn
a solemn oath to remain.

On the thirtieth of December Pisani was driven to such extremities as to
be forced to promise that unless Carlo Zeno appeared in forty-eight
hours the fleet should return to the Lido, in spite of the Doge and his
vow. There was no reason at all why Zeno should be expected; it was a
mere empty promise, but it gained time; something could still be done in
two days and two nights.

He laboured and fought on, and the short limit of time expired with the
dawn of New Year’s Day. Zeno had not come, and Pisani’s men would not
stay another hour. By his promise he must let them go, and it needed not
his wisdom to foresee that their defection meant the fall of Venice, the
end of the Republic, the general destruction of the insensate population
themselves with all they had. It was of little use to have been their
idol for years and their victorious dictator for ten days, if they could
not bear a little cold and a little hardship for his sake. The day rose
wearily for Pisani.

[Sidenote: _Marble bust of Carlo Zeno, unknown artist; Museo Civico,
Room XVI._]

Then, from aloft, a sail was sighted. It was the sail of a galley.
Another, and another, and another, all galleys unmistakably, they hove
in sight above the horizon, eighteen in all. Hostile, or friendly? That
was the question. Zeno, or destruction and the end? Then the banner of
Saint Mark broke out from the peak of the foremost, and floated fair on
the morning breeze. It was Zeno indeed.

And not only had the famous leader himself come at the one moment of
all others when he was most needed, perhaps in his whole life; he came
as a victor, bringing prizes and spoil of inestimable value. He had laid
waste the Genoese coast, almost to the city itself; he had intercepted
Genoese convoys of grain off Apulia, he had harassed the enemy’s
commerce in the East, and he had captured, off Rhodes, a huge vessel of
theirs with five hundred thousand pieces of gold.

All this he told the Doge on board the latter’s galley. He had been
twice wounded and was not yet recovered, but nothing could diminish his
energy nor damp his ardour; at his own request he was stationed at the
post of greatest danger, opposite Brondolo, and though the Genoese made
a supreme effort to destroy the barriers and get their ships out during
a gale, in which some of Zeno’s ships dragged their anchors, he drove
them triumphantly back into their prison, and blockaded them more
securely than ever. In this action he was nearly killed again. An arrow
pierced his throat when the gale had driven him under one of the Genoese
forts. Lest he should bleed to death he would not pluck out the missile,
but remained on deck to save his ship; till, stumbling in the dusk, he
fell down an open hatch. He was lifted up senseless, the arrow was
withdrawn, and he was half suffocated by his own blood; but his senses
revived, and he had himself turned upon his face, so that the blood
might run freely out and allow him to breathe. To such a man it seemed
as if nothing short of sudden death outright could be fatal; he refused
to leave his ship, and in a marvellously short space of time he was
about his duty again as if nothing had happened.

Meanwhile Pisani pushed the siege and bombarded Chioggia. In his force
there were numbers of German and English mercenaries, who came to blows
and killed each other by the score; but an English captain named William
Gold had authority enough to quell the disorder, and the regular
fighting went on.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 289._]

Pisani continued to bombard Brondolo. The beginnings of artillery were
unwieldy in the extreme, it being thought that the main object should be
to throw a missile of great size and weight, even at long intervals,
rather than to discharge much smaller ammunition with precise aim. One
of Pisani’s mortars is said to have thrown a marble ball weighing two
hundred pounds, and the smallest siege mortars projected masses of one
hundred and forty pounds. To clean, load, and once fire one of these
clumsy howitzers was often the work of a whole day; but if by any chance
the shot took effect, the result was formidable. A single ball from
Pisani’s great bombard knocked down the church tower of Brondolo with a
considerable piece of the ramparts close by, burying Pietro Doria and
his nephew under the ruins.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 288._]

The Venetians now held all the approaches to the lagoons from the sea;
and by taking the port of Loredo at the mouth of the Adige, they cut off
Brondolo and Chioggia from all communication with the Duke of Ferrara,
who had hitherto sent supplies of provisions and reinforcements by that
way. The time was not far distant when famine must begin to make itself
felt among the besieged, and the Venetians redoubled their efforts.

Meanwhile, after the death of Doria, a bold man of original mind,
Napoleone Grimaldi, took command of the Genoese. He soon saw that in the
existing conditions Brondolo must fall, and that his fleet could never
escape. It occurred to him that a canal could be dug straight through
the island to the open sea, by which he could bring his ships out during
the night, and immediately threaten Venice herself, before the Venetian
fleet could return.

The work was begun, but the Venetians discovered it in time. Grimaldi
had even then no less than thirteen thousand fighting men in Brondolo
and Chioggia; the Venetians had barely eight thousand. They had appealed
to the famous English condottiero John Hawkwood, whose engagement to
fight for the Milanese had just expired; but he either thought the
Venetians were playing a losing game, or else he found more lucrative
employment elsewhere, for after promising his assistance he failed to
come. Venice now called for volunteers, and all sorts and conditions of
men appeared in answer to the call. Among them there was even a canon of
Saint Mark’s, Giovanni Loredan, with four of his servants.

In the absence of any famous condottiero to take the command, the
Signory condescended to appoint Carlo Zeno to the command of the land
troops. He saw that if Grimaldi’s project was to be frustrated,
Brondolo must be taken at once, and the whole Genoese force must be
driven into Chioggia. He was as good a soldier as he was a sailor, and
he did not fail. His practice in all warfare was to take every possible
precaution before fighting at all, and then to engage with the most
reckless and furious energy.

Deceived by Zeno’s manœuvres, the whole garrison of Brondolo was drawn
out in the direction of ‘Little’ Chioggia. Seizing the opportune moment,
Zeno then succeeded in throwing himself between Brondolo itself and its
small army, at the very moment when the latter was attacked by Zeno’s
soldiers of fortune. The whole body of Genoese fled in a panic towards
the bridge of Chioggia, trampling upon each other, pursued and cut to
pieces by Zeno. Under the weight of the fugitives the bridge broke, and
hundreds were drowned in the canal, while the Venetians literally slew
thousands within a quarter of a mile of the bridge head. That night a
perfect suit of armour could be bought for a ducat--just fifteen
shillings.

Brondolo was lost that day. And worse followed, for though the Genoese
commander threatened to hang every fighting man who left Chioggia--if he
could catch him--the garrison deserted in great numbers during the
night, many of them being Paduans and subjects of Carrara, who had not
far to go in order to reach their homes.

It was clear to Grimaldi that since this last defeat he could expect no
further help except from Genoa itself; and, in fact, a fleet of twenty
galleys had left that city almost a month before Brondolo had fallen.
When this was known the Venetian soldiers clamoured

[Illustration: MOONLIGHT NIGHT, S. M. DELL’ ORTO]

to be allowed to attack Chioggia, and drive out the Genoese before
succour could reach them. But neither Pisani nor Zeno would hear of
this, and bravely assumed the whole responsibility of a protracted
siege, well knowing that Chioggia was a most dangerous place to attack,
but that it must inevitably yield to famine at last. So the winter wore
on and still the besiegers and the besieged faced each other, each side
wondering, perhaps, how long the other would persist.

For Venice herself, accustomed as she was to draw all her supplies from
a distance, was beginning to lack corn, and it at last became necessary
to send Taddeo Giustiniani with a convoy of ships to Southern Italy in
order to bring back wheat. On his return he was overtaken by the new
Genoese fleet, beaten and taken prisoner, and soon afterwards the enemy
appeared before Venice. The corn had already arrived in safety and all
danger of famine was relieved, for Giustiniani had sent the laden ships
on before him, protected by half his squadron; but its safety had cost
him the other half and his own liberty.

The enemy’s new fleet was commanded by Maruffo, a man of action, who now
did his best to tempt Pisani to a naval engagement; but the Venetian
admiral stubbornly refused to be drawn into a fight, and pursued the
siege of Chioggia with obstinate determination. It is clear that as the
Genoese fleet could not possibly get inside the lagoons, and could do no
damage from without, Pisani’s refusal to fight was equivalent to
paralysing the new fleet; it was as useless, for a time, as if it had
not existed. On the other hand, Pisani successfully intercepted more
than eighty barges laden with food supplies which Carrara attempted to
send to the beleaguered town, and Chioggia was approaching the last
extremity of famine.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 291._]

The besieged then began to pull down some of the wooden houses of
Chioggia in order to make rafts, with which they hoped to cross the
shallow lagoon, and in some way to effect a junction with Maruffo’s
fleet; but Pisani’s cannon sunk many of these rafts, or punts, and the
remainder were either intercepted by Zeno or forced back to Chioggia.

Even the drinking water was now failing, and the besieged sent
representatives to make terms with the Doge. For in spite of the murmurs
of the elderly senators, who were obliged by mere decency to remain at
the scene of action so long as the chief of the Republic refused to
leave it, Contarini insisted upon abiding by his oath, to the very
letter. He answered that there could be no terms at all: Chioggia must
surrender unconditionally.

During two days longer the city held out, and in that short time secret
agents attempted to sow sedition amongst the mercenaries in the service
of Venice, and even tried to send letters to Carrara in order to concert
a last desperate attempt for freedom; but the dissatisfaction of the
condottieri was easily appeased by a promise of more money, and the
messengers to Padua were caught. On the twenty-fourth of June Chioggia
surrendered.

Then, from the lost town, came forth all that remained of the strong
garrison, four thousand one hundred and seventy Genoese and two hundred
Paduans, ghastly and emaciated, and more like moving corpses than living
beings. At the same time, seventeen galleys were handed over to the
Venetians, the war-worn remains of the great armada.

[Sidenote: _Triumphal return of Andrea Contarini, Paolo Veronese; Hall
of the Great Council._]

With the fall of Chioggia the war was over, and the Doge’s vow was
fulfilled. He returned in triumph to Venice, and was met at San Clemente
by the Bucentaur with his counsellors and the heads of the Quarantie,
with a vast number of boats in which the population came out to greet
their chief, and to gaze upon the captive Genoese galleys, which were
towed in with their banners at half-mast. The promised largesses were
distributed to the mercenary troops, and the English captain, William
Gold, who had rendered services of great value, received for his share
five hundred ducats, the equivalent in actual modern coin of three
hundred and seventy-five pounds sterling, a very large sum in those
days.

Maruffo continued to cruise in the Adriatic with an efficient fleet
several months after the surrender of Chioggia, and Pisani was sent out
against him. After recapturing Capodistria and ravaging the coasts of
Dalmatia, the Venetian admiral came upon the enemy off Apulia. In the
engagement that followed the Genoese were finally put to flight, but
Pisani himself was mortally wounded. He was taken ashore at Manfredonia,
and there ended his heroic life.

[Sidenote: _Statue of Vittor Pisani, Armoury of the Arsenal._]

His body was brought back to Venice, where the news of his death had
been received with universal grief; the Doge, the Senate, and the whole
city attended his magnificent funeral, and he was buried in the church
of Sant’ Antonio, where a statue was put up to him, which has since been
removed to the principal hall of the Arsenal.

Pisani’s place was filled by Carlo Zeno, to whom belongs the honour of
having finally ended the war by driving the enemy into the very harbour
of Genoa. The struggle between the two republics had lasted for
centuries, the war which ended it had been protracted through six and a
half years, and there was much difficulty in agreeing upon articles of
peace between Venice on the one hand, and on the other Genoa, King Louis
of Hungary, and Francesco Carrara. At first sight, on reviewing this
treaty, one might be tempted to suppose that Venice obtained no
advantages actually equivalent to the immense sacrifices she had made
during the war; but in reality this would be very far from the truth.
Genoa had given even more, and had been altogether defeated in the end;
her power was broken for ever, and her long rivalry with Venice was at
an end, whereas the political importance of Venice continued to
increase, and no one would have thought of questioning her right to be
considered one of the great European powers.

As an example of what a devoted and patriotic people can and will do in
defence of their liberties, the war of Chioggia stands high in the
annals of the world; as a feat of generalship Pisani’s blockade of the
Genoese fleet is perhaps unrivalled, and the military operation by which
Carlo Zeno tempted the whole garrison of Brondolo out of that town in
the morning, and drove it like a flock of sheep into Chioggia before
sunset, is a feat of arms the like of which is not recorded of many
captains.

Venice kept all her promises, though they had been made under the
pressure of extreme necessity. Thirty families of burghers were chosen
from amongst those that had made the greatest sacrifices for the public
safety, and on the fifth of September the heads of the houses were
solemnly invested with the right to sit in the Great Council, and with
all the other privileges of nobility for themselves and their
descendants for ever. They presented themselves before the Doge in the
church of Saint Mark’s, each carrying a lighted torch of pure wax; when
they had heard mass they went to the Doge’s palace to assist, from the
windows, at a series of festivities and games. It is sad to record that
a certain Leonardo dall’ Agnello, a merchant of grain and forage, who
had literally given all he possessed for the war, died of grief because
his name did not appear in the list of the newly enrolled.

The aged Doge Contarini survived exactly two years after his triumph,
and went down to his grave in the full blaze of his final success, and
of the country’s growing glory. Amongst those proposed as candidates to
succeed him, Carlo Zeno was mentioned; but such a choice would have been
contrary to all precedent and tradition, for it was thought that the
election of the bravest captain of his day might be dangerous to the
Republic; and, moreover, most of the patricians, whose advice during the
war he had consistently declined to follow, were jealous of him, and
predisposed against him. But the war with the Carrara was not yet really
at an end, in spite of the treaty of peace, and there was still much for
Zeno to do. The electors chose Michele Morosini to fill the ducal
throne.

[Illustration: THE CARMINE]

VENICE IN THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY

As an epoch, if not precisely as a period of a hundred years, the
fourteenth century in Venetian history closes with the war of Chioggia,
as it began also before the year 1300 with the Closure of the Great
Council. For the final defeat and ruin of the Genoese, Venice made the
supreme heroic effort necessary to establish her greatness; thenceforth
none questioned it, and with the attainment of her highest national aim
ended the noblest page in her history.

The Venetians of the first period were at once brave and prudent; they
were at times needlessly harsh in judging those whom they believed
dangerous to the Republic, but they were sincere, and they found means
to make other nations respect their country as they respected it and
loved it themselves.

After Chioggia, Venice was both feared and admired, but it is not
possible to feel much sympathy with her sumptuous social life, nor with
a government that seems to have been for ever preoccupied with its
search for secret enemies; nor, indeed, with its too docile working
people, or its soldiers who so willingly obeyed the commands of the
foreign condottieri under whom they were too often led to battle.

We look on her history and judge her by imaginary standards, which were
never hers. We feel that at the end of the fourteenth century she
entered upon a mistaken course in which she obstinately persevered to
the end; we are sure that she should have been above any mere petty
jealousy of her neighbours, and that she should have used all her
strength in defence of her maritime trade and her colonies; we would
have had her abide by the old law of 1274, which forbade a Venetian to
own estates on the mainland of Italy; we consider that she was blinded
to her true interests by all sorts of intrigues, and that she neglected
her trade in order to put herself on the same war-footing as her
adversaries, though she had not their natural aptitude for warfare;
that she drained her treasury to pay grasping condottieri, and spent on
futile campaigns the resources which had hitherto fed her commerce. All
this we are to some extent justified in concluding, and upon those
points we judge her, as we should strongly object to being judged.

Nevertheless, all this is but the criticism of speculative moralists and
philosophers, a class of well-meaning persons whose influence in the
world has never been large. Unhappily for philosophy and morality, they
are but too easily answered by the sledge-hammer argument of success. In
plain fact, Venice survived, and grew great, and was a power during four
hundred years after she adopted her ultimate formula of existence, and
in the end she died, not by the hand of the enemies at home or abroad
whom she had successfully baffled for centuries, but of sheer old age
and marasmal decline after a life of eleven hundred years, during which
she was never at any time subject to a foreign power, or a foreign
prince, was never once occupied by a foreign army--and was never
bankrupt! Unfortunately for sentiment, no European nation, not ancient
Rome herself, can point to such a past, and the suggestion that Venice
might have done much better by acting much more sentimentally is utterly
futile. It is a good deal as if, when the ‘oldest inhabitant’ of a
village has just died after utterly beating all other records of
longevity, some well-meaning old woman should say: ‘Ah, but he would
have lived much longer if he had taken my advice.’

It is useless, I think, to inquire whether the complicated machinery of
Venetian government would have worked with the same results, if any part
of it had been altogether removed. No one of the many parts had been
made arbitrarily, still less had any then been called into existence to
afford lucrative posts for favourites, as has happened hundreds of times
in the existence of other nations. The machinery had grown constantly,
as more and more was required of it, but it had never stopped, nor had
it ever been taken to pieces for repairs, like the British Constitution,
for instance. It was a government of suspicion and precaution, which
took it for granted that every man, from the Doge down, would do his
worst, and provided against the worst that any man could do. This is
true; but has any government ever thriven which reckoned on man’s
virtues? The plain reason why all the many artificial communities
founded by good men, from Buddha to Fourrier, or even Thomas Hughes,
have been failures is that they have all reckoned on good motives in
men, rather than on bad ones. Venice systematically expected the worst,
and when she was disappointed it was to her own advantage. Christianity
begins by telling us with energetic emphasis that we are all miserable
sinners, and threatens us with torments which, if they could be brought
before our eyes, would turn the hair of young men grey. Venice followed
very much the same principle. Venice had the Pozzi; Christianity has
Hell.

As for the manner in which Venice conducted her wars, by the aid of
condottieri of reputation, she only followed the example of most of her
neighbours. The practice had many advantages, one of which undoubtedly
was that the prince, or the republic, was not bound to support an idle,
restless, and ambitious general and his force of trained soldiers in
times of peace. The professional fighter was sent for when needed, as
one sends for the doctor. He made his bargain, beat the enemy if he
could, was paid for the work, and went his way with his army in search
of occupation elsewhere.

Of course, he might turn traitor at any moment, if it were to his
advantage, and he was never inclined to annihilate an enemy to-day who
might be his patron and employer to-morrow. The Italian noun
‘condottiero’ is derived from the word ‘condotta,’ which is not easily
translatable into another language, but means a kind of articled
engagement for a stipulated purpose. In modern times the municipal
physician of each small commune is termed the ‘medico condotto,’ as it
were the articled doctor who is bound to render certain services without
charge, because he is paid by the town.

The rise of the condottieri was the result of the change in the manner
of fighting which took place early in the Middle Ages, upon the
introduction and development of armour. The first professional fighters
were the aristocracy, who spent their time almost entirely in the daily
practice of arms, and kept themselves in perfect training by constant
exercise. To do this successfully they worked much harder than the
peasants in the fields, who were their natural enemies, and who would
have destroyed them altogether if they had not maintained their physical
superiority by every means in their power. And this superiority they

[Illustration: RIO DE S. PANTALEONE]

gradually supplemented by means of armour which by degrees reached such
completeness as to make the man and his horse practically invulnerable,
before the invention of gunpowder. A score of well-equipped and
well-trained knights could cut to pieces ten times their number of men
armed only with swords and shields. Moreover, the nobles did not
hesitate to hang any rich plebeian who dared to wear steel.

The first soldiers of fortune were penniless nobles who owned nothing
but their armour and horses, and often won wealth by fighting for any
one who would employ them; and they insisted upon being treated with the
deference due to their station. But little by little, as more fighters
were thus employed, young men of unusual physical strength regularly
went to work to train themselves for the profession, because it was a
lucrative one, and was not at first very dangerous; for I repeat that
before gunpowder men-at-arms were not easily hurt, and as for noble
lineage, the employer cared nothing for that provided that the fighter
knew his business. These fighters very naturally attached themselves by
scores and by hundreds to any leader who had the reputation of gaining
much booty, and of being generous in distributing it. I believe that
there was very little good faith, and no trust at all, between the
condottiero and his own band; on the contrary, I think the relation must
have been very like that which exists on almost every merchant-vessel
between the captain and his crew, and every man who has been to sea
knows what that is. The best crew in the world have a way of regarding
the captain as their natural enemy which is very surprising to a
landsman; yet if they have confidence in his seamanship and navigation,
and if he does not starve them, they will obey him with a zeal which to
the uninitiated greenhorn looks like devotion, and they will even run
great risks for him beyond what the law could require of them. He, on
his side, has been before the mast himself and knows exactly what they
think about him, and that if he allows them the slightest liberty or
indulgence beyond what he and they know to be just, he will lose all
control over them. In the study of the mediæval fighting bands and their
relations to their leaders, an historian might learn a vast deal in the
course of a six weeks’ voyage on a big modern sailing vessel.

It happened sometimes that after a very great victory the condottiero
received extensive lands besides a large sum of money, and that he was
formally adopted into the aristocracy of the country for which he had
fought. In that case, he either disbanded his men and retired from the
profession, or, if he was still ambitious, he entered upon a career of
warfare and conquest on his own account. Francesco Sforza’s father began
life as a peasant, and he himself ended as Duke of Milan, and left a
great name which has descended to modern times.

The fifteenth century, as being the principal period of transition
throughout Europe from ancient to modern warfare, was essentially the
age of the condottieri, and many famous mercenary captains were employed
by Venice; so many, indeed, that a review of their services would be
almost a consecutive history of Venice’s relations with her neighbours
during that time. There was Carmagnola and Gattamelata, and Francesco
Sforza; there was Bartolommeo Colleoni, and Roberto Sanseverino, and
there was even a Duke of Mantua. As Daru says, the Republic grew
accustomed to keeping princes in her pay.

Even after the war of Chioggia was over, Venice was still involved in
the long struggle with the Carrara of Padua which was to end with the
almost total extermination of that family. Francesco Carrara had,
indeed, signed the peace, like the Genoese and the King of Hungary. The
Genoese power was broken for ever, and King Louis was far away and not
anxious to renew a fruitless war now that his strongest allies were
crippled; but Carrara had emerged from the contest practically
unweakened, and Venice was not likely to forget that he had done
everything in his power to further and abet the aims of Genoa.

[Sidenote: _1385._]

There is no history more complicated and hard to bear in mind than that
of the republics and principalities of northern Italy in the Middle
Ages, as the crimes by which the despots kept their power were more
tortuous than any committed before or since. In the events which led to
the annexation of Padua by Venice two other states played a part,
namely, the principality of Verona, held by an illegitimate descendant
of the Scala family, who had incidentally murdered his own brother, the
latter’s mistress and all their children; and the great dukedom of
Milan, then ruled by Giovanni Galeazzo Visconti, who had, in the
ordinary course of events, got rid of his brother Bernabò by poison, and
kept a couple of nephews locked up in a dungeon.

Antonio della Scala was jealous of Carrara’s influence, and made a
secret treaty with Venice, under which, and

[Illustration: THE CHURCH OF THE FRARI]

for a consideration of twenty-five thousand florins monthly, he
undertook the conquest of Padua, and the return of Treviso to the
Republic. But he was badly beaten by Carrara, who succeeded in bribing
two high officials in Venice, an avogador and a member of the Forty.
These were, of course, discovered by the government and duly executed.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 319, sqq._]

[Sidenote: _1387._]

Carrara, now fearing a regular war with Venice, sought the alliance of
Milan, ostensibly against Verona, and Galeazzo at once saw a chance of
profit for himself in granting the request. He had always hoped to make
mischief between Padua and Verona, and it is said that after Scala’s
defeat he had secretly offered help to both sides at the same time. He
now agreed with Carrara to divide and share Scala’s principality of
Verona. But when Scala was beaten and ruined, Galeazzo naturally refused
to let Carrara have any part of the promised spoil.

Scala took refuge in Venice, where he received a pension, but it was not
long before Galeazzo succeeded in having him poisoned; and almost at the
same time Galeazzo made a secret treaty with Venice to rob Carrara of
his principality. Venice introduced a clause into the agreement, which
really showed genius. Lest Galeazzo Visconti should serve her as he had
served Carrara, the Republic required that he should leave his dukedom
in charge of Carlo Zeno while he prosecuted the war in person.

Carrara now turned to Venice for help against Visconti, pretending to
know nothing of the secret alliance, and begging that the Republic would
use her influence to make Galeazzo keep to the terms of his public
treaty. This appeal was received with stony indifference. Carrara, who
believed that both Venice and Visconti were actuated by motives of
personal hatred against himself, resigned in favour of his son,
Francesco the Younger, and retired to Treviso.

But his departure did not improve matters, and his son was soon obliged
to surrender Padua to the allies, on condition of receiving a safe
conduct for himself and his retinue to visit Pavia and return. This was
given, and oath was taken on the Blessed Sacrament that it should be
respected. He went to Milan, and was well received, and it appears that
he acted the part of a man delighted with his treatment, and only
anxious to be pleased and amused. It is almost needless to say that
before long he was plotting against Visconti’s life, and that Visconti
discovered the plan, and gave orders for his assassination. He fled to
France with his young wife Taddea, but was pursued by Visconti’s
emissaries, and embarked only just in time to save himself and her. She
was soon to become a mother, and she suffered terribly from the rough
sea. Carrara and she landed; she was placed upon an ass and he walked by
her side, while the small vessel kept in sight of the shore. And so they
proceeded, embarking again, and once more going ashore as a fresh gale
began to blow. They came along the Riviera, well knowing that they were
tracked by Visconti; once, at Torbio, they were warned by a friendly
person not to enter the town, and they slept in a half-ruined church by
the sea-shore. At Ventimiglia the little party excited the suspicions of
the Podestà and Carrara was arrested, after having succeeded in placing
his wife in safety on board the vessel, but was released again, because
by good fortune the officer who arrested him had once served his father.
So they went on, through countless adventures, sometimes disguised as
German pilgrims, sometimes barely eluding Visconti’s search by hiding in
bushes by the roadside; they even slept in a stable. They sought refuge
in Florence and stayed there a while, went on to Bologna and were
refused all assistance; and at last the fallen prince received offers to
join the fighting band of John Hawkwood, the English condottiero. He
almost reached Venice, and was within a stone’s throw of Padua, then
went back to Florence, and was suddenly elevated to the dignity of
Ambassador from the Florentines to the Duke of Bavaria, whose sister had
been the wife of the murdered Bernabò Visconti, and the mother of the
rightful but imprisoned heir to the dukedom of Milan.

It is not within the province of this work to narrate these wild
adventures in detail. It is enough to say that the struggle between the
several parties was carried on for years, with no scruple and little
humanity. The policy of the different governments shifted continually;
after allying herself with Visconti, Venice soon began to plot against
him, judging that a ruined neighbour like Carrara would be safer than
one too powerful, as Giovanni Galeazzo was growing to be; and so the
fugitive couple was taken into favour again by the Republic. Although
Visconti’s military governor in Padua, when Carrara came to take his own
again, sent him word that a man must be a fool who, having left the
house by the door, expected to return by the window, yet Carrara soon
got the better of him by the help of Venice and the Duke of Bavaria.

What is most amazing in the history of the Italian principalities and
republics is that any one of them should ever, under any circumstances,
have believed in the promises made by any other. An open treaty was
almost always supplemented by a secret one of a precisely contrary
nature; oaths ratified upon the faith of the Blessed Sacrament were
broken as lightly as lovers’ vows; the safe conduct given by a prince or
a republic was generally the prelude to an assassination; and
governments had not even that temporary regard for their obligations
which is vulgarly described as honour among thieves. Writers of history
have accustomed us too long to consider that these vices of mediæval
Italian diplomacy were manifestations of the deepest craft and of the
most profound subtlety, and we have been taught to look upon
Macchiavelli as a master in the art of political dissimulation. Men of
northern extraction who, by the accidents of birth, education, and long
acquaintance, are thoroughly acquainted with the Latin character, cannot
but smile at such a judgment. In all ages, Latins, and especially
Italians, have deceived each other, but have rarely succeeded in
deceiving us. The wiles of Cæsar Borgia would not have imposed upon an
average English schoolboy. In her diplomatic relations with northern
Europe, Italy has almost invariably been the victim of that profound
duplicity which rests upon a carefully cultivated reputation for
respecting the truth. It is the man whose word can generally be trusted
who possesses the greatest power of deception when he chooses to perjure
himself. It was not the complication of the Italian nature which
produced the complicated state of Italian politics in the fifteenth and
sixteenth centuries, but its extreme simplicity, which made Italian
princes the easy victims of the most transparent deceptions.

[Sidenote: _1405. Padua taken from Carrara by the Venetians, Francesco
Bassano; Ceiling of Sala dello Scrutinio._]

[Sidenote: _1406. Rom. iv. 40._]

On the other hand, after a long lapse of time, and in the presence of
documents proceeding from opposite sources, it is now so hard to
ascertain the simple truth, that the story of the younger Carrara is
told in two quite opposite ways. The version I have given seems to be
the more reasonable one; the other tells us that it was not Visconti,
but Venice, that persecuted the young couple, and that it was not
Venice, but Visconti, who in the end recalled them to Padua. Be that as
it may, Carrara was once more in possession of his principality in 1392.
It seems to me thoroughly in accordance with the policy of Venice to
have thus installed him again at her very gates and under her
protection, in order to crush him and his family the more effectually,
as she soon afterwards did. Fourteen years later Venice had literally
forced him to declare war against her, and had sent the invincible Carlo
Zeno to command her armies; the inevitable result had followed, and
Carrara himself with two of his sons were prisoners in the ducal palace.
The three were condemned to death, and were strangled in prison.

The private execution of the noble prisoners of war was not acknowledged
by the government, and the city was gravely informed that they had, all
three, died of colds or coughs, vaguely described as catarrh. But the
people were not deceived, and were certainly not displeased; and within
twenty-four hours a triumphant song was bawled through the streets of
Venice, of which the burden was ‘A dead man makes no war.’ The words
have remained a proverb in Italy.

The elder Carrara, long a state prisoner in Milan, had been duly
poisoned with ‘magical liquors’ by the five court physicians of Visconti
in 1393. One of the younger Carrara’s younger sons died in Florence very
soon after his father, but the fourth survived to be murdered in his
turn nearly thirty years later.

I find in Smedley’s _Sketches from Venetian History_ a very curious and
interesting note with regard to him and to the disappearance of his
race.

[Sidenote: _Smedley, I. chap. x. note._]

The family name of Carrara, like that of the Scottish Macgregors,
was proscribed. A branch of the House which still (1831) exists, or
did exist not long ago, at Padua, was compelled to adopt the name
of Pappa-fava, a _sobriquet_ the origin of which has been traced as
follows by Gataro. Marsilietto da Carrara, Signor of Padua for one
short month before his assassination, in 1345, when a boy, was
lodged, during a Pestilence which raged in the Capital, in a
Monastery at Brondolo. ‘Now in all the great religious houses it is
an ancient custom to have vegetable broth at dinner every day of
the week. On Monday it is made of beans (_fave_), on Tuesday of
haricots, on Wednesday of chick-peas, and so on. Marsilietto was so
fond of beans that it always appeared a thousand years to him till
the Monday came round, and, when it did, he devoured the beans with
such delight as was a pleasure to behold. He was, therefore,
nicknamed _Pappa-fava_ (Bean-glutton) by the rest, and his
descendants have retained the name.’

The threefold murder of the Carrara, for it was nothing else, must be
regarded as the first result of the continental development of Venice
after the war of Chioggia, a development which brought her into closer
contact with a number of thoroughly unscrupulous princes and
governments. If her misdeeds can be condoned at all, it must be upon
that ground; but I find it impossible to agree with Mr. Hazlitt, the
author of a recent valuable history entitled _The Venetian Republic_, in
considering that, on the whole, Carrara had something like a fair trial,
and deserved his fate. The whole body of evidence goes to show that, for
his times, he was an exceptionally frank and courageous prince, and much
of the so-called proof that was used against him in the end was obtained
by the merciless application of torture. Mr. Hazlitt’s real love of
Venice has, I think, prejudiced him too much in her favour in this
instance, and his affectionate industry has discovered everything that
can be said in her defence, without bestowing the same care on a fair
statement of the other side. In a similar way, a little farther on, he
speaks of the outrageous condemnation of Carlo Zeno to a year’s
imprisonment as an act not unjustifiable, because it was proved that
Zeno had actually received a small sum of money from Carrara; but Mr.
Hazlitt passes over Zeno’s defence in silence. The invincible warrior
admitted, indeed, that he had received the money, but his explanation
was perfectly simple and honourable. He had lent the little sum to the
prince when the latter had been an outcast, wandering through Italy with
his young wife, and Carrara had repaid the money when he had regained
Padua. Zeno was over seventy years of age at the time when he was
condemned to a year’s imprisonment in a dungeon for this act of charity
and its consequences; he was the bravest and truest Venetian of his
times; he had saved his country from destruction, and had served her
with the most perfect integrity under the most trying circumstances, and
more than once in the face of her basest ingratitude; he reaped the
reward which fell to the share of almost every distinguished Venetian,
for he was feared by the government, hated by the fellow-nobles whom he
had outstripped in honour, and condemned by men who were not worthy to
loose the latchet of his shoes. And he was convicted on account of a
paltry sum of three hundred ducats, lent to a wanderer in distress and
duly returned--he, who had given thousands from his own resources to
satisfy the demands of the sordid mercenaries whom Venice had employed
in the war of Chioggia! In trying to make out that he was treated with
justice, Mr. Hazlitt attempts to prove too much. Before quitting a point
to which I shall not return, let me, however, testify to the value of
Mr. Hazlitt’s work, and to the great and useful industry with which he
has consulted and accurately quoted a number of authorities not only
inaccessible to the ordinary reader, but rarely mentioned, and in some
cases not at all, by such historians as Daru, Romanin, and even
Sismondi.

The stern justice of former days degenerated into cold cruelty in the
fifteenth century. When the Republic set a price on the heads of
Carrara’s two youngest sons, after vainly attempting to get possession
of their persons by diplomatic means, they were mere boys.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iv. 42._]

When Zeno was called before the Council of Ten on the night of the
twentieth of January 1406, the warrant for his examination authorised
the use of torture, if it should seem necessary. But even the Ten
hesitated at that. He admitted and explained the matter of the money
lent and repaid; his explanations of his reasons for having received and
talked with an envoy from Padua were as honourable as they were clear,
and the Ten being mercifully inclined that night, did not proceed to
stretch Venice’s greatest hero on the rack, but only condemned him to
the Pozzi for a year, and to the perpetual loss of all offices he held.

He accepted the sentence without a murmur, and his frame of steel did
not permanently suffer from the confinement, for he lived twelve years
longer in perfect

[Illustration: PONTE FIORENZOLA]

health, made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, was once more in command of the
troops of the Republic, defeated the Cypriotes, and died at last in the
full possession of his faculties, leaving his name to undying glory,
and the memory of his judges to eternal shame.

The Venetians had buried the elder and the younger Carrara with great
magnificence, dressed in rich velvet, with their golden spurs on their
heels and their swords by their sides. When Zeno died at last, it was
necessary that his funeral should outshine at least the obsequies
accorded to the murdered foes of the Republic. The Doge and the Senate
attended, and the citizens followed him to his grave in their thousands;
but it is good to read that what was left of him was borne to its last
rest on the shoulders of brave seamen who had served with him, fought
under him, and shed their blood with him. He lies in the church of Santa
Maria della Celestia, where you may see his tomb to this day.

An age of transition is sure to be an age of contrasts. One may compare,
for instance, the Doge Michel Steno with his successor, Tomaso Mocenigo,
the extreme of extravagance with the extreme of economy, the increasing
indebtedness of each department of the State with the excessive severity
of the magistrates whose duty it was to watch suspected persons; and
from the officials who ‘defended the faith’ one may turn to the wild
band of noble youths who called themselves the ‘Compagnia della Calza,’
the ‘Hose Club,’ and whose chief occupation was to amuse and be amused.

The laws were full of contrasts, too. The Doge Michel Steno, the first
of the fifteenth century, kept

[Sidenote: _Mutinelli, Commercio._]

four hundred horses in his stables, and by way of adding absurdity to
extravagance he dyed their coats yellow, according to the ridiculous
custom of the times. Yet he was forbidden by law to blazon his
coat-of-arms on the ducal palace, or, in fact, anywhere else, and he was
not allowed to have himself addressed as ‘My Lord.’ The law required him
to wear a mantle of royal ermine, and to provide his servants with two
new liveries each year; yet he could be treated like a boy, and told to
be silent and sit down in Council, as actually happened to him a few
years after his election.

[Sidenote: _Armand Baschet, Archives._]

The story is worth telling. I have spoken of the ‘Avogadori del Commun,’
who were officers of considerable importance and power, and not at first
noble. They stood, in a manner, between private individuals and the
State in matters of law, civil and criminal; partly in the position of a
modern attorney-general, partly as representing the exchequer, but they
had a right of interference in many other matters. Two of them were
bound to be present at every Council, including that of the Ten, arrayed
in long red robes, and they had power to suspend all judgments during
three days in cases which, if not positively criminal, concerned the
execution of laws and edicts. Though at first not nobles, and perhaps
for that very reason, it had always been their business to act as a
Heralds’ Office for the purpose of examining into all titles of nobility
and claims for seats in the Grand Council.

Now it happened on the second of June in 1410 that a certain noble
called Donato Michiel proposed the repeal of a law which had been
approved six years earlier by the Great Council; the Avogadori opposed
the motion, and accused the patrician of encroaching on their rights.
But the Doge Steno, agreeing with the noble, lost his temper, and spoke
sharply to the Avogadori. Now the ducal oath forbade the Doge to speak
in defence of any one unless he could obtain permission to do so from
four out of six of his counsellors. Three of the latter now tried to
call him to order, but he would not listen to them. ‘Messer Doge,’ they
then said bluntly, ‘let your Serenity sit down and be silent, and leave
the Avogadori quite free to do their duty!’

Two other counsellors now took the Doge’s side, and he went on talking;
whereupon the Avogadori imposed on him a fine and threatened to bring an
action against him. Both parties grew more and more obstinate, and the
quarrel lasted several days, until some intelligent persons discovered
that the Doge had not broken his ducal oath, because the Avogadori had
not yet formally made accusation against Donato Michiel, so that what
the Doge had said had not been said in defence of any one, there being
no legally accused person, but as a general statement of opinion; and in
this way the affair was patched up without scandal.

Under the rule of Tomaso Mocenigo, Steno’s successor, the Republic seems
to have recovered something of its pristine vigour, and the germs of
internal corruption were retarded in their growth for a time. Mocenigo
was as austere, as prudent, and as active as

[Illustration: LAND GATEWAY, PALAZZO FOSCARI]

Steno had been extravagant, hot-tempered, and careless. Venice now
finally obtained possession of Friuli and Dalmatia, which made her
mistress of the Adriatic as far as Corfu.

Mocenigo was a man of iron will and inflexible principle. Nothing gives
a clearer idea of his character than his own recapitulation of his nine
years’ reign, when he lay dying of old age.

On his deathbed he assembled about him the principal officers of the
Republic, and drew a clear picture of the condition of the country at
the end of his administration, giving his hearers at the same time
valuable advice as to the election of his successor, which they
unfortunately did not follow. I quote the speech in full:--

My Lords, by the weakness in which I find myself, I know that I am
near the end of my life; wherefore, since I owe great obligation to
this my country, which has not only nourished and brought me up,
but has also

[Sidenote: _Rom. iv. 93._]

granted me as much pre-eminence and as many honours as can be
conferred upon one of her citizens, and although I have always
been devoted to my country with my life and with such poor means
as fortune gave me, yet I know that by this I have not repaid even
a small part of all the good which I have received; and being
brought to a limit where I can do no more for my country, it is for
my own satisfaction that I desired to assemble all of you here,
that I might commend to you this Christian city and exhort you to
love your neighbours, and to do justice, and to choose peace and
preserve it, as I have endeavoured to do. In my time four millions
of debts have been paid off, and there are other six millions
owing, which debt was incurred for the wars of Padua, Vicenza, and
Verona; we have paid every six months two instalments of the debts,
and have paid all my officers and regiments. This our city now
sends out in the way of business to different parts of the world
ten millions of ducats’ worth yearly by ships and galleys, and the
profit is not less than two million ducats a year. In this city
there are three thousand vessels of one to two hundred ‘anfore’
(Venetian register of capacity) with seventeen thousand seamen;
there are three hundred larger ships with eight thousand sailors.
Every year there go to sea forty-five galleys with eleven thousand
sailors, and there are three thousand ship’s carpenters and three
thousand caulkers. There are three thousand weavers of silk and
sixteen thousand weavers of cotton cloth; the houses are estimated
to be worth seven millions and fifty thousand ducats. The rents
are five hundred thousand ducats. There are one thousand noblemen
whose income is from seven hundred to four thousand ducats. If
you go on in this manner, you will increase from good to better,
and you will be the masters of wealth and Christendom; every one
will fear you. But beware, as you would be of fire, of taking what
belongs to others and of waging unjust war, for God cannot endure
those errors in princes. Every one knows that the war with the
Turks has made you brave, and experienced of the sea; you have
six generals fit to fight any great army, and for each of these
you have sea-captains, slingers, officers, boatswains, mates, and
rowers enough to man one hundred galleys; and in these years you
have shown distinctly that the world considers you the leaders of
Christianity. You have many men experienced in embassies and in the
government of cities, who are accomplished orators. You have many
doctors of divers sciences, and especially many lawyers, wherefore
numerous foreigners come here for judgment of their differences,
and abide by your verdicts. Your mint coins every year a million
ducats of gold and two hundred thousand of silver; it also coins
yearly eight hundred thousand ducats’ worth between ‘grossetti,
mezzanini, and soldoni.’ Fifty thousand ducats of ‘grossetti’ go
every year to Soria, and to the mainland, and other parts; of
‘mezzanini’ and ‘soldoni’ one hundred thousand ducats; the rest
remains in the country (Venice). You know that the Florentines
send us each year sixteen thousand pieces of cloth, which we make
use of (in commerce) in Barbary, in Egypt, in Soria, in Cyprus,
in Rhodes, in Roumania, in Candia, in the Morea, and in Istria,
and every month the Florentines bring into this city seventy
thousand ducats’ worth of all sorts of merchandise, which amounts
to eight hundred and forty thousand ducats yearly and more; and
they take back French woollens, Catalans, and crimson, and fine
corded wool and silk, gold and silver thread and jewellery, with
great advantage to the city. Therefore, be wise in governing such
a State, and be careful to watch it and to see that it is not
diminished by negligence. You must be very careful as to who is to
succeed in my place, for by him the Republic may have much good and
much evil. Many of you are inclined to Messer Marino Caravello, who
is a worthy man, and deserves that honour for his worthy qualities.
Messer Francesco Bembo is a good man, and the same is Messer
Giacomo Trevisan; Messer Antonio Contarini, Messer Faustin Michiel,
and Messer Alban Badoer, all these are wise and deserving. Many are
inclined to Messer Francesco Foscari, and do not know that he is
proud and untruthful; he has no principle in his affairs, he has an
exaggerated disposition, he grasps at much and holds but little.
If he be Doge you will always be at war; he who has ten thousand
ducats will not be master of one thousand, he who has two houses
will not be the master of one; you will spend gold and silver,
reputation and honour, and where you are now the chiefs, you
will be the slaves of your soldiers and men-at-arms and of their
captains. I could not resist the desire to tell you this opinion of
mine. God grant that you may elect the best man, and direct you,
and preserve you in peace.

Mocenigo died on the fourth of April 1423.

In spite of his admonitions and of a considerable opposition, the
electors chose Francesco Foscari to succeed him, and henceforth war with
Milan became a certainty. It was on the occasion of his election that
the last remnant of the people’s right of interference was done away
with. Hitherto it had been customary to announce each election to the
people, adding the words ‘if such be your pleasure.’ This time the High
Chancellor, who, it will be remembered, was never a noble, inquired,
with a smile, what would happen if the people answered that it was not
their pleasure. The result was that the formula was never used again.

But the people were easily amused and let the nobles do as they pleased,
even when, at a later date, the designation ‘Venetian Commonwealth’ was
abandoned, and the word ‘Signoria’ was officially substituted in its
place. This, literally translated, means ‘lordship,’ but it has long
been a convenient custom to make an English word of it, as ‘Signory.’

[Sidenote: _Lazzari, Guida._]

Some idea of the character of Francesco Foscari is given by the
following anecdote. The Giustiniani family had built three palaces on
the Grand Canal, one of which had been sold as a residence to the young
Duke of Mantua, whom his brother, when dying, had commended to the
protection of the Republic. Foscari could not endure the thought that
the Giustiniani should still have two palaces finer than his only one,
and when the government sold the third at auction in 1428, he bought it
and raised it by building another story in order that it might outdo
the others. It was then said to have three hundred and sixty-five
windows, and it was valued at twenty thousand ducats, say, at fifteen
thousand pounds sterling, which was a vast sum for those days.

Foscari’s name recalls dramatic memories, and, to tell the truth, it has
frequently been taken in vain by poets and playwrights, and even by some
chroniclers and historians. His son Jacopo was not the martyr he has
been represented to be, nor was he himself the ‘Roman father’ of the
play. I shall tell the true story--a terrible one enough, even in its
accurate form--after briefly reviewing his reign.

The dying Mocenigo had not been altogether wrong in his predictions
about Foscari, for before long the Republic was at war with Milan, as
the ally of Florence, and was squandering money and men at a disastrous
rate. Foscari undoubtedly belonged to the war party, yet in the true
interests of his country he really controlled his own fiery nature for
some time, and endeavoured to maintain a neutral position with regard to
the quarrels of the Visconti with the Florentines, during which it was
the constant aim of the latter to break up the alliance which was still
in force between Milan and Venice.

Giovanni Galeazze was dead. His eldest son, Giovanni-Maria, had
succeeded him, a maniac who is said to have fed his hounds on human
flesh; and he had been dethroned by Facino Cane, and then massacred by
the Milanese, as he richly deserved. His brother, Filippo-Maria, when
Facino Cane died childless, promptly married the latter’s widow, the
unhappy Beatrice da Tenda, in order to inherit something of Facino’s
popularity and all of his vast estates. This being accomplished, and not
caring for her company, as she was twice his age, he brought a false
accusation against her, tortured her and sent her to the scaffold, while
she protested her innocence. But this was only an incidental crime, and
would doubtless have been forgotten with a hundred others but for the
noble bearing of the unfortunate woman throughout the tragedy that ended
her life. The historically important fact is that Filippo-Maria
determined to recover every inch of the wide territory which had been
ruled by his father, and that if he had accomplished his end, Venice
would have been required to restore what she had taken from the
Milanese.

Florence was at that time in one of her only too frequent phases of
ill-luck, yet her hatred for the Visconti was such that she could not
resist the temptation to fight Milan under all circumstances. She needed
help, of course; above all, she needed money, and Venice was the richest
nation in Europe. As has been seen, too, from Mocenigo’s dying speech,
the two States were in close commercial relations. It was natural,
therefore, that Florence should seek assistance of Venice; it was
equally natural, according to the old traditions of Venice, that aid
should be refused, unless it could be given profitably.

Foscari was for war, but was not able to influence the Senate in favour
of the Florentines, to whom he had always been friendly. It was a
stranger and a fugitive, a soldier of fortune of the highest physical

[Illustration: PALAZZO REGINA DI CIPRO]

courage, of the lowest origin, and of no principles at all, who turned
the scale--no less a personage than the famous condottiero Carmagnola.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iv. 106._]

This remarkable man’s real name was Francesco Bossone, an appellation
derived from the village in which he had been born of peasant parents.
He had enlisted at an early age, and had attracted the attention and
favour of Filippo-Maria Visconti, immediately after Facino Cane’s death,
by almost catching Ettore Visconti, whom Filippo wished to murder. After
this, Carmagnola’s advance to fortune was rapid and unchecked. In ten
years we find him with the title of Count of Castelnuovo, as Filippo’s
governor over Genoa, married to a widowed Antonia Visconti, who passed
for a daughter of Giovanni Galeazzo; and so he prospered, till he had
acquired such wealth that he deemed it safe to invest a part of it in
foreign securities. As an especial favour, by a decree of the Great
Council of Venice, he was allowed to buy bonds of the Venetian debt with
his money, a privilege rarely granted to any foreigner. Before long he
had cause to congratulate himself upon this piece of fortune, and upon
his own caution, which had led directly to it.

[Sidenote: _1424._]

Various explanations have been given of his disgrace with Filippo
Visconti; it has been said that he lost the prince’s favour by the
calumnies of people who envied him. Romanin says Filippo grew suspicious
of him, because he was too successful and too popular with the troops,
and that the envy of courtiers did the rest; that on being recalled from
the governorship of Genoa he attempted in vain to obtain an audience of
the Duke, and did all he could

[Sidenote: _1425._]

to justify himself; but that, as he failed altogether, he withdrew to
Piedmont, and did his best to incite Amadeus of Savoy against Filippo;
that the latter then confiscated all his possessions, and arrested his
wife and daughters, whom he held as hostages; and that, finally,
Carmagnola went to Venice, and offered his services and those of eighty
men-at-arms whom he had with him, the Republic being then on the eve of
yielding to the entreaties of Florence and declaring war on Visconti.

The plain truth of all this seems to be that Carmagnola was an
unprincipled scoundrel, who meant to be on the winning side whatever
happened, and who, being very well informed, foresaw that a league was
about to be made, with Venice at its head, which would be in a position
to defy his old master. The latter, of course, tried to poison him by
secret agents, who failed, were caught, and were duly tortured and
hanged by the Venetian government, which took the diplomatic precaution
of not mentioning the Duke of Milan in the case. There is a sameness
about the crimes of the Visconti which makes them almost tiresome;
Carmagnola was bolder and quite as profound, but the habit of
superiority in actual fighting made him underestimate, in the end, the
cool prudence of Venice and the many-sided duplicity of the Duke.

Venice accepted the adventurer’s offer, and soon afterwards placed him
in command of her land army; and before long Mocenigo’s prediction was
fulfilled, and the Republic was reduced to something like slavery under
the iron hand of the captain she had hired. He, on his part, played a
double game from the first, and made up his mind that if he must beat
his old master, he would hurt him as little as he could in so doing, and
would try to renew secret and friendly relations with him while acting
as the Republic’s general.

It was about this time that the Doge Foscari made a speech in favour of
the Florentine alliance, which was first published by Romanin. It bears
the stamp of a genuine report, and much of it is in the Venetian
dialect. Foscari argued that unless Venice would help Florence, the
latter would shortly be annihilated by Visconti, who would then proceed
at once to the destruction of Venice herself. He referred incidentally
to a speech just made by Carmagnola, and assured the Republic that under
such a general’s leadership there was nothing to fear, whereas there was
great hope of extending the boundaries of the Republic. He wound up by
saying that Visconti aspired to rule all Italy, despised reason, both
human and divine, and was always taking other men’s property by fraud
and deception; and Foscari called upon the Venetians to help in crushing
a common enemy, for the perpetual peace of all Italy.

The speech is hot and warlike. Nevertheless Romanin, three pages farther
on, declares that it is a great injustice to accuse Foscari of having
promoted war, and complains that historians have made the Doge the
scapegoat to bear the blame of all the wars in which Venice then became
involved. But Romanin was not only an enthusiastic Venetian; he was
also, to some extent, the apologist of the elder Foscari.

[Sidenote: _Sept. 15, 1426. Taking of Brescia, Aliense; Sala della
Bussola, ducal palace._]

The ratification of the league was announced at the end of January 1426,
and Carmagnola’s definite commission dates from the nineteenth of
February. He proceeded to besiege the fortresses of Brescia, allowed the
Florentine general to plan the really astonishing entrenchments, looked
on while the machinery of attack was set in motion, and departed to
follow a long cure of baths at Abano, very much to the disgust of the
Republic. He came back in leisurely fashion to the scene of action a few
days before the two castles capitulated, in time to take credit for the
whole affair, yet almost without having struck a blow at Visconti.

Meanwhile Francesco Bembo had transported another force up the Po in a
flotilla of small vessels, and farther still up the river Adda, and had
actually made a demonstration before Pavia, in the heart of Visconti’s
dominions. The Duke having failed to poison Carmagnola, tried to burn
down the Venetian arsenal by treachery, which was discovered, and his
wretched agent was tortured to death in due form.

Pope Martin V., who was a Colonna, and therefore a Ghibelline--the only
Ghibelline pope who ever reigned--was the one sovereign in Italy who
still favoured Visconti, and he now intervened to make peace. A treaty
was patched up by which the Duke lost a good deal of territory, and was
bound to set at liberty the wife and daughters of Carmagnola. This was
the peace of 1426, concluded on the thirtieth of December. Little more
than a month later, on the fifth of February 1427, the Republic sent for
Carmagnola again, for the Duke had simply refused to hand over the
fortresses he was to yield by the treaty, and on the twenty-fourth of
March Carmagnola and his wife made a sort of triumphal entry into the
city.

[Sidenote: _Oct. 11, 1427. Victory of Carmagnola at Macalò, Franceso
Bassano; ceiling, Hall of the Great Council._]

In the campaign which followed, though for the most part pursuing his
policy of inactivity, in spite of the protests of the Senate and the
Doge, Carmagnola condescended to win a battle for Venice at Macalò,
which it must be admitted, for his reputation, was a brilliant victory;
and he soon asked leave to go and take more baths, as if the whole
affair were perfectly indifferent to him. To this the Senate objected,
but he was given all manner of rich compensation for his services, and
came to Venice on leave. He was received with an ovation.

[Sidenote: _Bergamo surrenders to Carmagnola, Aliense; Sala della
Bussola._]

He had, indeed, been opposed to some of the greatest condottieri of the
time, such as Francesco Sforza and Piccinino, and the Venetians seem to
have valued him, because they were convinced that he could beat any
opponent if he pleased, and only required gifts and flattery to rouse
him to action. These were lavished on him, and a second peace with
Visconti was concluded in April 1428, about fourteen months after the
first. It was ratified and announced in May, and again Carmagnola
entered Venice in triumph. He was now formally invested with the great
feudal estate of Chiari.

As was to be expected, Visconti again failed to fulfil the conditions of
the treaty, and within three years hostilities broke out again. To the
amazement and mortification of the Venetian government, however,
Carmagnola now resigned his commission, almost at the moment when he was
to have taken command, and there is reason to believe that he was even
then secretly negotiating with Visconti. But the Republic could not
afford to lose such a man at such a moment; he was offered conditions
which must have surpassed even his own tolerably large expectations. Not
only was he to possess for himself and all his descendants the great
estate of Chiari, with its rental, but another large feudal holding in
the territory of Brescia was promised him on the same conditions; if all
Lombardy were taken, he was promised the complete restitution of all the
domains which Visconti had formerly bestowed upon him; all plunder and
all prisoners of war were to be his, the Republic contracting to pay him
a certain sum for each prisoner of importance whom he handed over to the
government; as if this were not enough, he was to be crowned Duke of
Milan if he could drive out Visconti.

While these astonishing offers were being made to him by Venice, he
received more than one letter from the Duke, requesting him to act as an
intermediary to make peace. This fact was, of course, soon known to the
Venetian government, and we can hardly be surprised that the Venetians
should not have liked the part which the Duke was thrusting upon a man
who had betrayed him, and whom he should have considered as his worst
enemy.

[Sidenote: _H. Brown, Ven. Studies, 165._]

Mr. Horatio Brown has conjectured with great acumen that Visconti, who
thoroughly understood the character of Carmagnola, as well as that of
the Venetian government, chose the surest means of ruining the
condottiero of whom he wished to be rid. Carmagnola, equally flattered
by the Duke’s secret letters and by the overwhelming offers of the
Republic, began to assume airs of superiority which could not but excite
the suspicion of a government whereof suspicion itself was the very
foundation and mainspring.

A series of discussions now began between the Senate and Visconti, in
which Carmagnola was continually concerned, but it was soon the gossip
of the city that the letters which he really sent to the Duke were by no
means identical with the drafts of those which he showed the Senate for
approbation. It is at least certain that, after war was declared, as was
inevitable, Carmagnola showed neither decision nor energy when obliged
to face Visconti’s army, and allowed himself to be beaten by Francesco
Sforza, who was afterwards himself Duke of Milan. He showed all his old
energy in Friuli in driving out the Hungarians, whom Visconti had
induced to make a descent upon that territory, but he had no sooner come
back to Brescia, for which Visconti himself was fighting, than his
hesitation returned.

Smedley, in connection with what now happened, quotes the following
remarkable passage from the twelfth chapter of Macchiavelli’s
_Principe_: ‘Perceiving that Carmagnola had become cold in their
service, they yet neither wished nor dared to dismiss him, from a fear
of losing that which he had acquired for them; for their own security,
therefore, they were compelled to put him to death.’

The condottiero now received a message from the Signory, requesting him
‘to give himself the trouble’ of coming to Venice to discuss a new plan
of campaign. Completely taken off his guard, he at once left his camp
and repaired to the capital, where he was met by eight nobles, who
accompanied him to the ducal palace, telling him that the Doge expected
him to dinner.

His own small escort was dismissed at the door, and he was ushered into
a hall where he waited a few moments. Then came Leonardo Mocenigo and
said that the Doge was indisposed, and begged that he would come again
on the following day. Carmagnola left the room, followed by the eight
nobles. In the courtyard he was about to take the direction which would
have led him to the canal where he had left his boat, when the nobles
suddenly came up with him and pointed towards the small porch under
which was the outer entrance to the prisons.

‘This way, Sir Count,’ they said. ‘But that is not my way,’ he answered.
‘You are mistaken,’ they said, ‘this is the best way.’ At the same
moment, certain gaolers appeared and pushed him through the door of the
Pozzi. ‘I am lost!’ he cried, as he went in.

This was on the seventh of April. The manner of

[Illustration: RAMO CORTE DELLA VIDA, S. FRANCESCO DELLA VIDA]

the general’s arrest may be excused for its lack of dignity by the
necessities of the situation. The man was most undoubtedly a traitor and
a villain, but it would have been impossible to seize him in the midst
of his own men-at-arms, and the most prudent manner of getting
possession of his person was to draw him into an ambush. The wise and
merciful fathers of the Republic would assuredly not have hesitated at
much worse things; only a few days earlier they had offered twenty-five
thousand ducats to a man called Muazzo, employed in Visconti’s
household, to poison the Duke. The Republic had already fully adopted
the progressive methods of its day.

Carmagnola’s trial occupied some time, and was conducted on the whole in
a regular and legal manner. It began on the ninth of April, and on the
eleventh the once all-powerful captain, to whom those who were now his
judges had offered the dukedom of Milan, was put to the torture like any
other criminal. On the fifth of May the Council of Ten gave its verdict
as follows:--

[Sidenote: _Rom. iv. 160._]

‘That this Count Francesco Carmagnola, a public traitor to our dominion,
be led to-day, after nones, at the usual hour, with a gag in his mouth
and with his hands tied behind his back, according to custom, between
the two columns of the Square of Saint Mark’s, to the usual place of
execution, and that his head be there struck off his shoulders, so that
he die.’

The sentence goes on to direct that the Count’s widow should enjoy the
interest of ten thousand ducats of the bonded debt, on condition that
she should live in Treviso. Provision was also made for his unmarried
daughters. As for the one who was affianced to

[Illustration: THE FRARI]

Sigismondo Malatesta, since there was no divorce law by which he could
sever an alliance which was odious, he adopted the simple expedient of
murdering her as soon as he had married her and secured her dowry.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iv. 162, note 2._]

Carmagnola’s body was dressed in crimson velvet, and on his severed head
was placed the cap which still bears his name. The corpse was borne to
the church of San Francesco della Vigna with twenty-four torches, but as
it was about to be buried there, the capuchin monk who had received his
last confession appeared in haste and said that the dead man had wished
to be buried in the church of the Frari, and he was accordingly laid
there, in the cloister. In Venice it was the custom that the clothes of
executed persons should be given to the gaoler, not to the headsman; but
in this case the Council of Ten decreed that the dress worn by
Carmagnola should be handed over with his body to the monks of the
church where he was buried, the gaoler receiving ten ducats as
compensation.

His remains are now interred in Milan beside those of his wife Antonia
in the greater church of Saint Francis. The historian Morosini, quoted
by Romanin in a note, judged from his statue that he had the hard face,
the cruel eye, and, generally, the unpleasant aspect which denote a man
of dangerous character and stubborn purpose; and adds that he was a
person of a keen wit, a tough constitution, and great courage, but
capricious and of doubtful honesty.

Carmagnola’s wife was deeply implicated in his treachery, as is not
surprising considering that she was known as the niece of Giovanni
Galeazzo Visconti, and was believed by many to be his daughter. She and
her children were required to remain in Venice some time

[Illustration: THE CHOIR SCREEN, FRARI]

before proceeding to Treviso, and were detained in the convent of the
Vergini, the same religious house which had served as a prison for two
ladies of the Quirini family more than a century earlier. It was there
that the Countess received the news of her husband’s execution, which
was announced to her by one of the heads of the Council of Ten and an
Avogador; and these officials at the same time demanded of her a list of
her jewellery, assuring her that the Signory would forgive her misdeeds
if she would only show a proper spirit of contrition. I find no account
of the poor woman’s behaviour on this occasion; but as the sentence was
executed only a few hours after it was passed, the news of her husband’s
death on the scaffold was in all likelihood conveyed to her without any
previous notice of his condemnation, and it was accompanied by a cold
request for an inventory of her jewels, and a lecture on patience and
repentance. Even the imagination of a novelist fails to guess what she
must have felt as she listened to the grim men who had just condemned
her husband and seen him die, and now wished to be told how many
earrings and gold chains and brooches she had in her possession.

She afterwards really retired to Treviso with her daughters, and the
Republic continued to pay her the promised allowance, till she one day
escaped to Milan, whereby the obligations of the Venetian government
were ended.

Whatever Visconti’s plans may have been when he secretly renewed his
relations with Carmagnola, whether he intended to compass his ruin or
not, it is certain that he bitterly resented his execution, and used
every means, including the most inhuman tortures, to discover the names
of those who had accused and condemned the condottiero. If he had
succeeded he would no doubt have tried to poison them all.

[Illustration: S. ROCCO]

Not long after Carmagnola was imprisoned, Piccinino, one of Visconti’s
generals, captured in a skirmish at Valtellina Giorgio Corner, a noble
and very influential Venetian, who had acted as Provveditor to oversee
Carmagnola’s doings in the field. He was taken to Monza, near Milan, and
confined there in one of the prisons called ‘Forni,’ ‘ovens,’ compared
with which the dreaded Pozzi seem to have been thought airy and
luxurious quarters. He lived to write an account of what he suffered,
and I shall give a literal translation of his words, not for the sake of
inspiring horror, but because the document bears the unmistakable stamp
of truth, and is one of very few of the kind which have come down to us.

Corner was first examined by Gaspare de Grossis, Doctor of Laws.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iv. 166, note._]

I felt as if my soul were being torn out of me, when he said that I
must speak the truth; and when I answered that I had told it he
gave me a wrench of the rope, and had me drawn up and brought to
him like dead, threatening me greatly, that he would have this
truth; and seeing me like dead he went away, and I was let down
into the ‘forno’ by a leathern belt, and was placed upon a mattress
on the boards, and was given the yolk of an egg and a drink. This
was my dinner, and I was not able to get my hand to my mouth in any
way; so I lay that night and never could sleep. In the morning came
he that watched me, and made fire, and gave me the yolks of two
eggs, and with these I remained that day.

On the next Friday morning he came to me and had me bound and drawn
up and taken to him, asking if I would tell the truth, and when I
said I had told it, he said he wished to know who had told the
Signory about the Count (Carmagnola) having an understanding with
my Lord Duke. I said I knew no one who had made the accusation.
Seeing that he could get nothing else, he had me fastened to the
rope, and gave me a wrench of the rope that I thought I was dying.
Seeing that he could get nothing more from me, he made me get up
and had my arms set (they were dislocated by the torture), with
even greater pain, and had me brought to him, and he spoke his mind
(abusively) and went away. On the next Saturday in the evening he
caused a bar to be placed on the floor in a hollow, and my feet
were put under it and hammered upon with a wooden pin, so that I
almost died of the pain. On the last day of December, which was
Saint Sylvester’s day, there came to me the aforesaid Messer
Gaspare, and with him came Lunardo di Lunardi, the inquisitor of
Milan, at the hour of matins, and had me taken up. Let every one
guess how my heart felt. I commended myself to God and went before
them. Being before them Lunardo asked me if I knew him, and I said:
No. And he answered me: Also I will not leave thee till I have so
wrought that thou shalt know me; and saying: Thou hast refused to
tell the truth to Messer Gaspare; the prince has sent me to know
the truth of thee; thou hadst best tell it and get his good grace;
but though thou wouldest not tell it, be quite sure that thou shalt
nevertheless tell it, or thine arms shall be left hanging to the
cord (torn from the body). And with other words, which I write not,
for hearing this every one may fancy how my heart felt. I answered
that I had told the truth to Messer Gaspare, and that he (Lunardo)
ought to be sure of this, because if it had been my own son who had
accused the Count Carmagnola I would say so rather than desire more
torture, and all the more he should consider that I would do so if
it were a stranger; and I said the like as to what concerned the
other chief points (of the inquiry). Then Lunardo said to me: Thou
wilt not name the real traitor; he had me undressed and fastened to
the cord, etc.

On the second of January Corner was told that he was to be tortured
again, and he addressed his tormentors as follows:--

Since this is your will, which will soon be done, I ask one thing
of you as a grace, that since I am to lose this body so miserably,
I may not lose my soul, and that I may confess and receive
communion, in order that our Lord God may have mercy on this poor
soul. Lunardo answered: I wish it may go to the house of the Devil.
Hearing this cruel speech I answered that although fortune had
given him power over the body, God had not given him power over the
soul, and that I hoped, by His grace, that if I had good patience
this should be my purgatory, for my innocence’ sake; and that He
would receive my soul into His glory, and (I said): The more pain
you inflict on this wretched body so much the more merit will He
give me, and to Him I commend myself.

The unhappy man was kept in prison six years, and was supposed in Venice
to be dead, but he succeeded in sending a message to his son. The
Republic then sternly demanded of Visconti his release, and he returned
to his home at last, deformed by torture, pale and emaciated, with a
beard that descended to his belt. He lived just two months after that,
prematurely broken by his horrible sufferings, and was followed to his
grave by a vast concourse of the people. Romanin says that he was a
nephew of the Doge Marco Corner, whose brave defence of his poverty and
of his burgher wife, when he was a candidate, will be remembered. It is
more likely that the Doge was the Provveditor’s great-uncle, as he died
a very old man, more than seventy years before the death of the
unfortunate Giorgio. It is possible, however, that Romanin may have
meant that the latter was the Doge’s grandson, for in Italian there is
but one word to signify ‘grandson’ or ‘nephew,’ though when the former
meaning is intended it is usual to make it clear.

[Sidenote: _Portraits of Doge Francesco Foscari: one, attributed to G.
Bellini, Museo Civico, Room XVI.; another, by Bartolommeo Bon, Camera
degli Stucchi, ducal palace._]

Foscari’s name is so closely associated in most persons’ memories with
the tragedy of his worthless son, that we are apt to forget that his
reign lasted a third of a century and covered one of the most important
periods in Venetian history. It embraces most of the wars of the league,
the rise and fall of Carmagnola, the end of the house of Visconti, and
the foundation and elevation of the Sforza family; and, most important
of all, the taking of Constantinople by the Turks.

Much sentimental nonsense has been written about the two Foscari, and
even such a historian as Daru has had the courage to tell us that the
Doge presided in the court which condemned his son, and that Jacopo
received his sentence from the mouth of his own father. Not content with
stating these impossibilities, Daru has actually described the scene,
with many details, though it could not, under any circumstances, have
taken place, since a special edict of the Council of Ten expressly
forbade the Doge, or any member of his family, to be present at the
trial.

Jacopo’s troubles began soon after his marriage in 1441 with Lucrezia, a
daughter of Leonardo Contarini.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iv. 266 sqq., and Molmenti, Dogaressa, 250 sqq._]

The wedding had been celebrated with great splendour, and the bride had
been conducted home over a bridge especially built for the ceremony
across the Grand Canal; there had been boat-races, a tournament in which
the great Francesco Sforza himself took part, and there had been
illuminations of the city and endless other festivities. The bridegroom
is said to have been a very cultivated young man of great personal
charm, a Greek scholar, a lover of poetry, and a collector of rare
manuscripts; but of weak character, careless and extravagant. It really
looks as if his fate had been the final consequence of some momentary
lack of means wherewith to satisfy his luxurious tastes. Three years
after his marriage he was accused before the Council of Ten of having
received gifts from several important citizens in consideration of
obtaining honorific or lucrative posts for them through his influence
with his father. One of his servants and several other persons were
examined under torture, and their evidence led to an order for his
arrest. He had been informed of what was going on, however, and had
already escaped.

The trial proceeded without him, and it was sufficiently proved that a
box existed in the Doge’s house containing valuables which he had
received. The law forbidding any member of the Doge’s family to receive
any gifts whatsoever, under any circumstances, was most rigidly enforced
in Venice, and Jacopo was justly sentenced to a temporary exile; he was
known to be in Trieste, and a galley was ordered to proceed thither to
convey him to Modon in the Peloponnesus, whence he was to journey at
his own expense to Napoli di Romania, near Corinth, within one month;
and while there he was to present himself to the governor every day, to
sleep in the city every night, to keep no more than three servants, and
to be treated in all respects as a private

[Illustration: GRAND CANAL LOOKING TO CANARREGGIO]

citizen. If he refused to go on board the galley a price was set on his
capture; he was to be brought to Venice and beheaded between the
columns. Several minor personages were at the same time sentenced to
short terms of exile, and to the loss of any public offices they might
be holding at the time.

The offence was patent, the trial was legal, and the condemnation was
just; but Jacopo cared for none of these things, and altogether
declining the invitation of the Ten to go on board the galley sent for
him, he continued to live in Trieste as if nothing had happened. The
Ten, on their side, were by no means anxious to incur the odium of
decapitating the Doge’s son, as they had declared that they would do if
he refused obedience, and they now begged the Doge himself to use his
paternal influence with Jacopo, in order that they might not be driven
to extremities; but as this measure also remained without any effect,
the Council confirmed its sentence and confiscated Jacopo’s property. At
any moment he might have been arrested, brought to Venice, and beheaded;
but instead of this, a committee was named to examine into the
circumstances. It was ascertained that Jacopo was in bad health; it was
voted that this fact should be accepted as a sufficient excuse for his
disobedience; and, by way of smoothing matters over, it was decreed that
he should be exiled only to Treviso and the Trevisan district, almost
within sight of Venice. Jacopo thought fit to submit to this mild
decree, which was not modified, although it was soon afterwards
discovered that he had received two thousand and forty ducats, with a
quantity of silver plate, from Francesco Sforza. A year later the Doge
presented a petition to the Council of Ten begging that, in
consideration of his own old age, and of the fact that Jacopo, his wife,
his children, and all their servants, suffered from malarious fever in
the climate of Mestre, Jacopo might be allowed to return to Venice.
This petition was actually granted, doubtless owing to the signal
services rendered to the Republic by the old Doge during a reign which
had already lasted twenty years.

Jacopo returned, and during the next three years nothing is known of his
mode of life. It must be admitted that, so far, the Ten had acted with
unusual clemency. They can hardly be blamed, however, for having watched
Jacopo afterwards.

On the evening of the fifth of November 1450 an atrocious murder was
committed, and the fact that the victim, the noble Ermolao Donato, had
been one of the heads of the Ten during Jacopo’s trial, and that he was
killed just after he had left the ducal palace, cast suspicion upon the
younger Foscari. It was not until two months later that a formal
accusation was laid against him and he was arrested. There was certainly
strong evidence to prove the crime. Foscari had long made no secret
about his hatred of the murdered man; a servant of Jacopo’s had been
seen hanging about the palace as if waiting for some one just before
Donato had come out; and a good many minor pieces of testimony were
adduced.

There is not the slightest truth in the story that Jacopo Loredan ever
held the Foscari family responsible for the death of his father, who was
probably poisoned by Visconti, nor that he entered the crime as a debt
in his ledger, and wrote ‘paid’ opposite the entry when the elder
Foscari was deposed. Yet it is true that a sort of feud had long existed
between the two families, that Pietro Loredan had been the unsuccessful
candidate when Foscari had been elected, and that Jacopo Loredan now
took an active part in the proceedings against Jacopo Foscari.

The trial was not in any way a secret one. The evidence was only
circumstantial, and even under torture Jacopo confessed nothing. In
modern England or America he would not have been tortured, but he would
in all probability have been hanged for the murder. The Ten must have
felt the difficulty in which they were placed, and they met it by
condemning him to exile in Crete, not allowing his wife and children to
accompany him. Foscari was then taken from the ducal palace and placed
on board a ship, which conveyed him to his destination. He remained in
Crete unmolested during five years.

[Sidenote: _1456._]

Here, again, dramatists and writers of fiction have invented an
extraordinary tale. It is narrated that Jacopo, being unable to bear the
loneliness of exile, deliberately wrote a letter, in which he appealed
for help, to Francesco Sforza, then Duke of Milan, intending that the
missive should fall into the hands of the Ten, in order that the Council
might have him brought back to Venice to be tried; and we are asked to
believe that he risked the agonies of torture for the sake of once more
seeing his own people. What actually happened seems to be that Jacopo
had become intimate in his exile with certain Genoese, through whom he
attempted to establish a correspondence with Mohammed II., the conqueror
of Constantinople, in the hope that the Sultan would send a galley on
which he might escape from Crete. If he had succeeded, the Turkish
vessel would certainly not have brought him to Venetian waters.

Venice had suffered much in her commerce by the Mohammedan conquest; a
number of her citizens had fought in the last defence of Constantinople,
and some had been afterwards murdered in cold blood by the Sultan’s
orders. An agreement had subsequently been reached, it is true, but the
Ten could hardly be expected to look with leniency on a secret
correspondence between the son of her Doge and the despot of the
Osmanlis.

Jacopo Foscari was brought back to Venice and tried again. He now
confessed everything immediately, without compulsion. The story of his
having been horribly tortured during this second trial appears to be a
pure invention, for in the records of the Council of Ten the fact that
the cord was used is invariably stated on each occasion, and in this
case there is no mention of any such matter. I refer the incredulous
reader to Romanin’s fourth volume, in which abundant proof of this will
be found, with the most minute reference to existing documents. Smedley
wrote at a time when those papers had not been found, and confessed,
moreover, to having largely used Daru.

Jacopo was condemned to return to Crete and to be confined there in
prison during one year; he was told, however, that if he again wrote
letters to foreign princes, he should end his life under lock and key.

He was allowed to see his family and his father once more, before his
departure, and the aged Doge took leave of his only son with tears and
deep emotion; but to Jacopo’s entreaties that the Doge would endeavour
to procure his return, the old man could only answer, ‘Go, Jacopo, obey
and ask no more.’

None the less, after his final departure, the Doge made every effort to
obtain his pardon, and was seconded by several of the great patricians;
but Jacopo died in January 1457, long before his year of imprisonment
was out.

The blow completely broke down the Doge, who was now about eighty-four
years of age; he became unable to attend to any affairs of State, and
the Council of Ten, not unwillingly perhaps, but with a full
understanding of the importance of such a step, determined to depose him
and elect another Doge. At its best, the Council of Ten was a fairly
just court; at its worst, it was the most unscrupulous, sordid,
despotic, and yet cowardly body of men that ever called themselves a
tribunal, until the French Revolutionaries beat all records of infamy in
the name of the ‘rights of man’; but at no time did the Council ever
show the smallest inclination to be sentimental; and it was very rarely
generous, for generosity is probably one of the noble forms of
sentiment. Francesco Foscari had reigned too long, and was now useless,
even as the figure-head which the chief of a thoroughly constitutional
and non-imperial state should be. The Council of Ten deposed him, and
the Great Council elected another Doge in his place, Pasquale
Malipieri.

The proposition presented by the heads of the Ten is extant, and is a
masterpiece of sanctimonious cant, in which the Venetian State is spoken
of as having originated in the infinite clemency of the divine Creator,
and immense stress is laid on the administrative importance of the
Doge’s office. The fact was that the oligarchy hated Foscari, and felt
that the conduct of his son had brought great scandal on the Republic. A
committee of the Council waited on him twice, and requested him to
resign on the score of old age, but he refused to do so; the third time,
the request became an order, and he was told to leave the ducal palace
within eight days. The ducal ring was taken from his finger and hammered
to pieces, as was done when a doge died.

He did not wait longer than necessary, and on the following day he left
the palace, walking with a stick, but otherwise unaided. His brother
Marco went with him, and proposed that they should go to their boat by
the private and covered entrance, but the old man refused. ‘I will go
down,’ he said, ‘by that staircase up which I came to be Doge.’

The last legend concerning him is that he died of a broken heart on
hearing the great bell announce the election of his successor. He died
three days later, on All Saints’ Day, and the new Doge was at mass when
the news was brought to the church. Doubtless Foscari’s end was hastened
by the painful emotions of the last few days, however, and there was a
strong feeling in Venice against the Council of Ten for some time
afterwards.

As usual, there was also an attempt to make amends by giving the dead
man a magnificent funeral. This his widow proudly refused, saying that
she was rich enough to give her husband a king’s funeral without aid
from the State; nevertheless, his body was taken by order of the Signory
and was laid out in state, arrayed in the ducal garments with all the
insignia; and Malipieri, the new Doge, followed the bier to the Frari
dressed as a simple senator, as if Foscari’s successor had not yet been
elected.

Returning for a moment to the list of the condottieri who served Venice
in the fifteenth century, it is time to say that Carmagnola was
succeeded as general of the Venetian armies by the Duke of Mantua, who
before long went over to the enemy with his men, his weapons, and his
baggage. The next commander was one of his lieutenants, a certain Erasmo
da Narni, famous under the nickname of ‘Gattamelata,’ or Honey-Cat.

[Sidenote: _Eroli, Erasmo Gattamelata._]

Erasmo Gattamelata of Narni was the son of a baker in that town, and is
said to have got his nickname from his soft and cat-like ways, ‘and for
his speech, which was cautious and also sweet and suave as honey.’ As
there are still families of the name in northern Italy who were never
connected with his, I cannot see why we need assume that in his case it
was a nickname at all. Such appellations are common in Italy, and it is
probably only because he was such a distinguished condottiero that his
has attracted so much attention. He began his fighting

[Illustration: TOMBS IN THE FRARI]

career when he was young, and Braccio made him commander of his cavalry.
He served many employers, amongst others Martin V., the Colonna Pope,
and he

[Sidenote: _1434._]

found himself opposed in the field ‘both to Casa Braccio and Piccinino,
and also to Stella, his old friends and leaders.’ He was sixty years of
age when he entered the service of the Venetian Republic. He had a sworn
brother in arms, like many fighters of that day, a certain Count
Brandolini who was included in the agreement with Venice, which is given
in full in the Marchese Eroli’s book. It begins:--

Gattamelata and Count Brandolini are engaged as leaders of four
hundred lances with three horses to each lance, as is customary,
and also of four hundred footmen. And after six months they shall
have, besides what is above agreed, fifty lances more for their two
sons under them.

For the use of these four hundred lances there shall be given them
60 ducats for each lance.... Over and above this they shall have a
loan (an advance) on their personal security, of 2000 ducats, and
further, they shall soon have, on account of what the Sovereign
Pontiff owes them for their service, 10,000 ducats.

But Gattamelata and Count Brandolini shall produce for the
aforesaid money, and for the performance of their promise, suitable
sureties, having received which the Doge and the government will
provide the money....

As regards the booty which the said Gattamelata and Brandolini and
their band may collect in time of war, the custom of the tenth
shall be observed.

It was customary for condottieri to pay a tribute called Saint Mark’s
Fee, Onoranza di San Marco, to the Republic, which was a sort of
income-tax on loot. War was a matter of business.

Lack of space prevents me from giving the agreement in full. It is very
curious. Among other provisions is one forbidding the condottiero to
present, for the roll call, the same charger or man ‘more than once or
under more than one lance,’ a clause which gives an idea of the usual
methods of cheating. All unimportant prisoners were their property as
part of the booty; the important objects and persons, ‘cities, lands,
fortresses and their munitions, ruling princes and their brothers or
sons, and rebels and traitors,’ were to be handed over to Venice; but
other condottieri and military commanders, if taken, were to be paid for
by the Venetian government, if it chose to pay half their ransoms.

At the end of the campaign Gattamelata and his friend received in ‘noble
and gentle fee’ the castle and lands of Valmarino, on condition that the
population should continue to buy its salt from the Venetian Republic,
and that the two feudal holders should pay the Republic a yearly tribute
of ten pounds of wax at the feast of Saint Mark. Gattamelata bought out
his friend’s share, and was inscribed in the Golden Book.

He and Sforza fought together against Piccinino and amongst other things
took back Verona.

[Sidenote: _1439. Verona retaken by the Venetians, Giovanni Contarini;
Sala delle Quattro Porte, ducal palace._]

Gattamelata died of apoplexy not long after the end of that campaign,
and was magnificently buried, in the presence of the Doge and the
Signory. A picture representing his obsequies was painted by Mantegna,
but his biographer, Marchese Eroli, writing in 1876, had not learned
where it was, if it still existed, nor can I obtain any information on
the subject.

The great Francesco Sforza was also during some time in the service of
the Republic, but left it to marry Bianca Visconti with the prospect of
succeeding to the Duchy, and he fought against Venice as bravely as he
had lately fought under her standard. War was purely a matter of
business with the condottieri, and so long as they fulfilled the
conditions of each successive contract they undertook, no one ever
blamed them for changing sides as often as was profitable. It was not
even proper or customary to poison them for it, and in an age when
political murder was as common as mere political calumny is now, the
acts of Filippo-Maria Visconti were really looked on with disapproval by
his fellow-scoundrels in power. It was considered that he went too far.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iv. 196._]

[Sidenote: _Battle of Lake Garda, Tintorettto; ceiling, Hall of Great
Council._]

Astonishing things were done by the soldiers of that age. In the war
with Milan, for instance, Venice at one time judged it necessary to get
a small fleet into the Lake of Garda; and as the approaches by water
were guarded by the Milanese, it was actually found possible to haul six
galleys and twenty-five long-boats by means of oxen and capstans from
the river Adige up the steep slope of the Monte Baldo and down to
Torbole, where the vessels were launched into the lake--and promptly
blockaded by the enemy.

In the same war Brescia successfully withstood a siege of no less than
three years. It would take long to give even a slight idea of the feats
of arms performed on both sides by hired troops, at a time when all
Italy was on fire, and war was more or less continuous because the
condottieri, who lived by it, were obliged to make it so or starve. The
country was in a bad state; if the strong anywhere protected the weak,
it was in order to enslave them more effectually, and the weak often
revolted against the enforced protection they received.

Visconti died in 1447, leaving four wills, on the third of which Sforza
founded those pretensions to the dukedom which he soon succeeded in
establishing, though the Milanese declared that they would be a
Republic, like Venice and Genoa. We smile at the futility of such a
simple popular aspiration, in an age when soldiers were rulers and
rulers were tyrants. The Milanese were obliged to employ Sforza to fight
for them; he did so, routed the Venetians, forced them to a peace, and
then entered into an alliance with them which gave them all the
Cremasco, with Bergamo and Brescia, but landed him safely on the throne
of Milan.

He had in him the stuff of a good prince, and he is said to have
indulged dreams of uniting all Italy in a sort of federation to defend
the country from foreign invasion.

But greater events were happening in the East, where the Byzantine
Empire was at the last gasp of its existence. Even if Venice had thrown
all her strength into opposing the Turks and protecting her Eastern
commerce, instead of quarrelling with Milan, she

[Sidenote: _Smyrna taken by the Venetians, Paolo Veronese; Hall of the
Great Council._]

could not have retarded the fall of Constantinople by any long time. As
it was, she sent but little help to the last of the emperors. The
Byzantines had never been good fighters, and the tremendous
fortifications of the city alone checked Mohammed’s army of one hundred
and sixty thousand fanatics.

Constantinople was taken in 1453, and in the wild massacre of Christians
that followed, many Venetians were butchered. The Republic is said to
have lost property worth three hundred thousand ducats. Fifteen Venetian
ships succeeded in escaping, with eight Genoese vessels. But the mere
loss of money and valuables was nothing compared with that which must
have followed if the commerce of Venice in the East had been altogether
destroyed. There was much to overlook and forgive, it is true, if an
agreement were to be reached with Mohammed the Conqueror. He had impaled
a Venetian captain and beheaded thirty of his crew before the siege; he
had decapitated the Venetian Bailo and his son in cold blood afterwards,
a great number of Venetians had perished in the massacre, and
twenty-nine nobles had been held for ransom; and in return for these
injuries and insults, the Republic had not struck a blow. The exigencies
of commerce were great.

Venice played a double part in what followed, making a show of rousing
the Pope to preach a crusade on the one hand, and, on the other, quietly
drawing up a treaty with the Sultan, by which the Republic was to pay
tribute for her Eastern settlements, the slave-trade was to be allowed
to continue in the

[Illustration: CA D’ORO]

Black Sea, provided that only Christians, and not Mussulmans, were
bought and sold, and the Sultan was to force the Genoese of Pera to pay
what they owed the Venetians. The latter clause was, no doubt, a good
stroke of business, and the treaty contained many others which proved
that its end was sordidly commercial.

Two hundred and fifty years had passed since blind Enrico Dandolo had
led the Venetians to the conquest of Constantinople. What they did then
cannot be justified, it is true, but no man who has fighting blood in
his veins can help admiring the magnificent courage that performed such
a feat of arms. In the same way, I suppose that no one in whom the true
commercial spirit is alive will withhold his admiration from a people
who could forgive insult and forget injury so completely as those later
Venetians did in 1454, for the sake of making money. It avails not to
reflect that it was probably too late to stem the westward movement of
the Turks; the man of heart will always feel that the richest nation in
Europe might have done something to save Constantinople from her fate.

Pope Nicholas V. thought so, and expressed his disgust to the Senate
through his legate, but the Venetian government answered him in one of
those sanctimonious speeches which it knew so well how to frame on
occasion, and advised the Pope to turn his attention towards pacifying
and uniting all Christian princes in a general league against the common
enemy, well knowing that no such attempt could succeed.

In spite of the treaty, however, the Venetians never did well in the
East after that, and their old enemies the Genoese got the better of
them in the trade of the Black Sea, for the Turks were by no means
satisfied yet with what they had taken, and Venice was more or less
engaged during the next twenty years in trying to protect her
Mediterranean colonies.

She had suffered considerably in her fortunes, though her credit
appeared inexhaustible. Romanin has unearthed some curious figures. He
estimates the loss of property by the fall of Constantinople at three
hundred thousand ducats, and says that there were a number of bad
commercial failures in Venice in consequence, notably that of Andrea
Priuli, for twenty-four thousand ducats. The aggregate estimated value
of the houses in Venice diminished between 1425 and 1445 by thirteen
thousand ducats, which does not seem very disastrous where the whole
reached three hundred and sixty thousand; but the war with Milan alone
cost seven million ducats in ten years, in 1428 the Venetian Chamber of
Commerce owed nine millions, and Romanin adds that in 1440 the bonds of
the public debt were only worth eighteen and a half per cent of their
nominal value, a statement in which there seems to be some mistake,
unless that extreme depression was merely momentary. There can be no
doubt but that the acquisition of extensive territory by warfare, and
the reckless extravagance which became only too common in Foscari’s
brilliant reign, had led to a serious diminution of wealth and
population, and had burdened the Republic with a debt from which she was
never to free herself again.

An attempt was made by Pope Pius II. to send a crusade against the
Turks, and as such an expedition, if it had resulted in the expulsion of
the Turks, would have been much to the advantage of Venice, she lent her
support readily. The Pope, however, died suddenly when he was about to
bless the united fleet on its departure from Ancona, and the result was
that the whole alliance broke up at once, and those who had composed it
departed for their homes without delay.

In Italy itself there was constant war, useless to those who paid for
it, and profitable only to the soldiers they employed. The command of
the Venetian troops had now passed to the great condottiero Bartolommeo
Colleoni, a man quite as brave and devoted to the Republic as
Gattamelata had been, and for employing whom the other Italian states
envied her. When his contract with Venice had been executed, the
Florentines succeeded in engaging him; but the incredible rivalry
amongst the divers Italian states to obtain his services at last led to
a treaty by which it was agreed that he should be sent against the Turks
at the joint expense of them all. Of course this was not carried out,
and perhaps no one ever expected that it could be. Moreover, Colleoni
did not live long, and dying at a comparatively early age, he left all
his fortune to the Republic on condition that it should be used for a
campaign against the Turks, and that a statue should be set up to
himself in the Square of Saint Mark’s.

[Sidenote: _Statue of Bartolommeo Colleoni, attributed to Verrocchio,
Piazza SS. Giovanni e Paolo._]

With amazing dishonesty and admirable indifference to his wishes, Venice
used his money for a war against the Duke of Ferrara; and the monument,
which must indeed be admitted to be one of the finest equestrian statues
in existence, was placed m the little square of San Giovanni e Paolo.

In spite of the treaty with the Sultan, Venice was obliged to spend no
less than twelve hundred thousand ducats in defending her possessions
against the Turks during five years; and the Mussulmans crossed Dalmatia
and appeared in Friuli, to the general consternation of Europe. It is
said that at this time the only ally upon which Venice could count was
the King of Persia, whose interest it was to check the progress of
Turanian invasion. Every one knows that although the Persians are
Mohammedans, they belong to a sect which entertains a profound aversion
for that of the Turks.

One of the principal episodes in this somewhat desultory warfare was the
siege of Scutari in Albania, to possess which the Conqueror was willing
to sacrifice any number of men. The place itself was very strong, but
contained only about two thousand and five hundred persons, between
mercenaries, citizens, and women. The Sultan brought eighty thousand men
against them, whom he divided into four watches, each of twenty
thousand, and each under orders to fight during six hours out of the
twenty-four. The assault upon the breach, which was soon made, was
therefore continuous; yet the heroic Antonio da Lezze, by dividing his
little force in a similar manner, succeeded in resisting the enemy
during thirty-six hours, and the slaughter was so terrific that Mohammed
determined to give up the attempt and to starve the town till it
surrendered. He had lost over twenty-five thousand men.

[Sidenote: _Smedley, II. chap. xiii._]

[Sidenote: _1478._]

Smedley, quoting Sabellico, says that the continued storm of arrows
discharged by the assailants during two days and a night was something
almost indescribable; a wretched cat that tried to steal across an
exposed roof was shot through by eleven arrows at once; in many places
three and four arrows had struck in precisely the same spot, splitting
one another in succession, and during several months after the Turks had
withdrawn, the shafts they had shot supplied kitchens, baths, and ovens
with firewood.

[Sidenote: _Rom. iv. 382._]

The heroic little city held out against famine and artillery during
eleven months, and when at last Venice had made peace with the Sultan on
condition that the garrison should be allowed to leave the town with its
arms and baggage, Antonio da Lezze marched out with four hundred and
fifty men and one hundred and fifty women, all that was left of the
little force which had successfully resisted the greatest conqueror of
the age during the greater part of a year.

It is almost needless to say that the Republic treated the hero with her
usual vile ingratitude, and that Da Lezze was imprisoned for a year and
banished for ten because certain of the surviving inhabitants of Scutari
accused him of having written to Venice that the town

[Illustration: ENTRANCE TO S. ZACCHARIA]

was short of provisions when there was still a considerable store.

The impulse of conquest which had led the Turks so far was now almost
exhausted, and when Mohammed the Conqueror died, the moment would have
been favourable for driving the Turks out of the Archipelago,
especially as the throne of the

[Sidenote: _1483. Defence of Brescia, Tintoretto; Hall of Great
Council._]

Osmanlis was disputed by a number of claimants. But Venice was exhausted
by her many struggles, and the sovereigns of other European states were
only too ready to sacrifice the interests of Christianity at large to

[Sidenote: _1484. Taking of Gallipoli, Tintoretto; ceiling, Hall of
Great Council._]

their private ends. The result was that the Republic, finding herself
alone, made another ignominious peace with the Turks. But even now she
had no rest, for she was at war with the Duke of Ferrara, who enjoyed
the protection of the Pope. The latter exhausted every diplomatic means
to induce Venice to withdraw; but the only result was that the Republic
recalled its ambassador from Rome. Sixtus IV. now excommunicated Venice,
and attempted to send notice of

[Sidenote: _1484. Victory of Vittor Soranzo over the men of Este,
Tintoretto; Hall of Great Council._]

the excommunication by the political agent whom the Venetian ambassador
had left in Rome. That official, however, declined to take the message,
and the pope sent a special envoy, who was to present himself at the
palace of the Patriarch. But the prelate succeeded in avoiding him by
feigning illness, so that official notice

[Sidenote: _1484. Defeat of the Duke of Ferrara, Francesco Bassano;
ceiling, Hall of Great Council._]

of the interdict never reached the Signory, a result which delighted the
Venetians and proportionally scandalised all other Catholics. Venice
gave formal notice to the Emperor, the King of France, the King of
England, the Duke of Burgundy, and the Duke of Austria, that she
appealed against the excommunication to a future council, and meanwhile
no further attention was paid to the interdict. It was, in fact, removed
by the next Pope, Innocent VIII., who had no especial reason for
maintaining it.

The Republic had to deal at this time with internal troubles as well as
external difficulties. It happened that two men of the same name and
family were successively elected to be doges, and that the house in
question was one of those known as ‘the new.’ For the aristocracy
divided itself into two classes, of which ‘the old’ included only the
families of tribunitian descent, who considered themselves vastly
superior to all the rest. Nevertheless, the younger houses succeeded in
keeping the ducal honour to themselves for more than two hundred years.
In 1450 sixteen of these families had solemnly sworn never to allow the
election of any doge from amongst the elder houses, and sixty-eight
years had already passed since one of the latter had been chosen. On the
death of Marco Barbarigo it was noised abroad that the old houses were
about to make a determined effort to recover the desired dignity.
Agostino Barbarigo was elected with some difficulty, and it was quite
clear that there were now two hostile factions in the Venetian
government which were more occupied with their party spites than with
what concerned the welfare of the Republic.

It was a period of contradictions in Venetian history, for while the
State seemed to be often gaining territory it was frequently losing
influence and undermining the sources of its own wealth; and, on the
whole, the loss during the fifteenth century considerably exceeded the
profit.

It was at this time that Venice accomplished that remarkable piece of
juggling which ended in the annexation of Cyprus.

[Sidenote: _b. 1454, d. 1510. Smedley, II. chap. xiv._]

[Sidenote: _1489._]

[Sidenote: _Finding of the relic of the Cross in the Grand Canal, said
to contain the portrait of Caterina Corner, crowned, by Gentile Bellini;
Accademia, Room XV._]

Caterina Corner, or Catharine Cornaro, as we are accustomed to call her,
was the niece of a Venetian noble who lived in Cyprus, and she had
married Jacques de Lusignan, an illegitimate son of the last king of the
island. Less than two years after her marriage, when she was about to
become a mother, her husband suddenly died, bequeathing his kingdom to
the child that should be born. The infant that came into the world was a
son indeed, but only lived a few months, and as Catharine’s husband had
grasped the throne by driving out his half-sister, who was legitimate,
his widow now had great difficulty in maintaining her position against
the rightful heir, whose name was Charlotte, and who was married to the
powerful Duke of Savoy. Catharine had no choice but to place herself
under the protection of Venice, and the Republic, as usual when it
undertook to help a friend in distress, began by hoisting its own flag
on the citadel. With great skill the queen was gradually forced, in the
course of fifteen years, into the position of resigning her little
kingdom altogether into the hands of the Republic. In exchange she was
to receive a considerable income and an estate at Asolo, where she could
keep up the forms of a small court, still retaining her royal title. She
was brought to Venice, and was received with the utmost pomp and
display, and she retired quietly to Asolo, to spend the rest of her life
in the society of the most distinguished philosophers and men of letters
of the century.

Venice laid hands on all possible aspirants to the throne of Cyprus, men
and boys, women and girls; the latter were consigned to convents, from
which they were only allowed to go out occasionally with an escort. The
young men were closely watched and their expenses defrayed by the
Republic, and the boys were educated to be good Venetians.

So Venice got Cyprus, and for the sake of that little possession the
Republic appears to have sacrificed the opportunity of helping Columbus
to discover America. The fact has been denied, discussed, and asserted
again by historians, but a document has been discovered by M. Urbain de
Gheltof which, if genuine, puts an end to all doubt. That scholar has
found in a private archive in Venice the copy of a letter to a Venetian
noble written by Christopher Columbus from Palos, just before sailing to
discover America. I translate the short document, in which the simple
character of the Genoese explorer finds full expression:--

Very magnificent Sir--As your Republic did not think it was to its
interest to accept my offers, and as all the hatred of enemies
conspired to thwart me everywhere, I threw

[Sidenote: _Urbain de Gheltof, Letter of Christ. Col._]

myself into the arms of the Lord my God. And He, by the
intercession of His Saints, brought it about that the most clement
King of Castile, in his generosity, should help me to carry out my
plan of conquering a new world.

Thus, praise be to the Lord my God, I obtained command of vessels
and men, and I am presently going to sail towards this yet unknown
land which God inspires me to seek. I thank you for all your
kindness to me, and beg you to pray for me.

COLUMBO CRIST.

Written from PALOS, _August 1, 1492_.

The Venetians may not have very deeply regretted their refusal to help
the Genoese navigator, but they were made to suffer acutely by the
Portuguese discovery of the route to India by the Cape of Good Hope. For
Portugal now imported by sea direct to Lisbon the rich merchandise of
the East, of which the Venetians had hitherto enjoyed a monopoly, but
for the passage of which they paid heavy duties to the Sultan. The
supremacy of Venetian navigation was over, and a more daring race of
seamen ventured voyages in distant and unknown oceans whither they were
not followed by the old-fashioned mariners of the Mediterranean. It was
in vain that the Republic proposed to the Sultan Bajazet a commercial
alliance by which both powers might have profited; the Turk could not
understand that the ruin of Venetian trade must impoverish the whole
Archipelago and Constantinople itself. Instead of an alliance, a renewal
of hostilities ensued, in the course of which Lepanto fell into the
hands of the Turks, either because the garrison was insufficient or
because the Venetian admiral,

[Illustration: THE PIAZZETTA, MISTY MORNING]

Grimani, was not equal to the service required of him.

[Sidenote: _Marin Sanudo, III. chap. iii. 105._]

He shared the fate of almost all native-born Venetian commanders, and
was brought home laden with chains so heavy that he could not have
walked across the Piazzetta from the landing-place to his prison if he
had not been held up by his son, who was a Cardinal. He was confined in
one of the worst cells, surnamed ‘Forte,’ the Strong, and his sufferings
were such, according to Sanudo, who kept his journal at the time, that
the Cardinal appeared before the Signory one day to beg, as a favour,
that his father might be executed rather than made to die by inches in
his dungeon.

The people, as often happened, were quite of the opinion of their
masters, that to be beaten in fight was a shameful crime, and a savage
song about the unlucky Grimani was bawled in the streets--

Antonio Grimani, ruin of Christians, rebel of Venice!
May you be eaten by dogs,
By dogs and their pups,
You and your sons,
Antonio Grimani, ruin of Christians!

But it was of small use to torment the poor man and to make songs upon
him. Venice was forced to make a commercial treaty with the Portuguese,
to save herself from ruin.

Then came Charles VIII. of France and descended into Italy with fire and
the sword, and Venice was drawn into new and disastrous Italian wars. So
ended the fifteenth century.

THE DOGES OF VENICE

(ACCORDING TO ROMANIN)

NOTE.--_The Venetian year began on March first, whence the frequent
discrepancies between the dates given by different writers. In this
work every effort has been made to bring all dates under the usual
reckoning._

I. Paolo Lucio Anafesto elected 697 d. 717
Seat in Heraclea.
II. Marcello Tegaliano “ 717 “ 726
III. Orso Ipato “ 726 “ 737
(murdered). Seat in Malamocco.
(From 737 to 742, military governors called ‘Magistri Militum.’)
IV. Teodato Orso elected 742-755
(blinded and deposed).
V. Galla Gaulo “ 755-756
(blinded and exiled).
VI. Domenico Monegario “ 756-764
(blinded and deposed).
VII. Maurizio Galbaio “ 764 d. 787
VIII. Giovanni Galbaio and his son Maurizio “ 787-804
(both deposed).
IX. Obelerio with his sons Beato and Costantino “ 804 d. 811
(the father put to death as a traitor).
X. Agnello Partecipazio “ 811 “ 827
Seat henceforth in Rialto.
XI. Giustiniano Partecipazio “ 827 “ 829
XII. Giovanni Partecipazio I. “ 829-836
(deposed).
XIII. Pietro Tradonico “ 836 d. 864
(murdered).
XIV. Orso Partecipazio I. “ 864 “ 881
XV. Giovanni Partecipazio II. “ 881-888
(abdicated).
XVI. Pietro Candiano I. “ 888 d. 888
(killed in battle with pirates).
XVII. Pietro Tribuno “ 888 “ 912
XVIII. Orso Partecipazio II. (Badoer) “ 912-932
(abdicated and died a monk).
XIX. Pietro Candiano II. “ 932 d. 939
XX. Pietro Partecipazio (Badoer) “ 939 “ 942
XXI. Pietro Candiano III. “ 942 “ 959
XXII. Pietro Candiano IV. “ 959 “ 976
(murdered).
XXIII. Pietro Orseolo I. “ 976-978
(abdicated and died a monk, with the reputation of a saint).
XXIV. Vital Candiano “ 978-979
(abdicated and became a monk).
XXV. Tribuno Memmo “ 979 d. 991
XXVI. Pietro Orseolo II. “ 991 “ 1008
XXVII. Ottone Orseolo “ 1008-1026
(exiled to Constantinople).
XXVIII. Pietro Centranigo “ 1026-1032
(driven out).
XXIX. Domenico Flabianico “ 1032 d. 1043
XXX. Domenico Contarini “ 1043 “ 1071
XXXI. Domenico Selvo “ 1071 “ 1085
XXXII. Vital Falier “ 1085 “ 1096
XXXIII. Vital Michiel I. “ 1096 “ 1102
XXXIV. Ordelafo Falier “ 1102 “ 1118
(died in the Hungarian war).
XXXV. Domenico Michiel “ 1118 “ 1130
XXXVI. Pietro Polani “ 1130 “ 1148
XXXVII. Domenico Morosini “ 1148 “ 1156
XXXVIII. Vital Michiel II. “ 1156 “ 1172
(killed).
XXXIX. Sebastian Ziani “ 1172 “ 1178
XL. Orio Mastropiero “ 1178-1192
(abdicated and became a monk).
XLI. Enrico Dandolo “ 1192 d. 1205
(died in Constantinople).
XLII. Pietro Ziani “ 1205-1229
(abdicated).
XLIII. Jacopo Tiepolo “ 1229-1249
(abdicated).
XLIV. Marin Morosini “ 1249 d. 1253
XLV. Renier Zeno “ 1253 “ 1268
XLVI. Lorenzo Tiepolo “ 1268 “ 1275
XLVII. Jacopo Contarini “ 1275-1280
(abdicated).
XLVIII. Giovanni Dandolo “ 1280 d. 1289
XLIX. Pietro Gradenigo “ 1289 “ 1311
L. Marin Zorzi “ 1311 “ 1312
LI. Giovanni Soranzo “ 1312 “ 1329
LII. Francesco Dandolo “ 1329 “ 1339
LIII. Bartolommeo Gradenigo “ 1339 “ 1343
LIV. Andrea Dandolo “ 1343 “ 1354
LV. Marin Falier “ 1354 d. 1355
(beheaded April 17).
LVI. Giovanni Gradenigo “ 1355 “ 1356
LVII. Giovanni Dolfin “ 1356 “ 1361
LVIII. Lorenzo Celsi “ 1361 “ 1365
LIX. Marco Corner “ 1365 “ 1368
LX. Andrea Contarini “ 1368 “ 1383
LXI. Michel Morosini “ 1383 “ 1384
LXII. Antonio Venier “ 1384 “ 1400
LXIII. Michel Steno “ 1400 “ 1413
LXIV. Tommaso Mocenigo “ 1413 “ 1423
LXV. Francesco Foscari “ 1423-1457
(deposed, and died a few days later).
LXVI. Pasquale Malipiero “ 1457 d. 1462
LXVII. Cristoforo Moro “ 1462 “ 1471
LXVIII. Niccolò Tron “ 1471 “ 1474
LXIX. Niccolò Marcello “ 1474 “ 1474
LXX. Pietro Mocenigo “ 1474 “ 1476
LXXI. Andrea Vendramin “ 1476 “ 1478
LXXII. Giovanni Mocenigo “ 1478 “ 1485
LXXIII. Marco Barbarigo “ 1485 “ 1486
LXXIV. Agostino Barbarigo “ 1486 “ 1501
LXXV. Leonardo Loredan “ 1501 “ 1521
LXXVI. Antonio Grimani “ 1521 “ 1523
LXXVII. Andrea Gritti “ 1523 “ 1538
LXXVIII. Pietro Lando “ 1538 “ 1545
LXXIX. Francesco Donato “ 1545 “ 1553
LXXX. Marcantonio Trevisan “ 1553 “ 1554
LXXXI. Francesco Venier “ 1554 “ 1556
LXXXII. Lorenzo Priuli “ 1556 “ 1559
LXXXIII. Girolamo Priuli “ 1559 “ 1567
LXXXIV. Pietro Loredan “ 1567 “ 1570
LXXXV. Aloise (Luigi) Mocenigo “ 1570 “ 1577
LXXXVI. Sebastian Venier “ 1577 “ 1578
LXXXVII. Niccolò Da Ponte “ 1578 “ 1585
LXXXVIII. Pasquale Cicogna “ 1585 “ 1595
LXXXIX. Marin Grimani “ 1595 “ 1606
XC. Leonardo Donà “ 1606 “ 1612
XCI. Marcantonio Memmo “ 1612 “ 1615
XCII. Giovanni Bembo “ 1615 “ 1618
XCIII. Niccolò Donà “ 1618 “ 1618
XCIV. Antonio Priuli “ 1618 “ 1623
XCV. Francesco Contarini “ 1623 “ 1624
XCVI. Giovanni Corner “ 1624 “ 1630
XCVII. Niccolò Contarini “ 1630 “ 1631
XCVIII. Francesco Erizzo “ 1631 d. 1646
XCIX. Francesco Molin “ 1646 “ 1655
C. Carlo Contarini “ 1655 “ 1656
CI. Francesco Corner “ 1656 “ 1656
CII. Bertuccio Valier “ 1656 “ 1658
CIII. Giovanni Pesaro “ 1658 “ 1659
CIV. Domenico Contarini “ 1659 “ 1674
CV. Niccolò Sagredo “ 1674 “ 1676
CVI. Aloise Contarini “ 1676 “ 1683
CVII. Marcantonio Giustiniani “ 1683 “ 1688
CVIII. Francesco Morosini “ 1688 “ 1694
CIX. Silvestro Valier “ 1694 “ 1700
CX. Aloise Mocenigo “ 1700 “ 1709
CXI. Giovanni Corner “ 1709 “ 1722
CXII. Aloise Sebastian Mocenigo “ 1722 “ 1732
CXIII. Carlo Ruzzini “ 1732 “ 1735
CXIV. Luigi Pisani “ 1735 “ 1741
CXV. Pietro Grimani “ 1741 “ 1752
CXVI. Francesco Loredan “ 1752 “ 1762
CXVII. Marco Foscarini “ 1762 “ 1763
CXVIII. Aloise Mocenigo “ 1763 “ 1779
CXIX. Paolo Renier “ 1779 “ 1788
CXX. Ludovico Manin “ 1788-1797
(abdicated with the aristocratic government).

TABLE OF THE PRINCIPAL DATES IN VENETIAN HISTORY

A.D.
421 (about) Venice founded by fugitives from Aquileia, Altinum, and
Padua. (According to tradition on March 25, 421, at noon.)
697 Paulus Lucas Anafestus of Heraclea chosen as first Doge.
809 Pepin, son of Charlemagne, attempts to take Venice and is
defeated.
828 (about) The body of Saint Mark is brought to Venice, and he is
proclaimed protector of the Republic in place of Saint
Theodore.
959 (about) The brides of Venice and their dowries are carried
off by Istrian pirates.
975 The first basilica of Saint Mark is destroyed by fire.
998 Pietro Orseolo is acclaimed as Doge of Venice and Dalmatia.
998 The Emperor Otho III. visits Venice secretly.
1009 Venice is ravaged by the plague.
1099 Venetians defeat the Pisans off Rhodes.
1123 Defeat of the Turks at Jaffa.
1123 The Doge Domenico Michiel takes Tyre.
1167 Venice joins the Lombard League, with Verona, Padua, Milan,
Bologna, and other cities.
1172 Institution of the Great Council, in which membership is
open and elective.
1177 The Emperor Frederick Barbarossa makes submission to
Pope Alexander III. at Venice.
1177 The ceremony of the Espousal of the Sea by the Doge
instituted.
1202 (Oct. 8) The Venetian fleet sets out for the Fourth Crusade under the
Doge Enrico Dandolo.
1204 (April 12) Constantinople taken by the Venetian and French forces.
1277 Membership in the Great Council limited to those of
legitimate birth.
1297 Closure of the Great Council, in which membership becomes
a privilege of the nobles.
1300 Conspiracy of Marino Bocconio.
1310 Conspiracy of Marco Quirini and Bajamonte Tiepolo.
1335 Permanent institution of the Council of Ten.
1348 Venice loses half her population by the plague.
1354 Conspiracy of Marino Faliero.
1379-80 War of Chioggia.
1404-54 During this time Venice possesses herself, on the mainland,
of Padua, Ravenna, Verona, Treviso, Vicenza,
Brescia, Bergamo, Feltre, Belluno, Crema, and Friuli.
1405 Carlo Zeno takes Padua from Carrara.
1426 League with Florence concluded. Brescia surrenders to the
allied forces, the Venetian troops being commanded by
Carmagnola.
1428 Bergamo surrenders to Carmagnola.
1432 (May 5) Carmagnola executed as a traitor to the Republic.
1437 Erasmo da Narni, nicknamed Gattamelata, is made commander
of the Venetian army.
1449 Bartolommeo Colleoni is commander of the Venetian forces.
1453 (May 29) Constantinople taken by the Turks. Many Venetians are
massacred and much Venetian property destroyed.
1477 Scutari, besieged by the Turks, is successfully defended by
Antonio da Lezze.
1489 Venice annexes Cyprus, leaving Catharine Cornaro the empty
title of its Queen.
1508 League of Cambrai, between the Emperor Maximilian, Pope
Julius II., Louis XII. of France, and Ferdinand of Aragon.
1571 (Oct. 7) Battle of Lepanto won by the allied fleets of Venice, Genoa,
the Holy See, and Spain, commanded respectively
by Sebastiano Venier, Andrea Doria, and
Marcantonio Colonna, under Don John of
Austria as commander-in-chief.
1574 Visit of Henry III. of France.
1575-7 Venice, swept by the plague, loses
one-fourth of her population,
Titian among them. Church of the
Redentore built to commemorate its cessation.
1577 (Dec. 20) Fire destroys the Hall of the Great Council, with many
magnificent works of art.
1630 Another visitation of the plague, commemorated by the Church
of the Salute.

1715-18 The Turks wrest from Venice Crete and the Peloponnesus.
1784 Angelo Emo, the last Venetian leader,
humbles the Bey of Tunis.
1788 Election of the 120th and last Doge, Ludovico Manin.
1796 The ceremony of the Espousal of the Sea by the Doge takes
place for the last time.
1797 (April 18) General Bonaparte, by the treaty of Campo-Formio, cedes
to Austria the Venetian provinces
between the Po, the Oglio,
and the Adriatic, in exchange for Romagna,
with Ferrara and Bologna.
1797 (May 12) The Doge Ludovico Manin abdicates, and the Great Council
accepts the Provisional Government required by General
Bonaparte.
1798 (Jan. 18) The Austrian garrison takes possession of Venice.
1866 (Oct. 19) Austria cedes Venice to Napoleon III., who transfers it to
Victor Emanuel II., King of Italy.

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Archivio storico italiano, serie i. vol. viii.

Archivio Veneto, part i. voi. xi. 1871.

Ateneo Veneto (1865) (see below, CARRER).

BASCHET, ARMAND. Les Archives de Venise. Souvenirs d’une mission. Les
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la République.

BROWN, H. F. Life on the Lagoons.

Venetian Studies. Venice. An historical Sketch of the Republic.

BROWN, RAWDON. Venetian Archives, with special reference to English
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CECCHETTI. Sull’ istituzione dei magistrati della R. Veneta fino al
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Di alcuni dubbi nella storia di Venezia.

La R. di Venezia e la Corte di Roma nei rapporti della Religione. 2
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Di alcuni appunti per la storia della medicina.

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Vecchie storie.

Sebastian Veniero.

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INDEX

Abydos, 138

Achaia, Duke of, 358

Acre, 104

Adda, the, 450

Adelaide, Empress, 78, 79, 86

Adige, the, 406, 478

Adriatic, 121, 143, 163, 371, 372, 375, 377, 412, 439
campaign against pirates of the, 86-88

Agnello, Leonardo dall’, 414

Alaric, 13, 14

Albania, 485

Alessandria, 114

Alexandria, 40, 41

Alexis (Angelos), Emperor, 133, 134, 139
the Younger, 133-139

Altinum, 12, 15, 17, 19, 20, 25
Chronicle of, 19, 21

Amadeus of Savoy, 448

Amalfi, 94, 95, 96, 99

America, 470, 491, 492

Amiano, 108

Anafestus, Paulus Lucas. _See under_ Doges

Anagni, 116

Anapolis, 350

Ancona, 58, 378, 484

Ancona, Professor d’, 18

Andromachos, 307

Andronicus, 360-364

Andros, 138

Antiochus, 16

Antipope Victor IV., 112, 116, 117

Anzio, battle of, 375, 379

Apulia, 378, 405, 412

_Aquila_, the, 132

Aquileia, 11, 12, 15-17, 19, 25, 112
patriarch of, 113

Aquitaine, 83

Arator, 21

Arbo, 87

Arbo, Count of, 110

‘Archimicidium.’ _See_ Canal Orfano

Arengo, the, 31, 316

Aristocracy, development of Venetian, 164-184

Arius, 21

Arno, the, 97, 99

Arnold of Brescia, 110

Arrow manufactory, 207

Arsenal, the, 70, 213, 235, 236, 293, 338, 413

Asti, 114

Attila, 14-18

Austria, Duke of, 221, 222, 343, 344, 489

Autolinus, 22

Avignon, 317, 319, 355

Avogadori, the, 173, 174, 176, 185, 335, 437, 438

Azov, Sea of, 369

Azzone, Marquis, 189, 231

Babylonians, 59

Badoer, the, 38, 228
Alban, 442
Badoero, 235-239

Bajazet, Sultan, 492

Baldwin of Flanders, 136, 142

Baldwin II., 145

Bandinelli, Cardinal. _See_ Pope Alexander III.

Barattiere, Nicola, 181

Barbarella, the, 173, 179, 311

Barbarigo. _See under_ Doges

Baschet, M. Armand, 253

Basilica of Saint Mark, 106, 130, 242, 374, 381

Bavaria, Duke of, 428, 429

Beg, Zani, 370

Belegno, Filippo, 239
Vittor, 80

Bellini, 216

Belluno, 189

Bembo, Angelo, 246
Francesco, 442, 450
Marchesina, 377

Benevento, 116

Bergamo, 114, 479

Black Sea, 481, 483

Blacks and Whites, wars of the, 125

Boccaccio, 223, 306

Bocconio, Marino, 161-163, 202, 224, 241, 288
conspiracy of, 161, 226-228, 309

Bollani, Piero, 322, 323

Bologna, 114

Bordone, Paris, 266

Borgia, Cæsar, 429

Bosphorus, 138, 371

Bossone, Francesco. _See_ Carmagnola

Bows and arrows, 206-207

Braccio, 475, 476

Bragadin, Francesca, 377

Brandolini, Count, 476

Brazza, 87

Brenta, the, 9, 386, 401

Brescia, 114, 450, 453, 478, 479

Bridge. _See_ Ponte
dei Dai, 235, 237
of Saint Barnabas, 200

British Constitution, 419
Empire, 94

Brondolo, 384, 387, 400, 401, 405-409, 414

Brown, Horatio, 453
Rawdon, 339

Bucentaur, 202, 221, 286, 298, 318, 412

Buda, 382

Buddha, 419

Building, early methods of, 42

Bulgarians, 143

Bull of Excommunication, 232

Burgundy, Duke of, 488

Byron, Lord, 310, 338

Byzantine Empire, 104, 106, 479-480

Ca’ di Dio, the, 259-260

Cæsars, the Roman, 56

Caffa, port of, 292

Calabria, 98

Calendario, Filippo, 328, 332-334

Calle del Cappello, 242
dei Fabbri, 235

Callencerio, Niccoletto, 322

Calojohannes, Emperor, 360-364

Caloprini, the, 85, 86, 100

Camino, lords of, 189

Campanile, 47, 178, 179, 180

Canal, Martin da, 281

Canal Orfano, 32, 196, 256

Candia. _See_ Crete

Candiano, the, 73-82, 85, 90, 91, 100, 169.
_See also under_ Doges

Cane, Facino, 444-445

Cannaruoli, the, 196, 198, 199

Caorle lagoon, 72

Cape Corso, 369
of Good Hope, 492
d’Istria, 87, 319, 412
Malea, 138

Caravaggio, 162

Caravello, Marino, 442

Caresini, the chronicler, 315

Carmagnola, 423, 446-462, 474
trial and execution of, 456-458

Caroldo, 370

Carpaccio, 216

Carrara, the, 301-303, 314, 317, 354, 381-415, 424-436
Albertino, 301
Francesco, 381-415, 424-427, 431, 436
Francesco the Younger, 427-434, 436
Jacopo, 301
Marsilio di, 301-303
Taddea, 427-429
Ubertino, 303

Casoni, Giovanni, 338, 339

Castellani, the, 165, 194, 196, 198, 199, 201, 205
and Niccolotti, 190-218

Castracane, Castruccio, 189

Cavallarin, the, 209

Cavalli, Jacopo, 381

Cecchetti, 217

Celsi, Lorenzo. _See under_ Doges

Chamber of Commerce, Venetian, 483

Charities, public, 258-262

Charlemagne, 35, 50, 225

Charles II. of England, 181

Charles II. of Naples, 231

Charles IV. of Bohemia, 221, 319, 354, 357

Charles VIII. of France, 494

Chief of Militia, 32

Chinazzo, 398

Chioggia, 11, 117, 119, 224, 334
War of, 73, 308, 352, 369-415

Chronicle of Altinum, 19, 21

Church, Greek, 134, 139
Latin, 134

Church buildings, features of early Venetian, 46

Churches of--
the Frari, 425, 457, 458, 459, 474, 475
Saint Gemignano, 178
Saint John Chrysostom, 190
Saint Nicolas, 197, 204
Saint Sophia, 140
San Francesco della Vigna, 458
San Giacomo, 123
San Giovanni e Paolo, 338
San Maurizio, 263, 264
San Pietro d’Olivolo, 60
San Salvatore, 123
San Vito, 265
Sant’ Antonio, 413
Sant’ Apollinare, 122, 123
Santa Maria della Celestia, 436
Santa Maria Formosa, 287
Santa Sofia, 123

Cicero, 223

Clock Tower, the, 107, 177

Colleoni, Bartolommeo, 423, 484
monument of, 485

Columbus, Christopher, 402, 491
letter of, quoted, 491-492

Column of Saint Mark, 176, 183
of Saint Theodore, 182, 183

Comnenos, Emperor Manuel, 106, 109, 130

Competitions, popular, 194, 200

Condottieri, rise of the, 420-423

Conrad, Emperor, 110

Conspiracies in Venice--
of Marino Bocconio, 161, 226-228, 309
of Marino Faliero, 161, 309-341, 378
of the Tiepolo-Quirini, 228-242, 288, 309

Constantinople, 12, 13, 33, 35, 104-106, 109, 364, 470, 471, 482, 483, 492
Latins of, 143
taken by Turks, 480
taken by Venetians and French, 129-144
Venice and, 124-146

Contarini, the, 332
Andrea. _See under_ Doges
Antonio, 442
Cristina, 316
Leonardo, 465
Lucrezia, 465
Tommasina, 315

Convents of--
Saint Hilary, 78
Saint Lawrence, 340
Saint Zacharias, 74, 85
Santa Maria di Valverde, 246
Sta. Maria delle Vergini, 243, 244, 293, 459

Corfu, 138, 439

Cornaro, Catharine, 490-491
Federico, 401

Corner, Caterina, 352
Giorgio, 462-465
Marco. _See under_ Doges

Coronation of the Dogess, 297-300

Coronota, 87

‘Correctors,’ 151

Corso, Zuan da, 333

Corsola, 87

Council, the Great. _See_ Great Council

Council of Forty, 150, 169, 171, 172, 175, 235, 308, 316, 317, 321-323

Council of Ten, 245-254, 293, 311, 333-340, 350,
434, 437, 456, 458, 460, 465-474
permanent institution of, 248

Crema, 111

Cremona, 114

Crete (Candia), 143, 304, 343
revolts in, 344-350, 374

Crimea, the, 370

Croatia, King of, 90

Cross-bow, 206

Crusade, the Fourth, 126-144

Crusades, Venice and the first, 93-109

Currency, leather, 105

Cyclades, the, 143

Cyprus, annexation of, by Venice, 490-491
King of, 344, 357

Dalmatia, 36, 87, 88, 109, 116, 133, 292, 374, 377, 412, 439, 485
Duke of, 88

Dandolo, Agnese, 354
Donato, 345
Federigo, 247
Giovanni, 325, 326
Leonardo, 381
Regina, 325
_See also under_ Doges

Dante, 189, 260

Dardanelles, 367

Daru, 184, 370, 392, 424, 434, 465, 471

Districts in Venice, 196

Doge, the, laws reforming election of, 148-153
palace of, 46
titles of, 143, 146
unlimited power of, 148
fishermen’s, 202-205

Doges--
Anafestus, Paulus Lucas, 31, 195
Barbarigo, Agostino, 489
Marco, 489
Candiano, Pietro III., 70, 73, 278
Pietro IV., 74-78, 85, 90, 275
Vitale, 85
Celsi, Lorenzo, 343-351
Contarini, Andrea, 224, 352, 374-414
Corner, Marco, 351-352, 464
Dandolo, Andrea, 304-308, 316, 371
Chronicle of, 74, 91, 308
Enrico, 5, 126-142, 153, 224, 482
Francesco, 296-304
Giovanni, 169, 170
Dolfin, Giovanni, 342
Faliero, Marino, 161-163, 202, 308-342, 350, 371, 373
conspiracy of, 161, 309-341, 378
trial and execution of, 334-338
Ordelafo, 109
Flabianico, Domenico, 91, 148
Foscari, Francesco, 442, 443-474
Gradenigo, Bartolommeo, 304
Giovanni, 335, 336, 342
Gradenigo, Pietro, 170, 171, 288, 289, 301, 310
conspiracy against, 228-242
Malipieri, Pasquale, 473
Mastropiero, Orio, 153-156
Michel, Domenico, 105, 181
Vital II., 108
Mocenigo, Tomaso, 436, 438-442, 444, 445, 448
speech of, quoted, 440-442
Morosini, Michele, 415
Obelerio, 36-37
Orseolo, Ottone, 90, 91
Pietro I., 47, 78, 79, 82-85, 157
Pietro II., 86-91, 118
Orso, 33
Partecipazio, Agnello, 38
Soranzo, Giovanni, 238-240, 242, 243, 291-295
captivity of the daughter of, 242-245, 293-294
Steno, Michel, 364, 436, 438, 439
Tiepolo, Jacopo, 153, 156-159, 170, 228
Lorenzo, 228, 298
Zeno, Ranier, 281
Ziani, Pietro, 243
Sebastian, 118, 122, 152, 153
Zorzi, Marin, 291, 292

Dolfin, Giovanni. _See under_ Doges

Donà, Marco, 235, 241

Donato, Ermolao, 469

Doria, Luciano, 371, 372, 379, 380
Pietro, 380, 381, 390, 406, 407

Doro, the, 228

Dress in early Venice, 28, 51-52

‘Ducal promise,’ 151, 296, 298, 319

Dumas the elder, 354

Durazzo, 138, 143

Dwelling-houses, features of early Venetian, 44-46

Edward III. of England, 304

Egbert, 44

Election of the Doge, 148-153

Elena, love-story of, 80-82

Emo, Pietro, 387

Empire of Constantinople, 129-144
German, 230
Greek, 134, 145

Eneti, the, 4

England, 94, 124, 304, 470, 488

Equilio, tribune of, 31, 32, 196
war between Heraclea and, 32, 196

Eroli, Marchese, 476, 477

‘Espousal of the Sea,’ ceremony of the, 118-119, 202, 208

Este, the, 231, 301

Exarch Paul, 32

Faliero, Anna, 377
Lucia, 315
Marco, 311
Niccolò, 333, 335
Piero, 321, 322
Santino, 325
Saray, 321
_See also under_ Doges

Famine, 91

Feasts of--
All Saints, 265
the Ascension, 110
the Maries, 73, 273, 278-287
Martin da Canal’s description of, 281-285
the Purification, 73
Saint Barbara, 173

Feltre, bishop of, 356

Ferrara, 76, 109, 114, 116, 289, 292
Duke of, 406, 485, 488
war between Venice and, 230-232, 488

Feuds, family, 100, 196, 321

Fieschi, admiral, 375

Fishermen’s Doge, 202-205

Flabianico Domenico. _See under_ Doges

Florence, 97, 100, 210, 258, 260, 301, 306, 444, 445, 448, 449

Forum, 61

‘Forze d’Ercole,’ 200

Foscari, Francesco. _See under_ Doges
Jacopo, 444, 465-472
Marco, 473

Fourrier, 419

France, 113, 120, 126, 188, 488

Franks, 35, 37, 51

Frederick Barbarossa, 110-122

French Crusaders, Venice and, 126-144
Revolutionaries, 472

Frezzeria, the, 207

Friuli, 50, 439, 453, 485

Fulk of Neuilly, 126

Funerals, 274-275

Gabaro, 303

Games, public, 205

Gaming establishments, 181-184

Garda, Lake of, 478

Gattamelata, Erasmo, 423, 474, 476, 477, 484

Geminianus, 21, 47

General Assembly, 150

Genoa, 94, 95, 97, 100, 101, 103, 114, 121, 144, 145,
146, 228, 286, 306, 317, 319, 413, 424
in the War of Chioggia, 369-415

Genoese, the, 292, 304, 305, 313, 314, 325, 329, 342,
346, 364-367

Germanic influence in Venetia, 110-123

Germany, 111, 114, 134, 293

Gheltof, M. Urbain de, 491

Ghibelline party, 99, 233

‘Giants’ Staircase,’ 296, 310, 319

Gibbon, 139

Gioia, Flavio, 95

Giudecca, the, 50, 398, 399

Giustiniani, the, 108, 360, 443
Chronicle, the, 315
Federigo, 341
Stefano, 289-290
Taddeo, 317, 382-384, 391, 394, 410

Glass-making, 188, 211, 212

Gold, William, 406, 412

‘Golden Book,’ the, 185, 241, 395, 477

Gondola, 48-49

Gonzaga, the, 301
Ludovico, 189

Goths’ invasion, 13-14

Gradenigo, Engoldisia, 340
Fiordalise, 340
Giovanni, 78
Ludovica, 315, 324, 340-341
_See also under_ Doges

Grado, 11, 21, 41
patriarch of, 117, 120, 196

Grand Canal, 39, 93, 180, 207, 210, 221, 223, 466, 467

Great Council, the, 125, 149-153, 155, 211,
217, 227, 229, 239, 241, 251, 280, 308,
311, 316, 324, 414, 437, 438, 447, 473

Great Council, the, closure of, 164-175
membership limited to those of legitimate birth, 169
origin of, 149

Grebe-shooting, 52

Greece, 87, 106-109, 377
Emperor of, 113

Greeks, influence of the, 29, 33, 35

Grimaldi, Napoleone, 407, 408

Grimani, Antonio, ambassador, 78, 79
Antonio, admiral, 493-494

Grossis, Gaspare de, 462, 463

Gualdrada, Dogess, 75, 78-80

Guilds of arts and trades, 210-218, 298-300

Guoro, Gherardo, 80

‘Hall of the fireplace,’ 44

Hapsburg family, 56

Hawkwood, John, 407, 428

Hazlitt, Mr., _The Venetian Republic_, 83, 432-434

Heraclea, 28, 32, 33, 196

Heraldry, 208-210

Hermes of Olympia, the, 7

High Chancellor, 176, 177, 184-186, 202, 249, 252, 297, 335, 443

Hildebrand. _See_ Pope Gregory VII.

Holy Land, the, 100, 104, 132, 133, 134
Roman Empire, 56, 78, 85
War, 132

Homer, 7, 223

‘Hose Club,’ the, 436

Hospice of the Pietà, 262

‘House of the Miracle of the Mortar,’ 242

Hugh the Count of Saint Paul, 136

Hughes, Thomas, 419

Hugo, Victor, 86, 354

Hungary, 133
King of, 90, 109, 221, 304, 377, 381, 382

Huns’ invasion, 15-19

_Iliad_, the, 223

India, 274, 492

Inns--
the Leon Bianco, 219
the Luna, 219
the Selvatico, 219

‘Inquisitor,’ office of, 311

Investitures, War of the, 230

Ionian islands, 104

Isaac (Angelos), Emperor, 133, 135, 139

Isarello, Bertuccio, 325, 326, 328, 334

Island of Saint George, 267
of San Servolo, 88

Istria, 20, 36, 87, 371, 377

Janus, King, 17, 18

Jerusalem, 102, 104

Jesolo, 196

Jews, 190

Johanna, Queen, 358

Josaphat, 209

Judicial bodies, 155

Justina, 22

Justinian, 41
Pandects of, 95, 158

Knights Hospitallers of Saint John of Jerusalem, 95

Lacedaemon, 143

Language in early Venice, 29
influence of Greeks and Lombards on, 29

Lasitha, 350

Laws, Jacopo Tiepolo’s code, 156-159
Orio Mastropiero’s code, 153-155
regulating maritime traffic, 95

Laws and law-givers, early Venetian, 146-159

Lazina, 88

Lazzarini, 311, 318, 321, 323, 337, 340, 341

Legnano, battle of, 115

Leo, Emperor, 40

Lepanto, 492

Levant, the, 100, 104, 109, 293, 304

Lezze, Antonio da, 486-487
Luca da, 334

Lido, the, 10, 104, 118, 207, 267, 319, 380, 381, 382, 383, 394, 398, 404

Lion, Niccolò, 330

Lion of Saint Mark, 176, 183

Lisbon, 492

Lodi, 114

Lojera, battle of, 371, 376

Lombard League, 114-118, 319
Venice joins the, 114

Lombardo, Jacopello, 326

Lombards, the, 19, 20, 23, 29, 111

Lombardy, 111, 452

‘Lords of the Night,’ 229, 230, 235

Loredan, Beriola, 311
Giovanni, 407
Jacopo, 469, 470
Pietro, 470

Loredo, port of, 406

Louis of Blois, 136

Louis of Hungary, 413, 424

Lucca, 189, 301

Lunardi, Lunardo di, 463, 464

Lusignan, Jacques de, 490

Macalò, battle of, 451

Macchiavelli, 429
_Principe_ quoted, 154

Magistrates, 151

Malamocco, 33, 37, 41, 384, 387

Malamocco, Buono da, 40

Malatesta, Sigismondo, 457

‘Malcantone,’ 198

Malipieri, Pasquale. _See under_ Doges

Malory’s _Morte d’Arthur_, 354

Manfredonia, 412

Manners and customs in Venice, 257-277

Mantegna, 477

Mantua, 114
Duke of, 424, 443, 474

Mariner’s compass, 95

Marioni, Rizzardo, 322, 323

Maritime University, the, 30

Marriage customs in Venice, 58-69, 270-273

Martial, 14

Maruffo, 410, 411, 412

Mary, Princess, 90

Master of Grammar, 311

Mastropiero, Orio. _See under_ Doges

Matilda, Countess, 109, 230, 231

Maurus, 21, 22

Mazzorbo, 246, 381

Mediterranean, the, 95, 375, 492

Menappus, King, 16

Merceria, the, 177, 235, 237, 242

Mestre, 190

Michiel, Andrea, 311
Donato, 438
Faustin, 442
Margherita, 377
Marin, 326

Michiel, Niccolò, 110
_See also under_ Doges

Milan, 97, 111, 114, 318, 426, 443-445, 458, 478, 479, 483
Duke of, 423, 448, 452
lords of, _See_ Visconti

Mocenigo, Giovanni, 334
Leonardo, 454
Pietro, 364, 390, 391
Tomaso. _See under_ Doges

Modena, 114

Modon, battle of, 372-373

Mohammed II., 470, 480-488
takes Constantinople, 480

Molina, the, 223

Molmenti, 191, 205, 242

Monaci, Lorenzo dei, 318, 326

Monasteries of--
Saint Anthony of Padua, 269
Saint George, 289
Saint Nicolas, 108, 381
Sant’ Ilario, 84

Monte Baldo, the, 478

Montferrat, Marquis of, 143

Montfort, Simon de, 135

Morosini, the, 85, 86, 100
Marco, 230
Michele. _See under_ Doges

Morosini, the historian, 458

Morrone, Pietro da, 82

Mousa and his pirates, 99, 100

Murano, 11, 286, 381
Cathedral at, 16
glass-makers of, 188, 293

Muratori, 6, 354, 398

Museo Civico, 85

Museum, Correr, 242, 339

Mussulmans, 40, 481, 485

Naples, 97
King of, 113

Narenta, pirates of, 58, 88, 278

Narni, Erasmo da. _See_ Gattamelata

Narses, 41, 47

Negro, Marco, 332

Negroponte, 138, 368, 371

Niccolotti, the, 165
and Castellani, 190-218

Nicephoros, Emperor, 36

Normans, 100, 106

Notti, Gherardo delle, 162

Novara, 114

Obelerio, Doge, 36-37

_Odyssey_, the, 223

Olivolo, 12, 37, 46, 47, 70

Ordelafo, Marino, 316

Orseolo, the, 76, 82-92, 100, 169
Domenico, 90
Giovanni, 90, 91
Hicela, 90
_See also under_ Doges

Orso, Doge, 33

Ossero, Count of, 110

Ostrogoths, 19

Otho I., 78

Otho II., 78, 97-98

Otho III., 88-89

Otho IV., 134

Padua, 12, 15, 17, 18, 25, 76,
114, 143, 209, 235, 239, 292,
301, 302, 303, 317, 354, 386, 424, 426, 427, 430
lords of. _See_ Carrara, the
Scrovegni of, 189

Paduans, 11

Palaces of--
Dandolo, 221
the Quattro Torri, 223
the Quirini, 233, 234, 235, 237, 239-240
the Tiepolo, 161
the Ziani, 221

Paleologi, the, 145, 146

Paleologos, Michael, 145, 146

Palermo, 97

Palestine, 126, 127, 135

Palestrina, 384

_Paradiso_, the, 132

Parenzo, 121, 371

Parishes of--
Saint Agostino, 263
Saint Gervasio, 272
Santa Maria Formosa, 72, 73

Parma, 114

Partecipazio, the, 91, 169
Agnello. _See under_ Doges

Pasqualigo, Orio, 334

Patriarchates of--
Aquileia, 113
Grado, 113
Venice, 113

Patras, 357

Paul, Bishop, 19, 20
the Deacon, 15, 89

Pavement, Venetian, 43

Pavia, 50, 450

_Pellegrina_, the, 132

Pentapolis, cities of the, 20

Pepin, attempt to take Venice by, 35-38

Pera, 481

Percentage, invention of, 155-156

Persia, King of, 485

Peter, the Apostle, 22
the Hermit, 100, 102

Petrarch, 189, 223, 315, 318, 371
quoted, 346-350

Phaëthon, grove of, 15

Phidias, 7

Philip VI. of France, 304

Philip of Swabia, 134

Piacenza, 78, 111, 114

Piave, the, 15

Piazza of Saint Mark, 113, 176, 177, 178, 235, 237, 267

Piazzetta, the, 117, 176, 178, 183, 184, 207, 226, 255, 298, 493
columns of, 180-184, 226, 255

Piccinino, 451, 461, 476, 477

Piedmont, 448

Pietà, Fra Pieruzzo della, 261

Pilato, Leontio, 223

Pirates, 31, 58, 99, 100, 273
brides of Venice stolen by Istrian, 70-73

Pisa, 94-101, 121, 135, 144

Pisani, Niccolò, 314, 371, 372
Vittor, 5, 254, 364, 367
death and burial of, 412-413
in the War of Chioggia, 374-414

Pisans, Venetians defeat the, off Rhodes, 104

Plague, ravages of, 91, 106, 286, 306-308, 374
Venice loses half her population by, 306-308

Plato’s ideal State, 225
_Republic_, 126

Po, the, 15, 450

Podestà, office of, 312

Pola, 87, 378, 387

Pollentia, 13

Polo, Ramberto, 196

Ponte. _See also_ Bridge
del Malpasso, 237
della Paglia, 344
dei Pugni, 200

Popes--
Alexander III., 108, 111-123
Clement V., 296, 300
Clement VI., 354
Gregory VII., 230
Hadrian IV., 110, 111
Innocent III., 126-135
Innocent VI., 317, 319
Innocent VIII., 489
Martin V., 450, 475
Nicolas V., 482
Pius II., 484
Sixtus IV., 488

Porto Longo, Venetian fleet defeated at, 319

Portugal, 492

Positano, 96

Pozzi, the, 254, 321, 419

Praxiteles, 7

Pregadi, the, 150, 337

Prisons and prisoners in fourteenth century, 253-256

Priuli, Andrea, 483

Provisional Government of Venice, 240

Ptolemais, 104

Public crier, office of, 176, 177

Quarantie, the. _See_ Council of Forty

Quinctilian, 223

Quirini, the, 228-247
Andreolo, 245
Benedetto, 235, 237
Jacopo, 234
Marco, conspiracy of, 228-242
Niccolò, 235-245
Pietro, 230, 245, 246

Quivers, 207

Ragusa, 87

Ravagnino, Messer, 189

Ravenna, 11, 20, 32, 38

Regattas, 205-206

Reggio, 114

Regulations, nautical, 157-158

Religion, Venetian legends connected with, 262-268

Republic of Florence, 125
of Saint Mark, 35-54
maritime, of Amalfi, 94
of Genoa, 94
of Pisa, 94

Rhapsodists, the, 7

Rhodes, island of, 104, 405

Rialto, the, 12, 37, 38, 46, 47, 176,
189, 190, 204, 229, 238, 239, 242, 326, 381

Rimini, 18

Romanin, 4, 122, 130, 226, 252, 321,
322, 339, 370, 434, 447, 449, 458,
464, 465, 471, 483

Romans, the, 56

Rome, 12, 13, 110, 113, 114, 116, 133,
134, 136, 144, 165, 258, 289, 296,
418, 488

Romeo and Juliet, early version of the story of, 82

Roncaglia, 111

Rossi, 6

Rossi, Lucia, 241, 242

Rovigno, 87

Sabellico, 370, 486

Sabines, 61

Sagredo, 43

Saint George, island of, 267

Saint John the Baptist, 23, 179

Saint Mark, 39-42, 267
body brought to Venice, 40-41
column of, 176, 183
library of, 223, 234
proclaimed protector of Republic, 41
procurators of, 186, 292, 295
standard of, 87, 241, 296
war-cry, 41, 345

Saint Mark’s Church, 47, 57, 59, 63,
69, 76, 77, 78, 87, 120, 177,
186, 204, 235, 237, 281, 282,
285, 294, 296, 300, 318, 337, 414
bronze horses of, 397
great bell of, 382, 390

Saint Mark’s Fee, 476

Saint Mark’s Square, 46, 180, 181, 184, 208, 237, 329, 374, 392, 456, 484

Saint Nicolas, 104, 204, 267

Saint Raphael, 204

Saint Stephen, King of Hungary, 90, 91

Saint Stephen the martyr, 104

Saint Theodore, 41, 47
column of, 182, 183

Saint Titus, war-cry, 345

Salone, 87

Salt trade, 156, 192

Salvore, battle of, 121

San Clemente, 412

San Marcelle, Cardinal, 136

San Maurizio, 321

San Stefano, town and abbey of, 138

Sanseverino, Roberto, 424

Sansovino, 90

Sansovino, Jacopo, 310

Sant’ Agostino, 240

Santa Maria della Carità, 120

Sanudo, 494

Sapienza, 372

Saracens, 100

Sardinia, 99

Savoy, Duke of, 490
house of, 95

Scala, the, 300-302, 424
Alberto della, 301, 302
Antonio della, 425, 426
Cane della, 301

School of Charity, 237
of the Holy Apostles, 214
of Santa Maria della Val Verde, 217

Scutari, siege of, 485-487

See, Holy, 136, 230, 231

Sench, lord of, 342

Sforza, Francesco, 423, 451, 453, 466, 468, 470, 477-479

Shipbuilding, 192, 212

Ships, types of early Venetian, 103

Shooting matches, 206-207

Sicily, 144
King of, 116, 117

Sidon, 104

Siena, 200

Sigeros, Nicolas, 223

Signory, the, 392, 394, 395, 407, 443, 460, 474, 494

Silk-weaving, 293

‘Silver Book,’ the, 185, 186

Sismondi, 38, 85, 95, 128, 136, 143, 434

Sisters of the Holy Sepulchre, 223

Slav pirates, 31

Slaves, 125, 156, 275-277, 481

Smedley, E. W., 471, 486
Macchiavelli’s _Principe_ quoted by, 454
_Sketches from Venetian History_ referred to, 398, 431

Songs, popular, 201-202

Sophocles, 223

Soranzo, Giovanni. _See under_ Doges

Sovereign Order of Malta, 96

Spalatro, 87

Sporades, the, 143

‘Statuto,’ Jacopo Tiepolo’s, 158

Stella, 370, 476

Steno, the, 321, 322
Giovanni, 322
Michel, 322, 378-380. _See also under_ Doges
Micheletto, 322-324
Paolo, 321-322
Saray, 322

Steno-Faliero trials, 321-325

Stephen III. of Hungary, 109

Superstitions, 64-65

Syracuse, siege of, 7

Tagliapietra, legend of little Countess, 263-265

Taine, 139

Tanais, 360

Tancred of Hauteville, 100

Tartars, 292

Tenda, Beatrice da, 445

Tenedos, Venetian occupation of, 362-367

‘Teriaca,’ 307

Thucydides, 7

Tiepolo, the, 169-171, 233, 241
Bajamonte, 49, 161-163, 194, 202, 224, 247, 263, 309, 310, 311
conspiracy of, 228-242
_See also under_ Doges

Tintoretto, 4, 216

Titian, 4, 5, 139, 216

Tomasini, 223

Torbole, 478

Torcello, 11, 381, 394

Torcello, Rustico da, 40

Tortona, 114

Tower of the She-Wolf, 384

Traditional law, 27

Trees, 49

Trevisan, Giacomo, 442

Treviso, 114, 221, 239, 302, 312, 342, 388, 426

Tribune, 26-27

Trieste, 87, 222

Troy, 4, 5

Turks, 143, 304, 344, 354, 356, 479-488, 492

Tuscany, 15
Marquis of, 75, 79
Matilda, Countess of, 109, 230, 231

Tyre, fall of, 105

Udine, 15

‘University of the Tribunes,’ 148

Vendramin, 330

Venice--
and Constantinople, 124-146
and first Crusades, 93-109
Duke of Austria visits, 221-222
founding of, 9-34
in fifteenth century, 416-494
in fourteenth century, 160-277
Otho III. visits, 88-89
Pepin attempts to take, 35-38
Petrarch visits, 223
primitive government, 31
occupations, 29
society, 25-29
speech, 29
ravaged by plague, 91, 306-308
rivalry with Genoa, 103
strangers in, 218-224
under the Partecipazio, Candiano, and Orseolo, 55-92

Venier, Antonio, 365

Vercelli, 114

Verme, Luchino dal, 346

Veroli, 116

Verona, 114, 317, 340, 346, 424, 426, 477

Veronese, Paolo, 4, 216

Vicenza, 76, 114, 239

Villani, Matteo, 315, 330

Villehardouin, Geoffrey de, 138, 139

Visconti, the, 317, 319, 444, 445
Antonia, 447, 458-460
Bernabò, 424, 428
Bianca, 478
Ettore, 447
Filippo-Maria, 444-464, 478, 479
Giovanni, 371, 373
Giovanni Galeazzo, 424-430, 444, 447, 458
Giovanni-Maria, 444

Wallachians, 143

Warin the monk, 83, 84

‘Wise Men of the Plague,’ 306, 307

Women of Venice--
in fourteenth century, 268-270
protection of property, 156-157

Zara, 83, 133, 134, 239, 242, 304, 314, 319

Zeno, Carlo, 5, 353-368, 378-380, 402-415, 426, 431-436
funeral of, 436
tomb of, 436
Jacopo, 354
Pietro, 354, 355
Ranier. _See under_ Doges

Ziani. _See under_ Doges

‘Zonta,’ the, 334

Zorzi, Marin. _See under_ Doges

Zucuol, Niccolò, 329

END OF VOL. I

* * * * *

SOUTHERN ITALY AND SICILY

AND

THE RULERS OF THE SOUTH

By F. MARION CRAWFORD

WITH A HUNDRED ORIGINAL DRAWINGS BY HENRY BROKMAN

Cloth Crown 8vo $2.50 net

“No living man of letters could have handled his materials with greater
skill, or distilled them with more certainty into a fluent and
fascinating narrative.”--_The Dial._

“Mr. Crawford’s manner and method throughout are those of the romantic
historian: true to fact, but true, also, to the romance of events, and
enlivening and strengthening the whole through the historical
imagination. He has taken a subject which he is peculiarly well fitted
to treat by his experience and his studies and his former work, and it
becomes, in his hand, a source of unexpected pleasure.”--_Boston
Herald._

AVE ROMA IMMORTALIS

STUDIES FROM THE CHRONICLES OF ROME

By F. MARION CRAWFORD

_Author of “Rulers of the South,” etc._

Fully Illustrated Cloth Crown 8vo $3.00 net

Dr. S. WEIR MITCHELL writes: “I have not for a long while read a book
which pleased me more than Mr. Crawford’s ‘Roma.’ It is cast in a form
so original and so available that it must surely take the place of all
other books about Rome which are needed to help one to understand its
story and its archæology.... The book has for me a rare interest.”

“The ablest popular work on Rome published in recent years.”--_Chicago
Tribune._

“The ideal chronicle of the Eternal City.”--_Inter-Ocean._

“More valuable to the general reader than any other.”--_San Francisco
Chronicle._

“He recalls the Rome of the great age of the conquests; of the Empire;
of those years when the fires of life were dying; of the age of the
barbarians; of the middle age; of the Renaissance; and of the modern
time.”--H. W. MABIE.

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
64-66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK

Writings of F. Marion Crawford

12mo Cloth

Whosoever Shall Offend $1.50
The Heart of Rome 1.50
Cecilia 1.50
Marietta 1.50
Corleone 1.50
Mr. Isaacs 1.50
Dr. Claudius 1.50
A Roman Singer 1.50
An American Politician 1.50
To Leeward 1.50
Zoroaster 1.50
A Tale of a Lonely Parish 1.50
Marzio’s Crucifix 1.50
Paul Patoff 1.50
Pietro Ghisleri 1.50
The Children of the King 1.50
Marion Darche 1.50
The Three Fates 1.50
Katharine Lauderdale 1.50
The Ralstons 1.50
Love in Idleness 2.00
Casa Braccio, 2 vols. 2.00
Taquisara 1.50
Adam Johnstone’s Son, and A Rose of Yesterday 1.50
Saracinesca 1.50
Sant’ Ilario 1.50
Don Orsino 1.50
With the Immortals 1.50
Greifenstein 1.50
A Cigarette-Maker’s Romance, and Khaled 1.50
The Witch of Prague 1.50
Via Crucis 1.50
In the Palace of the King 1.50

=WHOSOEVER SHALL OFFEND.=--“Not since George Eliot’s ‘Romola’ brought
her to her foreordained place among literary immortals, has there
appeared in English fiction a character at once so strong and
sensitive, so entirely and consistently human, so urgent and
compelling in its appeal to sustained, sympathetic
interest.”--_Philadelphia North American._

=THE HEART OF ROME (A Tale of the “Lost Water”).=--“Mr. Crawford has
written as absorbingly interesting a story as any of the
perennially engrossing ‘Saracinesca’ trilogy.”--_Brooklyn Times._

=CECILIA (A Story of Modern Rome).=--“The love story, which is the
dominating interest throughout, is so strange and novel a one that
many readers will, we think, compare it with ‘Mr. Isaacs,’ the
author’s first and most popular book.... Mr. Crawford will, we
think, be held to have scored a new and distinct success in this
story.”--_The Philadelphia North American._

=MARIETTA (A Maid Of Venice).=--“The workshop, its processes, the
ways and thought of the time, all this is handled in so masterly a
manner, not for its own sake, but for that of the story.... It has
charm and the romance which is eternally human, as well as that
which was of the Venice of that day. And over it all there is an
atmosphere of worldly wisdom, of understanding, sympathy, and
tolerance, of intuition and recognition, that makes Marion Crawford
the excellent companion he is in his books for mature men and
women.”--_New York Mail and Express._

=CORLEONE (A Tale of Sicily).=--_The last of the famous Saracinesca
Series._--“It is by far the most stirring and dramatic of all the
author’s Italian stories.... The plot is a masterly one, bringing
at almost every page a fresh surprise, keeping the reader in
suspense to the very end.”--_The Times_, New York.

=MR. ISAACS.=--“It is lofty and uplifting. It is strongly, sweetly,
tenderly written. It is in all respects an uncommon novel.”--_The
Literary World._

=DR. CLAUDIUS.=--“The characters are strongly marked without any
suspicion of caricature, and the author’s ideas on social and
political subjects are often brilliant and always striking. It is
no exaggeration to say that there is not a dull page in the book,
which is peculiarly adapted for the recreation of the student or
thinker.”--_Living Church._

=A ROMAN SINGER.=--“A powerful story of art and love in Rome.”--_The
New York Observer._

=AN AMERICAN POLITICIAN.=--“One of the characters is a visiting
Englishman. Possibly Mr. Crawford’s long residence abroad has made
him select such a hero as a safeguard against slips, which does not
seem to have been needed. His insight into a phase of politics with
which he could hardly be expected to be familiar is
remarkable.”--_Buffalo Express._

=TO LEEWARD.=--“It is an admirable tale of Italian life told in a
spirited way and far better than most of the fiction
current.”--_San Francisco Chronicle._

=ZOROASTER.=--“As a matter of literary art solely, we doubt if Mr.
Crawford has ever before given us better work than the description
of Belshazzar’s feast with which the story begins, or the
death-scene with which it closes.”--_The Christian Union_ (now _The
Outlook_).

=A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH.=--“It is a pleasure to have anything so
perfect of its kind as this brief and vivid story. It is doubly a
success, being full of human sympathy, as well as thoroughly
artistic.”--_The Critic._

=MARZIO’S CRUCIFIX.=--“We take the liberty of saying that this work
belongs to the highest department of character-painting in
words.”--_The Churchman._

=PAUL PATOFF.=--“It need scarcely be said that the story is skilfully
and picturesquely written, portraying sharply individual characters
in well-defined surroundings.”--_New York Commercial Advertiser._

=PIETRO GHISLERI.=--“The strength of the story lies not only in the
artistic and highly dramatic working out of the plot, but also in
the penetrating analysis and understanding of the impulsive and
passionate Italian character.”--_Public Opinion._

=THE CHILDREN OF THE KING.=--“One of the most artistic and
exquisitely finished pieces of work that Crawford has produced. The
picturesque setting, Calabria and its surroundings, the beautiful
Sorrento and the Gulf of Salerno, with the bewitching accessories
that climate, sea, and sky afford, give Mr. Crawford rich
opportunities to show his rare descriptive powers. As a whole the
book is strong and beautiful through its simplicity.”--_Public
Opinion._

=MARION DARCHE.=--“We are disposed to rank ‘Marion Darche’ as the
best of Mr. Crawford’s American stories.”--_The Literary World._

=THE THREE FATES.=--“The strength of the story lies in portrayal of
the aspirations, disciplinary efforts, trials, and triumphs of the
man who is a born writer, and who by long and painful experiences
learns the good that is in him and the way in which to give it
effectual expression. Taken for all in all, it is one of the most
pleasing of all his productions in fiction, and it affords a view
of certain phases of American, or perhaps we should say of New
York, life that have not hitherto been treated with anything like
the same adequacy and felicity.”--_Boston Beacon._

=KATHARINE LAUDERDALE.=--“It need scarcely be said that the story is
skilfully and picturesquely written, portraying sharply individual
characters in well-defined surroundings.”--_New York Commercial
Advertiser._

=THE RALSTONS.=--“The whole group of character studies is strong and
vivid.”--_The Literary World._

=LOVE IN IDLENESS.=--“The story is told in the author’s lightest
vein; it is bright and entertaining.”--_The Literary World._

=CASA BRACCIO.=--“We are grateful when Mr. Crawford keeps to his
Italy. The poetry and enchantment of the land are all his own, and
‘Casa Braccio’ gives promise of being his masterpiece.... He has
the life, the beauty, the heart, and the soul of Italy at the tips
of his fingers.”--_Los Angeles Express._

=TAQUISARA.=--“A charming story this is, and one which will certainly
be liked by all admirers of Mr. Crawford’s work.”--_New York
Herald._

=ADAM JOHNSTONE’S SON and A ROSE OF YESTERDAY.=--“It is not only one
of the most enjoyable novels that Mr. Crawford has ever written,
but is a novel that will make people think.”--_Boston Beacon._

“Don’t miss reading Marion Crawford’s new novel, ‘A Rose of
Yesterday.’ It is brief, but beautiful and strong. It is as
charming a piece of pure idealism as ever came from Mr. Crawford’s
pen.”--_Chicago Tribune._

=SARACINESCA.=--“The work has two distinct merits, either of which
would serve to make it great: that of telling a perfect story in a
perfect way, and of giving a graphic picture of Roman society....
The story is exquisitely told, and is the author’s highest
achievement, as yet, in the realm of fiction.”--_The Boston
Traveler._

=SANT’ ILARIO (A Sequel to Saracinesca).=--“A singularly powerful and
beautiful story.... It fulfils every requirement of artistic
fiction. It brings out what is most impressive in human action,
without owing any of its effectiveness to sensationalism or
artifice. It is natural, fluent in evolution, accordant with
experience, graphic in description, penetrating in analysis, and
absorbing in interest.”--_The New York Tribune._

=DON ORSINO (A Sequel to Saracinesca and Sant’ Ilario).=--“Offers
exceptional enjoyment in many ways, in the fascinating absorption
of good fiction, in the interest of faithful historic accuracy, and
in charm of style. The ‘New Italy’ is strikingly revealed in ‘Don
Orsino.’”--_Boston Budget._

=WITH THE IMMORTALS.=--“The strange central idea of the story could
have occurred only to a writer whose mind was very sensitive to the
current of modern thought and progress, while its execution, the
setting it forth in proper literary clothing, could be successfully
attempted only by one whose active literary ability should be fully
equalled by his power of assimilative knowledge, both literary and
scientific, and no less by his courage, and so have a fascination
entirely new for the habitual reader of novels. Indeed, Mr.
Crawford has succeeded in taking his readers quite above the
ordinary plane of novel interest.”--_The Boston Advertiser._

=GREIFENSTEIN.=--” ... Another notable contribution to the literature
of the day. Like all Mr. Crawford’s work, this novel is crisp,
clear, and vigorous, and will be read with a great deal of
interest.”--_New York Evening Telegram._

=A CIGARETTE-MAKER’S ROMANCE and KHALED.=--“It is a touching romance,
filled with scenes of great dramatic power.”--_Boston Commercial
Bulletin._

“It abounds in stirring incidents and barbaric picturesqueness; and
the love struggle of the unloved Khaled is manly in its simplicity
and noble in its ending.”--_The Mail and Express._

=THE WITCH OF PRAGUE=--“The artistic skill with which this
extraordinary story is constructed and carried out is admirable and
delightful.... Mr. Crawford has scored a decided triumph, for the
interest of the tale is sustained throughout.... A very remarkable,
powerful, and interesting story.”--_New York Tribune._

=VIA CRUCIS (A Romance of the Second Crusade).=--“Throughout ‘Via
Crucis’ the author shows not only the artist’s selective power and
a sense of proportion and comparative values, but the Christian’s
instinct for those things that it is well to think upon.... Blessed
is the book that exalts, and ‘Via Crucis’ merits that
beatitude.”--_New York Times._

=IN THE PALACE OF THE KING (A Love Story of Old Madrid).=--“Marion
Crawford’s latest story, ‘In the Palace of the King,’ is quite up
to the level of his best works for cleverness, grace of style, and
sustained interest. It is, besides, to some extent, a historical
story, the scene being the royal palace at Madrid, the author
drawing the characters of Philip II. and Don John of Austria, with
an attempt, in a broad impressionist way, at historic faithfulness.
His reproduction of the life at the Spanish court is as brilliant
and picturesque as any of his Italian scenes, and in minute study
of detail is, in a real and valuable sense, true history.”--_The
Advance._

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
=64-66 Fifth Avenue, New York=

*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Salve Venetia, gleanings from Venetian history; vol. I" ***

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