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LEONARDO LOREDANO.
-Makers of Venice.
THE
MAKERS OF VENICE
DOGES, CONQUEROES, PAINTEES
AND
MEN OF LETTERS.
By MRS. OLIPHANT,
Author of "The Makers of Florence."
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY R. R. HOLMES, F.S.A.
Sia benedeta sta Venezia mia
E sto popolo quieto, alegro e san.
Me sento un vodo in cuor se stago via,
Sento el solito mal de risolan
Benedeto Samarco e le putele
Che zira in piazza a ingelosir le stele,
Benedeto el sirocco che ne afana,
E la nostra fiacona veneziana.
Bime Veneziane, Sabfattl
NEW YORK:
A. L. BURT, PUBLISHER.
k
^ l^'^
GIFT
\ C| 00
TO
ELIZABETH LADY CLONCURRY,
AND
EMMA FITZMAURICE,
KIND AND DEAR COMPANIONS
OF MANY A VENETIAN RAMBLE,
THIS BOOK IS INSCRIBED.
M633346
INTRODUCTION.
Venice has long borne in the imagination of the world
a distinctive position, sometliing of tlie character of a
great enchantress, a magician of the seas. Her growth
between the water and the sky ; her great palaces, solid and
splendid, built, so to speak, on nothing ; the wonderful
glory of light and reflection about her ; the glimmer of in-
cessant brightness and movement ; the absence of all those
harsh, artificial sounds wliich vex the air in other towns,
but which in her are replaced by harmonies of human
voices, and by the liquid tinkle of the waves — all these un-
usual characteristics combine to make her a wonder and a
prodigy. While there are scarcely any who are unmoved
by her special charm, there are some who are entirely sub-
dued by it, to whom the sight of her is a continual en-
chantment, and who never get beyond the sense of some-
thing miraculous, the rapture of the first vision. Not
only does she *^ shine where she stands,^' which even the
poorest cluster of human habitations will do in the light
of love : but all those walls, with the mist of ages like a
bloom of eternal youth upon them — all those delicate pin-
nacles and carven-stones, the arches and the pillars and the
balconies, the fretted outlines that strike against the sky —
shine too as with a light within that radiates into the clear
sea-air ; and every ripple on the great water-way, and every
wave on the lagoon, and each little rivulet of a canal, like
a line of light between the piles of masonry, which are
themselves built of pearl and tints of ocean shells, shines
too with an ever-varied, fantastic, enchanting glimmer of
responsive brightness. In the light of summer mornings
in the glow of winter sunsets, Venice stands out upon the
blue background, the sea that brims upward to her very
doors, the sky that sweeps in widening circles all around.
vi INTRODTICTION.
radiant with an answering tone of light. She is all wonder,
enchantment, the brightness and the glor}^ of a dream.
Her own children cannot enough paint her, praise her,
celebrate her splendors : and to outdo if possible that
patriotic enthusiasm has been the effort of many a stranger
from afar.
When the present writer ventured to put upon record
some of the impressions which medi8eval Florence has left
upon history, in the lives and deeds of great men^ the
work was comparatively an easy one — for Florence is a city
full of shadows of the great figures of the past. The trav-
eler cannot pass along her streets without treading in the
very traces of Dante, without stepping upon soil made
memorable by footprints never to be effaced. We meet
them in the crowded ways — the cheerful painters singing
at their work, the prophet-monk going to torture and exe-
cution, the wild gallants with their carnival ditties, the
crafty and splendid statesman who subjugated the fierce
republic. Faces start out from the crowd wherever we turn
our eyes. The greatness of the surroundings, the palaces,
churches, frowning mediaeval castles in the midst of the
city, are all thrown into the background by the greatness,
the individuality, the living power and vigor of the men
who are their originators, and, at the same time, their in-
spiring soul.
But when we turn to Venice the effect is very different.
After the bewitchment of the first vision, a chill falls upon
the inquirer. Where is the poet, where the prophet, the
princes, the scholars, the men whom, could we see, we
should recognize wherever we met them, with wliom the
whole world is acquainted? They are not here. In the
sunshine of the Piazza, in the glorious gloom of San Marco,
in the great council-chambers and offices of state, once so
full of busy statesmen, and great interests, there is scarcely
a figure recognizable of all, to be met with in the spirit —
no one whom we look for as we walk, whose individual
footsteps are traceable wherever we turn. Instead of the
men who made her what she is, who ruled her with so high
a hand, who filled her archives with the most detailed nar-
INTRODUCTION. vii
ratives, and gleaned throughout the world every particular
of universal history which could enlighten and guide her,
we find everywhere the great image — an idealization more
wonderful than any in poetry — of Venice herself, the
crowned and reigning city, the center of all their aspirations
the mistress of their affections, for whom those haughty
patricians of an older day, with a proud self-abnegation
which has no humility or sacrifice in it, effaced themselves,
thinking of nothing but her glory. It is a singular tribute
to pay to any race, especially to a race so strong, so full of
life and energy, loving power, luxury, and pleasantness as
few other races have done; yet it is true. When Byron
swept with superficial, yet brilliant eyes, the roll of Venetian
history, what did he find for the uses of his verse? Noth-
ing but two old men, one condemned for his own fault, the
other for his son's, remarkable chiefly for their misfortunes
— symbols of the wrath and the feebleness of age, and of
ingratitude and bitter fate. This was all which the rapid
observer could find in the story of a power which was once
supreme in the seas, the arbiter of peace and war through
all the difficult and dangerous East, the first defender of
Christendom against the Turk, the first merchant, banker,
carrier, whose emissaries were busy in all the councils and
all the markets of the world. In her records the city is
everything — the republic, the worshiped ideal of a com-
munity in which every man for the common glory seems to
have been willing to sink his own. Her sons toiled for her
each in his vocation, not without personal glory, far from
indifferent to personal gain, yet determined above all that
Venice should be great, that she should be beautiful above
all the thoughts of other races, that her power and her
splendor should outdo every rival. The impression grows
upon the student, whether he penetrates no further than
the door-ways of those endless collections of historic docu-
ments which make the archives of Venice important to all
the world, and in which lie the records of immeasurable
toil, the investigations of a succession of the keenest
observers, the most subtle politicians and statesmen ; or
whether he endeavors to trace more closely the growth
viii INTRODUCTION.
and development of the republic, the extension of her rule,
the perfection of her economy. In all of these, men of the
noblest talents, the most intense vigor and energy, have
labored. The records give forth the very hum of a
crowd; they glow with life, with ambition, with strength,
with every virile and potent quality : but all directed to
one aim. Venice is the outcome — not great names of in-
dividual men.
The Tuscans also loved their great and beautiful city,
but they loved her after a different sort. Perhaps the
absence of all those outlets to the seas and traffic with the
wider world which molded Venetian character, gave the
strain of a more violent personality and fiercer passions to
their blood. They loved their Florence for themselves,
desiring an absolute sway over her, and to make her their
own — unable to tolerate any rivalry in respect to her,
turning out upon the world every competitor, fighting to
be first in the city, whatever might happen. The Vene-
tians, with what seems a finer purpose in a race less grave,
put Venice first in everything. Few were the fuori-usciti,
the political exiles, sent out from the city of the sea. Now
and then a general wlio had lost a battle — in order that
all generals might be thus sharply reminded that the
republic tolerated no failures — would be thrust forth into
the wilderness of that dark world which was not Venice;
but no feud so great as that which banished Dante ever
tore the city asunder, no such vicissitudes of sway ever
tormented her peace. A grand and steady aim, never
abandoned, never even lost sight of, rnns through every
page of her story as long as it remains the story of a
living and independent power.
Perhaps the comparative equality of the great houses
which figure on the pages of the golden book of Venice
may have had something to do with this result. Their
continual poise and balance of power, and all the wonder-
ful system of checks and restraints so skillfully combined
to prevent all possibility of the predominance of one
family over the other, would thus have attained a success
which suspicion and jealously have seldom secured, and
INTRODUGTIOK. ix
which, perhaps, may be allowed to obliterate the memory
of such sentiments, and make us think of them as wisdom
and honorable care. As in most human affairs, no doubt
both the greater and the lesser motives were present, acd
the determination of each man that his neighbor shoula
have no chance of stepping on to a higher level than hiri-
self, combined with, and gave a keen edge of persoiial
feeling to his conviction of the advantages of the oligarch-
ical-democratic government which suited the genius of the
people, and made the republic so great. Among the
Contarinis, Morosinis, Tiepolos, Dandolos, the Corners
and Loredans, and a host of others whose names recur
with endless persistency from first to last through all the
vicissitudes of the national career, alternating in all the
highest offices of state, there was none which was ever
permitted to elevate itself permanently, or come within
sight of a supreme position. They kept each other down
even while raising each other to the fullness of an aristo-
cratic sway which has never been equaled in Christendom.
And the ambition which could never hope for such pre-
dominance as the Medici, the Visconti, the Scaligeri
attained in their respective cities, was thus entirely de-
voted to the advancement of the community, the greater
power and glory of the state. What no man could secure
for himself or his own house, all men could do, securing
their share in the benefit, for Venice. And in generous
minds this ambition, taking a finer flight than is possible
when personal aggrandizement lies at the heart of the
effort, became a passion — the inspiring principle of the
race. For this they coursed the seas, quenching the
pirate tribes that threatened their trade, less laudably
seizing the towns of the coast, the islands of the sea which
interfered with their access to their markets in the East.
For this they carried fire and flame to the mainland, and
snatched from amid the fertile fields the supremacy of
Padua and Treviso, and many a landward city, making
their seaborn nest into the governing head of a great
province; an object which was impersonal, giving license
as well as force to their purpose, and relieving their con-
X INTRODUCTION.
sciences from the guilt of turning Crusades and missionary
enterprises alike into wars of conquest. Whatever their
tyrannies, as whatever their hard-won glories might be,
they were all for Venice, and only in a secondary and sub-
sidiary sense for themselves.
The same principle has checked in other ways that flow
of individual story with which Florence has enriched the
records of the world. Nature at first, no doubt, must
bear the blame, who gave no Dante to the state which
perhaps might have prized him more highly than his own;
but the same paramount attraction of the idealized and
sovereign city, in which lay all their pride, turned the
early writers of Venice into chroniclers, historians,
diarists, occupied in collecting and recording everything
that concerned their city, and indifferent to individuals,
devoted only to the glory and the story of the state. In
later days this peculiarity indeed gave way, and a hundred
piping voices rise to celebrate the decadence of the great
republic; but by tliat time she has ceased to be a noble
spectacle, and luxury and vice have come in to degrade the
tale into one of endless pageantry deprived of all meaning
— no longer the proud occasional triumphs of a conquer-
ing race, but the perpetual occupation of a debased and
corrupted people. To the everlasting loss of the city and
mankind there was no Vasari in Venice. Messer Giorgio,
with his kindly humorous eyes, peered across the peninsula,
through clouds of battle and conflict always going on, and
perhaps not without a mist of neighborly depreciation
in themselves, perceived far off the Venetian men and
their works who were thought great painters — a rival
school in competition with his own. He was not near
enough to discover what manner of men the two long-
lived brothers Bellini, or the silent Carpaccio, with his
beautiful thoughts, or the rest of the busy citizens who
filled churches and chambers with a splendor as of their
own resplendent air and glowing suns, might be. An in-
finite loss to us and to the state, yet completing the senti-
ment of the consistent story, which demands all forVenice:
but for the individual whose works are left behind him to
INTRODUCTION. li
her glory, his name inscribed upon her records as a faith-
ful servant, and no more.
Yet when we enter more closely into the often-repeated
narrative, transmitted from one hand to another till each
chronicler, with sharp, incisive touches, or rambling in
garrulous details, has brought it down to his own time and
personal knowledge, this severity relaxes somewhat. The
actors in the drama break into groups, and with more or
less difficuly it becomes possible to discover here and there
how a change came about, how a great conquest was made,
how the people gathered to listen, and how a doge, an
orator, a suppliant stood up and spoke. We begin to
discern, after long gazing, how a popular tumult would
spring up, and all Venice dart into fire and flame ; and
how the laws and institutions grew which controlled that
possibility, and gradually, with the enforced assent of the
populace, bound them more securely than ever democracy
was bound before, in the name of freedom. And among
the fire and smoke, and through the mists, we come to
perceive here and there a noble figure — a blind old doge,
with white locks streaming, with sightless eyes aflame,
running his galley ashore, a mark for all the arrows ; or
another standing, a gentler, less prominent image between
the pope and the emperor; or with deep eyes, all hallowed
with age and thought, and close-shut mouth, as in that
portrait Bellini had made for us, facing a league of monarchs
undaunted, for Venice against the world. And though
there is no record of that time when Dante stood within
the red walls of the arsenal, and saw the galleys making
and mending, and the pitch fuming up to heaven — as all
the world may still see them through his eyes — yet a milder
scholarly image, a round smooth face, with cowl and garland
looks down upon us from the gallery, all blazing with
crimson and gold, between the horses of San Marco, a
friendly visitor, the best we could have, since Dante left no
sign behind him, and probably was never heard of by the
magnificent Signoria. Petrarch stands there, to be seen
by the side of the historian-doge, as long as Venice lasts :
but not much of him, only a glimpse, as is the Venetian
xii INTRODUCTION.
way, lest in contemplation of the poet we should for a
moment forget the Republic, his hostess and protector —
Venice, the all-glorious mistress of the seas, the first object,
the unrivalled sovereign of her children^'s thoughts and
hearts.
CONTENTS.
PART I.— THE DOGES.
CHAPTER I.
Paqb.
TheOrseoli 1
CHAPTER II.
TheMichieU 30
CHAPTER III.
Enrico Dandolo .. 54
CHAPTER IV.
Pietro Gradenigo^Change of the Constitution , 79
CHAPTER V.
The Doges Disgraced 105
PART 1I.~BY SEA AND BY LAND.
CHAPTER I.
The Travelers; Niccolo, Matteo and Marco Polo 125
CHAPTER IL
A Popular Hero 149
CHAPTER III.
Soldiers of Fortune — Carmagnola 187
CHAPTER IV.
Bartolommeo CoUeoni 228
xiv CONTENTS.
PART III.— THE PAINTEKS.
CHAPTER I.
The Three Early Masters = 240
CHAPTER II.
The Second Generation 267
CHAPTER III.
Tintoretto. , 299
PAET IV.— MEN OE LETTERS.
CHAPTER I.
The Guest of Venice 316
CHAPTER II.
The Historians 337
CHAPTER III.
Aldus and the Aldines 366
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE.
Leonardo Loredano Front.
S Peter's Cliair: San Pietro in Castello To face 5
Interior of the CatLedral of Torcello " 20
Bishop's Throne, Torcello 21
Stone Shutters, Cathedral, Torcello 26
Shrine of Orseoli " II Santo." 29
Bronze Horses on the Facade of S. Marco To face 34
The Cemetery Island ^ ** 52
Arms of the Michieli 52
High Altar of S. Marco To face 63
Doorway, San Marco '* 73
Arms of Dandolo 78
Arms of Gradenigo , 84
Ponte Del Paradiso To face 94
Near the Santi Apostoli ** 110
Arms of Faliero , 113
Arms of Foscari 124
Departure of Marco Polo: From an Hluminated Manuscript in
the Bodleian 125
Doorway, Marco Polo's House 133
Inscription on Pillar in Arsenal, the First Erected 148
Fondamenta Zen To face 172
Doorway of Ruined Chapel of the Servi ** 207
Sword Hilt. 210
Coffin in the Church of the Frari 227
Colleoni To face 230
Pozzo 239
Gateway of the Abrazia Delia Misericordia To face 244
Cloisters of the Abrazia " 251
Portrait of Sultan: Gentile Bellin\ " 257
Angel from Carpaccio 259
Ursula Receiving Her Bridegroom; From Carpaccio To face 260
X vi LIST OF ILL U8TRA TI0N8.
PAGE
Head of St. George 261
Out of the Grand Canal To face 272
Group of Heads: Gentile Bellini 280
Murano and San Micliele , To face 289
Group of Heads: Gentile Bellini 290
Head from Titian's Tomb. Believed to be F. Paolo Sarpi 295
Knocker 297
Palazzo Camello: House of Tintoretto To face 300
Palazzo Camello: House of Tintoretto ** 305
The Courtyard of Palazzo Camello " 311
Knocker: Palazzo Da Ponte 314
Courtyard. Side Canal Toface 322
CampoDiS.Vio " 327
Canareggio ** 338
Cloisters of S. Gregorio ** 350
Gateway of S. Gregorio " 864
Near San Biagio " 376
THE MAKERS OE VENICE.
PART I.
THE DOGES.
CHAPTER I.
THE OKSEOLI.
The names of the doges, though so important in the old
chronicles of the republic, which are in many cases little
more than a succession of Vifm Dticicm, possess individually
few associations and little significance to the minds of the
strangers who gaze upon the long line of portraits under the
cornice of the hall of the great council, without pausing with
special interest on any of them, save perhaps on that cor-
ner where, conspicuous by its absence, the head of Marino
Faliero ought to be. The easy adoption of one figure, by
no means particularly striking or characteristic, but which
served the occasion of the poet without giving him too
much trouble, has helped to throw the genuine historical
importance of a very remarkable succession of rulers into
obscurity. But this long line of sovereigns, sometimes the
guides, often the victims, of the popular will, stretching
back with a clearer title and more comprehensible history
than that of most dynasties, into the vague distances of old
time, is full of interest ; and contaijis many a tragic episode
as striking and more significant than that of the aged prince
whose picturesque story is the one most generally known.
There are, indeed, few among them who have been pub-
2 THE MAKKRS OF VENICE.
licly branded with the name of traitor ; but, at least in the
earlier chapters of the great civic history, there are many
examples of a popular struggle and a violent death as there
are of the quiet ending and serene magnificence which seem
fitted to the age and services of most of those who have
risen to that dignity. They have been in many cases old
men, already worn in the service of their country, most of
them tried by land and sea — mariners, generals, legislators,
fully equipped for all the vaiious needs of a sovereignty
whose dominion was the sea, yet which was at the same
time weighted with all the vexations and dangers of a con-
tinental rule. Their elevation was, in later times, a crown-
ing honor,a sort of dignified retirement from the ruder labors
of civic use ; but, in the earlier ages of the republic this
was not so, and at all times it was a most dangerous post,
and one whose occupant was most likely to pay for popular
disappointments, to run the lisk of all the conspiracies,
and to be hampered and hindered by jealous counselors,
and the continual inspection of suspicious spectators. To
change the doge was always an expedient by which Venice
could propitiate fate and turn tlie course of fortune ; and
the greatest misfortunes recorded in her chronicles are
those of her princes, whose names were to-day acclaimed to
all the echoes, their paths strewed with flowers and carpeted
with cloth of gold, but to-morrow insulted and reviled, and.
themselves exiled or murdered, all services to tiie state not-
withstanding. Sometimes, no doubt, the overthrow was
well deserved, but in other instances it can be set down to
nothing but popular caprice. To the latter category be-
longs the story of the family of the Orseoli, which, at the
very outset of authentic history, sets before us at a touch
the early economy of Venice, the relations of the princes
and the people, the enthusiasms, the tumults, the gusts of
popular caprice, as well as the already evident predominance
of a vigorous aristocracy, natural leaders of the people.
The history of this noble family has the advantage of being
set before us by the first distinct contemporary narrative,
that of Giovanni Sagornino — John the Deacon, John of
Venice, as he is fondly termed by a recent historian. The
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 3
incidents of this period of power, or at least of that of the
two first princes of the name, incidents full of importance
in the history of the rising repnblic, are the first that stand
forth, out of the mist of nameless chronicles, as facts which
were seen and recorded by a trustworthy witness.
The first Orseolo came into power after a popular tumult
of the most violent description, which took the throne and
his life from the previous doge, Pietro Candiano. This
event occurred in the year 976, when such scenes were
not unusual even in regions less excitable. Candiano was
the fourth doge of his name, and had been in his youth
associated with his father in the supreme authority — but
in consequence of his rebellion and evil behavior had been
displaced and exiled, his life saved only at the prayer of
the old doge. On the death of his father, however, the
young prodigal had been acclaimed dog by the rabble.
In this capacity he had done much to disgust and alarm
the sensitive and proud republic. Chief among his
offenses was the fact that he had acquired, through his wife,
continental domains which required to be kept in sub-
jection by means of a body of armed retainers, dangerous
for Venice : and he was superbissimo from his youth up,
and had given frequent offense by his arrogance and ex-
actions. Upon what occasion it was that the popular pa-
tience failed at last we are not told, but only that a sudden
tumult arose against him, a rush of general fury. When
the enraged mob hurried to the ducal palace they found
that the doge had fortified himself there, upon which they
adopted the primitive method of setting fire to the sur-
rounding buildings. Tradition asserts that it was from
the house of Pietro Orseolo that the fire was kindled, and
some say by his suggestion. It would seem that the crowd
intended only to burn some of the surrounding houses to
frighten or smoke out the doge : but the wind was high,
and the ducal palace, with the greater part of San Marco,
which was then merely the ducal chapel, was consumed,
along with all the houses stretching upward along the
course of the Grand Canal as far as Santa Maria Zobenigo.
This sudden conflagration lights up, in the daikness of
4 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
that distant age, a savage scene. The doge seized in his
arms his young child, whether with the hope of saving it
or of saving himself by means of that shield of innocence,
and made his way out of his burning liouse, through the
church which was also burning though better able, prob-
ably, to resist the flames. But when he emerged from the
secret passages of San Marco he found that the crowd had
anticipated him, and that his way was barred on every side
by armed men. The desperate fugitive confronted the
multitude, and resorted to that method so often and some-
times so unexpectedly successful with the masses. In the
midst of the fire and smoke, surrounded by those threat-
ening fierce countenances, with red reflections glittering
in every sword and lance-point, reflected over again in the
sullen water, he made a last appeal. They had banished
him in his youth, yet had relented and recalled him and
made him doge. Would they burn him out now, drive
him into a corner, kill him like a wild beast. And sup-
posing even that he was worthy of death, what had the
child done, an infant who had never sinned against them ?
This scene, so full of fierce and terrible elements, the
angry roar of the multitude, the blazing of the fire behind
that circle of tumult and agitation, the wild glare in the
sky, and amid all, the one soft infantine figure held up in
the father's despairing arms — might afford a subject for a
powerful picture in the long succession of Venetian
records made by art.
When this tragedy had ended, by the murder of both^
father and child, the choice of the city fell upon Pietro
Orseolo as the new doge. An ecclesiastical historian of
the time speaks of his ^' wicked ambition '" as instrumental
in the downfall of his predecessor and of his future works
of charity as dictated by remorse ; but we are disposed to
hope that this is merely said, as is not uncommon in
religious story, to enhance the merits of his conversion.
The secular chroniclers are unanimous in respect to his
excellence. He was a man in everything the contrary of
the late doge — a man laudato di tutti^ approved of all men
— and of whom nothing but good was known. Perhaps
8. PBTKR'S chair: SAN PIETRO in CASTBU/0.
TH1£ MAKERS OF VENTGV!. 5
if he had any share in the tumult which ended in the
murder of Candiano, his conscience may liave made a crime
of it when the hour of conversion came ; but certainly in
Venice there would seem to have been no accuser to say a
word against him. In the confusion of the great fire and
the disorganization of the city, *^ contaminated " by the
murder of the prince, and all the disorders involved,
Orseolo was forced into the uneasy seat whose occupant
was sure to be the first victim if the affairs of Venice went
wrong. His first act was to remove the insignia of his
office out of the ruins of the doge's palace to his own house,
wliich was situated upon the Riva beyond and adjacent to
the home of the doges. It is difficult to form to ourselves
an idea of the aspect of the city at this early period.
Venice, though already great, was in comparison with its
after appearance a mere village, or rather a cluster of
villages, straggling along the sides of each muddy, marshy
island, keeping the line of the broad and navigable water-
way, in dots of building and groups of houses and churches,
from the olive-covered isle where San Pietro, the first
great church of the city, shone white among its trees, along
the curve of the Canaluccio to the Rialto-^Rive-AIto, what
Mr. Ruskin calls the deep stream, where the church of
San Giacomo, another central spot, stood, with its group
of dwellings round — no bridge then dreamed of, but a
ferry connecting the two sides of the Grand Canal.
Already the stir of commerce was in the air, and the big
sea-going galleys, with their high bulwarks, lay at the rude
wharfs, to take in outward-bound cargoes of salt, salt-fish,
wooden furniture, bowls, and boxes of home manufacture,
as well as the goods brought from northern nations, of
which they were the merchants and carriers — and come
back laden with the riches of the East — with wonderful
tissues and carpets, and marbles and relics of the saints.
The palace and its chapel, the shrine of San Marco, stood
where they still stand, but there were no columns on the
Piazzetta, and the Great Piazza was a piece of waste land
belonging to the nuns at San Zaccaiia, which was, as one
might say, the parish church. Most probably this vacant
6 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
space in the days of the first Orseolo, was little more than
a waste of salt-water grasses, and sharp and acrid plants
like those that now flourish in such rough luxuriance on
the Lido — or perhaps boasted a tree or two, a patch of
cultivated ground. Such was the scene — very different
from the Venice of the earliest pictures, still more different
from that we know. But already the lagoon was full of
boats, and the streets of commotion, and Venice grew like
a young plant, like the quick-spreading vegetation of her
own warm, wet marshes, day by day.
The new doge proceeded at once to rebuild both the
palace and the shrine. The energy and vigor of the man
who, with that desolate and smoking mass of ruin around
him — three hundred houses burned to the ground and all
their forlorn inhabitants to house and care for — could yet
address himself without a pause to the reconstruction on
the noblest scale of the great twin edifices, the glorious
dwelling of the saint, the scarcely less cared-for palace of
the governor, the representative of law and order in Venice,
has something wonderful in it. He was not rich, and
neither was the city, which had in the midst of this dis-
aster to pay the dower of the Princess Valdrada, the widow
of Candiano, whose claims were backed by the Emperor
Otto, and would if refused have brought upon the repub-
lic all the horrors of war. Orseolo gave up a great part of
his own patrimony, however, to the rebuilding of the
church and palace ; eight thousand ducats a year for eighty
yearH (the time which elapsed before its completion), says
the old records, he devoted to this noble and pious purpose,
and sought far and near for the best workmen, some of
whom came as far as from Constantinople, the metropolis
of all the arts. How far the walls had risen in his day, or
how much he saw accomplished, or heard of before the end
of his life, it is impossible to tell. But one may fancy how,
amid all the toils of the troubled state, while he labored
and pondered how to get that money together for Valdrada,
and pacify the emperor and herother powerful friends, and
how to reconcile all factions, and heal all wounds, and
house wore humbly his poor burned-out giti^ens^ the sight
THE MAKERS OF VENICE, 7
from his windows of those fair solid walls, rising out of the
ruins, must have comforted his soul. Let us hope he saw
the round of some lower arch, the rearing of some pillar, a
pearly marble slab laid on, or at least the carved work on
the basement of a column before he went away.
The historian tells us that it was Orseolo also who or-
dered from Constantinople the famous Pala d'oro, the
wonderful gold and silver work which still on high days
and festas is disclosed to the eyes of the faithful on the
great altar, one of the most magnificent ornaments of San
Marco. It is a pity that inquisitive artist and antiquaries
with their investigations have determined this work to be
at least two centuries later, but Sagornino, who was the
doge's contemporary, could not have foreseen the work of a
later age, so that he must certainly refer to some former
tabulam miro opere ex argento et auro, which Orseolo in his
magnificence added to his other gifts. Nor did the doge
confine his bounty to these great and beautiful works. If
the beauty of Venice was dear to him, divine charity was
still more dear. Opposite the rising palace, where now
stands the Libreria Vecchia, Orseolo, taking advantage of a
site cleared by the fire, built a hospital, still standing in the
time of Sabellico, who speaks of it as the *^ 8pedale, il
quale e sopra la Piazza dii'impetto al Palazzo," and where,
according -to the tale, he constantly visited and cared for
the sick poor.
It must have been while still in the beginning of all these
great works, but already full of many cares, the Candiano
faction working against him, and perhaps but little re-
sponse coming from the people to whom he was sacrificing
his comfort and his life, that Orseolo received a visit which
changed the course of his existence. Among the pilgrims
who came from all quarters to the shrine of the evangelist,
a certain French abbot, Carinus or Guarino, of the monas-
tery of St. Michael de Cusano, in Aquitaine, arrived in
Venice. It was Orseolo's custom to have all such pious visi-
tors brought to his house and entertained there during their
stay, and he found in Abbot Guarino a congenial soul.
They talked together of all things in heaven and earth.
8 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
and of this wonderful new Venice rising from the sea, with
all her half-built churches and palaces ; and of the holy
relics brought from every coast for her enrichment and
sanctification, the bodies of the saints which made almost
every church a sacred shrine. And no doubt the cares of
the doge's troubled life, the burdens laid on him daily, the
threats of murder and assassination with which, instead of
gratitude, his self-devotion was received, were poured into
the sympathetic (^ar of the priest, who on his side drew such
pictures of the holy peace of monastic life, the tranquillity
and blessed privations of the cloister, as made the heart of
the doge to burn within him. '^If thou wouldst be per-
fect" — said the abbot, as on another occasion a greater
voice had said. '^ Oh, benefactor of my soul!" cried the
doge, beholding a vista of wq'n hope opening before him,
a halcyon world of quiet, a life of sacrifice and prayer. He
had already for years lived like a monk, putting all the in-
dulgences of wealth and even affection aside. For the
moment, however, he had too many occupations on his
hands to make retirement possible. He asked for a year
in which to arrange his affairs ; to put order in the republic
and liberate himself. With this agreement the abbot left
him, but true to his engagement, when the heats of Sep-
tember were once more blazing on the lagoon, came back
to his penitent. The doge in the meantime had made all
his arrangements. No doubt it was in this solemn year,
which no one knew was to be the end of his life in the
world, that he set aside so large a part of his possessions
for the prosecution of the buildings which now he could no
longer hope to see completed. When all these prelimi-
naries were settled, and everything done, Orseolo, witha
chosen friend or two, one of them his son-in-law, the
sharer of his thoughts and his prayers, took boat silently
one night across the still lagoon to Fusina, where horses
awaited them, and so flying in the darkness over the main-
land abandoned the cares of the princedom and the world.
Of the chaos that was left behind, the consternation of
the family, the confusion of the state, the record says noth-
ing. This was not the view of the matter which occurred
TEE MAKERS OF VENICE. 9
to the primitive mind. We are apt to think with repro-
bation, perhaps too strongly expressed, of the cowardice of
duties abandoned, and the cruelty of ties broken. But in
the early ages no one seems to have taken this view. The
sacrifice made by a prince, who gave up power and freedom
and all the advantages of an exalted position, in order to
accept privation and poverty for the love of God, was more
perceptible then to the general intelligence than the higher
self-denial of supporting, for the love of God, the labors
and miseries of his exalted but dangerous oflice. The tu-
mult and commotion which followed the flight of Orseolo
were not mingled with blame or reproach. The doge, in
the eyes of his generation, chose the better part, and offered
a sacrifice with which God Himself could not but be well
pleased.
He was but fifty when he left Venice, having reigned a
little over two years. Guarino placed his friend under the
spiritual rule of a certain stern and holy man, the saintly
Romoaldo, in whose life and legend we find the only record
of Pietro Orseolo's latter days. St. Romoaldo was the
founder of the order of the Camaldolites, practicing in his
own person the greatest austerity of life, and imposing it
upon his monks, to whom he refused even the usual relaxa-
tion of better fare on Sunday, which had beeti their privilege.
The noble Venetians, taken from the midst of their liberal
and splendid life, were set to work at the humble labors of
husbandmen upon tliis impoverished diet. He who had
been the Doge Pietro presently found that he was incapable
of supporting so austere a rule. ^MVherefore he humbly
laid himself at the feet of the blessed Romoaldo, and being
bidden to rise with shame confessed his weakness. ** Father "
he said, ** as I have a great body, I cannot for my sins sus-
tain my strength with this morsel of hard bread.'' Romo-
aldo, having compassion on the frailty of his body, added
another portion of biscuit to the usual measure, and thus
held out the hand of pity to the sinking brother. The
comic pathos of the complaint of the big Venetian, bred
amid the freedom of the seas, and expected to live and
work upon half a biscuit, is beyond comment.
10 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
He lived many years in the humility of conventual sub-
jection, and died, apparently without any advancement in
religious life, in the far distance of France, never seeing
his Venice again. In after years, his son, who was only
fifteen at the period of the doge's flight, and who was des-
tined in his turn to do so much for Venice, visited his
father in his obscure retirement. The meeting between
tlie almost too generous father, who had given so much to
Venice, and had completed the offering by giving up him-
self at last to the hard labors and humility of monastic life
— and the ambitious youth full of the highest projects of
patriotism and courage, must have been a remarkable scene.
The elder Pietro in his cloister had no doubt pondered
much on Venice and on the career of the boy whom he
had left behind him there, and whose character and qual-
ities must have already shown themselves; and much was
said between them on this engrossing subject. Orseolo,
'^ whether by the spirit of prophecy or by special revelation
predicted to him all that was to happen. ^ I know,' he said,
' my son, that they will make you doge, and that you will
prosper. Take care to preserve the rights of the church,
and those of your subjects. Be not drawn aside from doing
justice, either by love or by hate.''' Better counsel could
no fallen monarch give — and Orseolo was happier than
many fathers in a son worthy of him.
The city deprived of such a prince was very sad, but still
more full of longing : " Molto trista ma pin desiderosa,^'
says Sabellico ; and his family remained dear to Venice —
for as long as popular favor usually lasts. Pietro died
nineteen years after 'a\ the odor of sanctity, and was
canonized, to the glory of his city. His hreve, the in-
scription under his portrait in the great hall attributes to
him the building of San Marco, as well as many miracles
and wonderful works. The miracles, however, were per-
formed far from Venice, and have no place in her records,
except those deeds of charity and tenderness which he
accomplished among his people before he left them.
These the existing corporation of Venice, never unwilling
to chronicle either a new or antique glory, have lately
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 11
celebrated by an inscription, which the traveler will see
from the little bay in which the canal terminates, just be-
hind the upper end of the Piazza. This little triangular
opening among the tall houses is called theBacino Orseolo,
and bears a marble tablet to the honor of the first Pietro
of this name, '^ il santo" high up upon the wall.
In the agitation and trouble caused by Orseolo's unex-
pected disappearance, a period of discord and disaster
began. A member of the Candiano party was placed in
the doge^s seat for a short and agitated reign, and he was
succeeded by a rich but feeble prince in whose time occurred
almost the worst disorders that have ever been known in
Venice — a bloody struggle between two families, one of
which had the unexampled baseness of seeking the aid
against their native city of foreign arms. The only in-
cident which we need mention of this disturbed period is
that the Doge Mem mo bestowed upon Giovanni Morosini,
Orseolo's companion and son-in-law, who had returned a
monk to his native city — perhaps called back by the mis-
fortunes of his family — a certain '^beautiful little ishmd
covered with olives and cypresses," which lay opposite the
doge's palace, and is known now to every visitor of Venice
as St. Georgio Maggiore. There was already a chapel
dedicated to St. George among the trees.
Better things, however, were now in store for the re-
public. After the incapable Memmo, young Pietro was
called, according to his father's prophecy, to the ducal
throne. ** When the future historian of Venice comes to
the deeds of this great doge he will feel his soul enlarged,''
says Sagredo. the author of a valuable study of Italian law
and economics ; '' it is no more a new-born people of
whom he will have to speak, but an adult nation, rich con-
quering, full of traffic and wealth." The new prince had
all the qualities which were wanted for the consolidation
and development of the republic. He had known some-
thing of that bitter but effectual training of necessity
which works so nobly in generous natures. His father's
brief career in Venice, and his counsels from his cell, were
before him, both as example and encouragement. He had
12 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
been in France ; he had seen tlie world. He had an eye
to mark that the moment had come for largei action and
bolder self-assertion, and he had strength of mind to carry
his conceptions out. And he had that touching advantage
— the stepping-stone of a previous life sacrificed and un-
fulfilled — upon which to raise the completeness of his own.
In short, he was the man of the time, prepared to carry
out the wishes and realize the hopes of his age ; and when
he became, at the age of thirty, in the fullness of youth-
ful strength, the first magistrate of A^enice, a new chapter
of her history began.
It was in the year 991, on the eve of a new century,
sixteen years after his father's abdication, that the second
Pietro Orseolo began to reign. The brawls of civil conten-
tion disappeared on his accession, and the presence of a
prince who was at the same time a strong man and fully
determined to defend and extend his dominion, became
instantly apparent to the world. His first acts were
directed to secure the privileges of Venice by treaty with
the emperors of the East and West, establishing her
position by written charater under the golden seal of
Constantinople, and with not less efficacy from the im-
perial chancellorship of the German Otto. On both sides
an extension of privilege and the remission of certain
tributes were secured. Having settled this, Pietro turned
his attention to the great necessity of the moment, upon
which the very existence of the republic depended. Up
to this time Venice, to free herself from the necessity of
holding the rudder in one hand and the sword in the other,
had paid a certain blackmail, such as was exacted till
recent time by the corsairs of Africa, to the pirate tribes,
who were the scourge of the seas, sometimes called
Narentani, sometimes Schiavoni and Croats, by the
chroniclers, allied bands of sea-robbers who infested the
Adriatic. The time had come, however, when it was no
longer seemly that the proud city, growing daily in power
and wealth, should stoop to secure her safety by such
means The payment was accordingly stopped, and an
encounter followed, in which the pirates were defeated.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 13
Enraged but impotent, not daring to attack Venice, or
risk their galleys in the intricate channels of the lagoons,
they set upon the unoffending towns of Dalmatia, and
made a raid along the coast, robbing and ravaging. The
result was that from all the neighboring seaboard ambas-
sadors arrived in haste, asking the help of the Venetians.
The cruelties of the corsairs had already, more than once,
reduced the seaports and prosperous cities of this coast to
the point of desperation, and they caught at the only
practicable help with, the precipitancy of suffering. The
doge thus found the opportunity he sought, and took
advantage of it without a moment's delay. At once the
arsenal was set to work, and a great armata decided upon.
The appeal thus made by the old to the new, the ancient
cities wliich had been in existence while she was but a
collection of swamp and salt-water marshes seeking deliver-
ance from the new-born miraculous city of the sea, is the
most striking testimony to the growing importance of
Venice. It was at tlie same time her opportunity and the
beginning of her conquests and victories.
When the great expedition was ready to set out, the doge
went in solemn state to the cathedral church of San Pietro
in Castello, and received from the hands of the bishop the
standard of San Marco, with which he went on board.
It was spring when the galleys sailed, and Dandolo tells us
that they were blown by contrary winds to Grado, where
Vitale Candiano was now peacefully occupying his see as
patriarch. Perhaps something of the old feud still sub-
sisting made Orseolo unwilling to enter the port in which
the son of the murdered doge, whom his own father had
succeeded, was supreme. But if this had been the case,
his doubts must have soon been set at rest by the patriarch's
welcome. He came out to meet the storm-driven fleet
with his clergy and his people, and added to the armament
not only his blessing, but the standard of S. Ilermagora
to bring them victory. Thus endowed, with the two
blessed banners blowing over them, the expedition set sail
once more. The account of the voyage that follows is for
some time that of a kind of royal progress bv sea, thp
14 THE MAKEnS OF VENICE.
galleys passing in trinmph from one port to another,
anticipated by processions coming out to meet them, bishops
with their clergy streaming forth, and all the citizens, pri-
vate and public, hurrying to offer their allegiance to tlieir
defenders. Wherever holy relics were enshrined, the doge
landed to visit them and pay his devotions : and every-
where he was met by ambassadors tendering the submis-
sion of another and another town or village, declaring
themselves ^' willingly '^ subjects of the republic, and en-
rolling their young men among its soldiers. That this
submission was not so real as it appeared is proved by the
subsequent course of events and the perpetual rebellions of
those cities ; but in their moment of need nothing but
enthusiasm and delight were apparent to the deliverers.
At Trau a brother of the Sclavonian king fell into the
hands of the doge and sought his protection, giving up
his son Stefano as a hostage into the hands of the conquer-
ing prince.
At last, having cleared the seas, the expedition came to
the nest of robbers itself, the impregnable city of Lagosta.
^' It is said," Sabellico reports with a certain awe, ^' that
its position was pointed out by the precipices on each side
rising up in the midst of the sea. The Narenti trusted in
its strength, and here all the corsairs took refuge, when
need was, as in a secure fortress." The doge summoned
the garrison to surrender, which they would gladly have
done, the same historian informs us, had they not feared
the destruction of their city ; but on that account, ''for
love of their country, than which there is nothing more
dear to men," they made a stubborn defense. Dandolo
adds that the doge required the destruction of this place as
a condition of peace. After a desperate struggle the for-
tress was taken, notwithstanding the natural strength of
the rocky heights — the asprezza de^ luoghi nelV ascendere
difficile — and of the Rocca or great tower that crowned the
whole. The object of the expedition was fully accomplished
when the pirates' nest and stronghold was destroyed
''For nearly a hundred and sixty years the possession of
the sea had been contested with varying fortune," novr
TEE MAKERS OF VENICE, 15
once for all the matter was settled. '^ The army returned
victorious to the ships. The prince had purged tlie sea of
robbers, and all the maritime parts of Istria, of Liburnia
and of Dalmatia, were brought under the power of Venice.''
With what swelling sails, con vento prosper o, the fleet must
have swept back to the anxious city which, with no post
nor despatch boat to carry her tidings, gazed silent, wait-
ing in that inconceivable patience of old times, with anxious
eyes watching the horizon! How the crowds must have
gathered on the old primitive quays when the first faint
rumor flew from Malamocco and the other sentinel isles of
sails at hand! How many boats must have darted forth,
their rowers half distracted with haste and suspense, to
meet the returning armata and know the worst! Who can
doubt that then, as always, there were some to whom the
good news brought anguish and sorrow ; but of that the
chroniclers tell us nothing. And among all our supposed
quickening of life in modern times, can we imagine a
moment of living more intense, or sensations more acute,
than those with which the whole city must have watclied,
one by one, the galleys bearing along with their tokens of
victory, threading their way, slow even with the most pros-
perous wind, through the windings of the narrow channels,
until the first man could leap on shore and the wonderful
news be told?
'* There was then no custom of triumphs," says the rec-
ord, "but the doge entered the city triumphant, sur-
rounded by the grateful people ; and there made public
declaration of all the things he had done — how all Istria
and the seacoast to the furthest confines of Dalmatia with
all the neighboring islands by the clemency of God and the
success of the expedition, were made subject to the Venetian
dominion. With magnificent words he was applauded by
the great council, which ordained that not only of Venice
but of Dalmatia he and his successors should be proclaimed
doge/'
Thus the first great conquest of the Venetians was ac-
complished, and the infant city made mistress of the seas.
It was on the return of Pietro Orseolo from this trium-
16 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
phant expedition, and in celebration of his conquests, that
the great national festivity, called in after days the espousal
of the sea, the Feast of La Sensa, Ascension Day, was first
instituted. The original ceremony was simpler but little
less imposing than its later development. The clergy in a
barge all covered with cloth of gold, and in all possible
glory of vestments and sacred ornaments, set out from
among the olive woods of San Pietro in Castello, and met
the doge in his still more splendid barge at the Lido :
where, after litanies and psalms, the bishop rose and. prayed
aloud in the hearing of all the people, gathered in boat
and barge and every skiff that would hold water, in a far-
extending crowd along the sandy line of the flat shore.
'^ Grant, Lord; that this sea may be to us and to all who
sail npon it tranquil and quiet. To this end we pray.
Hear us, good Lord." Then the boat of the ecclesiastics
approached closely the boat of the doge, and while the
singers intoned '' Aspergi me, Signor,'^ the bishop
sprinkled the doge and his court with holy water, pouring
what remained into the sea. A very touching ceremonial,
more primitive and simple, perhaps more real and likely to
go to the hearts of the seafaring population all gathered
round, than the more elaborate and triumphant histrionic
spectacle of the Sposalizio. It had been on Ascension Day
that Orseolo's expedition had set forth, and no day could
be more suitable than this victorious day of early summer,
when nature is at her sweetest, for the great festival of the
lagoons.
These victories and successes must have spread the name
of the Venetians and their doge far and wide ; and it is
evident that they had moved the imagination of the young
Emperor Otto IL; between whom and Orseolo a link of
union had already been formed through the doge's third
son, who had been sent to the court at Verona to receive
there the sacramento della cJirisma, the rite of confirma-
tion, under the auspices of the emperor, who changed the
boy's name from Pietro to Otto, in sign of high favor and
affection. When the news of the conquest of Dalmatia,
the extinctioa of the pirates, aud all the doge's great
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 17
achievements reached the emperor's ears, his desire to know
so remarkable a man grew so strong that an anonymous
visit was phmned between them. Under the pretext of
taking sea-baths at an obscure ishmd. Otto made a sudden
and secret dash across the sea and readied tlie convent of
San Servolo, on the ishmd which still bears that name, and
which is now one of the two melancholy asylums for the
insane which stand on either side of the water-way oppo-
site Venice. The doge hurried across the water as soon as
night had come, to see his imperial visitor^ and brought
him back topay his devotions, *' according to Otto's habit,"
at the shrine of San Marco. Let us hope the moon was
resplendent, as she knows how to be over these waters,
when the doge brought the emperor over the shining
lagoon in what primitive form of gondola was then in
fashion, with the dark forms of the rowers standing out
against the silvery background of sea and sky, and the
little waves in a thousand ripples of light reflecting the
glory of the heavens. One can imagine the nocturnal visit,
the hasty preparations ; and the great darkness of San
Marco, half built, with all its scaffoldings ghostly in the
silence of the night, and one bright illuminated spot,
the hasty blaze of the candles flaring about the shrine.
When the emperor had said his prayers before the sacred
spot which contained the body of the evangelist, the pa-
tron of Venice, he was taken into the palace, which filled
him with wonder and admiration, so beautiful was the
house which out of the burning ruins of twenty years be-
fore had now apparently been completed. It is said by
Sagornino (the best authority) that Otto was secretly
lodged in the eastern tower, and from thence made private
expeditions into the city, and saw everything ; but later
chroniclers, probably deriving these details from traditional
sources, increase the romance of the visit by describing
him as recrossing to San Servolo, whither the doge would
steal off privately every night to sup domesticainente with
his guest. In one of the night visits to San Marco tlie
doge's little daughter, newly born, was christened, the
emperor himself holding her at the font, Perhaps thig
18 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
little domestic circumstance which disabled her serenity
the dogaressa, had something to do with the secrec}' of the
visit, which does not seem sufficiently accounted for, un-
less, as some opine, the emperor wanted secretly to consult
Orseolo on great plans which he did not live to carry out:
Three days after Otto's departure the doge called the peo-
ple together, and informed them of the visit he had re-
ceived, and further concessions and privileges which he
had secured for Venice. ^' Which things," says the record,
^' were pleasant to them, and they applauded the industry
of Orseolo in concealing the presence of so great ajord/'
Here it is a little difficult to follow the narrator. It would
be more natural to suppose that the Venetians, always fond
of a show, might have shown a little disappointment at
being deprived of tiie sight of such a fine visitor. It is
said by some, however, that to celebrate the great event,
and perhaps make up to the people for not having seen the
emperor, a tournament of several days' duration was held
by Orseolo in the waste ground which is now the Piazza.
At all events the incident only increased his popularity.
Nor was this the only honor which came to his house.
Some time after the city of Bari was saved by Orseolo's arms
and valor from an invasion of the Saracens ; and the grate-
ful emperors of the East, Basil and Constantine, by way of
testifying their thanks, invited the doge's eldest son
Giovanni to Constantinople, where he was received with a
princely welcome, and shortly after married to a princess
of the imperial house. When the young couple returned
to Venice they were received with extroardinary honors,
festivities, and delight, the doge going to meet them with
a splendid train of vessels, and such rejoicing as had never
before been beheld in Venice. And permission was given
to Orseolo to associate his son with him in his authority —
a favor only granted to those whom Venice most delighted
to honor, and which was the highest expression of popular
confidence and trust.
^* But since there is no human happiness which is not
disturbed by someadversity,"says the sympathetic clironicle,
trouble and sorrow now burst upon this happy and pros-
THE MAKERS OF VENICE, 19
peroiis reign. First came a great pestilence, by which the
young Giovanni, the hope of the liouse, the newly-appointed
coadjutor, was carried off along with his wife and infant
child, and which carried dismay and loss throughout the
city. Famine followed naturally upon the epidemic and
the accompanying panic, which paralyzed all exertion — and
mourning and misery prevailed. His domestic grief and
the public misfortune would seem to have broken the heart
of the great doge. After Giovanni's death he was per-
mitted to take his younger son Otto as his coadjutor, but
even this did not avail to comfort him. He made a re-
markable will, dividing his goods into two parts, one for
his children, another for the poor, "for the use and solace
of all in our republic" — a curious phrase, by some supposed
to mean entertainments and public pleasures, by others re-
lief from taxes and public burdens. When he died his
body was carried to San Zaccaria, per. la trista citta e
lachrimosa, with all kinds of magnificence and honor.
And Otto his son reigned in his stead.
Otto, it is evident, must have appeared up to this time
the favorite of fortune, the flower of the Orseoli. He had
been half adopted by the emperor : he had made a mag-
nificent marriage with a princess of Hungary; he had been
sent on embassies and foreign missions; and finally, when
his elder brother died, he had been associated with his
father as his coadjutor and successor. He was still young
when Pietro's death gave him the full authority (though
his age can scarcely have been, as Sabellico says, nineteen).
His character is said to have been as perfect as his position.
** He was Catholic in faith, calm in virtue, strong injustice,
eminent in religion, decorous in his way of living, great in
riches, and so full of all kinds of goodness that by his merits
he was judged of all to be the most fit successor of his ex-
cellent father and blessed grandfather," says Doge Dandolo.
But perhaps these abstract virtues were not of the kind to
fit a man for the difficult position of doge, in the midst of
a jealous multitude of his equals, all as eligible for that
throne as he, and keenly on the watch to stop any suc-
cession which looked like the beginning of a dynasty.
20 TEE MAKERS OF VENICE.
Otto bad been much about courts; be bad learned bow
emperors were served; and bis babits, perbaps, bad been
formed at tbat ductile time of life wben be was
caressed as tbe godson of tlie imperial Otto, and as a
near connection of tbe still more splendid emperors of tbe
East. And it was not only be, wbose preferment was a
direct proof of national gratitude to bis noble fatber, against
wbom a jealous rival, a (perbaps) anxious nationalist, bad
to guard. His brotber Orso, who during bis father's life-
time bad been made bishop of Torcello, was elevated to
the bigberotficeof patriarcb and transferred toGrado some
years after his brotlier's accession, so tbat tbe bigbest
power and place, both secular and sacred, were in the
bands of one family — a fact which would give occasion for
many an insinuation, and leaven tbe popular mind with
suspicion and alarm.
It was through the priestly brotber Orso tbat the first
attack upon tbe family of tbe Orseoli came. Otto had
reigned for some fifteen or sixteen years witb advantage and
bonor to the republic, sbowing himself a wortby son of
his father, and keeping tbe autbority of Venice paramount
along tbe unruly Dalmatian coast, where rebellions were
tilings of yearly occurrence, wben trouble first appeared.
Of Orso, the patriarch, up to this time, little has been heard,
save that it was he who rebuilt, or restored, out of tbe
remains of the earlier church, the catbedral of Torcello,
still the admiration of all beholders. His grandfather bad
begun, bis fatber had carried on, tbe great buildings of
Venice, tbe church and the palace, which tbe Emperor
Otto bad come secretly to see, and which be bad found
beautiful beyond all imagination. It would be difficult
now to determine what corner of antique work may still
remain in that glorious group wbich is tbeirs. But Orso's
cathedral still stands distinct, lifting its lofty walls over the
low edge of green, which is all that separates it from tbe
sea. His foot has trod tbe broken mosaics of tbe floor; bis
voice has intoned canticle and litany under tbat lofty roof.
Tbe knowledge tbat framed tbe present edifice, tbe rever-
ence wbich preserved for its decoration all those lovely
To face page 20.
IKTKBIOR OF THE CATHBDBAL OF TOBCBUX).
THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
21
relics of earlier times, the delicate Greek columns, the en-
richments of eastern art — were, if not his, fostered and
protected by him. Behind the high altar, on the bishop's
high cold marble throne overlooking the great temple, he
must have sat among his presbyters, and controlled the
counsels and lod the decisions of a community then active
bishop's throne, torcello.
and ■wealt'hv, which has now disappeared as completely as
the hierarchy of priests which once filled those rows of
stony benches. The ruins of the old Torcello are now but
mounds under the damp grass; but Bishop Orso's work
stands fast, as his name, in faithful brotlierly allegiance
and magnanimous truth to his trust, ought to stand.
The attack came from a certain Poppo, patriarch of
Aquileia, an ecclesiastic of the most warlike mediaeval
22 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
type, of German extraction or race, who, perhaps with the
desire of reasserting the old supremacy of his See over tliat
of Grado, perhaps stirred up by the factions in Venice,
which were beginning to conspire against the Orseoli, be-
gan to threaten the seat of Bishop Orso. The records are
very vague as to the means employed by this episcopal war-
I'ior. He accused Orso before the pope as an intruder not
properly elected ; but without waiting for any decision on
tliat point, assailed him in his See. Possibly Poppo's
attack on Grado coincided with tumults in the city —
'^ great discord between the people of Venice and the doge"
— so that both the brothers were threatened at once. How-
ever that may be, the next event in the history is the flight
of both doge and patriarch to Istria — an extraordinary
event of which no explanation is given by any of the
authorities. They were both in the prime of life, and had
still a great party in their favor, so tliat it seems impossi-
ble not to conjecture some weakness, most likely on the
part of the Doge Otto, to account for this abandonment of
tlie position to their enemies. That there was great an-
archy and misery in Venice during tlie interval of the
princess absence is evident, but how long it lasted, or how
it came about, we are not informed. All that the chroni-
clers say (for by this time the guidance of Sagornino has
failed us, and there is no contemporary chronicle to refer
to) concerns Grado, which, \\\ the absence of its bishop,
was taken by the lawless Poppo. He swore ** by his eiglit
oaths," says Sanudo, that he meant nothing but good to
that hapless city ; but as soon as he got within the gates
gave it up to the horrors of a sack, outraging its popula-
tion and removing the treasure from its churclies. Venice,
alarmed by this unmasking of the designs of the clerical
invader, repented her own hasty folly, and recalled her
doge, who recovered Grado for-her with a promplitude and
courage which make his flight, without apparently striking
a blow for himself, more remarkable still. But this re-
newed prosperity was of short duration. The factions that
had arisen against him were but temporarily quieted, and
as soon as Grado and peace were restored, broke out again.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 23
The second time Otto would not seem to have had time to
fly. He was seized by his enemies, his beard shaven off,
whether as a sign of contempt, or by way of consigning
him to the cloister — that asylum for dethroned princes — we
are not told : and his reign thus ignominiously and sud-
denly brought to an end.
The last chapter in the history of the Orseoli is, however,
the most touching of all. Whatever faults Otto may have
had (and the clironiclers will allow none), he at least pos-
sessed the tender love of his family. The patriarch, Orso,
once more followed him into exile; but coming back as
soon as safety permitted, would seem to have addressed
himself to the task of righting his brother. Venice had
not thriven upon her ingratitude and disorder. A certain
Domenico Centranico, the enemy of the Orseoli, had been
hastily raised to the doge's seat, but could not restore har-
mony. Things went badly on all sidesforthe agitated and
insubordinate city. The new emperor, Conrad, refused to
ratify the usual grant of privileges, perhaps because he
had no faith in the revolutionary government. Poppo
renewed his attacks, the Dalmatian cities seized, as they
invariably did, the occasion to rebel. And the new doge
was evidently, like so many other revolutionists, stronger
in rebellion than in defense of his country. What with
these griefs and agitations, which contrasted strongly with
the benefits of }ieace at home, and an assured government,
what with the pleadings of the patriarch, the Venetians
once more recognized their mistake. The changing of the
popular mind in those days always required a victim, and
Doge Centranico was in his turn seized, shaven, and ban-
ished. The ciisis recalls the primitive chapters of Vene-
tian history, when almost every reign ended in tumult and
murder. But Venice had learned the advantages of law
and order, and the party of the Orseoli recovered power in
the revulsion of popular feeling. The dishonored but
rightful doge was in Constantinople, hiding his misfor-
tunes in some cloister or other resort of the exile. The
provisional rulers of the republic whoever they might be —
probably the chief supporters of the Orseoli — found noth-
24 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
ing so advantageous to still the tempest as to implore the
Patriarch Orso to fill his brother's place, while they sent a
commission to Constantinople to find Otto and bring him
home. The faithful priest who had worked so loyally for
the exile accepted the charge, and leaving his bishopric
and its administration to his deputies, established himself
in the palace where he had been born, and took the gov-
ernment of Venice into his hands. It was work to the
routine of which he had been used all his life, and proba-
bly no man living was so well able to perform it ; and it
might be supposed that the natural ambition of a Vene-
tian and a member of a family which bad reigned over
Venice for three generations would stir even in a church-
man's veins, when he found the government of his native
state in his hands ; for the consecration of the priesthood,
however it may extinguish all other passions, has never
been known altogether to quench that last infirmity of no-
ble minds.
Peace and order followed the advent of the bishop-
prince to power. And meanwhile the embassy set out,
with a third brother, Vitale, the bishop of Torcello at its
head, to prove to the banished Otto that Venice meant
well by him, and that the ambassadors intended no treach-
ery. Whetlier they were detained by the hazards of the
sea, or whether their time was employed in searching out
the retirement where the deposed doge had withdrawn to
die, the voyage of the embassy occupied more than a year,
coming and going. During these long months Orso reigned
in peace. Though he was only vice-doge, says Sanudo,
for the justice of his government he was placed by the
Venetians in the catalogue of the doges. Not a word of
censure is recorded of his peaceful sway. The storm seems
changed to a calm under the rule of this faithful priest.
In the splendor of those halls which his fathers had built
he watched — over Venice on one hand, and on the other
for the ships sailing back across the lagoons, bringing the
banished Otto home. How many a morning must he have
looked out, before he said his mass, upon the rising dawn,
and watched the blueness of the skies and seas grow clear
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 25
in tlie east, where lay his bishopric, his flock, his cathe-
dml, and all the duties that were his ; and with anxious
eyes swept the winding of the level waters still and gray,
the metallic glimmer of the acqua morta, the navigable
channels that gleamed between. When a sail came in sight
between those lines, stealing up from Malamocco, what
expectations must have moved his heart I He was, it
would appear, a little older than Otto, his next brother,
perhaps his early childish caretaker, before thrones episco-
pal or secular were dreamed of for the boys : and a priest,
who has neither wife nor children of his own, has double
room in his heart for the passion of fraternity. It would
not seem that Orso took more power upon him than was
needful for the interests of the people ; there is no record
of war in his brief sway. He struck a small coin, una
moneta piccola cVargento, called ursiolo, but did nothing
else save keep peace, and preserve his brother's place for
him. But when the ships came back, their drooping ban-
ners and mourning array must have told the news long be-
fore they cast anchor in the lagoon. Otto was dead in exile.
There is nothing said to intimate that they had brought
back even his body to lay it with his fathers in San Zacca-
ria. The banished prince had found an exile's grave.
After this sad end to his hopes the noble Orso showed
how magnanimous aud disinterested had been his inspira-
tion. Not for himself, but for Otto he had held that
trust. He laid down at once those honors which were
not his, and returned to his own charge and duties.
His withdrawal closes the story of the family with a dig-
nity and decorum worthy of a great race. His disappoint-
ment, the failure of all the hopes of the family, all the
anticipations of brotherly affection, have no record, but
who can doubt that they were bitter ? Misfortune more
undeserved never fell upon an honorable house, and it is
hard to tell which is most sad — the death of the deposed
prince in the solitude of that eastern world where all was
alien to him, or, after a brief resurrection of hope, tho
withdrawal of the faithful brother, his heart sick with all
the wistful vicissitudes of a baffled expectation, to resume
26 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
his bishopric and his life as best he could. It is a pathetic
ending to a noble and glorious day.
Many years after this Orso still held his patriarchate in
peace and honor, and the name of the younger brother,
Vitale, his successor at Torcello, appears as a member
1?^^
STONE SHUTTERS, CATHEDRAL, TORCELLO.
along with him of an ecclesiastical council for the reform
of discipline and doctrine in the church ; while their sister
Felicia is mentioned as abbess of one of the convents at
Torcello. But the day of the Orseoli was over. A mem-
ber of the family, Domenico, '*a near relation," made an
audacious attempt in the agitation that followed the with-
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 27
drawal of Orso to seize the supreme power, and was favored
by many, the chroniclers say. But his attempt was un-
successful, and his unsurpation lasted only a day. The
leader of the opposing party, Flabenico, was elected doge in
the reaction, which doubtless tliis foolish effort of ambition
stimulated greatly. And perhaps it was tliis reason also
which moved the people, startled into a new scare by th«ir
favorite bugbear of dynastic succession, to consent to the
cruel and most ungrateful condemnation of the Orseoli
family which followed ; and by which the race was sen-
tenced to be denuded of all rights, and pronounced in-
cabable henceforward of holding any office under the re-
public. The prohibition would seem to have been of little
practical importance, since of the children of Pietro Or-
seolo the Great there remained none except priests and
nuns, whose indignation when the news reached them
must have been as great as it was impotent. We may
imagine with what swelling hearts they must have met,
in tlie shadow of that great sanctuary which they had
built, the two bishops, one of whom had been doge in
Venice, and the abbess in her convent, with perhaps a
humbler nun or two of the same blood behind, separated
only by the still levels of the lagoon, from where the tow-
ers and spires of Venice rose from the bosom of the waters
— Venice, their birth-place, the home of their glory, from
which their race was now shut out. If any curse of Rome
trembled from their lips, if any appeal for anathem and
excommunication, who could have wondered ? But, like
other wrongs, that great popular ingratitude faded away,
and the burning of the hearts of the injured found no ex-
pression. The three consecrated members of the doomed
family, perhaps sad enough once at the failure of the suc-
cession, must have found a certain bitter satisfaction then,
in the thought that their Otto, deposed and dead, had left
no child behind him.
But the voice of history has taken up the cause of this
ill-rewarded race. The chroniclers with one voice pro-
claim the honor of the Orseoli, with a visionary partisanship
iu which the present writer canuot but share, though ei^ht
28 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
centuries have come and gone since Venice abjured the
family which had served her so well. Sabellico tells with
indignant satisfaction, that he can find nothing to record
that is worth the trouble, of Flabenico, their enemy, ex-
cept that he grew old and died. Non ragiofiam di lor.
The insignificant and lenvious rival, who brings ruin to the
last survivors of a great race, is unworthy further com-
ment.
Such proscriptions, however, are rarely so successful.
The Orseoli disappear altogether from history, and their name
during all the historic ages scarcely once is heard again in
Venice. Domenico, the audacious usurper of a day, died at
Kavenna very shortly after. Even their great buildings,
with the exception of Torcello, have disappeared under the
splendor of later ornament, or more recent construction.
Their story has the completeness of an epic — they lived,
and ruled, and conquered, and made Venice great. Under
their sway she became the mistress of the sea. and then
it was evident that they had completed their mission, and
the race came to an end, receiving its dismissal in the
course of nature from those whom it had best served.
Few families thus recognize the logic of circumstances;
they linger out in paltry efforts — in attempts to reverse the
sentence pronounced by the ingratitude of the fickle mob,
or any other tyrant with whom they may have to do.
But whether with their own will or against it, the Orseoli
made no struggle. They allowed their story to be com-
pleted in one chapter, and to come to a picturesque and
effective end.
It will be recognized, however, that Torcello is a power-
exception to the extinction of all relics of the race. The
traveler as he stands with something of a sad respect of
pity mingling in his admiration of that great and noble
cathedral, built for the use of a populous and powerful
community, but now left to a few rough fishermen and
pallid women, amid the low and marshy fields, a poor
standing-ground among the floods — takes little thought of
him who reared its lofty walls, and combined new and old
together in so marvelous a conjunction. Even the great-
THE MAKKRS OF VENICE.
29
est of all the modern adorers who have idealized old Ven-
ice, and sung litanies to some chosen figures among her
sons, has not a word for Orso, or his race. And no tradi-
tion remains to celebrate his name. But the story of this
tender brother, the banished doge's defender, champion,
substitute, and mourner — how he reigned for Otto, and
for himself neither sought nor accepted anything — is
worthy of the scene. Greatness has faded from the ancient
commune as it faded from the family of their bishop, and
Torcello, like the Orseoli, may seem to a fantastic eye to
look, through all the round of endless days, wistfully yet
with no grudge, across the level waste of the salt sea water
to that great line of Venice against the western sky which
has carried her life away. The church, with its marbles
and forgotten inscriptions, its mournful great Madonna
holding out her arms to all her children, its profound lone-
liness and sentinelship through all the ages, acquires yet
another not uncongenial association when we think of the
noble and unfortunate race which here died out in the
silence of the cloister, amid murmurs of solemn psalms and
whispering amens from the winds and from the sea.
SHRINS or OaSEOU " IL SANTO.^*
3D THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
CHAPTER 11.
THE MICHIELI.
It is of course impossible to give here a continuonshistory
of the doges. To trace the first appearance of one after an-
other of the historic names so familiar to our ears would be
a task full of interest, but far too extensive for the present
undertaking. All tiiat we can attempt to do is to take up
a prominent figure here and there, to mark the successive
crises and developments of history and the growth of the
Venetian constitution, involved as it is in the action and
influence of successive princes, or to follow the fortunes of
one or other of the family groups which add an individual
interest to the general story. Among these, less for the im-
portance of the house than for greatness of one of its
members, the Micliieli, find a prominent place. The first
doge of the name was the grandfather, the third the son of
the great Domenico Michieli who made the name illustri-
ous. Vitale Michiel the first (the concluding vowel is cut
off according to familiar use in many Venetian names —
Cornaro being pronounced Oornar ; Loredano, Loredan;
and so forth) came to the dignity of doge in 1096, more than
a century later than the accession of the Oi'seoli to power.
In the meantime there had been much progress in Venice.
We reach the limits within which general history begins to
become clear. Every day the great republic, though still
in infancy, emerges more and more distinct from the morn-
ing mists. And the accession of Vitale Michieli brings us
abreast of information from otlier sources. He came to
the chief magistracy at the time when all Europe was
thrilling with the excitement of the first crusade, and the
THE MAKERS OF VENICE, 31
great maritime towns of Italy began to vie with each other
in offering tlie means of transit to the pilgrims. How it
happens that the Venetian chroniclers have left this part of
their history in darkness, and gathered so few details of a
period so important, is the standing wonder of historical
students. But so it is. A wave of new life must have swept
through the city, with all its wealth of galleys, which lay so
directly in the way between the east and west, and trade
must have quickened and prosperity increased. All that we
hear, however, from Venetian sources is vague and general;
and it was not until after the taking of Jerusalem that the
doge felt himself impelled to join *Hhat holy and praise-
worthy undertaking:" and assembling the people pro-
posed to them the formation of an armada, not only for
the primary object of the crusade, but, in order that Ven-
ice might not show herself backward where the Pisans and
Genoese had both acquired reputation and wealth.
The expedition thus fitted out was commanded by his
son Giovanni, with the aid of a spiritual coadjutor in the
person of Enrico Contarini, Bishop of Castello: but does
not seem to have accomplished much except in the search
for relics, whicii were then the great object of Venetian
ambition. A curious story is told of this expedition and
of the bishop commodore, who, performing his devotions
before his departure at the church on the Lido, dedicated
to San Niccolo, made it the special object of his prayers
that he miglit find, when on his travels, the body of the
saint. Whether the determination to have this prayer
granted operated in other methods more pi'actical cannot
be told: but certain it is that Bishop Contarina one fine
morning suddenly called upon the fleet to stop in front of
a little town which was visible on the top of the cliffs near
the city of Mira. The squadron paused in full career, no
doubt with many an inquiry from the gazing crowds in the
other vessels not near enough to see what the admiral
would be at, or what was the meaning of the sudden land-
ing of a little band of explorers on the peaceful coast. The
little town, unacitia, a {)lace without a name, was found
almost abandoned of its inhabitants, having been ravaged
32 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
by some recent corsair, Turk or Croat. The explorers,
joined by many a boat's crew as soon as the other vessels
saw that some adventure was on hand, found a church
dedicated also to San Niccolo, which they immediately be-
gan to examine, not too gently, pulling down walls and
altars to find the sacred booty of which they were in search,
and even putting to torture the guardians of the church
who would not betray its secrets. Finding notliing better
to be done, they took at last two bodies of saints of lesser
importance, St. Theodore to wit and a second San Niccolo,
uncle of the greater saint — and prepared, though with little
satisfaction, to regain their ships. The bishop, however,
lingered, praying and weeping behind, with no com-
punction apparently as to the tortured guardians of St.
Nicholas, but much dislike to be balked in his own ardent
desire: when lo! all at once there arose a fragrance as of all
the flowers of June, and the pilgrims, hastily crowding
back to see what wonderful thing was about to take place,
found themselves drawn toward a certain altar, apparently
overlooked before, where St. Nicholas really lay. One
wonders whether the saint was flattered by the violence of
his abductors, as women are said to be — yet cannot but
feel that it was hard upon the poor tortured custodians, the
old and faithful servants who would not betray their trust,
to see the object of tlieir devotion thus favor the invaders.
This story Romanin assures us is told by a contemporary.
Dandolo gives another very similar, adding tliat his own
ancestor, a Dandolo, was captain of the ship which carried
back the prize.
This would seem to have been the chief glory, though
but at second hand, of Vitale Michieli's reign. The due
corpi di San Niccolo, the great and small, were placed with
great joy in San Niccolo del Lido, and that of St. Theodore
deposited in the church of San Salvatore. The brief ac-
count of the Crusade given by Sanudo reveals to us a
hungry search for relics on the part of the Venetian contin-
gent, varied by quarrels, which speedily came to blows, with
the Pisans and Genoese, their rivals at sea, but little more.
Nor is it apparent that the life of the Doge Vitale was
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 33
more distinguished at home. He died, after a reign of
about five years, in the end of the first year of the twelfth
century, and for a generation we hear of the family no
more.
His successor, Ordelafo, first of the Falieri, was a man
of great energy and character. He was the founder of the
great arsenal, which has always been of so much impor-
tance to Venice, not less now with its great miraculous
scientific prodigies of ironclads, and its hosts of workmen,
than when the pitch boiled and the hammers rang for
smaller craft on more primitive designs. Ordelafo, how-
ever, came to a violent end fighting for the possession of
the continually rebellious city of Zara, which from genera-
tion to generation gave untold trouble to its conquerors.
His fall carried dismay and defeat to the very hearts of his
followers. The Venetians were not accustomed to disas-
ter, and they were completely cowed and broken down by
the loss at once of their leader and of the battle. For a
time it seems to have been felt that the republic had lost
her hold upon Dalmatia, and that the empire of the seas
was in danger : and the dismayed leaders came home,
bringing grief and despondency with them. The city was
so cast down that ambassadors were sent off to the king of
Hungary to sue for a truce of five years, and mourning
and alarm filled all hearts. It was at this time of discom-
fiture and humiliation in the year 1118, that Donienico
Michieli, the second of his name to bear that honor, was
elected doge. In these dismal circumstances there seems
little augury of the splendor and success he was to bring to
Venice. His first authentic appearance shows him to us
in the act of preparing another expedition for the East,
for the succor of Baldwin, the second king of Jerusalem,
who, the first flush of success being by this time over, had
in his straits appealed to the pope and to the republic.
The pope sent on Baldwin's letters to Venice, and with
them a standard bearing the image of St. Peter, to be car-
ried by the doge to battle. Michieli immediately prepared
2k possente armata — a strong expedition. ** Then the peo-
ple were called to counsel,'' the narrative goes on, without
U THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
any ironical meaning : and, after solemn service in St.
Mark^ the prince addressed the assembly. The primitive
constitution of the republic, in which every man felt him-
self the arbiter of his country^s fate, could not be better
exemplified. The matter was already decided, and all that
was needful to carry out the undertaking was that popular
movement of sympathy which a skilled orator has so little
difficulty in calling forth. The people pressed in to the
church, where, with all the solemnity of ritual against
which no heretical voice had ever been raised, the patri-
arch and his clergy, in pomp and splendor, celebrated, at
the great altar blazing with light, the sacred ceremonies.
San Marco, in its dark splendor, with that subtle charm of
color which makes it unique among churches, was proba-
bly then more like what it is now than was any other part
of Venice — especially when filled with that surging sea of
eager faces all turned towai'd the brilliant glow of the
altar. And those who have seen the great Venetian tem-
ple of to-day, full of the swaying movement and breath of
a crowd, may be permitted to form for themselves an
image, probably very like the original, of that assembly,
where patricians, townsmen, artisans — the mariners who
would be the first to bear their part, and those sons of the
people who are the natural recruits of every army, all met
together eager for news, ready to be moved by the elo-
quence, and wrought to enthusiasm by the sentiment of
their doge. It is not to be supposed that the speech of
Michieli, given by Sabellico in detail, is the actual oration
of the doge, verbally reported in the first half of the
twelfth century : but it has no doubt some actual truth of
language, handed down by fragments of tradition an i
anonymous chronicle, and it is very characteristic, and
worthy of the occasion. ^'From you, noble V^enetians,
these things are not hid," he says, " which were done
partly by yourselves, and partly by the other peoples of
Europe, to recover the Holy Land." Then, after a brief
review of the circumstances, of the great necessity and the
appeal made to Rome, he addresses himself thus to the
popular ear:
To face page 34.
BRONZE HORSES ON THE FACADE OF S. MARCO.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 35
*' Moved by so great a peril, the Roman pontiff has judged the
Venetians alone worthy of such an undertaking, and that he might
securely confide it to them. Wherefore he has sent commissions to
your prince, and to you, Venetian citizens, praying and supplicating
you that in such a time of need you should not desert the Christian
cause. Which demand your prince has determined to refer to you.
Make up your minds then, and command that a strong force should be
prepared. Which thing not only religion and our care for the church
and all Christians enjoins, but also the inheritance of our fathers,
from whom we have received it as a charge: which fulfilling we can
also enlarge our own dominion. It is very worthy of the religion of
which we make profession, to defend with our arms from the injuries
of cruel men that country in which Christ our King chose to be born,
to traverse weeping, in which to be betrayed, taken, put upon the
Cross, and that his most holy body should have sepulture therein : in
which place, as testifies Holy Writ, as the great Judge yet once more
He must come to judge the human race. What sacred place dedicated
to His service, what monastery, what altar, can we imagine will be
so grateful to Him as this holy undertaking ? by which He will see
the home of His childhood, His grave, and, finally, all the surround-
ings of His humanity, made free from unworthy bondage. But since
human nature is so constituted that there is scarcely any public piety
without a mixture of ambition, you, perhaps, while I speak, begin to
ask yourselves silently, what honor, what glory, what reward may
follow such an enterprise ? Great and notable will be the glory to the
Venetian name, since our forces will appear to all Europe alone
sufficient to be opposed to the strength of Asia. The furthermost
parts of the West will hear of the valor of the Venetians, Africa will
talk of it, Europe will wonder at it, and our name will be great and
honored in everybody's mouth. Yours will be the victory in such a
war, and yours will be the glory. . . .
" Besides, I doubt not that you are all of one will in the desire that
our domain should grow and increase. In what way, and by what
method, think you, is this to be done? Perhaps here seated, or in
our boats upon the lagoons? Those who think so deceive themselves.
The old Romans, of whom it is your glory to bethought the descend-
ants, and whom you desire to emulate, did not gain the empire of
the world by cowardice or illness; but adding one undertaking to
another, and war to war, put their yoke upon all people, and with
incredible fighting increased their strength. . . And yet again, if neither
the glory, nor the rewards, nor the ancient and general devotion of
our city for the Christian name should move you, this certainly will
move you, that we are bound to deliver from the oppression of the
unbeliever that land in which we shall stand at last before the
tribunal of the great Judge, and where what we have done shall not
be hidden, but made manifest and clear. Go, then, and prepare the
36 THK MAKERS OF VENICE.
armaments, and may it be well with you and witli the Venetian
name."
The skillful mingling of motives, sacred and secular; the
melting touch with which that land which was the place of
his childhood " — il hiogo della sua fanciuUezza — is pre-
sented to their sight; the desire for glory, which is so
sweet to all; the great civic ambition to make Venice great
and hear her praise ; the keen sting of the taunt to those who
suppose that fame is to be got by sitting still or by idle
exercises upon the surrounding waters — returning again
with the force of a final argument to ** that land" where
the final judgment is to be held, and where those who
have fought for the cross will not be hidden, great or small
— forms an admirable example of the kind of oration which
an eloquent doge might deliver to the impetuous and easily-
moved populace, who had, after all, a terrible dominant
power of veto if they chanced to take another turn from
that which was desired. The speaker, however, who had
this theme and knew so well how to set it forth, must have
felt that he had the heart of the people in his hand and
could play upon that great instrument as upon a lute.
When he had ended, the church resounded with shouts,
mingled with weeping, and there was not one in the city,
we are told, who would not rather have been written down
in the lists of that army than left to stay in peace and
idleness at home.
Dandolo, the most authentic and trustworthy authority,
describes this expedition as one of two hundred ships, large
and small, but other authorities reckon them as less numer-
ous. They shone with pictures and various colors, the
French historian of the Crusades informs us, and were a
delightful sight as they made their way across the brilliant
eastern sea. Whether the painted sails that still linger
about the lagoons and give so much brilliancy and character
to the scene were already adopted by these glorious galleys
seems unknown ; their high prows, however, were richly
decorated with gilding and color, and it is apparently this
ornamentation to which the historian alludes. But though
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 37
they were beautiful to behold, their progress was not rapid.
Tliu doge stopped on his way to besiege and take Corfu,
wliere the squadron passed the winter, as was the custom
of tlie time. Even when they set sail again they lingered
among the islands, carrying fire and sword for no particular
leason, so far as appears, into Rhodes and other places;
until at last evil news from Palestine, and the information
that the enemy's fleet lay in front of Joppa, blockading
that port, quickened their steps. Michieli divided his
squadron,, and beguiled the hostile ships out to sea with tlie
hopes of an easy triumph ; then falling upon tliem with the
stronger portion of his force won so terrible and complete a
victory that the water and the air were tainted with blood,
and many of the Venetians, according to Sanudo, fell sick
in consquence,
It is difficult to decide whether it was after this first in-
cident of the war, or jit a later period, that the doge found
himself, like so many generals before and after him, in
want of money for the payment of his men. The idea of
bank-notes had not then occurred to the merchant princes.
But Michieli did what our own valiant Gordon had to do,
aTid with as great a strain no doubt on the faith of the me-
diaeval mariners to whom the device was entirely new. He
caused a coinage to be struck in leather, stamped with his
own family arms, and had it published throughout the fleet,
upon his personal warrant, that these should be considered
as lawful money, and should he exchanged for gold zee-
chins on the return of the ships to Venice. *^And so it
was done, and the promise was kept. " In memory of
this first assignat the Ca' Michieli, still happily existing
in Venice, bears till this day, and has borne through all the
intervening centuries, the symbol of these leathern coins
upon the cheerful blue and white of their ancestral coat.
On the arrival of the Venetians at Acre they found the
assembled Christians full of uncertain counsels, as was un-
fortunately too common, doubtful even with which city.
Tyre or Ascalon, they should begin their operations. The
doge proposed an appeal to God under the shape of
drawing lots, always a favorite idea with the Venetians,
38 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
and the two names were written on pieces of paper, and
placed in the pyx on the altar, from which one was drawn
by a child, after mass had been said. On tliis appeared
the name of Tyre, and the question was decided. Be-
fore, however, the expedition set out again, the prudent
Venetian well aware that gratitude is less to be calculated
upon after than before the benefit is received, made his
conditions with *^the barons ''who represented the im-
prisoned King Baldwin. These conditions were, that in
every city of the Christian kingdom the Venetians should
have secured to them a church, a street, an open square, a
bath and a bakehouse, to be held free from taxes as if they
were the property of the king : that they should be free from
all tolls on entering or leaving these cities, as free as in their
own dominion, unless when conveying freight, in which
case they were to pay the ordinary dues. Further, the
authorities of Baldwin's kingdom pledged themselves to pay
to the doge in every recurring year, on the feast of SS.
Peter and Paul, 300 bezants ; and consented that all legal
differences between Venetians, residents or visitors should
be settled by their own courts, and that in cases of ship-
wreck or death at sea the property of dead Venetians,
should be carefully preserved and conveyed to Venice for
distribution to the lawful heirs. Finally, the third part of
the cities of Tyre and Ascalon, if conquered by the help of
the Venetians — in so far at least as these conquered places
belonged to the Saracens and not to the Franks — were to be
given to the Venetians, to be held by them as freely as the
king held the rest. These conditions are taken from the
confirmatory charter afterward granted by Baldwin.
The reader will perceive that the doge drove an excellent
bargain, and did not, though so great and good a man,
disdain to exact the best terms possible from his friend's
necessities.
These important preliminaries settled, the expedition
set out for Tyre, which, being very strong, was assailed at
once by land and by sea. The siege had continued for
some time without any important result, and the Crusaders
were greatly discouraged by rumors of an attack that was
TEE MAKERS OF VENICE. 39
being planned against Jerusalem, when it began to be
whispered in the host that the Venetians, who were so
handy with their galleys, would, in case of the arrival of
the army of the king of Damascus, who was known to be
on his way to the relief of the city, think only of their own
safety, and getting up all sail abandon their allies and
make off to sea. This suggestion made a great commotion
in the camp, where the knowledge that a portion of the
force had escape within their power, made danger doubly
bitter to the otliers who had no such possibility. The
doge heard the rumor, which filled him with trouble and
indignation. Dandolo says that he took a plank from
each of the galleys to make them unseaworthy. ** Others
write," says Sabellico, '* that the sails, oars and other
things needed for navigation were what Michieli removed
from his ships." These articles were carried into the pres-
ence of Varimondo or Guarimondo, the patriarch, and all
the assembly of the leaders. The astonishment of the
council of war, half composed of priests, when these cum-
brous articles, smelling of pitch and salt water, were
thrown down before them, may be imagined. The doge
made them an indignant speech, asking how they could
have supposed the Venetians to be so light of faith ; and,
with a touch of ironical contempt, informed them that he
took this means to set them at their ease, and show that
the men of Venice meant to take Tyre, and not to run
away.
Another picturesque incident recorded is one which
Sabellico allows may be fabulous, but which Sanudo re-
peats from two different sources — the story of a carrier
pigeon sent by the relieving army to encourage the people
of Tyre in their manful resistance, which the Christian
army caught, and to which they attached a message of
quite opposite purport, upon the receipt of which the much
tried and famished garrison lost heart, and at length,
though with all the honors of war, capitulated, and threw
open their gates ; upon which the besiegers took posses-
sion, not without much grumbling on the part of the dis-
appointed soldiers who looked for nothing less than the
40 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
sacking of the wealthy city. The royal standard of Jeru-
salem was immediately erected on the highest tower, those
of St. Mark and of the Count of Tripoli waving beside it.
The siege lasted, according to Dandolo, nearly four
months. The doge had spent Christmas solemnly at Jeru-
salem, and. it was in July that the city was entered by the
allies : but all the authorities are chary of dates, and even
Eomanin is not too clear on this point. It was, however,
in July, 1123, that the victory was gained.
In the portion of the city which fell to the share of the
Venetians, true to their instincts, a scheme of government
was at once set up. The doge put in a halio chi facesse
ragio7ie — a deputy who should do right — seek good and en-
sue it. Mr. Euskin, in his eloquent account of this great
enterprise (which it would be great temerity on our part
to attempt to repeat, were it not necessary to the story of
the doges) quotes the oath taken by inferior magistrates
under the ialio, which is a stringent promise to act justly
by all men and *^ according to the ancient use and law of
the city.^^ The Venetians took possession at once of their
third of the newly acquired town, with all the privileges
accorded to them, and set up their bakeries, their exclusive
weights and measures, their laws, their churches, of which
three were built without delay, and along with all these,
secured an extension of trade, which was the highest bene-
fit of all.
It is asserted by an anonymous commentator upon the
manuscript of candolo; that it was proposed by the cru-
saders, after this great success of their arms, to elect the
doge king of Jerusalem in place of the imprisoned Baldwin
but of this there seems no confirmation. Michieli was called
from the scene of his victories by information of renewed
troubles on the Dalmatian coast, and departed, carrying
along with him many of the fine things for which Tyre was
famous — the purple and the goldsmith's work, and many
treasures. But among others, one on which Dandolo and
Sanudo both agree, a certain great stone which had stood
near one of the gates of Tyre since the time when our Lord,
weary after a journey, sat down to rest upon it. Such a treas-
THE MAKERS OF VENICE, 41
ure was not likely to escape the keeu scent of the Venetians,
socager for relics. The doge carried it away, a somewhat
cumbrous addition to his plunder, and when he reached
home placed it in San Marco, where it is still to be seen in
the baptistery, a chapel, not built in Michieli's day, where
forms the altar, im enorme mossetto de granito — as says the
last guide book. The guide-book, however (the excellent
one published by Signori Falin and Molmenti, from the
notes of Lazari, and worth a dozen Murrays), says that it
was Vitale Michieli, and not Domenico who brought over
this stone from Tyre; just as Mr. Ruskin assures us that it
was Domenico who brought home tlie two famous columns
on the Piazzetta, of wiiich the chronicles do not say a
word. Who is to decide when doctors disagree?
The homeward journey of the Venetians was full of ad-
venture and conflict. Their first pause was made at Rliodes,
where the inhabitants, possibly encouraged by the G-reek
emperor in their insolence to the Venetians, refused to
furnish them with provisions: whereupon the doge disem-
barked his army, and took, and sacked the city. After
this swift and summary vengeance the fleet went on to
Chios, which not only was treated as Rhodes had been, but
was robbed of a valuable piece of saintly plunder, the body
of St. Isidore. The other isles of the Archipelago fell in
succession before the victorious fleet, which passed with a
swelling sail and all the exhilaration of success from one
to another. At Cephalonia the body of San Donate was
discovered and carried away. Nearer home the expedition
executed those continually required re-adjustments of the
Dalmatian towns which almost every doge in succession,
since they were first annexed, had been compelled to take
in hand. Trau, Spalatro, and Zara were re-taken from the
Hungarians, and the latter city, called by Sanudo Belgrade
{Belgrado cioe Zara vecchia), from which the Venetian
governor had been banished, and which had cost much
blood and trouble to the republic, the doge is said
to have caused it to be destroyed, " that its ruin might be an
example to the others," a fact which, however, docs not pre-
Yent it from reappearing a source of trouble and conflict to
42 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
many a subsequent doge. Here, too, Michieli paused and
distributed the spoil, setting apart a portion for God, and
dividing the rest among the army. Then, with great
triumph and victory, after an absence of nearly three years,
the conquerors made their way home.
A more triumphant voyage had never been made. The
Venetians had, as the doge predicted, covered their name
with glory, and at the same time extended and increased
their realm. They had acquired the third part of Tyre and
settled a strong colony there, to push their trade and afford
an outlet for the superfluous energies of the race. They
had impressed the terror of their name and arms upon the
Grecian isles. The doge himself had performed some of
those magnanimous deeds which take hold upon the
imagination of a people, and outlive for centuries all vio-
lent victories and acquisitions. The story of the leather
coinage and of the disabled galleys are such as make those
traditions which are the very life of a people. And
Michieli had served his country by seizing upon the imagi-
nation and sympathies of other lands. He had almost been
made king in Jerusalem. Wlien he passed by Sicily he
had again been offered a kingdom. There was nothing
wanting to the perfection of his glory. And when he came
home triumphant, and told his story of danger and suc-
cesses in the same glowing area of St. Mark's, to the same
fervent multitude whose sanction he had asked to the
undertaking, it is easy to imagine what his welcome must
have been. He had brought with him treasures of cun-
ning workmanship, the jewels of gold and silver, the
wonderful embroideries and carpets of the East; perhaps
also the secret of the glass-workers creating a new trade
among the existing guilds, things to make all Venice beside
itself with delight and admiration. And when the two
saintly corpses were carried reverentially on shore — one for
Murano, to consecrate the newly-erected church, one to re-
main in Venice — and the shapeless mass of the great stone
upon which our Lord had sat in His weariness, or which,
as another story says, had served Him as a platform from
which to address the wondering crowd — with what looks
THE MAKERS OF VENICE, 43
of awe and reverential ecstasy must these sacred relics have
been regarded, the crown of all the victor's spoil! The
enlightened or even partially enlightened spectator in Venice
as well in other places has ceased to feel any strong veneration
for dead men's bones except under the decent coverings of the
tomb; but we confess, for our own part, that the stone which
stood at the gate of Tyre all those ages, and which the val-
orous doge haled over the seas to make an altar of — the stone
on which, tradition says, our Lord rested when He passed by
those coasts of Tyre and Sidon, where perhaps that anxious
woman who would not take an answer first saw Him seated
and conceived the hope that so great a prophet might give
liealing to her child — has an interest for us as strong as if
we had lived in the twelfth century, and seen the doge
come home. The Baptistery of St. Mark's is well worthy
examination. There is a beautiful description of it in the
second volume of Mr. Ruskin's "Stones of Venice," to read
which is the next best thing to visiting the solemn quiet of
the place; but there is no illusion there to this one
veracious relic. Doge Domenico's trophy — the mighty bit
of Syrian stone.
The doge lived but a few years after his return. Mr.
Ruskin, following the chroniclers, says that he was the
first who lighted the streets of Venice by the uncertain and
not very effectual method, though so much better than
nothing, of lamps before the shrines which abounded at
every corner ; so that the traveler, if he pleases, may find
a token of our doge at every Traghetto where a faint little
light twinkles before the shrine enclosing the dim print or
lithograph which represents the Madonna. Mr. Ruskin
would have us believe that he for one would like Venice
better if this were the only illumination of the city ; but
we may be allowed to imagine that this is only a fond
exaggeration on the part of that master. The Venetians
were at the same time prohibited from wearing beards
according to the fashion of the Greeks — a rule which must
surely apply to some particular form of beard, and not to
t!iat manly ornament itself, on which it is evident the men
of Venice had set great store.
44 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
In the year 1129^ having reigned only eleven years,
though he had accomplished so much, and achieved so
great a reputation, the doge, being old and weary, resigned
his crown, and retired to San Giorgio Maggiore, though
whether with the intention of joining the brotherhood
there, or only for repose, we are not told. It would have
been a touching and grand retirement for an old prince
who had spent his strength for Venice, to pass his latter
days in the island convent, where all day long, and by the
lovely moonlight nights that glorify the lagoons, he could
have watched across the gleaming waters his old home and
all the busy scenes in which he had so lately taken the
chief part, and might have received in many an anxious
moment the visit of the reigning doge, and given his coun-
sel, and become the best adviser of the city which in active
service he could aid no more. But this ideal position was
not realized for Doge Domenico. ■ He had been but a few
months in San Giorgio when he died, full of years and
honors, and was buried in the refuge he had chosen.
'' The place of his grave," says Mr. Euskin, ''you find by
going down the steps on your right hand behind the altar,
leading into what was yet a monastery before the last Ital-
ian revolution, but is now a finally deserted loneliness. On
his grave there is a heap of frightful modern upholsterer's
work (Longhena's), his first tomb being removed as too
modest and time-worn for the vulgar Venetian of the sev-
enteenth century. The old inscription was copied on the
rotten black slate which is breaking away in thin flakes
dimmed by destroying salt." It is scarcely decipherable,
but it is given at length by Sanudo : *' Here lies the terror
of the Greeks, and the glory of the Venetians," says the
epitaph ; ''the man whom Emmanuel feared, and all the
world still honors. The capture of Tyre, the destruction
of Syria, the desolation of Hungary, proclaim his strength.
He made the Venetians to dwell in peace and quiet, for
while he flourished the country was safe." We add the
concluding lines in the translation given by Mr. Ruskin :
" Whosoever thou art who comest to behold this tomb of
Jiis, bow thyself down before God because of him."
THE MAKEJih OF VENICE. 45
It was probably from au idea of humility that the great
doge had himself buried, not in the high places of the
church, but in the humble corridor which led to the mon-
astery. All that Mr. Raskin says with his accustomed
force about the hideousness of the tomb is sufficiently just ;
yet though nothing may excuse the vulgar Venetian of the
seventeenth century for his bad taste in architecture, it is
still morally in his favor that he desired in his offensive
way to do honor to the great dead — a good intention which
perhaps our great autocrat in art does not sufficiently
appreciate.
After Domenico Michieli there intervened two doges,
one his son-in-law Polani, another a Morosini, before it
came to the turn of his son Vitale II. to ascend the throne.
What may be called the ordinary of Venetian history, the
continual conflict on the Dalmatian coasts, went on during
both these reigns with unfailing pertinacity : and there
had arisen a new enemy, the Norman, who had got posses-
sion of Naples, and whose hand was by turns against every
man. These fightings came to little, and probably did less
harm than appears ; otherwise, if war meant all that it
means now, life on the Dalmatian coast, and among the
Greek Isles, must have been little worth the living. In
the time of Vitale Michieli's predecessor, Sabellico says,
the Campanile of San Marco was built, ^^a work truly
beautiful and admirable. The summit of this is of pure
and resplendent gold, and rises to such a height that not
only can you see all the city, but toward the west and the
south can behold great stretches of the sea, in such a man-
ner that those who sail from hence to Istria and Dalmatia,
two hundred stadii away and more, are guided by this
splendor as by a faithful star.^' This was the first of the
several erections which have ended in the grand and
simple lines of the Campanile we know so well, rising
straight out of the earth with a self-reliant force which
makes its very bareness impressive. Rising out of the
earth, however, is the last phrase to use in speaking of this
wonderful tower, which, as Sabellico reports, wondering,
is so deeply founded iu mysterious intricacies of piles and
46 TEE MAKERS OF VENICE.
props below, that almost as much is hidden as that which
is visible.
Vitale Michieli II. has this distinction, that he was the
last of the doges elected by that curious version of univer-
sal suffrage which is to be found in this primitive age in
most republics — that is to say the system by which the few
apparent to the masses that the potent suggestion whis-
pered in their ear is their own inspiration. Such had
been, up to this period, the manner of electing the doge.
The few wlio were instinctively and by nature at the head
of affairs — men themselves elected by nobody, the first by
natural right, or because their fathers had been so, or be-
cause they were richer, bolder, more enterprising, more
audacious, than the rest — settled among themselves which
of them was to be the ruler ; then calling together the peo-
ple in San Marco, gave them, but with more skill and less
frankness than the thing is done in ecclesiastical matters
among ourselves, their conge d'elire. The doge elected by
this method reigned, with the help of these uuofticial
counselors — of whom two only seem to have borne that
name — and he was as easily ruined when reverses came as
he had been promoted. But the time of more formal in-
stitutions was near, and the primitive order had ceased to
be enough for the rising intelligence, or at least demands,
of the people. The third Michieli had, however, the
enormous advantage of being the son of the most distin-
guished of recent doges, and no doubt was received with
those shouts of ^' Provato ! Provato !" (that is, a'pprovaio)
which was the form of the popular fiat. One of the first
incidents of his reign was a brief but sharp struggle for
the independence of the metropolitan church of Grado,
once more attacked by the Patriarch of Aquileia. The
Venetians overcame the assailants, and brought the bellig-
erent prelate and twelve of his canons as prisoners to Ven-
ice, whence after a while they were sent home, having
promised to meddle with Grado no more, and to pay a
somewhat humiliating tribute yearly — in the exaction of
which there is a grim humor. Every year before Lent, in
the heat of what we should call the Carnival, a great bull
TEE MAKERS OF VENICE. 47
and twelve pigs were to be sent to Venice, representing
the patriarch and his twelve canons. On the Thursday,
when the mirth was at its height, the bull was hunted in
the Piazza, and the pigs decapitated in memory of the
priestly captives. This curious ironical celebration lasted
till the days of Sabellico and Sanudo, the latter of whom
entitles it the giohha di Car7ievale. It shows, notwith-
standing all the reverential sentiments of these ages of
faith, how a certain contempt for the priest as an adver-
sary tempered the respect of the most pious for all the aids
and appurtenances of religion.*
This, however, was the only victory in the life of a doge
80 much less fortunate than his father. Italy was in great
commotion throughout his reign, all the great northern
cities, with Venice at their head, being bound in what was
called the Lombard League against the Emperor Frederick
Barbarossa. But the Venetians were more exposed to
attacks from the other side, from the smoldering enmity
of the Greeks than from anything Barbarossa could do :
and it was from this direction that ruin came upon the
third Michieli. Not only were conspiracies continually
fostered in the cities of the Adriatic ; but the Greek Em-
peror Emanuel seized the opportunity while Venice seemed
otherwise occupied to issue a sudden edict by which all the
Venetian traders in his realm were seized upon a certain
day, their goods confiscated, tliemselves thrown into prison.
His reckoning, however, was premature ; for the excite-
ment in Venice when tliis news reached the astonished and
enraged republic was furious : and with cries of *' War !
war !" the indignant populace rushed together, offering
themselves and everything they could contribute, to the
avenging of this injury.
The great preparations which were at once set on foot de-
manded, however, a larger outlay than could be provided
for by voluntary offerings, and the necessity of the moment
originated a new movement of the greatest importance to
* Roraanin considers the bull to have bad notbing to do witb tbis
commemoration, tbe twelve pigs accompanied by twelve cakes being,
he says, tbe tribute exacted.
48 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
the world. The best expedient which occurred to the
Venetian statesman was to raise a national loan, bearing
interest, to collect which officers were appointed in every
district of Venice with all the machinery of an income tax,
assessing every family according to its means. These con-
tributions, the first, or almost the first, directly levied in
Venice, and all the inquisitorial demands necessary to regu-
late them, passed without offense in the excitement of the
great national indignation, but told afterward upon the
fate of the doge. Vitale Michieli set out in September,
1171, six months after the outrage, at the head of a great
fleet, to avenge it; but misfortune pursued this unlucky
prince. He was beguiled by his wily adversary into wait-
ing for explanations and receiving embassies, only intended
to gain time, or worse, to expose to the dangers of inaction
and the chances of pestilence the great and powerful ex-
pedition which the Greeks were not able to encounter
in a more legitimate way. These miserable tactics suc-
ceeded fully; lingering about the islands, at Chios, or else-
where, disease completed what discontent and idleness had
begun. The Greek emperor, all the chroniclers unite in
saying, poisoned the wells so that everybody who drank of
them fell ill. The idea that poison is the cause of every
such outbreak of pestilence is still, as the reader knows, a
rooted belief of the primitive mind — one of those original
intuitions gone astray, and confused by want of under-
standing, which perhaps the progress of knowledge may
set right: for it is very likely the waters were poisoned,
though not by the emperor. The great epidemic which
followed was of the most disastrous and fatal character: not
only decimating the fleet, but when it returned to Venice
broken and discouraged, spreading throughout the city.
This great national misfortune gave rise to a curious and
romantic incident. The family Giustinian, one of the
greatest in Venice, was, according to the story, so strongly
represented in the armada that the race became virtually
extinct by the deaths, one after another, of its members,
in the disastrous voyage homeward. The only man left
was a young monk, or rather novice not yet professed, in
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 49
the convent of San Niccolo, on the Lido. When the phagiie-
stricken crews got home, and this misfortune among: so
many others was made apparent, tlie doge sent messengers
to the pope, asking that young Niccolo might be liberated
from his vows The old Giustiniani fathers, in the noble
houses which were not as yet tlie palaces we know, must
have waited among their weeping women — with an anxiety
no doubt tempered by the determination, if thepopesiiould
refuse, to take the matter into their own hands — for the
decision of Rome. And it is wonderful that no dramatist
or modern Italian romancer, touched by the prevalent
passion for moral dissection, should have thought of taking
for his hero this young monk upon the silent shores of the
Lido, amid all the wonderful dramas of light and shade
that go on upon the low liorizon sweeping round on every
side, a true globe of level long reflections, of breadth and
space and solitude, so apt for thought. Had he known,
perhaps, before he thought of dedication to the church,
young Anna Michieli, between whose eyes and his, from
her windows in the doge's palace to the green line of the
Lido, there was nothing but the dazzle of the sunshine and
the ripple of the sea? Was there a simple romance of this
natural kind, waiting to be turned into joyful fulfillment
by the pope's favorable answer? Or had the novice to
gi^re up his dreams of holy seclusion, or those highest, all-
engrossing visions of ambition, which were to no man
more open than to a bold and able priest? These are
questions which might well furnish forth pages of delicate
description and discussion. Naturally the old chronicler
has no thought of any such refinement. The pope con-
sented, and the doge gave his daughter to young Niccolo,
** whicli thing procured the continuance in the city of the
CasaGiustini m, in which afterward flourished men of the
highest intellect and great orators," is all the record says.
The resuscitated race gave many notable servants to the
state, although no doge until well on in the seventeenth
century. When the pair thus united had done their duty
to the state, Niccolo Giustinian re-dedicated himself in his
old couvent and resumed his religious profession; while
50 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
Anna, his wife, proceeded to her chosen nunnery, and there
lived a life so holy as to add to the fame of her family by
attaining that partial canonization which is represented by
tlie title of Beata. This, one cannot but feel, was an ad-
mirable way of making the best of both worlds.
^' In this year," says Sanudo, ** there were brought to
Venice from Constantinople, in three great ships, three
mighty columns ;" one of which in the course of disem-
barkation fell into the sea, and remains there, it is to be
supposed, till this day ; the others are the two well-known
pillars of the Piazzetta. We need not repeat the story, so
often told, of how it was that, no one being able to raise
them to their place, a certain Lombard, Niccolo of the
Barterers, succeeded in doing so with wetted ropes, and
asked in return for permission to establish a gambling-
table in the space between them. Sabellico says that the
privilege granted went so far ^^that every kind of decep-
tion" was permitted to be practiced there: but it can
scarcely be supposed that even a sharp Lombard money-
changer would ask so much. This permission, given be-
cause they could not help it, having foolishly pledged
their word, like Herod, was, by the doge and his counsel-
ors, made as odious as possible by the further law that all
public executions should take place between the columns.
It was a fatal place to land at, and brought disaster, as
was afterward seen ; but its evil augury seems to have dis-
appeared along with the gaming-tables, as half the gon-
dolas in Venice lie at its margin now. The columns would
seem to have been erected in the year 1172, but whether
by Doge Vitale or his successor is uncertain.
Other improvements were done under this doge besides
the elevation of the columns in the Piazzetta. He filled
up the canal which crossed the broad space of the Piazza,
still a green and open ground, partly orchards, and enliv-
ened by this line of water — and thus prepared the way for
the work of his successor, who first began to pave it, and
surrounded it with buildings and lines of porticoes, sug-
gesting, no doubt, its present form. There must, how-
ever, have been a charm in the greenness and trees and
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 51
sparkling waters — grass growing and foliage waving at tlie
feet of the great golden-crowned Campanile, and adding a
brightness of nature to the Byzantine splendor of the
church and palace. The Camera degli Imprestidi, or great
Public Loan Office, however — the first National Bank of
Europe — is more important to history than even the cease-
less improvements of the city. The first loan is said to
have carried interest at the rate of four per cent — a high
rate for a public debt — and the organization necessary to
arrange and regulate it seems to have come into being with
wonderful speed and completeness. The time was begin-
ning when the constitution, or rather want of constitution,
of the ancient republic, full of the accidents and hasty ex-
pedients of an infant state, would no longer suffice for the
gradually rising and developing city.
None of these things, however, stood the doge in stead
when he came back beaten and humiliated, with the
plague in his ships, to face his judges in solemn conclave
in San Marco — a tumultuous assembly of alarmed and
half-maddened men, trembling for their lives and for the
lives of those dear to them, and stung by that sense of
failure which was intolerable to the haughty republic.
This was in the month of May, 1172. From the first the
meeting must have bore an air dangerous to the doge,
against whom there began to rise a cry that he was the
occasion of all their evils — of the war, of enforced military
service and compulsory contributions, and, last and great-
est, of the pestilence which he had brought back with him.
The men who had virtually elected him, who were his
friends, and had shared tlie councils of his reign, would no
doubt stand by him so far as their fears permitted: but the
harmless assembly called together to give its sanction to the
election of a new and popular doge is very different from
the same crowd in the traditionary power of its general
parliament, assembling angry and alarmed, its pride
wounded and its fears excited, to pronounce whose fault
these misfortunes were, and what should be done to the
offender. The loud outcry of traditore, so ready to the
lips of the populace in such circumstances, resounded
52 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
through San Marco, and there were ominous murmurs that
the doge's head was in danger. He tried to clear himself
by a touching oration, con piangente parole , says one :
then hastily going out of the church and from the presence
of the excited assembly took his way toward San Zaccaria,
along the Riva, by what would seem to be a little-fre-
quented way. As he passed through one of the little calli,
or lanes, called now, tradition says, Calle delle Rasse, some
one who had, or thought he had, a special grievance,
sprang out upon him and stabbed him. He was able to
ARMS OF THE MICHIELI.
drag himself to San Zaccaria and make his confession, but
no more : and there died and was buried. The people,
horror-stricken perhaps by the sudden execution of a doom
which had only been threatened, gave him a great funeral,
and his sudden end so emphasized the necessity of a rela-
tion more guarded and less personal between the chief
ruler and the city, that the leading minds in Venice pro-
ceeded at once to take order for elections more formal and
a constitution more exact. There had been, according to
primitive rule, two counselors of permanent character,
and an indefinite number of pregadi, or men " prayed "
to help the doge — a sort of informal council ; but these
were called together at the doge's pleasure, and were re-
sponsible only to him. The steps which are now taken
introduced the principle of elective assemblies, and added
many new precautions for the choice and for the safety of
the doge. The fact which we have already remarked, that
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 53
all the names * given belong to families already conspicu-
ous in Venice, continued with equal force under the new
rule. No doubt the elections would be made on the primi-
tive principle, one man suggesting another, all of the same
class as those who, without the forms of election, had hith-
erto suggested the successive princes, for the sanction of
the people. But the mass of the Venetians probably
thought with enthusiasm that they had taken a great step
toward the consolidation of their liberties when they elected
these Dandolos, Faliers, Morosinis, and the rest, to be
their representatives, and do authoritatively what they
had done all along in more subtle ways.
Thus ended the Doges Michieli: but not the family,
which is one of the few which has outlived all vicissitudes,
and still has a habitation and a name in Venice. And the
new regime of elective government began.
* Romanin informs us that a few names of the people appear in
early documents as Stefano Tinctor (dyer), Vitale Staniario (tin-
worker), etc. , but these are so few as to prove rather than confute
the almost invariable aristocratic rule.
54 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
CHAPTER III.
EKRICO DAKDOLO.
The first beginnings of a more formal mode of govern-
ment thus followed close upon the murder of Vitale Michieli.
The troubles of the state under his rule, as well as the
prompt vengeance taken upon him by the infuriated multi-
tude, combined to make it apparent that it was not for the
safety or dignity of Venice either to remain so entirely in
the hands of her chief magistrate, or to bring the whole
business of the state to a standstill, and impair her repu-
tation among foreign countries by his murder. The re-
public had thus arrived at a comprehension of the idea
which governments of much later date have also had im-
pressed upon them painfully, that the person of the head
of the state ought to be sacrosafito, sacred from violence.
And no doubt the rising complications of public life, the
growth of the rich and powerful community in which per-
sonal character was so strong, and so many interests existed,
now demanded established institutions, and a rule less
primitive than that of a prince with both the legislative and
executive power in his hands, even when kept in check by
a counselor or two, and the vague mass of the people, by
whom his proceedings had to be approved or non-approved
after an oration skillfully prepared to move the popular
mind. The Consiglio Maggiore, the great Venetian parlia-
ment, afterward so curiously limited, came into being at
this crisis in the national history. The mode of its first
selection reads like the description of a Chinese puzzle; and
perhaps the subtle, yet artless complication of elections
ending at last in the doge, may be taken as a sort of appeal
to the fates, by a community not very confident in their
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 55
own powers, and bent upon outwitting destiny itself. Two
men were first chosen by each sestiere or district (a division
which had been made only a short time before for the con-
venience of raising funds for Doge Vitale's fatal ex-
pedition), each of whom nominated forty of the best citi-
zens thus forming the Great Council, who in their turn,
elected eleven representatives who elected tlie doge. The
latter arrangement was changed on several occasions before
that which commended itself as the best, and which was
more artificial and childishly elaborate still, was chosen at
last.
The people were little satisfied at first with this con-
stitutional change, and there were tumults and threatened
insurrections in anticipation of the new body of electors,
and of the choice of a prince otherwise than by acclamation
of the whole community assembled in San Marco. *^ It was
in consequence ordained," says Romanin, ** that the new
doge should be presented to the multitude with these
words: 'This is your doge, if it pleases you,' and by this
means the tumult was stilled.'' So easy is it to deceive the
multitude! What difference the new rules made in reality
it would be difficult to say. The council was made up of
the same men who had always ruled Venice. A larger
number no doubt had actual power, but there was no
change of hands. The same fact we have already noted, as
evident through all the history of the republic. New names
rarely rise out of the crowd. The families from among
whom all functionaries were chosen at the beginning of all
things still held power at the end.
The power of the doge was greatly limited by these new
laws but at least his person was safe. He might be relieved
from his office, as happened sometimes, but save in one
memorable instance he was no longer liable to violence.
And he was surrounded by greater state and received all the
semi-oriental honors which could adorn a pageant. Sebas-
tiano Ziani, the first doge chosen under the new order, was
carried in triumph round the Piazza, throwing money to
the crowd from his unsteady seat. Whether this was his
own idea (for he was very rich and liberal), or whether it
56 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
was suggested to him as a way of increasing his popularity,
we are not told; but the jealous artistocrats about him, who
had just got hold of the power of law-making, and evi-
dently thought there could not be too detailed a code,
seized upon the idea, perceiving at once its picturesque and
attractive possibilities and its dangers, and decided that
this largesse should always be given by a new doge, but
settled the sum, not less than a hundred, nor more than a
hundred and fifty ducats, with jealous determination that
no wealthy potenate should steal the hearts of the populace
with gifts. There came to be in later times a special coin-
age for the purpose, called Oselle, of which specimens are
still to be found, and which antiquarians, or rather those
lovers of the curious who have swamped the true anti-
quarian, '^pick up" wherever they appear.
Sebastiano Ziani, according to some of our chroniclers,
was not the man upon whom the eleven electors first fixed
their choice, who was, it is said, Aurio, or Orio Mas-
tropiero, the companion of Ziani in a recent ambassage and
his friend — who pointed out that Ziana was much older
and richer than himself, and that it would be to the
greater advantage of Venice that he should be chosen, a
magnanimous piece of advice. This story, unfortunately,
is not authenticated; neither is the much more important
one of the romantic circumstances touching the encounter of
Pope Alexander III. and the Emperor Barbarossa at Venice,
which the too conscientious historian, Romanin (not to
speak of his authorities), will not hear of, notwithstanding
the assertions of Sanudo, Sabellico and the rest, and the
popular faith and the pictures in the ducal palace, all of
which maintain it strongly. The popular tale is as follows.
It is painted in the hall of the Maggiore Consiglio, where
all the world may see.
The pope, driven from Rome by the enmity of the em-
peror, after many wanderings about the world, took refuge
in Venice, where he concealed himself in the humble
habit of a friar, acting, as some say, as cook to the breth-
ren in the convent of La Carita. The doge, hearing how
great a personage was in the city, hurried to visit him, and
THE MAKERS OF VENICE, 67
to give him a lodging worthy of his dignity; then sent
ambassadors to intercede with Barbarossa on his behalf.
He of the red beard received benignly the orators of the
great republic ; but when he heard tl)eir errand, changed
countenance, and bade them tell the doge that unless he
delivered up the fugitive pope it would be the worse for
him — that the eagle should fly into the church of San
Marco, and that its foundation should be made as a
plowed field. Such words as these were not apt to Vene-
tian ears. The whole city rose as one man, and an armata
was immediately prepared to resist any that might be sent
against Venice. The doge himself, though an old man
over seventy, led the fleet. Mass was said solemnly in San
Marco by the pontiff himself, who girded his loyal defender
with a golden sword, and blessed him as he went forth to
battle. There were seventy-five galleys on the opposite
side, commanded by young Prince Otto, the son of Bar-
barossa, and but thirty on that of Venice. It was once
more the Day of the Ascension — that fortunate day for the
republic — when the two fleets met in the Adriatic. The
encounter ended in complete defeat to the imperial ships,
of which forty were taken, along with the commander.
Otto, and many of his most distinguished followers. The
Venetians went home with natural exultation, sending be-
fore them the glorious news, which was so unexpected,
and so speedy, that the whole city rushed to the Riva with
half-incredulous wonder and joy to see the victors disem-
bark with their prisoners, among them the son of the great
German prince who had set out with the intention of
planting his eagles in San Marco. The pope himself came
down to the Riva to meet the victorious doge, and draw-
ing a ring from his finger gave it to his deliverer, hailing
him as the lord and master of the sea. It was on Ascension
Day that Pietro Orseolo had set out from Venice on the
triumphant expedition which ended in the extermination
of the pirates, and the extension of the Venetian sway over
all the coast of the Adriatic — and then it was, according to
our chroniclers, that the feast of the Spomlizio, the wed-
ding of the sea, had been first established. But by this
58 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
time they have forgotten that early hint, and here we have
once more, and with more detailed authorities, the insti-
tution of this great and picturesque ceremony.
Prince Otto was nobly treated by his captors, and after
awhile undertook to be their ambassador to his father,
and was sent on parole to Rome to the emperor. The result
was that Frederick yielded to his son^s representations and
the Venetian prowess, and consented to go to Venice, and
there be reconciled to the pope. The meeting took place
before the gates of San Marco, where his holiness, in all
his splendor, seated in a great chair {grande e lionoratis-
sima sedia), awaited the coming of his rival. Popular tra-
dition never imagined a more striking scene : the Piazza
outside thronged, every window, balcony and housetop,
with eager spectators, used to form part of every public
event and spectacle, and knowing exactly every coign of
vantage, and how to see a pageant best. The great Fred-
erick, the story goes, approached the seat where the vicar
of Christ awaited him, and subduing his pride to necessity,
knelt and kissed the pope's foot. Alexander, on his part,
as proud and elated with his victory, raised his foot and
planted it on Barbarossa^'s neck, intoning as he did so, as
Sabellico says, that Psalm of David, '^ Super aspidem et
hasilicum mnhulabis.'^ The emperor, with a suppressed
roar of defiance in his red beard, exclaimed, *'Not thee,
but Peter!" To which the pope, like one enraged, plant-
ing his foot more firmly, replied, " Both I and Peter.''
One can imagine this brief colloquy carried on, under their
breath, fierce and terse, when the two enemies, greatest in
all the western hemisphere, met in forced amity ; and how
the good doge, amiable peacemaker and master of the
ceremonies, and all the alarmed nobles, and the crowds of
spectators, ripe for any wonder, must have looked on,
marveling what words of blessing they were saying to each
other, while all the lesser greatnesses had to wait.
But the later historians refuse their affirmation to this
exceedingly circumstantial, most picturesque, and it must
be added, most natural story. Romanin assures us, on the
faith of all the documents, that the meeting was a stately
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 5ft
ceremonial, arranged by pope and emperor, without either
passion or humiliation in it ; that the pope was not a fugitive
in Venice, and that the emperor never threatened to fly his
eagles into San Marco ; that Prince Otto never was made
prisoner, and that the pontiff received with nothing less
satisfactory than a kiss of peace the formal homage of
the emperor. The facts are hard to deny, and no doubt
Romanin is right. But there is a depth of human nature
in the fable, which the facts do not reveal. It is impos-
sible to imagine anything more likely to be true than that
brief interchange of words, the churchman's triumph, and
the statesman's unwilling submission.
The story goes on to tell how Doge Ziani escorted his two
splendid guests to Ancona, where the pope and the em-
peror were presented with umbrellas — a tribute apparently
made to their exalted rank : whereupon the pope requested
that a third might be brought : '^ Manca la terza pel Doge
de Venezia clii hen lo merita," from which incident arose
the use of this royal, if unimposing article by the doges
ever after. The pope had proviously granted the privilege
of sealing with lead instead of wax — another imperial attri-
bute. To all this picturesque narrative Romanin again pre-
sents an array of chilling facts, proving that the pope and
emperor left Venice singly on different dates, and that the
doges of Venice had carried the umbrella and used the
leaden bollo long before Ziani — all which is very discon-
certing. It seems to be true, however, that during the
stay of the pope in Venice the feast of the Sensa — Ascen-
sion Day — was held with special solemnity, and its pageant
fully recorded for the first time. The doge went forth in
the Bucintoro, which here suddenly springs into knowl-
edge, all decorated and glorious, with his umbrella over
his head, a white flag which the pope had given him
flying beside the standard of St. Mark, the silver trumpets
sounding, the clergy with him and all the great potentates
of the city, and Venice following, small and great, in every
kind of barge or skiff which could venture on the lagoon.
It is said to have been with a ring which the pope had given
him that old Ziani wedded the sea. Whether the cer-
60 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
emony had fallen into disuse, or if our chroniclers merely
forgot that they had assigned it to an earlier date, or if
this was the moment when the simpler primitive rite was
clianged into its later form it is difficult to say. It must
be added that the strange travesty of history thus put to-
gether is regarded with a certain doubt by the chroniclers
themselves. Sabellico for one falter over it. He would not
have ventured to record, it, he says if he had not found the
account confirmed by every writer, both Venetian and
foreign. ^^And, " says Sanudo, 'Ms it not depicted in the
hall of the great council ? Se non fosse stata vera i nostri
buoni Venetiani noil avrehhero mai fatta depingere : \f it
had not been true our good Venetians never would have
had it painted. "
It was during the stormy reign of Vitale Michieli, in the
midst of the bitter and violent quarrel between the Greek
Emperor Emmanuel and the Venetians, when ambassadors
were continually coming and going, that an outrage, which
cannot be called other than historical, and yet can be sup-
ported by no valid proof, is said to have been inflicted
upon one of the messengers of Venice. This was the noble
Arrigo or Enrico Dandolo, afterward one of the most dis-
tinguished of the doges, and the avenger of all Venetian
wrongs upon tlie Greeks. The story is that in the course
of some supposed diplomatic consultation he was seized
and had his eyes })ut out by red liot irons— according to a
pleasant custom which the Greeks of that day indulged in
largely. It is unlikely that this could be true, since it is
impossible to believe that the Venetians would have re-
sumed peaceable negotiations after such an outrage; but
it is a fact that Dandolo has always been called the blind
doge, and even the scrupulous Eomanin finds reason
to suppose that some injury had been inflicted upon the
ambassadors. Dandolo's blindness, however, must have
been only comparative. The French chronicler, Ville-
hardouin, describes him as having fine eyes which scarcely
saw anything, and attributes this to the fact that he had
lost his sight from a wound in the head. Dandolo's de-
scendant^ successor, and historian, however, says only that
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 61
he war of v;-aV vision, and as he was at the time eighty-
,Lr\ tliere '.^' ■ '^ be notliing remarkable in that. Enrico
Dandolo was eU '' "• <^^ after the death of Orio
Mastrop ietro, wno succbeuc^ ^. \, and whose reign was
not marked by any special incident.
Dandolo was the first doge, if not to sign i\\Q 2^romissione
or solemn ducal oath of fidelity to all the laws and customs
of the republic, at least to reach the period of history when
such documents began to be preserved. His oath is full of
details, which show the jealousy of the new regime in de-
fining and limiting the doge's powers. He vows not only
to rule justly, to accept no bribes, to show no favoritism,
to subordinate his own affairs and all others to the interests
of the city, but also not to write letters on his own account
to the pope or any other prince; to submit his own affairs
to the arbitrament of the common tribunals, and to main-
tain two ships of war at his own expense — stipulations which
must have required no small amount of self-control on the
part of men scarcely as yet educated to the duties of con-
stitutional princes. The beginning of Dandolo's reign was
distinguished by the usual expeditions to clear the Adriatic
and re-confirm Venetian supremacy on the Dalmatian coast;
also, by what was beginning to be equally common, certain
conflicts with the Pisans, who began to rival Venice in the
empire of the seas. These smaller commotions, however,
were dwarfed and thrown into the shade by the great ex-
pedition, known in history as the fourth crusade, which
ended in the destruction of Constantinople and great ag-
grandisement of the republic, but, so far as the objects of
the crusade were concerned, in nothing.
The setting out of this expedition affords one of the
most picturesque and striking scenes in Venetian history,
though its details come to us rather from the chronicles of
the crusade than from the ancient historians of Venice,
who record them briefly with a certain indifference and at
the same time with a frankness which sounds cynical.
Perhaps the conviction of a later age that the part played
by Venice was not a very noble one, may have here
restrained the record. ** In those days a great occasion pre-
6^ THE MAKERS OF VENtGB,
sented itself to the Venetians to increase their dominions/^
Sabellico says, calmly putting aside all pretense at more
generous motives. Villehardouin, however, has left a suc-
cession of pictures which could not be surpassed in graphic
force, and which place all the preliminaries before us in
the most brilliant daylight. He describes how the French
princes who had taken the cross sent an embassy to Venice
in order to arrange if possible for means of transport to the
Holy Land — six noble Frenchmen, in all their bravery and
fine manners, and fortunately with that one among them
who carried a pen as well as a sword. It is evident that
this proposal was considered on either side as highly im-
portant, and was far from being made or received as merely
a matter of business. The French messengers threw them-
selves at once upon the generosity, the Christian feeling, of
the masters of the sea. Money and men they had in plenty;
but only Venice, so powerful on the seas, so rich, and at
peace with all her neighbors, could give them ships. From
the beginning their application is an entreaty, and their
prayers supported by every argument that earnestness could
suggest. The doge received them in the same solemn man-
ner, submitting their petition to the council, and requiring
again and again certain days of delay in order that the mat-
ter should be fully debated. It was at last settled with
royal magnificence not only that the ships should be
granted, but that the republic should fit out fifty galleys of
her own to increase the force of the expedition; after which
everything being settled (which again throws a curious side-
light upon popular government), the doge called the Vene-
tians together in San Marco — ten thousand of them in the
most beautiful church that ever was, says the Frenchman —
and bade the strangers ple^d their own cause before the
people. When we consider that everything was arranged
beforehand, it takes something from the effect of the scene,
and suggests uncomfortable ideas of solemn deceits practiced
upon the populace in all such circumstances — but in itself
the picture is magnificent.
Mass being celebrated, the doge called the ambassadors,
and told them to ask humbly of the people whether the
HIGH ALTAR OF S. MARCO.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE, 63
proposed arrangement should be carried into effect. God-
frey de Villehardouin then stood forth to speak in the name
of all, with the following result:
" Messieurs, the noblest and most powerful barons of France have
sent us to you to pray you to have pity upon Jerusalem in bondage to
the Turk, and for the love of God to accompany us to avenge tbe
shame of Christ; and knowing that no nation is so powerful on the
seas as you, they have charged us to implore your aid and not to
rise from our knees till you have consented to have pity upon the
Holy Land."
"With this the six ambassadors knelt down weeping. The doge
and all the people then cried out with one voice, raising their hands
lo heaven, ' We grant it, we grant it!' And so great was the sound
that nothing ever equaled it. The good doge of Venice, who was
most wise and brave, then ascended the pulpit and spoke to the
people. 'Signori,' he said, 'you see the honor which God has done
you that the greatest nation on earth has left all other peoples in
order to ask your company, that you should share with them this
great undertaking which is the re-conquest of Jerusalem.' Many
other fine and wise things were said by the doge which I cannot here
recount. And thus the matter was concluded."
It must have been a strange and imposing sight for tliese
feudal lords to see the crowd that filled San Marco, and
overflowed in the Piazza, the vast trading, seafaring multi-
tude tanned with the sunshine and the sea, full of their
own importance; listening like men who had to do it, no
submissive crowd of vassals, but each conscious (though, as
we have seen, with but little reason) that he individually
was appealed to, while those splendid petitioners knelt and
wept — moved no doubt on their side by that wonderful sea
of faces, by the strange circumstances, and the rising wave
of enthusiasm which began to move tlie crowd. 'J'he old
doge, rising up in the pulpit, looking with dim eyes across
the heads of the multitude, with the great clamor of the
** Co7icediamo " still echoing under the dome, the shout of
an enthusiastic nation, gives the last touch of pictorial
effect. His eyes still glowed, though there was so little
vision in them; pride and policy and religious enthusiasm
all mingled in his words and looks. Tlie greatest nation of
the world had corneas a suppliant — who could refuse her
64 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
petition? This was in the winter, early in the year 1201.
It is not difficult to imagine the wintry afternoon, the dim
glories of the choir going off into a golden gloom behind,
the lights glimmering upon the altars, the confused move-
ment and emotion of the countless crowd, indistinct under
the great arches, extending into every corner — while all the
light there was concentrated in the white hair and cloth of
gold of the venerable figure to which every eye was turned,
standing up against the screen at the foot of the great
cross.
The republic by this bargain was pledged to provide
transport for four thousand five hundred cavaliers, and
nearly thirty thousand men on foot: along with provisions for
a year for this multitude; for which the Frenchmen pledged
themselves to pay eighty-five thousand silver marks *^ ac-
cording to the weight of Boulogne, "" in four different instal-
ments. The contingent of Venice, apart from this, was
to consist of fifty galleys. The ships were to be ready at
the feast of SS. Peter and Paul in the same year, when the
first instalment of the money was to be paid.
In the meantime, however, while the workmen in the
arsenal were busily at work, and trade must have quickened
thi'oughout Venice, various misfortunes happened to the
other parties to the engagement. Young Thibaut of
Champagne died in the flower of his youth, and many small
parties of Crusaders went off from other quarters in other
vessels than those of Venice: so that when at last the ex-
pedition arrived it was considerably diminished in numbers
and, what was still more disastrous, the leaders found
themselves unable to pay the first instalment of the ap-
pointed price. The knights denuded themselves of all
their valuables, but this was still insufficient. In these
circumstances an arrangement was resorted to which pro-
duced many and great complications, and changed alto-
gether the character of the expedition. Venice has been
in consequence reproached with the worldlinessand selfish-
ness of her intentions. It has been made to appear that
her religious fervor was altogether false, and her desire to
push her own interests her sole motive. No one will at-
THE MAKERS OF VSmCE, 65
tempt to deny iliat this kind of selfishness, which in other
words is often culled patriotism, was very strong in her.
But on the other side it would be hard to say that it was
with any far-seeing plan of self-aggrandizement that the
republic began this great campaign, or that Dandolo and
his counselors perceived how far they should go before
their enterprise was biouglit to an end. Tliey were led on
from point to point like those wliom they influenced, and
were themselves betrayed by circumstances and a crowd of
secondary motives, as well as the allies whom they are be-
lieved to have betrayed.
The arrangement proposed was, since the Crusaders
could not pay the price agreed for their ships, that they
should delay their voyage to the Holy Land long enough to
help the Venetians in subduing Zara, which turbulent city
had again, as on every possible occasion, rebelled. The
greater part of the P'renchmen accepted the proposal with
alacrity; though some objected that to turn their arms
against Ciiristians, however rebellious, was not the object of
the soldiers of the cross. In the long run, however, and
notwithstanding the remonstrances of Pope Innocent, of
which the inde})endent Venetians made light, the bargain
was accepted on all hands, and all the preliminaries con-
cluded at last. Another of the wonderful scenic displays
with which almost every important step was accompanied
in V^enice took place before the final start.
"One day, upon a Sunday, all the people of the city, and the
greater part of the barons and pilgrims, met in San Marco. Before
mass began, the doge rose in the pulpit and spoke to the people in
this manner: — ' Signori, you are associated with the greatest nation in
the world in the most important matter which can be undertaken by
men. 1 am old and weak and need rest, having many troubles in the
body, but I perceive that none can so well guide and govern you as I
who am your lord. If you will consent that I should take the sign of
the cross to care for you and direct you, and that my son should
in my stead, regulate the affairs of the city, I will go to live and die
with you and the pilgrims.'
" When they heard this, they cried with one voice, * Yes! we pray
you, in the name of God, take it and come with us.'
" Then the people of the country and the pilgrims were greatly
66 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
moved and slied many tears, because tliis heroic man bad so many
reasons lor remaining at bome, being old. But be was strong and of
a great beart. Hetben descended from tbe pulpit and knelt before
tbe altar weeping, and tbe cross was sewn upon tbe front of bis
great cap, so tbat all migbt see it. And tbe Venetians tbat day in
great numbers took tbe cross."
It was in October, 1202, tbat tbe expedition finally sailed,
a great fleet of nearly tbree hundred sliips : tbe Freneli-
men in tbeir sbining mail witb their great war-borses fur-
nisbing a wonderful spectacle for tbe Venetians, to whom
tbese noble creatures, led unwillingly on board tbe galleys,
were so little familiar. Tbe wbole city watched the em-
barkation with excitement and high commotion, no doubt
witb many a woman's tears and wistful looks, anguish of
tbe old, and more impassioned grief of tbe young, as the
fifty galleys which contained tbe Venetian contingent
slowly filled with all tbe best in tbe republic, tbe old doge
at tbeir head. Bound for tbe Holy Land, to deliver it
from tbe infidel ! — tbat no doubt was what tbe people be-
lieved who bad granted with acclamation tbeir aid to tbe
barons in San Marco. And to watch tbe great fleet which
streamed along with all its sails against the sunshine
through tbe tortuous narrow channels tbat thread the
lagoon, line after line of high-beaked painted galleys, with
their endless oars, and all their bravery, it must have
seemed as if tbe very sea bad become populous, and such a
host must carry all before them. Days must have passed
in bustle and commotion ere, witb the rude appliances of
tbeir time, tbree hundred vessels could have been got un-
der way. Tbey streamed down the Adriatic, a maritime
army rather than a fleet, imposing to heboid, frigbtening
tbe turbulent towns along tbe coast which were so ready
wben tbe Venetian galleys were out of sight to rebel — and
arrived before Zara in crushing strength. The citizens
closed tbe harbor with a chain, and with a garrison of
Hungarians to help them, made a brave attempt to defend
themselves. But against such an overwhelming force tbeir
efforts were in vain, and after a resistance of five days, the
city surrendered. It was by this time the middle of No-
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 67
vember, and to tempt the wintry sea at that season was con-
trary to the habits of the time. The expedition accord-
ingly remained at Zara, wliere many things took place
which decided the course of its after movements. It was
not a peaceful pause. The French and the Venetians
quarreled in the first place over their booty or their privi-
leges in the sacked and miserable city. When that up-
roar was calmed, which took the leaders some time, another
trouble arrived in the shape of letters from Pope Innocent,
which disturbed the French cliiefs greatly, though the old
doge and his counselors paid but little attention. Innocent
called the Crusaders to account for shedding Christian
blood when they ought to have been shedding pagan, and
for sacking a city which belonged to their brethren in the
faith, to whom he commanded them to make restitution
and reparation. Whether the penitent barons gave up
their share of the booty is not told us, but they wrote hum-
ble letters asking pardon, and declaring that to take Zara
was a necessity which they had no power to resist. The
pope was moved by their submission, but commanded
them to proceed to Syria with all possible speed, ** neither
turning to the right hand nor to the left/' and as soon as
they had disembarked on the Syrian shores to separate
themselves from the Venetians, who seem to have been
excommunicated (which did not greatly disturb them) for
their indifference to the papal commands.
This correspondence with Rome must have given a cer-
tain amount of variety, if not of a very agreeable kind, to
the winter sojourn on the Adriatic, confused with tumults
of the soldiery and incessant alarms lest their quarrels
should break out afresh, quarrels which — carried on in the
midst of a hostile people bitterly rejoicing to see their con-
querors at enmity among themselves, and encouraged by
the knowledge that the pope had interfered on their behalf
— must have made the invaders doubly uncomfortable.
From the Venetian side there is not a word of the excom-
munication leveled against themselves, and generally so ter-
rible a weapon. Such punishments perhaps were more
easily borne abroad than at home, and the republic already
68 THBJ MAKERS OF VENICE.
stoutly held its indepenclence from all external interfer-
ence.
While Pope Innocent's letters were thus occupying all
minds, and the French Crusaders chafing at the delay,
and perhaps also at the absence of all excitement and occu-
pation in the Dalmatian town, another incident occurred
of the most picturesque character, as well as of the pro-
foundest importance. This was — first, the arrival of am-
bassadors from the Emperor Philip of Swabia, with letters
recommending the youug Alexius, the son of Isaac, de-
throned emperor of the Greeks, to the Crusaders : and
secondly that young prince himself, an exile and wanderer,
with all the recommendations of injured helplessness and
youth in his favor. The ambassadors brought letters tell-
ing such a story as was most fit to move the chivalrous
leaders of the Christian host. The youth for whom theii
appeal was made was the true heir of the great house of
Comnenus, born in the purple, a young Hamlet whose
father had been, not killed, but overthrown, blinded, and
imprisoned by his own brother, and now lay miserable in a
dungeon at Constantinople while the usurper reigned in
his stead. What tale so likely to move the pity of the
knights and barons of France ? And, the suppliants
added, what enterprise so fit to promote and facilitate the
object of the Crusaders ? For Constantinople had always
been a difficulty in the way of the conquest of Syria, and
now more than ever, when a false and cruel usurper was
on the throne ; whereas if old Isaac and his young son
were restored, the crusaders would secure a firm foot-
ing, a stronghold of moral as well as physical support in
the East, which would make their work easy. One can
imagine the high excitement, the keen discussions, the
eagerness of some, the reluctance of others, the heat of
debate and diverse opinion which arose in the camp. There
were some among the pilgrims upon whom the pope's dis-
approval lay heavy, and who longed for nothing so much
as to get away, to have the wearisome preliminaries of the
voyage over, and to find themselves upon the holy soil
which they had set out to deliver ; while there were some.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 69
perhaps more generous than devout, to wliom the story of
the poor young prince, errant through the workl in search
of succor, and the blind inii)erial prisoner in the dungeon,
was touching beyond description, calling forth every senti-
ment of knighthood. The Venetians iiad still another
most moving motive ; it seems scarcely possible to believe
that they did not at once perceive the immense and incal-
culable interests involved. They were men of strictly
practical vision, and Constantinople was their market-place
at once and their harvest ground. To establish a perma-
nent footing there by all the laws of honor and gratitude,
what a thing for Venice ! It is not necessary to conclude
that they were untouched by other inducements. They,
better than any, knew how many hindrances Constanti-
nople could throw in the way, how treacherous her support
was, how cunning her enmity, and what an advantage it
would be to all future enterprises if a power bound to the
west by solid obligations could be established on the Bos-
phorous. Nor is it to be supposed that as men they were
inaccessible to the pleas of humanity and justice urged by
Philip. But at the same time the dazzle of the extraor-
dinary advantages thus set before themselves must have been
as a glamor in their eyes.
It was while the whole immense tumultuous band, the
Frenchmen and the knights of Flanders, the barons of the
Low Country, the sailor princes of the republic, were in
full agitation over this momentous question, and all was
uncertainty and confusion, that the young Alexius arrived
at Zara. There was a momentary lull in the agitation to
receive as was his due, this imperial wanderer, so young,
so high-born, so unfortunate. The Marquis of Montserrato
was his near kinsman, his rank was undoubted, and his
misfortunes, the highest claim of all, were known to every
one. The troops were turned out to receive him with all
the pomp of military display, the doge's silver trumpets
sounding, and all that the Crusaders could boast of in mu-
sic and magnificence. The monks who had been pressing
hotly from band to band urging Pope Innocent's com-
mands and the woes of Jerusalem ; the warlike leaders
70 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
who had been anxiously attempting to reconcile their de-
clared purpose with the strong temptations of such a chival-
rous undertaking — all for tlie moment arrested their argu-
ments, their self-reasonings, tlieir mutual upbraidings to
hear what their young guest had to say. And Alexius had
everything to say that extreme necessity could suggest.
He would give subsidies unlimited — two hundred thousand
marks of silver, all the costs of the expedition, as much as
it pleased them to require. He would himself accompany
the expedition, he would furnish two thousand men at
once, and for all his life maintain five hundred knights for
the defense of Jerusalem. Last of all, and greatest, he
vowed — a bait for Innocent himself, an inducement which
must have stopped the words of remonstrance on the lips
of the priests and made their eyes glow — to renounce for-
ever the Greek heresy and bring the Eastern Church to the
supremacy of Kome !
Whether it was this last motive or simply a rush of sud-
den enthusiasm, such as was, and still is, apt to seize upon
a multitude, the scruples and the doubts of the Crusaders
melted like wax before the arguments of the young prince,
and his cause seems to have been taken up by general con-
sent. A few pilgrims of note indeed left the expedition
and attempted to find another way to the Holy Land, but
it was with very slightly diminished numbers that the ex-
pedition set sail in April, 1203, for Constantinople. Zara
celebrated their departure by an immediate rising, once
more asserting its independence, and necessitating a new
expedition sent by Eenier Dandolo, the doge's son and
deputy, to do all the work of subjugation over again. But
that was an occurrence of every day.
The Crusaders went to Corfu first, where they were re-
ceived with acclamation, the islanders offering at once
their homage to Alexius: and lingered thereabouts until
the eve of Pentecost, when they set sail directly for Con-
stantinople. Over these summer seas the crowd of ships
made their way with ensigns waving and lances glittering
in the sun, like an army afloat, as indeed they were,
making the air resound with their trumpets and warlike
THE MAKERS OF VENICE, 71
songs. The lovely islands, tlie tranquil waters, the golden
sliores, filled these northmen with enthusiasm — nothing
so beautiful, so luxuriant, so wealtliy and fair, had ever
been seen. Where was the coward who would not dare to
strike a blow for such a land? The islands, as they passed,
received Alexius with joy, all was festal and splendid in
the advance. It was the 24th of June, the full glory of
midsummer, when the fleet passed close under the walls of
Constantinople. We need not enter into a detailed de-
scription of the siege. The Venetians would seem to have
carried off the honors of the day. The French soldiers
having failed in their first assault by land, the Venetians,
linking a number of galleys together by ropes, ran them
ashore, and seem to have gained possession, almost without
pausing to draw breath, of a portion of the city. We will
quote from Gibbon, whose classical splendor of style is so
different from the graphic simplicity of our chroniclers, a
description of this extraordinary attack. He is not a his-
torian generally favorable to the Venetians, so that his
testimony may be taken as an impartial one.
" On the side of the harbor tlie attack was more successfully con-
ducted by the Venetians ; and that industrious people employed
every resource that was known and practiced before the invention of
gunpowder. A double line, three bowshots in front, was formed by
the galleys and ships ; and the swift motion of the former was sup-
ported by the weight and loftiness of the latter, whose decks and
poops and turrets were the platforms of military engines that dis-
charged their shot over the heads of the first line. The soldiers who
leaped from the galleys on shore immediately planted and ascended
their scaling ladders, while the large ships, advancing more slowly
into the intervals and lowering a drawbridge, opened a way through
the air from their masts to the rampart. In the midst of the conflict
the doge's venerable and conspicuous form stood aloft in complete
armor on the prow of his galley. The great standard of St. Mark
was displayed before him ; his threats, promises, and exhortations
urged tlie diligence of the rowers ; his vessel was the first that
struck ; and Dandolo was the first warrior on shore. The nations
admired the magnanimity of the blind old man, without reflecting
that his age and infirmities diminished the price of life and enhanced
the value of immortal glory. On a sudden, by an invisible hand (for
the standard-bearer was probably slain), the banner of the republic
was fixed on the rampart, twentv-five towers were rapidly occupied.
72 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
and, by the cruel expedient of fire, tlie Greeks were driven from tlie
adjacent quarter."
A finer battle-picture than this — of the galleys fiercely
driven in shore, the aged prince high on the prow, tlie
Venetians rushing on the dizzy bridge from the rigging to
the ramparts, and suddenly, miraculously, the lion of St.
Mark unfolding in the darkened air full of smoke and fire,
and bristling showers of ai-rows — could scarcely be. The
chroniclers of Venice say nothing of it at all. For once they
fail to see the pictorial effect, the force of the dramatic
situation. Andrea Dandolo's moderate description of his
ancestor's great deed is all we have to replace the glowing
narrative in which the Venetians have recorded other facts
in their history. 'MVhile they (the French) were/Mie
says, '' pressed hard on account of their small numbers, the
doge with the Venetians burst into the city, and he, though
old and infirm of vision, yet being brave and eager of
spirit, joined himself to the French warriors, and all of
them together, fighting with great bravery, their strength
reviving and their courage rising, forced the enemy to retire
and at last the Greeks yielding on every side, the city was
taken. ^'
The results of the victory were decisive, if not lasting.
The old blind emperor, Isaac, was taken from his dungeon
— his usurping brother having fled — and replaced upon his
throne; and the young wanderer, Alexius, the favorite and
plaything of the crusading nobles, the fanciullo, as the
Venetians persist in calling him, was crowned in St. Sophia
as his father's coadjutor with great pomp and rejoicing.
But this moment of glory was shortlived. As soon as the
work was done, when there began to he talk of the payment,
and of all the wonderful things which had been promised,
these brilliant skies were clouded over. It appeared that
Alexius had neither authority to make such promises, nor
any power of fulfilling them. Not even the money could
be paid without provoking new rebellions ; and as for plac-
ing the Greek Church under the power of Rome, that was
more than any emperor could do. Nor was this all ; for it
DOORWAY, SAN MARCO.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE, 73
very soon appeared that the throne set up by foreign arms
was anything but secure. The Crusaders, who had in-
tended to push on at once to their destination, the Holy
Land, were again arrested, partly by a desire to secure the
recompense promised for their exertions, partly because
the young prince, whom his own countrymen disliked for
his close alliance with the strangers, implored them to re-
main till his throne should be more firmly established.
But that throne was not worth a year's purchase to its young
and unfortunate tenant. Notwithstanding the great camp
of the invaders at Galata, and the Venetian galleys in the
Bosphorous, another sudden revolution undid everything
that had been done. The first assault had been made in
June, 1203. So early as March of the next year, the barons
and the doge were taking grim counsel together as to what
was to be done with the spoil — such spoil as was not to be
found in any town in Europe — when they should have
seized the city, in which young Alexius lay murdered, and
his old father dead of misery and grief.
The second siege was longer and more difficult than the
first, for the new emperor, Marzoufle, he of the shaggy eye-
brows, was bolder and more determined than the former
usurper. But at last the unhappy city was taken, and
sacked with every circumstance of horror that belongs to
suchan event. The chivalrous Crusadai*s, the brave Vene
tians, the best men of their age, either did not think it
necessary, or were unable to restrain tlie lowest instincts of
an excited army. And what was terrible everywhere was
worse in Constantinople, the richest of all existing cities,
full of everything that was most exquisite in art and able in
invention. *'The Venetians only, who were of gentler
soul," says Komanin, '' took thought for the preser-
vation of those marvelous works of human genius,
trajisporting them afterward to Venice, as they did the
four famous horses which now stand on the fa9ade of the
great Basilica, along with many columns, jewels and pre-
cious stones, with which they decorated the Pala d'oro and
the treasury of San Marco." This proof of gentler soul
was equa^^y demonstrated by Napoleon when he carried off
74 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
those same bronze horses to Paris in the beginning of the
century, but it was not appreciated either by Italy or the
world. Altogetlier this chapter in the history of the Vene-
tian armaments, as in that of the Crusaders and western
Christendom in general, is a terrible and painful one.
The pilgrims had got into a false and miserable vortex, from
which they could not clear their feet. All that followed is
like some feverish and horrible dream, through which the
wild attempts to bring some kind of order, and to establish
a new rule, and to convince themselves that they were doing
right and not wrong, make the ruinous complications only
more apparent. During the whole period of their lingering,
of their besieging, of their elections of Latin emperors and
archbishops— futile and shortlived attempts to make some-
thing of their conquest — letters from Pope Innocent were
raining upon them, full of indignant remonstrances, ap-
peals, and reproaches; and little groups of knights were
wandering off toward their proper destination sick at
heart, while the rest appointed themselves lords and suzer-
ains, marshals and constables of a country which they
neither understood nor could rule.
In less than a year there followed the disastrous de-
feat of Adrianople, in which the ranks of the Crusaders
were broken, and the unfortunate newly-elected emperor,
Baldwin, disappeared, and was heard of no more. The old
doge, Erlrico Dandolo, died shortly after, having both in
success and defeat performed prodigies of valor, which his
great age (ninety-seven, according to the chroniclers) makes
almost incredible, and keeping to the last a keen eye upon
the interests of Venice, which alone were forwarded by all
that had happened. But he never saw Venice again. He
died in June, 1205 — two years after the first attack upon
Constantinople, three years after his departure from Ven-
ice — and was buried in St. KSophia. Notwithstanding the
royal honors that we are told attended his funeral, one
cannot but feel that the dim eyes of the old warrior must
have turned with longing to the rest that ought to have
been his in his own San Marco, and that there must have
echoed in his aged heart semething of a pang that went
THE MAKERS OF VENICE, 75
through that of a later pilgrim whose last fear it was that
he should lay his bones far from the Tweed.
We read with a keen perception of the rapidity with
which comedy dogs the steps of tragedy everywhere, that
one Marino Zeno, hastily appointed after Dandolo as the
head of the Venetians, assumed at once as marks of his
dignity **a rose-colored silk stocking on his right foot
and a white silk stocking on his left, along with the im-
perial boots and purse." This was one outcome of all the
blood and misery, the dethronements, the sack, the gen-
eral ruin. The doges of Venice added another to their
long list of titles — they were now lords of Croatia, Dal-
matia, and of the fourth part and the half of the Roman
(or Romanian) empire. Domimia quartm partis cum di-
midio tolius Iniperi Romaniw. And all the isles, those
dangerous, and vexatious little communities that had been
wont to harbor pirates and interrupt traders, fell really
or nominally into the hands of Venice. They were a
troublesome possession, constantly in rebellion, difficult
to secure, still more difficult to keep, as the Venetian con-
quests in Dalmatia had already proved : but they were no
less splendid possessions. Candia alone was a jewel for
any emperor. The republic could not hold these islands,
putting garrisons into them at her own expense and risk.
She took the wiser way of granting them to colonists on a
feudal tenure, so that any noble Venetian who had the
courage and the means might set himself up with a little
sea-borne principality in due subjection to his native state,
but with tlie privilege of hunting out its pirates and sub-
duing its rebellions for himself. '^To divide, " says Sabel-
lico, "the public forces of Venice into so many parts would
have been very unsafe. The best thing, therefore, seemed
that those who were rich should fit out, according to their
capabilities, one or more galleys, and other ships of the
kind required. And there being no doubt that many
would find it to their private advantage to do this, it followed
that the republic in time of need would secure the aid of
these armed vessels, and that each place acquired could
be defended by them with the aid of the state — a thing
% THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
wliich by itself the republic could not have accomplished
except with much expense and trouble. It was therefore
ordained that they (who undertook this), with their wives
and children and all they possessed, might settle in these
islands, and that as colonists sent by the city their safety
would be under the care and guarantee of tlie republic. "
Many private persons, he adds, armed for this under-
taking.
The rambling chronicle of Sanudo gives us here a roman-
tic story of the conquest of Candia by his own ancestor,
Marco Sanudo, who, according to this narrative, having
swept from the seas a certain corsair called Arrigo or En-
rico of Malta, became master of the island. The inhabi-
tants, as a matter of course, resisted and rebelled, but not
in the usual way. '' Accept the kingdom as our sovereign,^^
their envoys said, '^or in three hours you must leave Can-
dia." This flattering but embarrassing alternative con-
founded the Venetian leader. But he accepted the honor
thrust upon him, writing at once, however, to the doge, tell-
ing the choice that had been given him and how he had
accepted it from necessity and devotion to the republic, in
whose name he meant to hold the island. The Venetians
at once sent twelve ships of war, on pretense of congratu-
lating him, whom he received with a royal welcome; then
handing over his government to the commander of the
squadron, took to his ships and left the dangerous glory of
the insecure throne behind him. It is a pity that the docu-
ments do not bear out this pleasant story. But if a man's
own descendant does not know the rights of his ancestor's
actions, who should? Sanudo goes onto relate how, as a
reward for this magnanimous renunciation, his forefather
was allowed the command of the fleet for a year, and with
this scoured the sea and secured island after island, placing
his own kinsmen in possession; but at last, being outnum-
bered, was taken prisoner in a naval engagement by the
admirals of the emperor of Constantinople (which emperor
is not specified). ^'But,'^ says his descendant, *' when the
said emperor saw his valorosity and beauty, he set him free,
and gave him one of his sisters in marriage, from which
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 77
lady are descended almost all the members of the Ca'
Sanudo/' The historian allows with dignified candor
that this story is not mentioned by Marc Antonio Sabellico,
but it is to be found, he says, in the other chroniclei's. AVe
regret to add that the austere Romanin gives a quite dif-
ferent account of the exploits of Marco Saiiudo, the lord of
Naxos. It would have been pleasant to have associated so
magnanimous a seaman with the name of the chronicler of
the crusades, and the indefatigable diarist to whom later
Venetian history is so deeply indebted.
These splendid conquests brought enormous increase of
wealth, of trade, of care, and endless occupation to the
republic. Gained and lost, and regained and lost again,
fairly fought for, strenuously held, a source perhaps at all
times of more weakness than strength, they had all faded
out of the tiara of the republic long before she was herself
discrowned. But there still remains in Venice one striking
evidence of the splendid, disastrous expedition, the unex-
ampled conquests and victories, yet dismal end, of what is
called the Fourth Crusade. And that is the four great
bronze horses, curious, inappropriate, bizarre ornaments
that stand above the doorways of San Marco. This was the
blind doge's lasting piece of spoil.
The four doges of the Dandolo family who appear at in-
tervals in the list of princes of the republic are too far
apart to be followed here. Francesco Dandolo, 1328-1339,
the third of the name, was called Ca7ie, according to tradi-
tion, because when ambassador to Pope Clement V., this
noble Venetian, for the love of Venice, humbled himself,
and with a chain round his neck and on his knees, ap-
proached the pontiff, imploring that the interdict might be
raised, and Venice delivered from the pains of excommuni-
cation. If this had been to show that men of his race
thought nothing too much for the service of their city,
whether it were pride or humility, defiance or submission,
the circle which included blind Enrico and Francesco the
78
THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
doge, could scarcely be more complete. The last of the
Dandolo doge, was Andrea, 1342-1354, a man of letters as
well as of practical genius, and the historian of his prede-
cessors and of the city; whom at a later period aud.in gen-
tler company we shall find again.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 79
CHAPTER IV.
PIETRO GRADENIGO : CHANGE OF THE CONSTITUTIOlfl".
We HAVE endeavored up to this time to trace the develop-
ment of the Venetian government and territory, not con-
tinuously, but from point to point according to the great
conquests which increased the latter, and the growth of
system and political order in the former, which became
necessary as the community increased and the primitive
rule was outgrown. But at the end of the thirteenth cen-
tury a great revolution took place in the republic wliich had
risen to such prosperity, and had extended its enterprises
to every quarter of the known world. It was under the
Doge Gradenigo, a new type among the rulers of the state,
neither a soldier nor a conqueror, but a politician, that this
change took place — a change antagonistic to the entire
sentiment of the early Venetian institutions, but embody-
ing all with which the world is familiar in the later forms
of that great oligarchy, the proudest type of republic
known to history. The election of Pietro Gradenigo was
not a popular one. It is evident that a new feeling of
class antagonism had been gathering during the last reign,
that of Giovanni Dandolo; and that both sides were on the
alert to seize an advantage. Whether the proposals for
the limitation of the Consiglio Maggiore which were already
in the air, and the sensation of an approaching attack upon
their rights, were sufficiently clear to the populace to stimu-
late them to an attempt to repair the ancient privilege of
electing the doge by acclamation: or whether it was this at-
tempt which drove the other party to more determined
action, it is Impossible to judge. But at the death of
Gradenigo's predecessor there was a rush of the people to
80 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
the Piazza with '^ Vocie parole pungentissime'' in a wild
and sudden endeavor to push off the yoke of the regular
(and most elaborate) laws which had now been in operation
for many generations and to reclaim their ancient custom.
The crowd coming together from all quarters of the city
proclaimed the name of Jacopo Tiopolo, the son or nephew
of a former doge and a man of great popularity, while still
the solemn officers of state were bucy in arranging the obse-
quies of the dead doge and preparing the multitudinous
ballot-boxes for the election of his successor. Had Tiepolo
been a less excellent citizen, Komanin says, civil war would
almost certainly have been the issue, but he was '' a man
of prudence and singular goodness," a liuomo da bene, who
** despising the madness of the crowd" and to avoid the
discord which must have followed, left the town secretly,
in the midst of the tumult, and took refuge in his villa on
the Brenta, the favorite retreat of Venetian nobles. The
people were apparently not ripe for anything greater than
this sudden and easily baffled effort, and when their favor-
ite stole away, permitted the usual wire-pullers, the class
which had so long originated and regulated everything, to
proceed to the new electior in the usual way.
No more elaborate machinery than that employed in this
solemn transaction could be imagined. The almost ludi-
crous multiplicity of its appeals to Providence or fate, de-
veloped and increasing from age to age, the continually
repeated drawing of lots, and double and triple elections,
seem to evidence the most jealous determination to secure
impartiality and unbiased judgment. The order of the
proceedings is recorded at length by Martin da Canale in
his chronicle, which is of undoubted authority, and re-
peated by later writers. The six counselors (augmented from
the two of the early reigns) of the doge, according to this
historian, called a meeting of the Consiglio Maggiore, hav-
ing first provided a number of balls of wax, the same num-
ber as the members of the council, in thirty of which was
inclosed a little label of parchment inscribed with the word
Lector. The thirty who drew these balls were separated
from the assembly in another chamber of the palace, first
THE MAKERS OS VENICE. 81
being made to swear to perform their office justly and im-
partially. There were then produced thirty more waxen
balls, in nine of which was the same inscription. The
chosen, who were thus reduced to nine, the number of
completeness, varied the process by electing forty citizens,
whether members or not of the Consiglio Maggiore being
left to their discretion. Each of these, however, required
to secure the suffrages of seven electors. The reader will
hope that by this time at last he has come to the electors
of the doge ; but not so. The forty thus chosen were sent
for from their houses by the six original counselors who
had the management of the election ; and forty waxen pel-
lets with the mystic word Lector, this time inclosed in
twelve of them, were again provided. These were put
into a hat, and, apparently for the first time, a child of
eleven was called in to act as the instrument of fate. An-
other writer describes how one of the permanent counsel-
ors going out at this point, probably in the interval while
the forty new electors were being sent for from their houses,
lieard mass in San Marco, and taking hold of the first boy
he met on coming out, led him into the palace to draw the
balls. The twelve thus drawn were once more sworn, and
elected twenty-five, each of whom required eight votes to
make his election valid. Tiie twenty-five were reduced
once more by the operation of the ballot, to nine, who were
taken into another room and again sworn, after which they
elected forty-five, reduced by ballot to eleven, who finally
elected forty-one, who at the end of all things elected the
doge. The childish elaboration of this mode of procedure
is scarcely more strange than the absolute absence of nov-
elty in the result produced. No plebeian tribune ever stole
into power by these means, no new man mounted on the
shoulders of the people, or of some theorist or partisan, ever
surprised the reigning families with a new name. The
elections ran in the established lines without a break or
misadventure. If any popular interference disturbed the
serenity and self-importance of the endless series of elec-
tors it was only to turn the current in the direction of one
powerful race instead of another. Even the populace in
82 THE MAKimS OF VENICE.
the Piazza proclaimed no Lanifizio or Tintorio, wool-
worker or dyer, but a Tiepolo, when they attempted to
take the elections into their own hands. Neither from
without nor within was there a suggestion of any new
name.
The doge elected on this occasion was Pietro, called Per-
azzo (a corruption of the name not given in a compli-
mentary sense) Gradenigo, who was at the time governor
of^Oapo d^Istria, an ambitious man of strongly aristocratic
views and no favorite with the people. It can scarcely be
supposed that he was individually responsible for the
change worked by his agency in the constitution of the
Consiglio Maggiore. It was a period of constitutional
development when new officers, new agencies, an entire
civil service was coming into being, and the great council
had not only all the affairs of the state passing through its
hands, but a large amount of patronage increasing every
day. Although, as has been pointed out repeatedly, the
sovereignty of Venice, under whatever system carried on,
had always been in the hands of a certain number of fami-
lies, who kept their place with almost dynastic regularity,
undisturbed by any intruders from below — the system of
the Consiglio Maggiore was still professedly a representative
system of the widest kind ; and it would seem at the first
glance as if every honest man, all who were da bene and re-
spected by their fellows, must one time or other have been
secure of gaining admission to that popular parliament. Ro-
manin, strongly partisan, like all Venetians, of the institu-
tion under which Venice flourished, takes pains to point out
here and there one or two exceptional names which show that
at long intervals such elections did happen : but they were
very rare, and the exceptional persons thus elevated never
seem to have made themselves notable. However, as the
city grew and developed, it is evident that the families who
had always ruled over her began to feel that the danger of
having her courts invaded by the democracy was becoming
a real one. The mode of electing the great council was
very informal and variable, and it had recently fallen more
and more into the hands of the intriguers of the Broglio,
TUE MAKERS OF VENICE, 83
the lobbyists as tlie Amerieaus would say : which doubtles
gave a pretext for tlie radical change which was to alter its
character altogetlier. Sometimes its members were cliosen
by delegates from each sestiereovdhivxai of the city, some-
times, which was the original idea, by four individuals,
*' two from this side of the canal, two from that '," some-
times they were elected for six months, sometimes for a
year. The whole system was uncertain and wanted regu-
lation. But this curious combination of chances which
was something like putting into a lottery for their rulers,
pleased the imagination of the people in their primitive
state, and perhaps flattered the minds of the masses with a
continual possibility that upon some of their own order
the happy lot might fall. It had been proposed in the
previous reign not only that these irregularities should be
remedied, which was highly expedient, but also that a cer-
tain hereditary principle should be adopted, which was, in
theory, a new thing and strange to the constitution of
Venice : the suggestion being that those whose fathers had
sat in the council should have a right to election, though
without altogether excluding others whom the doge or his
counselors should consider worthy of being added to it.
When Gradenigo came to power ho was probably, like a
new prime minister, pledged to carry out this policy : and
within a few years of his accession tiu; experiment was
tried, but very cautiously, in a tentative way. Venice wasv
profoundly occupied at the time with one of her great wars
with her rival Genoa, a war in which she had much the
worst, though certain victories from time to time in east-
ern waters encouraged her to pursue the struggle ; and it
was under cover of this conflict which engaged men's
thoughts that the new experiment was made. Instead of
the ordinary periodical election of the council, nominally
open to all, the four chosen electors to whom this duty
ordinarily fell, nominated only — in the first place — such
members of the existing Consiglio Maggiore as had in their
own persons or in those of their fathers sat in the council
during the last four years, who were then re-elected by
ballot, taken for each man individually by the Forty, ^
84
THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
recently constituted body; to whom a further number of
names from outside were then proposed, and voted for in
the same way. Thus the majority of members elected was
not only confined to those possessing a hereditary claim,
but the election was taken out of the hands of the tradi-
tional electors, and transferred to those of the existing
rulers of the city. The new method was first tried for a
year, and then established as the fundamental law of the
republic, with the further exclusion of the one popular
and traditional element, the nominal four electors, whose
work was now transferred to the officials of the state. The
ARMS OP GRADENIGO.
change thus carried out was great in principle, though per-
haps not much different in practice from that which had
become the use and wont of the city. *^ The citizens,"
says Romanin, ^Mvere thus divided into three classes — 1st,
Those who neither in their own persons nor through their
ancestors had ever formed part of the great council ; 2nd,
Those whose progenitors had been members of it ; 3rd,
Those who were themselves members of the council, both
they and their fathers. The first were called New men,
and were never admitted save by special grace; the second
class were included from time to time ; finally, the third
were elected by full right."
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. - 85
This was the law which under the name of the Serrata
del Consiglio Maggiore caused two rebellions in Venice and
confirmed forever beyond dispute her oligarchical govern-
ment. Her parliament, so fondly supposed to be that of
tiie people, was no more closed to the New men than is
our House of Lords. Now and then an exceptional indi-
vidual might be nominated, and by means of great services,
wealth, or other superior qualities, obtain admission. It
wjis indeed the privilege and reward henceforward zealously
striven for by the plebeian class, and unfortunately more
often bestowed in recompense for the betrayal of political
secrets, and especially of popular conspiracies, than for
better reasons. But tlie right was with those whose fathers
had held the position before them, whose rank was already
secure and ascertained, the nobles and patrician classes.
The hereditary legislator thus arose in the bosom of the
state which considered itself the most free in Christendom,
in his most marked and distinct form. Komanin tells us
that the famous Libro d'Oro, the book of nobility, was
formed in order to keep clear the descent and legitimacy of
all claimants, bastards, and even the sons of a wife not
noble, being rigorously excluded. The law itself was
strengthened by successive additions so as to confine the
electors exclusively to the patrician class.
The war with Genoa was still filling all minds when this
silent revolution was accomplished. How could Venice
give her attention to what was going on in the gilded
chambers of the Palazzo, when day by day the city was
convulsed by bad news or deluded by faint gleams of better
hope ? Once and again the Venetian fleets were defeated,
and mournful galleys came drifting up, six or seven out of
a hundred, to tell the tale of destruction and humiliation :
and ever with renewed efforts, in a rage of despairing
energy, the workmen toiling in the arsenal, the boatmen
giving up their tranquil traffic upon the lagoons to man
the new-appointed ships, and every family great and small,
offering its dearest to sustain the honor of the republic,
the energies of the city were strained to the utmost. In
the autumn of 1298, just when the Serrata had been con-
86 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
firmed in the statute-book, the great fleet, commanded by
Admiral Andrea Dandolo, sailed from the port, with all
the aspect of a squadron invincible, to punish the Genoese
and end the war. In one of the ships was a certain Marco
Polo, from his home near San Giovanni Chrisostomo,
Marco of the millions, a great traveling merchant, whose
stories had been as fables in his countrymen's ears. This
great expedition did indeed for the time and the war ; but
not by victory. It was cruelly defeated on the Dalmatian
coasts after a stubborn and bloody struggle. The admiral
Andrea dashed his head against his mast and died rather than
be taken to Genoa in chains ; while the humbler sailor Marco
Polo with crowds of his countrymen was carried off to
prison there, to his advantage and ours, as it turned out.
But Venice was plunged into mourning and woe, her re-
sources exhausted, her captains lost. Genoa, who had
bought the victory dear, was in little less unhappy con-
dition ; and in the following year the rival republics were
glad to make peace under every pledge of mutual forbear-
ance and friendship for as long as it could last. It was only
after this conclusion of the more exciting interests abroad
that the Venetians at home, recovering tranquillity, began
to look within and see in the meantime what the unpopu-
lar doge and his myrmidons, while nobody had been look-
ing, had been engaged about.
It is difficult to tell what the mass of the people thought
of the new position of affairs : for all the chroniclers are
on the winning side, and even the careful Romanin has
little sympathy with the revolutionaries. The Venetian
populace had long been pleasantly deceived as to their own
power. They had been asked to approve what their mas-
ters had decided upon and made to believe it was their own
doing. They had given a picturesque and impressive back-
ground as of a unanimous people to the decisions of the
doge and his counselors, the sight of their immense as-
sembly making the noble French envoys weep like women.
But whether they had begun to see through those fine
pretenses of consulting them, and to perceive how little
they had really to do with it all, no one tells us. Their
THE MAKEllS OF VENICE. 87
attempt to elect their own doge witlioiit waiting for the
authorities, looks as if they had become suspicious of their
masters. And at the same time the arbitrary closing of
the avenues of power, to all men whose fortune was not
made or their position secure, and the establishment in the
council of that hereditary principle so strenuously opposed
in the election of the doges, were sufficiently distinct
changes to catch the popular eye and disturb the imagina-
tion. Accordingly when the smoke of war cleared olf and
the people came to consider internal politics, discontent and
excitement aiose. This found vent in a sudden and evi-
dently natural outburst of popular feeling. The leader of
the malcontents was *'a certain Marino whose surname was
Bocconio, '^ says Sabellico, "a man who was not noble, nor
of the baser sort, but of moderate fortune, bold and ready
for any evil," precisely of that class of new men to whom
political privileges are most dear, one on the verge of a
higher position, and doubtless hoping to push his way into
parliament and secure for his sons an entry into the class
of patricians. **He was much followed for his wealth,"
says another writer. Sanudo gives an account of Bocconio's
(or Bocco's) rebellion, which the too well informed Ro-
manin summarily dismisses as a fable, but which as an
expression of popular feeling, and the aspect which the
new state of affairs bore to the masses, has a certain value.
The matter-of-fact legend of shutting out and casting forth
embodies in the most forcible way the sense of an exclu-
sion which was more complete than could be effected by
the closing of any palace doors. Bocconio and his friends,
according to Sanudo, indignant and enraged to be shut out
from the council, crowded into the Piazza with many fol-
lowers, at the time when they supposed the elections to be
going on, and found the gates closed and the Gentilhuomiui
assembled within.
" Then beating at the door tbey called out that they desired to form
part of the Council, and would not be excluded : upon which the doge
sent messengers to tell them that the Council was not engaged upon
the election, but was discussing other business. As they continued,
however, to insist upon coming in, ihe doge seeing that he made no
88 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
advance, but that the tumult kept increasing in the piazza, deliber-
ated with the council how to entrap these seditions persons? to call
forth against them ultimum de potentia, the severest penalty of the
law. Accordingly he sent to tell them that they should be called in
separately in parties of five, and that those who succeeded in the bal-
lot should remain as members of the Council, on condition that those
who failed should disperse and go away. The first called were Mari-
no Bocco, Jacopo Boldo, and three others. The doors were then closed
and a good guard set, after which the five were stripped and thrown
into a pit, the Trabucco della Torsella, and so killed; and the others
being called in, in succession, and treated in the same way, the chief
men and ringleaders were thus disposed of to the number of a hun-
dred and fifty or sixty men. The crowd remaining in the piazza per-
suaded themselves that all those who were called in, of whom none
came back, had been made nobles of the Great Council. And when
it was late in the evening the members of the Council came down
armed into the piazza, and a proclamation was made by order of the
doge that all should return to their homes on pain of punishment;
hearing which the crowd, struck with terror, had the grace to disperse
in silence. Then the corpses of those who were dead were brought
out and laid in the piazza, with tbe command that if any one touched
them it should be at the risk of his head. And when it was seen that
no one was bold enough to approach, the rulers perceived that the
people were obedient. And some days after, as they could not toler-
ate the stench, the bodies were buried. And in this manner ended
that sedition, so that no one afterward ventured to open his mouth on
such matters."
This legend Saniido takes^ as he tells us, from the chroni-
cles of a certain Zaccariada Pozzo; and it does not interfere
with his faith in the narrative that he himself has recorded
on a previous page, the execution of Bocco and his fellow
conspirators '^between the columns'' in the usual way.
Perhaps he too felt that this wild yet matter-of-fact ver-
sion of the incident, the closed doors, and the mysterious
slaughter of the intruders in the hidden courts within, was
an effective and natural way of representing the action of
a constitutional change so important. The names of the
conspirators who died with Bocconio are almost all un-
known and obscure names, yet there was a sprinkling of
patricians, upholders of the popular party, such as are al-
ways to be found on similar occasions, and which reappear
in the more formidable insurrection that followed. For
the moment, however, the summary extinction of Boc
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 89
conio's ill-planned rebellion intimidated and silenced the
people, while, on the other side, it was made an occasion of
tightening the bonds of the /Serrrt/rt, and making the ad-
mission of tiie homo novns more difficult than ever.
This little rebellion, so soon brought to a conclusion,
took place in the spring of the year 1300, the year of the
jubilee, when all the world was crowding to Rome, and
Dante, standing on the bridge of St. Angelo, watching the
streams of the pilgrims coming and going, bethought him-
self, like a true penitent, of his own moral condition, and
in the musings of his supreme imagination found himself
astray in evil paths, and began to seek through hell and
heaven the verace via, the right way which he had lost.
This great scene of religious fervor, in which so many peni-
tents from all quarters of the world renewed the vows
of their youth and pledged over again their devotion to the
Church and the Faith, comes strangely into the midst of
the fierce strife between Guelf and Grhibelline, which then
rent asunder the troubled Continent, and especially Italy,
where every city took part in the struggle. Venice, in the
earlier ages as well as in later times when she maintained
her independence against papal interference, has usually
shown much indifference to the authority of the pope. But
in the beginning of the fourteenth century this was im-
possible, especially when the great republic of the sea med-
dled, as she had no right to do, with the internal policy of
that Terra Firma, the fat land of corn and vine, after
which she had always a longing. And there now fell up-
on her in the midst of all other contentions the most ter-
rible of all the catastrophes to which mediaeval states were
subject, the curse of Rome. It was, no doubt, rather with
that keen eye to her own advantage which never failed
her, than from any distinct bias toward the side of the
Ghibelline, that Venice had interposed in the question of
succession which agitated the city of Ferrara, and finally
made an attempt to establish her own authority in that dis-
tracted place. Indeed it seems little more than an acci-
dental appeal on the part of the other faction to the pro-
tection of the pope which brought upon her the terrible
% THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
punishment of the excommunication which Pope Clement
launched from Avignon, and which mined her trade, re-
duced her wealth, put all her wandering merchants and
sailors in danger of their lives, and almost threatened with
complete destruction the proud city which had held her
head so high. It would have been entirely contrary to the
habits of Venice, as of every other republican community,
not to have visited this great calamity more or less upon
the head of the state. And it gave occasion to the hostile
families who from the time of Gradenigo's accession had
been seeking an opportunity against him, the house of
Tiepolo and its allies, tlie Qnii-ini who had opposed the war
of Ferrara all through and had suffered severely in it, and
others, in one way or another adverse to the existing
government. The Tiepolo do not seem to have been gener-
ally of the mild and noble character of him who had re-
fused to be elected doge by the clamor of the Piazza.
They had formed all through a bitter opposition party to
the doge, who had displaced their kinsman. Perhaps
even Jacopo Tiepolo himself, wliile retiring from the strife
to save the peace of the republic, had a natural expectation
that the acclamation of the populace would be confirmed
by the votes of the electors. At all events his family had
throughout maintained a constitutional feud, keeping a keen
eye upon all proceedings of the government, and eager to
find a sufficient cause for interfei'ence more practical.
It would seem a proof that the popular mind had not
fully awakened to the consequences of the change of laws
at the moment of Bocconio's insurrection that the patri-
cian opposition did not seize tluit opportunity. The occa-
sion they sought came later, when the disastrous war and
the horrors of the Interdict, events more immediately per-
ceptible than any change of constitution, had excited all
minds and opened the eyes of the people to their internal
wrongs by the light of those tremendous misfortunes which
the ambition or the unskillfulness of their doge and his
advisers had brought upon them. The rebellious faction
took advantage of all possible means to fan the flame of
discontent, stimulating the stormy debates of the Consiglio
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 91
Maggiore, which was not more but less easy to manage
since it had been restricted to the gentry, while at the
earne time stirring up the people to a sense of the profound
injury of exchisioii from its ranks. The Quirini, the
Badoeri, and various otliers, connected by blood and friend-
ship with the Tiepoli, among whom were hosts of young
gallants always ready for a brawl, and ready to follow any
warlike lead, to quicken the action of their seniors, in-
creased the tension on all sides. How the excitement
grew in force and passion day by day — how one incident
after another raised the growing wrath, how scuffles arose
in the city and troubles multiplied, it is not difficult to
imagine. On one occasion a Dandolo took the wall of a
Tiepolo and a fight ensued ; on another, " the devil, who
desires the destruction of all governnjent," put it into the
head of Marco Morosini, one of the Signori di Notte (or
night magistrates), to inquire whether Pietro Quirini of
the elder branch (della Ca' Grande) was armed, and to
order him to be searched : on which Quirini, enraged,
tripped up the said Morosini with his foot, and all Rialto
was forthwith in an uproar. The houses of the chiefs of
the party, both Tiepoli and Quirini, were in the quarter of
the Rialto, and close to the bridge.
At length the gathering fire burst into flame. No doubt
driven beyond patience by some incident, trifling in itself,
Marco Quirini, one of the heads of his house, a man who
had siifTered much in the war with Ferrara, called his
friends and neighbors round him in his palace, and ad-
dressed tiie assembled party, attacking the doge as the
cause of all the troubles of the country, the chief instru-
ment in changing the constitution, in closing the Great
Council to the people, in carrying on the fatal war with
Ferrara, and bringing down upon the city the horrors of
the excommunication. To raise a party against the doge
for private reasons, however valid, would not be, he said,
the part of a good citizen. But how could they stand cold
spectators of the ruin of their beloved and injured country,
or shut their eyes to the fact that the evil passions of one
man were the chief cause of their misery, and that it was
92 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
he who had not only brought disaster from without, but
by the closing of the council, shut out from public affairs
so many of the worthiest citizens ? He was followed by a
younger and still more ardent speaker in the person of
Bajamonte Tiepolo, the son of Jacopo, with whose name
henceforward this historical incident is chiefly connected,
at that time one of the most prominent figures in Venice,
the Gra7i Cavaliero of the people, who loved him, and
among whom he had inherited his father's popularity.
'^ Let us leave words and take to action,'' he said, ''nor
pause till we have placed on the throne a good prince,
who will restore the ancient laws, and preserve and in-
crease the public freedom." The struggle was probaby in
its essence much more a family feud than a popular out-
break, but it is a sign of the excitement of the time that
the wrongs of the people were at every turn appealed to as
the one unquestionable argument.
Never had there been a more apt moment for a popular
rising. ''In the first place," says Caroldo, "the city was
very ill content with the illustrious Pietro Gradenigo, who
in the beginning of his reign had the boldness to reform the
Cousiglio Maggiore, admitting a larger numbsr of families
who were noble, and few of those who ought to have been
the principal and most respected of the city, taking from
the citizens and populace the ancient mode of admission
into the council : the root of this change being the hatred he
bore to the people, who, before his election, had proclaimed
Jacopo Tiepolo doge, and afterward had shown little satis-
faction with tlie choice made of himself. And not only
did he bear rancor against Jacopo Tiepolo, but against the
whole of his family."
Notwithstanding this rancor Jacopo Tiepolo himself, the
good citizen, was the only one who now raised his voice for
peace and endeavored to calm the excitement of his family
and their adherents. But the voice of reason was not lis-
tened to. On the night of tlie 14th of June, 1310, ten
years after Bocconio's brief and ill-fated struggle, the fires
of insurrection were again lighted up in Venice. The con-
spirators gathered during the night in the Quirini Palace,
THE MAKERS OP VENICE. 93
meeting under cover of the darkness in order to burst forth
with the early dawn, and with an impeto, a sudden rush
from the Rialto to the Piazza, to gain possession of the
center of the city and seize and kill the doge. The night,
however, was not one of those lovely nights of June which
make Venice a paradise. It was a fit night for such a
bloody and fatal undertaking as that on which these muf-
fled conspirators were bound. A great storm of thunder
and lightning, such as has nowhere more magnificent force
than on the lagoons, burst forth while their bands were
assembling, and torrents of rain poured from the gloomy
skies. It was in the midst of this tempest, which favored
while it cowed them, the peals of the thunder making their
cries of " Death to the doge " and *' Freedom to the peo-
ple " inaudible, and muffling the tramp of their feet, that
the insurrectionists set forth. One half of the little army,
under Marco Quirini, kept the nearer way along the canal
by bridge and fondamenta ; the other, led by Bajamonte
himself, threaded their course by the narrow streets of the
Merceria to the same central point. The sounds of the
march were lost in the commotion of nature, and the dawn
for which they waited was blurred in the stormy tumult of
the elements. The dark line of the rebels pushed on, how-
ever, spite of storm and rain, secure, it would seem, that
their secret had been kept and that their way was clear be-
fore them.
But in the meantime the doge^ who, whatever were his
faults, seems to have been a man of energy and spirit, had
heard, as the authorities always heard, of the intended
rising; and taking his measures as swiftly and silently as
if he had been the conspirator, called together all the
officers of state, with their retainers and servants, and
sending off messengers to Chioggia, Torcello, and Murano
for succor, ranged his little forces in the piazza
under the flashing of the lightning and the pouring of the
rain, and silently awaited the arrival of the rebels. A more
dramatic scene could not be conceived. The two lines of
armed men stumbling on in darkness, waiting for a flash
to show them the steps of a bridge or the sharp corner of a
94 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
narrow calle, pressed on in mntiial emulatioji, their hearts
hot for the attack, and all the points of the assault decided
upon. When lo! as the first detachment, that led by
Quirini, debauched into the great square, a sudden wild
flash, lighting up earth and heaven, showed them the
gleaming swords and dark files of the defenders of San
Marco awaiting their arrival. The surprise would seem to
have been complete: but it was not the doge who was sur-
prised. This unexpected revelation precipitated the fight
which very shortly, the leaders being killed in the first rush,
turned into a rout. Bajamonte appearing with his men
by the side of the Merceria made a better stand, but the
advantage remai' ed with the doge's party, who knew
what they had to expect, and had the superior confidence
of law and authority on their side.
By this time the noise of the human tumult surmounted
that of the skies, and the peaceful citizens who had slept
through the storm woke to the sound of the cries and
curses, the clash of swords and armor, and rushed to their
windows to see what the disturbance was. One woman,
looking out, in the mad passion of terror seized the first
thing that came to hand, a stone vase or mortar on her
window-sill, and flung it down at hazard into the midst of
the tumult. The trifling incident would seem to have been
the turning-point of the struggle. The heavy flower-pot
or mortar descended upon the head of the standard-bearer
who carried Bajamonte's flag with its inscription of Liberta
and struck him to the ground. When the rebels, in the
gray of the stormy dawn, saw their banner waver and fall
a panic seized them. They thought it was taken by the
enemy, and even the leader himself, the Grand Cavaliero,
turned with the panic stricken crowd and fled. Pursued
and flying, fighting, making here and there a stand, they
hurried through the tortuous ways to the Rialto, which,
being then no more than a bridge of wood, they cut down
behind them, taking refuge on the other side, where their
headquarters were, in the palace of the Quirini, the remains
of which, turned to ignoble use as a poulterer's shop, still
exist in the Beccaria. The other half of the insurrectionists,
POMTE DEL PARADISO.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 95
that which had been thrown into confusion and flight by
the death of its leader, Marco Quirini, met on its disastrous
backward course a band hastily collected by the head of the
Scuola della Crita, and increased by a number of painters
living about the center of their art — in the Campo San
Luca, where the rebels were cut to pieces.
Bajamonte and his men, however, arrived safely at
their stronghold, having on their way sacked and burned
the office of the customs on that side of the river, thus
covering their retreat with smoke and flame. Once there
they closed their gates, entrenching their broken strength
in the great medieval house which was of itself a fortress
and defensible place. And after all that had happened the
fate of Venice still hung in the bahmce, and such was the
gravity of the revolt that it still seemed possible for the
knot of desperate men entrenched on the other side of the
Rive Alto, the deep stream which sweeps profound and
strong round that curve of the bank, to gain, did Baaoer
come back in time with the aid he had been sent to seek in
Padua, the upper hand. Even when Badoer was cut off
by Giustinian and his men from Chioggia, the doge and
his party, though strong and confident, do not seem to
have ventured to attack the headquarters of the rebels.
On the contrary, envoys were sent to offer an amnesty, and
even pardon, should they submit. Three times these en-
voys were rowed across the canal, the ruined bridge lying
black before their eyes, fretting the glittering waves, which
no doubt by this time, leaped and dashed against the unac-
customed obstacle in all the brightness of June, the thun-
der-storm over, though not the greater tempest of human
passion. From the other bank, over the charred ruins of
the houses they had destroyed, the rebel Venetians, looking
out in their rage, disappointment and despair, to see em-
bassy after embassy conducted to the edge of the ferry,
must have felt still a certain fierce satisfaction in their im-
portance, and in the alarm to which these successive mes-
sengers testified. At last, however, there came alone a
venerable counselor, Filippo Belegno, "moved by love of
his country " to attempt once more the impossible task of
96 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
moving these obstinate and desperate men. No doubt he put
before them the agitated state of the city, the strange sight it
was with the ruins still smoking, the streets still full of the
wounded and dying ; torn in two, the peaceful bridge ly-
ing a great wreck in mid-stream. ''And such was his
venerable aspect and the force of his eloquence " that he
won the rebels at last to submission. Bajamonte and his
immediate followers were banished for life from Venice
and its vicinity to the distant lands of Slavonia beyond
Zara ; others less prominent were allowed to hope that in
a few years they might be recalled ; and the least guilty,
on making compensation for what they had helped to de-
stroy, were pardoned. Thus ended the most serious revolt
that had ever happened in Venice. One cannot help feel-
ing that it was hard upon Badoer and several others who
were taken fighting to be beheaded, while Bajamonte was
thus able to make terms for himself and escape, with his
head at least.
The lives thus spared, however, were but little to be en-
vied. The banishment to the East was a penalty which
the republic could not enforce. She could put the rebels
forth from her territory, but even her power was unable in
those wild days to secure a certain place of banishment for
the exiles. Those who are familiar with the life of Dante
will remember what was the existence of ?^ fuor-uscito
banished from the beloved walls of Florence. Bajamonte
Tiepolo was a personage of greater social importance than
Dante, with friends and allies no doubt in all the neighbor-
ing cities, as it was natural a man should have who be-
longed to one of the greatest Venetian families. The
records of the state are full of signs and tokens of his
passage through the Italian mainland, and his long wan-
derings afterward on the Dalmatian coasts. He was
scarcely well got rid of out of Venice before the doge is
visible in the records making a great speech in the council,
in which he gives a lively picture of the state of affairs and
of the contumacy of Bajamonte and his companions, their
visits to Padua and Rovigo, their pai'leys with the turbu-
lent spirits of the Marshes, and even of Lombardy — their
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 97
perpetual attempts to raise again tlie standard of revolt
in Venice. It may be supposed even that the doge died of
this revolt and its consequences, in the passion and endless
harassment consequent upon the constant macliinations of
his opponent, wlioni indeed he had got the better of, but
who wouki not yield.
Romance has scarcely taken hold, except in obscure at-
tempts, upon the juxtaposition of these two men: but
nothing seems more likely than that some profounder per-
sonal tragedy lay at the bottom of this historical episode.
At all events the characters of the two opponents, the doge
and the rebel, are strongly contrasted, and fit for all the
uses of tragedy. Had Venice possessed a Dante, or had
Bajamonte been gifted with a poet's utterance, who can tell
in what dark cave of the Inferno the reader of those distant
ages might not have found the dark unfriendly doge, sternly
determined to carry through his plans, to shut out con-
temptuously from his patrician circle every low-born as-
pirant, and to betray the beloved city, whose boast had
always been of freedom, into the tremendous fetters of a
system more terrible than any despotism ? Gradenigo, so
far as he can be identified personally, would seem to have
been an excellent type of the haughty aristocrat, scornful
of the new men who formed the rising tide of Venetian
life, and determined to keep in the place in which they
were born the inferior populace. He had been employed
in distant dependencies of the republic where a state of re-
volt was chronic, and where the most heroic measures were
necessary: and it was clear to him that there must be no
hesitation, no trifling with the forces below. When he be-
came doge, Venice was still to some extent governed by her
old traditions, and it was yet possible that the democracy
might have largely invaded her sacred ranks of patrician
power. She was ruled by an intricate and shifting magis-
tracy of councils, sages, pregadi (the simplest primitive
title, men ** prayed" to come and help the doge with their
advice), among whom it is difficult to tell which was which
or how many there were, or how long any one man held his
share of power. But when Perazzo, proud Peter, the man
98 TEE MAKERS OF VENICE.
whom the commons did not love, of whom no doubt they
had many a story to tell, ended his reign in Venice, the
Great Council had become hereditary, the old possibilities
were all ended, and the Council of Ten sat supreme — an
institution altogether new, and as terrible as unknown — a
sort of shifting but permanent Council of Public Safety en-
dowed with supreme and irresponsible power. A greater
political revolution could not be. The armed revolution-
aries who carried sword and flame throughout the city
could not, had they been successful in their conjectured
purpose of making Bajamonte lord of Venice, have ac-
complished a greater change in the state than was done
silently by this determined man.
That he was determined and prompt and bold is evident
from all his acts. The rapidity and silence of his prep-
arations to rout the insurgents; the trap in which he
caught them when, marching under cover of the thunder
to surprise him in his palace, they were themselves surprised
in the Piazza by a little army more strong because fore-
warned than their own; the brave face he showed at another
period, even in front of the pope's excommunication, pro-
claiming loudly to his distant envoys, ^'We are determined
to do all that is in us, manfully and promptly, to preserve
our rights and our honor;" the boldness of his tremendous
innovations upon the very fabric of the state; and that
final test of success which forcible character and determi-
nation are more apt than justice or mercy to win — leave no
doubt as to his intrinsic qualities. He was successful, and
his rival was unfortunate: he was hated, and the other was
beloved. Neither of these two figures stand prominent in
picturesque personal detail out of the pages of history.
We see them only by their acts, and only in so far as those
acts affected the great all-absorbing story of their city. But
the influence of Perazzo upon that history is perhaps more
remarkable than that of any other individual so far as law
and sovei^ignty is concerned.
The rebel leader was a very different man. The noble
youth whom Venice called the Gran Cavaliero — the young
cavalier, as one might say, like our own Prince Charlie —
THE MAKERS OF VENICE, 9&
fiery and swift, bidding his kinsman not talk but act — the
hope of the elder men, put forth by Marco Quirini as most
worthy of all to be heard when the malcontents first gath-
ered in the palace near the Rialto, and ventured to tell
each other what was in their hearts — could have been no
common gallant, and yet would seem to have had the faults
and weaknesses as well as the noble qualities of the careless,
foolhardy cavalier. No doubt he held his life as lightly as
any knight-errant of the time : yet when his kinsman fell
in the narrow entrance of the Merceria in the wild dawn-
ing when foes and friends were scarcely to be distinguished,
Bajamonte, too, was carried away by the quick imaginary
panic and retreated, dragged along in the flight of his dis-
couraged followers. He had not that proof of earnestness
which success gives, and he had the ill-fortune to escape
when other men perished. The narrative which Romanin
has collected out of the unpublished records of his after-
life, presents a picture of restless exile, never satisfied, full
of conspiracies, hopeless plots, everlasting spyings and
treacheries which make the heart sick. We can only
remember that Bajamonte was no worse in this respect
than his great contemporary, Dante. And perhaps the
two exiles may have met, if not on those stairs which the
poet found so hard to climb, yet somewhere in the wild
roaming which occupied both their lives, full of a hundred
fruitless schemes to get back, this to Florence, that to
Venice. Romanin, ever severe to the rebel, argues that all
circumstances and all documents prove the hero of the
Venetian tragedy to have been *'a man of excessive ambi-
tion, a subverter of law and order; in fact, a traitor'' —
most terrible of all reproaches. But as a matter of fact it
was not he but his adversary who subverted the civil order
of tlie republic, and whether the young Tiepolo had a true
sense of patriotism at his heart, and of patriotic indigna-
tion against these innovations, or was merely one of the
many ambitious adventurers of the day struck with the
idea of making himself lord of Venice as the Scaligeri were
lords in Padua on no better title — there seems no evidence,
and probaby never will be any evidence, to show.
100 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
When Bajamonte left Venice he proceeded anywhere but
to the distant countries to which he was nominally ban-
ished. Evidently all that was done in the way of carrying
out such a sentence was to drive the banished men out of
the confines of the republic, leaving them free to obey the
further orders of the authorities if they chose. In this
case the exiles lingered about secretly for some time in
neighboring cities, watched by spies who reported all their
actions, and especially those of Bajamonte, to the doge.
When at last he did proceed to Dalmatia, he became, ac-
cording to Eomanin, a center of conspiracy and treason,
and at the bottom of the endless rebellions of Zara, which,
however, had rebelled on every possible occasion long be-
fore Bajamonte was born. It is curious to find that all the
chroniclers, and even a writer so recent and so enlightened
as Romanin, should remain pitiless toward all rebels
against the authority of the republic. The picture this
historian gives of Bujamonte's obscure and troubled career,
pursued from one city to another by the spies and letters
of the signoria warning all and sundry to have nothing to
do with the rebel, and making his attempts to re-enter life
impossible, is a very sad one ; but no pity for the exile ever
moves the mind of the narrator. For with the Venetian
historian, as with all other members of this wonderful com-
monwealth, Venice is everything, and the individual noth-
ing : nor are any man's wrongs or suffering of any impor-
tance in comparison with the peace and prosperity of the
adored city.
The traces of this insurrection, have in the long progress
of years almost entirely disappeared, though at the time
many commemorative monuments bore witness to the
greatest popular convulsion which ever moved Venice.
The Tiepolo palace, inhabited by Bajamonte, was razed to
the ground, and a pillar, una colonna d'infamia, was placea
on the spot with the following inscription. ;
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 101
•* Di Baiainonte fo questo terreno,
E mo* per lo so Iniquo tradimento
S'e posto in Chomun per I'altrui spavento
E per inostrar a tutti seinpre seno."
"This was the dwelling of Bajamonte: for his wicked
treason this stone is set up, tiiat others may fear and that
it may be a sign to all." The column was broken, Tassini
tells us in his curious and valuable work upon the
Streets of Venice, soon after it was set up, by one of the
followers of Tiepolo who had shared in the amuesty, but
whose fidelity to his ancient chief was still too warm to
endure this public mark of infamy. It was then removed
to the close neighborhood of the parish church of S.
Agostino, probably for greater safety; afterward it was
transferred, no longer as a mark of shame but as a mere anti-
quity, from one patrician's garden to another, till it was
finally lost. In later times, when the question was se-
riously discussed whether Bajamonte was not a patriot
leader rather than a tiaitor, proposals were made to raise
again the column of shame as a testimony of glory mis-
understood. But the convictions of the rehabilitators of
the Gran Cavaliero have not been strong enough to come to
any practical issue, all that remains of him is (or was) a
white stone let into the pavement behind the now sup-
pressed church of S. Agostino with the inscription — *'Col:
Bai: The: MCCCX.," marking the site of his house: but
whether a relic of his own age or the work of some more
recent sympathizer we are not told. On the other side of
the canal in the campoof San Luca stood till very recent
times a flagstatf ornamented on gala days with the standard
of the Scuola of the Carita in remembrance of their victory
over one party af the insurrectionists; and in the Merceria
not far from the piazza, there still exists, or lately existed
a shop witli the sign ''Delia grazia del morter" being the
same out of which Giustina Rossi threw forth the flower-
pot, to the destruction of the failing cause.
" <^uel MO del secondo verso,'' says Tassini, "«pt>5rrt«i per OR A, le quel
Sbno deW ultimo per Sieno, sotC iatendenovi, queste parole."
102 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
Another singular sign of disgrace and punishment was
the condemnation of the families of Quirini and Tiepolo
to a change of amorial bearings. Had they been compelled,
to wear their arms reversed or to bear any other under-
stood lieraldic symbol of shame this would have been
comprehensible: but all that seems to have been demanded
of them was a change of their bearings, not any igno-
minious sign. The authorities went so far as to change
the arms upon the shields of the two defunct Tiepoli doges,
a most senseless piece of vengeance, since it obliterated the
shame which it was intended to enhance. The palaces still
standing along the course of the Grand Canal which carry
rising from their roofs the two obelisks, erected upon all
the houses of the Tiepoli for some reason unknown to us,
prove that in latter days the race was little injured or
diminished by its disgrace and punishment.
A much greater memorial of this foiled rebellion however
still remains to be noticed. This was the institution of the
far-famed Council of Ten, the great tribunal which hence-
forward reigned over the republic with a sway which was in
sober reality tremendous and appalling, but which is still
further enhanced by the mystery in which all its proceed-
ings were wrapped, and the impression made upon an im-
aginative people by the shadow of this great secret, voice-
less tribunal, every man of which was sworn to silence,
and before which any Venetian at any moment might find
himself arraigned. It was professedly to guard against
such a danger as that which the republic had just escaped
that this new tribunal was instituted, *' Because of the new
thing which had happened, and to guard against any repe-
tition of it." Among the many magistratures of the city
this was the greatest, most fatal, and. important : it held
the keys of life and death : it was responsible to no supe-
rior authority, permitted no appeal, and was beyond the
reach of public opinion or criticism, its decisions as
unquestionable as they were secret. The system of de-
nunciation, the secret documents dropped into the Bocca
di Leone, the mysterious processes by which a man might
be condemned before he knew that he had been accused.
TBE MAKERS OF VKNtCJi!, lOS
have perhaps been exaggerated, and Romanin does his
utmost to prove that the dreaded council was neither so
formidable nor so mysterious as romance has made it out
to be. But his arguments are but poor in comparison with
the evident dangers of an institution, whose proceedings
were wrapped in secrecy and which was accountable neither
to public opinion nor to any higher tribunal. Political
offenses in our own day are judged more leniently than
crime : in those times they were of deeper dye than any-
thing that originated in private rage or covetousness. And
amid the family jealousies of that limited society the op-
portunity thus given of cutting off an enemy, undermining
the reputation of any offender, or spoiling the career of a
too prosperous rival, was too tremendous a temptation for
human nature to resist. This formidable court was, in
conformity with the usual Venetian custom, appointed first
for a year only, as an experiment, and with the special
purpose of forestalling further rebellion by the most sus-
picious and inquisitive vigilance : but once established it
was too mighty a power to be abandoned and soon became
an established institution.
Thus the two rebellions did nothing but rivet the chains
which had been woven about the limbs of the republic.
And though there still remained the boast of freedom, and
the City of the Sea always continued to vaunt her repub-
lican severity and strength, Venice now settled into the tre-
mendous framework of a system which had no room for
the plebeian or the poor, more rigid than any individual
despotism, in which there are always chances for the new
man, more autocratic and irresponsible than the govern-
ment of any absolute monarch. The Council of Ten com-
pleted the bonds which the serrata of the council had
made. The greatest splendors, if not the greatest triumphs
of the state were yet to come, but all the possibilities of
political freedom and expansion were finally destroyed.
The circumstances which surrounded this new institu-
tion were skillfully, almost theatrically disposed to in-
crease the terror with which it was soon regarded. The
vow of secrecy exacted from each member and from all who
104 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
appeared before tliem, the lion's mouth ever open for de-
nunciations — which however well-founded may be Roma-
nin's assertion that those which were anonymous were
rarely acted upon, yet bore an impression of the possibility
of a dastardly and secret blow, which nothing can wipe
out — the mysterious manner in which a man accused was
brought before that tribunal in the dark, to answer to judges
only partially seen, with the consciousness of the torture-
room and all its horrors near, if his startled wits should
fail him — all were calculated to make the name of the Ten
a name of fear. Notliing could be more grim tlian the
smile of that doge who leaving the council chamber in the
early sunshine after a prolonged meeting answered the un-
suspicious good-morrow of the great soldier whom he had
been condemning, with the words, ** There has been much
talk of you in the council." Horrible greeting, which
meant so much more than met the ear !
The Doge Gradenigo died little more than a year after
the confusion and discomfiture of his adversaries. He was
conveyed, without funeral honors or any of the respect
usually shown to the dead, to S. Ciprianoin Murano, where
he was buried. '^ The usual funeral of princes was not
given to him," says Caroldo, '^ perhaps because he was still
under the papal excommunication, perhaps because, hated
as he was by the people in his lifetime, it was feared that
some riot would rise around him in his death." He who
had carried out the serrata, and established the Council of
Ten, and triumphed over all his personal opponents, had
to skulk over the lagoon, privately, against all precedent
to his grave, leaving the state iji unparalleled trouble and
dismay. But he had crushed the rebel, whether patriot or
conspirator, and revolutionized Venice, which was work
enough and success enough for one man. He died in
August, 1311, a year and some months after the banish-
ment of Bajamonteand the end of his rebellion.
THE MAKERh OF VENICE. 105
CHAPTER V.
THE DOGES DISGRACED.
The history of the two princes to whom Venice has
given a histing place in the annals of the unfortunate,
those records wliich hold a surer spell over the heart than
any of the more triumphant chronicles of fame, are of less
material import to her own great story tlian those chapters
of self developement and self-construction which we have
surveyed. But picturesque in all things and with a dra-
matic instinct winch rarely fails to her race, the republic
even in the height of her vengeance, and by means of the
deprivation which has banished his image from among
those of her rulers, has made the name of the be-
headed doge, Marino Faliero, one of the best known in all
her records. We pass the row of pictured faces, many of
them representing her greatest sons, till we come to the
place where this old man is not, his absence being doubly
suggestive and carrying a human interest beyond tliat of
all fulfilled and perfect records. Nor is it without signifi-
cance in the history of the state, that after having finally
suppressed and excluded the popular element from all
voice in its councils, the great oligarchy which had achieved
its proud position by means of doge and people, should
have applied itself to the less dangerous task of making a
puppet of its nominal prince, converting him into a mere
functionary and ornamental head of the state. Such words
have been applied often enough to the constitutional monarch
of our own highly refined and balanced system, and it is usual
to applaud the strict and honorable self-restraint of our Eng-
lish sovereign as the brightest of royal qualities: but these
were strange to the mediaeval imagination, which had little
106 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
understanding of a prince who was no ruler. Whether it
was in accordance with some tremendous principle of action
secretly conceived in the minds of the men who had by a
series of skillful and cautious movements made the parlia-
ment of Venice into an assembly of patricians, and then
neutralize that assembly by the still more startling power
of the Council of Ten — that this work was accomplished,
it is impossible to tell. It is difficult indeed to imagine
that such a plan could be carried from generation to gener-
ation though it might well be conceived, like Stafford's
'^Thorough," in the subtle intellect of some one far-seeing
legislator. Probably the Venetian statesmen were but fol-
lowing the current of a tendency such as serves all the pur-
pose of a foregone determination in many conjunctures of
human affairs — a tendency which one after another leader
caught or was caught by, and which swept toward its log-
ical conclusion innumerable kindred minds with something
of the tragic cumulative force of those agencies of nature
against which man can do so little. It was however a nat-
ural balance to the defeat of the people that the doge also
should be defeated and bound. And from the earliest days
of recognized statesmanship this had been the subject of
continual effort, taking first the form of a jealous terror of
dynastic succession, and gradually growing, through oaths
more binding and promissioyii more detailed and stringent
until at length the doge found himself less than the master,
a little more than the slave, of those fluctuating yet con-
sistent possessors of the actual power of the state, who had
by degrees gathered the entire government into their
hands.
Marino Faliero had been an active servant of Venice
through a long life. He had filled almost all the great
offices which were entrusted to her nobles. He had gov-
erned her distant colonies, accompanied her armies in that
position of proveditore, omnipotent civilian critic of all the
movements of war, which so much disgusted the generals
of the republic. He had been ambassador at the courts of
both emperor and pope, and was serving his country in
that capacity at Avignon when the news of his election
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 10?
reached him. It is thus evident that Faliero was not a
man used to the position of a lay figure, although at seventy-
six the dignified retirement of a throne, even when so en-
circled with restrictions, would seem not inappropriate.
That he was of a haughty and hasty temper seems apparent.
It is told of him that after waiting long for a bisliop to
head a procession at Treviso where he was podesta, he as-
tonished the tardy prelate by a box on the ear when he
finally appeared, a punishment for keeping the authorities
waiting which the churchman would little expect.
Old age to a statesman however is in many cases an
advantage rather than a defect, and Faliero was young in
vigor and character, and still full of life and strength.
He was married a second time to presumably a beautiful
wife much younger than himself, though the chroniclers
are not agreed even on the subject of her name, whether
she was a Gradenigo or a Contarini. Tlie well-known
story of young Steno's insult to this lady and to her old
husband has found a place in all subsequent histories — but
there is no trace of it in the unpublished documents of the
state. The story goes, that Michel Steno, one of those
young and insubordinate gallants who are a danger to every
aristocratic state, having been turned out of the presence
of the dogaressa for some unseemly freedom of behavior
wrote upon the chair of the doge in boyish petulance an
insulting taunt, such as might well rouse a high-tempered
old man to fury. According to Sanudo, the young man on
being brought before the Forty, confessed that lie had thus
avenged himself in a fit of passion; and regard having been
had to his age and the *'heat of love" which had been
the cause of his original misdemeanor (a reason seldom
taken into account by the tribunals of the state) he was
condemmed to prison for two months, and afterward to be
banished for a year from Venice. The doge took this light
punishment greatly amiss, considering it indeed asa further
insult. Sabellico says not a word of Michel Steno, or of
this definite cause of offense, and Romanin quotes the con-
temporary records to show that though ^'Alcunizovannelli,
fioli de gentiluomini di Venetia" are supposed to have af-
108 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
fronted the doge, no such story finds a place in any of
them. Bat the old man thus translated from active life
and power, soon became bitterly sensible in his new position
that he was senza parentado, with few relations, and
flouted by the giovitiastri, the dissolute young gentlemen
who swaggered about the Broglio in their finery, strong in
their support of fathers and uncles among the Forty or the
Ten. That he found himself at the same time shelved in
his new rank, powerless, and regarded as a nobody in the
state where hitherto he had been a potent signior — mastered
in every action by the Secret Tribunal, and presiding nomi-
nally in councils where his opinion was of little consequence
— is evident. And a man so well acquainted and so long,
with all the proceedings of the state who had been entering
middle age in the days of Bajamonte, who had seen con-
summated the shutting out of the people, and since had
watched through election after election a gradual tighten-
ing of the bonds round the feet of the doge, would natur-
ally have many thoughts when he found himself the wearer
of that restricted and diminished crown. He could not be
unconscious of how the stream was going, nor unaware of
that gradual sapping of privilege and decreasing of power
which even in his own case had gone further than with his
predecessor. Perhaps he had noted with an indignant
mind the new limits of the promissione, a narrower charter
than ever, when he was called upon to sign it. He had no
mind, we may well believe, to retire thus from the ad-
ministration of afl'airs. And when these giovinastri, other
people's boys, the scum of the gay world, flung theii un-
savory jests in the face of the old man, who had no son to
come after him, the silly insults so lightly uttered, so little
thought of, the natural scoff of youth at old age, stung
him to the quick.
And it so happened that various complaints were at this
moment presented to the doge in which his own cause of of-
fense was repeated. A certain Barbaro, one of the reign-
ing class, asking something at the arsenal of an old sailor,
an admiral higli in rank and in the love of the people, but
not a patrician, who was not of his opinion, struck the
THE MAKERS OP VENICE. 109
officer on the cheek, and wounded him with a great ring he
wore. A siiiiihir incident occurred between a Dandolo and
another sea captain, Bertuccio Isarello; and in both cases
the injured men, old comrades very probably of Faliero,
men whom he had seen representing the republic on stormy
seas or boarding the Genoese galleys, carried their com-
plaints to the doge. **Such evil beasts should be bound,
and when they cannot be bound they are killed!" cried
one of the irritated seamen. Such words were not un-
known to the Venetian echoes. Not long before, a wealthy
citizen, who in his youth had been of Bajamonte's insur-
rection, had breathed a similar sentiment in the ears of
another rich plebeian, after both had expressed theirindig-
nation that the consiglio was shut against them. The
second man in this case betrayed the first; and got the much
coveted admission in consequence: he and his, while his
friend made that fatal journey to the Piazzetta between the
columns, from which no man ever came back.
Old Faliero s heart burned within himat his own injuries
and those of his old comrades. How he was induced to
head the conspiracy, and put his crown, his life, and honor
on the cast, there is no further information. His fierce
temper, and the fact that he had no powerful house behind
him to help to support his case, probably made him reck-
less. It was in the April of 1355, only six months, after
his arrival in Venice as doge, that the smoldering fire
broke out. As happened always, two of the conspirators
were seized witli a compunction on the eve of the catas-
trophe and betrayed the plot — one with a merciful motive to
serve a patrician beloved, the other with perhaps less noble
intentions; and without a blow struck the conspiracy col-
lapsed. There was no real heart in it, nothing to give it
consistence: the hot passion of a few men insulted, the
variable gaseous excitement of those wronged commoners
who were not strong enough or strenuous enough to make
the cause triumph under Bajamonte; and the ambition, if
it wasambitiom, of one enraged and affronted old man,
without an heir to follow him or anything that could make
it worth his while to conquer.
110 THE MAKEIIS OF VENICE.
Did Faliero ever expect to conquc^r, one wonders, when
he embarked at seventy-seven on such an enterprise ? And
if he had, what good could it have done him save vengeance
upon his enemies ? An enterprise more wild was never
undertaken. It was the passionate stand of despair against
a force so overwhelming as to make mad the helpless yet
not submissive victims. The doge, who no doubt in former
days had felt it to be a mere affair of the populace, a thing
with which a noble ambassador and proveditore had nothing
to do, a struggle beneath his notice, found himself at last,
with fury and amazement, to be a fellow-sufferer caught
in the same toils. There seems no rejison to believe that
Faliero consciously staked the remnant of his life on the
forlorn hope of overcoming that awful and pitiless power,
with any real hope of establishing his own supremacy. His
aspect is rather that of a man betrayed by passion, and
wildly forgetful of all possibility in his fierce attempt to
free himself and get the upper hand. One cannot but feel,
in that passion of helpless age and unfriendedness, some-
tliing of the terrible disappointment of one to whom the
real situation of affairs had never been revealed before;
who had come home triumphant to reign like the doges of
old, and only after the ducal cap w'as on his head and the
palace of the state had become his home, found out that
the doge, like the unconsidered plebeian, had been reduced
to bondage, his judgements and experience put aside in
favor of the deliberations of a secret tribunal, and the very
boys, when they were nobles, at liberty to jeer at his
declining years.
The lesser conspirators, all men of the humbler sort—
Calendario, the architect, who was then at work upon the
palace, a number of seamen, and other little-known persons
— were hung, not like greater*criminals, beheaded between
the columns but strung up, a horrible fringe along the side
of the palazzo, beginning at the two red pillars now forming
part of the loggia, then apparently surporting the arches
over a window from which the doge was accustomed to be-
hold the performances in the Piazza. The fate of Faliero
himself is too generally known to demand description.
NK4R THE SAJITI APOBTOU.
To f (tee page no.
THE MAKEllS OF VKNIGK. Ul
Calmed by the tragic touch of fate, the doge bore all the
humilations of his doom with dignity, and was beheaded
at the head of tlie stairs where he had sworn i\\Q promissione
on first assuming tlie office of doge. (Not however, it need
hardly be said, at the head of the Giants' Staircase, wliich
was not then in being.) What a contrast from that trium-
phant day wlien probably be felt that his reward liad come
to him after the long and faithful service of years !
Death stills disappointment as well as rage : and Faliero
is said to have acknowledged the justice of his sentence.
He had never made any attempt to justifiy or defend
himself, but frankly and at once avowed his guilt, and
made no attempt to escape from its penalties.
His body was conveyed privately to the church of SS.
Giovanni and Paolo, tlie great *'Zanipolo" with which all
visitors to Venice are so familar, and was buried in secrecy
and silence in the atrio of a little chapel behind the great
church ; where no doubt for centuries the pavement was
worn by many feet with little thought of who lay below.
Even frorn that refuge in the course of these centuries his
bones have been driven forth ; but his name remains in
that corner of the hall of the Great Council which every
body has seen or heard of, and where, with a certain
dramatic affectation, the painter-historians have painted a
black veil across the vacant place. "This is the place of
Marino Faliero, beheaded for his crimes/' is all the record
left of the doge disgraced.
Was it a crime ? The question is one which it is diffi-
cult to discuss with any certainty. That Faliero desired
to establish, as so many had done in other cities, an inde-
pendent despotism in Venice, seems entirely unproved. It
was the prevailing fear, the one suggestion which alarmed
everybody, and made sentiment unanimous. But one of
the special points which are recorded by the chroniclers as
working in him to madness, was that he was senzaparentado,
without any backing of relationship or allies — sonless, with
no one to come after him. How little likely, then, was
an old man to embark on such a desperate venture for self-
aggrandizement merely ! He had, indeed, a nephew who
1 12 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
was involved in his fate, but apparently not so deeply as
to expose him to the last penalty of the law. The inci-
dent altogether points more to a sudden outbreak of the
rage and disappointment of an old public servant coming
back from his weary labors for the state, in triumph and
satisfaction to what seemed the supreme reward : and find-
ing himself no more than a puppet in the hands of remorse-
less masters, subject to the scoffs of the younger generation
— supreme in no sense of the word, and with his eyes opened
by his own suffering, perceiving for the first time what
justice there was in the oft-repeated protest of the people,
and how they and he alike were crushed under the iron
heel of that oligarchy to which tlie power of the people and
that of the prince was equally obnoxious. Tiie chroniclers
of his time were so much at a loss to find any reason for
such an attempt on the part of a man non abbirando alcum
propinquo tliat they agree in attributing it to diabolical in-
spiration. It was more probably that fury which springs
from a sense of wrong, which the sight of the wrongs of
others raised to frenzy, and that intolerable impatience of
the impotent which is more rash in its hopelessness than
the greatest hardihood. He could not but die for it ; but
there seems no more reason to characterize this impossible
attempt as deliberate treason than to give the same name
to many an alliance formed between prince and people in
other regions — the king and commons of our early Stuarts
for one — against the intolerable exactions and cruelty of an
aristocracy, too powerful to be faced by either alone.
Francesco Foscari was a more innocent sufferer, and
his story is a most pathetic and moving tale. Seventy years
had elapsed since the dethronement and execution of
Faliero, the fifteenth century was in its first quarter, and
all the complications and crimes of that wonderful period
were in full operation when the old Doge To*nmaso Mo-
cenigo on his death -bed reviewed the probable competitors
for his office, and warned the republic specially against
Foscari. The others were all men da bene, but Foscari was
proud and deceitful, grasping and prodigal, and if they
elected him they would have nothing but wars. He was at
THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
113
the same time, gravely adds one of the electors in the severe
contest for his election, a man with a large family, and a
young wife who added another to the number once a year;
and therefore was likely to be grasping and covetous so
far as money was concerned.
Notwithstanding these evil prognostications the reign of
Foscari was a great one and full of important events. He ful-
filled the prophecy of his predecessor in so far that war was
ARMS OF FAUERO.
perpetual in his time, and the republic under him involved
itself in all the contentions which tore Italy asunder, and,
joining with the Florentines against the victorious Lord of
Milan, Fillipo Maria Visconti, and having the good for-
tune to secure Carmagnola for its general, became in its
turn aggressive, and conquered town after town, losing,
retaking, and in one or two instances securing permanently
the sovereignty of great historic cities. Tlie story of the
great soldiers of fortune, which is to a large extent the
114 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
story of the time, will be told in another chapter, and we
need not attempt to discover wliat was the part of the
doge in the tragedy of Oarmagnola.
From the limitations of the prince's power which we
have indicated it will however be evident enough that
neither in making war nor in the remorseless punishment
of treachery, whether real or supposed, could the responsi-
bility rest with the doge, who could scarcely be called even
the most important member of the courts over which he
presided. It is not until the end of his brilliant career
that Francesco Foscari separates himself from the roll of
his peers in that tragic distinction of great suffering which
impresses an image upon the popular memory more deeply
than the greatest deeds can do. Notwithstanding the ref-
erence quoted above to the alarming increase of his family,
there was left within a few years, of his five sons, but one,
Jacopo, who was no soldier nor statesman, but an elegant
young man of his time, full of all the finery, both external
and internal, of the Eenaissance, a Greek scholar and col-
lector of manuscripts, a dilettante and leader of the golden
youth of Venice, who were no longer as in the stout days
of the republic trained to encounter the clang of arms and
the uncertainties of the sea. The battles of Terra Firma
were conducted by mercenaries, under generals who made
of war a costly and long-drawn-out game ; and the young
nobles of the day haunted the Broglio under the arches of
the palazzo, or schemed and chattered in the ante-cham-
bers, or spread their gay plumes to the sun in festas and
endless parties of pleasure. When Jacopo Foscari was
married the splendor of his marriage feast was such that
even the gravest of historians, amid all the crowding inci-
dents of the time, pauses to describe the wedding proces-
sion. A bridge was thrown across the canal opposite the
Foscari Palace, over which passed a hundred splendid
young cavaliers on horseback, making such a show as must
have held all Venice breathless, caracoling cautiously over
the temporary pathway not adapted for such passengers,
and making their way, one does not quite understand how,
clanging and sliding along the stony ways, up and down
TEE MAKERS OF VENICE, 115
the steps of the bridges to the Piazza, where a tournament
was held in honor of the occasion. They were all in the
finest of clothes, velvets and satins and cloth of gold, with
wonderful calzey one leg white and the other red, and vari-
ous braveries more fine than had ever been seen before.
The bride went in all her splendor, silver brocade and jew-
els sparkling in the sun, in a beautiful and graceful pro-
cession of boats to San Marco. She was a Contarini, a
neighbor from one of the great palaces on the same side.
The palace of tiie Foscari as it now stands in the turn of
the canal ascending toward the Rialto, had just been re-
built by Doge Francesco in its present form, and was the
center of all these festivities, the house of the bride being
near, in the neighborhood of San Barnaba. No doubt the
hearts of the Foscari and all their retainers must have been
uplifted by the glories of a festa more splendid than had
ever been given in Venice on such an occasion.
But this brilliant sky soon clouded over. Only three
years after Jacopo fell under suspicion of having taken
bribes to promote the interests of various suitors, and to
have obtained offices and pensions for them per hroglio :
that is to say in the endless schemes, consultations, ex-
changes, and social conspiracies of the general meeting-
place, the Broglio, a name which stood for all the jobbing
and backstairs influences which flourish not less in repub-
lics than in despotisms. Against this offense when found
out the laws were very severe, and Jacopo was sentenced to
banishment to Naples where he was to present himself
daily to the representative of the republic there — a curious
kind of penalty according to our present ideas. Jacopo
however fled to Trieste, where, happily for himself, he fell
ill, and after some months was allowed to change his place
of exile to Treviso, and finally on a pathetic appeal from
the doge was pardoned and allowed to return to Venice.
Three years afterward however a fatal event occurred,
the assassination of one of the Council of Ten who had con-
demned Jacopo, Ermolao Donato, who was stabbed as he
left the palace after one of its meetings. The evidence
which connected Jacopo with this murder seems of the
116 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
slightest. One of his servants, a certain Olivieri, met on
the road to Mestre almost immediately after one of the
house of Gritti, and being asked *•' what news" replied by
an account of this assassination, a fact which was barely
possible he could have heard of by common report before
he left Venice. This was considered sufficient to justify
the man^s arrest and examination by torture, which made
him confess everything, Sanudo tells us. Jacopo, too,
was exposed to this method of extorting the truth, but
*' because of his bodily weakness, and of some words of i?i-
cantation employed by him, the truth could not be obtained
from his mouth, as he only murmured between his teeth
certain unintelligible words when undergoing the torture
of the rack." In these circumstances he had a mild sen-
tence and was banished to the island of Candia. Here the
exile, separated from all he loved and from all the refine-
ments of the life he loved, was not long at rest. He took,
according to one account, a singular and complicated
method of further incriminating himself and thus procur-
ing his return to Venice, if even to fresh examination and
torture — by writing a letter to the Duke of Milan, against
whom the republic had fought so long, asking his interces-
sion with the signoria, a letter which he never intended to
reach the person to whom it was addressed, but only to in-
duce the jealous council to whom it was artfully betrayed,
to recall him for further question : which at least in the
middle of whatever sufferings would give his impatient
heart a sigiit of those from whom he had been separated.
That it should have been possible even to invent such a
story of him conveys a kind of revelation of the foolish,
hot-headed yet tender-hearted being, vainly struggling
among natures so much too strong for him — which sheds
the light of many another domestic tragedy upon this.
The matter would seem however to have been more seri-
ous, though Romanin's best investigations bring but very
scanty proof of the graver accusation brought against the
banished man : which was that of an attempt on Jacopo's
part to gain his freedom by means of the sultan and the
Genoese, the enemies of the republic. The sole document
TEW MAKERS OF VENICE. 117
given in proof of this is a letter written by the council to
tiie governor of Candia, in which the account of the
attempt, given in his own communication to them, is re-
peated in detail, of itself a somewhat doubtful proceeding.
To say " You told us so and so,'' is seldom received as in-
dependent proof of alleged facts. There are, however^
letters in cipher referred to, which may have given authen-
tication to these accusations. Komanin, however, is so
manifestly anxious to justify the authorities of Venice and
to sweep away the romance which he declares to liave gath-
ered about these terrible incidents, that the reader can
scarcely avoid a certain reaction of suspicion against the
too great warmth of the defense. Some personal touches
may no doubt have been added by adverse historians to
heighten the picture. But it would be wiser for even the
patriotic Venetian to admit that, at least three times in
that cruel century — in the case of the Carrari murdered in
their prison, in that of Carmagnola beguiled into the cell
from which he came out only to die, and in that of the
unfortunate Foscari — that remorseless and all-powerful
Council of Ten, responsible to no man, without any safe-
guard even of publicity, who ^vere too much feared to be
resisted and all whose proceedings were wrapped in seem-
ing impenetrability, stands beyond the possibility of de-
fense. There are few historians who do not find it neces-
sary to acknowledge at some points that the most perfect
of human governments has failed : but this the Vene-
tian enthusiast — and all Venetians are enthusiasts — is ex-
tremely reluctant to do.
Poor Jacopo, with his weak mind and his weak body, and
the lightness of nature which both friends and foes admitted,
perhaps rejoicing in the success of his stratagem, perhaps
troubled in the consciousness of guilt, but yet with a sort of
foolish happiness anyhow in coming home, and hoping, as
Buch sanguine people do, in some happy chance, that might
make all right, was brought back in custody of one of the
Ten, a Loredano, tlie enemy of his house, who had been
sent to fetch him. It would seem that when the unfortune
prisoner was brought before this awful tribunal, he con-
118 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
fessed everything, de piano ^ says Sanndo, spontmieamente,
adds Romanin, probably forgetting the horrible torture-
chamber next door, which Jacopo had too good reason to
remember, and to avoid which, this easy-going and light-
minded sinner, intent only upon seeing once again those
whom he loved, would be ready enough to say whatever
their illustrious worships pleased. The stern Loredano
would have had him beheaded between the columns ; but
even the Ten and their coadjutors were not severe enough
for that ; and his sentence was only after all to be re-trans-
ported to Candia and to spend a year in prison there — a
sentence which makes any real and dangerous conspiracy
on his part very unlikely. When the sentence was given,
his prayer — to make which he had, as some say, thus risked
his head — that he might see his family was laid before the
court. The doge and all other relations had been during
the proceedings against him excluded, according to the law,
from the sittings of the Council ; so that the statement
that he was sentenced by his father is pure romance. His
petition was granted, and father and mother, wife, and
children were permitted to visit the unfortunate. When
the moment of farewell came, it was not in his prison, but
in the apartments of the doge, that the last meeting took
place. Poor Jacopo, always light-minded, never able ap-
parently to persuade himself that all this miser}^ was in
earnest, and could not be put aside by the exertions of
somebody, made yet one more appeal to his father in the
midst of the sobs and kisses of the unhappy family.
'•'Father, I beseech you make them let me go home,'' he
said, to the poor old doge, who knew too well how little he
could do to help or succor. ^^ Padre, vi prego procure per
mi die ritorni a casa mia ; " as if he had been a schoolboy
caught in some trifling offense, with that invincible igno-
rance of the true meaning of things which the Catholic
Church with fine human instinct acknowledges as a ground
of salvation. But it is not an argument which tells with
men. ''Jacopo, go, obey the will of the country, and try
no more," said the doge, with the simplicity of despair.
No romance is needed to enchance the pathos of this
scene.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 119
When the exile had departed pity would seem to have
touched tlie heiirts of various spectators, and by tlieir ex-
ertions, six months later his pardon was obtained. But
too late. Before the news could reach him the unhappy
Jacopo had gone beyond the reach of all human recall.
The aged doge, the father of this unfortunate young man,
liad been the head of the Venetian state through one of the
most brilliant and splendid periods of its history. He had
been always at war, as his predecessor had prophesied ; but
his wars had been often victorious for the republic, and had
added greatly, for the time at least, to her territories and
dominion. Whether these acquisitions were of any real
advantage to Venice is another question. They involved a
constant expenditure of money such as is ruinous to most
states, but the glory and the triumph were always delight-
ful to her. Foscari had held the place of a great prince in
the estimation of the world, and his life had been princely
at home in every way that can affect the imagination and
stimulate the pride of a nation ; he had received the
greatest personages in Christendom, the emperors of the
east and of the west, and entertained them royally to the
gratification and pride of all Venice; he had beautified the
city with new buildings and more commodious streets, he
had made feasts and pageants more magnificent than ever
had been seen before. But for the last dozen years of this
large, princely, and splendid life a cloud had come over all
its glory and prosperity. There are no lack of parallels to
give the interested spectator an understanding of what a
son such as Jacopo, so reckless, so light-minded, so incapable
of any serious conception of the meaning of life and its
risks and responsibilities, yet with so many claims in his
facile, affectionate nature upon those who loved him — must
have been to the father, proud of his many gifts, bowed
down by his follies, watching his erratic course with sicken-
ing terrors, angry, tender, indignant, pitiful, concealing his
own disappointment and misery in order to protect and
excuse and defend the son who was breaking his heart.
The spectacle is always a sad one, but never rare : and
the anguish of the father's silent watch, never knowing
120 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
what folly might come next, acutely feeling the fault and
every reproof of the fault, his pride humbled, his name dis-
graced, his every hope failing, but never the love that
underlies all — is one of the deepest which can affect
humanity. Foscari was over seventy when tliis ordeal
began. Perhaps he had foreseen it even earlier : but when
he made that most splendid of feasts at his son^s bridal, and
saw him established with his young wife in the magnificent
new palace, with his books and his manuscripts, his chival-
rous and courtly companions, his Greek, the crown of ac-
complishment and culture in his time, who could suppose
that Jacopo would so soon be a fugitive and an exile ? The
years between seventy and eighty are not those m which a
a man is most apt to brave the effects of prolonged anxiety
and sorrow, and Foscari was eighty-four when, after the
many vicissitudes of this melancholy story, he bade Jacopo
go and bear his sentence and try no more to elude it.
When the news came six months after that his only son was
dead — dead far away and alone, among strangers, just
when a troubled hope had arisen that he might come back,
and be wiser another time — the courage of the old doge
broke down. He could no longer give his mind to the
affairs of the state, or sit, a venerable image of sorrow, pa-
tience, and self-control, at the head of the court which
had persecuted and hunted to the death his foolish, be-
loved boy. One can imagine how the very touch of the
red robe of Loredano brushing by would burn to the heart
of the old man who could not avenge himself, but in whom
even the stillness of his age and the habit of self-command
could not take away the recollection that there stood the
man who had voted death between the columns for poor
Jacopo's follies ! Who could wonder that he forbore to
attend their meetings, and that in the bitterness of his
heart it seemed not worth while to go on appearing to ful-
fill an office, all the real power of which had been taken
from his hands ?
Thereupon there got up a low fierce murmur among the
Ten; not too rapidly developed. They waited a month or
two, marking all his absences and slackness before gathering
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 121
together to talk of matters secretissime concerning Messer
lo Doge: they said to each other that it was a great incon-
venience to the state to have a doge incapable of attending
the councils and looking after the affairs of the repnblic;
and that it was full time they should have a zonta or junta
of nobles to help them to discuss the question. The law
had been tliat in case of the absence (which often happened
on state affairs) or illness of the doge, a vice-doge should
be elected in his place; but of this regulation no heed was
taken, and the issue of their deliberations was that a deputa-
tion should be sent to the doge to desire him ^^spontan-
eamente e libramente'^ to resign his office. Foscari had
more than once in his long tenure of office proposed to re-
tire, but his attempt at resignation had never been received
by the Council. It is one thing to make such an offer, and
quite another to have it proposed from outside; and when
the deputation suddenly appeared in the sorrowful chamber
where the old man sat retired, he refused to give them any
immediate answer. For one thing it was not their busi-
ness to make such a demand, the law requiring that the
Consiglio Maggiore sliould be consulted, and should at
least agree in, if not originate, so important an act. But
the Ten had perhaps gone too far to draw back, and when
the deputation returned without a definite reply, the cere-
monial of waiting for the spontaneous and free dimissiou of
the disgraced prince was thrown aside, and an intimation
was made to him tliat his resignation was a matter of ne-
cessity, and that if within eight days he had not left the
palace his property would be confiscated. When this arbi-
trary message was conveyed to him the old man attempted
no further resistance. His ducal ring was drawn from his
finger and broken to pieces in the presence of the depu-
tation who had brought him these final orders, headed by
his enemy Loredano — not, says the apologetic historian,
because he was Foscari's enemy, which was a cruelty the
noble Ten were incapable of, but because he was, after Fos-
cari himself, the finest orator of the republic and most
likely to put tilings in a good light! The ducal cap with
its circlet of gold, the historical Corno, was taken from his
122 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
tremulous old liead, and a promise extracted that lie would
at once leave the palace. The following incident is too
touching not to be given in the words quoted by Romanin
from the unpublished chronicles of Delfino. As the pro-
cession of deputies filed away, the discrowned doge saw one
of tliem, Jacopo Memmo, one of the heads of the Forty,
look at him with sympathetic and compassionate eyes. The
old man's lieart, no doubt, was full, and a longing for
human fellowship must have been in him still. He called
the man who gave him that friendly look and took him by
the hand.
* ** Whose son art thou?" (It is the Venetian vernacu-
lar that is used, not ceremonious Italian, '* Di chi es tu
fio?") I answered, '^I am the son of Marin Memmo.'' To
which the doge — **He is my dear friend; tell him from me
that it would be sweet to me if he would come and pay me
a visit, and go with me in my bark for a little pleasure.
We might go and visit the monasteries."
It is difficult to read this simple narrative without a sym-
pathetic tear. Despoiled of the vestments of his office
which he had worn for thirty-four years, amid all the mag-
nificence of one of the richest and most splendid states in
the world, the old man pauses with a tremulous smile
more sad than weeping, to make his last gracious invitation,
the habit of his past sovereignty exercised once more, at
once with sorrowful humor and that wistful turning to
old friends which so often comes with trouble. If it had
ever been accomplished, what a touching party of pleasure!
the two old men in their iarco going forth a solazzo, mak-
ing their way across the shining waters to San Giorgio,
perhaps as far as San Servolo| if the weather were fine:
for it was October, and no time to be lost before the win-
ter set in for two old companions, eighty and more. But
that voyage of pleasure never was made.
The same day the doge left the palace where he had
* *' Di chi es tu fio ? Rispose, lo son figlio di Messere Marin Mem-
mo. Al chi il doxe, L'e mio caro compagno; dilli da mia parte che
avero caro ch'el mi vegna a visitar, accio el vegna con mi in barca a
solazzo ; andaremo a visitare i monastieri."
TEE MAKERS OF VENICE, 123
spent so many years of glory and so many of sorrow, accom-
panied by his old brother Marco, and followed sadly by his
household and relations. '' Serenissimo/' said Marco
Foscari, *'it is better to go to the boat by the other stair,
which is covered." But the old doge held on in the direc-
tion he had first taken. '' I will go down by the same
stair which I came up when I was made doge," he said,
much as Faliero had done. And then the mournful pro-
cession rode away along tiie front of the palace, past all the
boats that lay round the dogana, between the lines of great
houses on either side of the canal, to the new shining palace
scarcely faded from its first splendor where Jacopo sixteen
years before had taken his bride. The house that has seen
so many genenitions since and vicissitudes of life still stands
there at its corner, tlie water sweeping round two sides of
it, and tlie old gateway, merlato, in its ancient bravery,
on the smaller canal beliind.
This was on the 24th October, 1357. The new doge
was elected on tlie 31st, and on the 1st November Francesco
Foscari died. Tlie common story goes that the sound of
the bell which announced the entry of his successor was
the old man's final death blow, but it is unnecessary to add
this somewhat coarse touch of popular effect to the pathetic
story. The few days which elapsed between the two events
were not too much for the operation of dying, which is sel-
dom accomplislied in a moment. When the new prince and
his court assembled in San Marco on All Saints' Day to
mass, Andrea Donato, the old doge's son-in-law, came in
and announced, no doubt with a certain solemn satisfaction
and consciousness of putting tliese conspii-ators forever in
the wrong, the death of Foscari. The councilors who had
pursued him to his end looked at each other mute, with
eyes, let us hope, full of remorse and shame.
And he had a magnificent funeral, which is always so
easy to bestow. T.'ie Corno was taken again from the head
of the new doge to be put on the dead brows of the old, and
he lay in state in the hall from which he had been expelled
a week before, and was carried, with every magnificence
the republic could give, to the noble church of the Frari,
124
THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
witli tapers burning all the way, and every particular of
solemn pomp that custom authorized. There belies under
a weight of sculptured marble, bis sufferings all over for
five hundred years and more; but never the story of his
greatness, his wrongs, and sorrows, which last gave him
such claims upoa the recollection of mankind as no mag-
nificence nor triumph can bestow.
ARMS OF FOSCARI.
IHE MAKERh OF VENICE.
125
DEPARTURE OF MARCO POLO: FROM AN ILLUMINATED
MANUSCRIPT IN THE BODLEL^.
PART II.
BY SEA AND BY LAND.
CHAPTER I.
THE TRAVELERS : NICCOLO, MATTEO, AND MARCO POLO.
In THE middle of the thirteenth century, two brothers of
the Venetian family of Polo, established for a long time in
the parish of San Giovanni Grisostomo, carrying on their
business in the midst of all the tumults of the times as if
there had been nothing but steady and peaceful commerce
in the world, were at the head of a mercantile house at
126 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
Constantinople, probably the branch establishment of some
great counting-house at Venice. These seem prosiac terms
to use in a story so full of adventure and romance; yet no
doubt they represent., as adequately as the changed aspect
of mercantile life allows, the condition of affairs under
which Niccolo and MatteoPolo exercised their vocation in
the great Eastern capital of the world. Many Venetian
merchants had established their warehouses and pursued the
operations of trade in Constantinople in the security which
the repeated treaties and covenants frequently referred to
in previous chapters had gained for them, and which, under
whatsoever risks of convulsion and rebellion, they had
held since the days when first a Venetian Bailo — an officer
more powerful than a consul, with something like the
rights and privileges of a governor — was settled in Con-
stantinople. But the ordinary risks were much increased
at the time when the Latin dynasty was drawing near its
last moments, and Paleologus was thundering at the gates.
The Venetians were on the side of the falling race: their
constant rivals the Genoese had taken that of the rising;
and no doubt the position was irksome as well as dangerous
to those who had been the favored nation, and once the
conquerors and all potent-rulers of the great capital of the
East. Many of the bolder spirits would no doubt be urged
to take an active part in the struggle which was going on;
but its effect upon Niccolo and Matteo Polo was different.
The unsatisfactory state of affairs prompted them to carry
their merchandise further East, where they had, it is sup-
posed, already the standing-ground of a small establish-
ment at Soldachia, on the Crimean peninsula. Perhaps,
however, it is going too far to suppose that the commotions
in Constantinople, and not some previously arranged ex-
pedition with milder motives, determined the period of
their departure. At all events the dates coincide.
The two brothers set out in l$i60, when the conflict was
at its height, and all the horrors of siege and sack were
near at hand. They left behind them, it would appear, an
elder brother still at the head of the family counting-house
at Constantinople — and taking with them an easily carried
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 1^7
stock of jewels, went forth upon the unknown but
hugely inhabited world of Central Asia, full, as they
were aware, of wonders of primitive manufacture, carpets
and rich stuffs, ivory and spices, furs and leather. The
vast dim empires of the East, where struggles and conquests
had been going on, more tremendous than all the wars of
Europe, though under the veil of distance and barbarism
uncomprehended by the civilized world, had been vaguely
revealed by the messengers of Pope Innocent IV., and had
helped the Crusaders at various points against their enemies
the Sa racens. But neither they nor their countries were
otherwise known when these two merchants set out. They
plunged into the unknown from Soldachia, crossing the
Sea of Azof, or traveling along its -eastern shores, and
working their way slowly onward, sometimes lingering in
the tents of a great chief, sometimes arrested by a bloody
war which closed all passage, made their way at last to
Bokhara, where all further progress seemed at an end, and
where they remained three years, unable either to advance
or to go back. ' Here, however, they had the good fortune
to be picked up by certain envoys on their way to the court
of ''the Great Khan, the lord of all the Tartars in the
world" — sent by the victorious prince who had become
master of the Levant, to tint distant and mysterious poten-
tate. These ambassadors, astonished to see the Frankish
travelers so far out of the usual track, invited the brothers
to join them, assuring them that the Great Khan
had never seen any Latins, and would give them an eager
welcome. With this escort the two Venetians traveled far
into the depths of the unknown land until they reached
the city of Kublai Khan, that great prince shrouded
in distance and mystery, whose name has been appropriated
by poets and dreamers; but who takes immediate form and
shape in the brief and abrupt narrative of his visitors, as a
most courteous and gentle human being, full of endlesss
curiosity and interest in all the wonders which these sons
or Western civilization could tell him. The Great Khan
received them with the most royal courtesy, and questioned
them closely about their laws and rulers, and still more
128 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
about their religion, which seems to have excited the imagi-
nation and pleased the judgment of this calmly impartial
inquirer. No doubt the manners and demeanor of the
Venetians, devout Catholics in all the fervor habitual to
their age and city, recommended their faith. So much in-
terested indeed was the Tartar prince that he determined
to seek for himself and his people more authoritative teaching
and to send his merchant visitors back with a petition to
this purpose addressed to the pope. No more important
mission was ever entrusted to any ambassadors. They
were commissioned to ask from the head of the Church a
hundred missionaries to convert the Tartar multitudes to
Christianity. These were to be wise persons acquainted
with the ** Seven Arts," well qualified to discuss and con-
vince all men by force of reason that the idols whom they
worshiped in their houses were things of the devil, and
that the Christian law was better than those, all evil and
false, which they followed. And above all, adds the simple
narrative, '*he charged them to bring back with them some
of the oil from the lamp which burns before the sepulcher
of Christ at Jerusalem."
The letters which were to be the credentials of this em-
bassy were drawn out *Mn tlie Turkish language," in all
likelihood by the Venetians themselres : and a Tartar chief,
" one of his barons," was commissioned by the Great Khan
to accompany them : he, however, soon shrank from the
fatigues and perils of the journey. The Poll set out carry-
ing with them a royal warrant, inscribed on a tablet of
gold, commanding all men wherever they passed to serve
and help them on their way. Notwithstanding this, it
took them three years of travel, painful and complicated,
before they reached Acre on their homeward — or rather
Eomeward — journey. There they heard, to their consterna-
rion, that the pope was dead. This was terrible news for
the ambassadors, who doubtless felt the full importance of
their mission. In their trouble they appealed to the high-
est ecclesiastic near, the pontifical legate in Egypt, who
heard their story with great interest, but pointed out to
them that the only thing they could do was to wait till a
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 129
new pope was elected. This suggestion seems to have sat-
istied tlieir judgment, although the conflict over that elec-
tion must have tried any but a very robust faith. The Poll
then concluded — an idea wliich does not seem to have
struck them before — that having thus certain time vacant
on their hands, they might as well employ it by going to see
tlieir family in Venice. They had quitted their home
apparently some fifteen years before, Niccolo having left
his wife there, who gave birth to a son after his departure
and subsequently died ; Colonel Yule suggests that the
wife was dead before Niccolo left Venice, which would
have given a certain explanation of the slight interest he
showed in revisiting his native city. But at all events the
brothers went home : and Niccolo found his child, whether
born in his absence or left behind an infant, grown into a
sprightly and interesting boy, no doubt a delightful dis-
covery. They had abuudant time to renew their acquaint-
ance with all their ancient friends and associations, for
months went by and still no pope was elected, nor does
there seem to have been any ecclesiastical authority to
whom they could deliver their letters. Probably, in that
time, any enthusiasm the two traders may have had for the
great work of converting those wild and wonderful regions
of the East had died away. Indeed, the project does not
seem to have moved any one save to a passing wonder ; and
all ecclesiastical enterprises were apparently suspended
while conclave after conclave assembled and no result was
attained.
At length the brothers began to tire of inaction, and to
remember that through all those years of silence Kublai
Khan was looking for them, wondering perhaps what de-
layed their coming, perhaps believing that their return
home had driven all their promises from their memory,
and that they had forgotten him and his evangelical de-
sires. Stirred by this thought, they determined at last to
return to their prince, and setting out, accompanied by
young Marco, Niccolo's son, they went to Acre, where
they betook themselves once more to the pious legate, Te-
baldo di Piacenza, whom they had consulted on their
130 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
arrival. They first asked his leave to go to Jerusalem to
fetch the oil from the holy lamp, the only one of the Great
Khan^s commissions which it seemed possible to carry out;
and then, with some fear apparently that their word miglit
not be believed, asked him to give them letters, certifying
that they had done their best to fulfill their errand, and had
failed only in consequence of the strange fact there was no
pope to whom their letters could be delivered. Provided
with these testimonials they started on their long journey,
but had only got as far as Lagos, on the coast of the then
kingdom of Armenia, which was their point of entrance
upon the wild and immense plains which they had to trav-
erse, when the news followed them that the pope was a tlast
elected, and was no other than their friend, the legate Te-
baldo. A messenger, requesting their return to Acre, soon
followed, and the brothers and young Marco returned with
new hopes of a successful issue to their mission. But the
new pope, Gregory X., though he received them with
honor and great friendship, had not apparently a hundred
wise men to give them, nor the means of sending out a lit-
tle Christian army to the conquest of heathenism. All
that he could do for them was to send with them two broth-
ers of the order of S. J) omuuc f rati prediaotori to do what
they could toward that vast work. But when the Domini-
cans heard that war had broken out in Armenia, and that
they had to ewcounter not only a fatiguing journey but all
the perils of perpetual fighting along their route, they
went no further than that port of Lagos beyond w^hich lay
the unknown. The letters of privilege, indulgences, no
doubt, and grants of papal favor to be distributed among
the Tartar multitude, they transferred hastily to the sturdy
merchants — who were used to fighting as to most other dan-
gerous things, and had no fear — and ignominiously took
their flight back to the accustomed and known.
It is extraordinary, looking back upon it, to think of
the easy relinquishment of such a wonderful chance as this
would seem to have been. Pope and priests were all oc-
cupied with their own affairs. It was of more importance
in their eyes to quell the Ghibeliines than to convert and
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 131
civilize the Tartars. And perhaps, considering that even
an infallible pope is but a man, this was less wonderful
than it appears : for Kublai Khan was a long way off, and
very dim and undiscernible in his unknown steppes and
strange primeval cities — whereas tlie emperor and his
supporters were close at hand, and very sensible thorns in
consecrated flesh. It seems somewhat extraordinary how-
ever that no young monk or eager preacher caught fire at
the suggestion of such an undertaking. Some fifty years
before Fra Francisco from Assisi, leaving his new order
and all its cares, insisted upon being sent to the Soldamto
see whetlier he could not forestall the Crusaders and make
all the world one, by converting that noble infidel — which
seemed to him the straightfoward and simple thing to do.
If Francis had but been there with his poor brothers,
vowed to every humiliation, the lovers of poverty what a
mission for them! — a crusade of the finest kind, with
every augury of success, though all the horrors of the
steppes, wild winters and blazing summers, and swollen
streams, and fighting tribes lay in their way. And had
the hundred wise men ever been gathered together, what a
pilgrinijige for minstrel to celebrate and story-teller to
write, a new expedition of the saints, a holier Israel in the
desert ! But nothing of the kind came about. The two
papal envoys, who had been the first to throw light upon
those kingdoms beyond the desert, had no successors in
tiie later half of the century. And with only young Marco
added to their band, the merchant brothers returned, per-
haps a little ashamed of their Christian rulers, perhaps
chiefly interested about the reception they would meet
with, and whether the great Kublai would still remember
his luckless ambassadors.
The journey back occupied once more three years and a
half. It gives us a strange glimpse into the long intervals
of silence habitual to primitive life to find that these mes-
sengers, without means of communicating any information
of their movements to their royal patron, were more than
eight years altogether absent on the mission, from which
they returned with so little success. In our own days
152 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
their very existence would probably have been forgotten in
such a long lapse of interest. Let us hope that the holy
oil from the sepulcher, the only thing Christianity could
send to the inquiring heathen, was safely kept, in some
precious bottle of earliest glass from Murano, or polished
stone less brittle than glass, through all the dangers of the
journey.
Thus the Poli disappeared again into the unknown for
many additional years. Letters were not rife anywhere in
those days, and for them, lost out of the range of civiliza-
tion, though in the midst of another full and busy world,
with another civilization, art, and philosophy of its own,
there was no possibility of any communication with Venice
or distant friends. It is evident that they sat very loose to
Venice, having perhaps less personal acquaintance with
the city than most of her merchant adventurers. Niccolo
and Matteo must have gone to Constantinople while still
young — and Marco was but fifteen when he left the lagoons.
They had apparently no ties of family tenderness to call
them back, and custom and familiarity had made the
strange world around, and the half savage tribes, and the
primitive court with its barbaric magnificence, pleasant
and interesting to them. It was nearly a quarter of a
century before they appeared out of the unknown again.
By that time the Casa Polo in San Grisostomo had ceased
to think of its absent members. In all likelihood they had
no very near relations left. Father and mother would be
dead long ago : the elder brother lived and died in Con-
stantinople : and there was no one who looked with any warm
expectation for the arrival of the strangers. When there
suddenly appeared at the gate of the great family house
full of cousins and kinsmen one evening in the year 1295,
about twenty-four years after their departure, three wild
and travel -worn figures, in coats of coarse homespun like
those worn by the Tartars, the sheep-skin collars mingling
with the long looks and beards of the wearers, their com-
plexions dark with exposure, their half -forgotten mother
tongue a little uncertain on their lips — who could believe
that these were Venetian gentlemen, members of an im-
THE MAKERS OF VENICE
133
portant family in the city which liad forgotten them ?
The three unknown personages arrived suddenly, without
any warning, at their ancestral home. One can imagine
the commotion in the courtyard, the curious gazers who
would come out to the door, the heads that would gather
DOORWAY, MARCO POLO'S HOUSE.
at every window, when, it became known through the
house that these wild strangers claimed to belong to it,
to be in some degree its masters, the long disappeared
kinsmen whose portion perhaps by this time had fallen
into hands very unwilling to let it go. The doorway
which still exists in the Corte della Sabbionera, in the
134 THE MAKERS OF VEmCE.
depths of the cool quadrangle, with its arch of Byzantine
work, and the cross above, which every visitor in Venice
may still see when he will, behind San Grisostoino, is as
tradition declares, the very door at which the travelers
knocked and parleyed. The house was then — according to
the most authentic account we have, that of Ramusio —
U7i hellissimo e molto alto palazzo. Absolute authenticity
it is perhaps impossible to claim for the story. But it was
told to Ramusio, who flourished in the fifteenth century,
by an old man, a distinguished citizen who, and whose
race, had been established for generations in the same
parish in the immediate vicinity of the Casa Polo, and
who had heard it from his predecessors there, a very-
trustworthy source of information. The family was
evidently well off and important, and, in all probability,
noble. •' In those days," says Colonel Yule, making with
all his learning a mistake for once, *^ the demarcation
between patrician and non-patrician at Venice, where all
classes snared in commerce, all were (generally speaking)
of one race, and where there were neither castles, domains,
nor trains of horsemen, formed no very wide gulf."
This is an astounding statement to make in the age of
Bajamonte's great conspiracy : but as Marco Polo is
always spoken of as noble, no doubt his family belonged
to the privileged class.
The heads of the house gathered to the door to question
the strange applicants, **for, seeing them so transfigured in
countenance and disordered in dress, they could not believe
that tliese were those of the Ca' Polo who had been believed
dead for so many and so many years." The strangers had
great trouble even to make it understood who they claimed
to be. '^ But at last these three gentlemen conceived the
plan of making a bargain that in a certain time they should
so act as to recover their identity and the recognition of
their relatives, and honor from all the city." The expedient
they adopted again reads like a scene out of the " Arabian
Nights." They invited all their relatives to a great ban-
quet which was prepared with much magnificence ^' in the
same house," says the story-teller : so that it is evident
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 135
tliey must already have gained a certain credence from
their own nearest relations. When tlie hour fixed for tlie
banquet came, the following extraordinary scene oc-
curred :
" The three came out of their chamber dressed in long robes of
crimson satin, according to the fashion of the time, which touched
the ground. And when water had been offered for their hands, they
placed their guests at table, and then taking off their satin robes put
on rich damask of the same color, ordering in the meanwhile that the
first should be divided among the servants. Then after eating some-
thing (no doubt a first course), they rose from table and again changed
their dress, putting on crimson velvet, and giving as before the dam-
ask robes to the servants, and at the end of the repast they did the
same with the velvet, putting on garments of ordinary cloth such as
their guests wore. The persons invited were struck dumb with
astonishment at these proceedings. And when the servants had left
the hall, Messer Marco, the youngest, rising from the table, went
into his chamber and brought out the three coarse cloth surcoats in
which they had come home. And immediately the three began with
sharp knives to cut open the seams, and tear off the lining, upon
which there poured forth a great quantity of precious stones, rubies,
sapphires, carbuncles, diamonds, and emeralds, which had been
sewed into each coat with great care, so that nobody could have sus-
pected that anything was there. For on parting with the Great Khan
they had changed all the wealth he bestowed upon them into precious
stones, knowing certainly if they had done otherwise they never could
by so long and difficult a road have brought their property home in
safety. The exhibition of such an extraordinary and infinite treas-
ure of jewels and precious stones which covered the table, once more
filled all present with such astonishment that they were dumb and
almost beside themselves with surprise : and they at once recognized
these honored and venerated gentlemen of the Ca' Polo, whom at
first they had doubted, and received them with the greatest honor
and reverence. And when the story was spread abroad in Venice, the
entire city, both nobles and people rushed to the house to embrace
them, and to make every demonstration of loving kindness and re-
spect that could be imagined. And Messer Matteo, who was the
eldest, was created one of the most honored magistrates of the city,
and all the youth of Venice resorted to the house to visit Messer Marco,
who was most humane and gracious, and to put questions to him about
Cathay and the Great Khan, to which he made answer with so much
benignity and courtesy that they all remained hisdebtors. And because
in the continued repetition of his story of the grandeur of the Great
Khan he stated the revenues of that prince to be from ten to fifteen
136 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
millions in gold, and counted all the other wealth of the country
always in millions, the surname was given him of Marco Millione.
which may be seen noted in the public books of the republic. And
the courtyard of his house from that time to this has been vulgarly
called the Corte Millione."
It is scarcely possible to imagine that the narrator of the
above .wonderful story was not inspired by the keenest
humorous view of human nature and perception of the
character of liis countrymen, when he so gravely describes
the effectual arguments which lay in the gioie preciosissime,
the diamonds and sapphires which his travelers had sewed
up in their old clothes, and which according to all the laws
of logic were exactly fitted to procure their recognition
" as honored and venerated gentlemen of the Ca' Polo."
The scene is of a kind which has always found great ac-j
ceptance in primitive romance : the cutting asunder of the
laden garments, the ripping up of their seams, the drawing
forth of one precious little parcel after another amid the
wonder and exclamations of the gazing spectators, are all
familiar incidents in traditionary story. But in the pres-
ent case this was quite a reasonable and natural manner of
conveying the accumuhitions of a long period through all
tlie perils of a three years' journey from far Cathay ; and
there is nothing at all unlikely in the miraculous story,
which no doubt would make a great impression upon the
crowded surrounding population, and linger, an oft-
repeated tale, in the alleys about San Giovanni Grisostomo
and along the Eio, where everybody knew the discreet and
sensible family which had the wit to recognize and fall
upon the necks of their kinsmen, as soon as they knew
how rich they were. The other results that ensued — the
rush of golden youth to see and visit Marco, who, though
no longer young, was the young man of the party, and
their questions, and the jeer of the new mocking title
Marco Millione — follow the romance with natural human
incredulity and satire and laughter. It is true, and proved
by at least one public document, that the gibe grew into
serious use, and that even the gravest citizens forgot after
THE MAKERS OP VENICE. 137
a time that Marco of the Millions was not the traveler's
natural and sober name. Tliere was at least one otiier
house of the Poli in Venice, and pernaps there were other
Marcos from whom it was well to distinguish him of San
Grisostomo.
It would seem clear enough, however, from this, that
these travelers' tales met with the fate that so often attends
the marvelous narratives of an explorer. Marco's Great
Khan, far away in the distance as of another world, the
harbarian purple and gold of Kublai's court, the great
cities out of all mortal ken, as the young men in their mirth
supposed, the incredible wonders that peopled that remote
and teeming darkness, which the primitive imagination
could not believe in asforming part of its own narrow little
universe — must have kept one generation at least in amuse-
ment. No doubt the sunbrowned traveler had all that
desire to instruct and surprise his hearers which came
natural to one who knew so much more tlian they, and
was capable of being endlessly drawn out by any group of
young idlers who might seek his company. They would
thread their way through the labyrinth of narrow passages
with all their mediaeval bravery, flashing along in parti-
colored hose and gold-embroidered doublets on their way
from the Broglio to get a laugh out of Messer Marco — who
was always so ready to commit himself to some new
prodigy.
But after awhile the laugh died out in the grave troubles
that assailed the republic. The most dreadful war that had
ever arisen between Venice and Genoa had raged for some
time, through various vicissitudes, when the city at last
determined to send out such an expedition as should at once
overwhelm all rivalry. This undertaking stirred every
energy among the population, and both men and money
poured in for the service of the commonwealth. There may
not be any authentic proof of Colonel Yule's suggestion,
that Marco Polo fitted out, or partially fitted out, one of the
boats, and mounted his own flag at the mastliead, when it
went into action. But the family were assessed at the
value of one or more galleys, and he was certainly a
138 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
volunteer in the fleet, a defender of his country in the
terrible warfare which was draining all her resources. The
battle of Curzola took place in September, 1298, and it
ended in a complete and disastrous defeat for the Venetians.
Of the ninety-seven galleys which sailed so bravely out of
Venice, only seventeen miserable wrecks found refuge in
the shelter of the lagoons, and the admiral and the greater
part of the survivors, men shamed and miserable, were
carried prisoners to Genoa with every demonstration of joy
and triumph. The admiral, as has already been said, was
chained to his own mast in barbarous exultation, but
managed to escape from the triumph of iiis enemies by
dashing his head against the timber, and dying thus before
they reached port.
Marco Polo was among the rank and file who do not
permit themselves such luxuries. Among all the wonder-
ful things he had seen, he could never have seen a sight at
once so beautiful and so terrible as the great semicircle of
the Bay of Genoa, crowded with the exultant people, gay
with every kind of decoration, and resounding with
applause and excitement when the victorious galleys with
their wretched freight sailed in. No doubt in the Tartar
wastes he had longed many a time for intercourse with his
fellows, or even to see the face of some compatriot or
Christian amid all the dusky faces and barbaric customs of
the countries he had described. But now what a revelation
to him must have been the wild passion and savage delight
of those near neighbors with but the width of a European
peninsula between them, and so much hatred, rancor, and
fierce antagonism! Probably, however, Marco, having been
born to hate the Genoese, was occupied by none of these
sentimental reflections; and knowing how he himself and
all his countrymen would have cheered and shouted had
Doria been the victim instead of Dandolo, took his dun-
geon and chains, and the intoxication of triumph with
which he and his fellow prisoners were received, as matters
of course.
He lay for about a year, as would appear, in this Genoese
prison; and here, probably for the first time, his endless
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 139
tales of the wonders he had seen and known first fulfilled
the blessed office of story-telling, and became to the crowded
prison a fountain of refreshment and new life. To all these
unfortunate groups, wounded, sick, especially sick for home,
humiliated and forlorn, with scarcely anything wanting to
complete the round of misery, what a solace in the tedium
of the dreary days, what a help to get through the lingering
time, and forget their troubles for a moment, must have
been this companion, burned to a deeper brown than even
Venetian suns and seas could give, whose memory was
inexhaustible, who day by day had another tale to tell,
who set before them iiew scenes, new people, a great, noble
open-hearted monarch, and all the quaint habits and modes
of living, not of one, but of a hundred tribes and nations,
all different, endless, original! All the poor expedients to
make the time pass, such games as they might have, such
exercises as were possible, even the quarrels which must
have risen to diversify the flat and tedious hours, could
bear no comparison with this fresh source of entertainment,
the continued story carried on from day to day, to which
tlie cramped and weary prisoner might look forward as he
stretched his limbs and opened his eyes to a new unwelcome
morning. If any one among these prisoners remembered
then the satire of the golden youth, the laughing nickname
of the Millione, he had learned by that time what a public
benefactor a man is who has something to tell: and the
traveler who perhaps had never found out how he had been
laughed at had thus the noblest revenge.
Among all these wounded, miserable Venetians, however,
there was one whose presence there was of more immediate
importance to the world — a certain Pisan, an older inhabi-
tant than they of these prisons, a penniless derelict, for-
gotten perhaps of his own city, with nobody to buy him
out — Rusticiano a poor poetaster, a rusty brother of the
pen, who had written romances in his day, and learned a
little of the cnift of authorship. What a wonderful treasure
was this fountain of strange story for a poor mediaeval
literary man to find in his dungeon! The scribbler seems to
have seiaed at once by instinct upon the man who for once
140 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
in his life could furnish him with something worth telling,
Rusticiano saw his opportunity in a moment, with an
exultation which he could not keep to himself. It was
not in his professional nature to refrain from a great fan-
fare and flourish, calling upon heaven and earth to listen.
^' Signoriimperatori e re, duchi, emarchesi, conti, cavalieri,
principi, baroni/' he cries out, as he did in his romances.
*^ Oh, emperors and kings! oh, dukes, princes, marquises,
barons and cavaliers, and all who delight in knowing the
different races of the world, and the variety of countries,
take this book and read it!" Tliis was the proper way,
according to all his rules, to present himself to the public.
He makes his bow to them like a showman in front of his
menagerie. He knows, too, tlie language in which to catch
the ear of all these fine people, so that every noble may
desire to have a copy of this manuscript to cheer his house-
hold in the lingering winter, or amuse the poor women at
their embroidery while the men are at the wars. For,
according to all evidence, wiiat the prisoner of Pisa took
down from the lips of the Venetian in the dungeons of
Genoa was written by him in curious antique French,
corrupted a little by Italian idioms, the most universal of
all the languages of the western world. Nothing can be
more unlike than those flourishes of Rusticiano by way of
preface, and the simple strain of the unvarnished tale when
Messer Marco himself begins to speak. And the circum-
stance of these two Italians employing another living
language in which to tell their wonderful story is so curious
that many other theories have been set forth on the subject,
though none which are accepted by the best critics as
worthy of belief. One of the earliest of these, Ramusio,
pronounces strongly in favor of a Latin version. Marco
had told his stories over and over again, this historian
says, with such effect that '^seeing the great desire that
everybody had to hear about Cathay and the Gi'eat Khan,
and being compelled to begin again every day, he was
advised that it would be well to commit it to writing" —
which was done by the dignified medium of a Genoese
gentleman, who took the trouble to procure from Venice all
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 141
the notes which the three travelers had made of their
journeys: and tlien compiled in Latin, according to the
custom of the learned, a continuous narrative. But the
narrative itself and everything that can be discovered about
it are wholly opposed to this theory. There is not the
slightest appearance of notes worked into a permanent
record. The story has evidently been taken down from the
lips of a somewhat discursive speaker, with all the breath
and air in it of oral discourse. *' This is enough upon that
matter; now I will tell you of something else." ** Now let
us leave the nation of Mosul and I will tell you about the
great city of Baldoc." So the tale goes on, with interrup-
tions, with natural goings back — *' But first I must tell
you " "Now we will go on with the other." While
we read we seem to sit, one of the eager circle, listening to
the story of these wonderful unknown places, our interest
quickened here and there by a legend — some illustration
of the prolonged conflict between heathen and Christian, or
the story of some prodigy accomplished: now that of a
grain of mustard seed which the Christians were defied to
make into a tree, now a curious eastern version of the
story of the Three Magi. These episodes have all the
characteristics of the ordinary legend; but the plain and
simple story of what Messer Marco saw and heard, and
the ways of the unknown populations among whom he
spent his youth, are like nothing but what they are — a
narrative of facts, with no attempt to throw any fictitious
interest or charm about them. No doubt the prisoners
liked the legends best, and the circle would draw closer,
and the looks become more eager, when the story ran of
Prester John and Genghis Khan, of the Old Man of the
Mountain, or of how the Calif tested the faith of the
Christians. When all this began to be committed to writ-
ing, when Rusticiano drew his inkhorn, and pondered his
French, with a splendor of learning and wisdom which no
doubt appeared miraculous to the spectators, and the easy
narrative flowed on a sentence a time, with a half-a-dozen
eager critics ready no doubt to remind the raconteur if he
varied a word of the often told tale, what an interest for
142 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
that melancholy crowd! How they must have peered over
each other's shoulders to see the miraculous manuscript,
with a feeling of pleased complacency as of a wonderful
thing in which they themselves had a hand! No doubt it
was cold in Genoa in those sunless dungeons the weary
winter through; but so long as Messer Marco went on with
his stories and he of Pisa wrote, with his professional arti-
fices, and his sheet of vellum on his knee, what endless en-
tertainment to beguile dull care away!
The captivity lasted not more than a year, and our
traveler returned home, to where the jest still lingered
about the man with the millions, and no one mentioned him
without a smile. He would not seem to have disturbed
himself about this — indeed, after that one appearance as
a fighting man, with its painful consequences, he would
seem to have retired to his home as a peaceful citizen, and
awoke no echoes any more. He might perhaps be dis-
couraged by the reception his tale had met with, even
though there is no evidence of it ; or perhaps that tacit
assent to a foolish and wrong popular verdict, which the
instructers of mankind so often drop into with a certain
indulgent contempt as of a thing not worth their while to
contend against, was in his mind, who knew so much better
than his critics. At all events it is evident that he did
nothing more to bring himself to the notice of the world.
It was in 1299 that he returned to Venice — on the eve of
all those great disturbances concerning the serrata of the
Council, and of the insurrections which shook the republic
to its foundation. But in all this, Marco of the Millions
makes no appearance. He who had seen so much, and to
whom the great Kublai was the finest of imperial images,
most likely looked on with an impartiality beyond the reach
of most Venetians at the internal strife, knowing that revo-
lutions come and go, while the course of human life runs
on much the same. And besides, Marco was noble, and
lost no privilege, probably indeed sympathized with the
effort to keep the canaille down.
He married in these peaceful years, in the obscurity of
a quiet life, and had three daughters only, Faustina, Bellela,
THE MAKElliS OF VENICE. 143
and Moretta : no son to keep up tlie tradition of the
adventurous race, a thing which happens so often when a
family has come to its climax and can do no more. He
seems to have kept up in some degree his commercial
character, since there is a record of a hiw-suit for the re-
covery of some money of which he had heen defrauded by
an agent. But only once does he appear in the character
of an author responsible for his own story. Attached to
two of the earliest manuscript copies of his great book, ono
preserved in Paris and the other in Berne, are MS. notes,
apparently quite authentic, recording the circumstances
under which he presented a copy of the work'to a noble
French cavalier who passed through Venice while in the
service of Charles of Valois in the year 1307. The note is
as follows :
"This is the book of which my Lord Thiebault, Knight and Lord of
Cepoy (whom may God assoil !), requested a copy from Sire Marco Polo,
citizen and resident in the city of Venice. And the said Sire Marco
Polo, being a very honorable person of high character and report in
many countries, because of his desire that what he had seen should be
heard throughout the world, and also for the honor and reverence he
bore to the most excellent and puissant Prince, my Lord Charles, son
of the King of France, and Count of Valois, gave and presented to the
aforesaid Lord of Cepoy the first copy of his said book that was made
after he had written it. And very pleasing it was to him that his book
should be carried to the noble country of France by so worthy a gentle-
man. And from the copy which the said Messire Thiebault, Sire de
Cepoy above-named, carried into France, Messire John, who was his
eldest son and is the present Sire de Cepoy, had a copy made after his
father's death, and the first copy of the book that was made after it
was brought to France he presented to his very dear and dread Lord,
Monseigneur de Valois ; and afterward to his friends who wished to
have it This happened in the year of the Incarnation of our
Lord Jesus Christ one thousand three hundred and seven, and in the
month of August. "
This gives a pleasant opening through the mist of ob-
scurity which had fallen over the Ca' Polo. Tf Messer
Marco was illustrious enough to be sought out by a young
stranger of Thiebault's rank and pretensions, then his labors
had not been without their reward. It is possible, however.
144 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
that the noble visitor might have been taken to see one of
the amusing personages of the city, and with the keenness
of an unaccustomed eye might liave found out for himself
that Messer Marco of the Millions was no braggard, but a
remarkable man with a unique history. In any case, the
note is full of interest. One can imagine how the great
traveler's eye and his heart would brighten when he saw
that the noble Frenchman understood and believed, and
how he would turn from the meaning smile and mock re-
spect of his own countrymen to the intelligent interest of
the newcomer who could discriminate between truth and
falsehood." '^Et moiiU lui estoit agreaUe quant par si
preudomme estoit avanciez et portez es nobles parties de
France J'
The final record of his will and dying wishes is the only-
other document that belongs to the history of Marco Polo.
He made this will in January, 1323, ''finding myself to
grow daily weaker through bodily ailment, but being by
the grace of God of sound mind, and senses and judgment
unimpaired,^' and distributing his money among his wife
and daughters whom he constitutes his executors, and
various uses of piety and charity. He was at this time
about sixty-nine, and it is to be supposed that his death
took place shortly after — at least that is the last we know
of him. His father, who had died many years before, had
been buried in the atrio of San Lorenzo, where it is to be
supposed Messer Marco also was laid: but there is no cer-
tainty in this respect. He disappears altogether from the
time his will is signed, and all his earthly duties done.
It is needless here to enter into any description of his
travels. Their extent and the detailed descriptions he
gives at once of the natural features of the countries, and
of their manners and customs, give them, even to us, for
whose instruction so many generations of travelers have
labored since, a remarkable interest; how much more
to those to whom that wonderful new world was as
a dream! The reason why he observed so closely and
took so much pains to remember everything he saw
is very characteristically told in the book itself. The
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 145
young Venciian to whom the Great Khan had no
doubt been held np during the three years' long journey
as an object of boundless veneration, whose favor was
the sum of existence to his fatiier and uncle, observed
that potentate and his ways when they reached their desti-
nation with the usual keen inspection of youth, lie per-
ceived the secret of the charm which had made these Latin
merchants so dear to Prince Kublai, in the warm and eager
interest which he took in all the stories that could be told
him of other countries and their government, and the
habits of their people. The young man remarked that
when ambassadors to the neighboring powers came back
after discharging their misiion, the prince listened with
impatience to the reports which contained a mere account
of their several errands and nothing else, saying that it
would have pleased him more to have heard news of all they
had seen, and a description of unknown or strange customs
which had come under their observation. Young Marco
laid the lesson to heart, and when he was sent upon an em-
bassy, as soon happened, kept his eyes about him, and told
the monarch on his return all the strange things he had
seen, and whatever he heard that was marvelous or remark-
able; so that all who heard him wondered, and said, '*If this
youth lives he will be a man of great sense and worth." It
is evident throughout the book that the Venetians were no
mere mercenaries, but had a profound regard and admir-
ation for the great, liberal, friendly monarch, who had
received them so kindly, and lent so ready an ear to all
they could tell, and that young Marco had grown np in
real affection and sympathy for his new master. Indeed,
as we read, we recognize, through all the strangeness and
distance, a countenance and person entirely human in this
half savage Tartar, and find him no mysterious voluptuary
like the Kublai Khan of the poet, but a cordial, genial,
friendly human being, glad to know about all his fellow
creatures, whoever they might be, taking the most whole-
some friendly interest in everything, ready to learn and
eager to know. One wonders what he thought of the slack-
ness of the Christian powers who would send no men tc
146 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
teach him the way of salvation: of the shrinking of the
teachers themselves who were afraid to dare the dangers of
the way: and what of that talisman they had brought him,
the oil from the holy lamp, which he had received with joy.
It was to please him that Marco made -his observations,
noting everything — or at least, no doubt the young am-
bassador believed that his sole object was to please his mas-
ter when he followed the characteristic impulses of his
own inquisitive and observant intelligence.
Since his day, the world then unknown has opened up
its secrets to many travelers, the geographer, the explorer,
and those whose study lies among the differences of race and
the varieties of humanity. The curious, the wise, the
missionary and the merchant, every kind of visitor has
essayed in his turn to lift the veil from those vast spaces
and populations and to show us the boundless multitudes
and endless deserts, which lay, so to speak, outside the
world for centuries, unknown to this active atom of a
Europe, which has monopolized civilization for itself ; but
none of them, with all the light of centuries of accumu-
lated knowledge, have been able to give Marco Polo the
lie. Colonel Yule, his last exponent in England, is no
enthusiast for Marco. He speaks, we think without reason,
of his "hammering reiteration," his lack of humor, and
many other characteristic nineteenth century objections.
But when all is done, here is the estimate which this im-
partial critic makes of him and his work:
" Surely Marco's real, indisputable, and in fheir kind unique,
claims to glory may suffice. He was tlie first traveler to trace a route
across the whole longitude of Asia, naming and describing kingdom
after kingdom which he had seen with his own eyes, the deserts of
Persia, the flowering plateaux and wild gorges of Beloochistan, the
jade-bearing rivers of Khotan, the Mongolian steppes, cradle of the
power which had so lately threatened to swallow up Christendon,
the new and brilliant court that had been established at Cambaluc : the
first traveler to reveal China in all its wealth and vastness, its
mighty ruins, its huge cities, its rich manufactures, its swarming
population ; the inconceivably vast fleets that quickened its seas and
its inland waters ; to tell us of the nations on its borders, with all
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 147
their eccentricities of manners and worship : of Thibet with its
sordid devotees, of Burniah with its golden pagodas and their tink-
ling crowns, of Caos, of Siani, of Cochin-China, of Japan, the East-
ern Thule, with its rosy pearls and golden-roofed palaces : the first
to speak of that museum of beauty and wonder, the Indian
Archipelago, source of the aromatics then so prized and whose
origin was so dark ; of Java, the pearl of islands : of Sumatra, with
its many kings, its strange costly products, and its cannibal races ;
of the naked savage of Nicobar and Andaman ; of Ceylon, the isle
of gems, with its sacred mountain and its tomb of Adam ; of India the
great, not as a dreamland of Alexandrian fables, but as a country
seen and partially explored, with its virtuous Brahmins, its obscure
ascetics, its diamonds and the strange tales of their acquistion, its
seabeds of pearls, and its powerful sun ; the first in mediaeval times
to give any distinct account of the secluded Christian empire of
Abyssinia, and the semi-Christian isle of Socotra ; to speak, though
indeed dimly, of Zanzibar with its negroes and its ivory, and of the
vast and distant Madagascar bordering on that dark ocean of the
South, and in a remotely opposite region, of Siberia and the Arctic
Ocean, of dog sledges, white bears, and reindeer-riding Tunguses."
We get to tlie end of this sentence with a gasp of ex-
hausted breath. But though it may not be an example of
style (in a writer who has no patience with our Marco^s
plainer diction) it is a wonderful resume of one man's
work, and that a Venetian trader of the thirteenth cen-
tury. His talk of the wonders he had seen, which amused
and pleased the lord of all the Tartars in the world, and
charmed the dreary hours of the prisoners in the dungeons
of Genoa, an audience so different, is here for us as it
came from his lips in what we may well believe to be the
self-same words, with the same breaks and interruptions,
the pauses and digressions which are all so natural. The
story is so wonderful in its simplicity of spoken discourse
that it is scarcely surprising to know that the Venetian
gallants jeered at the Man of the Millions ; but it is still
full of interest, a book not to be despised should it ever be
the reader's fate to be shut up in any dungeon, or in a
desolate island, or other enforced seculsion. And not
all the flood of light that has been poured since upon
these unknown lands, not the progress of science or evolu-
tion, or any great development of the last six hundred
148
THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
years, lias proved Messer Marco to have been less than
trustworthy and true.
Meanwhile the archway in the Corte della Sabbionera,
in its crowded corner behind San Grisostomo, is all that
remains in Venice of Marco Polo. He has his (imaginary)
bust in the loggia of the ducal palace, along with many
another man who has less right to such a distinction : but
even his grave is unknown. He lies probably at San
Lorenzo among the nameless bones of his fathers, but even
the monument his son erected to Niccolo has long ago dis-
appeared. The Casa Polo is no more: the name extinct,
the house burned down except that corner of it. It would
be pleasant to see restored to the locality at least the name
of the Corte Millione, in remembrance of all the wonders
he told, and of the gibe of the laughing youths to whom
his marvelous tales were first unfolded : and thus to have
Kublai Khan's millions once more associated with his
faithful ambassador's name.
INSCRIPTION ON PILLAR IN ARSENAL, THE FIRST ERECTED.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 149
CHAPTER II.
A POPULAR HERO.
About seventy years after the events above recorded,
in the later half of the fourteenth century, there occurred
a crisis in the life of tlie Venetian republic of a more
alarming and terrible character tlian had ever been caused
before by misfortunes external or internal. Since those
early times when the fugitive fathers of the state took
refuge in the marshes and began to raise their miraculous
city out of the salt pools and mud-banks, that corner of
the Adriatic hnd been safe from all external attacks. A
raid from Aquileia, half ecclesiastical, half warlike, had
occurred by times in early days, threatening Gradooreven
Torcello, but nothing which it gave the city any trouble
to overcome. The Greek with all his wiles had much
ado to keep her conquering galleys from his coasts, and
lost island after island without a possibility of reprisals.
The Dalmatian tribes kept her in constant irritation
and disturbance, yet were constrained over again to
own her mistress of the sea, and never affected her
home sovereignty. The Turk himself, the most ap-
palling of invaders, though his thunders were heard near
enough to arouse alarm and rage, never got within sight
of the wonderful city. It was reserved for her sister re-
public, born of the same mother, speaking the same
language, moved by the same instincts, Genoa, from the
other side of the peninsula, the rival from her cradle of
the other sea-born state, to make it possible, if but for one
moment, that Venice might cease to be. This was
during the course of the struggle called by some of the
chroniclers the fourth, by others the seventh, Genoese
J 50 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
war — a struggle us causeless and as profitless as all the
wars between the rivals were, resulting in endless misery
and loss to both, but nothing more. The war in question
arose nominally, as they all did, from one of the convul-
sions which periodically tore the empire of the East
asunder, and in which the two trading states, the rival
merchants, seeking every pretense to push their traffic,
instinctively took different sides. On the present occasion
it was an Andronicus who had dethroned and imprisoned
his father, as on a former occasion it had been an Alexius.
Venice was on the side of the injured father, Genoa upon
that of the usurping son — an excellent reason for
flying at each other^'s throats wherever that was practi-
cable, and seizing each other's stray galleys on the high
seas, when there was no bigger fighting on hand. It is
curious to remark that the balance of success was with
Genoa in the majority of these struggles, although that
state was neither so great nor so consistently independent
as that of Venice. Our last chapter recorded the complete
and ignominious rout of the great Venetian squadron in
which Marco Polo was a volunteer, in the beginning of the
century ; and seventy years later (1379) the fortune of war
was still the same. In distant seas the piracies and
lesser triumphs of both powers maintained a sort of waver-
ing equality : but when it came to a great engagement
Genoa had generally the upper hand.
The rival republic was also at this period reinforced by
many allies. The Carrarese, masters of Padua and all the
rich surrounding plains, the nearest neighbors of Venice,
afterward her victims, had joined the league against her.
So had the king of Hungary, a liCreditary foe, ever on the
watch to snatch a Dalmatian city out of the grip of Venice:
and the patriarch of Aquileia, a great ecclesiastical prince
who from generation to generation never seems to have
forgiven the withdrawal of Venice from his sway and the
erection of Grado into a rival primacy. This strong league
against her did not at first daunt the proud republic, who,
collecting all her forces, sent out a powerful expedition,
and so long as the war went on at a distance regarded it, if
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 151
not without anxiety, yet with more wrath than fear. But
when Vittoie Pisani, the beloved admiral in whose prowess
all Venice believed, was defeated at Pola, a thrill of alarm
ran through the city, shortly to be raised into the utmost
passion of fear. Pisani himself and a few of his captains
escaped from the rout, which was so complete that the
historian I'ecords *' almost all the Venetian sea-forces'' to
have been destroyed. Two thousand prisoners, Sabellico
tells, were taken by the Genoese, and the entire fleet cut to
pieces. When the beaten admiral arrived in Venice he met
what was in those days the usual fate of a defeated leader,
and was thrown into prison; but not on this occasion with
the consent of the populace, who loved him, and believed
that envy on the part of certain powerful persons, and not
any fault of his, was the occasion of his condemnation.
After this a continued succession of misfortunes befell the
republic. What other ships she had were away in eastern
seas, and the authorities seem to have been for the moment
paralyzed. Town after town was taken. Grado once
more fell into the power of that pitiless patriarch: and the
Genoese held the mastery of the Adriatic. The Venetians,
looking on from the Lido, saw with eyes that almost refused
to believe such a possibility, with tears of rage and shame,
one of their own merchantmen pursued and taken by the
Genoese and plundered and burned wliile they looked
on, within a mile of the shore. Tlie enemy took
Pelestrina; they took part of Chioggia, burning and
sackingeverywhere; then sailed off triumphant to the turb-
ulent Zara, which they had made their own, dragging
the Venetian banners which they had taken at Pola
through the water as they sailed triumphantly away. The
Venetian senate, stung to the quick, attempted, it
would seem, to raise another fleet; but in vain, the sailors
refusing to inscribe themselves under any leader but Pisani.
A few vessels were with difficulty armed to defend the port
and Lido, upon which hasty fortifications, great towers of
wood, were raised, with chains drawn across the navigable
channels and barges sunk to make the watery ways im-
passable. When however, the enejny, returning and find-
152 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
ing the coast without defense, recaptured one after another
the Venetian strongholds on the west side of the Adriatic,
and finally took possession in force of Chioggia, the popu-
lace took up the panic of their rulers.
*' When the fall of Chioggia was known, which was toward mid-
night, the city being taken in the morning, there arose such a terror
in the palace that as soon as day dawned there was a general sum-
mons to arms, and from all quarters the people rushed toward the
piazza. The court and square were crowded with the multitude of
citizens. The news of the taking of Chioggia was then published by
order of the senate, upon which there arose such a cry and such
lamentations as could not have been greater had Venice itself been
lost. The women throughout the city went about weeping, now
raising their arms to heaven, now beating upon their breasts : the
men stood talking together of the public misfortune, and that these
was now no hope of saving the republic, but that the entire dominion
would be lost. They mourned each his private loss, but still more
the danger of losing their freedom. All believed that the Genoese
would press on at once, overrun all the territory, and destroy the
Venetian name : and they held consultations how to save their pos-
sessions, money, and jewels, whether they should send them to dis-
tant places, or hide them underground in the monasteries. All joined
in this lamentation and panic, and many believed that if in this mo-
ment of terror the enemy's fleet had pressed on to the city, either it
would have fallen at once, or would have been in the greatest dan-
ger."
*'But/' adds Sabellico piously, "God does not show
everything to one man. Many know how to win a battle
but not how to follow up the victory." This fact, which
has stood the human race in stead at many moments of
alarm, saved Venice. The Genoese did not venture to
push their victory : but their presence at Chioggia, espe-
cially in view of their alliance with Carrara at Padua, was
almost as alarming. The Venetian ships were shut out
from the port, the supplies by land equally interrupted ;
only from Treviso could any provisions reach the city, and
the scarcity began at once to be felt. Worse, however,
than any of the practical miseries which surrounded Venice
was the want of a leader or any one in whom the people
could trust. The doge was Andrea Contarini, a name to
which much of the fame of the eventual success has been
THE MAKERS OB VENICE, 153
attributed, but it does not seem in this terrible crisis to
have inspired tlie public mind with any confidence. After
the pause of panic, and the troubled consultations of this
moment of despair, one thought suddenly seized the mind
of Venice. ** Finally all concluded that in the whole city
there was but one Pisani, and that he, who was dear to all,
might still secure the public safety in this terrible and dan-
gerous crisis." That he should lie in prison and in dark-
ness, this man whose appearance alone would give new
heart to the city ! There was a general rush toward the
palazzo when this thought first burst into words and flew
from one to another. The senate, unable to resist, not-
withstanding *^the envy of certain nobles," conceded the
prayer of the people. And here for a moment the tumultu-
ous and complicated story pauses to give us a glimpse of
the man che ad cgnuno era moUo carOy as the historian, im-
pressed by the universal sentiment, assures us again and
again. The whole population had assembled in the piazza
to receive him :
" But so great was bis modesty that be preferred to remain for tbis
nigbt in tbe prison, wbere be begged tbat a priest migbt be sent to
bini, and confessed, and as soon as it was day went out into tbe court,
and to tbe cburcb of San Niccolo, wbere be received tbe precious sac-
rament of tbe Host, in order to sbow tbat be bad pardoned every in-
jury botb public and private : and baving done tbis be made bis ap-
pearance before tbe prince and tbe signorii. Having made bis rev-
erence to tbe senate not witb angry or even troubled looks, but witb
a countenance glad and joyful, be placed bim&elf at tbe feet of tbe
doge, wbo tbus addressed bim. ' On a former occasion, Vittore, it
was our business to execute justice ; it is now tbe time to grant grace.
It was commanded tbat you sbould be imprisoned for tbe defeat of
Pola, now we will tbat you sbould be set free. We will not inquire
if tbis is a just tbing or not, but leaving tbe past, desire you to con-
sider tbe present state of tbe republic, and tbe necessity for preserv-
ing and defending it, and so to act tbat your fellow-citizens, wbo
honor you for your great bearing, may owe to you tbeir safety, botb
public and private.' Pisani made answer in tbis wise : ' Tbere is no
punisbment, most serene prince, wbicb can come to me from you or
from tbe otbers wLo govern tbe republic wbicb I sbould not bear
witb a good beart, as a good citizen ougbt. I know, most serene
prince, tbat all tbings are done for tbe good of tbe republic, for
wbicb I do not doubt all your counsels and regulations are framed.
154 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
As for private grievances, I am so far from thinking that they
should work harm to any one that I have this day received the
blessed sacrament, and been present at the holy sacrifice, that noth-
ing may be more evident than that I have forever forgotten to hate
any man. ... As for what you say inviting me to save the
republic, I desire nothing more than to obey it, and will gladly en-
deavor to defend her, and God grant that I may be he who may
deliver her from peril, by whatsoever way, with my best thought and
care, for I know that the will shall not be wanting.' With these
words he embraced and kissed the prince with many tears, and so
went to his house, passing through the joyful multitude, and accom-
panied by the entire people."
It may afford some explanation of the low ebb to which
Venice had come at this crisis, that not even now was
Pisani appointed to the first command, and it was only
after another popular rising that the invidia cValcuni no-
hili was finally defeated, and he was put in his proper
place as commander of the fleet. Wlien this was ac3om-
plished the sailors enlisted in such numbers that in three
days six galleys were fully equipped to sail under the be-
loved commander, along with a great number of smaller
vessels, such as were needful for the narrow channels
about Chioggia, only navigable by light flat-bottomed boats
and barges. A few successes fell to Pisani^'s share at first,
which raised the spirits of the Venetians : and another
fleet of forty galleys was equipped, commanded by the
doge himself, in the hope of complete victory. But it
was with the greatest difficulty that the city, once so rich,
could get together money enough to prepare these arma-
ments ; and poverty and famine were in her streets, de-
serted by all the able-bodied and left to the fear and melan-
choly anticipations of the weaker part of the population.
To meet this emergency the senate published a proclama-
tion holding out to all who would furnish money or ships
or men, the prize of admission into the Great Council,
offering that much-coveted promotion to thirty new fami-
lies from among the most liberal citizens, and promising
to the less wealthy or less willing interest for their money,
fine thousand ducats to be distributed among them yearly.
"Many moved by the hope of such a dignity, some also for
THE MAKERS OF VENICE, 155
love of their country," says Sabellico, came forward with
their offerings, no less than sixty families thus distinguish-
ing themselves : and many fine deeds were done. Among
others tliere is mention made of a once rich Chioggiote,
Matteo Fasnolo by name, who having lost everything pre-
sented himself and his two sons, all that was left to him,
to give their lives for the republic.
The rout of Pola took place in March, 1379 : in August
the Genoese took possession of Chioggia and sat down at
the gates of Venice. It was as if the mouth of the Thames
had been in possession of an assailant of London, with this
additional misfortune, that the country behind, the store-
house and supply on ordinary occasions of the city, was
also in the possession of her enemies. How it came about
that Pisani with his galleys and innumerable barks, and
the doge with his great fleet, did next to nothing against
these bold invaders, it seems impossible to tell. The show-
ers of arrows with which they harassed each other, the
great wooden towers erected on both sides, for attack and
defense, weie no doubt very different from anything that
armies and fleets have trusted in since the days of artillery.
But with all these disadvantages it seems wonderful that
this state of affairs should languish on through the winter
months — then universally considered a time for rest in
port and not for action on the seas — without any result. A
continual succession of little encounters, sallies of the
Genoese, assaults of the besiegers, sometimes ending in a
trifling victory, sometimes only adding to the number of
the nameless sufferers — the sailors sweating at the oars, the
bowmen on the deck — went on for month after month.
The doge's fleet, according to one account, went back
every night to Venice, the men sleeping at home and re-
turning to their hopeless work every day, with it may be
supposed but little heart for it. And not only their ene-
mies but all the evils of the season, cold and snow and
storm, fought against the Venetians. Sometimes they
would be driven apart by the tempestuous weather, losing
sight of each other, occasionally even coming to disastrous
shipwreck ; and lovely as are the lagoons under most as-
156 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
pects, it is impossible to imagine anything more dreary
and miserable than the network of slimy passages among
the marshes, and the 'gray wastes of sea around, in the
mists and chill of December, and amid the perpetual fail-
ures and defeats of an ever unsuccessful conflict. Want
grew to famine in Venice, her supplies being stopped and
her trade destroyed : and even the rich plebeians who had
strained their utmost to benefit their country and gain the
promised nobility, began to show signs of exhaustion, and
*^the one Pisani,'' in whom the city had placed such en-
tire confidence — though, wonderfully enough, he does not
seem to have lost his hold upon the popular affections —
had not been able to deliver his country. In these circum-
stances the eyes of all began to turn with feverish impa-
tience to another captain, distant upon the high seas, after
whom the senate had dispatched message after message to
call him back with his galleys to the help of the republic.
He was the only hope that remained in the dark mid-
winter : when all their expedients failed them, and all
their efforts proved unsuccessful, there remained still a
glimmer of possibility that all might go well if Carlo were
but there.
Carlo Zeno, the object of this last hope, at the moment
careering over the seas at the head of an active and dar-
ing little fleet which had been engaged in making re-
prisals upon the Genoese coasts, carrying fire and flame
along the eastern Riviera — and which was now fighting
the battles of Venice against everything that bore the
flag of Genoa, great or small — was a man formed on all the
ancient traditions of the republic, a soldier, a sailor, a mer-
chant, adventurer, and orator, a born leader of men. Of
the house of Zeno, his mother a Dandolo, no better blood
is in the golden book (not then however in existence) than
that which ran in his veins, and his adventurous life and
career were most apt to fire the imagination and delight
the popular fancy. His father had died a kind of martyr
for the faith in an expedition for the relief of Symrna,
when Carlo was but seven years old. He was then sent to
the pope at Avignon, who endowed the orphan with a
TBE MAKERS OF VENICE, 157
canonicate at Partas, apparently a rich benefice. But the
boy was not destined to live the peaceful life of an ecclesi-
astical dignitary, lie passed through the stormy youth
which in those days was so often the beginning of a heroic
career — ran wild at Padua, where he was sent to study, lost
all that he had at play, and having sold even his books, en-
listed as would appear in some troop of free lances, in which
for five years he was lost to his friends, but learned the art
of war, to his great after profit and the good of his country.
When, after having roamed all Italy through, he reappeared
in Venice, his family, it is probable, made little effort to pre-
vent the young troper from proceeding to Greece to take
up his canon's stall, for which no doubt these wander-
ings had curiously prepared him. His biography, written
by his grandson, Jacopo, Bishop of Padua, narrates all the
incidents of his early life in full detail. At Patras, the
adventurous youth, then only twenty-two, was very soon
placed in the front during the incessant wars with the
Turks, which kept that remote community in perpetual
turmoil — and managed botli the strategy of war and the
arts of statesmanship with such ability, that he obtained
an honorable peace and the withdrawal of the enemy on
the payment of a certain indemnity. However great may
be the danger which is escaped in this way, there are always
objectors who consider that better terms might have been
made. ''Human nature," says Bishop Jacopo, ''is a miser-
able thing, and virtue always finds enemies, nor was any-
thing ever so well done but envy found means of spoiling
and misrepresenting it." Carlo did not escape this com-
mon fate, and the Greek governor, taking part with his
adversaries, deprived him of his canonicate. Highly indig-
nant at tliis affront, the angry youth threw up "various
other ecclesiastical dignities" which we are told he pos-
sessed in various parts of Greece; whereupon his life took
an aspect much more harmonious with his character and
pursuits. " Fortune," says our bishop, "never forsakes him
who has a great soul. There was in Chiarenza a noble
lady of great wealth, who having heard of Carlo's achieve-
ments, and marveling at the greatness of his spirit, con-
158 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
ceived a desire to have liim for her husband. And Carlo,
being now free from the ecclesiastical yoke, was at liberty
to take a wife, and willingly contracted matrimony with
her/' This marriage liowever was not apparently of very
long duration, for scarcely had he cleared himself of all the
intrigues against him, when his wife died, leaving him as
poor as before: *'Her death, which as was befitting he
lamented duly, did him a double injury, for he lost his wife
and her wealth together, her property consisting entirely of
feoifs, which fell at her death to the prince of Achaia."
This misfortune changed the current of his life. He re-
turned to Venice, and after a proper interval married again
a lady of the house of Giustiniani. ^'Soon after, reflecting
that in a maritime country trade is of the highest utility,
and that it was indeed the chief sustenance of his city, he
made up his mind to adopt the life of a merchant: and
leaving Venice with this intention, remained seven years
absent, living partly in a castle called Tanai on the banks
of the river Tanai and partly in Constantinople."
Such had been the life, full of variety and experience, of
the man to whom the eyes of Venice turned in her humilia-
tion. He had been all over Italy in his youth, during that
wild career which carried him out of the view of his family
and friends. He had been even further a-field in France,
Germany, and England, in a short episode of service under
the Emperor Charles IV. between two visits alia sua chiesa
di Patrasso. He had fought the Turks and led the arma-
ments of Achaia during his residence at his canonicate ;
and now, all these tumults over, re-settled into the natural
position of a Venetian, with a Venetian wife and all the
traditions of his race to shape his career, had taken to
commerce, peacefully, so far as the time permitted, in tliose
golden lands of the east where it was the wont of his
countrymen to make their fortunes. And success it would
appear had not forsaken c/^i ha Vanima grande, the man of
great mind — for when he reappeared in Venice it was with
a magnificence of help to the republic which only a man of
wealth could give. He was still engaged in peaceful occupa-
tions when war broke out between Genoa and Venice.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE, 159
Carlo had already compromised himself by an attempt to
free the dethroned emperor, and had been in great danger
in Constantinople, accused before the Venetian governor
of treasonable practices, and only saved by the arrival of
the great convoy from Venice 'Svhich reached Constanti-
nople every year, " and in which he had friends. Even at
this time he is said to have had soldiers in his service,
probably for the protection of his trade in the midst of the
continual tumults ; and his historian declares that no sooner
had he escaped from Constantinople than he began to act
energetically for the republic, securing to Venice the waver-
ing allegiance of the island of Tenedos, from which the
Venetian galleys under his (part) command chased off the
emissaries of the emperor, and where a Venetian garrison
w^as installed. His first direct action in the service of the
state however would seem to have been that sudden raid
upon the Genoese coast at the very beginning of the war, to
which we have referred, with the purpose of making a
diversion and if possible calling back to the defense of their
own city the triumphant armies of Genoa. This intention
however was not carried out by the result, though otherwise
the expedition was so successful that ''the name of Carlo
Zeno, " says his historian writing more than a hundred
years after, **is terrible to that cit^ even to the present
day. " After this exploit he seems to have returned to the
east, per nettare la mare, sweeping the sea clear of every
Genoese vessel tliat came in his way, and calling at every
rebellious port with much effect.
In the midst of these engagements the news of the defeat
at Pola did not reach him till long after the event, and
even the messengers despatched by the senate, one boat
after another, failed to find the active and unwearied sea-
man as he swept the seas. Such a ubiquitous career, now
here, now there, darting from one point to another with a
celerity which was a marvel in these days of slow sailing
and long pauses, and the almost invariable success which
seemed to attend him, gave Carlo a singular charm to the
popular imagination. No one was more successful at sea,
no one half so successful on land as this leader, suddenly
160 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
improvised by his own great deeds in the very moment of
need, whose adventures had given him experience of every-
thing that the mediaeval world knew, and who had the
special gift of his race in addition to everything else — the
power of the orator over a people specially open to that
influence. Sanudo says that Carlo at first refused to obey
the commands of the senate, preferring to nettar la mare
to that more dangerous work of dislodging the Genoese
from Ohioggia. But there would seem to be no real war-
rant for this assertion. The messengers were slow to reach
him. They arrived when his hands were still full and
when it was difficult to give immediate obedience ; and
when he did set out to obey, a strong temptation fell in his
way and for a time delayed his progress. This was a great
ship from Genoa, the description of which is like that of
the galleons which tempted Drake and his brother mariners.
It was gra7ide oltre mdsura, a bigger ship than had ever
been seen, quite beyond the habits and dimensions of the
time, laden with wealth of every kind, and an enormous
crew, *^for besides the sailors and the bowmen it carried
two hundred Genoese, each of whom was a senator or the
son of a senator. '' It was winter, and the great vessel
was more at home on the high seas than the navigli leggieri
with which our hero had been flying from island to island.
The sight of that nimble fleet filled the Genoese com-
mander with alarm ; and he set all sail to get out of their
way. It was evidently considered a mighty piece of daring
to attack such a ship at all, or even to be out at all at such
a season instead of in port, as sensible galleys always were
in winter. When however the wind dropped and the
course of the big vessel was arrested. Carlo's opportunity
came. He called his crews together and made them a
speech, which seems to have been his habit. The vessels
collected in a cluster round the high prow on which he
stood, reaching with his great voice in the hush of the calm
all the listening crews, must have been such a sight as
none of our modern wonders could parallel ; and he was as
emphatic as Nelson if much longer winded. The great
Bichignona, with her huge sails drooping and no wind to
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 161
help her from her pursuers, was no doubt lying \\\ sight,
giving tremendous meaning to his oration. *^ Men," he
cried, ''valenti uomini, if you were ever prompt and ardent
in battle, now is the time to prove yourselves so. You
have to do with the Genoese, your bitter and cruel enemies
whose whole endeavor is to extinguishthe Venetian name.
Tiiey have beaten our fleet at Pola, with great bloodshed;
they have occupied Chioggia : and our city itself will soon
be assailed by them to reduce her to nothing, killing your
wives and cliildren, and destroying your property and
everything there by fire and sword. Up then, my brothers,
compagni miei! despise not the occasion here offered to you
to strike a telling blow; which, if you do, the enemy shall
pay dearly for their madness, as they well deserve, and
you, joyful and full of honor, will deliver Venice and your
wives and children from ruin and calamity."
When he had ended this speech he caused the trumpets
to sound the signal of attack. The oars swept forth, the
galleys rushed witli tlieir high-beaked prows like so many
strange birds of prey round the big helpless over-crowded
ship. *'They fought with partisans, darts, arrows, and
every kind of arm; but the lances from the ship were more
vehement as reaching from a higher elevation, tlie form of
the ship {nave) being higher than the galleys, which were
long and low: nevertheless the courage of the Venetians
and their science in warfare were so great that they over-
came every diflflculty. Thus," goes on the iiistorian, *'this
ship was taken, which in size exceeded everything known
in that age." Carlo dragged his prey to Rhodes, ''not
without difficulty," and there burned her, giving up the im-
mense booty to his sailors and soldiers: then ''recalling to his
mind his country," with great trouble got his men to-
gether laden with their spoils, and, toiling day and night
without thought of clanger or fatigue, at length reached
the Adriatic. Calling at an Italian port on his way to
victual his ships, he found other letters from the senate
still more imperative, and on the 1st day of January, 1380,
he arrived before Chioggia, where lay all the force that re-
mained to Venice, and where his appearance had been anx-
iously looked for, for many a weary day.
16S THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
The state of the republic would appear to have been all
but desperate at this miserable ruoment. After endless
comings and goings, partial victories now and then which
raised their spirits for the moment, but a ceaseless course
of harassing and fatiguing conflict in narrow waters where
scarcely two galleys could keep abreast, and where the
Venetians were subject to constant showers of arrows from
the Genoese fortifications, the two fleets, one of them under
the doge, the other under Pisani, seem to have lost heart
simultaneously. In the galleys under the command of
Contarini were many if not all the members of the senate,
who had from the beginning shown the feeblest heart, and
meetings were held, and timorous and terrified consultations
unworthy tlieir name and race, as to the possibility of
throwing up the struggle altogether, leaving Venice to her
fate, and taking refuge in Candia or even Constantinople,
where these terrified statesmen, unused to the miseries of a
winter campaign on board ship, and the incessant watch ings
and fightings in which they had to take their part, thought
it might be possible to begin again as their fathers had
done. While these cowardly counsels were being whispered
in each other's ears, on one hand, on the other, the crews
with greater reason were on the verge of mutiny.
" The galleys were so riddled with the arrows of the enemy that
the sailors in desperation cried with one voice that the siege must be
relinquished, that otherwise all that were in the galleys round Chiog-
gia were dead men. Those also who held the banks, fearing that the
squadrons of Carrara would fall upon them from behind, demanded
anxiously to be liberated, and that the defense of the coast should be
abandoned. Pisani besought them to endure a little longer, since in
a few days Carlo Zeno must arrive, adding both men and ships to the
armata, so that the Genoese in their turn would lose heart. Equal
desperation of mind was in the other division of the fleet, where cold,
hunger, and the deadly showers of arrows which were continually
directed against the galleys, had so broken and worn out all spirit
that soldiers and all who were on board thought rather of flight than
combat. The presence of the doge somewhat sustained the multi-
tude, and the exhortation he made showing them what shame and
danger would arise to their country if they raised the seige, since the
Genoese, seeing them depart, would immediately follow them to Ven-
ice . But neither by prayers nor by promises could the spirits of the
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 163
men be emboldened to continue the siege. And things had come to
such a pitch that, for two days one after the other on either side had
determined to raise the siege, when Carlo Zeno, just in time, with
fourteen galleys fully equipped with provisions and men, about noon,
as if sent by God, entered the port of Chioggia."
Carlo turned the balance, and supplied at once the stimulus
needed to encourage these despairing squadrons, unmanned
by co!itinual failure and all by the miseries of sea and war —
troubles to which the greater part were unaccustomed,
since in tlie failure of figliting men this armada of despair
had been filled up by unaccustomed hands; mostly artisans,
says Sabellico — whose discouragement is more pardonable.
Great was the joy of the Venetians, continues the same
authority, '^when they heard what Carlo had done; how he
had sunk in the high seas seventy ships of divers kinds be-
longing to the enemy, and the great bark Bichignona, and
taken three hundred Genoese merchants, and three
hundred thousand ducats of booty, besides seamen
and other prisoners." The newcomer passed on to Pisani
after he had cheered the doge's squadron, and spread joy
around, even the contingent upon the coast taking heart;
and another arrival from Candia taking place almostatthe
same moment, the Venetians found themselves in possession
of fifty-two galleys, many of them now manned with vet-
erans, and feared the enemy no more.
It is impossible to follow in detail the after incidents of
this famous siege. Carlo in concert with, and partial sub-
ordination to, Pisani, succeeded in blockading Chioggia so
completely that the enemy began to feel the same stress of
famine which they had inflicted upon the Venetians.
But the various attacks and assaults, the varying fortunes
of the besieged and besiegers, are too many to be recorded,
as the painstaking and leisurely chronicler does, event by
event. According to the biographer of Carlo, that hero
was never at a loss, but encountered every movementof the
Genoese, as they too began to get uneasy, and to perceive
that the circle round them was being drawn closer, and closer
with a more able movement on his side, and met the casu-
164 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
alties of storm and accident with the same never-failing wit
and wealth of resource. According to Bishop Jacopo, the
entire work was accomplished by his ancestor, though other
\^riters give a certain credit to the other commanders.
But as soon as operations of a really important and prac-
tical character had begun, a new danger, specially char-
acteristic of the age, arose on the Venetian side. Bishop
Jacopo Zeno would have us believe that up to this time
the Venetians had hired no mercenaries, which is an evi-
dent mistake, since we have already heard, even in this
very conflict, of forces on shore, a small and apparently
faitliful contingent, led by a certain Giacomo Cavallo, of
Verona. But perhaps it was the first time that a great
armament had been collected under the banner of San
Marco. With that daring of despair which is above all
calculation as to means of payment or support, the senate
had got together a force of six thousand men — a little
army, which was to be conducted by the famous English
Oondottiere, Sir John Hawkwood, Giovanni Aguto ac-
cording to the Italian version of his name. These soldiers
assembled at Pelestrina, an island in the mouth of the
lagoons not far from Ohioggia. But when the band was
collected and ready for action, the senate, dismayed,
found tke leader wanting. Whether the Genoese had any
hand in this defalcation, or whether the great Oondottiere
was kept back by other engagements, it is certain that at
the last moment he failed them ; and the new levies, all
unknown and strange to each other, fierce fighting men
from every nationality, stranded on this island without a
captain, became an additional care instead of an aid to the
anxious masters of Venice. Fierce discussions arose among
them, wia pericolosa contesa, the Italians against the
French and Germans. In this emergency the senate
turned to Carlo Zeno as their only hope. His youthful
experiences had made him familiar with the ways of these
fierce and dangerous auxiliaries, and he was considered a
better leader, Sabellico tells us, by land than by sea.
To him accordingly the charge of pacifying the merce-
naries was given. '' Carlo, receiving this commission to
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 165
pass from the fleet to the camp, and from war at sea to war
on land," put on his armor, and quickly, witli a few com-
panions, transferred himself to Pelestrina, where he found
everything in a deplorable condition :
"It would be bard to tell the tumult whicb existed in the army, in
which there was nothing but attack and defense, with cries of blood
and vengeance, so that the uproar of men and weapons made both
shore and sky resound. Carlo announced his arrival by the sound of
trumpets, calling upon the soldiers to pause and listen to what their
captain had to say. His voice as soon as it was heard so stilled that
commotion that the storm seemed in a moment to turn into a calm;
and every one, of whatever grade, rushed to him exposing his griev-
ances, and demanding, one justice, the other revenge. There were
many among thera who had served under him in other wars, and were
familiar with him."
To these excited and threatening men he made a judicious
speech appealing at once to their generosity and their pru-
dence, pointing out the embarrassed circumstances of the
senate, and the ingratitude of those who received its pay,
yet added to its troubles; and finally succeeded in making a
truce until there was time to inquire in all their grievances.
When he had soothed them for the moment into calm, he
turned to the senate for the one sole means which his ex-
perience taught him could keep these unruly bands in order.
He had been told when his commission was given to him
that ** it appeared to these fathers (the senate) that it was
his duty to serve the republic without pay," which was
scarcely an encouraging preliminary for a demand on their
finances. Carlo, however, did not hesitate; He wrote to
the senate informing them of his temporary success with
the soldiery, and suggesting that like medicine in the
hands of a doctor, money should be used to heal this wound.
To nuike the proposal less disagreeable to the poverty-
striken state, he offered himself to undertake the half of
the burden, and to give five hundred ducats to be divided
among the soldiers, if the senate would do the same; to
which the rulers of Venice — partly moved by the neces-
sities of the case and partly by his arguments, and that the
republic might not seem less liberal than a simple citizen
166 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
— consented, and peace was accordingly established among
the always exacting mercenaries. Peace, however, lasted
only for a time; and it gives us a lively impression of the
troubles of mediaeval powers with these artificial armies, to
trace the violent scenes which were periodically going on
behind all other difficulties, from this cause.
When Carlo finally got his army in motion, and landed
them on the edge of the shore at Ohioggia, he found oc-
casion almost immediately to strike a telling blow. Under-
standing by the signals made that the enemy intended to
make a sally from two points at once — from Brondolo on
one side, and from the city of Chioggia on the other — he
at once arranged his order of battle; placing the English,
French, and Germans on the side toward Chioggia, while
the Italians faced the party coming from Brondolo. It
would seem from this that Carlo's confidence in his own
countrymen was greater than in the strangers; for the sally-
ing band from Chioggia had to cross a bridge over a canal,
and therefore lay under a disadvantage of which he was
prompt to avail himself.
The following scene has an interest, independent of the
quaint story, to the English reader:
"When Carlo saw tliis" (the necessity of crossing the bridge) "he
was filled with great hope of a victory, and adding a number of the
middle division to the Italians, he himself joined the foreign band,
and having had experience of the courage and truth of the English
captain whose name was William, called by his countrymen il Coquo"
(Cook ? or Cock ?), "he called him and consulted with him as to the tac-
tics of the enemy, and how they were to be met, and finding that he
was of the same opinion, Carlo called the soldiers together" (aparla-
mento) " and addressed them thus."
Carlo's speeches, it must be allowed, are a little long-
winded. Probably the bishop, his grandson, with plenty
of leisure on his hands, did not reflect that it must have
been a dangerous and useless expedient to keep soldiers a
parlamentOf however energetic the words were, when the
enemy was visibly beginning to get over the bridge in face
of them. We feel when these orations occur something as
spectators occasionally do at an opera, when in defiance of
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 16?
common sense tlie conspirators pause to roar forth a martial
ditty at the moment when any whisper might betray them,
or the lovers perform an elaborate duo when they ought to
be running away with all speed from the villain who is at
their heels. Probably the hero's speech was very much
shorter than his descendant makes it — just long enough,
let us suppose, with William the Cock at his elbow, who
would naturally have no faith in speechifying at such a
moment, to let the Genoese get completely started upon
that bridge which, though assai largo, allowed the passage
of but a small number abreast. The enemy themselves
came on gayly, with the conviction that, taken thus between
assailants on two sides. Carlo would lose heart and fly — and
had passed a number of their men over the bridge before
the Venetian army moved. Then suddenly Carlo flung his
forces upon them with a great shouting and sound of trum-
pets. ** The English were the first who with a rush and
with loud cries assailed the adversaries, followed by the
others with much readiness and noise (romore.y The
Genoese, taken by surprise, resisted but faintly from the
first, and driven back upon the advancing files already on
the bridge, were disastrously and tragically defeated — the
crowd, surging up in a mass, those who were coming con-
fused and arrested, those who were flying pushed on by the
pursuers behind, until with the unwonted weight the
bridge broke, and the whole fighting, flying mass was
plunged into the canal. The division which approached
from Brondolo was not more fortunate. On seeing the
rout of their companions they too broke and fled con
velocissimi corsi, as it seems to have been the universal
habit to do in the face of any great danger — the fact that
discretion was the better part of \alor being apparently
recognized by all without any shame inputting the maxim
into practice. This victory would seem to have been de-
cisive. The tables were turned with a rapidity which is
strongly in contrast with the lingering character of all mili-
tary operations in this age. / Veneziaiii di vinti diventa-
ro/io I'tViaYo?'?*, the vanquished becoming victors: and the
Genoese lost courage and hope all at once. The greater
168 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
part of tliem turned tlieir eyes toward Padua as the nearest
place of salvation, and many fled by the marshes and difficult
tortuous water passages, in which they were caught by the
pursuing barks of the Venetians and those Chioggiotes whom
the invaders had driven from their dwelliugs. Of thirteen
thousand combatants who were engaged in the ziiffa here
described, six thousand only, we are told, found safety
within the walls of Chioggia. Bishop Jacopo improves
the occasion with professional gravity, yet national pride.
*'And certainly," he says, ^^there could not have been a
greater example of the changeableness of human affairs
tlian that those who a little time before had conquered the
fleets, overcome with much slaughter all who opposed them
taken and occupied the city, despised the conditions of
peace offered to them, and made all their arrangements for
putting Venice to sack, in full confidence of issuing forth
in their galleys and leading back their armies by the shore,
proud of the hosts which they possessed both by land and
sea — now broken and spent, having lost all power and
every help, fled miserably, wandering by dead waters and
muddy marshes to seek out ferries and hiding places, nor
even in flight finding salvation. Such are the inconsistancy
and changeableness of human things."
AVe cannot but sympathize with the profound satisfaction
of the bishop in thus pointing his not very original moral
by an event so entirely gratifying to his national feelings.
This sudden victor}^, however, as it proved, was, if
decisive, by no means complete, the Genoese who remained
still obstinately holding their own within the shelter of
their fortifications. It was in February that the above-
recorded events occurred, and it was not till June that
Chioggia, was finally taken: a delay to be attributed, in
great part at least, to the behavior of the mercenaries.
No sooner was the first flush of delight in the unaccustomed
triumph over, than the troops who had done their duty so
well again turned upon their masters. On being ordered
by sound of trumpet to put themselves in motion and
establish their camp under the walls of Chioggia, these
soldiers of fortune bluntly refused. 'J'he captains of the
THK MAKERS OF VENICE. 169
(lifFerent bands sought Carlo in his tent, where two prov-
veditori, sent by the senate to congratulate him, and to
urge him to follow up his victory, were still with him.
Their message was a very practical one. They rejoiced that
their victory had been so helpful to the republic, which they
regarded with great reverence and affection, ready at all
times to fight her battles: but they thought that in the
general joy the senate might very becomingly cheer the
soldiers by a present qualche donativo — something like
double pay, for example, for the month in which the vic-
tory had been won. This would be very grateful and
agreeable to all ranks, the captains intimated, and whatever
dangerous work there might be to do afterward the
authorities should find them always ready to obey orders
and bear themselves valorously: but if not granted, not a
step would they make from the spot where they now stood.
To this claim there was nothing to be said but consent.
Once more Carlo had to use all his powers, con huone parole
di addolcire glianimi loro, for he was aware *' by long trial
and practice of war that soldiers have hard heads and
obstinate spirits." He therefore addressed himself once
more to the republic, urging the prudence of yielding this
donativo lest worse should come of it, adding '^ that he,
according to his custom, would contribute something from
his own means to lighten the burden to the republic."
Such scenes, ever recurring, show how precarious was the
hold of any authority over these lawless bands, and what
power to exact and to harass was in their merciless
hands.
Some time later, when the Genoese shut up in Chioggia
had been well nigh driven to desperation, a rescuing fleet of
thirty galleys laden with provisions and men having been
driven off and every issue closed either by sea or land, the
mutinous free lances appear on the scene again — this time
in the still more dangerous guise of traitors. *' The merce-
naries were not at all desirous that the Genoese should gfve
themselves up, being aware that tlieir occupation and pay
would be stopped by the conclusion of the war." This fear
led them to open negotiations with the besieged, and to
170 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
keep up their courage with false hopes, the leaders of the
conspirators promising so to act as that they might have
at least better conditions of surrender. A certain Robert
of Recanati was at tlie head of these unfaithful soldiers.
Carlo, who seems to have kept up a secret intelligence
department such as was highly necessary with such dubious
servants, discovered the conspiracy, and that there was an
intention among them of taking advantage of a parade of
the troops for certain mutinous manifestations. The wisdom
and patience of the leader, anxious in all things for the
success of his enterprise and the safety of the republic, and
dealing with the utmost caution with the treacherous and
unreasoning men over whom he held uneasy sway, comes
out conspicuously in these encounters. Carlo forbade the
parade, but finding that the mutineers pretended to be
unaware of its postponement, took advantage of their
appearance armed and in full battle array to remonstrate
and reason with them. While the men in general, over-
awed by their general's discovery of their conspiracy and
abashed by his dignified reproof, kept silence, Robert,
ferocious in his madness and hot blood, sprang to the front,
and facing Carlo, adroitly pressed once more the ever-
repeated exactions. " We come to you armed and in order
of battle," he said, '^ as you see, to demand double pay till
the end of the war. We are determined to have it, and
have sworn, by whatsoever means, to obtain it; and if it is
denied to us we warn you that with banners flying, and
armed as you see us, we will go over to Chioggia to the
enemy." The much-tried general was greatly disturbed by
this defiance, but had no resource save to yield.
" Believing it to be better to moderate with prudence the impetu-
osity of this hot blood, without showing any alarm, with cheerful
countenance and soft words Carlo replied that nothing would induce
him to believe that these words were spoken in earnest, knowing the
go»)d faith and generosity of the speaker's mind, and believing that
they were said only to try him ; that he had good reason for believing
this, since otherwise Robert would have committed a great villainy and
introduced the worst example, such as it was impossible a man of his
high reputation could intend to do. Nor could the senate ever believe
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 171
it of liim, having always expected and thought most highly of him
and rewarded him largely according to the faith they had in his
trustworthiness and experience in the art of war ; for nothing ren-
dered soldiers more dear to the republic than that good faith which
procured them from the said republic and other princes great gifts
and donations. If soldiers were indifferent to the failure and viola-
tion of this faith, who could confide to their care the safety of the
state, of the women and children? Therefore he adjured them to lay
down their arms, and he would watch over their interests and inter-
cede for them with the senate. While Carlo thus mildly addressed
them the multitude renewed their uproar, opposing him furiously
and repeating the cry of double pay, which they demanded at the
top of their voices, and certain stnndard-bearers posted among them
raised their banners, crying out that those who were of that opinion
should follow them ; to whom Carlo turned smiling, and declared
' That he also was on that side, and promised if they were not con-
tented to fight under their ensigns.'"
While this struggle was still going on, the general, with
a smile on his lips but speechless anxiety in his heart,
facing the excited crowd which any touch miglit precipi-
tate into open mutiny beyond his control, a sudden diver-
sion occurred which gave an unhoped for termination to
the scene. The manner in which Carlo seized the occa-
sion, his boldness, promptitude, and rapid comprehension
of an occurrence which might under less skillful guidance
have turned the balance in the opposite direction, show
how well he deserved his reputation. The Genoese, who
had been warned by secret emissaries that on this day the
mercenaries intended some effort in their favor, and prob-
ably perceiving from their battlements that something un-
usual was going on in the camp, seized the moment to make
a desperate attempt at escape. They had prepared about
eighty small vessels, such as were used to navigate the
passages among the marshes, and filled them with every-
thing of value they possessed in preparation for such an
occasion. The propitious moment seeming now to pre-
sent itself, they embarked hastily and pushing out into
the surrounding waters, seeking the narrowest and least-
known passages, stole forth from the beleaguered city.
*' But vain," cries the pious bishop, '* are the designs of
miserable man T'
172 TEE MAKERS OF VENICE.
" The boatmen, whose attention was fixed upon every movement
within the walls, had already divined what was going on, and with
delight perceiving them issue forth, immediately gave chase in their
light barks, giving warning of the escape of the enemy with shout-
ing and a great uproar. And already the cry rose all around, and
the struggle between the fugitives and their pursuers had begun,
when Carlo, fired by the noise and clash of arms, suddenly turned
upon the soldiers, and with stern face and terrible eyes addressed
them in another tone. * What madness is this,' he cried, ' cowards,
that keeps you standing still while the enemy pushes forth before
your eyes laden with gold and silver and precious things, while you
stand and look on chattering like children !' Upon which he ordered
the banners to move on, and with a great voice, so that the whole
army could hear him, commanding all who kept faith with the re-
public to follow him against the enemy. Without loss of time, with
his flag carried before him, he among the first rushed to the marshes,
plunging breast high in the water and mud, and his voice and the
impetuosity with which he called them to their senses and rushed
forth in their front had so great a power that the whole army, for-
getting their complaint, followed their captain, flinging themselves
upon the enemy, and thus, with little trouble, almost all fell into
Carlo's hands. The booty thus obtained was so great that never had
there been greater, nor was anything left that could increase the vic-
tory and the fury until night fell upon the work. In this way and
by this means was an end made of the controversy of that day."
This accidental settlement however was only for the
moment. Robert of Recanati was not to be so easily driven
from his purpose. The remnant of the imprisoned and
discouraged Genoese, greatly diminislied by these succes-
sive defeats and now at the last point of starvation, were
about to send messengers to the doge with their submis-
sion, when he and the other conspirators, seducing tlie
soldiers in increasing numbers to their side, by prophecies
of the immediate disbandment which was to be anticipated
if the war were thus brought to an end, and promises of
continued service in the other case — again hurried their
movements to the brink of an outbreak. Carlo, who w^as
advised of all that happened by his spies, at last in alarm
informed the senate of his fears, who sent a deputation of
two of their number to address the captains and mitigare
gli animi dei soldati C07i qualche donativo the one motive
which had weight with them. This process seemed again so
FOMDAMENTA ZEK.
To face page 172.
THE MAKERS OB VENICE. 173
far successful that the captains in general accepted the mol-
lifying gift and undertook to secure the fidelity of their men
— all but Robert, who, starting to his feet in the midst of
the assembly, protested tliat nothing would make him con-
sent to the arrangement, and rushed forth into the camp
to rouse to open rebellion the men who were disposed to
follow him. Carlo, perceiving the imminent danger,
rushed forth after him and had him seized, and was about
to apply the rapid remedy of a military execution, when
the deputation from Venice — popular orators perhaps,
trembling for their reputation as peacemakers and friends
of the soldiers — threw themselves before the angry general
and implored mercy for the rebel. Against his better
judgment Carlo yielded to their prayers. But it was very
soon proved how foolish this clemency was, since the same
afternoon, the orators being still in the tents, the sound of
cx\Q%,Arme! Arme! 'd\\(\ Sacco! resounded through the
camp, and it soon became apparent that a rush was about
to be made upon Chioggia without discipline or pre-
arrangement, a number of tlie troops following Robert and
his fellow conspirators in hope of a sack and plunder, and
in spite of all the general could say. When Carlo found
it impossible to stop this wild assault, he sent a trusted
retainer of his own to mix in the crowd and bring a report
of all that went on. This trusty emissary, keeping close
to Robert, was a witness of the meeting held by the con-
spirators with the Genoese leaders under cover of this raid,
and heard it planned between them how on that very
night, after the Venetian mercenaries had been driven
back, a sudden attack should be made by the Genoese on
the camp with the assistance of the traitors within it, so
that the rout and desti notion of the besiegers should be cer-
tain and the way of exit from Chioggia be thrown open.
The soldiers streamed back defeated into the camp when
the object of the raid had been thus accomplished, the
poor dupes of common men, spoiled of their arms and even
clothes by the desperate garrison, while Robert aiid his
friends returned ''almost naked " to carry out the decep-
tion. Carlo met them as they came back in broken par-
174 THE MAKFJIS OF VENICE.
ties with every appearance of rout, and in a few strong
words upbraided them witli their folly and rashness ; but
when he heard the story of his spy, the gravity of the
position became fully apparent. Night was already fall-
ing, and the moment approaching when the camp unpre-
pared might have to sustain the hist despairing assault of
the besieged, for whom life and freedom hung upon the
possibility of success, combined with the still more alarm-
ing danger of treachery within. The soldiers were at supper
and occupied, those who had come back from Chioggia
probably lamenting their losses, and consoling themselves
with hopes of the sack of the town, which Robert had used
as one of his lures — when the captains of the mounted
troops (which is what we imagine to be the meaning of
the expression ^' i capi degli uomini d'arme — de fante no,
perclie sapeva die tutti erano nella congiura"), leaving their
own meal, stole toward the generaFs tent in the quiet of
the brief twilight. Carlo made them a vigorous speech,
more brief than his ordinary addresses, first thankiug and
cougratulating them on their former exploits and their
fidelity to the republic ; then layiug before them the dis-
covery he had made, the risk that all they had done might
be lost through the treachery of one among them, and the
desperate necessity of the case. The captains, startled by
the sudden summons, and by the incidents of the day, sat
round him, with tlieir eyes fixed upon their leader, hear-
ing with consternation his extraordinary statement, and
for the moment bewildered by the revelation of treachery
and by the suddenness of the peril. This moment, upon
which hung the safety of the Venetian name and the de-
cisive issue of the long struggle, must have been one of
overwhelming anxiety for the sole Venetian among them,
the only man to whom it was a question of life or death,
the patriot commander unassured of what reply these dan-
gerous subordinates might make. But he was not kept
long in suspense.
*' There was a certain captain among the others called William, of
Britannic origin. He, who was a man of great valor and the greatest
TUE MAKERS OF VENICE. 175
fidelity, rose to his feet , and looking round upon them all, spoke
thus : 'Your words, oh general {imperatore), have first rejoiced and
then grieved us. It rejoiced us to hear that you have so much faith
in us, and in our love and devotion to your republic, than which we
could desire no better — and for this wo thank you with all our hearts.
We have known you always not only as our general and leader {im-
peratore e duce), but as our father, and it grieves us that there should
be among us men so villainous as those of whom you tell us. It appals
my soul to hear what you say ; and for my own part there is nothing
I am not ready to do in view of the hardihood of the offender, of our
peril, and the discipline of our army, matters which cannot be treated
without shame of the military art. But you are he who have always
overcome by your care and vigilance, and, with that genius which
almost passes mortal, have always secured the common safety, de-
fended us from ill fortune and from our enemies, and trusted in our
good faith. We can never cease to thank you for these things, and
God grant that the time may come when we shall do more than
thank you. In the meantime we are yours, we are in your power;
we were always yours, and now more than ever ; make of us what
pleases you. And now tell us the names of those who have offended
you, let us know who are these scoundrels and villains, and you shall
see that the faith you have had in us is well-founded.' "
It is satisfactory to find our unknown countryman taking
this manly part. Robert was sent for, the entire assembly
echoing the Englishman's words; and when the traitor's
explanations had been summarily stopped by a gag, Carlo
and his faithful captains came out of the general's quarters
with a shout for the republic, calling their faithful followers
round them, and a short but sharp encounter followed, in
which the conspirators were entirely subdued. The Genoese
meanwhile, watching from their walls for the concerted
signal, and perplexed by the sounds of battle, soon learned
by flying messengers that the plot was discovered and their
allies destroyed. An unconditional surrender followed, and
the invaders, who had for ten months been masters of
Chioggia, and for half that time at least had held Venice
in terror and had her in their power, driving the mistress
of the seas to the most abject despair, were now hurried
off ignominiously in every available barge and fisherman's
coble, rude precursors of the gondola, to prison in Venice —
five thousand of them. Bishop Jacopo says. He adds, that
after their long starvation they ate ravenously, and that
176 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
the greater part of them died in consequence, a statement
to be received with much reserve. Sabellico tells us that
four thousand men altogether fell into the hands of the
republic, three thousand of whom were Genoese. The
soldiers among them, mercenaries no doubt and chiefly
foreigners, had their arms taken from them and were al-
lowed to go free. The plunder was taken to the church of
S. Maria, and there sold by auction, the Venetians fixing
the price, which was handed over to the soldiers, the
chroniclers say. One wonders if the bargains to be had
under these circumstances satisfied the citizens to whom
this siege had cost so much.
It would be interesting, though sad, to follow the fate of
these prisoners, shut up in dungeons which it is not at all
likely were much better than the pozzi at present exhibited
to shrinking visitors, though these prisons did not then
exist. They had no Marco Polo, no chosen scribe among
them to make their misery memorable. The war lasted
another year, during which there were moments in which
their lives were in extreme peril. At one time a rumor
ros3 of cruelties practiced by the Genoese upon the Vene-
tian prisoners, many of whom were reported to have died
of hunger and their bodies to have been thrown into the
sea — news which raised a great uproar in Venice, the
people breaking into the prisons and being with difficulty
prevented from a general massacre of the prisoners, who
were punished for the supposed sin of their compatriots by
losing all comforts and conveniences and being reduced to
bread and water, the women who had cooked their food
** for pity ^' being ordered away. Afterward however the
city, according to ancient custom, had compassion, and
restored to them everything of which they had been de-
prived. On the conclusion of the war, when peace was
made and the prisoners exchanged, there is a little
record which shows, however far behind us were these
mediaeval ages, that charity to our enemies is not,
as some people think, an invention of the nineteenth
century.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 17?
" The Venetian ladies (matrone) collected among themselves
money enough to supply the Genoese, who were almost naked, with
coats, shirts, shoes, and stockings, and other things, necessary for
their personal use before their departue, that they might not have
any need to beg by the way, and also furnished them with provisions
for their journey. And those who were thus seui back to their
home were of the number of fifteen hundred."
Half of the prisoners, it would thus appear, perished
within the year.
The war with Genoa did not end with the restoration of
Chioggia, but it was carried on henceforward in distant
waters and among the Dalmatian towns and islands. Carlo
Zeno himself was sent to take at all hazards a certain
castle of Marano, against his own will and judgment aud
failed, as he had previously assured his masters he must
fail : and there were many troubles on the side of Treviso,
which Veuice presented to Duke Leopold of Austria, in
order to preserve it from the Carrarese, now tlie obstinate
enemies of the republic. Here the difiiculties with the
Condottieri reappeared again, but in a less serious way.
The soldiers whose pay was in arrears, and who, hearing of
the proposed transfer, felt themselves in danger of falling
between two stools, and getting pay from neither side,
confided their cause to a certain Borate Malaspina, who
presented himself before the Venetian magistrates of
Treviso, and set his conditions before them. ** We have
decided," he said, 'Mn consideration of the dignity of the
Venetian name and the good faith of the soldiers, to take
our own affairs in hand, and in all love and friendship to
ask for our pay. We have decided to remain each man at
his post until one of you goes to Venice for the money.
During this interval everything shall be faithfully de-
fended and guarded by us. But we will no longer delay,
nor can we permit our business with the senate to be con-
ducted by letter. Your presence is necessary in order
that everything may go well. And we will await the re-
turn of him who shall be sent to Venice, with a proper
regard to the time necessary for his coming and going.
There is no need for further consultation in the case, for
178 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
\yhat we ask is quite reasonable." The astounded magis-
trates stared at this bold demand, but found nothing
better for it tlian to obey.
And at last the war was over, and peace, in which to
heal her wounds, and restore her half-ruined trade, and
put order in her personal affairs came to Venice. Accord-
ing to the promise made in her darkest hour, thirty
families from among those who had served the republic
best were added to the number of the nobles. " Before
they went to the palazzo they heard the divine mass, then,
presenting themselves before the prince and senate, swore
to the republic their faith mid silence." The last is a
remarkable addition to the oath of allegiance, and curi-
ously characteristic of Venice. ^' Giacomo Cavallo,
Veronese," adds Sabellico, ** for his strenuous and faith-
ful service done during this war, obtained the same dig-
nity." It was the highest which the republic could
bestow.
The subsequent history of Carlo Zeno we have entirely
upon the word of his descendant and biographer, who, like
most biographers of that age, is chieflyintent upon putting
every remarkable act accomplished in his time to the credit
of his hero. At the same time, we have every reason to
trust Bishop Jacopo, whose work is described by Foscarini
as the most faithful record, existing of the war of Chioggia :
the author, as that careful critic adds, ** being a person of
judgment and enlightenment, and living at a period not far
removed from these acts." He was indeed born before the
death of his grandfather, and must have had full command
of all family memorials, as well as the evidence of many
living persons for the facts he records. We may accord-
ingly take his book, with perhaps a little allowance for
natural partiality, as a trustworthy record of the many
wonderful vicissitudes of Carlo's life. And whether the
bold pirate-like countenance which serves as frontispiece
to Quirini's translation of the bishop's book be taken from
any authentic portrait (which is little likely), there can
be at least no doubt of the family tradition, which de-
scribes the great soldier-seaman thus:
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 179
** He was square-shouldered, broad-chested, solidly and
strongly made, with large and speaking eyes, and a manly,
great, and full countenance; his stature neither tall nor
short, but of a middle size. Nothing was wanting in his
appearance which strength, health, decorum, and gravity
demanded." With the exception, perhaps of the gravity
and decorum, which are qualities naturally attributed by a
clergyman to his grandfather, the description is true to all
our ideas of a naval hero. At the time of the struggle
before Cliioggia, which he conducted at once so gallantly
and so warily, he was forty-five, in the prime of his strength:
and that solid and steadfast form which nothing could
shake, those eyes which met undaunted the glare of so many
mutinous troopers, always full of the keenest observation,
letting nothing escape them, stand out as clearly among
the crowd as if, forestalling a century, Gentile Bellini had
painted him, strongly planted upon those sturdy limbs to
which the rock of the high seas had given a sailor's double
security of balance, confronting the heavy, furious Ger-
mans, the excited Frenchmen, the revengeful Italians of
other states, scarcely less alien to his own than i\\Q foresti-
eri with their strange tongues — whose sole bond of allegi-
ance to their momentary masters was the double pay, or
occasional donafiuo, which they exacted as the price of
their wavering faith. A truer type of the ideal Venetian,
strong, subtle, ready-witted, prompt inaction and prepared
for everything, the patriot, pirate, admiral, merchant,
general, whichever character was most needed at the
moment, could not be.
Carlo did not return to his merchandise after this absorb-
ing struggle. He was made captain-general of the forces
on the death, not long after, of Vittor Pisani: and when
the old Doge Contarini died he was for a time the favorite
candidate for that honor. The electors indeed had all but
decided in his favor, the bishop tells us, when a certain
Zaccaria Contarini, '* a man of great authority and full of
eloquence and the art of speech," addressed an oration to
them on the subject. His argument was a curious one.
Against Carlo Zeno^ he allowed, not a word could be said:
180 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
there was no better man, none more worthy, nor of higher
virtue in all Venice, none who had served the republic
better, or to whom her citizens were more deeply indebted;
but these were the very reasons why he sliould not be made
doge, for should another war arise with Genoa, who could
lead tlie soldiers of Venice against her rival but he who
was the scourge of the Genoese, a man with whom no other
could compare for knowledge of things naval and military:
for prudence, judgment fidelity to the country, greatness
and good fortune? ^' If you should bind such a man to the
prince's office, most noble fathers, to stay at home, to live
in quiet, to be immersed in the affairs of the city, tell me
what other have you?^' Thus Carlo's fame was used against
him, '' whether with a good intention for the benefit of the
republic, or from envy of Carlo," Bishop Jacopo does not
undertake to say. Neither does he tell us whether his
illustrious ancestor was disappointed by the issue. But
when peace was proclaimed, and there was no more work
for him nor further promotion possible. Carlo left Venice
and went forth upon the world '^ to see and salute various
princes throughout Italy with whom he was united by no
common friendship/' A man so celebrated was received
with open arms everywhere, especially where fighting was
going on, and made himself useful to his princely friends
in various emergencies. He served Galeazzo Visconti of
Milan in this way, and was governor of that city for several
years and also of the province of Piedmont, which was
under Visconti's sway: and absorbed in such occupations
was absent from Venice for ten years, always with increas-
ing honor and reputation. While thus occupied, what
seemed a very trifling incident occurred in his career.
At Asti he encountered Francesco da Carrara, the son of
the lord of Padua, sometime the enemy but at that moment
at peace with Venice, an exile and in great straits and
trouble; and finding him sad, anxious and unhappy, and
in want of every comfort, per non mancare aW ufficio di
gentiluomo, not to fail in the duty of a gentleman, did his
best to encourage and cheer the exile, and lent him four
hundred ducats for his immediate wants. Some years after.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 181
when Francesco had been restored to Padua, and regained
his place, Carlo passed through that city on his way to
Venice, and was repaid the money he had lent. The inci-
dent was a very simple one, but not without disastrous
consequences.
On his return to Venice Carlo was again employed suc-
cessfully against the Genoese under a French general, that
proud city having fallen under the sway of France — and
covered the Venetian name once more with glory. This
to all appearance was his last independent action as the
commander of the forces of Venice. He was growing old,
and civil dignities, though never the highest, began to be
awarded to him. When the war with the house of Carrara
broke out. Carlo Malatesta of Rimini, one of the great
Condottieri of the time, held the chief command, and
Carlo Zeno accompanied the army only in the capacity of
provveditore. A strong military force was by this time in
the pay of the republic; but again as ever it was as hard a
task to keep them from fighting among themselves as to
overcome the enemy. Malatesta threw up his commission
in the midst of the campaign, and Paolo Savello was
appointed in his stead; but either this did not please the
mercenaries, or personal feuds among them breaking out
suddenly on the occasion of the change, the camp was
immediately in an uproar, and the different factions began
to cut each other in pieces. Carlo forced his way into the
middle of the fight, and when he had succeeded in calming
it for the moment, called before him the chiefs of the
factions, and after his usual custom addressed them. His
speech is no longer that of a general at the head of an
army, but of an old man much experienced and full of
serious dignity, before the restless and ferocious soldiers.
"I thought," he said, *' that the uses and customs of war
would have moderated your minds and delivered you from
passion; for there is true nobleness where prudence is con-
joined with courage, and nothing so becomes a generous
man as a tranquil modesty and gravity in military opera-
tions. The shedding of blood becomes a sordid business if
not conducted and accompanied by a decorous dignity."
182 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
He then points out to them that their work is nearly ac-
complished: all the difficulties have been overcome:
Padua is closely besieged and famishing, the end is at
hand:
" We Lave come, oh captains, to the conclusion of the war, a fortu-
nate end is near to your toils and watches, and nothing remains but
the prize and the victory. What then would you have, oh signori ?
What do you desire? What fury moves you ? Why are these arms,
which should subdue the enemy, turned against each other? Will
you make your own labors, your vigils, your great efforts, and all
the difficulties you have overcome but useless pains, and the hope of
success in so hard a fight as vain as they ? And can you endure,
oh strong men, to see the work of so many months destroyed in one
hour? I pray you then, generous captains, if any sense of lofty
mind, of valor, and of fidelity is in you, come, lay down your arms,
calm your rage, conciliate and pacify the offended, make an end of
these feuds and conflicts, return to your former brotherliness, and
let us condone those injuries done to the republic and to me."
The old warrior was seventy when he made this speech.
Yet it was he, if his biographer reports truly, who had ex-
plored in his own person the marshes about Padua, some-
times wading, sometimes swimming, pushing his way
through bog and mud, to discover a way by which the
troops could pass. He had a right to plead that all the
labors thus gone tlirough should not be in vain.
When Padua was taken Carlo was made governor of the
city. The unfortunate Carrarese were taken to Veniceand
imprisoned in San Giorgio, where was enacted one of the
darkest scenes in Venetian history. But with this Zeno
liad nothing to do. He left his post soon after, a colleague
having been appointed, in the belief that nothing called for
his presence, and returned to Venice. The colleague, to
whom Bishop Jacopo gives no name, among his other
labors, took upon him to examine the expenditure of the
city for many years back, and there found a certain strange
entry: To Carlo Zeno, paid four hundred ducats. No doubt
it was one of the highest exercises of Christian charity on
the part of the bishop to keep back this busybody's name.
With all haste the register was sent to Venice to be placed
before the terrible Ten. " The Ten,'' says Jacopo, " held
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 183
in the city of Venice the supreme magistracy, with power
to punish whomsoever they pleased; and from their sen-
tence there is never any appeal permitted for any reason
whatever, and all that they determine is final, nor can it
be known of any one whether what they do is according to
reason or not." Called before this tribunal Carlo gave the
simple explanation with whicli the reader has been already
furnished. But before that secret tribunal, his honor, liis
stainless word, his labors for his country, availed him
nothing. Perhaps the men whose hands had strangled
Francesco da Carrara and his son in their prison, still
thrilling with the horror of that deed, felt a secret pleasure
in branding the hero of Chioggia, the deliverer of Venice,
her constant defender and guard, as a traitor and miserable
stipendiary in foreign pay. The penalty for this crime
was the loss of all public place and rank as senator or mag-
istrate, and two years of prison. And to this Carlo Zeno
was sentenced as a fitting end to his long and splendid
career.
It is unnecessary to tell, though our bishop does it
with fine suppressed indignation, how the people, thunder-
struck by such an outrage, both in Venice itself and in
the other surrounding cities, would have risen against
it:
" But Carlo," he adds, " with marvelous moderation of mind and
with a strong and constant soul, supported the stroke of envious
fortune without uttering a complaint or showing a sign of anxiety, say-
ing solely that he knew the course of human things to be unstable, and
that this which had happened to him was nothing new or unknown,
since he had long been acquainted with the common fate of men,
and how vain was their wisdom, of how little value their honors
and dignities, of which he now gave to all a powerful example."
But Venice is not alone in thus rewarding her greatest
men.
Bishop Jacopo does not say in so many words that Carlo
fulfilled his sentence and passed two years in prison; so we
may hope tliat even the Ten, with all their daring, did not
venture to execute the sentence they had pronounced. All
184 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
we are told is that ^^as soon as he was free to go where he
pleased " he made a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, turning his
soul to religion and sacred things. Here a curious incident
is recorded, to which it is difficult to say what faith should
be given. In the Holy City Carlo, according to his
biographer, met and formed a warm friendship with a
Scotch prince, " Pietro, son of the king of Scotland, ^^ who
insisted, out of the love and honor he bore him, on knight-
ing the aged Venetian. We know of no Prince Peter in
Scottish history, but he might have been one of the many
sons of Robert 11. , the first Stewart king. The rank of
knight, so prized among the northern races, seems to have
been, like other grades, little known among the Venetians,
the great distinction between the noble and the plebeian be-
ing the only one existing. To be made a knight in peaceful
old age, after a warlike career, is a whimsical incident in
Carlo's life.
But though he was old, and a peaceful pilgrim on a
religious journey, his hand had not forgotten its cunning
in affairs of war; and on his way home he lent his powerful
aid to the king of Cyprus, and once more, no doubt with
much satisfaction to himself, beat the Genoese and saved
the island. Returning home the old man, somewhere
between seventy and eighty, married for the third time,
but very reasonably, a lady of a noble Istrian family, of
an age not unsuitable to his own, *^ for no other reason
than to secure good domestic government, and a consort
and companion who would take upon herself all internal
cares, and leave him free to study philosophy and the
sacred writings." Let us hope that the old couple were
happy, and that the lady was satisfied with the position
assigned her. Having thus provided for the due regulation
of all his affairs, the old warrior gave himself up to the
enjoyment of his evening of leisure. He made friends
with all the doctors, and learned men of his day, a list of
names eruditissimi in their time, but, alas, altogether
passed from human recollection : and his house became a
second court, a center of intellectual life in Venice as well
as the constant haunt of honest statesmen and good citizens
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 185
seeking his advice on public questions and material dif-
ficulties as they arose. As for Carlo, he loved nothing so
much as to spend his time in reading and writing, and
every day when he was able heard mass in Sun Stefano,
" nor ever went out," adds the bishop with satisfaction,
*' that he did not go to church or some otlier religions
place." " In the cold winter (?ieir orrida egelida invernata)
he had his bed filled with books, so that when he had slept
sufficiently he could sit up in bed, and pass the rest of the
night in reading, nor would he put down his book save for
some great necessity." One wonders what books the noble
old seaman had to read. Scholastic treatises on dry points
of mediaeval philosophy, hair-splitting theological argu-
ments most probably. Let us hope that there blossomed
between some saintly legends, some chronicle newly writ-
ten of the great story of Venice, perhaps some sonnet of
Petrarch's, whom Carlo in his early manhood must have
met on the Piazza, or seen looking out from the windows
on the Riva — or perhaps even some portion of the great
work of Dante the Florentine. He forgot himself and
the troubles of his old age among his books; but before he
had reached the profounder quiet of the grave Carlo had
still great sorrows to bear. The worthy wife who took the
cares of his household from him grew ill and died, to his
great grief: and — a pang still greater — Jacopo, his young-
est son, the father of the bishop, died too in the flower of
his manhood, at thirty, leaving the old father desolate.
Another son, Pietro, survived, and was a good seaman and
commander; but it was upon Jacopo that the father's heart
was set. At last, in 1418, at the age of eighty-four — in
this point too following the best traditions of Venice —
Carlo Zeno died, full of honors and of sorrows. He was
buried with all imaginable pomp, the entire city joining
the funeral procession. One last affecting incident is re-
corded in proof of the honor in which his countrymen and
his profession held the aged hero. The religious orders
claimed, as was usual, the right of carrying him to his
grave: but against this the seafaring population, quasi
tutti i Veneziani allevati sul mare, arose as one man, and
186 THE MAKERS OF VENICE,
hastening to the doge claimed the right of bearing to his
last rest the commander who had loved them so well.
Their prayer was granted: and with all the ecclesiastical
splendors in front of tliem, and all the pomp of the state
behind, the seamen of Venice, i Veneziani sperimentati
nelle cose maritime, carried h\m to his grave; each relay
watching jealously that every man might have his turn.
This band of seamen great and small, forming the center
of the celebration, makes a fitting conclusion to the
career of the great captain, who had so often swept
the seas, the alto mare, of every flag hostile to his
city.
But in modern Venice the tomb of Carlo Zeno is known
no more. He was buried *^inthe celebrated church called
La Celestia/' attached to a convent of Cistercians, but long
ago destroyed. Its site and what unknown fragments may
remain of its original fabric now form part of the Arsenal
and there perhaps under some forgotten stone lie the bones
of the great admiral, the scourge of Genoa — not, after all,
an inappropriate spot.
THE MAKEU8 OF VKNICB. 187
CHAPTER III.
BY SEA AND BY LAND — SOLDIERS OF FORTUNE — CAR-
MAGNOLA.
The history of Venice opens into a totally new chapter
when the great republic, somewhat humbled and driven
back by the victorious Turk from her possessions beyond
sea, and maintaining with difficulty her broken supremacy
as a maritime power, begins to turn her eyes toward the
green and fat terra firma — those low-lying plains that
supplied her with bread and beeves, which it was so
natural to wish for, but so uneasy to hold. Tlie suggestion
that her enemies, if united, could cut her off at any time
from her supplies, so nearly accomplished in the struggle
for Chioggia, was a most plausible and indeed reasonable
ground for acquiring, if possible, the command in her
own hands of the rich Lombardy pastures and fields of
grain. And when the inhabitants of certain threatened
cities hastily threw themselves on her protection in order
to escape their assailants, her acceptance was instantaneous
and it would seem to have been with an impulse of delight
that she felt her foot upon the mainland, and saw the pos-
sibility within her power of establishing a firm standing,
perhaps acquiring a permanent empire there. It would bo
hopeless to enter into the confused and endless politics of
Guelph and Ghibelline, which threw a sort of veil over the
fact that every man was in reality for his own hand, and
that to establish himself or his leader in tlie sovereignty of
a wealthy city, by help of either one faction or the other,
or in the name of a faction, or on any other pretext that
might be handy, was the real purpose of the captains who
cut and carved Lombardy, and of the reigning families
who had already established themselves upon the ashes of
188 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
defunct republics or subdued municipalities. But of this
there was no possibility in Venice. No whites and blacks
ever struggled in the canals. The only rebellions that
touched her were those made by men or parties endeavor-
ing to get a share of the power which by this time had
been gathered tightly beyond all possibility of moving in
patrician hands. Neither the pope nor the emperor
was ever the watchword of a party in the supreme
and independent city which dealt on equal terms with
both.
There was no reason, however why Venice should not
take advantage of these endless contentions : and there was
one existing in full force which helped to make the wars
of the mainland more easy to the rich Venetians than war
had ever been before. All their previous expeditions of
conquest, which had been neither few nor small, were at
the cost of the blood as well as the wealth of Venice, had
carried off the best and bravest, and even, as in the roman-
tic story of the Giustiniani, swept whole families away.
But this was no longer the case when she strode upon
terra firma with an alien general at her elbow, and mer-
cenary soldiers at her back. Though they might not turn
out very satisfactory in the long run, no doubt there must
have been a certain gratification in hiring, so to speak, a
ready-made army, and punishing one's enemy and doub-
ling one'ri possessions without so much as a scratch on one's
own person or the loss even of a retainer. The Condottieri,
conductors, leaders, captains^ of the wild spirits that were
to be found all over the world in that age of strife and
warfare, were, if not the special creation of, at least most
specially adapted for the necessities of those rich towns,
always tempting to the ambitious, always by their very
nature exposed to assault, and at once too busy and too
luxurious at this advanced stage of their history to do their
fighting themselves — which divided Italy among then, and
which were each other's rivals, competitors, and enemies,
to the sad hindrance of all national life, but to the growth,
by every stimulus of competition, of arts and industries
and ways of getting rich — in which methods each en-
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 189
deavored with the zeal of personal conflict to outdo the
rest. The rights, the liberties and independence of those
cities were always more or less at the mercy of any adven-
turous neighboring prince who had collected forces enough
to assail them, or of the stronger among their own fellows.
We must here add that between the horrors of the first
mercenaries, the Grande Compagniay which carried fire
and sword tlirough Italy, and made Petrarch's blood run
cold, and even the endless turbulence and treachery of tlie
men whom Carlo Zeno had so much ado to master, and
the now fully organized and reorganized armies, under
their own often famous and sometimes honorable leaders,
there was a great difference. The Free Lances had be-
come a sort of lawful institution, appropriate and adapted
to the necessities of the time.
The profession of soldier of fortune is not one which
commends itself to us nowadays ; and yet there was noth-
ing necessarily in it dishonorable to the generals who
carried on their game of warfare at the expense of the
quarrelsome races which employed them, but at wonder-
fully little cost of human life. No great principle lay in
the question whether Duke Philip of Milan or the republic
of Venice sliould be master of Cremona. One of them, if
they wished it, was bound to have the lesser city; and
what did it matter to a general who was a Savoyard,
coming down to those rich plains to make his fortune,
which of these wealthy paymasters he should take service
under ? His trade was perhaps as honest as that of the trader
wlio buys in the cheapest market and sells in the dearest
all the world over. He obeyed the same law of supply and
demand. He acted on the same lively sense of his own
interests. If he transferred himself in the midst of the
war from one side to the other there was nothing very re-
markable in it, since neither of the sides was his side ; and
it was a flourishing trade. One of its chief dangers was
the unlucky accident that occurred now and then when a
general who failed of being successful, had his head taken
off by the signoria or seigneur in whose employment he was,
probably on pretense of treason. But fighting of itself
190 '^iiJ^ MAKERS OF VENICE.
was not dangerous, at least to the troops engaged, and
spoils were plentiful and the life a merry one. Italy,
always so rich in the bounties of nature, had never been so
rich as in these days, and the troops had a succession of
villages always at their command, with the larger morsel of
a rich town to sack now and then, prisoners to ransom, and
all the other chances of war. Their battles were rather
exercises of skill than encounters of personal opponents,
and it was not unusal to achieve a great feat of arms with-
out shedding a drop of blood. The bloodshed was among
the non-combatants — the villagers, the harmless townsfolk
who were mad enough to resist them and not among the
fighting men.
Such was the profession, when a wandering Savoyard
trooper — perhaps come home with his spoils in filial piety,
or to make glad the heart of a rustic love with trinkets
dragged from the ears or pulled bloody from the throat of
some Lombard maiden — took note among the fields of a
keen-eyed boy, who carried his shaggy locks with such an
ariafiera, so proud an air, that the soldier saw something
beyond the common recruit in this young shepherd lad.
Komance, like nature, is pretty much the same in all
regions; and young Francesco, the peasant's son, under the
big frontier tower of Carmagnola, makes us think with a
smile of young Norval ^'on the Grampian Hills" — that noble
young hero whose history has unfortunately fallen into
derision. But in those distant days, when the fifteenth
century had just begun, and through all the Continent
there was nothing heard but the clatter of mail and the
tread of the war-horse, there was nothing ridiculous in the
idea that the boy, hearing of battles, should long ^*to fol-
low to the field some warlike lord," or should leave the
sheep to shift for themselves, and go off with the bold com-
panion who had such stories of siege and fight to tell. He
appears to have entered at once the service of Facino Cane,
one of the greatest generals of the time, under whom he
rose, while still quite young, to some distinction. Such,
at least, would seem to have been the case, since one of the
first notices in the history of the young Piedmontese is the
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 191
record in one of the old chronicles of a question put to
Facino — Why did he not promote him? To which the
great Condottiere replied that he could not do so — the
rustic arrogance of Fiancesco being such that if he
got one step he would never be satisfied till he was chief of
all. For this reason, though his military genius was allowed
full scope, he was kept in as much subjection as possible,
and had but ten lances under him, and small honor as far
as could be seen: yet was noted of the captains as a man
born to be something beyond the ordinary level when his
day sliould come.
The Italian world was as usual in a state of great dis-
turbance in these days. Giovanni or Gian Galeazzo, the
Duke of Milan, in iiis time as masterful an invader as any,
had died, leaving two sons — the one who succeeded him,
Gian Maria, being a feeble and vicious youth, of whose folly
and weakness the usual advantages were soon taken. When
the young duke was found to unable to restrain them, the
cities of Lombardy sprang with wonderful unanimity each
into a revolution of its own. The generals who on occasion
had served the house of Visconti faithfully enough, found
now the opportunity to which these freelances were always
looking forward, and established themselves, each with
hopes of founding a new dukedom, and little independent
dominion of his own, in the revolted cities. Piaoenza,
Parma, Cremona, Lodi, all found thus a new sovereign,
with an army to back him. The duke's younger brother,
Filippo Maria, had been left by his father in possession of
the town of Pavia, a younger son's inheritance; but Facino
Cane made light of this previous settlement, and in the
new position of affairs with the house of Visconti visibly
going downhill, took possession of the city, retaining young
Philip as half guest, half prisoner. When matters were in
this woeful state, the duke was assassinated in Milan, and by
his death the young captive in Pavia became the head of
the house — to little purpose, however, had things remained
as they were. But on the very same day Facino died in
Pavia, and immediately all the prospects of Pliilip were
altered. There was evidently no one to take the place of
192 TEE MAKERS OF VENICE.
the dead soldier. The troops who had bronglit him to that
eminence, and the wealth he had acquired, and the
wife who probably mourned but little for the scarred and
deaf old trooper who had won her by his bow and
spear, were all left to be seized by the first adventurer
who was strong enough to take advantage of the position.
Whether by his own wit or the advice of wise counselors,
the young disinherited prince sprang into the vacant place,
and at once a counter revolution began.
It would seem that the death of his leader raised Fran-
cesco, the Savoyard, by an equally sudden leap, into-, the
front of the captains of that army. He had taken the
name of his village, a well-sounding one and destined to
fatal celebrity," perhaps by reason of the want of a surname
which was common to Italian peasants, and which probably
told more among the Condottieri, whose ranks included
many of the best names in Italy, than it did in art. He
was still very young, not more than twenty-two. But he
would seem to have had sufficient sense and insight to per-
ceive the greatness of the opportunity that lay before him,
and to have at once thrown the weight of his sword and
following upon Philip's side. Probably the two young
men had known each other, perhaps been comrades more
or less, when Carmagnola was a young captain under
Facino's orders and Philip an uneasy loiterer about his
noisy court. At all events Carmagnola at once embraced
the prince's cause. He took Milan for him, killing an
illegitimate rival, and overcoming all rival factions there;
and afterward, as commander-in-chief of the duke of
Milan's forces, reconquered one by one the revolted cities.
This was a slow process extending over several seasons —
for those were the days when everything was done by rule,
when the troops retired into winter quarters, and a cam-
paign was a leisurely performance executed at a time of
year favorable for such operations, and attended by little
danger except to the unfortunate inhabitants of the district
in which it was carried on.
The services thus rendered were largely and liberally
rewarded. A kinswoman of Philip's, a lady of the Visconti
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 193
family, whose first husband had been higli in the duke's
confidence, became Carmagnola's wife, and the privilege
of bearing the name of Visconti and the arms .of the
reigning liouse was conferred upon him. He was not only
the commander-in-cliief of the troops, but held a high
place at court, and was one of tlie chief and most trusted
of Pliilip's counselors. Tlie Piedmontese soldier was still
a young man wlien all tliese glories came upon him, with
accompanying wealth, due also to Philip's favor, as well
as to the booty won in Philip's cause. He seems to have
lived in Milan in a state comformable to these high preten-
sions and to the position of his wife, and was in the act of
building himself a great palace, now known as theBroletto,
and appropriated to public use, when the usual fate of a
favorite began to shadow over him. This was in the year
1424, twelve years after he had thrown in his fate with
the prince in Pavia. The difference in Philip's position by
this time was wonderful. He had then possessed nothing
save a doubtful cluini on the city where he was an exile
the prisoner. He was now one of the greatest powers in
Italy, respected and feared by his neighbors, the master of
twenty rich cities, and of all the wealthy Lombard plains.
To these Carmagnola had lately added the richest prize of
all, in the humiliation and overthrow of Genoa, superbest
of northern towns, with her seaboard and trade, and all
her proud traditions of independence, the equal and rival
of the great republic of Venice. Perhaps this last feat had
unduly exalted the soldier, and made him feel himself as a
conqueror, something more than the duke's humble kins-
man and counselor: at all events, the eve of the change
had come.
The tenure of a favorite's favor is always uncertain and
precarious. In those days there were many who rose to
the heights of fame only to be tumbled headlong in a mo-
ment from that dazzling eminence. Carmagnola was at
the very height of fortune when clouds began to gather
over his career. Though no idea of treachery was then
imputed to him, he had been if anything too zealous for
his duke, to whose service in the meantime, as to that of a
194 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
great and conquering prince, full of schemes for enlarging
his own territory and affording much occupation for a
brave spldiery, many other commanders had flocked. The
enemies of Carmagnola were many. Generals whom he
liad beaten felt tlieir downfall all the greater tliat it had
been accomplished by a fellow without any blood worth
speaking of in his veins ; and others whom it would have
pleased Philip to secure in his service were too proud to
serve under a man who had thus risen from the ranks.
The first sign which the doomed general received of his
failing favor was a demand from Philip for the squadron of
liorsemen, three hundred in number, who seem to have been
Carmagnola's special troop, and for whom the dulie declared
that he had a particular use. The reply of t,he general is
at once picturesque and pathetic. He implored Philip not
to take the weapons out of the hands of a man born and
bred in the midst of arms, and to whom life would be bare
indeed without his soldiers. As a matter of fact, it is to be
presumed that this was but the thin end of the wedge, and
that other indignities were prepared to follow. The clique
at Milan which was furthering his downfall was led by two
courtiers, Riccio and Lampugnano. '^ Much better, '^ says
Bigli, the historian of Milan, who narrates diffusely the
whole course of the quarrel, ^' would it have been for our
state had such men as these never been born. They kept
everything from the duke except what it pleased him to
learn. And it was easy for them to fill the mind of Philip
with suspicions, for he himself began to wish that Fran-
cesco Carmagnola should not appear so great a man." Car-
magnola received no answer to his remonstrance, and by
and by discovered, what is galling in all circumstances,
and in his especially so, that the matter had been decided
by the gossips of the court, and that it was a conspiracy of
his enemies which was settling his fate. Fierce and full of
irritation, a man who could never at any time restrain his
masterful temper, and still, no doubt, with much in him
of the arrogant rustic whom Facino could not make a cap-
tain of, lest he should at once clutch at the baton, Carmag-
nola determined to face his enemies and plead his own
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 195
cause before his prince. The duke was at Abbiate-grasso,
on the borders of Piedmont, a frontier fortress, within easy
reach of Genoa, where Carinagnola was governor : and
thither he rode with few attendants, no doubt breathing
fire and flame, and, in his consciousness of all he had done
for Philip, very confident of turning the tables upon his
miserable assailants, and making an end of them and their
wiles. His letters had not been answered — no notice what-
ever had been taken of his appeal ; but still it seemed im-
possible to doubt that Philip, with liis trusty champion
before him, would remember all that had passed between
them, and all that Francesco had done, and do him justice.
His swift setting out to put all right, with an angry con-
tempt of his assailants, but absolute confidence in the
renewal of his old influence as soon as Philip should see
him, might be paralleled in many a quarrel. For nothing
is so difficult as to teach a generous and impulsive man
that the friend for whom he has done too much may sud-
denly become incapable of bearing the burden of obliga-
tion and gratitude.
Arrived at Abbiate, he was about to ride over the bridge
into the castle, when he was stopped by the guards, whose
orders were to hinder his entrance. This to the com-
mander-in-chief was an extraordinary insult; but at first
astonishment was the only feeling Carmagnola evidenced.
He sent word to Philip that he was there desiring an audi-
ence, and waited with liis handful of men, the horses paw-
ing the ground, their riders chafing at the compulsory
pause, which no one understood. But instead of being
then admitted with apologies and excuses, as perhaps
Carmagnola still hoped, the answer sent him was that
Philip was busy, but that he might communicate what he
had to say to Riccio. Curbing his rage, the proud soldier
sent another message to the effect that he had certain
private matters for the duke's ear alone. To this no reply
was given. The situation is wondei fully striking, and
full of dramatic force. Carmagnola and his handful of
men on one side of the bridge, the castle rising on the
other with all its towers and bastions dark against the sky ;
196 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
the half-frightened yet half-insolent guards tremhling at
their own temerity, yet glad enough to have a hand in the
discomfiture of the rustic commander, the arrogant and
high-handed captain, who of his origin was no better than
they. The parley seems to have gone on for some time,
during whicli Carmagnola was held at bay by the attend-
ants, who would make him no answer other than a con-
tinual reference to Kiccio, his well-known enemy. Then
as he scanned the dark, unresponsive towers with angry
eyes, he saw, or thought he saw, the face of Philip himself
at a loophole. This lit the smoldering fire of passon.
He raised his voice — no small voice it may well be believed
— and shouted forth his message to his ungrateful master.
'^ Since I cannot speak before my lord the duke," he
cried, *'I call God to witness my innocence and faithful-
ness to him. I have not been guilty even of imagining
evil against him. I have never taken thought for myself,
for my blood or my life, in comparison with the name
and power of Philip." Then, " carried on in the inso-
lence of his words," says the chronicle, *'he accused the
perfidious traitors, and called God to witness that in a
short time he would make them feel the want of one whom
the duke refused to hear."
So speaking Carmagnola turned his horse, and took his
way toward the river. When the conspirators in the
castle saw the direction he was taking, a thrill of alarm
seems to have moved them, and one of them, Oldrado,
dashed forth from the gate with a band of followers to
prevent Carmagnola from crossing the Ticino, which was
then the boundary of Savoy. But when he saw the great
captain '^ riding furiously across the fields " toward Ticino,
the heart of the pursuer failed him. Carmagnola would
seem never to have paused to think — which was not the
fashion of his time — but, carried along in headlong im-
pulse, wild with the thought of his dozen years of service, all
forgotten in a moment, did not draw bridle till he reached
the castle of the duke of Savoy, his native prince, to
whom he immediately offered himself and his services,
telling the story of his wrong. Noth withstanding his
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 197
fury, he seems to have exonerated Philip — a doubtful com-
pliment, since he held him up to the contempt of his
brother potentate as influenced by the rabble of his court,
'* the singers, actors, and inventors of all crimes, who
make use of the labors of others in order to live in sloth/'
Mere vituperation of Piiilip's advisers however was not to
the purpose, and Carmagnola artfully suggested to Duke
Aniadeo certain towns more justly his than Philip's : Asti,
Alessandria, and others, which it would be easy to with-
draw from the yoke of Milan. It must have been difficult
for a fifteenth century prince to resist such an argument,
but Amadeo, though strongly tempted, was not powerful
enough to declare war by himself against the great duke
of Milan ; and the fiery visitor, leaving excitement and
commotion behind him, continued his journey, making
his way across a spur of the Pennine Alps, by Trient and
Treviso (but as secretly as possible, lest the Swiss, whom
he had beaten, should hear of his passage and rise against
him), till he reached Venice, to stir up a still more
effectual ferment there.
We are now brought back to our city, where for some
time past the proceedings of Philip, and the progress he
was making, especially the downfall of Genoa, had filled
the signoria with alarm. The Venetians must have looked
on with very mingled feelings at the overthrow of the other
republic, their own great and unfailing enemy, with whom
over and over again they had struggled almost to the death,
yet who could not be seen to fall under the power of a con-
queror with any kind of satisfaction. The Florentines, too
had begun to stir in consternation and amaze, and com-
munications had passed between the two great cities even
in the time of the Doge Mocenigo, tlie predecessor of Fos-
cari, who was the occupant of the ducal throne at the time
of Carmagnola's sudden appearances on the scene. Old
Mocenigo had not favored the alliance with the Florentines.
There is a long speech of his recorded by Sanudo which
reminds us of the pleadings in Racine's comedy, where the
sham advocates go back to the foundation of the world for
their arguments — and which affords us a singular glimpse of
198 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
the garrulous and vehement old man, who hated his probable
successor, and the half of whose rambling discourse is ad-
dressed, it would seem, personally to Foscari, then junior
procurator, who, had evidently taken up the cause of
the neighboring republics.
" Our junior procurator {procurators giovane), Ser Francesco Foscari,
Savio del Consiglio, has declared to the \>uhY\c {sopra Varringo) all that
the Florentines have said to the Council and all that we have said to
your excellencies in reply. He says that it is well to succor the
Florentines, because their good is our good, and, in consequence, their
evil is our evil. In due time and place we reply to this. Procuratore
giovane: God created and made the angelical nature, which is the
most noble of all created things, and gave it certain limits by which
it should follow the way of good and not of evil, The angels chose
the bad way which leads to evil. God punished them and banished
them from Paradise to the Inferno, and from being good they became
bad. This same thing we say to the Florentines who come here seek-
ing the evil way. Thus will it happen to us if we consent to that
which our junior procurator has said. But take comfort to yourselves
that you live in peace. If ever the [duke of Milan] makes unjust war
against you, God is with you, Who sees all. He will so arrange it
that you shall have the victory. Let us live in peace, for God is
peace; and he who desires war, let him go to perdition. Procuratore
giovane- God created Adam wise, good and perfect, and gave him the
earthly Paradise, where was peace, with two commandments saying;
'Enjoy peace with all that is in Paradise, but eat not the fruit of a
certain tree!' And he was disobedient and sinned in pride, not being
willing to acknowledge that he was merely a creature. And God de-
prived him of Paradise, where peace dwells, and drove him out and
put him in war, which is this world, and cursed him and all human
generations. And one brother killed the other, going from bad to
to worse. Thus will it happen to the Florentines for their fighting
which they have among themselves. And if we follow the counsel
of our junior procurator thus will it happen also to us. Procuratore
giovane: After the sin of Cain, who knew not his Creator nor did
his will, God punished the world by the flood, excepting Noah, whom
He preserved. Thus will it happen to the Florentines in their deter-
mination to have their own way, that God will destroy their country
and their possessions, and they will come to dwell here, in the same
way as families with their women and children came to dwell in the
city of Noah who obeyed God and trusted in Him. Otherwise, if we
follow the counsel of our junior procurator, our people will have to
go away and dwell in strange lands. Procuratore giovane- Noah was
a holy man elect of God, and Cain departed from God; the which slew
Japhet (Abel?) and God punished him; of whom were born the giants
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 199
wlio were tyrants and did whatever seemed good in their own eyes, not
fearing Ood. God made of one language sixty-six, and at the end tbey
destroyed each other, so that there remained no one of the seed
of the giants. Thus will it happen to the Florentines for seeking
their own will and not fearing God. Of their language sixty-six
languages will be made. For they go out day by day into France
Germany, Languedoc, Catalonia, Hungary, and throughout Italy;
and they will thus be dispersed, so that no man will be able to say
that he is of Florence. Thus will it be if we follow the advice of
our junior procurator. Therefore, fear God and hope in Him."
We can almost see the old man, with fiery eyes and moist
mouth, stammering forth these angry maunderings, lean-
ing across the council-table, with his fierce personal desig-
nation of the pi'ocurator giovaue, the proud young man in
hisstrength, whom not all the vituperations of old Mocenigo,
or his warnings to the council, could keep out of the ducal
chair so soon as death made it vacant. And there is some-
thing very curious in this confused jumble of arguments
80 inconsequent, so earnest — the old man's love of peace
and a quiet life mingled with the cunning of the aged
mediaeval statesman who could not disabuse his mind of the
idea that the destruction of Florence would swell the
wealth of Venice. In the latter part of the long, rambling
discourse, mixed up with all manner of Scripture
parallels not much more to the purpose than tliose above
quoted, the speaker returns to and insists upon the ad-
vantage to be gained by Venice from the influx of refugees
from all the neighboring cities. ^' If the duke takes
Florence " cries the old man, 'Hhe Florentines who are ac-
customed to live in equality, will leave Florence and come
to Venice, and bring with them the silk trade, and the
manufacture of wool so that their country will be without
trade, and Venice will grow rich, as happened in the case
of Lucca when it fell into the hands of a tyrant. The
trade of Lucca and its wealth came to Venice, and Lucca
became poor. Wherefore, remain in peace."
Romanin, always watchful for the credit of Venice, at-
tempts to throw some doubt upon this wonderful speech,
which, however, is given on the same authority as that
which gives us old Mocenigo's report of the accounts of the
200 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
republic and his words of warning against Foscari, which
are admitted to be authentic. It gives us a remarkable
view of the mixture of wisdom and folly, astute calculation
of the most fiercely selfish kind, and irrelevant argument,
which is characteristic of the age.
It was in the year 14S1 that Mocenigo thus discoursed.
He died two years later at the age of eighty, and the pro-
curator giovane, whom he had addressed so fiercely, suc-
ceeded as the old man foresaw. He was that Francesco
Foscari whose cruel end we have already seen, but at this
time in all the force and magnificence of his manhood, and
with a great career before him — or at least with a great
episode of Venetian history, a period full of agitation,
victory, and splendor before the city under his rule. When
Carmagnola, in hot revolt, and breathing nothing but pro-
jects of vengeance, arrived within the precincts of the
republic, a great change had taken place in the views of the
Venetians. The Florentine envoys had been received with
sympathy and interest, and as Philip's troops approached
nearer and nearer, threatening their very city, the Venetian
government, though not yet moved to active interference,
had felt it necessary to make a protest and appeal to Philip,
to whom they were still bound by old alliances, made in
Mocenigo's time, in favor of the sister republic. Rivalships
there might be in time of peace ; but the rulers of Venice
could not but regard '^ witli much gravity and lament deeply
the adversity of a free people, determining that whosoever
would retain the friendsliip of Venice should be at peace
with Florence.'' The envoy or orator, Paolo Cornaro,
who was sent with this protest, presented it in a speech
reported by the chronicler Sabellico, in which, with much
dignity, he enjoins and urges upon Philip the determina-
tion of the republic. Venetians and Florentines both
make short work with the independence of others; but yet
there is something noble in the air with which they vindi-
cate their own.
" Nothing (says Cornaro) is more dear to the Venetians than free-
dom: to the preservation of which thev are called by justice, mercy,
religion, and every other law, both public and private, counting
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 201
nothing more praiseworthy than what is done to this end. And
neither treaties nor laws, nor any other reason, divine or human, can
make them depart from this, that before everything freedom must be
secured. And in so far as regards the present case, the Venetians hold
themselves as much bound to bestir themselves when Florence is in
danger as if the army of Philip was on the frontier of their own
dominion; for it becomes those who have freedom themselves to be
careful of that of others: and as the republican forms of government
possessed by Florence resemble greatly their own. their case is like
tbat of those who suffer no less in the sufferings of their brethren
and relations than if the misfortune was theirs. Nor is there any
doubt that he who in Tuscany contends against freedom in every
other place will do the same, as is the custom of tyrants— who have
ever the name of freedom in abhorrence."
The speaker ends by declaring tbat if Philip carries on
his assaults against the P'lorentines, Venice, for her own
safety, as well as for that of her sister city, will declare
war against him as a tyrant and an enemy. '^This oration
much disturbed the soul of Philip." But he was full of
the intoxication of success, and surrounded by a light-
hearted court, to whom victory had become a common-
place. The giovanotti dishonestissimi, foolish young
courtiers who, from the time of King Rehoboam, have led
young princes astray, whose jeers and wiles had driven
Carmagnola to despair, were not to be daunted by the grave
looks of the noble Venetian, whom, no doubt, they felt
themselves capable of laughing and flattering out of his
seriousness.
The next scene of the drama takes place in Venice to
which Philip sent an embassy to answer the mission of
Cornaro, led by the same Oldrado who had made that in-
effectual rush after Carmagnola from the castle gates, and
who was one of his chief enemies. An embassy from Flor-
ence arrived at the same time, and the presence of these
two opposing bands filled with interest and excitement the
city of the sea, where a new thing was received with as
much delight as in Athens of old, and where the warlike
spirit was always so ready to light up. Tlie keen eyes of
the townsfolk seized at once upon the difference so visible
in the two parties. The Milanese, ruffling in their fine
clothes, went about the city gayly, as if they had come for
202 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
no other purpose than to see tlie sights, which, says, Bigli
who was himself of Milan, and probably thought a great
deal too much fuss was made about this wonderful sea-city
seemed ridiculous to the Venetians, so that they almost
believed the duke was making a jest of them. The
Florentines, on the contrary, grave as was their fashion,
and doubly serious in the dangerous position of their
affairs, went about the streets '' as if in mourning,^'
eagerly addressing everybody who might be of service to
them. Sabellico gives a similar account of the two
parties.
" There miglit then be seen in the city divers ambassadors of divers
demeanor," he says. "Lorenzo (the Florentine), as was befitting
showed the sadness and humble condition of his country, seeking to
speak with the senators even in the streets, following them to their
houses and neglecting nothing which might be to the profit of the
embassy. On the other hand, those of Philip, not to speak of their
pomp, and decorations of many kinds, full of hope and confidence
went gazing about the city so marvelously built, such as they had
never seen before, full of wonder how all these things of the earth
could be placed upon the sea. And they replied cheerfully to all who
saluted them, showing in their faces, in their eyes, by all they said
and, in short, by every outward sign of satisfaction, the prosperity of
their duke and country."
The dark figure of theFlorentine, awaiting anxiously the
red-robed senator as he made his way across the Piazza, or
hurrying after him through the narrow thoroughfares, while
this gay band, in all their finery, swept by, must have made
an impressive comment upon the crisis in which so much
was involved. While the Milanese swam in a gondola, or
gazed at the marbles on the walls, or here and there an early
mosaic, all blazing, like themselves, in crimson and gold,
the ambassador, upon whose pleading hung the dear life of
Florence, haunted the bridges and the street-corners, letting
nobody pass that could help him. ^'How goes the cause to-
day, illustrious signor? '^ one can hear him saying. **What
hope for my country, la patria 7nia9 Will the noble
signori hear me speak? Will it be given me to plead my
cause before their magnificences? " Or in a bolder tone.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 203
**Onr cause is yours, most noble sir, though it may not
seem so now. If Pliilip sets his foot on the neck of
Florence, which never shall be while I live, how long will
it be, tliink you, before his trumpets sound at Mestre over
the marslies, before he has stirred your Istrians to revolt?"
Tlie senators passing to and fro, perhaps in the early morn-
ing after a long night in the council-chamber, as happened
sometimes, had tlieir steps wayhiidby this earnest advocate.
The Venetians were more given to gayety than their brothers
from the Arno, but they were men who before everything
else cared for their constitution, so artfully and skillfully
formed — for their freedom, such as it was, and the proud
independence which no alien force had ever touched; and
the stranger with his rugged Tuscan features and dark
dress, and keen inharmonious accent, among all their soft
Venetian talk, no doubt impressed the imagination of a
susceptible race. Whereas the Milanese gallants, in their
gayety affecting to see no serious object in their mission,
commended themselves only to the light-minded, not to the
fathers of the city. And when Carmagnola, the great
soldier, known of all men — he who had set Philip back
npon his throne as everybody knew, and won so many bat-
tles and cities — with all the romantic interest of a hero
and an injured man, came across the lagoon and landed at
the Piazzetta between the fated pillars, how he and his
scarred and bearded men-at-arms must have looked at the
gay courtiers with their jests and laughter, who on their
side could scarcely fail to shrink a little when the man
whose ruin they had plotted went past them to say his say
before the signoria, in a sense fatally different from theirs,
as they must have known.
The speeches of these contending advocates are all given
at lengtn in the minute and graphic chronicle. The first
to appear before the doge and senate was Lorenzo Ridolfi,
the Florentine, who conjoins his earnest pleading for aid
to his own state with passionate admonitions and warn-
ings, that if Venice gives no help to avert the conse-
quences, her fate will soon be the same. " Serene prince
and illustrious senators," he cries, *'even if I were silent
vou would understand what T came here to seek.
204 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
" And those also would understand who have seen us leave Tus-
cany and come here in haste, ambassadors from a free city, to ask
your favor, and help for the protection of our liberties, from a free
people like yourselves. The object of all my speaking is this, to in-
duce you to grant safety to my country, which has brought forth and
bred me, and given me honor and credit — which if I can attain, and
that you should join the confederation and friendship of the Floren-
tines, and join your army with our Tuscans against the cruelest
tyrant, enemy of our liberties, and hating yours, happy shall be my
errand, and my country will embrace me with joy on my return. And
our citizens, who live in this sole hope, will hold themselves and
their city by your bounty alone to be saved from every peril. ... I
tremble, noble prince, in this place to say that which I feel in my
soul : but because it is necessary I will say it. If you will not make
this alliance with us, Philip will find himself able without help, hav-
ing overthrown Florence, to secure also the dominion of Venice. If
it should be answered me that the Venetians always keep their prom-
ises and engagements, I pray and implore the most high God that,
having given you goodness and faith to keep your promises, He
would give you to know the arts and motives of this tyrant, and after
discovering them, with mature prudence to restrain and overrule
them. . . . That tyrant himself, who has so often broken all laws,
both divine and human, will himself teach you not to keep that
which he, in his perfidy, has not kept. But already your tacit con-
sent gives me to understand that I have succeeded in convincing you
that in this oration I seek not so much the salvation of my republic
as the happiness, dignity, and increase of your own."
This speech moved the senators greatly, but did not set-
tle the question, their minds being divided between alarm,
sympathy, and prudence — fear of Philip on the one hand
and of expense on the other — so that they resolved to hear
Philip's ambassadors first before coming to any decision.
Time was given to the orator of the Milan party to prepare
reply to his Ridolfi, which he made in a speech full of bra-
vado, declaring that he and his fellows were sent, not to
make any league or peace with Venice, since their former
treaties were still in full force, and any renewal was un-
necessary between such faithful allies — but simply to salute
the illustrious signoria in Philip's name.
" But since these people, who have by nature the gift of speech,
delicate and false, have not only to the senate, but in the Piazza and
by the streets, with pitiful lamentations, wept their fate, declaring
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 205
that tlie war which they have carried on so badly was begun by
Philip ; he desires to leave it to your judgment, not refusing any con-
ditions which you may prescribe. What they say is false and vain,
unheard of things, such as they are accustomed to study in order to
abuse your gravity, your constancy, the ancient laws of friendship,
and all the treaties made with Philip. They bid you fear him and
the increase of his power. But you know they are our enemies who
speak. They tell you that kings hate the name of republics. . . .
It is true that King Louis was a cruel enemy of the Venetian name,
and all the house of Carrara were your enemies. But the Visconti,
who for a hundred years have flourished in the noble duchy of Milan,
were always friends of the Venetian republic. . . . Philip has had
good reasons to war against the Florentines, and so have all the Vis-
conti. They ought to accuse themselves, their pride and avarice,
not Philip who is the friend of peace and repose, the very model of
liberality and courtesy. Let them therefore cease to abuse and in-
jure our noble duke in your presence. Being provoked we have an-
swered in these few words, though we might have said many more ;
which are so true that they themselves (although they are liars) do
not venture to contradict them."
This address (lid not throw much light upon the subject,
and left the senate in as much difficulty as if it had been
an English cabinet council at certain recent periods of our
own history. ** Diverse opinions and various decisions
were agitated among the senators. Some declared that it
was best to oppose in open war the forces of Philip, who
would otherwise deceive them with fair words until he had
overcome the Florentines. Others said that to leap into
such an undertaking would be mere temerity, adding that
it was an easy thing to begin a war, but difficult to end it.''
The senate of Venice had, however, another pleader at
liand, whose eloquence was more convincing. When they
had confused themselves with arguments for and against,
the doge, whose views were warlike, called for Carmagnola,
who had been waiting in unaccustomed inaction to know
what was to happen to him. All his wrongs had been
revived by an attempt made to poison him in his retreat at
Treviso by a Milanese exile who was sheltered there, and
who hoped by this good deed to conciliate Philip and pur-
chase his recall — a man who, like Carmagnola, had married
a Visconti, and perhaps had some private family hatred to
206 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
quicken his patriotic zeal. The attempt had been unsuc-
cessful, and the woiild-be assassin had paid for it by his
life. But the result had been to liglit into wilder flame
than ever the fire of wrong in the fierce heart of the great
captain, whose love had been turned into hatred by the
ingratitude of his former masters and friends. He ap-
peared before the wavering statesmen, who, between their
ducats and their danger, could not come to any decision,
flaming with wrath and energy. " Being of a haughty
nature, ^lna natura sdegnosa, lie spoke bitterly against
Philip and his ingratitude and perfidy," describing in hot
words his own struggles and combats, the cities he had
brought under Philip's sway, and the fame he had pro-
cured him, so that his name was known not only through-
out all Italy, but even through Europe, as the master of
Genoa. The rewards which Carmagnola had received, he
declared proudly, were not rewards, but his just hire and
no more. And now quelV ingrato, whom he had served so
well, had not only wounded his heart and his good name,
for the sake of a set of lying youths — giovanotti dislioiies-
tissimi — and forced him into exile, but finally had at-
tempted to kill him. But yet he had not been without
good fortune, in that he was preserved from this peril ;
and though he had lost the country in which he had left
wife and children and much wealth, yet had he found an-
other country where was justice, bounty, and every virtue
— where every man got his due, and place and dignity
were not given to villains ! After this outburst of personal
feeling, Carmagnola entered fully into the weightier parts
of the matter, giving the eager senators to understand that
Philip was not so strong as he seemed ; that his money
was exhausted, his citizens impoverished, his soldiers in
arrears ; that he himself, Carmagnola, had been the real
cause of most of his triumphs ; and that with his guidance
and knowledge the Florentines themselves were stronger
than Philip, the Venetians much stronger. He ended by
declaring himself and all his powers at their service, promis-
ing not only to conquer Philip, but to increase the territory
of the Venetians. Greater ^omni^nders they might have.
^-^^VJ.C^'If^^-f- ■■-■-'T>
DOOBWAT OF KUIKKD CHAPEL OF THE SERYl.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE, 207
and names more lionored, but none of better faith toward
Venice, or of greater hatred toward the enemy.
Carmagnola's speech is not given in the first person like
the otliers. By the time the narrative was written his
tragic history was over, and the enthusiasm with which he
was first received had become a tiling to be lightly dwelt
upon, where it could not be ignored altogether; but it is
easy to see the furious and strong personal feeling of the
man, injured and longing for revenge, his heart torn with
the serpent's tooth of ingratitude, the bitterness of love
turned into hate. So strong was the impression made by
these hoarse and thrilling accents of reality that the doubters
were moved to certainty, and almost all pronounced for
war. At the risk of over-prolonging this report of the
Venetian cabinet council and its proceedings, we are
tempted to quote a portion of the speech of the doge, in
wliich the reader will scarcely fail to see on the contrary
side some reflection or recollection of old Mocenigo's argu-
ment which had been lanched at his successor's head only
a few years before.
" There are two things in a republic, noble fathers, which by name
and effect are sweet and gentle, but wliich are often the occasion of
much trouble to the great and noble city — tbese are peace and economy.
For there are dangers both distant and under our eyes, which either
we do not see, or seeing them, being too much devoted to saving
money, or to peace, esteem them little, so that almost always we are
drawn into very evident peril before we will consider the appalling
name of war. or come to manifest harm to avoid the odious name of
expense. This fact, by which much harm and ruin has been done
in our times, and which has also been recorded for us by our prede-
cessors, is now set before us in an example not less useful than clear
in the misfortunes of the Florentines, who, when they saw the power
of Philip increasing, might jnany times have restrained it, and had
many occasions of so doing, but would not. in order to avoid the
great expense. But now it has come to pass that the money which
they acquired in peace and repose must be spent uselessly; and what
is more to be lamented, they can neither attain peace, save at the cost
of their freedom, nor put an end to their expenditure. I say, then,
that such dangers ought to be considered, and being considered, ought
to be provided for by courage and counsel. To guide a republic is
like guiding a ship at sea. I ask if any captain, the sea being quiet
208 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
and the wind favorable, ceases to steer the sLip, or gives himself up
to sleep and repose without thinking of the dangers that may arise,
without keeping in order the sails, the masts, the cordage, or taking
into consideration the sudden changes to which the sea is subject, the
season of the year, by what wind and in what part of the sea lies his
course, what depth of water and what rocks his vessel may encounter?
If these precautions are neglected, and he is assailed by sudden mis-
fortune, does he not deserve to lose his ship, and with it everything ?
A similar misfortune has happened to the Florentines, as it must
happen to others who do not take precautions against future dangers
to the republic. The Florentines (not to have recourse to another ex-
ample) might have repressed and overcome the power of Philip when
it was growing, if they had taken the trouble to use their opportu-
nities. But by negligence, or rather by avarice, they refrained from
doing so. And now it has come about that, beaten in war, with the
loss of their forces, they are in danger of losing their liberty. And
to make it worse, they are condemned everywhere, and instead of
being called industrious are called vile, and held in good repute by
none; instead of prudent are called fools; and instead of getting credit
for their wariness are esteemed to be without intelligence. These
evils, therefore, ought to be provided against when far off, which
when near can cause such serious evil."
AVords so plain and honest, and which are so germane to
the matter, come to us strangely from under the gilded
roofs of the ducal palace, and from the midst of the romance
and glory of mediaeval Venice. But Venice was the nation
of shopkeepers in those days which Enghmd is said to be
now, and was subject to many of the same dangers which
menace ourselves — though wrath was more prompt, and
the baUmce of well-being swayed more swiftly, both toward
downfall and recovery, than is possible in our larger con-
cerns.
** The energetic speech and great influence of the doge,
which was greater than that of any prince before him," says
the chronicler (alas! though this was that same Francesco
Foscari who died in downfall and misery, deposed from his
high place), settled the matter. The league was made with
the Florentines, war declared against the duke of Milan,
and Carmagnola appointed general of the forces. The
senate sent messengers, we are told, through all Italy to
seek recruits, but in the meantime set in movement those
who were ready; while Carmagnola, like a valorous captain.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 209
began to contrive how he could begin the war with some
great deed. It does not quite accord with our ideas that
the first great deed which he planned was to secure the
assassination of the governor of Brescia and betrayal of
that city, which is the account given by Sabellico. Bigli,
however, puts the matter in a better light, explaining tluit
many in the city were inclined to follow Carmagnola, who
had once already conquered the town for Philip, who had
always maintained their cause in Milan, and whose wrongs
had thus doubly attracted their sympathy. The city was
asleep, and all was still, when, with the aid from within of
two brothers, Imoinini di anima grande, the wall was
breached, and Carmagnola got possession of Brescia. ** It
was about midnight, in the month of March, on the last
day of Lent, which is sacred to St. Benedict," when the
Venetian troops marched into the apparently unsuspecting
town. The scene is picturesque in the highest degree.
They marched into the piazza, the center of all city life, in
the chill and darkness of the spring night, and there, with
sudden blare of trumpets and illumination of torches, pro-
claimed the sovereignty of Venice. It is easy to imagine
the sudden panic, the frightened faces at the windows, the
glare of the wild light that lit up the palace fronts, and
showed the dark mass of the great cathedral rising black
and silent behind, while the horses pawed the ringing
stones of the pavement and the armor shone. The histo-
rian goes on to say: ** Though at first dismayed by tlie
clang of the trumpets and arms," the inhabitants, •' as soon
as they perceived that it was Carmagnola, remained quiet
in their houses, except those who rushed forth to welcome
the besiegers, or who had private relations with the gen-
eral. No movement was made from the many fortified
places in the city." The transfer from one suzerain to
another was a matter of common occurrence, which perhaps
accounts for the ease and composure with which it was
accomplished. The first victory, however, was but a part
of what had to be done. The citadel, high above on the
crown of the hill which overlooks the city, remained for
some time unconscious of what had taken place below.
210 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
Perhaps the Venetian trumpets and clang of the soldiery
scarcely reached the airy ramparts above, or passed for some
sudden broil, some encounter of enemies in the streets, such
as were of nightly occurrence. The town was large, and
rich, and populous upon the slopes underneath, surrounded
with great walls descending to the plains — walls ^Uhicker
than they were high,^^ with fortifications at every gate; and
SWORD HILT.
was divided into the old and new city, the first of these
only being in Carmagnola^s hands. It seems a doubtful
advantage to have thus penetrated into the streets of a
town while a great portion of its surrounding fortifications
and the citadel above were still in other hands; but the
warfare of those times had other laws than those with
which we are acquainted. The fact that these famous for-
tifications were of little use in checking the attack is de-
voutly explained by Bigli as a proof that God was against
them — ^' because they were erected with almost unbearable
expense and toil," ^* the very blood of the Brescians con-
strained by their former conqueror to accomplish this work,
which was marvelous, no man at that time having seen the
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 211
like." The Brescians themselves, he tells us, were always
eager for change, and on the outlook for every kind of
novelty, so that there was nothing remarkable in their
quiet acceptance of, and even satisfaction in, the new sway.
The reduction of the citadel was, however, a long and des-
perate task. The means employed by Carmagnola for this
end are a little difficult to follow, at least foi a lay reader.
He seems to have surrounded the castle with an elaborate
double work of trenches and palisades, with wooden towers
at inteAals; and wearing out the defenders by continued
assault, as well as shutting out all chance of supplies, at
last, after long vigilance and patience, attained his end.
Brescia fell finally with all its wealth into the hands of the
Venetians, a great prize worthy the trouble and time which
had been spent upon it — a siege of seven months after the
first night attack, which had seemed so easy.
This grave achievement accomplished Carmagnola secured
with little trouble the Brescian territory ; most of the
villages and castles in the neigh borliood, as far as the Lago
di Garda, giving themselves up to tlie conqueror without
waiting for any assault of arms. The tide of ill-fortune
seems to have been too much for Philip ; and by the good
offices of the pope's legate, a temporary peace was made —
at the cost, to the duke, of Brescia, with all its territory,
and various smaller towns and villages, together with a
portion of the district of Cremona on the other bank of the
Ogiio, altogether nearly forty miles in extent. Philip, as
may be supposed, was furious at his losses — now accusing
the bad faith of the Florentines, who had begun the war;
now the avarice of the Venetians, who were not content
with having taken Brescia, but would iiave Cremona too.
The well-meant exertions of the legate, however, were of so
little effect that before his own departure he saw the
magistrates sent by the Venetians to take possession of
their new property on the Cremona side driven out with
insults, and Philip ready to take arms again. The cause of
this new courage was to be found in the action of the people
of Milan, who, stung in their pride by the national down-
fall, drew their purse-strings and came to their prince's aid.
212 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
offering both men and money on condition that Philip
would give up to them the dues of the city so that they
might reimburse themselves. Thus the wary and subtle
Italian burghers combined daring with prudence, and
secured a great municipal advantage, while undertaking a
patriotic duty.
It would be hopeless to follow the course of this long-
continued, often-interrupted war. On either side there
was a crowd of captains — many Italians, men of high birth
and great possessions, others sprung from the people like
Carmagnola: a certain John the Englishman, with a
hundred followers, figured in the special following of the
commander, like William the Cock in the train of Zeno.
The great battles which bulk so largely in writing, the names
and numbers of which confuse the reader who attempts to
follow the entanglements of alliances and treacheries which
fill the chronicle, were in most cases almost bloodless, and
the prisoners who were taken by the victors were released
immediately, *^ according to the usage of war," in order
that they might live to fight another day, and so prolong
and extend the profitable and not too laborious occupation
of soldiering. Such seems to have been the rule of these
endless combats. The men-at-arms in their complete mail
were very nearly invulnerable. They might roll off their
horses and be stifled in their own helmets, or at close quarters
an indiscreet axe might hew through the steel, or an arrow
find a crevice in the armor; but such accidents were quite
unusual, and the bloodless battle was a sort of game which
one general played against another, in ever renewed and
changing combinations. The danger that the difi'erent
bands might quarrel among themselves, and divided counsels
prevail, was perhaps greater than any other in the com-
position of these armies. In Philip^s host, when the second
campaign began, this evil was apparent. Half-a-dozen
captains of more or less equal pretensions claimed the
command, and the wranglings of the council of war were
not less than those of a village municipality. On the other
hand, Carmagnola, in his rustic haughtiness, conscious of
being the better yet the inferior of all round him, his
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 213
flwmasc?e^?iOsa stoutly contemptuous of all lesser claims,
kept perfect harmony in his camp, though the names of
Gonzaga and Sforza are to found among his officers.
Even the Venetian comtnissioners yielded to his influence,
Bigli says, with awe — though he hid his iron hand in no
glove, but ruled his army with the arrogaiice which had
been his characteristic f lom his youth up. Already, how-
ever, there were suspicions and doubts of the great general
rising in the minds of those who were his masters. He
had asked permission more than once, even during the
siege of Brescia, to retire to certain baths, pleading ill-
health, a plea which it is evident the signoria found it
difficult to believe, and which raised much scornful com-
ment and criticism in Venice. These Carmagnola heard
of and in great indignation complained of to the signoria:
which, however, so far from supporting the vulgar plaints,
sent a special commisioner to assure him of their complete
trust and admiration.
The great battle of Maclodio or Macalo was the chief
feature in Carmagnola's second campaign. This place was
surrounded by marshes, the paths across which were tor-
tuous and difficult to find, covered with treacherous herbage
and tufts of wood. Carmagnola's purpose was to draw the
Milanese army after him, and bring on a battle if possible
on this impracticable ground, which his own army had
thoroughly explored and understood. Almost against hope
his opponents fell into the snare, notwithstanding the
opposition of the older and more experienced captains, who
divined their old comrade's strategy. Unfortunately, how-
ever, for the Milanese, Philip had put a young Malatesta,
incompetent and headstrong, whose chief recommendation
was his noble blood, at the head of old officers, by way
of putting a stop to their rivalries. When the new general
decided upon attacking the Venetians, his better instructed
subordinates protested earnestly. "We overthrow Philip
to-day," cried Torelli, one of the chiefs; "for either I know
nothing of war, or this road leads us headlong to destruc-
tion; but that no one may say I shrink from danger, I put
my foot first into the snare." So saying, he led the way
214 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
into tlie marsh, but with every precaution, pointing out to
his men the traps laid for them, and, having the good
fortune to hit upoji one of the solid lines of path, escaped
with his son and a few of his immediate followers. Pic-
cinino, another of the leaders, directed his men to turn
their pikes against either fricind or foe who stopped the
way, and managed to cut his way out with a few of his
men; but the bulk of the army fell headlong into the
snare; the general, Malatesta, was taken almost imme-
diately, and the floundering troops surrounded and taken
prisoners in battalions.
Sabellico talks of much bloodshed, but it would seem to
have been the innocent blood of horses that alone was shed
in this great battle.
"Nearly five thousand horsemen, and a similar number of foot-
soldiers, were taken — there was no slaughter" says Bigli: "the troops
thus hemmed in, rather than be slain, yielded themselves prisoners.
Those who were there affirm that they heard of no one being killed,
extraordinary to relate, though it was a great battle. Philip's army
was so completely equipped in armor that no small blow was needed
to injure them: nor is there any man w^ho can record what could be
called a slaughter of armed men in Italy, though the slaughter of
horses was incredible. This disaster was great and memorable," he
adds, "for Philip — so much so that even the conquerors regretted it,
having compassion on the perilous position of so great a duke; so that
you could hear murmurings throughout the camp of the Venetians
against their own victory."
Were it not that the bloodless character of the combat
involves a certain ridicule, what a good thing it would be
could we in our advanced civilization carry on our warfare
in this innocent way, and take each other prisoners with
polite regret, only to let each other go to-morrow ! Such
a process would rob a battle of all its terrors ; and if in
certain eventualities it were understood that one party
must accept defeat, how delightful to secure all the pomp
and circumstance of glorious war at so easy a cost I There
is indeed a great deal to be said in favor of this way of
fighting.
This great success was, however, the beginning of Car-
magnola'3 evil fortune. It is said that he might, had he
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 215
followed up his victory, have pushed on to the walls of
Milan and driven Philip from his duchy. But no doubt
this would have been against the thrifty practices of the
Condottieri, and the usages of war. He returned to bis
headquarters after the fight without any pursuit, and all
the prisoners were set free. This curious custom would
seem to have been unknown to the Venetian commis-
sioners, and struck them with astonishment. In the morn-
ing, after the din and commotion of the battle were over,
they came open-mouthed to tlie generaFs tent with their
complaint. Tiie prisoners had in great part been dis-
charged. Was Oarmagnola aware of it r ** What then,"
cried those lay critics witli much reason, ** was the use of
war ? when all that was done was to prolong it endlessly —
the fighting men escaping without a wound, the prisoners
going back to tlieir old quarters in peace ?" Oarmagnola,
ever proud, would seem to have made them no reply ; but
when they had done he sent to inquire what had been done
with the prisoners, as if this uniniportant detail was un-
known to him. He was answeied that almostall had been
set free on the spot, but that about four hundred still
remained in the catnp — their captors probably hoping for
ransom. ** Since their comrades have had so much good
fortune," said Oarmagnola, *' by the kindness of my men, I
desire that the others should be released by mine, according
to the custom of war." Thus the haughty general proved
how much regard he pnid to the remonstrances of his
civilian masters. ''From this," says Sabellico, ** there
arose great suspicion in the minds of the Venetians. And
there are many who believe that it was the chief occasion
of his death." But no hint was given of these suspicions
at the time ; and as Oarmagnohi's bloodless victory deeply
impressed the surrounding countries, brought all the smaller
fortresses and castles to submission, and, working with
other misfortunes, led back Philip again with the ever-
convenient legate to ask for peace, the general returned
with glory to Venice, and was received apparently with
honor and delight. But the little rift within the lute was
never slow of appearing, and the jealous signoria feasted
216 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
many a man whom they suspected, and for whom, under
their smiles and plaudits, they were already concocting
trouble. The curious *' usage of war," thus discovered
by the Venetian envoys, is frankly accounted for by a
historian, who had himself been in his day a Condottiere,
as arising from the fear the soldiers had, if the war
finished quickly, that the people might cry, '' Soldiers, to
the spade ! "
A curious evidence of how human expedients are lost
and come round into use again by means of that whirli-
gig of time which makes so many revolutions, is to be
found in Carmagnola's invention for tiie defense of his
camp, of a double line of the country carts which carried
his provisions, standing closely together — with three
archers, one authority says, to each. Nothwithstanding
what seems the very easy nature of his victories and the
large use of treachery, it is evident that his military genius
impressed the imagination of his time above that of any of
his competitors. He alone, harsh and haughty as he was,
kept his forces in unity. His greatness silenced the feudal
lords, who could not venture to combat it, and he had the
art of command, which is a special gift.
The peace lasted for the long period of three years, dur-
ing which time Carm.agnola lived in great state and honor
in Venice, in a palace near San Eustachio which had been
bestowed upon him by the state. His wife and children,
had in the former interval of peace been restored to him,
and all seemed to go at his will. A modern biographer
(Lomonaco), who does not cite any authorities, informs us
that Carmagnola was never at home in his adopted city —
that he felt suspicions and unfriendliness in the air — and
that the keen consciousness of his low origin, which seems
to have set a sharp note in his character, was more than
ever present with him here. ^' He specially abhorred the
literary coteries," says this doubtful authority, '^calling
them vain as women, punctilious as boys, lying and feign-
ing like slaves " — which things have been heard before, and
are scarcely worth putting into the fierce lips of the Pied-
montese soldier, whose rough accent of the north was
THE MAKKRS Ot VENICE. 217
probably laughed at by the elegant Venetians, and to vvlioni
their constant pursuit of novelty, their mental activity,
politics, and commotions of town life, were very likely
nauseous and unprofitable. He who was conversant with
more primitive means of action than speeches in the senate,
or even the discussions of the Oousiglio Maggiore, might
well chafe at so much loss of time ; and it was the fate of
a general of mercenaries, who had little personal motive
beyond his pay, and what he could gain by his services, to
be distrusted by his masters.
The occasion of the third war is sufficiently difficult to
discover. A Venetian cardinal — Gabriele Oondulmero —
had been made pope, and had publislied a bull, admonish-
ing both lords and people to keep the peace, as he intended
himself to inquire into every rising, and regulate the affairs
of Italy. This declaration alarmed Philip of Milan, to
whom it seemed inevitable that a Venetian pope should be
his enemy ; and thus, with no doubt a thousand secondary
considerations on all hands, the peninsula was once more
set on fire. When it became apparent that the current of
events was setting toward war, Carmagnola, for no given
reason, but perhaps because his old comrades and associates
had begun to exercise a renewed attraction, notwithstand-
ing all the griefs that had separated him from Philip, wrote
to the senate of Venice, asking to resign his appointments
in their service. This, however, the alarmed signoria would
b} no means listen to. They forced upon him instead the
command in general of all their forces, with one thousand
ducats a month of pay, to be paid both in war and peace,
and many extraordinary privileges. It seems even to have
been contemplated as a possible thing that Milan itself, if
Philip's powers were entirely crushed, as the Venetians
hoped, might be bestowed upon Carmagnola as a reward
for the destruction of the Visconti. Nevertheless, it is evi-
dent that Carmagiiola had by this time begun a correspond-
ence with his former master, and received both letters and
messengers from Philip while conducting the campaign
against him. And that campaign was certainly not so suc-
cessful, nor was it carried on with the energy which had
218 THE MAKEnS OF VENICE.
marked his previous enterprises. He was defeated before
Soncino, by devices of a similar character to those which
he had himself employed, and here is said to have lost a
tliousand horses. But that shedding of innocent blood
was soon forgotten in the real and terrible disaster which
followed.
The Venetians had fitted out not only a land army, but
what ought to have been more in consonance with their
liabits and character, an expedition by sea under the Ad-
miral Trevisano, whose sliips, besides their crews, are said to
liave carried ten thousand fighting men, for tlie capture of
Cremona. The fleet went up the Po to act in concert with
Oarmagnola in his operations against that city. But Philip
on his side had also a fleet in the Po, though inferior to the
Venetian, under the command of a Genoese, Grimaldi, and
manned in great part by Genoese, the hereditary opponents
and rivals of Venice. The two generais on land, Sforza
nnd Piccinino, then both in the service of Philip — men
wliose ingenuity and resource had been whetted by previous
defeats, and who had thus learned CarmagnoUi's tactics —
amused and occupied him by threatening his camp, wliich
was as yet imperfectly defended, phitosto alleggiamento die
ripari: but in the night stole away, and under the walls
of Cremona were received in darkness and silence into
Grimaldi's ships, and flung themselves upon the Venetian
fleet. These vessels being sea-going ships, were heavy and
difficult to manage in the river — those of their adversaries
being apparently of lighter build ; and Grimaldi^s boats
seem to have had the advantage of the current, which
carried them '' very swiftly " against the Venetians, who,
in the doubtful dawn, were astonished by the sight of the
glittering armor and banners bearing down upon them
with all the impetus of the great stream. The Venetian
admiral sent ojff a message to warn Carmagnola ; but before
he could reach the river-bank, the two fleets, in a disastrous
jumble, had drifted out of reach. Carmagnola, roused at
last, arrived too late, and, standing on the shore, hot with
ineff'ectual haste, spent his wrath in shouts of encourage-
ment to his comrades, and in cries of rage and dismay as he
THE MAKERS OF VENICE, 219
saw the tide of fortune drifting on, carrying the ships of
Philip in wild concussion against the hapless Venetians.
When things became desperate, Trevisano, the admiral, got
to shore in a little boat, and fled, carrying with him the
treasure of sixty thousand gold pieces, which was one of the
great objects of the attack. But this was almost all that was
saved from the rout. Bigli says that seventy ships were
taken, of which twenty-eight were ships of war; but in this
he is probably mistaken, as he had himself described the
fleet as one of thirty ships. "The slaughter," he adds,
*' was greater than any that was ever known in Italy, more
than twenty-five hundred men being said to have perished,
in witness of which the Po ran red, a great stream of blood,
for many miles." A few ships escaped by flight, and many
fugitives, no doubt, in boats and by the banks, where they
were assailed by the peasants, wiio taking advantage of their
opportunity, and with many a wrong to revenge, killed a
large number. Such a disastrous defeat had not happened
to Venice for many a day.
The Venetian historian relates that Carmagnola received
the warning and appeal of the admiral with contempt — '*as
he was of a wrathful nature, di naturn iraconda, and with
a loud voice reproved the error of the Venetians, who,
despising his counsel, refused the support to the army on
land which they had given to their naval expedition ; nor
did he believe what the messengers told him, but said
scornfully that the admiral, fearing the form of an aimed
man, had dreamed that all the enemies in their boats were
born giants." This angry speech, no doubt, added to the
keen dissatisfaction of the Venetians in knowing that their
general remained inactive on the bank while their ships
were thus cut to pieces. The truth probably lies between
the two narratives, as so often happens ; for Carmagnola
might easily express his hot impatience with the autliorities
who had refused to be guided by his experience, and with
the admiral who took the first unexpected man in armor
for a giant, when the messengers roused him with their
note of alarm in the middle of the night, and yet have had
no traitorous purpose in liis delay. He himself took the
220 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
defeat profoundly to heart, and wrote letters of such dis-
tress excusing himself, that the senators were compelled in
the midst of their own trouble to send ambassadors to soothe
him — ^'to mitigate liis frenzy, that they might not fall into
greater evil, and to keep him at his post" — with assurances
that they held him free of blame. It is evident, we think,
that the whole affair had been in direct opposition to his
advice, and that, instead of being in the wrong, he felt
himself able to take a very high position with the ill-advised
signoria, and to resent the catastrophe which, with greater
energy on his part, might perhaps have been prevented
altogether. The Venetians avenged the disaster by sending
a fleet at once to Genoa, where, coursing along the lovely
line of the eastern Eiviera, they caught in a somewhat
similar way the Genoese fleet, and annihilated it. But this
is by the way.
Carmagnola, meanwhile, lay like Achilles sullen in his
tent. Philip himself came in his joy and triumph to the
neighborhood, but could not tempt the disgusted general
to more than a languid passage of arms. An attempt to
take Cremona by surprise, made by one of his officers, a
certain Cavalcabo, or as some say by Colleoni, seemed as if
it might have been crowned with success had the general
bestirred himself with sufficient energy — *'if Car-
magnola had sent more troops in aid." As it was, the ex-
pedition, being unsupported, had to retire. If he were
indeed contemplating treachery it is evident that he had a
great struggle with himself, and was incapable of changing
his allegiance with the light-hearted ease of many of his
contemporaries. He lay thus sullen and disheartened in
liis leaguer even when spring restored the means of war-
fare, and though his old enemy Picinnino was up and stir-
ring, picking up here and there a castle in the disturbed
precincts of the Cremonese. "The marvel grew," cries
Sabellico, "that Carmagnola let these people approach
him, and never moved."
The signoria in the meantime, had been separately and
silently turning over many thouglits in their mind on the
subject of this general who was not as the others, who
THE MAKEHh OF VENICE. 221
would not be commanded nor yet dismissed, too great to be
dispensed with, too troublesome to manage. Ever since
the memorable incidents of the battle of Maclodio, doubts
of his good faith had been in their minds. Why did he
liberate Philip's soldiers if he really wished to overthrow
Philip ? It was Philip himself — so the commissioners had
said in their indignation whom he had set free; and who
could tell that the treachery at Soncino was not of his con-
triving, or that he had not stood aloof of set purpose while
the ships were cut in pieces ? Besides, was it not certain
that many a Venetian had been made to stand aside while
this nortnern mountaineer, this rude Piedmontese, went
swaggering through the streets, holding the noblest at
arm's length ? A hundred hidden vexations came up when
some one at last introduced his name, and suddenly the
senators with one consent burst into the long-deferred dis-
cussion for which every one was ready.
" There were not a few," says Sabellico, "who, from tbe beginning,
had suspected Carmagnola. These now openly in the senate declared
that this suspicion not only had not ceased but increased, and was
increasing every day; and that, except his title of commander, they
knew nothing in him that was not hostile to the Venetian name. The
others would not believe this, nor consent to hold him in such sus-
picion until some manifest signs of his treachery were placed before
them. Tbe senate again and again referred to the Avogadori the
question whether such a man ought to be retained in the public serv-
ice, or whether, if convicted of treachery, he ought to be put to
capital punishment. This deliberation, which lasted a very long
time, ought to demonstrate how secret were the proceedings of the
senate when the affairs of the country were in question, and how
profound the g(K)d faith of the public counselors. For when the
senate was called together for this object, entering into counsel at
the first lighting of torches, the consultation lasted till it was full day.
Carmagnola himself was in Venice for some time while it was pro-
ceeding; and going one morning to pay his respects to the doge, he
met him coming out of the council-chambv^r to the palace, and with
mucn cheerfulness asked whether he ought to bid him good morning
or good evening seeing he had not slept since supper. To whom that
prince replied, smiling, that among the many serious matters which
had been talked of in that long discussion, nothing had been oftener
mentioned than his (Caruiagnola's) name. But in order that
no suspicion might be awakened by these words, he immediately
222 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
turned the conversation to otber subjects. This was nearly
eight months before there was any question of death: and so secret
was this council, holding everything in firm and perpetual
silence, that no suggestion of their suspicions reached Carmagnola.
And though many of the order of the senators were by long intimacy
his friends, and many of them poor, who might have obtained great
rewards from Carmagnola had they betrayed this secret, nevertheless
all kept it faithfully."
There is something grim and terrible in the smiling reply
of the doge to the man whose life was being played for
between tliese secret judges, that his name had been one of
those which came oftenest uppermost in their discussions.
With what eyes must the splendid Venetian in his robes of
state, pale with the night's watching have looked at the
soldier, erect and cheerful, con fronts molto allegra, who
came across the great court to meet him iu tiie first light
of the morning, which after the dimness of the council-
chamber and its dying torches, would dazzle the watcher's
eyes? The other red-robed figures, dispersing like so
many ghosts, pale-eyed before the day, did they glance at
each other with looks of baleful meaning as the unsuspicious
general passed with many salutations and friendly words and
greeting — * 'Shall it be good-even or good-morrow, illustrious
gentlemen, who watch for Venice while the rest of the
world sleep?" Would there be grace enough among the
secret councilors to hurry their steps as they passed him, or
was there a secret enjoyment in Foscari's double entendre —
in that fatal smile with which he met the victim? The
great court which has witnessed so much has rarely seen a
stranger scene.
At what time this curious encounter can have happened
it is difficult to tell — perhaps on the occasion of some flying
visit to his family, which Carmagnola may have paid after
laying up his army in winter quarters after the fashion of
the time. The signoria had sent messengers to remonstrate
with him upon his inaction to no avail ; and that he still
lingered in camp doing little or nothing added a sort of
exasperation to the impatience of the city, and gave their
rulers a justification for what they were about to do. The
Yeuetiaa seuators had no thought of leaving their general
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 223
free to carry over to Philip the help of his great name
in case of another war. Carmagnola's sword thrown
suddenly into the balance of power, which was so critical in
Italy, might have swayed it in almost any conceivable
direction — and this was a risk not to be lightly encountered.
Had he shaken the dust from his feet at Mestre, and,
instead of embarking upon the lagoon, turned his horse
round upon the beacii and galloped off, as he had done from
Philip's castle, to some other camp — the Florentines',
perhaps, or his own native Duke Amadeo of Savoy — wliat
revolutions might happen ? He had done it once, but the
magnificent signoria were determined that he should not
do it again. Therefore the blow, when finally resolved
upon, had to be sharp and sudden, allowing no time for
thought. Thanks to that force of secrecy of which the
historian brags, Carmagnola had no thought of any harm
intended to him. He thought himself the master of the
situation — he to whom only a year before the rulers of
Venice had sent a deputation to soothe and caress their
general, lest he should throw up his post. Accordingly,
when he received the fatal message to return to Venice in
order to give his good masters advice as to the state of
affairs, he seems to have been without suspicion as to what
was intended. He set out at once, accompanied by one of
his lieutenants, Gonzaga, the lord of Mantua, who had
also been summoned to advise the signoria, and rode along
the green Lombard plains in all the brilliancy of their
spring verdure, received wherever he halted with honor
and welcome. When he reached the Brenta he took boat;
and his voyage down the slow-flowing stream, which has
been always so dear to the Venetians, was like a royal
progress. The banks of the Brenta bore then, as now, long
lines of villas, inhabited by all that was finest in Venice ;
and such of the noble inhabitants as were already in
villeggiatura, '' according to their habit," Sabellico says,
received him, as he passed, con molta festa. And so he
went to his fate. At Mestre he was met by an escort of
eight gentleman from Venice — those no doubt, to whom
the historian refers as bound to him by long intimacy, whg
224 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
yet never breathed to him a word of warning. With this
escort he crossed the lagoon, the towers and lofty roofs
of Venice rising from out the rounded line of sea, his
second home, the country of which he had boasted, where
every man received his due.
How did they talk with him, those silken citizens
who knew but would not by a look betray whither they
were leading tlieir noble friend ? Would they tell him the
news of the city, what was thought of the coming peace,
what intrigues were afloat, where Trevisano, the unlucky
admiral, had gone to hide his head in his banishment ? or
would the conversation flow on tlie last great public show,
or some rare conceit in verse, or the fine fleet that followed
the Bucentoro when last the serenest prince took the air
upon the lagoon ? But Carmagnola was not lettered, nor
a courtier, so that such subjects would have little charm
for him. When the boats swept past San Stai, would not
a waving scarf from some balcony show that his wife and
young daughter had come out to see him pass, though well
aware that the business of the signoria went before any
indulgence at home ? Or perhaps he came not by Cane-
reggio but up the Giudecca, with the wind and spray from
the sea blowing in his face as he approached the center of
Venetian life. He was led by his courtier- attendants to
the palace direct — the senators having as would seem, urgent
need of his counsel. As he entered the fatal doors, those
complacent friends, to save him any trouble, turned back
and dismissed the retainers, without whom a gentleman
never stirred abroad, informing them that their master had
much to say to the doge, and might be long detained.
Here romance comes in with unnecessary aggravations
of the tragic tale, relating how, not finding the doge, as
he had expected, awaiting him, Carmagnola turned to go
to his own house, but was stopped by his false friends, and
led, on pretense of being shown the nearest exit, another
gloomy way — a way that led through bewildering pas-
sages into the prisons. No sentimental Bridge of Sighs
existed in these days. But when the door of the strong-
room which was to be his home for the rest of his mortal
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 225
life was opened, and the lively voices of bis conductors
sank in the shock of surprise and liorror, and all that was
about to be rushed on Carmagnola's mind, the situation is
one which requires no aid of dramatic art. Here, in a
moment, betrayed out of the air and light, and the freedom
which he had used so proudly, this man who had never
feared the face of men, must have realized his fate. At
the head of a great army one day, a friendless prisoner the
next, well aware that the light of day would never clear up
the proceedings against him, or common justice, such as
awaits a poor picker and stealer, stand between him and
the judges whose sentence was a foregone conclusion. Let
us hope that those intimates who had accompanied him
thus far slunk away in confusion and shame from the look
of the captive. So much evil as Carmagnola had done in
his life — and there is no reason to suppose, and not a word
to make us believe, that he was a sanguinary conqueror, or
abused the position he held — must have been well atoned
by that first moment of enlightenment and despair.
During the thirty days that followed, little light is
thrown upon CarmagnolaV dungeon. He is swallowed up
in the darkness, ** examined by torture before the secret
council, '' a phrase that chills one's blood — until they have
the evidence they want, and full confirmation in the groans
of the half-conscious sufferer of all imagined or concocted
accusations. Sabellico asserts that the proof against him
was *'in letters which he could not deny were in his own
hand, and by domestic testimony," whatever that may
mean ; and does not mention the torture. It is remarka-
ble that Romanin, while believing all this, is unable to
prove it by any document, and can only repeat what the
older and vaguer chronicler says. ^* The points of the
accusation were these," Sabellico add: ^'succor refused
to Trevisano, and Cremona saved to Philip by his treacher-
ous abstinence." The fact, however, is more simply stated
by Navagero before the trial, that '' the signoria were bent
on freeing themselves" from a general who had apparently
ceased to be always victorious — after the excellent habit of
republics, which was to cut off the head of every unsuccess-
226 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
fill leader — thus eiffectually preventing further faihire, on
liis part at least.
Oarmagnola was not a man of words. Yet he might have
lanched with his dying breath some ringing defiance to
catch the echoes, and leave in Venetian ears a recollection,
a watchword of rebellion to come. The remorseless council
thought of this, with the vigihmce and subtle genius which
inspired all the preceedings of their secret conclave; and
when the May morning dawned which was to be his last,
a crowning indignity was added to his doom. He was led
out con uno shadocchio iii hocca, gagged, ''^in order that he
might not speak '' to the Piazzetta, now so cheerful and so
gay, which then had the most dreadful associations of any
in Venice. '^ Between the columns," the blue lagoon, with
all its wavelets flinging upward their countless gleams of
reflection in the early sun; the rich hued sails standing out
against the blue; the great barges coming serenely in, as
now, with all their many-colored stores from the Lido farms
and fields — the gondolas crowding to the edge of the fatal
pavement, the populace rushing from behind. No doubt
the windows of the ducal palace, or so much of the galleries
as was then in existence, were crowded with spectators too.
Silent, carrying his head high, like him of whom Dante
writes who held great hell itself in despite — sdegnoso even
of that gag between his lips — the great soldier, the general
whose praises had rung through Venice, and whose haughty
looks had been so familiar in the streets, was led forth to
his death. By that strong argument of the ax, unanswer-
able, incontestable, the signoria managed to liberarsi of
many an inconvenient servant and officer, either unsuccess-
ful or too fortunate. Carmagnola had both of these faults,
he was too great, and for once he had failed. The people
called ^' Sventura! Sventura! " ^^ Misfortune! Misfor-
tune ! " in their dark masses, as they struggled to see the
wonderful sight. Their sympathies could scarcely be against
the victim on that day of retribution; and perhaps, had his
voice been free to speak to them, they might have thought
of other things to shout, which the signoria had been less
content to hear.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. ^27
Thus ended the great Carmagnola, the most famous of all
Italian soldiers of fortune. Over one of the doors of the
noble church of the Frari there has hung for generations a
coffin covered with a pall, in which it was long supposed
that his bones had been placed, suspended between heaven
and earth jyer infamia, as a romantic Custode says. This,
however, is one of the fables of tradition. He was buried
in San Francesco delle Vigne (not the present church),
whence at a later period his remains were transferred to
Milan. His wife and daughter, or daughters, were banished
to Treviso with a modest pension, yet a penalty of death
registered against them should they break bounds — so
determined, it is evident, were the signoria to leave no
means by which the general could be avenged. And what
became of these poor women is unknown. Such uncon-
sidered trifles drop through the loopholes of history, which
has nothing to do with hearts that are broken or hopes that
cannot be renewed.
OOFVIN IM THK CHUBCH OF TBE FBABL
JiSS THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
CHAPTER IV.
BARTOLOMMEO COLLEONI.
The lives of the other Condottieri who tore Lombardy
in pieces among them and were to-day for Venice
and to-morrow for Milan, or for any other master who
might turn up with a reasonable chance of fighting, have
less of human interest, as they have less of the tragic
element in their lives, and less of what we may call modern
characteristics in their minds than the unfortunate general
who ended his days "between the columns," the victim of
suspicion only, leaving no proof against him that can satisfy
posterity. If Carmagnola was a traitor at all, he was such
a one as might be the hero of an analytical drama of our
own day, wavering between truth and falsehood, worked
upon by old associations and the spells of relenting affec-
tion, but never able to bring himself to the point of re-
nouncing his engagements or openly breaking his word.
Such a traitor might be in reality more dangerous than the
light-hearted deserter who went over with his lances at a
rousing gallop to the enemy. But modern art loves to
dwell upon the conflicts of the troubled mind, driven about
from one motive or object to another, now seized upon by
the tender recollections of the past, and a longing for the
sympathy and society of the friends of his youth, now
sternly called back by the present duty which requires him
to act in the service of their enemy.
It is difficult to realize this nineteenth century struggle
as going on under the corslet of a mediaeval soldier, a fierce
illiterate general, risen from the ranks, ferocious in war
and arrogant in peace, according to all the descriptions of
him. But there is nothing vulgar in the image that rises
7 HE MAKERS OF VENICE. 229
before us as we watch Carmagnola lying inactive on those
devastated plains, letting his fame go to tlie winds,
paralyzed between the subtle wooings of old associations,
the horror of Philip's approaching ruin wrought by his
hands — of Philip who had been his playfellow when they
were both youths at Pavia, the cousin, perhaps the brother,
of his wife — and the demands of the alien masters who
paid him so well, and praised him so loudly, but scorned
with fine ridicule his rough military ways. Philip had
wronged him bitterly, but had suffered for it : and how was
it possible to keep the rude heart from melting when the
rage of love offended had passed away, and the sinner
pleaded for forgiveness ? Or, who could believe that the
woman by his side, who was a Visconti, would be silent, or
that she could see unmoved her own paternal blazon sink-
ing to the earth before the victorious Lion of the Venetians ?
The wonder is that Carmagnola did not do as at one time
or another every one of his compeers did — go over cheerfully
to Philip, and thus turn the tables at once. Some innate
nobility in the man, who was not as the others were, could
alone have prevented this very usual catastrophe. Even if
we take the view of the Venetian siguoria, that he was in
his heart a traitor, we must still allow the fact, quite
wonderful in the circumstances, that he was not so by any
overt act — and that his treachery amounted to nothing
more than the struggle in liis mind of two influences which
paralyzed and rendered him wretched. The ease with which
he fell into the snare laid for his feet, and obeyed the
signoria's call, which in reality was his death-warrent, does
not look like a guilty man.
The other were all of very different mettle. Gonzaga,
Marquis of Mantua, who with a few generations of fore-
fathers behind him, might have been supposed to have
learned the laws of honor better than a mere Savoyard
trooper, went over without a word, at a most critical
moment of the continued war, yet died in his bed com-
fortably, no one thinking of branding him with the name
of traitor. Sforza acted in the same manner repeatedly,
without any apparent criticism from his contemporaries.
230 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
and in the end displaced and succeeded Philip, and estab-
lished his family as one of the historical families of Italy.
None of tliese men seem to have had any hesitation in the
matter. And neither had the lesser captain who has so
identified himself with Venice that when /we touch upon
the mainland and its wars, and the conquests and losses of
the republic, it is not possible to pass by the name of
CoUeoni. This is not so much for the memory of anything
he lias done, or from any characteristics of an impressive
nature which he possessed, as from the wonderful image of
him which rides and reigns in Venice, the embodiment of
martial strength and force unhesitating, the mailed captain
of the middle ages^ ideal in a tremendous reality which the
least observant cannot but feel. There he stands as in
iron — nay, stands not, but rides upon us, unscrupulous,
unswerving, though his next step should be on the hearts
of the multitude, crushing them to pulp with remorseless
hoofs. Man and horse together, there is scarcely any such
warlike figure left among us to tell in expressive silence
the tale of those days when might was right, and the sword,
indifferent to all reason, turned every scale. Colleoni
played no such empathic part in the history of Venice as
his great leader and predecessor. But he was mixed up in
all those wonderful wars of Lombardy, in the confusion of
sieges, skirmishes, surprises ever repeated, never decisive,
a pliantasmagoria of moving crowds, a din and tumult that
shakes the earth, thundering of horses, cries and shouts of
men, and the glancing of armor, and the blaze of swords,
reflecting the sudden blaze of burning towns, echoing the
more terrible cries of sacked cities. From the miserable
little castello, taken again and again, and yet again, its
surrounding fields trampled down, its poor inhabitants
drained of their utmost farthing, to such rich centers as
Brescia and Verona, which lived for half their time shut
up within their walls, besieged by one army or the other,
and spent the other half in settling their respective ransoms,
changing their insignia, setting up the Lion and Serpent
alternately upon their flags, what endless misery and con-
fusion, and waste of human happiness ! But the captains
^mM^ili(*y{fir- w-
To face pa(je '^iQ.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 231
who changed sides half-a-dozen times in their career, and
were any man's men who would give them high pay and
something to tight about, pursued their trade with mnch
impartiality, troubling themselves little about the justice
or injustice of tlieir cause, and still less, it would appear,
about any bond of honor between themselves and their
masters. Colleoni alone seems to have had some scrupu-
lousness about breaking his bond before his legal time was
up. The others do not seem to have had conscience even
in this respect, but deserted when it pleased them, as
often as not in the middle of a campaign.
Bartolommeo Colleoni, or Coglioui, as his biographer calls
him, was born in the year 1400, of a family of small rustic
nobility near Bergamo, but was driven from his home by a
family feud, in the course of which his father was dis-
placed from the fortress which he seems to have won in
the good old way by his spear and his bow — by a conspiracy
headed by his own brothers. This catastrophe scattered
the children of Paolo Colleoni, and threw into the ranks
of the free lances (which probably, however, would have
been their destination in any case) his young sons as soon
as they were old enough to carry a spear. The first serv-
ice of Bartolommeo was under the Condottiere Braccio,
in the service of the queen of Naples, where he is said by
his biographer, Spino, to have acquired, from his earliest
beginnings in the field, singular fame and reputation. It
is unfortunate that this biographer, throughout the course
of his narrative, adopts the easy method of attributing to
Colleoni all the fine things done in tlie war, appropriating
without scruple acts whicli are historically put to the credit
of his commanders. It is possible, no doubt, that he is
right, and that the young officer suggested to Gattamelata
his famous retreat over the mountains, and to the engineer
who'carried it out the equally famous transport overland
to the Lago di Garda of certain galleys to which we shall
afterward refer. Colleoni entered tlie service of Venice
at tlie beginning of Carmagnola's first campaign, with a
force of forty horsemen, and liis biographer at once credits
him on the authority of an obscure historian with one of
232 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
the most remarkable exploits of that war, the dariag
seizure of a portion of the fortifications of Cremona, before
which Carmagnola's army was lying. He was at least one
of the little party which executed this feat of arms.
"Bartolommeo, accompanied by Mocimo da Lugo, and by Cavalca-
bue, the son of Ugolino, once lord of Cremona, both captains in the
army, the latter having friends in the city, approached the walls by
night, with great precaution, and on that side where they had been
informed the defenses were weakest, placed their ladders. Bartol-
ommeo was the first, con intrepidissimo animo, to ascend the wall and
to occupy the tower of San Luca, having killed the commander and
guards. News was sent at once to Carmagnola of this success, upon
which, had he, according to their advice, hastened to attack, Cremona
without doubt would have fallen into the hands of the Venetians."
The young adventurers held this tower for three days, as
Quentin Durward, or the three Mousquetaires of Dumas
might have done — but finally were obliged to descend as
they had come up, and return to the army under cover of
night, with nothing but the name of a daring feat to
reward them — though that, no doubt, had its sweetness,
and also a certain value in their profession. The curious
complication of affairs in that strange distracted country,
may be all the more clearly realized, if we note that one of
the three and most probably the leader of the band was a
Cremonese, familiar with all the points of vantage in the
city, and the son of its former lord, with no doubt parti-
sans, and a party of his own, had he been able to push his
way out of the Rocca to the interior of the city. Thus
there was always some one, who even in the subjection of
his native place to the republic, may have hoped for a
return of his own family, or at least for vengeance upon
the neighboring despot which had cast it out.
We hear of Colleoni next in a rapid night march to
Bergamo, which was the original home of his own race, and
which was threatened by the Milanese forces under Picci-
nino. Knowing the city to be without means of defense,
though apparently still in a state of temporary independence,
Colleoni proposed to his commanders to hurry thither and
occupy and prepare it for the approaching attack, with the
THE MAKERS OP VENICE. 233
condition, however, that the affairs of the city le cose de
Bergamaschiy at least within the walls, should receive no
damage — another consolatory gleam of patriotism in the
midst of all the fierce selfishness of the time. With his
usual promptitude, and what his biographer cd\hanimositaf
impetuosity, he rushed across the country while Piccinino
was amusing himself with the little independent castles
about, '* robbing and destroying the country, having given
orders that whatever could not be carried away should be
burned, so that in a very short time the villages and castles
of the valleys Callepia and Trescoria were reduced to the
semblance and aspect of a vast and frightful solitude."
CoUeoni had only his own little force of horsemen and
three hundred infantry, and had he come across the route
of the Milanese would have been but a mouthful to that big
enemy. But he carried his little band along with such
energy and inspiration of impetuous genius, that they
reached Bergamo while still the foe was busy with the
blazing villages : and had time to strengthen the fortifica-
tions and increase both ammunition and men before the
approach of Piccinino, who, finally repulsed from the walls
of the city in which he had expected to find an easy prey
and harbor for the stormy season — and exposed to that
other enemy, which nobody in those days attempted to
make head against, the winter, while its chilling forces of
rain and snow — streamed back disconsolate to Milan al suo
Duca, who probably was not at all glad to see him, and
expected with reason that so great a captain as Piccinino
would have kept his troops at the expense of Bergamo, or
some other conquered city, until he could take the field
again, instead of bringing such a costly and troublesome
following home.
AVe cannot, however, follow at length the feats which
his biographer ascribes to Colleoni's animosita and impet-
uous spirit, which was combined, according to the same
authority, with a prudence and foresight '' above the
captains of his time.'*
One of these was the extraordinary piece of- engineering
by which a small fleet, including cue or two galleys, wa§
234 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
transported from the Adige to the Lago di Garda over the
mountain pass, apparently that between Mori and Riva.
Near the top of the pass is a small lake called now the
Lago di Loppio, a little mountain tarn, which afforded a
momentary breathing space to the workmen and engineers
of this wonderful piece of work. The galleys *^ two of
great size and three smaller," along with a number of little
boats which were put upon carts, were dragged over the
pass, with infinite labor and pains, and it was only in the
third month that the armata, the little squadron pain-
fully drawn down hill by means of the channel of a moun-
tain stream, found its way to the lake at last. This
wonderful feat was the work, according to Sabellico, of a
certain Sorbolo of Candia. But the biographer of
Colleoni boldly claims the idea for his hero, asserting with
some appearance of justice that the fathers of Venice
would not have consented to such a scheme upon the word
of an altogether unknown man, who was simply the
engineer who carried it out. It was for the purpose of
supplying provisions to Brescia, then closely besieged, that
this great work was done. Sabellico gives a less satis-
factory but still more imposing reason. *'It was
supposed," he says, *^that the intention of the Venetian
senators was rather to. encourage the Brescians, than for
any other motive, as they were aware that these ships were
of no use, the district being so full of the enemy^s forces
that no one could approach Brescia, and great doubts
being entertained whether it would be possible to retain
Verona and Vicenza." On the other hand, Spino declares
that the armata fulfilled its purpose and secured the
passage of provisions to Brescia. It was, at any rate, a
magnificent way of keeping the beleaguered city, and all
the other alarmed dependencies of Venice, in good heart
and hope.
None of our historians have, however, a happy hand in
their narratives of these wars. They are given in endless
repetitions, and indeed were without any human interest,
even that of bloodshed, an eternal see-saw of cities, taken
and retaken, of meaningless movemeutg of troops, and
THE MAKERS OF VKNIC/S. 235
chess-board battles gained and lost. One of the greatest
of tliese, in wliich Colleoni was one of the leaders against
Sforza, who led the troops of Milan, bore a strong resem-
blance to that battle of Maclodio, in which Carmagnola
won so great but so unfortunate a victory. Sforza had
established himself, as his predecessor had done, among
the marshes ; and altlioughat tlie first onset the Venetians
had the best of it, their success was but momentary, and
the troops were soon wildly flying and floundering over the
treacherous ground. Colleoni, wlio led the reserve and
who made a stand as long as he could, escaped at last on
foot, Sanudo says, who writes the woeful news as it arrives
at the fifteenth hour of the 15th of September, 1448.
"The Proveditori Almoro Donate and Guado Dandolo
were made prisoners,*' he says, ^' wliich proveditori were
advised by many that they ought to fly and save them-
selves, but answered that they would rather die beside the
ensigns than save themselves by a shameful flight. And
note," adds the faithful chronicler, *' that in this rout
07ily one of our troops was killed, the rest being taken
prisoners and many of them caught in the marshes. '*
The flight of the mercenaries on every side, while the two
proud Venetians stood by their flag, perhaps the only men
of all that host who cared in their heart what became of
St. Mark's often triumphant lion, affords another curious
picture in illustration of surely the strangest warfare ever
practiced among men.
" But not for this," Sanudo goes on, " was the doge discouraged
but came to the council with more vigor than ever, and tbe question
was bow to reconstruct tbe army, so i\i2it hading plenty of money tbey
should establish tbe camp again as it was at first."
Thus Venetian pride and gold triumphed over misfortune.
The most energetic measures were taken at once with large
offers of pay and remittances of money, and tlie broken
bands were gradually re-gathered together. Sforza, after
his victory, pushed on, taking and ravaging everything till
he came once more to the gates of Brescia, where again the
sturdy citizens prepared themselves for a siege. In the
236 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
meantime pairs of anxious proved i tori with sacks of money
went off at once to every point of danger ; tliirty thousand
ducats fell to the share of Brescia alone. At Verona, these
grave officials '^ day and night were in waiting to enrol men
and very shortly had collected a great army by means of
the large payments they made/'
While these tremendous efforts were in the course of
making, once more the whole tide of affairs was changed as
by a magician's wand. The people of Milan had called
Sforza back on their duke's death, but had held his power
inconstant suspicion, and were now seized with alarm lest,
flushed with victory as he was, he should take that duke's
place — which was indeed his determination. They seized
the occasion accordingly, and now rose against his growing
power, '^desiring to maintain themselves in freedom."
Sforza no sooner heard of this than he stopped fighting,
and by the handy help of one of the proved! tori who had
been taken in the battle of the marshes, and who turned
out to be a friend of his secretary Simonetta made over-
tures of peace to Venice, which were as readily accepted.
So that on the 18th of October of the same year, little more
than a month after the disastrous rout above recorded,
articles of peace were signed, by which the aid of four
thousand horsemen and two thousand foot were granted to
Sforza, along with a subsidy of thirteen thousand ducats
a month, according to Sanudo, though one cannot help
feeling that an extra cipher must have crept into the
statement. Venice regained all she had lost ; and the
transformation scene having thus once more taken place,
our Colleoni among others, so lately a fugitive before the
victorious Milanese, settled calmly down in his saddle once
more as a lieutenant of Sforza's army, as if no battle nor
hostility had ever been.
A curious domestic incident appears in the midst of the
continued phantasmagoria of this endless fighting. The
Florentines, more indifferent to consistency than the
Venetians, and always pleased to humiliate a sister state,
not only supported Sforza against the Milanese, but pre-
sumed to remonstrate with the signoria when after a time
THK MAKERS OF VENICE. 237
getting alarmed by his growing power, tl^ey withdrew from
their alliance witli iiim. This was promptly answered by
a decree expelling all Florentine inhabitants from Venice
and forbidding them the exercise of any commercial trans-
actions witliin the town. Shortly before. King Alfonzo
of Naples had made tiie same order in respect to the
Venetians in his kingdom. These arbitrary acts probably
did more real damage than the bloodless battles which with
constant change of combinations were going on on every
side.
The remaining facts of Colleoni's career were few. Not-
withstanding a trifling backsliding in the matter of aiding
Sforza, he was engaged as captain general of the Venetian
forces in 1455, and remained in this office till the term of
liis engagement was completed, which seems to have been
ten years. He then, Sanudo tells us, ^^ treated with
Madonna Bianca, Duchess of Milan " (Sforza being just
dead) *Ho procure the hand of one of her daughters for his
son. But the marriage did not take place, and he resumed
his engagements with our signoria." It is difficult to
understand how this proposal could have been made, as to
all appearance Colleoni left no son behind him, a fact which
is also stated in respect to most of the generals of the time
— a benevolent interposition of nature one cannot but think,
for cutting off that seed of dragons. The only other
mention of him in the Venetian records is the announce-
ment of his death, which took place in October, 1475, in his
castle of Malpaga, surrounded by all the luxury and wealth
of the time. He was of the same age as the century, and
a completely prosperous and successful man, except in that
matter of male children with which, his biographer naively
tells us, he never ceased to attempt to provide himself, but
always in vain. He left a splendid legacy to the republic
which he had served so long— with aberrations, which no
doubt were by that time forgotten — no less than two hun-
dred and sixteen thousand ducats, Sanudo says, besides
arms, horses, and other articles of value. The grateful
eignoria, overwhelmed by such liberality, resolved to make
him a statue with a portion of the money. And accord-
238 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
ingly, there be stands to this day, by the peaceful portals
of San Zanipolo ready at any moment to ride down any
insolent stranger who lifts a finger against Venice. Ap-
propriately enoiigb to sucb a magnificent piece of work it
is not quite clear wbo made it, and it is impossible to open
a guide-book without ligbting upon a discussion as to how
far it is Verocchio's and how far Leopard i's. He of the true
eye at all events had a large hand in it, tmd never proved
his gift more completely than in the splendid force of this
wonderful horseman. The power and thorough-going
strength in him has impressed the popular imagination, as
it was very natural they should, and given him a false
importance to the imaginative spectator. It is a great
thing for a man when he has some slave of genius either
with pen or brush or plastic clay to make his portrait.
Sforza was a much greater general than Colleoni, but had
no Verrocchio to model him. Indeed our Bartolommeo
has no pretensions to stand in the first rank of the mediae-
val Condottieri. He is but a vulger swordsman beside
Carmagnola, or Sforza or Piccinino. But perhaps from
this fact he is a better example than either of them of the
hired captains of his time.
The possessions of Venice were but little increased by the
seventy years of fighting which ensued after Carmagnola
had won Brescia and Bergamo for her, and involved her in
all the troubles and agitations of a continental principality.
Slie gained Cremona in the end of the century, and she
lost nothing of any importance which had beeen once ac-
quired. But her province of terra firma cost her probably
more than it was worth to her to be the possessor even of
such fertile fields and famous cities. The unfailing energy,
the wealth, the determined purpose of the great republic
were, however, nevermore conspicuous than in the struggle
which she maintained for the preservation of the province.
She had the worst of it in a great number of cases, but the
loss was chiefly to her purse and her vanity. The pawns
with which she played that exciting game were not of her
own flesh and blood. The largo pagamento with which
she was prepared was always enough to secure a new army
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 239
when the other was sped, and notwithstanding all her
losses at sea and in the East, and the idleness which began
to steal into tlie being of the new generation, she was yet
BO rich and overflowing with wealth that her expenditure
abroad took nothing from the lavish magnificence of all her
festivals and liolidays at home. Her ruler during all the
period at which we have here hurriedly glanced was Frances-
co Foscari, he against whom his predecessor had warned the
signoria as a man full of restlessness and ambition, whose
life would be a constant series of wars. Never did predic-
tion come more true ; and though it seems difficult to see
how, amid all the stern limits of the doge's privileges, it
could matter very much what his character was, yet this
man, in tlie time of his manhood and strength must have
been able, above others, to influence his government and
his race. The reader has already seen amid what reverses
this splendid and powerful ruler, after all the conflicts and
successes in which he was the leading spirit, ended his
career.
POZZO.
340 THE MAKEUS OF VENICE.
PART III.
THE PAINTERS.
CHAPTER I.
THE THREE EARLY MASTERS.
It is one of the favorite occupations of this age to trace
every new manifestation of human genius or force through
a course of development, an(] to prove that in reality no
special genius or distinct and individual impulse is wanted
at all, but only a gradual quickening, as might be in the
development of a grain of corn or an acorn from the tree.
I am not myself capable of looking at the great sudden
advances which, in every department of thought and in-
vention, are made from time to time; in this way. Why
it should be that in a moment by the means of two youths
in a Venetian house, not distinguishable in any way from
other boys, nor especially from the sons of other poor
painters, members of the scuola of S. Luca, which had long
existed in Venice, and produced dim pictures not witliout
merit — the art of painting should have sprung at once into
the noblest place, and that nothing which all the genera-
ations have done since with all their inventions and appli-
ances, should ever have bettered the Bellini, seems to me
one of those miraculous circumstances with which the world
abounds, and which illustrate this wayward, splendid and
futile humanity better than any history of development
could do.
The art of painting had flourished dimly in Venice for
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 241
long. The love of decorative art seems indeed to have
been from its very beginning characteristic of the city.
Among the very earliest products of her voyages, as soon
as the infant state was strong enougii to have any thought
beyond mere subsistence, where the beautiful tilings from
the East with which, first the churches, and then the
houses were adorned. But the art of painting, though its
earliest productions seem to have been received with eager-
ness and honor, lingered and made little progress. In
Mnrano — where glass-making had been long established,
and where fancy must have been roused by tke fantastic
art, so curious, so seemingly impossible of blowing liquid
metal into forms of visionary light, lii^e bubbles, yet hard,
tenacious, and clear — the first impulse of delineation arose,
but came to no remarkable success. There is much indeed
that is beautiful in the pictures of some of these dim and
early masters amid the mists of the lagoons. But with
the Bellini the pictorial art came like Athene, full arrayed
in maturity of celestial godhood, a sight for all men. It is
a doubtful explanation of this strange difference to say
that their father had foregathered in the far distance, in
his little workshop, with Donatello from Florence, or
studied his art under the instructions of Gentile da
Fabriano. Tiie last priviiege at least was not special to
him, but must have been shared with many others of the
devout and simple worlvmen who had each his little manu-
factory of Madonnas for the constant consumption of the
church. But when Jacopo Bellini with his two sons came
from Padua and settled near the Rial to, the day of Venice,
so fjir as the pictorial art is concerned, had begun. They
sprang at once to a different standing-ground altogether, as
far beyond the work of their contemporaries as Dante was
above his. No theory has ever explained to the human
intelligence how such a thing can be. It is ; and in the
sudden bound which Genius takes out of all the trammels
of the ordinary — an unaccountable, unreasonable, inimi-
table initiative of its own — arise the epochs and is summed
up the history of art.
It must have been nearly the middle of the fifteenth
242 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
century when the Bellini began to make themselves known
in Venice. Mediaeval history does not concern itself with
dates in respect to such humble members of tlie common-
wealth, and about the father Jacopo, it is impossible to tell
how long he lived or when he died. He was a pupil, as has
been said, of Gentile da Fabriano, and went with him to
Florence in his youth, and thus came in contact with the
great Tuscan school and its usages; and it is known that
he settled for some time at Padua, where his sons had at
least a part of their education, and where he married his
daughter to Andrea Mantegna ; therefore the school of
Padua had also something to do with the training of
these two young men : but whether they first saw the light
in Venice, or when the family returned there, it is not
known. Jacopo, the father, exercised his art in a mild,
mediocre way, no better or worse than the ordinary mem-
bers of the scuola. Probably his sons were still young
when he returned to the Rialto, where the family house
was : for there is no indication that Gentile or Giovanni
were known in Padua, nor can we trace at what period it
began to be apparent in Venice that Jacopo Bellini's modest
workshop was sending forth altar-pieces and little sacred
pictures such as had never before been known to come from
his hand. That this fact would soon appear in such an
abundant and ever-circulating society of artists, more than
usually brought together by the rules of the scuola and the
freemasonry common to artists everywhere, can scarcely
be doubted : but dates there are few. It is diflScult even
to come to any clear understanding as to the first great
public undertaking in the way of art — the decoration of tiie
hall of the Consiglio Maggiore. It was begun, we are told,
in the reign of Marco Cornaro, in the middle of the previous
century : but both the brothers Bellini were engaged upon
it when they first come into sight, and it seems to have
given occupation to all the painters of their age. Kugler
mentions 1456 as tlie probable date of a picture of Giovanni
Bellini : but though this is conjectural, Bellini (he signs
himself Jucm in the receipt preserved in the Sala Mar-
gherita at the Archivio, which is occasionally altered into
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 243
Ziian in the documents of the time) would at that date be
about thirty, and no doubt both he and his brother were
deep in work and more or less known to fame before that
age.
It was not till a much later period however that an event
occurred of the greatest importance in the history of art —
the arrival in Venice of Antonello of Messina, a painter
chiefly, it would seem, of portraits, who brought with him
the great discovery of the use of oil in painting which had
been made by Jan van Eyck in Bruges some time before.
Antonello had got it, Vasari says, from the inventor him-
self; but a difficulty of dates makes it more probable that
Hans Memling was the Giovanni di Bruggia whose con-
fidence the gay young Sicilian gained, perhaps by his lute
and his music and all his pleasant ways. Antonello came
to Venice in 1473, and was received as a stranger, especially
a stranger with some new thing to show, seems to have
always been in the sensation-loving city. But when they
first saw his work, the painter brotherhoods, the busy and
rising sctiole, received a sensation of another kind. Up to
this time the only known medium of painting had been
distemper, and in this they were all at work, getting what
softness and richness they could, and that morbidezza, the
melting roundness which the Italians loved, as much as
they could, by every possible contrivance and exertion out
of their difficult material. But the first canvas which the
Sicilian set up to show his new patrons and professional
emulators, was at once a revolution and a wonder. Those
dark and glowing faces which still look at us with such a
force of life, must have shown with a serene superiority
upon the astonished gazers who knew indeed how to draw
from nature and find the secret of her sentiment and ex-
pression as well as Antonello, but not how to attain that
luster and solidity of texture, that bloom of the cheek and
light in the eye which were so extraordinarily superior to
anything that could be obtained from the comparatively
dry and thin colors of the ancient method. This novelty
created such a flutter in the workshops as no wars or com-
motions could call forth. How could that warmth and
244 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
glow of life be got upon a piece of canvas? One can
imagine the painters gathering, discussing in storms of soft
Venetian talk and boundless argument, the Vivarini hurry-
ing over in their boats from Murano and every lively ce7ia
and moonlight promenade upon the lagoons apt in a moment
to burst into tempests of debate as to what was this new
thing. And on their scaffoldings in the great hall of the
palazzo, where they were dashing in their great frescoes,
what a hum of commotion would run round. How did he
get it, that light and luster, and how could they discover
what it was, and share the benefit?
The story which is told by Ridolfi, but which the his-
torians of a more critical school reject as fabulous, is at all
events in no way unlikely or untrue to nature, or the eager
curiosity of the artists, or Venetian ways. These were the
days, it must be recollected, when craftsmen kept the
secret of their inventions and discoveries jealously to tliem-
selves, and it was a legitimate as well as a natural effort, if
one could, to find them out. The story goes that Giovanni
Bellini, by this time at the head of the painters in Venice,
the natural and proper person to take action in any such
matter, being unable to discover Antonello^s secret by fair
means, got it by what we can scarcely call foul, though it
was a trick. But the trick was not a very bad one, and
doubtless among men of their condition might be laughed
over as a good joke when it was over. What Bellini did,
^' feigning to be a gentleman/' was to commission Antonello
to paint his portrait — an expedient which gave him the
best opportunity possible for studying the stranger's
method. If it were necessary here to examine this taie
rigorously, we should say that it was highly unlikely so
distinguished a painter as Bellini could be unknown to the
newcomer, who must, one would think, have been eager to
make acquaintance on his first arrival with the greatest of
Venetian artists. But at all events it is a picturesque
incident. One can imagine the great painter ^' feigning to
be a gentleman," seating himself with a solemnity in which
there must have been a great deal of grim humor, in the
sitter's chair — he had put on '' the Venetian toga" for the
To face page 244.
OATEWAT OP THE ABBAZIA DELLA HISERICOROIA.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 245
occasion, Ridolfi says, evidently sometliing different from
the usual garb of the artist, and no doubt felt a little em-
barrassment mingling with his professional sense of what
was most graceful in the arrangement of the unaccustomed
robe. But this would not prevent him from noting all the
time, under his eyelids, witli true professional vision, the
colors on the palette, the vials on the table, the sheaf of
brushes — losing no movement of the painter, and quick to
note what compound it was into which he dipped his pencil
— " ossei'vando Giovanni die di quando in quando inten-
geva il pennello nelV oglio di lin, venne in cognizione del
modo" '' seeing him dip his brnsh from time to time in oil,"
which perhaps was the primitive way of using the new
method. One wonders if Antonello ever finished the por-
trait, if it was he who set forth the well-known image of
the burly master with his outspreading mop of russet hair;
or if the Venetian after awhile threw off his toga, and
with a big laugh and roar of good-humored triumph an-
nounced that his purpose was served and all that he wanted
gained.
There is another version of the manner in which Anto-
nello's secret was discovered in Venice. Of this later
story it is Vasari who is the author. He, on his side,
develops out of the dim crowd of lesser artists a certain
Domenico Veniziano who was the first to make friends with
the Sicilian. Antonello, for the love he bore him, com-
municated his secret, Visari says, to this young man, who
for a time triumphed over all competitors; but afterward
coming to Florence was in his turn cajoled out of the much-
prized information by a Florentine painter, Andrea del
Castegna, who, envious of Domenico's success, afterward
waylaid him, and killed him as he was returning from their
usual evening diversions. This anecdote has been taken
to pieces as usual by later historians jealous for exactness,
who have discovered that Domenico of Venice outlived
his supposed murderer by several years. Vasari is so very
certain on the point, however, that we cannot help feeling
that something of the kind he describes, some assault must
have been made, a quarrel perhaps sharper than usual, an
246 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
attempt at vengeance for some affront, though it did not
have the fatal termination which he supposes.
Vasari, however, in telling this story affords us an inter-
esting glimpse of the condition of Venice at the period.
Politically, it was not a happy moment. While the republic
exhausted her resources in the wars described in our last
chapters, her dominion in the East, as well as her trade,
had been greatly impaired. The Turk, that terror of
Christendom, had cruelly besieged and finally taken several
towns and strong places along the Dalmatian coast: he had
been in Friuli murdering and ravaging. The interrupted
and uncertain triumphs of the terra-firma wars, were but
little compensation for these disasters, and the time was
approaching when Venice should be compelled to withdraw
from many more of her eastern possessions, leaving a town
here, an island there, to the Prophet and his hordes. Bat
within the city it is evident nothing of the kind affected the
general life of pleasure and display and enjoyment that was
going on. The doges were less powerful, but more splendid
than ever; the canals echoed with song and shone with gay
processions: the great patrician houses grew more imposing
and their decorations more beautiful every day. The
ducal palace had at last settled, after many changes, into
the form we now know: the great public undertaking
which was a national tribute to the growing importance of
art, was being pushed forward to completion : and though
the great Venetian painters, like other painters in other
ages, seem to have found the state a shabby paymaster, and
to have sometimes shirked and always dallied in the execu-
tion of its commissions, yet no doubt public patronage was
at once a sign of the quickened interest in art, and a means
of increasing that interest.
The frescoes in the hall of the Great Council were in
full course of execution when the Sicilian Antonello with
his great secret came to seek his fortune in the magnificent
and delightful city of the seas — a place where every rich
man was the artist's patron, and every gentleman a dilet-
tante, and a new triumphant day of art was dawning, and
the streets were full of songs and pleasure, and the studios
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 2-47
of enthusiasm, and beauty and delight were supreme every-
where : notwitlistandiiig that, in tlie silence, to any one
who listened, the wikl and jangled bells might almost be
heard from besieged cities that were soon no longer to be
Venetian, calling every man to arms within their walls,
and appealing for help to heaven and earth. Such vulgar
external matters do not move the historian of the painters,
and are invisible in his record. The account of Antonello
is full of cheerfulness and light. "Being a person much
given to pleasure he resolved to dwell there forever, and
finish his life where he had found a mode of existence so
much according to his mind. And when it was under-
stood that he had brought that great discovery from Flan-
ders, he was loved and caresse<l by those magnificent gen-
tlemen as long as he lived." His friend Domenico is also
described as *^ a charming and attractive person who de-
lighted in music and in playing the lute : and every even-
ing they found means to enjoy themselves together^' (far
huon tempo — literally, have a good time, according to the
favorite custom of our American cousins) ** serenading
their sweethearts ; in which Domenico took great delight.''
Thus the young painters lived, as still in Venice the young
and gay, as far as the habits of a graver age permits, love
to live — roaming half the night among the canals or along
the silvery edge of the lagoon, intoxicated with music and
moonlight and the delicious accompaniment of liquid
movement and rhythmic oars : or amid the continual pa-
geants in the piazza, the feast of brilliant color and delight-
ful groups which made the painters wild with pleasure ; or
with a cluster of admiring and splendid youths at every
liand caressed and flattered by all that was noblest in
Venice. AYe scarcely think of this high-colored and bril-
liant life as the proper background for those early painters,
whose art, all the critics tell us, derives its excellence from
their warmer faith and higher moral tone ; but we have
no reason to believe that any great social revolution took
place between the day of the Bellini and Carpaccio, and
that of Titian. Vasari's description, corroborated as it is
by majiy others, refers to a period when the Bellini were in
24S THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
the full force of life. Nor are we led to suppose that they
were distinguislied by special devotion, or in any way sep-
arated from tlieir cl^iss. Venice had never been austere,
but always gay. There was the light and glow of a splen-
did careless exuberant life in her very air, a current of
existence too swift and full of enjoyment to be subdued
even by public misfortunes whicli were distant, and inten-
sified by the wonderful spring, superior to every damping
influence, of a new and magnificent development of art.
The two Bellini lived and labored together during their
father's lifetime, but when he died, though never losing
their muti^^al brotherly esteem and tender friendship, sep-
arated, each to his own path. Giovanni, the youngest but
greatest, continued faithful to the subjects and methods
in which he had been trained, and which, though ail the
habits of the world were changing, still remained most per-
fectly understood and acceptable to his countrymen. The
Divine Mother and Child, with their attendant saints and
angels, were the favorite occupation of his genius. He
must have placed that sweet and tender image over scores
of altars. Sometimes the Virgin Mother sits, simple and
sweet, yet always with a certain grandeur of form and
natural nobility, not the slim and childish beauty of more
conventional painters, with her child upon her knees :
sometimes enthroned, holding the Sacred Infant erect, offer-
ing him to the worship of the world: sometimes with reveren-
tial humility watching Him as He sleeps, attended on either
side by noble spectator figures, a little court of devout be-
holders, the saints who have suffered for His sake ; often
with lovely children seated about the steps of her throne,
piping tenderly upon their heavenly flutes, thrilling the
chords of a stringed instrument, with a serious sweetness
and abstraction, unconscious of anything but the infant
Lord to whom their eyes are turned. No more endearing
and delightful image could be than of these angel children.
They were a fashion of the age, growing in the hands of
Florentine Botticelli into angelic youths, gravely medi-
tating upon the wonders they foresaw. In Kafael, though
so much later, they are more divine, like little kindred
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 249
gods, waiting in an unspeakable awe till the great God
should be revealed ; but in Bellini more sweet and human,
younger, all tender interest and delight, piping their lovely
strains if perhaps they might give Him pleasure. One can-
not but conclude that he who painted these children at the
foot of every divine group in twos and tlirees, small ex-
quisite courtiers of the infant King, first fruits of human-
ity, must have found his models in children who were his
own, whose dimpled, delightful limbs were within reach
of his kiss, and whose unconscious grace of movement and
wondering sweet eyes were before him continually. The
delightful purity and gravity, and at the same time manli-
ness, if we may use such a word, of these pictures is be-
yond expression. There is no superficial grace or orna-
ment about them, not even the embrace and clinging
together of mother and child, which in itself is always so
touching and attractive, the attitude of humanity which
perhaps has a stronger and simpler hold on the affections
tiian any other. Bellini's Madonna, raising the splendid
column of her throat, holding her head high in a noble
and simple abstraction, offers not herself but her Child to
our eager eyes. She too is a spectator, though blessed
among women in holding Ilim, presenting Him to our gaze,
making of her own perfect womanhood His pedestal and
support, but all unconscious that prayer or gaze can be
attracted to herself, in everything His first servant, the
handmaid of the Lord. The painter who set such an im-
age before us could scarcely have been without a profound
and tender respect for the woman's office, an exquisite
adoration for the Child.
While the younger brother kept in this traditional path,
giving to it all the inspiration of his manly and lofty genius,
his brother Gentile entered upon a different way. Probably
he too began in his father's workshop with mild Madonnas:
but ere long the young painter must have found out that
other less sacred yet noble subjects were better within his
range of power. His fancy must have strayed away from
the primitive unity of the sacred group into new com-
positions of wider horizon and more extended plan. The
250 "I'HE MAKERS OF VENICE.
life that was round him with all its breadth and rich variety
must have beguiled him away from the ideal. The pictures
he has left us set Venice before us in the guise she then
wore, as no description could do. In the two great examples
which remain in the Venetian Accademia there is a sacred
motive: they are chapters in the story of a miraculous
holy cross. In one, the sacred relic is being carried across
the piazza, attended by a procession of wonderful figures
in every magnificence of white and red, and gilded canopy
and embroidered mantle. And there stands S. Marco in
a softened blaze of gold and color, with all the fine lines
of its high houses and colonnades, the Campanile not
standing detached as now, but forming part of the line of
the great square; and in the midst, looking at the pro-
cession, or crossing calmly upon their own business, such
groups of idlers and busy men, of Eastern travelers and
merchants, of gallants from the Broglio, with here and
there a magistrate sweeping along in his toga, or a woman
with her child, as no one had tliought of painting before.
We look, and the life that has been so long over, that life
in which all the offices and ceremonies of religion occupy
the foreground, but where nothing pauses for them, and
business and pleasure both go on unconcerned, rises before
us. The Venice is not that Venice which we know; but
it is still most recognizable, most living and lifelike. No
such procession ever sweeps now through the great piazza;
but still the white miters and glistening copes pour through
the aisles of S. Marco, so that the stranger and pilgrim
may still recognize the unchangeable accompaniments of
the true faith. The picture is like a book, more absolutely
true than any chronicle, representing not only the looks
and the customs of the occasion, but the very scene. How
eagerly the people must have traced it out when it first
was made public, finding out in every group some known
faces, some image all the more interesting because it was
met in the flesh every day! Is that perhaps Zuan Bellini
himself, with his hair standing out round his face, talking
to his companions about the passing procession, pointing
out the curious effects of light and shade upon the crimson
CLOISTEBS OF THE ARWA7.IA,
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 251
capes and birettas, and watching while the line defiles with
its glimmer of candles and sound of psalms against the
majestic shadow of the houses? Still more charactistic is
the other great picture. The same procession, but more
in evidence, drawn out before us with the light in their
faces as they wind along over the bridge, with draperies
hung at every window and the women looking out, at
every opening one or two finely ornamented heads in
elaborate coiffes and hoods; while along the P'ondamenta,
on the side of the canal, a row of ladies in the most
magnificent costumes, pilgrims or votaries kneeling close
together, with all their ornaments — jeweled necklaces and
coronets, and light veils of transparent tissue through
which the full matronly shoulders and countenances appear
unobscured — look on, privileged spectators, perhaps wait-
ing to follow in the procession. It is a curious instance
of the truth of the picture that this is no file of youthful
beauties such as a painter would naturally have chosen,
but, with scarcely an exception, consists of buxom and full-
blown mothers with here and there a child thrust in
between. It is said by tradition that the first of those
figures, she with the crown, is Catherine Cornaro, the
ex-queen of Cyprus, probably come from her retirement at
Asolo to view the procession and see a little life and gayety,
as a variation on the cultured retirement of that royal
villa. The object of the picture is to show how the cross,
which has fallen into the canal by much pushing and
crowding of the populace, floats upright in the water and
is miraculously rescued by its guardian in full priestly
robes, notwithstanding the eager competition of all manner
of swimmers in costumes more handy for the water who
have dashed in on every side; but this, though its pious
purpose, is not its most interesting part.
It is difficult as has been said to find any guidance of
dates in the dimness of distance, in respect to matters so
unimportant as pictures ; and accordingly we are unable to
trace the progress of the decoration in the great hall. It
was delayed by many causes, the indifference of the signoria
and the lukewarm interest of the painters. Gentile Bellini
252 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
received permission from the signoria to go to the east in
1479, and is there described as engaged on the restoration
of a picture in this magnificent room, originally painted or
begun by his namesake (or, as we should say in Scotland,
his name father — Jacopo Bellini having named his eldest
son after his master) Gentile da Fabriano — a work which
the magnificent signoria consider his brother Giovanni may
well be deputed to finish in his place. Nor is it more easy
to discover what the principle was which actuated the sig-
noria in selecting for the decoration of the hall that special
historical episode which is so problematical, and of which
even Sanudo says, doubting, that *Mf it had not happened
our good Venetians would never have had it painted^'— a
somewhat equivocal argument. The pertinacity with which
the same subjects were repeated three times — first by the
earliest masters, then, in the full glory of art by all the
best of the Bellini generation and by that of Titian; and at
last in the decay of that glory, after the great fire, by the
Tizianellos and Vecellini, the successors of the great painters
departed, whose works remain — is very curious. Perhaps
something even in the apocryphal character of this great
climax of glory and magnificence for Venice, may have
pleased the imagination and suggested a bolder pictorial
treatment, with something of allegorical meaning, which
would have been less appropriate to matters of pure fact
and well-authenticated history. And no doubt the people
who thronged to look at the new pictures believed it
all entirely, if not the great gentlemen in their crimson
robes, the senators and councilors who selected these
scenes as the most glorious that could be thought of in
the history of the city : how Venice met and conquered
the naval force of Barbarossa and made her own terms
with him, and reconciled the two greatest potentates of
the world, the pope and the emperor, was enough to fill
with elation even the great republic. And the authority
of fact and document was but little considered in those
stormy days.
The subject on which Gentile Bellini was at work when
he left Venice was the naval combat between the Doge
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 253
Ziaiii and Prince Otto, son of Barbarossa, which ended in
the completest victory ; while that alloted to Giovanni
Bellini was the voyage in state of the same Doge Ziani to
fetch with all splendor from the Carita the pope who was
there in hiding under a guise of excessive humility — as the
cook of that convent. At the period identified thus by his
brother's departure Giovanni Bellini must have been over
fifty, so that his promotion did not come too soon. It is
not, however, till a much later period that we obtain the
next glimpse authentic and satisfactory of his share of the
great public work, in which there were evidently many
lapses and delays for which the painters were to blame, as
well as weary postponements from one officiars term of
power to another. Early in the next century, however, in
1507, in some pause of larger affairs, the council seems to
have been seized with a sudden movement of energy, and
resolved that it would be no small ornament to their hall if
three pictures begun by the late Alvice Vivarini could be
finished, along with other two, one of which was not even
begun, " 80 that the said hall might be completed without
the impediments which have hitherto existed." It would
almost seem to be the pictures confided to the Bellini which
were in this backward condition, for the signoria makes an
appeal over again to " the most faithful cititen our Zuan
Bellini " to bestir himself. But the negligent painter must
by this time have been eighty or more, and it was evidently
necessary that he should have help in so great an undertak-
ing. His brother had died that year a very old man, and
a younger brotherhood was coming to light. And here we
find what seems the first public recognition of another name
which is closely connected with those of the Bellini in our
minds, and to which recent criticism has allotted even a
higher place than theirs. The noble senators or councilors
suddenly coming out of the darkness for this object, appear
to us for a moment like masters of the ceremonies intro-
ducing a new immortal. *' Messer Vector, called Scarpazza,"
is the assistant whom they designate for old Zuan Bellini,
along with two names unknown to fame, *^ Messer Vector,
late Mathio," and ** Girolamo, painter/' no doubt a novice
254 THE MxiKEBS OF VENICE.
whose reputation was yet to win. Carpaccio was to have
five ducats a month for his work; the other, Messer Vector
four; Girolamo, the youth^ only two — '' and tlie same are
to be diligent and willing in aid of the said Ser. Zuan Bellini
in painting the aforesaid pictures, so that as diligently and
in as little time as is possible they may be completed." A
warning note is added in Latin (perhaps to make it more
solemn and binding) of the conditions above set forth — in
which it is *' expressly declared " that the little band of
painters bind themselves to work '^continuously and every
day" — laborare de continuo et omni die. This betrays an
inclination on the part of the painters to avoid the public
work which it is amusing to see. Let us hope thesignoria
succeeded in getting tlieir orders respected ; no ab£encesto
finish a Madonna or Saint Ursula which paid better, per-
haps both in fame and money ; no returning to the public
service when private commissions failed; no greater price
for what may be called piece work, for specially noble
productions ; but steady labor day by day at four or five
ducats a month as might be, with the pupil-Journeyman to
clean the palettes and run the errands ! In Venice, as in
other places, it is clear that the state service was not lucra-
tive for art.
Six years after, we find the work still going on, and
another workman is added. '^ In this council it was decided
that Tiziano, painter \'pytor'\, should be admitted to work
in the hall of the Great Council with the other painters,
without however any salary, except the agreed sum which
has usually been given to those who have painted here, who
are Gentile and Zuan Bellini and Vector Scarpazza. This
Tiziano to be the same." It will strike the reader with
a certain panic to see with what indifference these great
names are bandied about as if they were the names of a set
of decorators ; one feels an awed desire to ask their pardon !
But not so the great Ten, who held the lives and fortunes
of all Venetians in their hands.
About the date when old Bellini was thus conjured to
complete or superintend the completion of the wanting
pictures, another painter from a very different region —
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 255
from a landward town fortified to its ears and full of all
mediaeval associations, in the middle of Germany — came to
Venice. The high peaked roofs and picturesque turrets of
Nuremberg were not more unlike the rich and ample
fa9Hdes of the Venetian palaces, or the glow and glory of
Venetian churches, than was the sober life of the Teuton
unlike the gay and genial existence of the Venetians.
Albert Diirer found himself in a southern paradise. He
gives the same account of that Venetian life at first hand
as Vasari does in his historical retrospect. He finds
himself among a crowd of pleasant companions ; players
on the lute, so accomplished and sensitive that their
own music makes them weep : and all, great and small,
eager to see, to admire, to honor the great artist. **^ Oh,
how I shall freeze after this sunshine ! Here I am a
gentleman, at home only a dependant," he cries, elated,
yet cast down by the difference, and to think that all
these fine Italian lords think more highly of him than
his bourgeois masters in Nuremburg. Sanbellini, he tells
his friends, has come to see him, the venerable old man
— very old, but still the best painter of them all, and a
good man, as everybody says : and from this master he
receives the sweetest praise, and a commission to paint
something for him for which he promises to pay well.
Old Zuan Bellini, with has vivacious Venetian ways, and
the solemn German, with his long and serious counte-
nance, like a prophet in the desert — what a contrast they
must have made I But they had one language between
them at least, the tongue which every true artist under-
stands, the delightful secret freemasonry and brotherhood
of art.
It was when he had arrived at this venerable age, over
eighty, but still coming and going, about these pictures in
the great hall, and alert to hear of and visit the stranger
from Germany who brought the traditions of another school
to Venice — that Bellini painted his last or almost last
picture, so touching in its appropriateness to his great age
and concluding life, the old St. Jerome in San Giovanni
Grisostomo, seated high upon a solitary mount with a couple
256 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
of admiring saints below. Perhaps he had begun to feel
that old age needs no desert, but is always solitary even in
the midst of all pupils and followers. He did not die till
he was ninety. It was the fashion among the painters of
Venice to live to old age. Among other works for the
great hall, it is understood that Bellini painted many
portraits of the doges, of which one remains, familiar to us
all, the picture now in our National Gallery of that wonder-
ful old man with his sunken eyes of age, so full of subtle
life and power, the portrait which forms the frontispiece of
this volume. History bears no very strong impression of
the character of Leonardo Loredano. He held the realm
of state bravely at a time of great trial: but the office of
doge by this time had come to be of comparatively small im-
portance to the constitution of Venice; however, of all the
potent doges of Venetian chronicles, he alone may be said
to live forever. With all these thinkings, astute yet
humorous, which are recorded in his eyes, and his mouth
scarcely sure whether to set with thin lips in the form it
took to pronounce a fatal sentence or to soften into a smile,
this dry and small, yet so dignified and splendid old man
remains the impersonation of that mysterious and secret
authority of the republic by which, alas! tlie doges suffered
more than they enjoyed. The painter is said in his momens
perdus to have painted many portraits — among others that
Imagine celeste shining like the sun, which made Bembo,
though a cardinal, burst into song:
"Credo che il mio Bellin con la figura,
T'babbia dato il costume anche di lei,
Che m'ardi s'io ti mira, e pur tu sei,
Freddo smalte a cui gionse alta ventura."
In the meantime the elder brother. Gentile, had met
with adventures more remarkable. In the year 1479, as
has been noted, the signoria commissioned him to go to
Constantinople at the request of the sultan, who had beg-
ged that a painter might be sent to exhibit his powers, or
— as some say — who had seen a picture by one of the Bel-
PORTRAIT OF SULTAN: GENTILE BELLINL
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 257
lini carried thither among the stores of some Venetian
niercliant. and desired to see how such a wonderful thing
could be done. This is, we may point out by the way, a
thing well worthy of remark as a sign of the wonderful
changes that had taken phice in tlie East without seriously
altering the long habit of trade, and the natural alliance,
in spite of all interruptions, between buying and selling
communities. Even within these simple pages we have
seen tlie Venetians fighting and struggling, making a hun-
dred treaties, negotiating long and anxiously for charters
and privileges from the Greek empire in the capital of the
East, then helping to destroy that imperial house, seizing
tlie city, setting up a short-lived Latin empire, making
themselves rich with the spoils of Constantinople. And
now both these races and dynasties are swept away, and the
infidel has got possession of the once splendid Christian
city, and for a time has threatened all Europe, and Venice
first of all. But the moment the war is stopped, however
short may be the truce, and however changed the circum-
stances, trade indomitable has pushed forward with its car-
goes, sure that at least the Turk's gold is as good as the
Christian's, and his carpets and shawls perhaps better, who
knows? There is notliing so impartial as commerce so
long as money is to be maJe. Scutari had scarcely ceased
to smoke when Gentile Bellini was sent to please the Turk,
and prove that the republic bore no malice. One can imag-
ine that the painter went, not without trepidation, among
the proud and hated invaders who had thus changed the
face of the eartli. The grim monarch before whom Europe
trembled received him with courtesy and favor, and Gentile
painted his portrait, and that of his queen — no doubt some
chosen member of the harem whom the Venetian chose to
represent as the sharer of Mohammed's throne.
The portrait of the sultan, formally dated, has been
brought back to Venice, after four hundred years and many
vicissitudes, by Sir Henry Layard. It represents no mur-
derous Turk, but a face of curious refinement, almost
feebla, though full of the impassive calm of an unquestioned
despot. The Venetian as the story goes had begun to be
258 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
at his ease, cheered, no doubt, by the condescension of the
autocrat before whom all prostrated themselves, but who
showed no pride to the painter, and by the unanimous
marveling surprise, as at a prodigy, of all beholders, when
a horrible incident occurred. He would seem to have gone
on painting familiar subjects notwithstanding the inappro-
priateness of his surroundings, and had just finished the
story of John the Baptist " who was reverenced by the
Turks as a prophet." But when he exhibited the head of
the Baptist on the charger to the sultan, that potentate
began to criticise, as a man who at last finds himself on
familiar ground. He told the painter that his anatomy
was wrong, and that when the head was severed from the
body, the neck disappeared altogether. No doubt with
modesty, but firmly, the painter would defend his work,
probably forgetting that the sultan had in this particular a
much greater experience than he. But Mohammed was no
man to waste words. He called a slave to him on the spot,
and whether with his own ready sword or by some other
hand, swept off in a trice the poor wretch's head, that the
painter might be no longer in any doubt as to the effect.
This horrible lesson in anatomy was more than Gentile's
nerves could bear, and it is not wonderful that from that
moment he never ceased his efforts to get his dismissal,
" not knowing,'' says Ridolfi, *' whether some day a similar
jest might not be played on him." Finally he was per-
mitted to return home with laudatory letters and the title
of cavaliere, and a chain of gold of much value round his
neck. The Venetian authorities either felt that a man
who had risked so much to please the sultan and keep up a
good understanding with him was worth a reward, or they
did not venture to neglect the recommendation of so great
a potentate — for they gave the painter a pension of two
hundred ducats a year for his life. And he was in time to
resume his pencil in the great hall where Ridolfi gives him
the credit of five of the pictures, painted in great part after
his return. All this no doubt splendid series was destroyed
a hundred years after by fire ; but as has been already noted,
the subjects were repeated in the subsequent pictures which
THE MAKERS OF VENICE,
259
still exist, although these, with the exception of one by
Tintoretto and one by Paoio Veronese, were executed by
less remarkable hands.
Gentile Bellini died in 1507, at the age of eighty, his
brother nearly ten years after : they were both laid with so
many others of their brotherhood in the great church of
ANGEL FROM CARPACCIO.
San Giovanni e Paolo, where the traveler may see their
names upon the pavement in all humility and peace.
The nearest to these two brothers in the meaning and
sentiment of his work is Victor Carpaccio. His place
would almost seem to lie justly between them. He is the
first illustrator of religious life and legend in Venice, as
well as the most delightful story-teller of his time, the
finest poet in a city not given to audible verse. The ex-
treme devotion which Mr. Ruskin has for this painter has
260 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
perhaps raised him to a pedestal which is slightly factitious
— at least so far as the crowd is concerned, who follow the
great writer without comprehending him, and are apt to
make the worsliip a little ridiculous. But there is enough
in the noble series of pictures which set forth the visionary
life of St. Ursula to justify a great deal of enthusiasm. No
more lovely picture was ever painted than that which
represents the young princess lying wrapped in spotless
slumber, seeing in her dream the saintly life before her
and the companion of her career, the prince, half knight,
half angel, whose image hovers at the door. The wonder-
ful mediaeval room with all its slender antique furniture,
the soft dawn in the window, the desk where the maiden
has said her prayers, the holy water over her head, form a
dim harmonious background of silence and virgin solitude.
And what could surpass the profound and holy sleep, so
complete, so peaceful, so serene in which she lies, lulled by
the solemn sweetness of her vision, in which there is no un-
rest as of earthly love always full of disquiet, but a soft awe
and stillness as of great tragic possibilities foreseen. The
other pictures of the series may be more rich in incident
and expression, and have a higher dramatic interest, but the
sleep of Ursula is exquisite, and goes to every heart.
The San Giorgio in the little church of the Slavs, de-
taches itself in a similar way from all others, and presents
to the imagination a companion picture. Ursula has no
companion in her own story that is so worthy of her as this
St. George. Her prince is only a vision, he is absorbed in
her presence, a shadow, whom the painter has scarcely
taken the trouble to keep of one type, or recognizable
throughout the series. But the San Giorgio of the Schia-
voni remains in our thouglits, a vision of youthful power
and meaning, worthy to be that maiden's mate. No sleep
for him, or dreams. He puts his horse at the dragon with
an intent and stern diligence as if there were (as truly there
was not) no moment to lose, no breath to draw, till his
mission had been accomplislied. A swift fierceness and
determination is in every line of him ; his spear, which
seems at first on the wrong side of the horse, is so on pur-
UBSULA BKCEIVINO HER BRIDEGROOM:
To /ace pogre 260.
FROM CARPACCIO.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE,
201
pose to get a stronger leverage in tlie tremendous charge.
The dragon is quite a poor creature to call forth all that
force of righteous passion ; but we tliink nothing of its
abject meanness, all sympathy and awe being concentrated
in the champion's heavenly wrath and inspiration of pur-
pose. We do not pretend to follow the great critic who has
thrown all his own tender yet fiery genius into the elucida-
HEAD OP ST. GEORGE.
tion of every quip and freak of fancy in this elaborate me-
diaeval poem. The low and half lighted walls of the little
brown church, which bears a sort of homely resemblance to
an English Little Bethel, enshrine for us chiefly this one
heroic semblance, and no more: and we do not attempt to
discuss the painting from any professional point of view.
But we are very sure that this knight and maiden, though
they never can belong to each other, will find their places
in every sympathetic soul that sees them together — George
charging down in abstract holy wrath upon the impersona-
tion of sin and evil, Ursula dreaming of the great, sad, yet
fair life before her, the pilgrim's journey, and the martyr^s
palm.
262 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
The lives of the saints were the popular poetry of Christen-
dom, catholic and universal beyond all folk-lore and folks-
lieder, before even thelimitsof existing continental nations
were formed. All the elements of romance, as well as that
ascetic teaching and doctrine of boundless self-sacrifice
which commends itself always to the primitive mind as the
highest type of religion, were to be found in these primi-
tive tales, which are never so happy as when taking the
youngest and fairest and noblest from all the delights of
life, and setting them amid the mediaeval horrors of plague
and destitution. Carpaccio^s saints, however, belong to
even an earlier variety of the self-devoted, the first heroes
of humanity. It is for the faith that they contend and
die ; they are the ideal emissaries of a divine religion but
newly unveiled and surrounded by a dark and horrible in-
fidel world which is to be converted only by the blood of
the martyrs ; or by mysterious forms of evil, devouring
dragons and monsters of foul iniquity, who must be slain
or led captive by the spotless warriors in whom there is
nothing kindred to their rapacious foulness. Perhaps it is
because of the vicinity of Venice to the east, and of the
continual conflict with the infidel which crusades and other
enterprises less elevated had made more familiar than any
other enemy to the imagination of the city of the sea, that
Carpaccio^s story-telling is all of this complexion. The
German painter from over the Alps had his dreams of
sweet Elizabeth with the loaves in her lap which turned to
roses, and the leper whom she laid in the prince's bed,
when our Venetian conceived his Ursula forewarned of all
that must follow, leaving home and father to convert the
heathen, or that strenuous grave St. George, with stern
fierce eyes aflame, cutting down the monster who was evil
embodied.
These were the earliest of all lieroic tales in Christendom,
and Carpaccio's art was that of the ministrel-historian as
well as the painter. He knew how to choose his incidents
and construct his plot like any story-teller, so that those,
if there were any, in Venice who did not care for pictures
might still be caught by the interest of his tale, and follow
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 263
breathless, the fortunes of the royal maiden, or that great
episode of heroic adventure which has made so many na-
tions choose St. George as their patron saint. Gentile
Bellini had found out how the aspect of real life and all its
accessories might bo turned to use in art, and how warm
was the interest of the spectators in the representation of
the things and places with which they were most familiar ;
but Carpaccio made a step beyond his old master when he
discovered tliat art was able, not only to make an incident
immortal, but to tell a story, and draw the very hearts of
beholders out of their bosoms, as sometimes an eloquent
friar in the pulpit, or story-teller upon the Riva, with his
group of entranced listeners, could do. And having made
this discovery, though it was already the time of the Re-
naissance and all the uncleanly gods of the heathen, with all
their fables, were coming back, for tlie diversion and de-
light of the licentious and the learned, this painter sternly
turned his back upon all these new-fangled interests, and
entranced all Venice, though she loved pleasure, and to
pipe and sing and wear fine dresses and flaunt in the sun-
shine, with the story of the devoted princess and her
maiden train, and with St. George, all swift and fierce in
youthful wrath, slaying the old dragon, the emblem of all
ill, the devouring lust and cruelty, whose ravages devas-
tated an entire kingdom and devoured both man and maid.
But of the man who did this we know nothing, not even
where he was born or where he died. He has been said to
belong to Istria because there has been found there a
family of Carpaccio, among whom, from time immemorial,
the eldest son has been called Victor or Vettore ; but that
this is the painter's family is a matter of pure conjecture.
The diligent researches of Signor Molmenti, who has done
BO much to elucidate Venetian manners and life, has found
in the archives of a neighboring state, a letter, perhaps the
only intelligible trace of Carpaccio as an ordinary mortal
and not an inspired painter, which is in existence. It
affords us no revelation of high meaning or purpose, but
only a homely view of a man with no greater pretensions
than those of an houest workman living on his earnings.
264 THE MAKERS OF VEFIGE,
reluctant to lose a commission, and eager to recommend
himself to a liberal and well-paying customer. It shows
him upon no elevation of poetic meaning such as we might
have preferred to see; but after all, even in heroic days,
there was nothing contrary to inspiration in selling your
picture and commending yourself as much as was in you,
to who would buy. And it is evident that Carpaccio had
much confidence in the excellence of the work he had to
sell, and felt that his wares were second to none. The
letter is addressed to the well-known amateur and patron
of artists, lie who was the first to make Titian^s fortune,
Francesco Gonzaga, Lord of Mantua.
" Illustrissimo Signor mio:
** Some days ago a person unknown to me, conducted by
certain otliers,came to me to see a "Jerusalem" which I have made,and
as soon as he had seen it, with great pertinacity insisted that I should
sell it to him, because he felt it to be a thing out of which he would
get great content and satisfaction. Finally we made a bargain by
mutual agreement, but since then I have seen no more of him. To
clear up the matter I asked those who had brought him, among whom
was a priest, bearded and clad in gray, whom I had several times seen
in the hall of the Great Council with your highness ; of whom asking
his name and condition I was told that he was Messer Laurentio,
painter to your illustrious highness — by which I easily understood
where this person might be found, and accordingly I direct these
presents to your illustrious highness to make you acquainted with my
name as well as with the work in question. First, signor mio, I am
that painter by whom your illustrious highness was conducted to see
the pictures in the great hall, when your illustrious highness deigned
to ascend the scaffolding to see our work, which was the story of
Ancona, and my name is Victor Carpatio. Concerning the "Jerusalem"
I take upon me to say that in our times there is not another picture
equal to it, not only for excellence and perfection, but also for size.
The height of the picture is twenty-five feet, and the width is five feet
and a half, according to the measure of such things, and I know that
of this work Zuane Zamberti has spoken to your sublimity. Also it
is true, and I know certainly, that the aforesaid painter belonging to
your service has carried away a sketch incomplete and of small size
which I am sure will not be to your highness' satisfaction. If it should
please your highness to submit the picture first to the inspection of
some judicious men, on a word of guarantee being given to me it shall
be at your highness' disposal. The work is in distemper on canvas,
and it can be rolled round a piece of wood without any detriment. If
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. j)65
it should please you to desire it in color, it rests with your illustrious
highness to command, and to me with profoundest study to execute.
Of the price I say nothing, remitting it entirely to your illustrious
highness, to whom I humbly commend myself this 15th day of
August, 1511, at Venice.
" Da V. Subl. humilo. Servitore,
"Victor Carpathio, Pictore."
Whether the anxious painter got the commission, or if
his sublimity of Mantua thought the humble missive be-
neath his notice, or if the *^ Jerusalem " was ever put into
color cum surnmo studiOy will probably never be known ;
but here he appears to us, a man very open to commissions,
eager for work, probably finding tlie four ducats a
month of the signoria poor pay, and losing no opportunity
of making it up. But though the painter is anxious and
conciliatory, he does not deceive himself as to the excel-
lence of his work. He takes upon him to say that there is
no better picture to be had in his time, and gives the
measure of it with simplicity, feeling that this test of great-
ness at least must be within his correspondent's capacity.
And one cannot but remark with a smile how this old
demi-god of art in the heroic age was ready to forward his
picture to the purchaser rolled round a piece of wood, as we
send the humble photograph nowadays by the post ! How
great a difference ! yet with something odd and touching
of human resemblance too.
Of the great painters of the following generation who
raised the Venetian school to the height of glory, almost
all who were born subjects of the republic passed through
the studio of the Bellini. The historians tell us how young
Giorgio of Castel Franco awoke a certain despite in the
breast of his master by his wonderful progress and divina-
tion in the development of art — seizing such secrets as were
yet to discover, and conjuring away a certain primitive
rigidity which still remained in the work of the elders :
and how young Tiziano, from his mountain village, entered
into the method of his fellow-pupil, and both together
carried tlieir mystery of glorious color and easy splendid
composition to its climax in Venice. But the feeling and
266 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
and criticism of the present age, so largely influenced by
Mr. Ruskin, are rather disposed to pass that grand perfec-
tion by, and return with devotion to the simple splendor
of those three early masters who are nearer to the
fountain head, and retain a more absolute reality and
sincerity in their work. Gentile Bellini painting behind
and around his miracle the genuine Venice which he saw,
a representation more authentic and graphic than any that
history can make : and Carpaccio giving life and substance
to the legends which embodied literature and poetry and
the highest symbolical morals to the people — express the
fact of every-day life and the vision and the faculty di-
vine of a high and pure imagination, with a force and
intensity which are not in their more highly-trained and
conventionally perfect successors. And as for the third, in
some respects the noblest of the three — he whose genius
sought no new path, who is content with the divine group
which his homely forefathers had drawn and daubed be-
fore him, but wliich it was his to set forth for the first time
in Venice in all the luster of the new method of color
which he and his successors carried to such glow and splen-
dor that all that is most brilliant in it is called Venetian —
where shall we find a more lovely image of the Mother and
the Child than that which he sets before us, throned in
grave seclusion in the Frari, humbly retired behind that
window in the Accademia, shining forth over so many
altars in other places, in a noble and modest perfection ?
The angel children sounding their simple lutes, looking up
with frank and simple childisli reverence, all sweet and
human, to the miraculous Child, have something in them
which is as much beyond the conventional cherubic heads
and artificial ornamented angels of the later art as heaven
is beyond earth, or the true tenderness of imagination be-
yond the fantastic inventions of fiction. And if Rafael in
our days must give way to Botticelli, with how much
greater reason should Titian in the height of art, all earthly
splendor and voluptuous glow, give place to the lovely im-
aginations of old Zuan Bellini, the father of Venetian art !
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 267
CHAPTER II.
THE SECOND GENERATION.
The day of art had now fully risen in Venice. The
dawning had been long, progressing slowly through all the
early efforts of decoration and ornament, and by the dim
religious light of nameless masters, to the great moment in
which the Bellini revealed themselves, making Venice
splendid with tlie sunrise of a new faculty, entirely con-
genial to her temperament and desires. It would almost
appear as if the first note, once struck, of a new departure
in life or in art, was enough to wake up in all the regions
within hearing the predestined workers, who but for that
awaking might have slumbered forever, or found in other
fields an incomplete development. While it is beyond
the range of human powers to determine what cause or
agency it is which enables the first fine genius — the maker
who in every mode of creative work is like the great priest
of the Old Testament, without father and without mother
— to burst all bonds and outstep all barriers, it is compara-
tively easy to trace how, under his influence and by the
stimulus of a sudden new impulse felt to be almost divine,
his successors may spring into light and being. Nothing to
our humble thinking explains tlie Bellini: but the Bellini
to a certain extent explain Titian and all the other splen-
dors to come.
When the thrill of the new beginning had gone through
all the air, mounting up among the glorious peaks and
snows, to Cadore on one side, and over the salt-water coun-
try and marshy plains on the other to Castel Franco, two
humble families had each received the uncertain blessing
of a boy, who took to none of the established modes of
268 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
living, and would turn his thoughts neither to husbandry,
nor to such genteel trades as became the members of a
family of peasant nobility, but dreamed and drew with
whatsoever material came to their hands upon walls or
other handy places. At another epoch it is likely enough
that parental force would have been employed to balk, for
a time at least, these indications of youthful genius; but
no doubt some of the Vecelli family, the lawyer uncle or
the soldier father, had some time descended from his hill-
top to the great city which lay gleaming upon the edge of
those great plains of sea that wash the feet of the moun-
tains, and had seen some wonderful work in church or
senate-chamber, which made known a new possibility to
him, and justified in some sort the attempts of the eager
child. More certainly still a villager from the Trevisano,
carrying his rural merchandise to market, would be led by
some gossip in the Erberia to see the new Madonna in San
Giobbe, and ask himself whether by any chance little
Giorgio, always with that bit of chalk in his fingers, might
come to do such a wonder as that if the boy had justice
done him? They came accordingly with beating hearts,
the two little rustics, each from his village, toZuan Bellini^s
lottega in Rialto to learn their art. The mountain boy was
but ten years old — confided to the care of an uncle who
lived in Venice; but whether he went at once into the head-
quarters of the art is unknown, and unlikely, for so young
a student could scarcely have been far enough advanced to
profit by the instructions of the greatest painter in Venice.
It is supposed by some that he began his studies under
Zuccato, the mosaicist, or some humbler instructor. But
all this would seem mere conjecture. Vasari, his contem-
porary and friend, makes no mention of any preliuiinary
studies, but places the boy at once under Giovanni Bellini.
Of the young Barbarella f rom Castel Franco the same story
is told. He too was brought to Venice by his father and
placed under Bellini's instruction. Messrs. Crowe and
Cavalcaselle have confused these bare but simple records
with theories of their own respecting the influence of
Giorgione upon Titian, which is such, they think, or
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 269
thought, as could only have been attained by an elder over
a younger companion, whereas all the evidence goes to
prove that the two were as nearly as possible the same age,
and that they were fellow pupils, perhaps fellow apprentices,
in Bellini's workshop. We may, however, find so much
reason for the theory as this, that young Tiziuno was in his
youtli a steady and patient worker, following all the rules
and discipline of his master, and taking into his capacious
brain everything that could be taught him, awaiting the
moment when he should turn these stores of instruction to
use in his own individual way; whereas young Giorgio was
more masterful and impatient, and with a quicker eye and
insight (having so mucii less time to do his work in) seized
upon those points in which his genius could have full play.
Vasari talks as if this brilliant youth with all the fire of
purpose in his eyes liad blazed all of a sudden upon the
workshop in which Bellini's pupils labored — Titian among
them, containing what new lights were in him in dutiful
subordination to the spirit of the place — ^^about the year
1507," with a new gospel of color and brightness scattering
the clouds from the firmament. Ridolfi, on the other
hand, describes him as a pupil whom the master looked
upon with a little jealousy, **seeing the felicity with wiiich
all things were made clear by this scholar. And certainly,"
adds the critic in his involved and ponderous phraseology,
'*it was a wonder to see how tliis boy added to the method
of Bellini (in whom all the beauties of painting had seemed
conjoined) such grace and tenderness of color, as if
Giorgione, participating in that power by whicli nature
mixes human flesh with all the qualities of the elements,
harmonized with supreme sweetness the shadow and the
light, and threw a delicate flush of rose tints upon every
member through which the blood flows."
Giorgione, with his bolder impulse and that haste which
we perceive to have been so needful for his short life, is
more apparent than his fellow student in these early years.
When he came out of Bellini's workshop, his apprenticeship
done, he roamed a little from lottega to lottega, painting
now a sacred picture for an oratory or chapel, now a
270 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
marriage chest or cabinet. ^' Qiiadri di devotione, ricinti
da htto, e gabinetti,'' says Ridolfi — not ashamed to turn
his hand to anything there might be to do. Going home
afterward to his village, he was received — the same
authority informs us — with entliusiasm, as having made
himself a great man and a painter, and commissions
showered upon him. Perhaps it was at Castel Franco,
amid the delight and praise of his friends, that the young
painter first recognized fully his own powers. At all events
when he had exhausted their simple applauses and filled
the village church and convent with his work, he went
back to Venice, evidently with a soul above the ricmti da
letto, and launched himself upon the world. His purse was
no doubt replenished by the work he had done at home, a
number of the wealthy neighbors having had themselves
painted by little Giorgio — an opportunity they must have
perceived that might not soon recur. But it was not only
for work and fame that he returned to Venice. He was
young, and life was sweet, sweeter there than anywhere else
in all the world, full of everything that was beautiful and
bright. He took a house in the campo San Silvestro,
opposite the church of that name, not far from the Eialto,
in the midst of all the joyous companions of his craft; and
"by his talent and his pleasant nature,^' drawing round
him a multitude of friends, lived there amid all the delights
of youth — dilettandosi suonar il liuto — dividing his days
between the arts. No gayer life nor one more full of
pleasure could be ; his very work a delight, a continual
crowd of comrades, admiring, imitating, urging him on,
always round him, every man with his canzone and his
picture, and all ready to fling them down at a mementos
notice, and rush forth to swell the harmonies on the canal,
or steal out upon the lagoon in the retirement of the gon-
dola, upon some more secret adventure. What hush there
would be of all the laughing commentaries when a fine
patrician in his sweeping robes was seen approaching across
the campo, a possible patron : what a rush to the windows
when, conscious perhaps of all the eyes upon her, but with-
out lifting her gwPj sg^ie lovely madouna wrapped iu her
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 271
veil, with her following of maidens, would come in a glory
of silken robes and jewels out of the church door! ''Per
certo siio decoroso aspetto si detto Giorgione," says Ridolfi,
but perhaps the word decoroso would be out of place in our
sense of it — for his delightsome presence rather and his
pleasant ways. The Italian tongue still lends itself to such
caresses, and is capable of making the dear George, the
delightful fellow, the beloved of all his companions, into
Giorgione still.
And amid all this babble of lutes and laughter, and all
the glow of color and flush of youth, the other lad from the
mountains would come and go, no less gay perhaps than any
of them, but working on, with that steady power of his,
gathering to liimself slowly but with an unerring instinct
tlie new principles which his comrade, all impetuous and
spontaneous, made known in practice rather than in teach-
ing, making the blood flow and the pulses beat in every
limb he drew. Young Tiziano had plodded through the
Bellini system without making any rebellious outbreak of
new ideas as Giorgione had done, taking the good of his
master, so far as that master went, but with his ryes open
to every suggestion, and very ready to see that his comiade
had expanded the old rule, and done something worth
adopting and following in this joyful splendid outburst of
his. It was in this way no doubt, that the one youth
followed the other, half by instinct, by mingled sympathy
and rivalry, by the natural contagion of a development more
advanced than that which had been the starting point of
both— confusing his late critics after some centuries into
an attempt to prove that the one must have taught
the other, which was not necessary in any formal way.
Titian had ninety years to live, and nature worked in him
at leisure, while Giorgione had but a third of that time, and
went fast, flinging about what genius and power of instruc-
tion there was in him with careless liberality, not thinking
whether from any friendly comrade about him he received
less than he gave. Perhaps the same unconscious hurry of
life, perhaps only his more impetuous temper induced him,
when work flagged and commissions were slow of coming in,
272 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
to turn his hand to the front of his own house and paint
that, in default of more profitable work. It was no doubt
the best of advertisements for the young painter. On the
higher story in which most probably he lived, he covered
the walls with figures of musicians and poets with their
lutes, and with groups of boys, the putti so dear to Venice,
as well as altre fantasie, and historic scenes of more preten-
sion which were the subject of '^ a learned eulogy by Signer
Jacopo Pighetti, and a celebrated poem by Signer Paolo
Vendramin/^ says Eidolfi. The literary tributes have
perished, and so have the frescoes, although the spectator
may still see some faded traces of Gioi'gione's putti upon the
walls of his house ; but they answered what no doubt was
at least one of their purposes by attracting the attention of
the watchful city ever ready to see what beautiful work was
being done. It was at this moment tiiat the Fondaco de'
Tedeschi, the German factory so to speak, on the edge of the
Grand Canal, was re-building, a great house wanting decora-
tion. The jealous authorities of the republic, for some
reason one fails to see, had forbidden the use of architectural
ornamentation in the new building which, all the same, was
their own building, not the property of the Germans. Had
it belonged to the foreigner, there might have been a sup-
posable cause in the necessity for keeping these aliens down,
and preventing any possible emulation with native born
Venetians. We can only suppose that this was actually the
reason, and that, even in the house which Venice built for
them, these traders were not to be permitted to look as fine
or feel as magnificent as their hosts and superiors. But a
great house with four vast walls, capable of endless decora-
tion, and nothing done to them, would probably have raised
a rebellion in the city, or at least among the swarms of
painters on the other side of the Rialto, gazing at it with
hungry eyes. So it was conceded by the authorities that this
square undecorated house, a singularly uninteresting block
of buildings to stand on such a site, should be painted at
least to harmonize it so far with its neighbors. It is not
to be supposed that this was the first piece of work on which
Titian had been engaged. No doubt he had already pro-
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 273
daeed his tale of Madonnas, with a few portraits to make
him known. But he steps into sight for the first time
publicly wlien we hear that the wall on the land side, the
street front, of the building was allotted to him, while the
side toward the canal was confided to Giorgione. Perhaps
the whole building was put into Giorgione's hands, and
part of the work confided by him to his comrade ; at all
events they divided it between them. Every visitor to
Venice is aware of the faint and faded figure high up in the
right-hand corner, disappearing, as all its neighboring
glories have disappeared, wliich is the last remnant of
Giorgione's work upon the canal front of this great gloomy
house. Of Titian's group over the great doorway in the
street there remains nothing at all ; the sea breezes and the
keen air have carried all these beautiful things away.
In respect to these frescoes, Vasari tells one anecdote,
wliich is natural and characteristic, and may indicate the
point at which these two young men detached themselves,
and took each his separate way. He narrates liow ^' many
gentlemen," not being aware of the division of labor, met
Giorgione on the evening of the day on which Titian had
uncovered a portion of his work, and crowded round him
with their congratulations, assuring him that he had never
done anything so fine, and that the front toward the Mer-
ceria quite excelled the river front! Giorgione was so
indignant, sentiva tanto sdegno, at this unlucky compli-
ment, that until Titian liad finished the work and it had
become well known which portion of it was his, the sensi-
tive painter showed himself no more in public, and from
that moment would neither see Titian nor acknowledge
him as a friend. Ridolfi tells the same story, with the ad-
dition that it was a conscious mistake made maliciously by
certain comrades who feigned not to know who had painted
the great Judith over the door.
This is not a history of the Venetian painters, nor is i«i
necessary to follow the life and labors of these two brilliant
and splendid successors of the first masters in our city.
Whether it was by the distinct initiative of Giorgione in
painting his own house that the habit of painting Venetian
274 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
houses iu general originated, or whether it was only one of
the ever increasing marks of luxury and display, we do not
pretend to decide. At all events it was an expedient of
this generation to add to the glory of the city, and the
splendid aspect which she bore. The nobler dignity of the
ancient architecture had already been partially lost, or no
longer pleased in its gravity and stateliness the race which
loved color and splendor in all things. A whole city
glowing in crimson and gold, with giant forms starting up
along every wall, and sweet groups of cherub boys tracing
every course of stone, and the fables of Greece and Eome
taking form upon every fa9ade, must have been no doubt
a wonderful sight. The reflections in the Grand Canal as
it flowed between these pictured palaces must have left lit-
tle room for sky or atmosphere in the midst of that dazzling
confusion of brilliant tints and images. And every campo
must have lent its blaze of color, to put the sun himself to
shame. But we wonder whether it is to be much regretted
that the sun and the winds have triumphed in the end, and
had their will of those fine Venetian houses. Among so
many losses this is the one for which I feel the least
regret.
It is recorded among the expenses of the republic in
December, 1508, that one hundred and fifty ducats were
paid to Zorzi da Castel Franco for his work upon the Fon-
daco, in which, according to this business-like record,
Victor Carpaccio had also some share: but this is the only
indication of the fact, and the total disappearance of the
work makes all other inquiry impossible.
By this time, however, Giorgione's brief and gay life was
approaching its end. That stormy, joyous existence, so
full of work, so full of pleasure, as warm in color as were
his pictures, and pushed to a hasty perfection all at once
without the modesty of any slow beginning, ended sud-
denly as it had begun. Vasari has unkindly attributed his
early death to the disorders of his life; but his other biog-
raphers are more sympathetic. Eidolfi gives two different
accounts, both popularly current: one that he caught the
plague from a lady he loved: the other, that being deserted
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 275
by his love he died of grief, non trovando altro remedio. lu
either case the impetuous young painter, amid his early
successes — more celebrated than any of his compeers, the
leader among his comrades, the only one of them who had
struck into an individual path, developing the lessons of
Bellini — died in the midst of his loves and pleasures at the
age of thirty-four, not having yet reached the mezzo del
cammin di nostra vita, which Dante had attained when his
great work began.
This was in the year 1511, only three years after the
completion of his work at the Fondaco, and while old Zuan
Bellini was still alive and at work, in his robust old age,
seeing his impetuous pupil out. It was one of the many
years in which the plague visited Venice, carrying conster-
nation through the gay and glowing streets. It is said
that Giorgione was working in the hall of tlie Great Coun-
cil, among the other painters, at the picture in which the
emperor is represented as kissing the pope's foot, at the
time of his death. At all events he had lived long enough
to make his fame great in tlie city, and to leave examples of
his splendid work in many of the other great cities of Italy,
as well as in his own little borgo at Castel Franco,
where still they are the pride and glory of the little
town.
It would almost seem as if it were only after the death
of Giorgione that Titian began to be estimated at his just
value. The one had given the impulse, the other had
received it, and Vasari does not hesitate to call Titian the
pupil of his contemporary, though not in the formal sense
attached to the word by modern writers, notwithstanding
the fact that they were of the same age. Ridolfi's formal
yet warm enthusiasm for the painter *'to whom belongs
perpetual praise and honor, since he has become a light to
all those who come after him," assigns to Giorgione a
higher place than that which the spectator of to-day will
probably think justified. His master, Bellini, appeals more
warmly to the heart; his pupil, Titian, filled a much greater
place in the world and in art. But, *Mt is certain, '' says
the historif^u and critic of the sixteenth century, with a
276 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
double affirmation, " that Giorgio was without doubt the
first who showed the good way in painting, fitting liimself
(approssimandosi) by the mixture of his colors to express
with facility tiie works of nature, concealing as much as
possible the difficulties to be encountered in working, which
is the chief point; so that in the flesh tints of this ingeni-
ous painter the innumerable shades of gray, orange, blue,
and other such colors customarily used by some, aie ab-
sent The artificers who followed him, with the
example before them of his works, acquired the facility and
true method of color by which so much progress was
made."
The works of Giorgione however are comparatively few ;
his short life and perhaps the mirth of it, the sounding of
the lute, the joyous company, and all the delights of that
highly colored existence restrained the splendid productive-
ness which was characteristic of his art and age. And yet
perhaps this suggestion does the painter injustice ; for amid
all those diversions, and the ceaseless round of loves and
festivities, the list of work done is always astonishing.
Many of his works however were frescoes, and the period
in which he and Titian were, as Mr. Ruskin says, house
painters, was the height of his genius. The sea air and
the keen tramontana have thus swept away much that was
the glory of the young painter^s life.
The moment at which Titian appears publicly on the
stage, so to speak, of the great hall, called to aid in the
work going on there, was not till two years after the death
of his companion. Whether Giorgione kept his hasty word,
and saw no more of him after that unfortunate compliment
about the Judith over the doorway of the Fondaco, we are
not told ; but it was not until after the shadow of that im-
petuous youthful genius had been removed, that the other,
the patient and thoughtful, who had not reached perfection
in a burst, but by much consideration and comparison and
exercise of the splendid faculty of work that was in him,
came fully into the light. Messrs. Crowe and Cavalcaselle
make much of certain disputes and intrigues that seem to
have surrounded this appointment, and point out that it
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 277
was giveu and withdrawn, and again conferred upon Titian,
according as his friends or those of the older painters were
in the ascendant in the often-changed combinations of
power in Venice. Their attempt to show that old Zuan
Bellini, the patriarch of the art, schemed against his
younger rival, and endeavored to keep him out of state
patronage are happily supported by no documents, but are
merely an inference from the course of events, which show
certain waverings and uncertainties in the bargain between
the signoria and the painter. The manner in which this
bargain was made, and in which the money was provided
to pay for the work of Titian and his associates, is very
characteristic and noticeable. After much uncertainty as
to what were the intentions of the signoria, the painter
received an invitation to go to Rome through Pietro
Bembo, wiiich, however hond fide in itself, was probably
intended to bring matters to a crisis, and show the author-
ities, who had not as yet secured the services of the most
promising of all the younger artists then left in Venice,
that their decision must be made at once. Titian brings
the question before them witli much firmness — will they
have him or not ? must he turn aside to the service of the
pope instead of entering that of the magnificent signoria,
which, "desirous of fame rather than of profit,'' he would
prefer ? Pressing for a decision, he then sets forth the pay
and position for whicli he is willing to devote his powers to
the public service. These are: the first brokership that
shall be vacant in tlie Fondaco de' Tedeschi, ** irrespective
of all promised reversions of such patent," and the main-
tenance of two pupils as his assistants, to be paid by the
Salt Office, which also is to provide all colors and neces-
saries required in their work. The curious complication
of state affairs which thus mixes up the most uncongenial
branches, and defrays the expenses of tliis, the supremest
luxury of the state, out of tlie tarry purse of its oldest and
rudest industry, is very remarkable ; and the bargain has
a certain surreptitious air, as if even the magnificent sig-
noria did not care to confess how much their splendors
cost. If our own government, ashamed to put into their
^78 THE MAKERS OF VENtGE.
straight-forward budget the many thousands expended on
the purchase of the Blenheim Madonna, had added it in
with the accounts of the inland revenue, it would be an
operation somewhat similar. But such balancings and
mutual compensations, robbing Peter to pay Paul, were
common in those days. The brokership however is about
as curious an expedient for the pay of a paiuter as could be
devised. The German merchants were forbidden to trade
without the assistance of such an official, and the painter
of course fulfilled the duties of the office by deputy. It
aifords an amazing suggestion indeed to think of old
Bellini, or our magnificent young Titian, crossing the
Rialto by the side of some homely Teuton with his samples
in his pocket to drive a noisy bargain in the crowded piazza
round San Giacomo where all the merchants congregated.
But the expedient was perfectly natural to the times in
which they lived, and indeed such resources have not long
gone out of use even among ourselves.
Titian's proposal was accepted, then modified, and finally
received and established, with the odious addition that the
broker's place to be given to him was not simply the first
vacancy, but the vacancy which should occur at the death
of Zuan Bellini, then a very old man, and naturally in-
capable of holding it long. This brutal method of indicating
that one day was over, and another begun, and of pushing
the old monarch from his place, throws an unfavorable
light upon the very pushing and practical young painter,
who was thus determined to have his master's seat.
When Bellini died in 1516, it is gratifying to know that
there was still some difficulty about the matter, other
promises apparently having been made, and other expecta-
tions raised as to the vacant brokership. Finally however
Titian's claim was allowed, and he entered into possession
of the income about which he had been so eager. He then
established himself at San Samuele, abandoning, it would
seem, the old center of life at the Eialto where all the
others had been content to live and labor. It was like
a migration from the business parts of the town to those of
fashion, or at least gentility ; and perhaps this change
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 279
showed already a beginning of pretension to the higlier
social position which Titian, in his later days at least,
evidently enjoyed. They were noble in their rustic way up
at Cadore, and he who was presently to stand before kings
probably assumed already something more of dignity than
was natural to the sons of painters, or to the village genius
who is known to posterity only by his Christian name,
Another day had now dawned upon the studios and
workshops. The reign of the Bellini was over and that of
Titian had begun. Of his contemporaries and disciples we
cannot undertake any account. The nearest in association
and influence to the new master was tlie gentle Palma, with
all the silvery sweetness of color which so far as the critics
know he had found for himself in his village on the plains,
or acquired somehow by the grace of heaven, no master
having the credit of them. Some of these authorities
believe that, from tliis modest and delightful painter,
Titian, all acquisitive, gained something too, so much as to
be almost a pupil of the master who is so much less great
than himself. And that is possible enough, for it is evident
that Titian, like Moliere, took his goods where he found
them, and lost tio occasion for instruction, whoever supplied
it. He was at all events for some time much linked
with Palma, whose daughter was long supposed to be the
favorite model of both these great painters. The splendid
women whom they loved to paint.and who now stepped in,
as may be said, into the world of fancy, a new and radiant
group, with the glorioushairupon which both these masters
expended so much skill, so that '* every thread might be
counted," Vasari says, represent, as imagination hopes, the
women of that age, the flower of Venice at her highest
perfection of physical magnificence. So at least the wor-
shiper of Venice believes, finding in those grand forms and
in their opulence of color and natural endowment some-
thing harmonious with the character of the race and time.
From the same race, though with a higher inspiration,
Bellini had drawn his Madonnas, with stately throats like
column and a noble amplitude of form. There is still much
beauty in Venice, but not of this splendid kind. The women
280
THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
have dwindled if they were ever like Violante. But she
and her compeers have taken their place as the fit represen-
tatives of that age of splendor and luxury. When we turn
to records less imaginative however, the ladies of Venice
appear to us under a different guise. They are attired in
GROUP OF heads: gentile BELLINI.
cloth of gold, in brocaded silks and velvets, with cords,
fringes, pendents and embroidery in gold, silver, pearls, and
precious stones, *^even their shoes richly ornamented with
gold," Sanudo tells us : but they are feeble and pale, prob-
ably because of their way of living, sliut up indoors the
greater part of their time, and when they go out, tottering
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 281
upon heels so high tliat walking is scarcely possible, and
the unfortunate ladies in their grandeur have to lean upon
the shoulders of their servants (or slaves) to avoid accident.
Their heels were at least half the Milanese braccio in
height (more than nine inches), says another authority.
Imagination refuses to conceive the wonderful lady who
lives in Florence, the Bella of Titian, in all her magnificent
apparel, thus hobbling on a species of stilts about the
streets, supported by one of those grinning negroes whose
memory is preserved in the parti-colored figures in black
and colored marble which pleased the taste of a later age.
Such however were the shoes worn in those very days of
Bellini and Carpaccio which the great art critic of our time
points out as so much nobler than our own, even pausing in
his beautiful talk to throw a little malicious dart aside at
modern English (or Scotch) maidens in high-heeled boots.
The nineteenth century has not after all deterioi'ated so
very much from the fifteenth, for the veriest Parisian
abhorred of the arts has never yet attempted to poise upon
lieels huMvi braccio in height.
These jeweled clogs however, which if memory does not
deceive us are visible on the fioor in Carpaccio's picture
of the two Venetian ladies in the Museo Correr, so much
praised by Mr. Kuskin, were part of the universal orna-
mentation of the times. The great wealth of Venice
showed itself in every kind of decorative work, designed
in some cases rather by skill than by common sense. Tiie
Ve?ietian houses were not only painted without, throwing
abroad a surplus splendor to all the searching of the winds,
but were all glorious within as in the psalms. The fur-
niture carved and gilded, the curtains made of precious
stuff, the chimney-pieces decorated with the finest pictures,
the beds magnificent with golden embroidery and brocaded
pillows, the very sheets edged with delicate work in gold
thread. AVhen Giorgione opened his studio, setting up in
business so to speak, he painted wardrobes, spinning-wheels
and more particularly chests, the wedding coffers of the
time, of which so many examples remain : and — a fact
which takes away the hearer's breath — when Titian painted
282 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
that noble pallid Christ of the Tribute money, he did it,
oh heavens, on a cabinet, a fact which, though the cabinet
was in the study of Alfonso of Ferrara, strikes us with a
sensation of horror. Only a prince could have his furniture
painted with such a work; but no doubt in Titian's splendid
age there might be many armari, armoires — aumries as
they were once called in Scotland — with bits of his youth-
ful work, and glowing panels painted by Giorgione on the
mantelpieces to be found in the Venetian houses. This
was the way of living of the young painters, by which they
came into knowledge of the world. Perhaps the doors of
the wardrobe in a friend's house, or the panels over the fire-
place, might catch the eye of one of the Savii, now multi-
tiplied past counting in every office of tiie state, who would
straightway exert himself to have a space in the next
church alloted to the y oung man to try his powers on:
when if there was anything in him he had space and oppor-
tunity to show it, and prove himself worthy of still higher
promotion.
It would seem, however, that Titian was not much ap-
preciated by his natural patrons during all the beginning
of his career. There is no name of fondness for him such
as there was for Giorgio of Castel Franco. Was it perhaps
that these keen Venetians, who, notwithstanding that fail-
ure of religious faith with which they are suddenly dis-
credited, and which is supposed to lie at the root of all
decadence in art, had still a keen eye and insight for the
true and real, perceived that in the kind of pictures they
most desired something was wanting which had not been
wanting either in the Madonnas of Bellini or the saints of
Carpaccio — a something higher than manipulation, more
lovely than the loveliest color of the new method? These
sacred pictures might be beautiful, but they were not
divine. The soul had gone out of them. That purity
and wholesome grace which was in every one of old Zuan's
Holy Families had stolen miraculously out of Titian, just
as it had stolen miraculously in, no one knowing how, to
the works of the elder generation. If this was the case
indeed it was an effect only partially produced by the
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 283
works of the young master, for his portraits were all alight
with life and meaning, and in other subjects from his hand
there was no lack of truth and energy. Whatever the
cause might be, it is clear however that he was not popu-
lar, though the acknowledged greatest of all the younger
painters. It was only the possibility of seeing his services
transferred to the pope that procured his admission to the
privileges of state employment ; and it was after his fame
had been echoed from Ferrara and Bologna and Rome, and
by the great emperor himself — the magnificent patron
who picked up his brush, and with sublime condescension
declared tliat a Titian might well be served by Caesar —
that the more critical and fastidious Venetians, or perhaps
it might only be the more prejudiced and hardly-judging,
gave way to the strong current of opinion in his favor, and
began to find him a credit to Venice. As soon as this con-
viction became general the tide of public feeling changed,
and the republic became proud of the man who, amid all
the disasters that began to disturb her complacence and
interrupt her prosperity, had done her credit and added to
her fame.
It is evident, however, that even when he final'y got his
chance, and painted, for the church of tlie Frari, the mag-
nificent Assumption which occupies now a kind of throne
in the Accademia as if in some sort the sovereign of Venice
doubts pursued him to the end of his work. Fra Marco
Jerman or Germano, the- head of the convent, who had
ordereil it at his own expense and fitted it when completed
into a fine framework of marble for the high altar, had
many a criticism to make during the frequent anxious visits
he paid to the painter at his work. Titian was troubled
indeed by all the ignorai'.t brethren coming and going,
molestato dalle frequenti visiteloro, and by il poco lorointen-
dimento, their small understanding of the necessities of art.
They were all of the opinion that the Apostles in the fore-
ground were too large, di troppo smisurata grandezza, and
though ho took no small trouble to persuade them that the
figures must be in proportion to the vastness of the space,
and the position which the picture was to occupy, yet
284- THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
nevertheless the monks continued to grumble and shake
their heads, and make their observations to each other
under their hoods, doubting even whether the picture was
good enough to be accepted at all, after all the fuss that
had been made about it, and the painter-fellow's occupation
of their church itself as his painting room. The ignorant
are often the most difficult to please. But the condition
of the doubting convent, with no confidence in its own
judgment, and a haunting terror lest Venice should sneer
or jeer when tiie picture was uncovered, is comprehensible
enough. Titian, it is evident, had not even now attained
such an assured position as would justify his patrons in
any certainty of the excellence of his work. He was still
on his promotion, with no settled conviction in the minds
of the townsfolk as to his genius and power. No doubt
the brethren all thought that their guardiano had done a
rash thing in engaging him, and Fra Marco himself trem-
bled at the thought of the mistake he might perhaps have
made. It was not until the emperoi's envoy, already, it is
evident, a strong partisan of Titian, and bringing to his
work an eye unclouded by local prepossessions, declared
that the picture was a marvelous picture, and offered
a large sum if they would give it up, in order that he
might send it to his master, that the f rati began to think
it might be better perhaps to hold by tlieir bargain.
''Upon which offer," says Eldolfi, "the fathers in their
chapter decided, after the opinion of the most prudent,
not to give up the picture to any one, recognizing finally
that art was not their profession, and that the use
of the breviary did not convey an understanding of
painting."
It is curious to find that Vasari makes no particular note
of this picture except to say that it cannot be well seen
(that is in its original position in the Frari), and that
Marco Sanudo, in recording its first exhibition, mentions
the frame as if it was a thing quite as important as the
picture. Such is the vagueness of contemporary opinion.
It seems at all events to have been the first picture of
Titian's which at all struck the imagination of his time.
IHE MAKERS OP VENICE. 285
By tliis time, however, he had begun to be courted by
foreign potentates, and it is evident that his hands were
very full of commissions, and that some shiftiness and many
of the expedients of the dilatory and unpunctual were in
his manner of dealing with his patrons, to whom he was
very humble in his letters, but not very faithful in his
promises. And now that he has reached the full maturity
of power, Titian unfolds to us a view, not so much of
Venice, as of a corrupt and luxurious society in Venice,
which is of a very different character from the simplicities
of his predecessors in art. Even young Giorgione's gay
dissipations, his love of lute and song, his pretensions to
gallantry and finery, mischiante sempre amove with all his
doings, have a boyish and joyous sweetness, in comparison
with the much more luxurious life in which we now find
his old companion, the vile society of the Aretino who flat-
tered and intrigued for him, and led Titian, too, not un-
willing, to intrigue and flatter and sometimes betray.
Perhaps at no time had there been much virtue and purity
to boast of in the career of the painter who had half forced
the signoria into giving him his appointment, and seized
upon old Zuan Bellini's office before he was dead ; then
dallied with the work he seemed so eager to undertake,
and left it hanging on hand for years. But the arrival of
Pietro Aretino in Venice seems to have been the signal for
the establishment there of a society such as the much-
boasted Renaissance of classical learning and art seems
everywhere to have brought with it, shaming the ancient
gods which were thus proved so little capable of re-inspir-
ing mankind. There is no one in all the sphere of history
and criticism who has a good word to say of Aretino. He
was the very type of the base-born adventurer, the hanger-
on of courts, the entirely corrupt and dazzlingly clever
parasite, whose wit and cunning and impudence and un-
scrupulousnese, his touch of genius and cynical indifference
to every law and moral restraint, gave him a
power which it is very difficult to understand, but impossi-
ble to deny. That such a man should be able to
recommend the greatest painter of the day to the greatest
286 THE MAKEliS OF VENICE.
potentate, Titian to Charles V., is amazing beyond
description, but it would seem to have been directly or
indirectly the case. Aretino had an immense correspond-
ence with all the cultured persons of his time, and in the let-
ters which were a sort of trade to him, and by which he kept
himself and his gifts and pretensions before the great people
who ministered to his wants, he had it in his power to
spread the fame of a friend, and let the dukes and princes
know — the young men who were proud of a correspondent
so clever and wise and learned in all depravity as well as
all the sciences of the beautiful ; and the old men who liked
his gossip and his pungent comments, and thought they
could keep a hold upon the world by snch means — that
here was another accomplished vassal ready to serve their
pleasure. How such a mixture of the greatest and the
basest is practicable, and how it has so often happened that
the lovers of every beautiful art should be in themselves so
unbeautiful, so low in all the true loveliness of humanity,
while so sensitive to its external refinements, is a
question of far too much gravity and intricacy to be
discussed here. Titian found a better market for his
Venuses andAriadnes among the Hellenized elegants of the
time, at the courts of those splendid princes who were at the
summit of fashion and taste, and a far more appreciative
audience (so to speak) than he ever found at home for the
religious pictures which his countrymen felt to be without
any soul, beautiful though their workmanship might be.
In another region of art, however, he was now without a
rival. The splendid power of portraiture, in which no
painter of any age has ever surpassed him, conducted him
to other triumphs. It was this which procured him the
patronage of Charles V., who not only sat to him repeatedly,
but declared him to be the only painter he would care to
honor, and called him an Apelles, and all the other fine
things of that classical jargon which was so conventional
and so meaningless. Certainly nothing can be more mag-
nificent than the portraits with which Titian has helped to
make the history of his age. The splendor of color in
them is not more remarkable than that force of reality and
THE MAKERS OF VENICE, 287
meaning which is so wanting in his smooth Madonnas, so
unnecessary to his luxurious goddesses. The men whom
Titian paints are almost all worthy to be senators or
emperors: no trifling coxcomb, no foolish gallant, ever
looks out upon us from his canvas, but a series of noble
personages worthy tlieir rank and importance in tiie world.
It is difficult to overrate the power which has this fine
effect. Even in the much discussed decorative tableau of
the Presentation, with its odious old woman and her eggs,
which are tanto naturale according to the vulgar, the group
of gentlemen at the fool of the stair are noble every one,
requiring no pedigree. It was only just that in recompense
of such a power tlie great emperor should have ennobled
Titian and made him Cavalier and Count Palatine and
every other splendid thing. Such rewards were more ap-
propriate in his case than they would have been in almost
any other. It was in his power to confer the splendor they
loved upon the subjects of his pencil, and hand them down
to posterity as if they all were heroes and philosophers.
The least the emperor could do was to endow the painter
with some share of that magnificence which he bestowed.
And when we look back upon him where he still reigns
in Venice, it is not with any thought of his matronly
Madonna among her cherubs, notwithstanding all the im-
portance which has been locally given to that imposing
composition, any more than, when we turn to the magnifi-
cent picture painted for the same church, tlie altar piece
of the Pesaro chapel, known as the Madonna of the Pesaro
family, it is the sacred personages who attract our regard.
In vain is the sacred group throned on high: the Virgin
with her child is without significance, no true queen of
heaven, with no mission of blessing to the world ; but the
group of Venetian nobles beneath, kneeling in proud
humility, their thoughts fixed on the grandeur of their
house and the accomplishment of their aims, like true sons
of the masterful republic — not negligent of the help that
our Lady and the saints may bestow if properly propitiated,
and snatching a moment accordingly to lay their ambitions
and keen worldly desires distinctly before her and her court
288 TEE MAKERS OF VENICE.
-^live forever, genuine representatives of one of the most
powerful civilizations of the mid-ages, true men of their
time. And with a surprise of art, a sudden human gleam
of interest, an appeal to our kindred and sympathy which
it is imposssible to withstand, there looks out at us from
the canvas a young face careless of all, both the Madonna
and the family, a little weary of that senseless kneeling, a
little wondering at the motive of it, seeking in the eyes of
the spectator some response more human, full of the ab-
straction of youth, to which the world is not yet open, but
full of dreams. If our practical, money-making, pleasure-
loving painter had found in his busy life any time for
symbols, we might take this beautiful face as a representa-
tion of that new undeveloped life seen only to be different
from the old, which, with a half weariness and half disdain
of the antiquated practices of its predecessors, kneels there
along with them in physical subordination but mental
superiority, not sufficiently awakened to strain against the
curb as yet, with opposition only nascent, an instinctive
separation and abstraction rather than rebellion of thought.
But Titian, we may be sure, thought of none of these
things. He must have caught the look, half protest, half
appeal, that the tired youth (at the same time partially
overawed by his position) turned toward him as he knelt:
and with the supreme perception of a great artist of mean-
ings more than he takes the trouble to fathom, save for
their effect, have secured the look, for our admiration and
sympathy evermore.
In the full maturity of his age and fame, Titian removed
from his dwelling at San Samuele, where he had lived amid
his workshops midway between the two centers of Venetian
life, the Rialto and the Piazza, to a luxurious and delight-
house in San Cassiano, on that side of Venice which faces
Murano and the wide lagoon with all its islands. There is
no trace to be found now of that home of delights. The
water has receded, the banks have crept outward, and the
houses of the poor now cover the garden where the finest
company in Venice once looked out upon one of the most
marvelous scenes in the world. The traveler may skirt
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 289
the bank and linger along the lagoon many a day without
seeing the sea fog lift, and the glorious line of the Dolomite
Alps come out against the sky. But wlien that revelation
occurs to him he will understand the splendor of the scene,
and why it was that the painter chose that house, looking
out across the garden and its bouquets upon the marvelous
line of mountains coming sheer down as appears to the
water's edge, soaring clear upward in wild yet harmonious
variety of sharp needles and rugged peaks, here white with
snow, there rising in the somber grandeur of the living
rock, glistening afar with reflections, the lines of torrents,
and every tint that atmosphere and distance give. When
the atmosphere, so often heavy with moisture and banked
with low-lying cloud, clears, and the sun brings out
triumphantly like a new discovery that range of miraculous
hills, and the lurid line of the Ingoon stretches out and
brims over upon the silvery horizon, and the towers of
Torcello and Burano in the distance, with other smaller
isles stand up out of the water, miraculous too, with no
apparent footing of land upon which to poise themselves,
the scene is still beautiful beyond description, notwith-
standing the frightful straight lines of red and white wall
which enclose San Michele, the burial place of Venice, and
the smoke and high chimneys of the Murano glass works.
The walls of San Michele did not exist in Titian^s day: but
I wonder whether Mr. Ruskin thinks there was no smoke
over Murano even in the ages of primal simplicity and
youth.
There is nothing now but a crowd of somewhat dilapi-
[)ated houses in these inferior parts of the city, sadly mean
and common on close inspection, amid the bewildering
maze of small streets through which the traveler is hurried
now to see what is left (which is nothing) of the house of
Titian: and very squalid along the quays of the Fonda-
menta Nuova, with obvious signs everywhere that this is
the bacit of the town, and freed from all necessity for
keeping up appearances. In Titian's day it was a retired
suburban quarter, with green fields edging the level shore,
and stretching on each side of that garden in which grew
290 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
the trees, and over which shone the sky which formed the
back-ground of the great Peter Martyr, the picture which
was burned in 1867, and which everybody is free to believe
was Titian's chef cVceuvre. Here the painter gathered his
friends about him, and supped gayly in the lovely even-
ings, while the sun from behind them shot his low rays
along the lagoon, and caught a few campaniles here and
there gleaming white in the dim line of scarcely visible
country at the foot of the hills. If the sun were still too
GROUP OF heads: gentile betj.tni.
high when the visitors arrived there was plenty to see in
the house, looking over the pictures with which it was
crowded, the wonderful glowing heads of dukes and em-
perors, great Charles in all his splendor, or, more splendid
still, the nymphs and goddesses without any aid of orna-
ment, which were destined for all the galleries in Europe.
A famous grammarian from Rome, Priscian by name, in
the month of August, 1540, describes such a party, the
convives being Aretino (^' a new miracle of nature"), San-
sovino the architect of San Marco, Nardi the Florentine
historian, and himself. ^' The house,'' he says:
'* Is situated in the extreme part Venice on the sea, and from it
one sees the pretty little island of Murano and other beautiful places.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE, 291
This part of the sea, as soon as the sun went down, swarmed with
gondolas, adorned with beautiful women, and resounding with the
varied harmony and music of voices and instruments wbich till mid-
night accompanied our delightful supper, which was no less beauti-
ful and well arranged than copious and well provided. Besides the
most delicate viands and precious wines there were all those pleasures
and amusements that were suited to the season, the guests and the
feast."
While they were at their fruit, letters arrived from Rome,
and there suddenly rose a discussion upon the superiority
of Latin to Italian, very exciting to the men of let'ters —
though the painters no doubt took it more quietly, or
looked aside through the trees to where the wonderful sil-
very gleaming of the sea and sky kept light and life in the
evening landscape, or a snowy peak revealed itself like a
white cloud upon the gray: while the magical atmosphere,
sweet and cool with the breath of night after the fervid day,
a world of delicious space about them, thrilled with the soft
rush of the divided water after every gondola, the tinkle of
the oar, the subdued sounds of voices from the lagoon, and
the touching of the lute. Round the table in the garden
the sounds of the discussion were perhaps less sweet: but no
doubt the Venetian promenaders, taking their evening row
along the edge of the lagoon, kept as close to the shore as
courtesy permitted, heard tiie murmur of the talk with
admiration, and pointed out where Messer Tiziano the
great painter feasted ^and entertained his noble guests in the
shade.
For doubtless Titian, knight. Count Palatine, with
jeweled collar and spurs at heel, was by this time a person-
age who drew every eye, notwithstanding that the signoria
were but little pleased with him, and after a hundred fruit-
less representations about that picture in the great hall,
took the strong step at last of taking his brokership from
him, and calling upon him in the midst of his careless su-
periority to refund the money which he had been drawing
all these years in payment of work wliich he had never ex-
ecuted. This powerful appeal made him set aside his royal
commissions for a time and complete the picture in the
292 TEE MAKERS OF VENICE,
hall, which was tliat of a battle, very immaterial to any one
now, as it perished with all the rest in the fire. This, how-
ever, was a most effectual way of recalling the painter to
his duties, for he never seems throughout his life to have
had enough of money, though that indeed is not an unusual
case. His letters to his patrons are however, full to an un-
dignified extent with this subject. The emperor had
granted him a certain income from the revenues of Naples,
which however turned out a very uncertain income, and is
the subject of endless remonstrance and appeals. To the
very end of his life tliere is scarcely one of his letters in
which the failure of tliis, or of a similar grant upon Milan,
or of some other mode in which liis royal and imperial
patrons had paid for their personal acquisitions by orders
upon somebody else's treasury, is not complained of. Titian
it would seem eventually got his money, but not without a
great deal of trouble, fighting for it strenuously by every
means that could be thought of. And he pursued his
labors ceaselessly, producing pictures of every kind, a
Christ one day, a Venus the next with a serene impartial-
ity. Anything is to be got from Titian for money, says the
envoy of King Philip after the great days of Charles are
over. He pleads for a benefice for his son, who is a priest,
for the enforcement of his claims upon state revenues be-
cause of the betrothal of his daughter, and because he is
growing old, and for a number of reasons, always eager to
have tlie money at any cost. '' He .is old and therefore
avaricious," says Philip's ambassador. But to the last he
could paint his Venuses, though coarsely, and in the
midst of all these studies from the nude suddenly would
produce a Last Supper, credited once more among so many,
by the busy coteries and critics, as likely to be Titian's
best.
At the same time this great and celebrated painter, who
thought no harm to fleece the dukes, and to insist upon
their money, had, and alas! forgot, it seems, the honor and
glory of being Titian, and aimed at a rich man's substance
and estimation — this magnificent Venetian, with his feudal
powers and title, never forgot little Cadore among the hills.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 293
toward which liis windows looked, and where his kindred
dwelt. There is a letter extant from his cousin, another
Titian, but so different, thanking him for his good otiices,
which among all those letters about money is a refresh-
ment to see. The Tiziano of the village regrets deeply to
have been absent when his -^^ all but brother" the great
Titian, he whose name was known over all the world, visited
Cadore, and therefore to have been prevented from ** mak-
ing proper return for all we owe you, in respect of numer-
ous proofs of friendship shown to our community at large,
and in special to our envoys, for all of which you may be
assured we have a grateful memory." He then informs his
kinsman that two citizens have been appointed as ora-
tors or spokesmen of the city to the signoria of Venice, and
implores for them Titian's *'favor and assistance, which must
ensure success." ** My son Vecello," continues the writer,
** begs you to give him your interest in respect of the place
of San Francesco, and tins by way of an exchange of serv-
ices, as I am ready at all times to second your wishes and
consult your convenience:^' and finally requests to know
when the money is to be paid " which you so courteously
lent to the community." '' In conclusion we beg of you to
command us all: and should this exchange of services be
carried out on both sides it will be a proof of the utmost
kindness and charity, in which it is our wish that God
should help you for many years."
It would be curious to imagine what the little highland
lorgo could do for Titian in exchange for his kindnesses.
He painted them a picture at a later date for which they
paid him in a delightful way, granting him apiece of land
upon which he built a cottage. This house was pitched on
a marvelous mount of vision on the side of one of those
magnificent hills, so that his dwelling above and his home
below must have exchanged visions, so to speak, in the vast
space of blue that lay between.
But notwithstanding all this glory and honor, there were
critics in his own craft and a prevailing sentiment under-
neath the admiration extorted from Venice, which de-
tracted a little from the fame of Titian. The common
294 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
people would not love his goddesses, thougli the princes
adored them. The commonalty, with a prejudice which
no doubt shows their ignorance, yet has its advantages,
never out of Greece approves the nude, whatever connois-
seurs may say. And the ambassadors were wanting in
respect, yet true to fact, when they said that for money
anything could be got from the great painter who never
had enough for his needs. Another criticism, which would
have affected him more than either of these, was that of
some of his great rivals in art, who with all their admira-
tion had still something to find fault with in the method of
his work. When Titian visited Rome it was the good for-
tune of Vasari, who had already some acquaintance with
him, to show him the great sights of that capital of the
world. And one day while Titian was painting his
portrait of the pope, Messer Giorgio the good Florentine,
accompanied by a great countryman of his, no less a per-
sonage than Michel Angelo, paid the Venetian painter a
visit at his studio in the Belvedere, where they saw the
picture of Danae under the rain of gold, a wonderful piece
of color and delicate flesh-painting, which they applauded
greatly. But afterward as they came away talking
together in their grave Tuscan style, the great master of
design shook his serious head while he repeated his praises.
What a pity, die peccato ! that these Venetian painters did
not learn to draw from the beginning and had not a more
thorough method of teaching — for, said he, ** if this man
were aided by art, and laws of design, as he is by nature,
and by his power of counterfeiting life, no oue could attain
greater excellence than he, having such a noble genius and
such a fine and animated manner of working. ^^ In almost
the same words Sebastian del Piombo lamented to Messer
Giorgio the same defect ; which certainly must have been
Vasari's opinion too, or his friends would not have re-
marked it so freely. But they all allowed that he was ^7
piu lello e maggiore imitatore della Natura that had ever
been seen ; and perhaps this was praise enough for one
man.
He lived till ninety, a splendid, successful, prosperous, but
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 295
not very elevated or noble life, working on till the very
end, not from necessity, or from any higher motive, but
apparently from a love of gain, and tradcsmanlike instinct
against refusing any order, as well as no doubt from a true
love of tlie beautiful art, to which his life had been devoted
from childhood up. The boy of ten who had come down
from his mountains to clean Zuan Bellini's palette, and
pick up the secrets of the craft in his lottega before he was
old enough for serious teaching, had a long career from
tliat beginning until the day when he was carried to the
Frari in hasty state by special order of the signoria, to be
HEAD FROM TITIAN'S TOMB: BEUEVED
TO BE F. PAOLO 8ARPI.
buried there against all law and rule, while the other
victims of the plague were taken in secret to out-lying
islands and put into the earth out of the way, in the hide-
ous panic which that horrible complaint brought with it.
But never during all this long interval, three parts of a
century, had he given up the close pursuit of his art. And
what changes during that time had passed over art in
Venice ! The timid tempera period was altogether extinct
— the disciples of the old school all gone ; and of the first
generation which revolutionized the Venetian hottegas, and
brought nature and the secret of lustrous modern color,
and ease and humanity into art, none were left. Bellini
296 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
and Caipaccio and all the throng of lesser masters had been
swept away in the long inevitable procession of the genera-
tions. And their principles had been carried into the
sensuous brilliancy of a development which loved color and
the dimpled roundness of flesh, and the beauty which is of
the body rather than the mind. When Titian began, his
teachers and masters applied all their faculties to the set-
ting forth of a noble ideal, of perfect devotion and purity
of manhood and womanhood, with the picturesque clothing
and sentiment of their century, yet consecrated by some
higher purpose, something in which all the generations
should sympathize and be of accord. When he ended, the
world was full of images lovely in their manner, in which
the carnagione of the naked limbs, the painting of a
dimple, were of more importance than all the emotions
that touch the soul. It is none of our business to make
moral distinctions between the one method and the other.
This was the result in Venice of that new inspiration which
the older painters had first turned to every pious and noble
use. And it was Titian in his love of beauty, in his love
of money, in his magnificent faculty of work and adapta-
bility to the wishes of the time that brought it about. His
associates of youth all dropped from him, the gentle Palma,
now called il Vecchio, dying midway in the career of the
robuster companion, as Giorgione had fallen at its begin-
ning. In his long life and endless labors, as well as in his
more persevering and steady power, Titian, whatever hints
and instructions he may have taken, as his later prosaic
biographers suggest from each of them, outdid them both.
And there can be no doubt that he still stands above them
all, at least in the general estimation, dwelling in a su-
premacy of skill and strength upon the side of the deep
flowing stream that divides Venice, dominating everything
that came after him, like the white marble mountain of the
Salute, but never learning the heavenly secret of the elder
brotherhood who first instructed his youth.
There are some picturesque anecdotes of Titian which
everybody knows, as for instance that of the astounding
moment in which the painter having dropped a brush.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
297
great Charles the lord of so many kingdoms, a Spaniard
and accustomed to the utmost rigidity of etiquette, the
Konian Emperor at the apex of human glory, made the
liair stand on end of every courtly heholder by picking it
up. "Your servant is unworthy of such an honor," said
Titian, in words that might have been addressed to some-
thing divine. *' A Titian is worthy to be served by Caesar, ''
replied his imperial majesty, not undervaluing the conde-
scension, as perhaps a friendly English prince who had
acted on impulse, or a more light-hearted Frenchman with
the de rien of exquisite courtesy, might have done. Cliarles
knew it was an incident for history, and conducted him-
self accordingly. There is a prettier and more pleasant
298 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
suggestion in the scene recorded by Kiodolfi, which de-
scribes how Titian, while painting Alfonso of Este, the
Duke of Ferrara, was visited by Ariosto with the divino
suo poema in his pocket, which he was still in the course
of writing — who read aloud his verses for the delight of
both sitter and painter, and afterward talked it over, and
derived much advantage from Titian's criticisms and re-
marks, which helped him *' in the description of land-
scapes and in setting forth the beauty of xilcina, Angelica,
and Bradamante." '' Thus,'' Eidolfi adds, '' Art held the
office of mute poetry, and poetry of painting eloquent."
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 299
CHAPTER III.
TINTORETTO.
When Titian was at the height, or rather approaching
the height, of his honors, a certain little dyer, or dyer's
son, a born Venetian, from one of the side canals where
the tintori are still by times to be seen, purple-limbed from
the dye-houses, was brought to his studio. Tlie lad had
daubed with his father's colors since he could walk, trac-
ing figures upon the walls and every vacant space, and no
doubt with his spirito stravagante making himself a nui-
sance to all his belongings. Robusto, the father, was a
man of sense, no doubt, and saw it was vain to strive
against so strong a natural impulse ; besides, there was no
reason why he should do so, for he had no position to for-
feit, and the trade of a painter was a prosperous trade, and
not one to be despised by any honest citizen. We are not
told at what age young Jacopo, the tintorettino, the little
dyer, came into the great painter's studio. But he was
born in 1512, and if we suppose him to be fifteen or so,
no doubt that would be the furthest age which he was
likely to have reached before being set to his apprentice-
ship by a prudent Venetian father. The story of his
quickly interrupted studies there is told by Ridolfi with
every appearance of truthfulness.
"Not many days after, Titian came into the room where
his pupils worked, and seeing at the foot of one of the
benches certain papers upon which figures were drawn,
asked who had done them. Jacopo, who was the author
of the same, afraid to have done wrong, timidly said that
they were from his hand. Titian perceiving from these
beginnings that the boy would probably become a great
300 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
man, and give him trouble in his supremacy of art, had no
sooner gone upstairs and laid aside his mantle than he
called Girolamo, his pupil (for in human breasts jealousy
works like a canker), to whom he gave orders to send
Jacopo away/'
'"Thus," adds Ridolfi, *' without hearing the reason,
he was left without a master." The story is an ugly one
for Titian: though it is insinuated of other masters that
they have regarded the progress of their pupils with
alarm, there has been no such circumstantial account of
professional jealously in the very budding of youthful
powers. Vasari, who was a contemporary of botli, and a
friend of Titian, though he does not mention this incident,
gives in his sketch of the younger painter a picture which
accords in every respect with Ridolfi's detailed biography,
though the criticism of Vasari has all the boldness of a
contemporary, and that lively, amused appreciation with
which a calm looker-on beholds the eccentricities of a
passionate genius which he admires but cannot understand.
Tintoretto^'s violence and extravagance had become classi-
cal by Ridolfi's time. They were still half ridiculous, a
thing to talk about with shrugged shoulders and shaken
head, in the days when Messer Giorgio of Florence had
the story told to him, or perhaps saw with his own eyes
the terrible painter rushing with the force of a giant at
his work.
"In the same city of Venice," says Vasari, suddenly bursting
into this lively narrative in the midst of the labored record of a
certain Battista Franco who was nobody, " there lived and lives still
a painter called Jacopo Tintoretto, full of worth and talent, espe-
cially in music and in playing divers instruments, and in other
respects amiable in all his actions: but in matters of art, extravagant,
capricious, swift and resolute; and the most hot-headed {il piu
terrible cervello) that ever has taken painting in hand, as may be
seen in all his works and in the fantastic composition which he puts
together in his own way, different from the use and custom of other
painters, surpassing extravagance with new and capricious inven-
tions, and strange whims of intellect, working on the spur of the
morr**nt and without design, almost as if art was a mere pleasantry.
*5ometimes he will put forth sketches as finished pictures, so roughly
PALAZZO CAMELLO: HOUSE OF TINTORKTTO.
TofacepagtV^,
TUB MAKERS OB VENICE. 301
dasbed in that the strokes of the brush are clearly visible, as if done
by accident or in defiance rather than by design and judgment. He
has worked almost in every style, in fresco, in oil, portraits from
nature, and at every price: in such a way that according to their
different modes, he has painted and still paints the greater number
of pictures that are executed in Venice. And as in his youth he
showed much understanding in many fine works, if he had known
the great principle which there is in nature, and aided it with study
and cool judgment, as those have done who have followed the fine
methods of their predecessors, and had not, as he has done,
abandoned this practice, he would have been one of the best painters
who have ever been known in Venice — not that it should be under-
stood by this that he is not actually a fine and good painter, of a
vivid, fanciful, and gracious spirit."
How tliis swift, imperious, masterful genius was formed,
Ridolfi tells us with much more detail than is usual, and
with many graphic touches, himself waking up in the
midst of his somewhat dry biographies with a quickened
interest, and that pleasure in coming across a vigorous
original human being amid so many shadows whicli none
but a writer of biographical sketches can fully know. No
one of all our painters stands out of the canvas like the
dyer's son, robust as his name, a true type, perhaps the
truest of all, of his indomitable race. When he was turned
out of Titian^s studio, ^* every one may conceive/' says
Ridolfi, ** what disgust he felt in his mind."
" But such affronts become sometimes powerful stimulants to the
noble spirit, and afford material for generous resolutions. Jacopo,
excited by indignation, although still but a boy, turned over in his
mind how to carry on the career he had begun — and not allowing
himself to be carried away by passion, knowing the greatness of
Titian, whose honors were predicted by all, he considered in every
way how, by means of studying the works of that master, and the
relievos of Michael Angelo Buonarotti, reputed father of design, he
might become a painter. Thus, with the help of these two divine
lights, whom painting and sculpture have rendered so illustrious in
modern times, he went forward toward his desired end: well advised
to provide himself with secure escort to point out the path to him
in difiScult passages. And in order not to deviate from his proposed
course he inscribed the laws which were to regulate his studies
upon the walls of the cabinet in which he pursued them, as
follows:
302 THE MAKEKS OF VENICE.
" 1l desegno di Michel Angelo, e'l Colorito di titiano.
" Upon this lie set himself to collect from all quarters, not without
great expense, casts of ancient marbles ; and procured from Florence
the miniature models done by Daniele Volterrano from the figuran
upon the tombs of the Medici in San Lorenzo in that city ; that is.
the Aurora, the Twilight, the Day and the Night, of which he made
a special study, making drawings of them from every side, and by
the light of a lamp, in order, by the strong shadows thrown from this
light, to form in himself a powerful and effective manner. In the
same way, every arm, hand, and torso which he could collect he
drew over and over again on colored paper with charcoal, in water-
colors, and every other way in which he could teach himself what
was necessary for the uses of art. . . . Nor did he give up copying
the pictures of Titian, upon which he established an excellent
method of color, so that many things painted by him in the flower of
his age retain all the advantages of that style, to which he added
those of much observation from his continual studies, and thus fol-
lowing the traces of the best masters, advanced with great steps
toward perfection."
We need not follow Ridolfi in his detailed account of all
the experiments of the self-instructed painter — how he
'^departed from the study of nature alone, which for the
most part produces things imperfect, not conjoining, except
rarely, all the parts of corresponding beauty; "" how he im-
provised for himself a course of anatomy; how he fore-
stalled the lay figures of m.odern times by models of wax
and plaster, upon which he hung his draperies ; how he
arranged his lights, both by day and night, so as to throw
everything into bold I'elief. His invention seems to have
been endless: in his solitary workshop, without tlie aid of
any master, the young man faced by himself all the diffi-
culties of his art, and made for himself many of the aids
which the ingenuity of later ages has been supposed to con-
trive for the advantage of the student. Nor did lie confine
himself to his studio, or to those endless expedients for
seeing his models on every side, and securing the effect of
them in every light.
" He also continued, in order to practice himself in the manage-
ment of color to visit every place where painting was going on — and
it is said that, drawn by the desire of work, he went with the
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 303
builders to Cittadella, where round the rays of the clock he painted
various fanciful matters, solely to relieve his mind of some of the
innumerable thoughts that filled it. He went much about also
among the painters of lower pretensions who worked in the
piazzo of San Marco on the painters' benches, to learn their method
too."
The painters' benches, le handle per depintori, were as
Ridolfi tells us in another place, under the porticoes in
the Piazza, where, according to an ancient privilege granted
by the senate, the poorer or humbler members of the
profession plied their trade, painting on chests and prob-
ably other articles of furniture ^' histories, foliage, gro-
tesques, and other bizarre things/' They would seem to
have worked in the open air, unsheltered, save by tlie
arches of the colonnade, where now tourists sip their ices
and gossiping politicians congregate; and to have sold their
wares as they vvorked, a lowly but not unprofitable branch
of an already too much followed profession. The depmtori
da hanche seem to have been a recognized section of artists
and such a painter as Schiavone was fain by times in his
poverty, we are told, to get a day's work from a friend of
this humble order. The dyer's son it is evident, had no
such need. He went but to look on, to watch how they
got those bold effects which told upon the cassettone for a
bourgeois bride, or the finer ornamentation of the coffer
which was to inclose the patrician lady's embroideries of
gold. He scorned no instruction wherever he could find
it, this determined student, whom Titian had refused to
teach.
And it adds a new feature to that ancient Venice which
was so like, yet unlike, the present city of tlje sea, to be-
hold thus clearly in the well-known scene the painters on
their benches, with their long panels laid out for sale, and
admiring groups lingering in their walk to watch over the
busy artist's shoulder the piogress he was making, or to
cheapen the fine-painted lid of a box which was wanted for
some approaching wedding. The new porticoes were not
yet quite completed, and the chippings of the stones, and
all the dust of the mason's work, must have disturbed the
304 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
painters, who were of too little account to trouble San-
sovino, the fine architect, who was then piling up the
Procuratie Nuove in those dignified masses, over the heads
of all the gay and varied life going on below.
"Tn those days," adds Ridolfi, " wliich may be called tlie happy
days of painting, there abounded in Venice many youths of fine
genius, who, full of talent, made great progress in art, exhibiting in
emulation one with another the result of their labors in the Merceria,
in order to know the opinions of the spectators : where also Tintoretto
with his inventions and fancies did not fail to show the effects which
God and nature had worked in him. And among the things which he
thus exhibited where two portraits, one of himself with a relievo in his
hand, the other of his brother playing the harp, represented by night
with such tremendous force, con si terribile maniera, that every
beholder, was struck with amazement : at sight of which a gentle
bystander, moved by the sight of so much poetic rapture, sung
thus :
** ' Si Tinctorettus nodes sic lucet in umbris
Exorto faciei quid radiante Die ? '
" He exhibited also in Rialto a history with many figures, the
fame of which reached the ears of Titian himself, who, going up to
it in haste, could not contain his praises, though he wished no good
to his despised scholar : genius {la virtu) being of that condition that
even when full of envy it cannot withhold praise of true merit though
in an enemy."
With all this, however, Tintoretto did not prosper in
the exercise of his profession. He got no commissions like
the other young men. The cry was all for Palma Vecchio,
for Pordenone, for Bonifazio, says Ridolfi, perhaps not too
exact in his dates : but above all for Titian, who received
most of the commissions of importance. Titian himself,
however, was at the probable time referred to, about 1530,
the earliest date at which Tintoretto could possibly match
himself against the elder painters, much pressed by Por-
denone^ to whom the senate were anxious to hand over his
uncompleted work. In short, it is evident that the brother-
hood of art was already suffering from too much competi-
tion. The dyer's energetic son, who seems to have had no
pinch of necessity forcing him to paint cassettojii like the
other poor painters, moved heaven and earth, with the
i^*:25i? 'Si^^'^
-^ \%
PALAZ2S0 CAHELLO: H0U8B OF TINTORETTO.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 305
high-handed vigor which pecuniary independence gives, to
get woi-k for himself, and to make himself known. If it
was work which he did not p;iy, no matter; the determined
painter took it in hand all the same : and to poor churches
in need of decoration his advent would be agodsend.
Whether it was an organ that wanted painting, or the
front of a house, or an altar-piece for a little out-of-the
way chapel, he was ready for all. On one occasion a house
which was being built near the Ponte dell' Angelo seemed
to him to afford a fitting opportunity for the exhibition of
his powers. He addressed himself accordingly to the
builders — with whom it seems to have been the interest of
the painters to keep a good understanding, and who were
often intrusted with the responsibility of ordering such
frescoes as might be required — who informed him that the
master of the house did not want any frescoes painted.
But Tintoretto, intoxicated no doubt witii the prospect of
that fine fair wall all to himself, to cover as he would,
''determined in one way or another to have the painting of
it," and proposed to the master mason to paint the house
for nothing, for the price of the colors merely. This offer
being submitted to the proprietor was promptly accepted,
and the painter had his way.
Something of the same kind happened, according to
Ridolfi, in a more serious undertaking at the church of the
Madonna delF Orto. With his many thoughts ^'boiiingin
his fruitful brain," and with an overwhelming desire to
prove himself the boldest painter in the world, he suddenly
proposed to the prior of this convent to paint the two sides
of the chief chapel behind the great altar. The frescoed
house-fronts are visible no longer, but the two vast pictures
in this chapel remain to tell the tale. The spaces were
fifty feet in height, and the prior laughed at the mad
suggestion, thinking that for such a work the whole year's
income of the convent would scarcely be enough: and, with-
out taking any notice of the proposal, bade the painter good
day. But Tintoretto, taking no heed of this dismissal,
went on to say that he would ask nothing for the work, but
only^ the coat of the material, giving his own time and
306 ■ THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
labor as a gift. These words made the prior pause : for
who could doubt that to have two such huge illustrations,
superior to all around, without paying anything for them,
would be bairn to any Venetian's thoughts ? Finally the
bargain was made and the work begun, the painter flinging
himself upon it with all his strength. The two great
pictures, one representing the return of Moses after receiv-
ing the Tablets of the Law, to find that all Israel was
worsliiping the golden calf, the other the Last Judgment,
were promptly executed, and still remain, gigantic, to the
admiration of all spectators. The fame of this strange
bargain ran through the city, and attracted the attention
of all classes. The critics and authorities shook their heads
and lamented over the decay of art which had to resort to
such measures. " But little cared Tintoretto for the dis-
cussions of the painters, proposing to himself no other end
than self-satisfaction and glory — little useful as these things
are."
Both Yasari and Ridolfi concur in the story of a certain
competition at the school of San Rocco, in which Tintor-
etto was to contend with Schiavone, Salviati and Zucchero
for the ornamentation of a portion of the ceiling. While
the others prepared drawings and designs, this tremendous
competitor had the space measured, and with all his fire of
rapid execution, in which nobody could touch him — so that
Vasari says, when the others thought he had scarcely
begun, he had already finished — set to work to paint a
picture of the subject given. When the day of the com-
petition arrived he conveyed his canvas to the spot, and
had it secretly fixed up in its place and covered — and after
the other competitors had exhibited their drawings he, to
the consternation of all, snatched away the linen which
covered his picture and revealed it completed. A great
uproar, as might be supposed, arose. What the feelings of
his rivals were, seeing this march which he had stolen
upon them, may be imagined ; but the authorities of the
confrater7iita, solemnly assembled to sit upon the merits of
the respective designs, were no less moved. They told
him with indignation that they had met to inspect designs
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 307
and choose one which pleased them for after-execution, not
to have a finished picture thrust upon them. To which
Tintoretto answered that this was liis method of designing,
that lie could not do otherwise, and that designs and
modelsought to be so executed, in order that no one should
be deceived as to their ultimate effect : and finally, that if
they did not wish to pay him he willingly made a present
of the picture to the saint. '^And thus saying," adds
Vasari, " though there was still much opposition, he pro-
duced such an effect that the work is there to this day."
llidolfi, enlarging the tale, describes how the other painters,
stupefied by the sight of so great a work executed in so
few days and so exquisitely finished, gathered up their
drawings and told the fraternity that they withdrew from
the competition, Tintoretto by the merit of his work hav-
ing fairly won the victory. Notwithstanding which the
heads of the corporation still insisted that he should take
away his picture ; declaring that they had given him no
commission to paint it, but had desired only to have
sketches submitted to them that they might give the work
to whoever pleased them best. When, however, he flung
the picture at their heads, so to speak, and they found
themselves obliged to keep it, whether they liked it or not
(for they could not by their law refuse a gift made to
their saint), milder counsels prevailed, and finally the
greater part of the votes were given to Tintoretto, and it
was decided that he should be paid a just price for his
work. He was afterward formally appointed to do all that
was necessary for the future adornment of the scuola, and
received from the society a grant of a hundred ducats
yearly for his whole life, he on his side binding himself to
paint a picture for them every year."
This proceeding proves the justice of what Vasari says,
always with a certain half-amusement. " These works and
many others which he left behind him were done by Tin-
toretto so rapidly, tliat when others scarcely believed him
to have begun he had finished: and the wonderful thing
was that though he had adopted the most extravagant
methods in the world to secure commissions yet when he
308 TEE MAKERS OF VENICE.
failed to do so by interest or friendship he was ready to
sacrifice all gain and give his work at a small price, or for
nothing, so as to force its acceptance, in order that one
way or other he should succeed in getting the work to
do/'
Ridolfi adds that the Scoula of San Rocco when com-
pleted became in itself a sort of Accademia
" The resort of the studious in painting, and In particular of all the
foreigners from the other side of the Alps who came to Venice at that
time, Tintoretto's works serving as examples of composition, of
grace, and harmony of design, of the management of light and shade,
and force and freedom of color, and in short of all that can be called
most accurate and can mosi exhibit the gifts of the ingenious
painter."
The pilgrim from beyond the Alps, who follows his pre-
decessors into the echoing halls of San Rocco, can judge for
himself still of the great works thus eulogized, and see the
picture which Tintoretto fixed upon the roof, while his
rivals prepared their drawings, and which he flung as it
were, at the brotherhood when they demurred. His foot-
steps are all over Venice, in almost every church and
wherever pictures are to be seen — from the great Paradiso
in the council hall, the greatest picture in one sense in the
world, down to the humblest chapels, parish churches,
sacristies, there is scarcely an opportunity which he has
neglected to make himself seen and known. According to
the evidence of the historians of art, Titian never forgave
the boy whose greatness he had foreseen, and there is at
least one subject, that of the Presentation, which the two
painters have treated with a certain similarity, with what
one cannot but feel must, in the person of the younger at
least have been an intended rivalry. These two splendid
examples of art remain, if not side by side, as the pictures
of Turner hang beside the serene splendor of the Claudes
in our own National Gallery, yet with an emulation not
dissimilar, which in some minds will always militate against
the claims of the artist whose aim is to prove that he is
the better man. The same great critic who has been the
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 309
life-long champion of Turner against the claims of his long
dead rival has in like manner espoused those of the later
master in Venice. And in respect to these particular
pictures, they are, we believe, a sort of test of art under-
standing by which the lUuminati judge the capacity of the
less instructed according to the preference they give. How-
ever that may be, Tintoretto's greatness, the wonderful
sweep and grandeur which his contemporaries call strava-
gante, the lavish power with which he treats every subject,
nothing too great, too laborious, for his hand, cannot fail
to impress the beholder. He works like a giant, flinging
himself abroad '' upon the wings of all the winds," with
something of the immortal bottom in him, determined to
do the lion too, at which a keen observer like Vasari can-
not but smile: and yet no clown but a demi-god, full of
power, if also full of emulation and determination to be the
best. But the man is still more remarkable than his work,
and to the lover of human nature more interesting, an ideal
Venetian, rather of the fifteenth than of the sixteenth
century, in his imperious independence and self-will and
resolution to own no master. All the arrogance of the well-
to-do citizen is in him; he who will take the wall of any
man, and will not yield a jot or tittle of his own preten-
sions for the most splendid gallant, or the greatest genius
in Christendom: one who is not to be trifled with or con-
descended to — nor will submit to any parleying about his
work or undervaluing of his manhood. No fine patrician,
no company even of his townsfolk he was resolved should
play patron to him. He did not require their money — one
large ingredient in such a character: he could afford to do
without them, to fling his pictures at their heads if need
were, to execute their commissions for love, or, at least, for
glory, not for their pay, or anything they could do for him:
but all the same not to be shut out from any competition
that was going, not to be thrust aside by the foolish prefer-
ence of the employer for any other workman: determined
that he, and he only, should have every great piece of work
there was to do.
Ridolfi, who lingers upon every incident with the pleasure
310 THE MAKERS OF VENICE'.
of an enthusiast, and who is entirely on Tintoretto's side
against Titian and all his fine company of critics, tells how
the painter once inquired with the naivete of an ignorance
which he was rather proud to show of all court practices
and finery — what was the meaning of a certain act which
he saw performed by King Henry of France on the occasion
of his visit to Venice. Tintoretta had made up his mind
to paint a portrait of the king, with a sort of republican
sentiment, half admiration, half contempt, for that strange
animal, and in order to do this threw aside his toga (which
his wife had persuaded him to wear, though he had no real
right to that patrician garment), and, putting on the livery
of the doge, mingled in the retinue by which his majesty
was attended, and hung about in the anti-chambers, mark-
ing the king's individuality, his features and ways — until
his presence and object were discovered, and he was ad-
mitted to have a formal sitting. The painter observed that
from time to time certain personages were introduced to
the king, who touched them lightly on the shoulder with
his sword, adding divers ceremonies. What did it mean,
he asked with simplicity, probably somewhat affected, as
the courtier chamberlain, who was his friend, approached
him in all the importance of office? The Polonius of the
moment explained with pompous fullness, and added tliat
Tintoretto must prepare to go through the same ceremony
in his own person, since the king intended to make a
knight of him. Eidolfi says that the painter modestly de-
clined the honor — more probably strode off with sturdy
contempt and a touch of unrestrained derision, very certain
that whatever Titian and the others might think, no king's
touch upon his shoulder, or patent of rank conferred,
could make any difference to him!
And notwithstanding that all the historians are anxious
to record as a set-off against these wild ways, the fact that
he was very amiable in his private life, and fond of music,
and to suonare il Uuto, here is a little story which makes
us feel that it must have been somewhat alarming, if he
had any grievance against one, to be left alone with Tin-
toretto. On some occasion not explained, the painter met
COURTYARD OF PALAZZO CAMELLa
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 311
Pietro Aretino, the iufamonsbut much-courted man of let-
ters, who was the center of the fine company, the friend of
Titian, the representative of luxury and corruption in
Venice, and invited him to his house^ under pretense of
painting his portrait.
" When Aretino bad come in and disposed liimself to sit, Tintoretto
with much violence drew forth a pistol from under his vest. Aretino,
in alarm, fearing that he was about to be brought to account, cried
out, ' What are you doing, Jacopo ? ' * I am going to take your meas-
ure,' said the other. And beginning to measure from the head to the
feet, at last said sedately, ' Tour height is two pistols and a half.'
'Oh, you mad fellow,' cried the other recovering his courage. But
Aretino spoke ill of Tintoretto no more."
Perhaps it is the absence of what we may call the liter-
ary faculty in these great painters that makes their appeal
so much more exclusively to the connoisseur in art, to the
critic qualified to judge on technical and classical grounds,
to the expert in short — than to the amateur who seeks in
pictures and in books the sympathy of humanity, the fine
suggestion which rouses the imagination, the touch that
goes to the heart. The earlier masters perhaps in all
regions (after they have a little surmounted the difficulties
of pictorial expression) possess this gift in higher develop-
ment than their successors, who, carrying art to its per-
fection of design and color, not unusually leave the heart
and the imagination of the spectator altogether out of the
reckoning. The Bellini and Carpaccio are all strong in this
impulse, which is common to poet and storyteller, whether
in the graver paths of history or in the realms of fiction.
They appeal to something in uswliich is more than the eye:
they never lose touch of human sentiment, in the Venetian
streets all full of a hundred histories, in the legends of love
and martyrdom which are of universal potency, in the
sweetest ideal of life, the consecrated women and children.
Ursula wrapped in maiden sleep, with the winged Angel-
Knight touching the sweet edge of her dreams: or throned
in a simple majesty of youth and sacred purity and love
divine, the Mother holding up to men and Angels the Hope
312 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
and Saviour of mankind: or with a friendly glow of sym-
pathetic nature diffused all around, the group of neighbors
gazing at the procession in the Piazza, the women kneeling
on the edge of the water-way to see the sacred relic go by.
Such visions do not come to us from the magnificence of
Titian, or the gigantic power, stravagante, of Tintoretto.
A few noble heads of senators are all that haunt our mem-
ory, or enter into our friendship from the hand of the latter
painter; and even they are too stern sometimes, too author-
itative and conscious of their dignity, that we should ven-
ture to employ such a word as f liendshij). Titian's senators
are more suave, and he leaves us now and then a magnifi-
cent fair lady to fill us with admiration ; but except one or
two of such fine images, how little is there that holds pos-
session of our love and liking, and, as we turn away, insists
on being remembered ! Not anything certainly in the great
Assumption, splendid as it is, and perfect as it may be.
Light, shade, color, science, and beauty, are all there, but
human feeling has been left cut in the magnificent compo-
sition. I return for my part with a great and tender pleas-
ure to the silence and vast solemnity of the Frari where
that one young serious face in the great Pesaro picture
looks out of the canvas suddenly, wistfully, asking the
meaning of many things, into the spectator's heart — with
a feeling that this is about the one thing which the great
Titian has ever said to me.
It is impossible and unnecessary for us, standing in the
place of the unlearned, to go into full detail of the painters
of Venice, or discuss the special qualities of Cima in all his
silvery sweetness, or the gentle Palma, or the bolder Por-
denone, or the long list of others who through many glow-
ing and beautiful pieces of painting conducted art from
perfection to decay. The student knows where to find all
that can be said on the subject, which has indeed produced
an entire literature of its own. When all is said that can
be said about the few inaccurate dates, and mistaken
stories, with which he is credited, Messer Giorgio of
Florence, the graphic and delightful Vasari, remains
always the best guide. But, alas, he was not a Venetian,
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 313
and his histories of the painters of Venice are generally
modified by the reflection, more or less disguised, that if
they had but had the luck to be Florentines they might
have been great ; or at least must have been much greater
— even the great Titian himself.
We have ventured to speak of some of the works of
Titian as decorative art. The productions of the last great
painter whose name will naturally recur to every lover of
Venice, the splendid and knightly Paul Veronese, claim
this character still more distinctively — as if the great
republic, unapproachable in so many ways, had seized a new
splendor, and instead of tapestries or humbler mural
adornments, had contented herself with nothing less than
the hand of genius to ornament her walls. Those wonder-
ful halls and balconies, those great banquets spread as
upon a more lordly dais of imagination and exquisite skill,
those widening vistas of columns and balustrades thronged
with picturesque retainers, the tables piled with glowing
fruit and vessels of gold and silver, in a mimic luxury
more magnificent than any fact, transport the spectator
with a sense of greatness, of wealth, of width and space,
and ever beautiful adornments, which perhaps impairs our
appreciation of the art of the painter in its purer essence.
No king ever enlarged and furnished and decorated his
palace like the Veronese ; the fine rooms in which these
pictures are hung are but antechambers to the grander
space which opens beyond in the painter^s canvas. It is
scarcely enough, though magnificent in its way, to see them
hanging like other pictures in a gallery, among the works
of other masters — for them their purpose is lost, and half
their g'-andeur. The '* Marriage of Cana," is but a picture
in the Louvre ; but in Venice, as we walk into such a pres-
ence and see the splendid party serenely banqueting, with
the sky opening into heavenly blue behind them, the serv-
ants bringing in the courses, appearing and disappearing
behind the columns, the carpet flung in all its oriental
wealth of color upon the cool semi-transparence of the
marble steps, the room of which this forms one side, is
transformed forever. Were it the humblest chamber in
314
THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
the world it would be turned into a palace before onr eyes.
Never were there such noble and princely decorations ;
they widen the space, they fill the far- withdrawing ante-
rooms with groups worthy the reception of a king. Mr.
Ruskin gives a lively account, from the records of Venice,
knocker: PALAZZO DA PONTE.
of how Messer Paolo was had up before the inquisition, no
less, on the charge of having introduced unbecoming and
undignified figures, negro pages, and even little dogs, into
pictures meant for the church — where, indeed, such details
were no doubt out of place. But Paul of Verona was not
the man to paint religious pictures, having no turn that
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 315
way. He is a painter for palaces, not for churches.
Mind of man never devised presence chamber or splendid
hall that he could not have rendered more splendid. Not-
withstanding the prominence of the negro pages, and many
an attendant beside, his lords of the feast are all the fin-
est gentlemen, his women courtly and magnificent. It is
the best of company that sits at that table, whether the wine
is miraculous or only the common juice of the grape ; even
should the elaboration of splendid dress be less than that
whicli Titian loves. The effect is a more simple one than
his, the result almost more complete. So might the walls
of heaven be painted, the vestibules and the corridors ;
still leaving, as poor Florentine Andrea sighs in Mr.
Browning's poem, ** four great walls in the New Jeru-
salem " for a higher emulation,
"For Leonard, Rafael, AquoUo, and me,"
to try their best upon.
The fashion of fresco painting on the outsides of the
houses still continued, and was largely practiced also by
Paolo Veronese: but let us hope that the far more splendid
internal decoration supplied by his pictures had some effect,
along with the good sense native to the Venetians and their
sound practical faculty, in putting an end to so great a
waste of power and genius as these outside pictures proved.
They were already fading out by Paolo's time, sinking into
pale shadows of what they had been, those pictured images
with which Giorgione and young Titian had made the ugly
German factory for a moment glorious : and the art vvhich
had been so superb in their hands had sunk also to the
execution of pictured colanjiades and feigned architecture,
such as still lingers about Italy, not to any one's ad vantage.
Upon such things as these, false perspectives and fictitious
grand fa9ades with imitation statues in unreal relief, even
Paolo spent much of his time, though he could do so much
better. And thus the fashion wore itself into poverty and
decadence, as fashions have a way of doing, going out in
ridicule as well as in decay.
316 TEE MAKERS OF VENICE,
PART IV.
MEN OF LETTERS.
CHAPTEE I.
THE GUEST OF VEIS'ICE.
Nothing can be more difficult to explain than the
manner in which the greater gifts of human genius are
appropriated — to some regions lavishly, to some scarcely
at all, notwithstanding that the intellectual qualities of the
race may be as good, possibly indeed may reach a higher
average in the one neglected than in the one favored. We
fear that no theory that has ever been invented will suffice
to explain why the great form of Dante, like a mountain
shadowing over the whole peninsula, should have been given
to Florence, and nothing to Venice, not so much as a
minor minstrel to celebrate the great deeds of the republic
which was the most famous and the greatest of all Italian
republics, and which maintained its independence when
all its rivals and sisters lost theirs. Petrarch, too, was a
Florentine by origin, only not born there because of one
of the accidents of her turbulent history. Boccaccio, the
first of Italian story-tellers, belonged to the same wonder-
ful city. But to Venice on her seas, with the charm of a
great poem in every variation of her aspect, with the har-
monies of the sea in her very streets, not one. We have
to find her reflected in the mild eyes of a temporary visitor,
in the learned and easy yet formal talk of the friendly
canon, half French, half Italian, who, all the vagaries of
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 317
his youth over, came, elderly and famous, and never without
an eye to his own comforts and interests, to visit tlie great
mistress of the seas, taking refuge there, *' in this city,
true home of the human race/' from trouble a!id war and
pestilence outside. Tiie picture given by Dom Francesco,
the great poet, laureate of all the world, the friends of
ki ngs and princes, is in some ways very flattering to our
city. He was received with great honor there as every-
where, and found himself in the center of an enlightened
and letter-loving society. But his residence was only tem-
porary, and, save Petrarch, no poet of a high order has
ever associated himself with the life of Venice, much less
owed his birth or breeding to her. The reader will not
fail to recollect another temporary and recent visitor, whose
traces are still to be seen about Venice, and whose record
remains, though not such as any lover of poetry would
love to remember, in all the extravagance and ostentatious
folly natural to the character of Lord Byron : but that was
in the melancholy days when Venice had almost ceased to
be. Save for such visitors and for certain humble breath-
ings of the nameless, such as no homely village is entirely
without, great Venice has no record in poetry. Her
powerful, vigorous, subtle and imaginative race have never
learned how to frame the softest dialect of Italy, the most
musical of tongues, into any linked sweetness of verse.
The reason is one which we cannot pretend to divine, and
which no law of development or natural selection seems
capable of accounting for.
Petrarch was not only a poet, but a patriot in the larger
sense of the word — a sense scarcely known in his day.
Perhaps the circumstances that he was an exile from his
birth, and that his youth had been sheltered in a neighbor-
ing country, from which he could see in all the force of
perspective the madness of those Italian states which spent
all their strength in tearing each other in pieces, had
elevated him to that pitch of enlightenment, unknown to
the fierce inhabitants of Genoa, Venice and Florence, each
determined to the death that his own city should be the
first. Petrarch is worthy of a higher niche for this than
318 THK MAKERS OF VENICE.
for his poetry, a civic wreath above his hiurel. His first
appearance in connection with Venice is in a most earnest
and eloquent letter addressed to his friend Andrea Dandolo,
the first serious chronicler of Venice, and a man learned in
all the knowledge of the time, whom the poet, who proba-
bly had made acquaintance with the noble Venetian at
learned Padua, or in some neighboring court or castle
whither scholars and wits loved to resort, addresses with an
impassioned pleading for peace. One of the endless wars
with Genoa was then beginning, ad Petrarch adduces
every argument, and appeals to every motive— above all,
'' Italian as I am," to the dreadful folly which drives to
arms against each other
" The two most powerful peoples, the two most flourishing cities,
the two most splendid stars of Italy, which, to my judgment, the great
mother nature has placed here and there, posted at thedoorway of the
Italian race. Italians for the ruin of Italians invoke the help of bar-
barous allies," he adds. " And what hope of aid can remain to un-
happy Italy when, as if it were a small matter to see her sons turn
against her, she is overrun also by strangers called by them to help in
the parricide? "
But not even the enlightened Dandolo, the scholar-doge,
thought of Italy in those days, and though the poet's protest
does not seem to have alienated his friend, it was entirely
without avail. Two years after, in 1353, an embassy, of
which Petrarch was one of the principal members, was sent
from Milan on the part of the Visconti to attempt to
negotiate a peace. This was not his first visit to Venice,
and it cannot have been an agreeable one. One of the
chroniclers indeed says that much as Doge Andrea loved the
poet, and strong as was the attraction of such a visitor to a
man of his tastes, the occasion was so painful that he re-
fused to see Petrarch. It does not seem, however, that
this was the case, for the poet, in a subsequent letter to
Dandolo, reminds the doge of his visit and its object. After
two battles — after the Hellespont and tiie Ionian sea had
twice been reddened by such a lake of blood as might well
extinguish the flames of cruel war — ^' as mediator of peace,
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 319
I was sent by our greatest among great Italians to you, the
most wise of all tiie doges, and to your citizens. Such and
so many tilings I said in tlie council over which you pre-
sided, such and so many in your private rooms, as must
still remain in your ears. But all was in vain: for neither
your great men, nor, what was more wonderful, yourself,
could be moved by any salutary council or just prayer — the
impetuosity of war, the clamor of arms, the remains of
ancient hatred having closed the way." The letter in which
Petrarch repeats this fruitless attempt at mediation was
written in May, 1354, a year after, and still with the same
object. The Venetians had been conquerors on the first
occasion, but the fortune of war had now turned, and in
September of the same year Doge Andrea died, just before
one of those final and crushing defeats which Venice over
and over again had to submit to from Genoa, without
ever ceasing to seize the first opportunity of beginning
again.
It was not, however, till several years after that it occur-
red to the much-wandering poet to fix his habitation in
Venice. Tiiis was in the latter portion of Petrarch's life.
Romance and Laura had long departed out of it. He was
already the crowned poet, acknowledged the greatest, and,
save for an occasional sonnet or two, cultivated divine
poetry no more. He was a person of ease and leisure,
much courted by the most eminent persons in Europe, ac-
customed to princely tables and to familiar intercourse
with every magnate within reacli, accustomed, too, to con-
sider his own comfort and keep danger and trouble at a
distance. Disorder and war and pestilence drove him from
one place to another — from Milan to Padua, from Padua
to Venice. He had fulfilled many dignified missions as
ambassador to various courts, and he was not a man who
could transfer himself from one city to another with-
out observation. It would seem that when, driven by the
fear of the plague, and by the horror of those continued
conflicts which were rending Italy from day to day — that
Italy which he was almost alone in considering as one
country — he turned his eyes toward Venice, it was with
320 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
some intention of making it his permanent home: for the
preliminary negotiations into which he entered show a
desire to establish himself for which he does not seem to
have taken any such precautions before. One of the best
known of all facts in the history of literature is that the
poet left his library to the republic, and the unworthy
manner in which tliat precious bequest was received. But
it has not been noted with equal distinctness that the
prudent poet made this gift, not as a legacy because of his
love for Venice, which is the light in which it has generally
been regarded, but as an offer of eventual advantage in
order to procure from the authorities a fit lodging and
reception for himself. This, however, is the true state of
the case. He puts it forth in a letter to his friend and
agent Benitendi, the chancellor of the republic, in whose
hands it would seem he had placed his cause. A certain
plausible and bland insistence upon the great benefit to
Venice of a public library, of wliich the poet's books should
be the foundation, discreetly veils the important condition
that the poet^s own interests should be served in the
meantime.
" If the effort succeeds," be says, "I am of opinion that your
posterity and your republic will owe to you, if not their glory, yet at
least the opening of the way to glory. And oh! " he adds piously,
" if it had but been thought of when the commonwealth was governed
by that most holy spirit to whom, as you who knew him well will
understand, it would have afforded so much delight. For my part, I
do not doubt that even in the heavens he is glad of our design, and
anxiously awaits its success, I believe also that, looking down lov-
ingly without a grudge, it will greatly please him, having himself
earned such glory and honor as no other Venetian doge did before
him, that the glory of instituting a public library should have been
reserved for the fourth of his successors, a man also so excellent, a
noble doge and zealous of the public good."
This invocation of the sainted shade of Andrea Dandolo,
the much lamented doge to sanctify an effort the immedi-
ate object of which was the acquisition of a handsome
house for Dom Francesco the poet, has a flavor of Tartuffe,
or at least of Pecksniff, which may make the reader smile.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 321
It was however a perfectly legitimate desire, and no doubt
Petrarcli's books were valuable, and the suggestion of a
public library an admirable thing : and it was to the credit
of the republic that the bargain was at once made, and the
poet got his house, a palace upon the Riva degli Schiavoni
— the Palazzo delle due Torri, now no longer in existence,
but which is commemorated by an inscription upon the
house which replaces it. It was situated at the corner of
the Ponte del Sepolcro. In the curious illumination,
taken from a manuscript in the Bodleian Library, which
the reader will find at the head of a preceding chapter, the
two towers are visible, rising from among the picturesque
roofs, over the quay from which the Eastern merchants,
the Poli, are to be seen setting out upon their voyage.
This was in the year 1362. He had visited Venice in
his youth when a student at Bologna. He had returned
in the fullness of his fame as the ambassador of the prince
of Milan to negotiate peace with Genoa, though the at-
tempt was vain. He was now approaching his sixtieth
year, full of indignation and sorrow for the fate of his
country, denouncing to earth and heaven the horrible
bands of mercenaries who devastated Italy, bringing rapine
and pestilence — and for his own part intent upon finding a
peaceful home, security, and health. His letters afford us
a wonderfully real glimpse of the conditions of the time.
In one of them, written soon after his settlement in Venice,
to an old friend, he defends himself for having fallen into
the weakness of age, the laudator temporis acti. He re-
views in this epistle the scenes in which his youth and that
of his friend were passed, the peace, the serenity, the calm
of these early days, comparing them with the universal
tumult and misery of the existing time, denying that the
ciiange was in himself or his ideas, and painting a dismal
picture of the revolution everywhere — the wars, the bands
of assassins and robbers let loose on the earth, the univer-
sal wretchedness. "This same city," he adds, "from
which I write, this Venice which by the far-sightedness of
her citizens and by the advantage of her natural position
appears more powerful aud tranquil than any other part of
322 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
the world, though quiet and serene, is no longer festive
and gay as she once was, and wears an aspect very different
from that prosperity and ghidness which she presented
when first I came hither with my tutor from Bologna."
But these words are very different from the phrases he em-
ploys in speaking of other cities. Venice, as has been seen
in previous chapters had trouble enough with the merce-
nary armies of the time when tliey were in her pay : but
she was safe on ])er sea margin with the wide lagoons
around her, unapproachable by the heavy-mailed troopers
who might appea-r any day under the walls of a rich inland
city and put her to sack or ransom. With all the force of
his soul the poet loathed these barbarous invaders, the ter-
ror of his life and the scourge of Italy, into whose hands
the Italian states themselves had placed weapons for their
own destruction ; and it is with a sense of intense repose
and relief that he settles down in his stately house looking
out upon the wide harbor, upon San Giorgio among its trees,
and the green line of the Lido, and all the winding watery
ways, well defended by fort and galley, which led to the sea.
The bustle of the port under his windows, the movement of
the ships, would seem at once to have caught, with the charm
of their novelty and wonder, his observant eyes. Shortly
after his settlement on the Riva he wrote a letter full of
wise and serious advice to another friend, who had been
appointed secretary to the pope — an office not long before
offered to himself. But in the very midst of his counsels,
quoting Aristotle on the question of art, he bursts forth
into comment upon la nautica, to which, he says, ^' after
justice, is owing to the wonderful prosperity of this famous
city, in which, as in a tranquil port, I have taken refuge
from the storms of the world. See," he cries^ "■ the in-
numerable vessels which set forth from the Italian shore in
the desolate winter, in the most variable and stormy
spring, one turning its prow to the east, the other to the
west ; some carrying our wine to foam in British cups, our
fruits to flatter the palates of the Scythians, and, still more
hard of credence, the wood of our forests to the ^gean and
the Achaian isles \ some to Syria, to Armenia, to the Ara,bs
COURTYARD. SIDE CANAL.
To face page
TEE MAKERS OF VENICE. 323
and Persians, carrying oil and linen and saffron, and bring-
ing back all their diverse goods to us.'*
' ' Let me persuade you to pass another hour in my company. It was
the depth of night and the lieavens were full of storm, and I, already
weary and half asleep, had come to an end of my writing, when sud-
denly a burst of shouts from the sailors penetrated my ear. Aware of
what these shouts should mean from former experience. I rose hastily
and went up to the higher windows of this house, which look out upon
the port. Oh, what a spectacle, mingled with feelings of pity, of
wonder, of fear, and of delight ! Resting on their anchors close to the
marble banks which serve as a mole to the vast palace which this free
and liberal city has conceded to me for my dwelling, several vessels
have passed the winter, exceeding with the height of their masts and
spars the two towers which flank my house. The larger of the two was
at this moment — though the stars were all hidden by the clouds, the
winds shaking the walls, and the roar of the sea filling the air— leaving
the quay and setting out upon its voyage. Jason and Hercules would
have been stupefied with wonder, and Tiphys, seated at the helm,
would have been ashamed of the nothing which won him so much
fame. If you had seen it, you would have said it was no ship but a
mountain swimming upon the sea, although under the weight of its
immense wings a great part of it was hidden in the waves. The end of
the voyage was to be the Don, beyond which nothing can navigate from
our seas ; but many of those who were on board, whon they had reached
that point, meant to prosecute their journey, never pausing till they
had reached the Ganges or the Caucasus, India and the Eastern Ocean.
So far does love of gain stimulate the human mind. Pity seized me, I
confess, for these unfortunates, and I perceived how right the poet
was who called sailors wretched. And being able no longer to follow
them with my eyes into the darkness, with much emotion I took up
my pen again, exclaiming within myslf, 'Oh, how dear is life to all
men, and in how little account they hold it.' "
It is evident that the beginning of his stay in Venice
was very agreeable to the poet. H« had not been long
established in the palace of the two towers when Boccaccio,
like himself seeking refuge from the plague and from the
wars, came to visit him, and remained three months, enjoy-
ing the calm, the lovely prospect, the wonderful city, and,
what was still more, the learned society wiiicli Petrarch had
already gathered around him. The scholars and the wits
of those days were sufficiently few to be known to each
other, and to form a very close and exclusive little republic
324 TEE MAKERS OF VENICE.
of letters in every center of life. But in Venice even
these learned personages owned the charm of the locality,
and met not only in their libraries among their books, or
at the classic feasts, where the gossip was of Cicero and
Cato, of Virgil and of Ovid, and not of nearer neighbors —
where every man had his classical allusion, his quotations,
his talk of Helicon and Olympus — but on the soft and
level waters, the brimming wide lagoon, like lesser men.
When Petrarch invites the great story-teller of Florence to
renew his visit, he reminds him of those '* elect friends"
with whom he had already made acquaintance, and how the
dignified Benintendi, though devoted to public business all
day, yet in the falling of the evening, with light-hearted
and fi'iendly countenance, would come in his gondola to
refresh liimself with pleasant talk from the fatigues of the
day. ^^ You know by experience," he says, " how delight-
ful were those nocturnal rambles on the sea, and that con-
versation enlightened and sincere." To think of Boccaccio
stepping forth with Petrarch upon the Riva, taking a boat
in those soft summer nights, in sul far delta sera, in the
making of the evening, when the swift shadows fell across
the glimmering distance, and the curves of the lagoon
caught the first touches of the moonlight, comes upon us
with a delightful contrast, yet likeness to the scenes more
associated with their names. The fountain of Vaucluse
and Laura's radiant image, the gardens and glades of the
** Decameron," with all their youths and maidens, were less
suitable now to the elderly poets than that talk of all
things in earth and heaven, which in the dusk, upon the
glistening levels of the still water, two friendly gondolas,
softly gliding on in time, would pass from one to another
in interchanges sometimes pensive, sometimes playful, in
gentle arguments long drawn out, and that mutual com-
parison of the facts of life and deductions from them which
form the conversation of old men. There were younger
companions too, like that youth of Ravenna of whom
Petrarch writes, " whom you do not know, but who knows
you well, having seen you in this house of mine, which,
like all that belongs to me, is yours, and, according to the
THK MAKERS OF VENICE, 325
use of youth, watched you daily," who would join the poets
in their evening row, and hang about the gondola of the
great men to catch perhaps some word of wisdom, some
classical comparison ; while, less reverential, yet not with-
out a respectful curiosity, the other boats that skimmed
across the lagoon would pause a minute to point out, the
lover to his lady, the gondolier to his master, the smooth
and urbane looks of him who had been crowned at Rome
the greatest of living poets, and the Florentine at his side,
the romancer of his age — two such men as could not be
equaled anywhere, the guests of Venice. No doubt
neither lute nor song were wanting to chime in with the
tinkle of the wave upon the boats and the measured pulsa-
tion of the oars. And as they pushed forth upon the
lagoon, blue against the latest yellow of the sunset would
rise the separate cones and peaks of the Euganeans,
among which lay little Arqua, still unnoted, where the
laureate of the world was to leave his name forever. The
grave discussions of that moment to come, of the sunset of
life, and how each man endured or took a pensive pleasure
in its falling shadows, would be dismissed with a smile as
the silvery /erro glided slowly round like a swan upon the
water, and the pleased companions turned to where the two
towers rose over the bustling Riva, and the lighted windows
shone, and the table was spread. '* Vienidunque invocato,"
says the poet as he recalls these delights to the minds of his
friend. '* The gentle season invites to where no other cares
await you but those pleasant and joyful occupations of the
muses, to a house most healthful, which I do not describe
because you know it." It is strange, however, to remember
that these thoughtful old men in the reflective leisure of
their waning years are the lover of Laura and the author
of the ** Decameron."
On another occasion the poet puts before us a picture of
a different character, but also full of interest. It is on the
4th of June, 1364, a memorable day, and he is seated at his
window with a friend, looking out over the ampio mare, the
full sea which spreads before him. The friend was one of
his oldest and dearest companions, his schoolfellow, and
326 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
the comrade of his entire life, now archbishop of Patras,
and on his way to his see, but pausing to spend the summer
in that most healthful of houses with the happy poet.
The two old friends, newly met, sat together looking out
upon that lively and brilliant scene as they talked and ex-
changed remembrances, when their conversation was dis-
turbed by a startling incident.
" Suddenly and without warning there rose upon our sight one of
those long vessels which are called galleys, crowned with green
branches, and with all the force of its rowers making for the port. At
this unexpected sight we broke off our conversation, and felt a hope
springing in our hearts that such a ship must be the bearer of good
news. As the swelling sails drew near the joyful aspect of the sailors
became visible, and a handful of young men, also crowned with green
leaves and with joyous countenances, standing on the prow, waving
flags over their heads, and saluting the victorious city as yet unaware
of her own triumph. Already from the highest tower the approach
of a strange ship had been signaled, and not by any command, but
moved by the most eager curiosity, tllfe citizens from every part of the
town rushed together in a crowd to the shore. And as the ship came
nearer and everything could be seen distinctly, hanging from the poop
we perceived the flag of the onemy, and there remained no doubt that
this was to announce a victory."
A victory it was, one of the greatest which had been
gained by Venetian arms, the re-capture of Candia (Crete)
with little bloodshed and great glory to the republic —
though it is somewhat difficult to understand Petrarch's
grand assumption that it was the triumph of justice more
than of Venice which intoxicated the city with delight. He
rises into esctatic strains as he describes the rejoicings of
the triumphant state.
"What finer, what more magnificent spectacle could be than the
just joy which fills a city, not for damage done to the enemy's posses-
sions or for the gains of civic rivalry such as are prized elsewhere, but
solely for the triumph of justice? Venice exults; the august city, the
sole shelter in our days of liberty, justice, and peace, the sole refuge
of the good, the only port in which, beaten down everywhere else by
tyranny and war, the ships of those men who seek to lead a tranquil
life may find safety and restoration; a city rich in gold but more rich
in fame, potent in strength but more in virtue, founded upon solid
marble, but upon yet more solid foundations of concord and harmony —
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 327
and, even more than by the sea which girds her, by the prudent wis
dom of her sons defended and made secure Venice exults, not only
over the regained sovereignity of Crete, which, howsoever great in
antique splendor, is but a small matter to great spirits accustomed to
esteem lightly all that is not virtue: but she exults in the event with
good reason, and takes pleasure in the thought that the right is vic-
torious — that is to say, not her proper cause alone, but that of
justice."
It is clear from this that the triumph in the air had got
into the poet's head, and the great contagion of popular
enthusiasm had carried him away. He proceeds to relate,
as well as " the poverty of my style and my many occupa-
tions" will permit, the joyful progress of the thanksgivings
and national rejoicing.
" When the orators landed and recounted everything to the Great
Council, every hope and anticipation were found to fall short of the
truth; the enemy had been overcome, taken, cut to pieces, dispersed
in hopeless flight: the citizens restored to freedom, the city subdued;
Crete brought again under the ancient dominion, the victorious arms
laid down, the war finished almost without bloodshed, and glory and
peace secured at one blow. When all these things were made known
to the Doge Lorenzo, to whose greatness his surname of Celso* agrees
perfectly, a man distinguished for magnanimity, for courtesy, and
every fine virtue, but still more for piety toward God and love for his
country — well perceiving that nothing is good but that which begins
with heaven, he resolved with all the people to render praise and
homage to God; and accordingly, with magnificent rites through all
the city, but specially in the basilica of San Marco Evangelista, than
which I know nothing in the world more beautiful, were celebrated
the most solemn thanksgivings which have ever taken place within
the memory of man; and around the temple and in the piazza a mag-
nificent procession, in which not only the people and all the clergy,
but many prelates from foreign parts, brought here by curiosity, or
the great occasion, or the proclamation far and near of these great
ceremonies took part. When these demonstrations of religion and
piety were completed, every soul turned to games and rejoicings."
Our poet continues at length the record of these festivi-
ties, especially of those with which the great festival ter-
minated, two exercises of which he cannot, he says, give
the Latin name, but which in Italian are called, one corstty
a race, the oi\iQv giostra, a tournament. In the first of
*Eccelso, excellent.
328 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
these, which would seem to have been something like the
ancient riding at the ring, no strangers were allowed to
compete, but only twenty-four Venetian youths of noble
race and magnificently clad, under the direction of a
famous actor, Bombasio by name (from whence we believe
** Bombast"), who arranged their line in so delightful a
manner that one would have said it was not men who rode
but angels who flew, ''so wonderful was it to see these
young men, arrayed in purple and gold, with bridle and
spurs, restraining at once and exciting their generous
steeds, which blazed also in the sun with the rich orna-
ments with which their harness was covered." This noble
sight the poet witnessed in bland content and satisfaction,
seated at the right hand of the doge, upon a splendid bal-
cony shaded with rich and many-tinted awnings, which had
been erected over the front of San Marco behind the four
bronze horses. Fortunate poet, thus throned on high to
the admiration of all the beholders, who crowded every
window and roof and portico, and wherever human foot-
ing was to be found, and filled every corner of the piazza
so that there was not room for a grain of millet — an '' in-
credible, innumerable crowd," among which was no tumult
or disorder of any kind, nothing but joy, courtesy, har-
mony, and love. It is curious to note that among the
audience were certain ''very noble English personages, in
office and kindred near to the king of England," who
" taking pleasure in wandering on the vast sea," faithful
to the instincts of their race, had been attracted by the
news of these great rejoicings. Among all the splendors
of Venice there is none which is more attractive to the
imagination than this grand tourney in the great piazza,
at which the mild and learned poet in his black hood and
gown, half clerical and always courtly, accustomed to the
best of company, sat by the side of the doge in his gold-
embroidered mantel, with all that was fairest in Venice
around, and gazed well pleased upon the spectacle, not
without a soothing sense that he himself in the ages to come
would seem amid all the purple and gold the most notable
presence there.
THE MAKERS OP VENICE. 329
In the year 13G6, when Petrarch had been established for
about four years in Venice, an incident of a very different
kind occurred to disturb liis peace, and did, according to all
the commentaries, so seriously disturb it, and offend the poet
so deeply, that when he next left the city it was to return
no more. Among the stream of visitors received by him
with his usual bland courtesy in the place of the two
towers, were certain young men whom the prevailing
fashion of the time had banded together in a pretense of
learning and superiorenlightenment, not uncommon to any
generation of those youthful heroes whose only wish it
is that their fathers were more wise. Four in particular,
who were specially given to the study of such Greek
philosophy as came to them broken by translators into
fragments fit for their capacity, had been among the visitors
of the poet. Deeply affronted as Petrarch was by the
occurrence which followed, he was yet too magnanimous to
give their names to any of his correspondents : but he
describes them so as to have made it possible for commen-
tators to hazard a guess as to who they were. '*They are
all rich, and all studious by profession, devouring books,
nothwithstanding that the first knows nothing of letters :
the second little : the third not much: the fourth, it is true,
has no small knowledge, but has it confusedly and without
order." The first was a soldier, the second a merchant
(simplex mercator), the third a noble [simplex nobilis), the
forth a physician. A mere noble, a mere merchant —
significant words! a soldier, and one who probably led
them with his superior science and information, the only
one who had the least claim to be called a philosopher, the
young professional to whom no doubt those wouM be
learned giovinastri looked up as to a shining light. They
were disciples of Averrhoes — or most likely it was the
young physician who was so, and whose re-interpretation
charmed the young men : and by consequence, in that dawn
of the Renaissance, they were all infidels, believers in
Aristotle and nothing else. Petrarch himself narrates
with much naivete the method he en:ployed with one of
these irreverent and disdainful youths. The poet in his
330 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
argument with the young unbeliever, had quoted from the
New Testament a saying of an apostle.
" * Your apostle,* he replied, 'was a mere sower of words, and more
than that, was mad.' ' Bravo! ' said I, ' oh, philosopher. These two
things have been laid to the charge of other philosophers in ancient
times ; and of the second Festus, the governor of Syria, accused him
whom I quote. But if he was a sower of words, the words were very
useful, and the seed sown by him, and cultivated by his successors and
watered by the holy blood of martyrs, has grown into the great
mass of believers whom we now see,' At these words he smiled,
and ' Be you, if you like it, a good Christian,' he said: ' I don't be-
lieve a word of all that: and your Paul and Augustine and all the rest
whom you vaunt so much, I hold them no better than a pack of gos-
sips. Oh, if you would but read AverrhoesI then you would see how
much superior he is to your fable-mongers.' I confess that, burning
with indignation, it was with difficulty that I kept my hands off
that blasphemer. 'This contest with heretics like you,' I said, 'is
an old affair for me. Go to the devil, you and your heresy, and
come no more here.' And taking him by the mantle with less
courtesy than is usual to me, but not less than his manners deserved,
I put him to the door."
This summary method of dealing with the young skeptic
is not without its uses, and many a serious man wearied
with the folly of youthful preachers of the philosophy
fashionable in our day, which is not of Aristotle or Aver-
rhoes, might be pardoned for a longing to follow Petrarch's
example. Perhaps it was the young man described as
simplex nobilis who, indignant, being thus turned out,
hurried to his comrades with the tale : upon which they
immediately formed themselves into a bed of justice,
weighed Petrarch in the balance, and found him wanting.
*' A good man, but ignorant, '^ was their sentence after full
discussion — dahhen iiomo, ma ignorante. The mild yet
persistent rage with which the poet heard of this verdict,
magnanimous, restraining himself from holding up the
giovinastri to the contempt of the world, yet deeply and
bitterly wounded by their boyish folly, is very curious. The
effect produced upon Lord Tennyson and Mr. Browning at
the present day by the decision of a tribunal made up of,
let us say, a young guardsman, a little lord, a millionaire's
heir, led by some young professional writer or scientific
THE MAKERS OF VKNIGR. 331
authority, would be very different. The poets and the world
would laugh to all the echoes, and the giovinastri would
achieve a reputation such as they would little desire. But
the use of laughter had not been discovered in Petrarch's
days, and a poet crowned in the capitol, laureate of the
universe, conscious of being the first man of letters in the
world, naturally did not treat these matters so lightly. He
talks of them in his letters with an offended dignity which
verges upon the comic. "Four youths, blind in the eyes
of the mind, men who consider themselves able to judge
of ignorance as being themselves most ignorant — si tengo7io
competenti a giicdicare della ignoranza perche son essi igno-
rantissiwi — attempting to rob me of my fame, since they
well know that they can never hope for fame in their own
persons," he says : and at last, in the bitterness of his
offense, Venice herself, the hospitable and friendly city,
of which he had lately spoken as the peaceful haven and
refuge of the human spirit, falls under the same reproach.
In every part of the world, he says, such a sentence would
be received witli condemnation and scorn: "except per-
haps in the city where it was given forth, a city truly great
and noble, but inhabited by so great and so varied a crowd
that many tlierein take men without knowledge forjudges
and philosophers." And when the heats of summer came,
sending him forth on the round of visits wliich seems to
have been as necessary to Petrarch as if he had lived in the
nineteenth century, the offended poet did not return to
Venice. When his visits were over he withdrew to Arqua,
on the soft skirts of the Euganean hills, where all was
rural peace and quiet, and no presumptuous giovhiastri
could trouble him more.
This incident however would seem to point to an ele-
ment of tumult and trouble in Venice, to which republics
seem more dangerously exposed than other states. It was
the insults of the giovinastriy insolent and unmannerly
youths, which drove Marino Faliero to his doom not very
many years before. And Petrarch himself implores Andrea
Dandolo, the predecessor of that unfortunate doge, to take
counsel with the old men of experience, not with hot-
332 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
headed boys, in respect to the Genoese wars. The youths
would seem to have been in the ascendant, idle — for it was
about this period that wise men began to lament the aban-
donment at once of traditional trade and of the accom-
panying warlike spirit among the young patricians, who
went to sea no more, and left fighting to the mercenaries
— and luxurious, spending their time in intrigues on the
Broglio and elsewhere, and taking upon them those arro-
gant airs which make aristocracy detestable. A Dandolo
and a Contarini are in the list (supposed to be authentic)
of Petrarch's assailants, and no doubt the support of fath-
ers in the Forty or the Ten would embolden these idle
youths for every folly. Their foolish verdict would by this
means cut deeper, and Petrarch, like the old doge, was now
sonless, and had the less patience to support the insolence
of other people's boys. He retired accordingly from the
ignoble strife, and on his travels, as he says, having noth-
ing else to do, on the banks of the Po, began his treatise
on *nhe ignorance of himself and many others" — de sui
ijjsius et multoruvi ignorantia, which was, let us hope, a
final balsam to the sting which the giovinastri, unmannerly
and presumptuous lads, had left in his sensitive mind.
The books which he had offered to the republic as the
foundation of a public library were left behind, first in the
hands of a friend, afterward in the charge of the state.
But Venice at that time had other things to do than to
think of books, and these precious manuscripts were placed
in a small chamber on the terrace of San Marco, near the
four great horses of the portico — and there forgotten.
Half a century later the idea of the public library revived :
and this was confirmed by the legacy made by Cardinal
Bessarione of all his manuscripts in 1468 — a hundred years
after the gift of Petrarch ; but nearly two centuries more
had passed, and the splendid Biblioteca de San Marco had
come into being, a noble building and a fine collection,
before it occurred to some stray citizens and scholars to in-
quire where the poet's gift might be. Finally, in 1634, the
little room Avas opened, and there was discovered — a mass
of damp decay, as they had been thrown in nearly three
TEE MAKERS OF VENICE. 333
centuries before — the precious parchments, the books
which Petrarch had collecteu so carefully, and which he
thought worthy to be the nucleus of a great public library.
Some few were extracted from the mass of corruption, and
at last were placed where the poet had intended them to
be. But this neglect will always remain a shame to Venice.
Perhaps at first the giovinastri had something to do with
it, tlirowing into contempt as of little importance the gift
of the poet — a suggestion which has been made with more
gravity by a .'ecent librarian, who points out that the most
valuable of Petrarch's books remained in his possession
until his death, and were sold and dispersed at Padua
after that event. So that it is possible, though the sug-
gestion is somewhat ungenerous, that after all the loss to
humanity was not so very great. At all events there is
this to be said, that Petrarch did not lose by his bargain,
though Venice did. The poet got the dignified estab-
lishment he wanted — a vast palace, as he himself de-
scribes it, in which he had room to receive his friends and
from which he could witness all the varied life of Venice.
He had not, we think, any great reason to complain — he
had received his equivalent. His hosts were the losers by
their own neglect, but not the poet.
It was but a short episode in his learned and leisurely and
highly successful life ; but it is the only poetical associa-
tion we have with Venice. He shows us something of the
cultured society of the time, with its advantages and its
drawbacks, a society more "precious" than original, full
of commentaries and criticisms, loving conversation and
mutual comparison and classical allusion, not so gay as the
painters of an after age, with less inclination to suonar il
liuto, or indeed introduce anything which could interfere
with that talk which was the most beloved of all entertain-
ments. Boccaccio, one cannot but feel, must have brought
something livelier and more gay with him when he was
one of those who sat at the high windows of the Palazzo
delle due Torri and looked out upon all the traffic of the
port, and the ships going out to sea. But the antecham-
bers of the poet were always crowded as if he had been a
334 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
prince, the doge ever ready to do him honor, and all the
great persons deeply respectful of Dom Francesco, though
the young ones might scoff, not witliout a smile aside from
their fathers, at the bland laureate's conviction of his own
greatness.
No other poet has ever illustrated Venice. Dante passed
tlirough the great city and did not love her, if his sup-
posed letter on the subject is real — at all events brought no
image out of her except that of the pitch boiling in the
arsenal, and the seamen repairing their storm-beaten ships.
Nameless poets no doubt there were whose songs the mari-
ners bellowed along the Riva, and the maidens sang at their
work. The following anonymous reiic is so pure and ten-
der that, though far below the level of a laureated poet, it
may serve to throw a little fragrance upon the name of
poetry in Venice, so little practiced and so imperfectly
known. It is the lament of a wife for her husband gone
to the wars — alia Crociata in Oriente — a humble Crusader-
seaman no doubt, one of those perhaps who followed old
Enrico Dandolo, with the cross on his rough cap, ignorant
of all the wiles of statesmanship, while his wife waited
wistfully through many months and years.
"Donna Frisa, in your way,
You give me good advice, to lay
By this grieving out of measure,
Saying to see me is no pleasure.
Since my liusband, gone to war.
Carried my heart with him afar;
But since he's gone beyond the sea
This alone must comfort me.
I have no fear of growing old,
For hope sustains and makes me bold
While I think upon my lord:
In him is all my comfort stored.
No other bearing takes my eye,
In him does all my pleasure lie;
Nor can I think him far, while he
Ever in love is near to me.
Lone in my room, my eyes are dim,
Only from fear of harm to him.
Nought else I fear, and hope is strong
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 335
He will come back to me anon;
And all my plaints to gladness rise,
And into songs are turned my sighs,
Thinking of that good man of mine;
No more I wish to make me fine,
Or look into the glass, or be
Fair, since he is not here to see.
In my chamber alone I sit,
The festa may pass, I care not for it,
Nor to gossip upon the stairs outside,
Nor from the window to look, nor glide
Out on the balcony, save 't may be
To gaze afar, across the sea,
Praying that God would guard my lord
In Paganesse, sending His word
To give the Christians the victory,
And home in health and prosperity
To bring him back, and with him all
In joy and peace perpetual.
• When I make this prayer I know
All my heart goes with it so
That something worthy is in me
My lord's return full soon to see.
All other comforts I resign.
Your way is good, but better mine.
And firm I hold this faith alone:
The women hear me, but never one
Contradicts my certitude.
For I hold it seemly and good,
And that to be true and faithful
To a good woman is natural;
Considering her husband still,
All his wishes to fulfill,
And with him to be always glad,
And in his presence never sad.
" Thus should there be between the two
No thought but how pleasure to do.
She to him and he to her,
This their rivalry: nor e'er
Listen to any ill apart.
But of one mind be, and one heart.
He ever willing what she wills,
She what his pleasure most fulfills.
336 THE MAKERS OF VENICE,
Witli never quarrel or despite,
But peace between tliem morning and night.
This makes a goodly jealousy
To excel in love and constancy.
And thus is the pilgrim served aright,
From eve to morn, from day to night."
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 337
CHAPTER II.
THE HISTORIANS.
The first development of native literature in Venice,
and indeed the only one which attained any greatness, was
history. Before ever poet had sung or preacher dis-
coursed, in the early days when the republic was struggling
into existence, there liad already risen in the newly-founded
community and among the houses scarcely yet to be counted
noble, but whicii had begun to sway the minds of the
fishers and traders and salt-manufacturers of the marshes,
annalists whose desire it was to chronicle the doings of that
infant state, struggling into existence amid the fogs, of
which they were already so proud. Of these nameless his-
torians the greater number have dropped into complete
oblivion; but they have furnished materials to many suc-
cessors, and in some cases their works still exist in codexes
known to the learned, affording still their quota of informa-
tion, sometimes mingled with fable, yet retaining here and
there a vigorous force of life which late writers more cor-
rect find it hard to put into the most polished records.
To all of these Venice was already the object of all desire,
the center of all ambition. Her beauty, the splendor of
her rising palaces, the glory of her churches, is their subject
from the beginning; though still the foundations were not
laid of that splendor and glory which has proved the
enchantment of later ages. This city was the joy of the
whole earth, a wonder and witchery to Sagornino in the
eleventh century as much as to Molmenti in the nineteenth;
and before the dawn of serious history, as well as with all
the aid of state documents and critical principles in her
maturity, the story of Venice has been the great attraction
338 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
to her children, the one theme of which no Venetian can
ever tire. It would be out of our scope to give any list of
these early writers. Their name is legion — and any reader
who can venture to lanch himself upon the learned, but
chaotic, work of the most serene Doge Marco Foscarini
upon Venetian literature, will find himself hustled on every
page by a pale crowd of half perceptible figures in every
department of historical research. The laws, the church,
the trade of Venice, her money, her ceremonials and usages,
the speeches of her orators, her treaties with foreign
powers, her industries — in all of these by-ways of the history
are crowds of busy workers, each contriouting his part to
that one central object of all — the glory and the history of
the city, which was to every man the chief object in the
world.
It was, however, only in the time of Andrea Dandolo, the
first man of letters who occupied the doge^s chair, the
friend of Petrarch and of all the learned of his time, that
the artless chronicles of the early ages were consolidated
into history. Of Andrea himself we have but little to tell.
His own appearance is dim in the far distance, only coming
fairly within our vision in those letters of Petrarch already
quoted, in which the learned and cultivated scholar prince
proves himself, in spite of every exhortation and appeal, a
Venetian before all, putting aside the humanities in which
he was so successful a student, and the larger sympathies
which letters and philosophy ought to bring — with a
sudden frown over the countenance which regarded with
friendly appreciation all the other communications of the
poet until he permitted himself to speak of peace with
Genoa, and to plead that an end might be put to those
bloody and fratricidal wars which devastated Italy. Dan-
dolo, with all his enlightenment was not sufficiently
enlightened to see this, or to be able to free himself from
the prejudices and native hostilities uf his state. He
thought the war with Genoa just and necessary, while
Petrarch wrung his hands over the woes of a country torn
in pieces; and instead of responding to the ideal picture of
a common prosperity such as the two great maritime rivals
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 339
might enjoy together, fltimed fortli in wrath at thethouglit
even of a triumph which should be shared witli that most
intimate enemy. Tlie greater part of his reign was spent
in tlie exertions necessary to keep up one of tliese disastrous
wars, and he died in the midst of defeat, with nothing but
ill news of his armatas, and Genoese galleys in the Adriatic,
pushing forward, perhaps, who could tell? to Venice her-
self. "The republic within and without was threatened
with great dangers," says Sabellico, at the moment of his
death, and he was succeeded by the ill-fated Faliero, to
show how distracted was the state at this dark period.
Troubles of all kinds had distinguished the reign of the
learned Andrea. Earthquakes, for which the philosophers
sought strange explanations, such as that they were caused
by "a spirit, bound and imprisoned underground," which,
with loud noises, and often with fire and flame, escaped by
the openings and caverns; and pestilence, which Sabellico
believes to have been caused by certain fish driven up along
the coast. Notwithstanding all these troubles, Dandolo
found time and leisure to add a sixth volume to the collec-
tions of laws already made, and to compile his history — a
dignified and scrupulous, if somewhat brief and formal,
narrative of the lives and acts of his predecessors in the
ducal chair. The former writers had left each his frag-
ment, Sagornino, for instance, dwellingchiefly upon Venice
under the reign of tlie Orseoli, to the extent of his personal
experiences. Dandolo was the first to weave these broken
strands into one continuous thread. He had not only the
early chronicles within his reach, but the papers of the
state and those of his own family, which had already
furnished three doges to the republic, and thus was in every
way qualified for his work. It is remarkable to note
through all the conflicts of the time, through the treacher-
ous stillness before the earthquake and the horrified
clamor after, through the fierce exultation of victory and
the dismal gloom of defeat, and amid all those troubled
ways where pestilence and misery had set up their abode,
this philosopher — doctor of laws, the first who ever sat upon
that throne — the scholar and patron of letters, distracted
340 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
with all the cares of his uneasy sway, yet going on day by
day with his literary labors, laying the foundation firm
for his countrymen, upon which so many have built. How
Petrarch's importunities about these dogs of Genoese, per-
petual enemies of the republic, as if, forsooth, they were
brothers and Christian men! must have fretted him in the
midst of his studies. What did a poet priest, a classical
half-French man of peace, know about such matters? The
same language! Who dared to compare the harsh dialect
these wretches jabbered among themselves with the liquid
Venetian speech? The same country! As far different as
east from west. They were no brethren, but born enemies
of Venice never to be reconciled; and in this faith the
enlightened doge^ the philosopher and sage, reigned and
died.
After Dandolo there seems to have been silence for about
half a century, though no period was without its essays in
history: a noble patrician here and there, a monk in his
leisure, an old soldier after his wars were over, making
each his personal contribution, to lie for the greater part
unnoted in the archives of liis family or order. But about
the end of the fourteenth century there rose a faint
agitation among the more learned Venetians as to the ex-
pediency of compiling a general history upon the most
authentic manuscripts and records, which should be given
forth to the world with authority as the true and trust-
worthy history of Venice. There was perhaps no one suf-
ficiently in earnest to press the matter, nor had they any
writer ready to take up the work. But no doubt it was an
excellent subject on which to debate when they met each
other in the public places whither patricians resorted, and
where the wits had their encounters. Oh, for a historian
to write that great book ! The noble philosophers them-
selves were too busy with their legislations, or their pageants
or their classical studies, to undertake it themselves, and
it was difficult to find any one sufficiently well qualified to
fill the office which it was their intention should be that of
a public servant encouraged and paid by the state. During
the next half century there were a great many negotiations
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 341
begun, but never brought to any definite conclusion, with
sundry professors of literature, especially one Biondo, who
had already written much on the subject. But none of
them came to any practical issue. Tlie century had reached
its last quarter, when the matter was summarily and by a
personal impulse taken out of the noble dilettanti's hands.
Marco Antonio Sabellico, a native of Vicovaro, among the
Sabine hills, and one of the most learned men and best
Latinists of his day, had been drawn to Venice probably
by the same motives which drew Petrarch thither : the
freedom of its society, the hospitality with which strangers
were received, and the eager welcome given by a race am-
bitious of every distinction, but not great in the sphere of
letters, to all who brought with them something of that
envied fame. How it was that he was seized by the desire
to write a history of Venice, which was not his own
country, we are not told. But it is very likely that he
was one of these men of whom there are examples in every
generation, for whom Venice has an especial charm, and
who, like the occasional love- thrall of a famous beauty,
give up their lives to her praise and service, hoping for
nothing in return. He might, on the other hand, be noth-
ing more than an enterprising author, aware that the
patrons of literature in Venice were moving heaven and
earth to have a history, and taking advantage of their
desire with a rapidity and unexpectedness which would
forestall every other attempt. He was at the time in Verona
in the suite of the captain of that city, Benedetto Trivi-
giano, out of reach of public documents, and naturally of
many sources of information which would have been thrown
open to an authorized historian. He himself speaks of the
work of Andrea Dandolo as of a book which he had heard
of but never seen, though it seems incredible that any man
should take in hand a history of Venice without making
himself acquainted with the only authoritative work exist-
ing on the subject. Neither had he seen the book of Jacopo
Zeno, upon the work and exploits of his grandfather Carlo
which is the chief authority in respect to so important an
episode as the war of Chioggia. And he wrote so rapidly
342 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
that tlie work was completed in fifteen months, " by reason
of his impatience," says Marco Foscarini. Notwithstand-
ing these many drawbacks, Sabellico's liistory remains
among the most influential, as it is the most eloquent, of
Venetian histories. It is seldom that a historian escapes
without conviction of error in one part or another of his
work, and Sabellico was no exception to the rule. The
learned of the time threw themselves npon liim with all
the heat of critics who have never committed themselves
by serious production in their own persons. Tliey accused
him of founding his book upon the narratives of the in-
ferior annalists, and neglecting the good — of transcribing
from contemporaries, and above all of haste, an accusation
which it is impossible to deny. '^ But," says Foscarini,
** the thirst for a general history was such that either these
faults were not discovered, or else by reason of the unusual
accompaniment of eloquence, to whicli as to a new thing,
the attention of all was directed, they passed unobserved."
The eager multitude took up tlie book with enthusiasm,
although the critics objected : and tliough Sabellico was in
no manner a servant of the state, and had never had the
office of historian confided to him, '' the senate perceiving
the general approval, and having I'ather regard to its
own greatness tlian to the real value of the work, settled
upon the writer two hundred gold ducats yearly, merely on
the score of gracious recompense." Tiiis altogether dis-
poses, as Foscarini points out, of the spiteful imputation of
'*a venal pen," which one of his contemporaries attributed
to Sabellico : but at the same time he is careful to guard
his readers from the error of supposing that the historian
had the privileges and position of a functionary chosen by
the state.
The learned doge is indeed very anxious that there should
be no mistake on this point, nor any undue praise appropri-
ated to the first historian of Venice. All foreign historians,
he says, take him as the chief authority on Venice, and quote
him continually; not only so, but the writers \vho imme-
diately succeeded him did little more than repeat what he
had said, and the most learned among them had no thought
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 343
of any purgation of his narrative, but only to add various
particulars, in the main following Sabellico, for which rea-
son they are to be excused who believe tiuit they find in him
the very flower of ancient Venetian history: but yet he
cannot be justly so considered. Foscarini cites various
errors in the complicated history of the Crusades, respecting
which it is allowed, however, that the ancient Venetian
records contain very little information: and such mistakes
as that on a certain occasion Sabellico relates an expedition
as made with the whole of the armata, while Dandolo fixes
the number at thirty galleys — not a very important error.
When all has been said, however, there is little doubt that
as a general history full in all the more interesting details,
and giving a most lifelike and grapiiic picture of the course
of Venetian affairs, with all the embassies, royal visits,
rebellions, orations, sorrows, and festivities that took place
within the city, together with those events more difficult to
master that were going on outside, the history of Sabellico
is the one most attractive and interesting to the reader, and
on all general events quite trustworthy. The original is in
Latin, but it was put into the vulgar tongue within a few
years after its publication, and was afterward more
worthily translated by Dolce in a version which contains
much of the force and eloquence of the original.
After this another long interval elapsed in which many
patrician writers, one after another, whose names and works
are all recorded by Foscarini, made essays less or more
important, without, however, gaining the honorable position
of historian of the republic : until at last the project for
establishing such an office was taken up in the beginning of
the sixteenth century for the benefit of a young scholar,
noble but poor, Andrea Navagero. He was the most
elegant Latin writer in Italy, Foscarini says : indeed, the
great Council of Ten themselves have put their noble hands
to it that this was the case. '* His style was such as, by
agreement of all the learned, had not its equal in Italy or
out of it," is the latiguage of the decree by which his
appointment was made. Being without means he was
about to leave Venice to push his fortune elsewhere by his
344 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
talents, '' depriving the conntry of so great an ornament "
— a conclusion '^ not to be tolerated." To prevent such an
imputation upon the state, the Council felt themselves
bound to interfere, and appointed Navagero their historian,
to begin over again that authentic and authorized history
which Sabellico had executed without authority. The
chances probably are that the young and accomplished
scholar had friends enough at court to make a strong effort
for him, to liberate him from the alarming possibility, so
doubly sad for a Venetian, of being '^confined within the
boundaries of private life" — and that the authorities of the
state bethought themselves suddenly of a feasible way of
providing for him by giving him this long thought of but
never occupied post. They were no great judges of litera-
ture, more especially of Latin, their own being of the most
atrocious description, but tl)ey were susceptible to the
possible shame of allowing a scholar who might be a credit
to the republic to leave Venice in search of a living.
Young Navagero thus entered the first upon the post of
historian of Venice, which he held for many years without
producing anything to justify the Council in their choice.
It was probably intended only as a means of providing for
him pending his introduction into public life: for we find a
number of years after a letter from Bembo congratulating
him on his appointment as ambassador to Spain, *^ the first
thing which you have ever asked from the country," and
prohesying great things to follow. He was appointed
historian in 1515, but it is not till fifteen years after that
we hear anything of his history, and that in the most
tragical way. In 1530 he was sent on an embassy to
France, and carried there with him cei'tain manuscripts,
the -fruit of the intervening years — ten books, it is said, of
the proposed story of Venice. But he had not been long in
Paris when he fell ill and died. And shortly before his
death — on the very day, one writer informs us — he threw
his papers into the fire with his own hands and destroyed
the whole. Whether this arose from dissatisfaction with
his work, or whether it was done in the delirium of mortal
sickness, no one could tell. Foscarini quotes from an un-
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 345
published letter of Cardinal Valicro some remarks upon this
unfortunate writer, in which he is described as one who was
never satisfied with moderate approval from others, and
still less capable of })leasing himself. This brief and tragic
episode suggests ev en more than it tells. Noble, ambitious,
and poor, probably of an uneasy and fastidious mind — for
he is said on a previous occasion to have burned a number
of his early productions in disgust and discouragement — the
despondency of sickness mast have overwhelmed a sensitive
nature. The office to which he had been pi'omoted was
still in the visionary stage: the greatest things were expected
of the new historian of the republic, a work superseding all
previous attempts. Sabellico, who had gone over the same
ground in choicest Latin, was still fresh in men^s minds;
and, still more alarming, another Venetian, older and of
greater weight than liimself, Marino Sanudo, one of the
most astonishing and gifted of historical moles, was going
on day by day with those elaborate records which are the
wonder of posterity, building up the endless story of the
republic with details innumerable — a mine of material for
other workers, if too abundant and minute for actual
history. Ser Andrea was no doubt well aware of the keen
inspection, the criticism sharpened by a sense that this
young fellow had been put over the heads of older men,
whicli would await his work; and his own taste had all the
fastidious refinement of a scholar, more critical than con-
fident. When he found himself in a strange country,
though not as an exile but with the high commission of the
republic — sick, little hopeful of ever seeing the beloved city
again, his heart must have failed him altogether. These
elaborate pages, how poor they are Jipt to look in the cold
light darkened by the shadow of the grave ! He would
think perhaps of the formidable academy in the Aldine
workshops shaking their heads over his work, picking out
inaccuracies — fin<ling perhaps, a danger more appalling still
to every classical mind, something here and there not
Ciceronian in his Latin. Nothing could be more tragic,
yet there is a lingering touch of the ludicrous too, so seldom
entirely absent from human affairs. To tremble lest a
346 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
solecism should be discovered in his style when the solem-
nity of death was already enveloping his being! llather
finish all at one stroke, flinging with liis feverish dying
liands the work never corrected enough, among the blazing
logs, and be done with it forever. Aiiiid all the artificial
fervor of Renaissance scholarship and the learned chatter
of the libraries, what a tragic and melancholy S3ene!
The critics are careful to indicate that tliis is not the
same Andrea Navagero who wrote the chronicle bearing
that name, and whose work is of the most commonplace
description. It is confusing to find the two so near in time,
and with nothing to identify the second bearer of the name
except that he writes in indifferent Italian (Venetian), and
not in classic Latin, and tliat his book was given to tlie
public while the other Andrea, lo Storico, was still only a
boy. The only productions of the historian so called,
though nothing of his history survives, seem to have been
certain Latin verses of more or less elegance.
A very much more important personage in his time, as
in the value of the extraor linary collections he left behind
him, was the diarist and historian already referred to,
Marino Sanudo. He too, we may remark in passing, is
apt to be confused with an elder writer of the same name,
Marino Sanudo, called Torsello, who wrote on the subject
of the Crusades, and on many other matters more exclu-
sively Venetian, something like a hundred and fifty years
before, in the middle of the fourteenth century. The
younger Sanudo (or Sanuto) was born in 1466, of one of
the most noble houses in Venice, and educated in all the
erudition of his time. He was of such a precocious genius
that between his eleventh and fourteenth years he cor-
responded witli the most eminent scholars of the day, and
gave the highest hopes of future greatness. Even in that
early age the dominant passion of his life had made itself
apparent, and he seems already to have begun the collection
of documents and the record of daily public events. At
the age of eight it would appear the precocious historian
had already copied out with his own small hand the fading
inscriptions made by Petrarch under the series of pictures.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 347
anticcliissimiy the first of all painted in the hall of the
Great Council. Sannclo himself announces that he did
this, thougli without mentioning his age : but tlie anxious
care of Mr. Rawdon Brown, so well known among the
English students and adorers of Venice, points out that
these pictures were restored and had begun to be repainted
in 1474, during the cliildhood of his hero. Tiiere could
be nothing more characteristic and natural, considering the
after life of the man, than this youthful incident, and it
adds an interest the more to the hall in whicii so often in
latter days our historian mounted the tribune, ill renga, as
he calls it, and addressed the assembled parliament of
Venice — to call before ns the small figure, tablets in hand,
liis childish eyes already sparkling with observation, and
that historical curiosity which was the inspiration of his
life— copying before they should altogether perish the
inscriptions nnder the old pictures which told the half-
fabulous triumphant tale of Barbarossa beaten and Venice
viotrice. The colors were no doubt fading, flakes of the
old distemper peeling olf and a general ruin threatened,
before the senate saw it necessary to renew that historical
chronicle. When we remember Sanudo's humorous, only
half-believing note on the subject years after, ** that if the
story had not been true our brave Venetians would not
have had it painted," it gives a still more delightful glow
of smiling interest to the image of the little Marino, no
doubt with unwavering faith in his small bosom and
enthusiasm for his city, taking down, to the awe of many
an unlearned contemporary, the failing legends written by
the great poet, a record at once of the ancient glories of
Venice and of her illustrious guest.
He was seventeen, however, and eager in all the exercises
of a Venetian gentleman when he went with his elder
cousin Marco Sanudo, who had been appointed one of the
auditors or syndics of Terra-firma, to Padua in the spring
of 1483. The brilliant cavalcade rode from Fusina by the
banks of the Brenta, then as now a line of villas, castellos,
hospitable houses, where they were received with great
honor and pomp — and visited everything that was remark-
348 TEE MAKERS OF VENICE.
able ill the city. Visto tiiUo, is the youtli's record wherever
he went : and there can indeed be no doubt that in all his
journeys the young Marino saw and noted everything — the
circumstances of the locality, the scenery, the historical
occurrences — all that is involved in the external aspect of
a place wliich had associations both classical and contem-
porary. The characteristics of his time are very apparent
in all his keen remarks and inspections. He is told, he
says, that Padua has many bodies of the saints, and in this
respect is second only to Kome — but the only sacred relic
in which he is specially interested in thecorjoo e vero osse of
Livy, to which he refers several times, giving the epitapli
of the classical historian at full length. Strangely enough,
at an age when the art of painting was growing to its
greatest development in Venice, no curiosity seems to have
been in the young man's curious mind, nor even any knowl-
edge of the fact that the chapel of the Arena had been
adorned by the great work of a certain Giotto, though
that is the chief object now of the pilgrim who goes to
Padua. That beautiful chapel must have been in its full-
est glory of color and noble art; but there is no evidence
that our cavalier liad so much as heard of it, though he
spies every scrap of marble on the old bridges, and care-
fully quotes epigrams and verses about the city, and records
every trifling circumstance. *^ The markets are Tuesday,
Thursday, and Friday. '^ *' There are forty parish churches,
and four hospitals," etc., etc.,- but not a word of the then
most famous pictures in the world.
This is the ^'Itinerario in Terra-firma," which is the first
of the young author's works. It is full of the sprightly
impulses of a boy, and of a boy's pleasure in movement, in
novelty, in endless rides and expeditions, tempered by now
and then a day in which the syndic data audientia, per
toto eljorno, his young cousin sitting no doubt by his side
more grave than any judge, to hide the laugh always lurk-
ing at the corners of his mouth: data Icnigna audie7itia,
he says on one occasion, perhaps on one of those May days
when he rode off with a cavalcade of his friends through
that green abundant country to the village or castello
THE MAKERS OF VENICE, 349
where lived the queen of his affections, '' that oriental
jewel (Gemma), that lovely face which I seem to have
always before me, inspiring me with many songs for my
love." **Ohme! Oh me!" he cries in half-humorous
distraction, " I am going mad! Let me go and sing more
than ever. Long before this I ought to have been in love.
Fain would I sing of the goddess, my bright Gemma,
whose lovely countenance I ever adore, and who has made
me with much fear her constant servant." Gemma shines
out suddenly like a star only in this one page of the
** Itinerario." Perhaps he exhausted his boyish passion in
constant rides to Rodigio or Ruigo, where the lady lived,
and in his songs, of whicli the specimens given are not
remarkable. But the sentiment is full of delight-
ful youthful extravagance: and the aspect of the
young man gravely noting everything by the instinct of
his nature, galloping forth among his comrades — one of
whom he calls Pylades — some half-dozen of them, a young
Cornaro, a Pisani, the bluest blood in Venice — scouring
the country, to see the churches, the castles and palaces,
and everything that was to be seen, and Gemma above all,
mingles with charming ease and inconsistency the dawn-
ing statesman, the born chronicler, the gallant boyish
lover. Sometimes the cavalcade counted forty horsemen,
sometimes only three or four. The " Itinerario " is a
mass of information, full of details which Professor R.
Fulin, its latest editor, considers well worth the while of
the patriotic Venetian of to-day. " To compare our
provinces at four centuries* distance with their present
state is certainly curious, and without doubt useful also,"
he says — but the glimpses between the lines of that
sprightly youthful company is to us who are less seriously
concerned, still more interesting. ** We have before our
eyes," adds the learned professor, **a boy — but a boy who
begins to bear very worthily the name of Marino Sanudo."
It somewhat disturbs all Marino's commentators, however,
that, though his education had been so good and classical
references abound in his writings, yet his style is never so
elevated as his culture. It is indeed very disjointed,
350 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
entirely unstudied, prolix, though full of an honest sim-
plicity and straightforwardness which perhaps commends
itself more to the English taste than to the Italian. In
his after life Sanudo's power of production seemed indeed
endless. Besides his published works, he left behind him
fifty-six volumes of his diary, chiefly of public events, a
record day by day of all the news that came to Venice, and
all that happened there. It was by the loving care of thj
Englishman already referred to, Mr. Rawdon Brown, a
kindred spirit, that portions of those wonderful diaries
were first given to the world. They are now in course of
publication, a mass of minute and inexhaustible informa-
tion, from the first aspect of which I confess to have
shrunk appalled. This sea of facts, of picturesque inci-
dents, of an "eyewitness' sketches, and the reports of an
immediate actor in the scenes described — affords to the
careful student an almost unexampled guide, and assistance
to the understanding of the years between 1482 and 1533,
from Sanudo's youth to the end of his life.
The ^'Vitae Ducum,^'from which we have already quoted
largely, is full of the defects of style which were peculiar
to this voluminous writer: they are charged with repetitions
and written without regard to any rules of composition or
prejudices of style — but their descriptions are often exceed-
ingly picturesque in unadorned simplicity, and the reflec-
tions of popular belief and the report of the moment give
often, as the reader will observe on turning back to our
earlier chapters, an idea of the manner in which an inci-
dent struck the contemporary mind which is exceedingly
instructive, even though as often happens, it cannot be
supported by documents or historical proof. To my think-
ing it is at least quite as interesting to know what account
was given among the people of a great event, and how it
shaped itself in the general mind, as to understand the form
it takes in the archives of the country when it has fallen
into perspective and into the inevitable subordination of
individual facts to the broader views of history. At the
same time Sanudo's story, while keeping this popular char-
acter, is supported by the citation of innumerable public
CLOISTEBS OF S. GREGORIO.
To face page 350.
TJIK MAKEllS OF VENICE. 351
documents to wliich lie had access in his cliaracter of poli-
tician and magistrate : so that the essentially different
characteristics of the legendary and the documentary his-
tory are combined in this loosely written, quaintly ex-
pressed, most real and interesting chronicle. The work is
said to have been composed by Sanudo between his eight-
eenth and his twenty-seventh year. The garrulous tone
and rambling narrative are more like an old man than a
young one : but it is evident that the instinct of the chroii-
icier, the minute and constant observation, the ears open
and eyes intent upon everything small and great which
could be discussed, with a certain absence of discrimina-
tion between the important and the unimportant which is
the characteristic defect of these great qualities, was in
him from the beginning of his career.
The great painter, Aldus, dedicated one of his publica-
tions to Sanudo in the year 1498, when our Marino was
but thirty-two — in which already mention is made of com-
pleted works of the '^MagistratusUrbisVenetae,'' the **Vitis
Pr incipium," and the 'Mle Bello Gallico," all then ready
for publication *'both in Latin and the vulgar tongue, that
they may be read by learned and unlearned alike." From
this it is apparent that Sanudo had also already begun his
wonderful diaries, the collection of his great library, and
the public life which would seem in its many activities in-
compatible with these ceaseless toils. He followed all these
pursuits, however, through the rest of his life. His diaries
became the greatest storehouses of minute information
perhaps existing in the world : his library was the wonder
of all visitors to Venice: and the record of his own acts and
occupations chronicled along with everything else in his
daily story of the life of the city, shows a perpetual activ-
ity which takes away the beholder's breath. His speeches
in the senate, generally recorded as '* lo Marin Sanudo
contradixi," were numberless. He was employed in all
kinds of public missions and work. He was in succession
a Signore di Notte, a Savio degli Ordini, one of the Pre-
gadi, one of the Zonta, a member of the senate, Avvoga-
dore : exercising tl;e functions of magistrate, member of
352 THBJ MAKERS OF VENICE.
parliament,statesman — and taking a part in all great discuss-
ions upon state affairs whether in the senate or in the Great
Council. He was, as Mr. Rawdon Brown, using the terms
natural to an Englishman, describes, almost always in
opposition — '^ contradicting," to use his own expression ;
and for this reason was less fortunate than many obscure
persons whose only record is in his work. Again and
again he has to tell us that tlie votes are given against him,
tliat he comes out last in the ballot, that for a time he is
no longer of the senate, and excluded from public office.
But he never loses heart nor withdraws from the lists.
*^/o Marino Samiclo e di la Zonta,'' he describes himself,
always proud of his position and eager to retain, or recover
it when lost. A man of such endless industry, activity of
mind and actions, universal interest and intelligence,
would be remarkable anywhere and at any time.
His first entry into public life was in March, 1498 — *^a
day to be held in eternal memory : " a few months later he
was elected senator, and passed through various duties and
offices, always actively employed. The first break in this
busy career he records on the 1st April, 1503 :
" Having accompli shed my term of service in the Ordini (Savii degli
Ordini), in which I have had five times the reward of public approba-
tion, and having passed out of the college, I now determine that, God
granting it, 1 will let no day pass without writing the news that
comes from day to day, so that. I may the better, accustoming myself
to the strict truth, go on with my true history, which was begun
several years ago. Seeking no eloquence of composition, I will thus
note down everything as it happens."
This retirement however does not last long : for within
a few months we read :
" Having been, in the end of September, without any application
on my part, or desire to re-enter, elected by the grace of the fathers
of the senate, in a council of the Pregadi, for the sixth time, Savio
degli Ordini, I have decided not to refuse office for two reasons.
First, because I desire always to do what I can for the benefit of our
republic ; the second, because my former service in the college was
always in times of great tribulation during the Turkish war, in which
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 353
I endured no little fatigue of mind. But now the peace with the Turk
has been signed, as I have recorded in the former book, I find myself
again in the college in a time of tranquillity ; therefore, with the
Divine aid, following my first determination, 1 will describe here day
by day the things that occur, the plain facts, leaving for the moment
every attempt at an elaborate style aside."
Other notices of a similar kind follow at intervals. Now
and then there occur gaps, and on several occasions Marino
puts on a little polite semblance of being ratlier pleased than
otherwise when these occur ; but gradually as tlie tide of
public life seizes him, becomes more and more impatient of
exclusion, and ceases to pretend that he likes it, or that it
suits him. His time of peace did not last long. The
league of Cambrai rose like a great storm from west and
south and north, threatening to overwhelm the republic,
which, as usual in such great dangers, was heavy with
fears, and torn with intrigues within, when most seriously
threatened from without. Sanudo tells us of an old senator
long retired from public life for whom the doge sent in the
horror of the first disasters, and who, beginning to weep,
said to his wife, '' Give me my cloak. I will go to the
council to say four words, and then die." The troubled
council, where every man had some futile expedient to
advise, a change of the Proveditori, or the sending of anew
commissioner to the camp of the defeated, is put before us
in a few words. Sanudo himselt was strongly in favor of
two things — that the doge himself should take the field, and
that an embassy should be sent to the Turk to ask for help.
He gives a melancholy description of the great AscensioQ
Day, the holiday of the year, which fell at this miserable
moment when the forces of the republic were in full rout,
retreating from point to point.
" 17 May, 1509.— It was Ascension Day (La Sensa), but there was
nothing but weeping. No visitors were to be heard of, no one was
visible in the Piazza; the fathers of the college were broken down
with trouble, and still more our doge, who never spoke, but looked
like a dead man. And much was said for this la.«t time of sending the
doge in person to Verona, to encourage our army and our people
there, and to send five hundred gentlemen with his serenity, at their
354 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
own expense. Thus the talk went in the Piazza and on the benches
of the Pregadi, but those of the college (of senators) took no action,
nor did the doge offer himself. He said, however, to his sons and
dependents, * The doge will do whatever the country desires.' At
the same time he is more dead than alive; he is seventy-three. Thus
those evil days go on; we see our own ruin, and do nothing to pre-
vent it. God grant that what I proposed had been done. I had
desired to re-enter as a Savio degli Ordini, but was advised against
it, and now I am very sorry not to have carried out my wish, to have
procured five or six thousand Turks, and sent a secretary or ambassa-
dor to the sultan; but now it is too late."
Sanudo^'s project of calling in the Turks, their ancient
enemies, to help them against the league of Christian
princes, seemed a dangerous expedient, but it must be re-
membered that the republic was in despair. The poor old
doge, who was more dead than alive, yet ready to do what-
ever the country wished, was Leonardo Loredano, whose
portrait is so notable an object in our own National Gallery,
and forms our frontispiece. In the midst of all these
troubles, however, while the Venetian statesmen were mak-
ing anxious visits to tlieir nearest garrison, and reviewing and
collecting every band they could get together, the familiar
strain of common life comes in with such a paragraph as
the following:
"17 July, 1509. — On the way to my house I met a man having a
beautiful Hebrew Bible in good paper, value twenty ducats, who
sold it to me as a favor for one marzello: which I took to place it in
my library."
We are unable to say what was the value of a marzello:
but it is evident that he got his Bible at a great bargain,
taking in this case a little permissible advantage of the
troubles of the time.
There is something calming and composing to the mind
in a long record like this extending over many years. There
occurs the episode of a great war, of many privations, mis-
fortunes, and bereavements, such as seem to cover the whole
world with gloom: but, we have only to turn a few pages,
however agitated, however moving may be the record, and
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 355
we find the state, the individual sufferer, whosoever it may
be, going on calmly about the ordinary daily business of
life, and the storm gone by. These storms and wars and
catastroplies are after all but accidents in the calmer career
which fills all the undistinguished nights and days, only
opening here and there to reveal one which is full of trouble,
which comes and departs again. History, indeed, makes
more of these episodes than life does, for they are her mile-
stones by which to guide her path through the dim multi-
tude of uneventful days. Our historian, however, in his
endless record, gives the small events of peace almost as
much importance as the /confusion and excitement of the
desperate moment when Venice stood against all Europe,
holding her own.
Sanudo's public life was one of continual upsand downs.
He would seem to have been a determined conservative,
opposing every innovation, though at the same time, like
many men of that opinion, exceedingly daring in any sug-
gestion that approved itself to his mind; as for instance in
respect to asking aid from the Turks, which was not a step
likely to commend itself to a patriot of his principles. And
he would not seem to have been very popular even among
his own kindred, for there are various allusions to family
intrigues against him, as well as to the failure of his hopes
in respect to elections and appointments. But that extra-
ordinarily limited intense life of the Venetian oligarchy, a
world pejit up within a city, with all its subtle trains of
diplomacy, determined independence on its own side, and
equally determined desire to have something to say in every
European imbroglio, was naturally a life full of intrigues, of
perpetual risings and fallings, where every man had to
sustain discomfiture in his day, and was ready to trip up
his neighbor whenever occasion served. Marino's incli-
nation to take in all matters a side of his own was not a
popular quality, and it is evident that, like many other
obstinate and clear-sighted protesters, he was often right,
often enough at least to make him an alarming critic and
troublesome disturber of existing parties, being at all times,
like the smith of Perth, for his own hand. ** I, Marino
350 TEE MAKERS OF VENICE.
Sanudo, moved by my conscience, went to the meeting and
opposed the new proposals/' andai in renga et co7itradixi a
questo modo nove, is a statement which is continually re-
curring. And as the long list of volumes grows, there is a
preface to almost every new year, in which he complains,
explains, defends his actions, and appeals against unfavor-
able judgments, sometimes threatening to relinquish his
toils, taking them up again, consoling himself by the utter-
ance of his complaint. On one occasion he thanks God that
notwithstanding much illness he still remains able " to do
something in this age in honor of the eternal majesty, and
exaltation, of the Venetian state, to which I can never fail,
being born in that allegiance, for which I would die a
thousand times if that could advantage my country, not-
withstanding that I have been beaten, worn out, and evil
entreated in her councils. ''
" In the past year (1522) I have been dismissed from the Giunta
(Zonta), of which two years ago I was made a member: but while I
sat in that senate I always in my speeches did my best for my
country, with full honor from the senators for my opinions and judg-
ment, even when against those of my colleagues. And this is the
thing that has injured me, for had I been mute, applauding individ-
uals as is the present fashion, letting things pass that are against the
interest of my dearest country, acting contrary to the law, as those
who have the guidance of the city permit to be done, even had I not
been made Avvogadore, I should have been otherwise treated. But
seeing all silent, my conscience pushing me to make me speak, since
God has granted me good utterance, an excellent memory, and much
knowledge of things, having described them for so many years, and
seen all the records of public business, it seemed to me that I should
sin against myself if I did not deliver my opinion in respect to the
questions discussed, knowing that those who took the other side com-
plained of being opposed, because they hoped to reap some benefit
from the proposals in question. But I caring only for the public ad-
vantage, all seemed to me nothing in comparison with the good of
my country. ... I confess that this repulse has caused me no small
grief, and has been the occasion of my illness : and if again I was re-
jected in the ballet for the past year it was little wonder, seeing that
many thought me dead, or so infirm that I was no longer good for
anything, not having stirred from my house for many months before.
But the divine bounty has still preserved me, and, as I have said,
enabled me to complete the diary of the year ; for however suffering
THE MAKERS OB VENICE, 357
I was I never failed to record the news of every day which was brought
to me by my friends, so that another volume is finished. I had some
thought of now giving up this laborious work, but some of my
countrymen who love me say to me, ' Marin, make no mistake; follow
the way you have begun ; remember moglie e magistrato e del del des-
tinato' (marriages and magistrates are made in heaven)."
In another of these many prefaces, Sanudo reflects that
he has now attained his fifty-fifth year, and that it is
time to stop this incessant making of notes, and to set
himself to the work of polishing and setting fortii in a
more careful style, and in tlie form of dignified history,
his mass of material, "being now of tlie number of the
senators of the Giunta and engaged in many cares and
occupations."
" But I am persuaded by one who has a right to command, by the
noble lord Lorenzo Loredano, procurator, son of our most serene
prince, who many times has exhorted me not to give up the work
which I have begun, saying that in the end it will bring me glory
and perpetual fame ; and praying me at least to continue it during
the lifetime of his serene father, who has been our doge for nineteen
years, who has been in many labors for the republic, and having re-
gained a great part of all that bad been lost in the late great and
terrible war, now waits the conclusion of all things, being of the age
of eighty-four. He cannot be expected to live long, although of a
perfect constitution, lately recovered from a serious illness, and
never absent from the meetings of the senate or council, or failing
in anything that is for the benefit of the state. For these reasons I
have resolved not to relinquish the work which I have begun, nor
to neglect that which I know will be of great use to posterity,
the highest honor to my country, and to myself an everlasting
memorial."
Thus our chronicler over and over again persuades him-
self to continue and accomplish what it was the greatest
liappiness and first impulse of his life to do.
It was when the great war against the league was over,
and all returned in peace to their usual occupations,
Sanudo to the library which he was gradually making into
one of the wonders of Venice, and to his still more wonder-
ful work, that the senate executed that job — if we may be
allowed the word — and elected young Navagero, because
he was so poor, to the office, heretofore only an imagi-
358 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
nation, of historian of the republic. Marino was nearly fifty
and still in the full heat of political life, giving his opinion
on every subject, ^' contradicting " freely, and taking
nothing for granted, when this appointment was made ;
and there is no doubt that to be passed over thus for so
much younger and less important a man must have been a
great mortification for the indefatigablechronicler of every
national event. He speaks with a certain quiet scorn in
one place of Messer Anch'ea Navagero stipendiate pulhlico
per scrivere la Jiistoria. Nor was this the only wrong done
him, for the successor appointed to Navagero, after a long
interval of time, it would appear, was another man with
opportunities and faculties much less appropriate than his
own, the learned dilettante Pietro Bembo, afterward
cardinal. Bembo had spent the greater part of his life out
of Venice, in Kome at the court of the pope, where he filled
some important offices ; at Padua, which was his home in
his later years ; at the court of Mantua at the period when
that court was the center of cultivation and fine sentiment.
Indeed we find only occasional traces of him at Venice ;
though one of his first works was about the fantastic little
court of Queen Catherine Oornaro, at Asolo, a small De-
cameron, full of the unreal prettiness, the masques, and
posturing, and versifications of the time. It was to this
man that in the second place the office of historian was
given over the head of our Marino ; nor was this the only
vexation to which he was exposed. One of the documents
quoted by Mr. Eawdon Brown is a letter from Bembo, an
appeal to the doge to compel Sanudo to open to him the
treasures of his collection, one of the most curious demands
perhaps that were ever made. It is dated from Padua, the
7th August, 1531, and shows that not even for the writing
of the history did this official of the senate remove his
dwelling to Venice.
" Serene prince, my lord always honored. Last winter when I
was in Venice, I saw the histories of Messer Marin Sanudo, and it
appeared to me that they were of a quality, though including much
that is unnecessary, to give me light on an infinite number of things
THE MAKERS OF VENICE, 359
needful for me in carrying out the work committed to my hands by
your serenity. I begged of him to allow me to read and go over
these as might be necessary for my work; to which he replied that
these books were the care and labor of his whole life, and that he
would not give the sweat of his brow to any one. Upon which I
went away with the intention of doing without them, though I did
not see how it would be possible. Now I perceive that if I must see
the public letters of your serenity in order to understand many things
contained in the books of the senate, which are very necessary for
the true understanding of the acts of this illustrious dominion this
labor will be a thing impossible to me, and if possible, would be in-
finite. Wherefore I entreat your serenity to exercise your authority
with Messer Marin to let me have his books in my own hands
according as it shall be necessary, pledging myself to return them
safe and unhurt. "
Perhaps it was the visible invidiousness of this appeal,
the demand upon a man who had been passed over, for the
use of his collections in the execution of a work for which
he was so much better qualified thaii the actual holder of
the office, which shamed the senate at last into according
to Marino a certain recompense for his toil. Mr. Rawdon
Brown makes it evident that this allowance or salary came
very late in the life of the neglected historian. The
Council of Ten gave him a hundred and fifty ducats ayear
as an acknowledgment of the existence of his books,
" which I vow to God," he says, " is nothing to the great
labor they have cost me." It is but a conjecture, but it
does not seem without probability, that the rulers of the
republic may have been shamed into bestowing this pro-
vision by Bembo's peevish appeal, and that, mollified by
the grant, Marino permitted the use of \\\%sudori, the sweat
of his brow, the labor of his life to the official historian,
whose work even Foscarini, dry himself to the utmost
permissible limit of aridity, confesses to be very dry, and
which possesses nothing of the charm of natural animation
and verisimilitude which is in Sanudo's rough, confused,
and often chaotic narrative.
This wonderful work was carried on till the year 1533,
and finally filled fifty-six large volumes, the history of
every day being brought down to within two years and a
half of the author's death. He left this extraordinary col-
360 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
lection to the republic in a will dated 4tli December, 1533,
immediately after the close of the record.
'* I desire and ordain that all my books of the history and events
of Italy, written with my own hand, beginning with ihe coming of
King Charles of France into Italy, books bound and enclosed in a
bookcase, to the number of fifty-six, should be for my illustrious
signoria, to be presented to them by my executors, and placed
wherever it seems to them good by the Heads of the Council of Ten,
by which excellent council an allowance of a hundred and fifty du-
cats a year was made to me, which I swear before God is nothing to
the great labor I have had.
" Also I will and ordain that all my other printed books, which are
in my great study downstairs, and those manuscripts which are in
my bookcases {armeri, Scottice, aumries) in my chamber, which are
more than six thousand five hundred in number, which have cost me
a great deal of money, and are very fine and genuine, many of them
impossible to replace : of which there is an inventory marked with
the price I paid for each (those which have a cross opposite the name
I sold in the time of my poverty) : I desire my executors that they
should all be sold by public auction. And I pray my Lords Procura-
tors, or Gastaldi, not to permit these books to be thrown away, espe-
cially those in manuscript, which are very fine and have cost me a
great deal, as will be seen in the inventory ; and those in boards and
the works printed in Germany have also cost me no small sum. And
I madie so much expenditure in books because I wished to form a
library in some monastery, or to find a place for some of them in the
library of S, Marco ; but this library I no longer believe in, therefore
I have changed my mind and wish everything to be sold — which
books are now of more value than when I bought them, having pur-
chased them advantageously in times of famine, and having had
great bargains of them. Wherefore Messer Zanbatista Egnazio and
Messer Antonio di Marsilio, seeing the index, will be able to form an
estimate, and not allow them to be thrown away as is the custom."
This resolution was taken because the new library of S.
Marco, so long promised to the Venetians, had not yet
been begun ; and the old collector, loving his books as if
they had been his children, had evidently lost heart and
faith in any undertaking of this kind being carried out in
Venice. No doubt he had heard of the legacy made by
Petrarch two hundred years before to the republic, and
bow it had disappeared, if not that the rotting remains of
the poet's bequest still lay in the chamber on the roof of
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 361
S. Marco, where they had been thrown with a carelessness
whicli looks very much like contempt, and as if the busy
city had no time for such vanities. The sale of his books
would at least pay his creditors and be an inheritance for
the nephews who had taken the place of children to him,
yet were not too grateful for his care. The fifty six vol-
umes in the great oak press however profited scarcely more
than Petrarch's gift from being placed in the custody of
the tremendous Ten. They were deposited somewhere out
of reach of harm, it is to be supposed, after the author's
death, but were so completely lost sight of that the con-
scientious Foscarini makes as little account of Marino
Sanudo as if he had been but a mere chronicler of the lives
of certain doges, with a wealth of documentary evidence
indeed, but no refinement of style nor special importance as
a chronicler. It was not till the year 1805 tluit these
books were found, in the Royal Library at Vienna, got
there nobody knows how in some accident of the centuries.
They are now being printed in all their amplitude, as has
been already said, a mine of incalculable historical wealth.
During the whole time of their composition Sanudo was
a public official and magistrate, taking the most active part
in all the business of his time. And he was also a collector,
filling his library with everything he could find to illus-
trate his work, from the great inap2Janio?ido, which was one
of the chief wonders of his study, down to drawings of cos-
tumes, and of the animals and flowers of those subject
provinces of Venice which he had visited in his gay youth,
where he had found his first love, and which, in later
days, he had seen lost and won again. ** The illustrious
strangers who visited Venice in these days went away dis-
satisfied unless they had seen the Arsenal, the jewels of S.
Marco, and the library of Sanudo." On one occasion he
himself tells of a wandering prince who sent to ask if he
might see this collection, and above all its owner, but
Marino was out of humor or tired of illustrious visitors, and
refused to receive him. Some of these visitors, quoted by
the learned Professor Fulin, have left records of their visits,
and of how they came out of the modest house of the his-
362 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
torian stupefied with wonder and admiration. " Stupefied
certainly/' adds the professor, " was that gentleman of
Vicenza, Federico da Porto, who exclaims in his poem on
the subject, 'He who would see the sea, the earth, and the
vast world, must seek your house, oh learned Marino !'
" Sanudo had indeed collected a series, marvelous for his time, of
pictures (whether drawn, painted, or engraved we cannot now
ascertain), in which were represented not only the different forms of
the principal Europeon nations, but the ethnographical varieties of
the human race in the old world, and also in the new, then recently
discovered. Da Porto continues as follows:
" Then up the stairs you lead us, and we find
A spacious corridor before us spread,
As if it were another ocean full
Of rarest things ; the wall invisible
With curious pictures hid — no blank appears,
But various figures, men of every guise ;
A thousand unaccustomed scenes we see.
Here Spain, there Greece, and here the apparel fair
Of France ; nor is there any land left out.
The new world, with its scarce known tribes, is there.
Nor is there any place so far remote
That does not send some envoy to your walls.
Or can refuse to show its wonders there."
A great picture of Verona, where Marino had filled the
office of Camerlengo, and where the uncle who stood to
him in place of a father was captain, seems to have been a
special attraction, and is celebrated by many visitors in
very bad Latin. We are obliged to admit that the de-
scription of the collection sounds very much like that of a
popular museum, and does not at all resemble the high
art which we should expect from such a connoisseur now-
adays. But probably the things with which we should fill
our shelves and niches were the merest commonplaces to
Sanudo, to whom the different fashions of men, and their
dresses and their ways, and their dwellings (his own youth-
ful " Itinerario " is illustrated by sketches of towns and
houses and fortifications, in the style of the nursery),
would be infinitely more interesting than those art
products of his own time, which form our delight. His
THE MAKERS OF VENICE, 363
books, however, were the most dear of all; and the
glimpses we have of the old man seated among his ancient
tomes, so carefully catalogued and laid up iu these great
wooden armeri, no doubt rich with carving, and for one
of which a nineteenth century collector would give his
little finger, though they are not worth thinking of, mere
furniture to Marino — is most interesting and attractive.
With what pleasure he must have drawn forth his pen
when he came in from the council, having happily
delivered himself of a lungo e perfetta rengaf to put it all
down — how he held out against the payment of the magis-
trates, for example, and contradicted every modo novo: or
when sick and infirm himself, the quiet of the study was
broken by one after another visitor in toga or scarlet gown,
fresh from the excitements of the contest, recounting how,
at the fifteenth hour, has come a messenger with news
from the camp, or a galley all adorned with green
bearing the report of a victory! The old man with his
huge book spread out, his ink-horn always ready, his every
sense acute, his mind filled with parallel cases, with a
hundred comparisons, and that delightful conviction that
it was not only for the benefit of the carissima patria, but
for his own eternal fame and glory, that he continued
page by page and day by day — furnishes us with a picture
characteristically Venetian, inspired by the finest instincts
of his race. He was no meek recluse or humble scribe,
but a statesman fully capable of holding his own, and
with no small confidence in his own opinion; yet the
glory of Venice is his motive above all others, and the
building up of the fame of the city for whose benefit he
would die a thousand times, as he says, and for whose
honor he continues day after day and year after year his
endless and tardily acknowledged toils. Would it have
damped his zeal, we wonder, could he have forseen that
his unexampled work should drop into oblivion, after
historians such as the best informed of doges, Marco Fos-
carini, knowing next to nothing of him — till suddenly a
lucky and delighted student fell upon those great volumes
in the Austrian Library; and all at once, after three
364 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
centuries and more, old Venice sprang to light under the
hand of her old chronicler, and Marino Saiiudo with all
his pictures, his knickknacks, hisbrown rolls of manuscript
and dusty volumes round him, regained, as was his right,
the first place among Venetian historians — one of the most
notable figures of the mediaeval world.
Sanudo died in 1539, at the age of seventy-three, poor,
as would seem from his will, in which, though he has sev-
eral properties to bequeath, he has to commit the payment
of his faithful servants, especially a certain Anna of Padua,
who has nursed and cared for him for twenty years [^' who
is much my creditor, for I have not had the means to pay
her, though she has never failed in her service '''] to his
executors as the first thing to be done, primo et ante
omnium, after the sale of his effects. But he would seem
to have had anticipations of a satisfactory conclusion to his
affairs, since, he orders for himself a marble sepulcher, to
be erected in the church of S. Zaccaria, with the following
inscription:
** Ne tu hoc despice quod vides Sepulchrum
Seu sis advena, seu urbanus,
Ossa sunt liic sita
Marini Sanuti Leonard! filii
Senatoris Clarissimi,
Rerum Antiquarum Indagatoris
Historie Venetorum ex publico decreto
Scriptoris Solertissimi.
Hoc volui te Scire, nunc bene vade,
Vale."
Some time afterward, however, the old man, perhaps
losing heart, finding his books and his curiosities less
thought of than he had hoped, gives up the marble sarcoph-
agus so dear to his age, and bids them bury him where he
falls, either at S. Zaccaria with his fathers, or at S. Fran-
cisco della Vigna where his mother lies, he no longer cares
which: but he still clings to his epitaph, the eterna memoria
with which he had comforted himself through all his toils.
Alas! it has been with his bodily remains as for three cen-
turies with those of his mind and spirit. No one knows
To face page doi.
GATEWAY OF S. GREOORIO.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 365
where the historian lies. His house, with his stemma, the
arins of the Ca' Saiiudo, still stands in the parish of S.
Giacomo dell' Orio, behind the B'ondaco dei Turchi, an
ancient house, once divided into three for the use of the
different branches of an important family, now fallen out
of all knowledge of the race, and long left without even a
stone to commemorate Marino Sanudo's name. This neg-
lect has now been remedied, but not by Venice, by the lov-
ing care of Mr. Rawdon Brown, the first interpreter and
biographer of this long-forgotten name. The municipality
of Venice are fond of placing Lajnde on every point of
vantage, but the anxious exhortations of our countryman
did not succeed in inducing the then authorities to give
this tribute to their illustrious historian.
Since that period however his place in his beloved city
has been fully establislied, and it is pleasant to think that
it was an Englishman who was the first to claim everlast-
ing remembrance, the reward which he desired above all
others, for the name of Marino Sanudo, of all the histo-
rians of Venice the greatest, the most unwearied, and the
best.
366 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
CHAPTER III.
ALDUS AND THE ALDIN^ES.
1^ THE end of the fifteenth century, when all the arts
were coming to their climax, nothwithstanding the
echoes of war and contention that were never silent, and in
the midst of which the republic had often hard ado to hold
her own, Venice suddenly became the chief center of liter-
ary eifort in Italy, or we might say, at that moment, in the
world. Her comparative seclusion from actual personal
danger, defended as she was like England by something
much more like a ^'silver streak" than our stormy Channel,
had long made a city a haven of peace, such as Petrarch
found it, for men of letters ; and the freedom of speech, of
which that poet experienced both the good and evil, natur-
ally attracted many to whom literary communion and
controversy were the chief pleasures in life. It was not
however from any of her native litei^ati that the new im-
pulse came. A certain Theobaldo Manucci, or Mannutio,
familiarly addressed, as is still common in Italy, as Messer
or Ser Aldo, born at the little town of Bassiano near Rome,
and consequently calling himself Romano, had been for
some time connected with the family of the Pii, princes of
Carpi^ as tutor. The dates are confused, and the infor-
mation uncertain at this period of his career. One of his
earlier biographers, Manni, introduces Aide's former pupil
as a man able to enter into literary discussions and take a
part in the origination of great plans, whereas Renouard, the
accomplished author of the *^Annales de V Imprierie des
Aides,'' speaks of Alberto as a boy, precocious, as was not
unusual to the time, but still in extreme youth, when the
new turn was given to his preceptor's thoughts. The nat
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 367
ural conclusion from the facts would be, that having com-
pleted his educational work at Carpi, Aldo had gone to
Ferrara to continue his studies in Greek, and when driven
away by the siege of that city had taken refuge with Count
Giovanni Pico at Mirandola, and from thence, in company
with that young and brilliant scholar, had returned to his
former home and pupil— where there ensued much consul-
tation and many plans in the intervals of the learned talk
between these philosophers, as to what the poor man of
letters was now to do for his own living and the furtherance
of knowledge in Itcily. Probably the want of text-books,
the difficulty of obtaining books of any kind, the incorrect-
ness of those that could be procured, the need of grammars,
dictionaries, and all the tools of learning, which would be
doubly apparent if the young Alberto, heir of the house,
was then in the midst of his education, led the conversa-
tion of the elders to this subject. Count Pico was one of
the best scholars of his time, very precocious as a boy and in
liis maturity still holding learning to be most excellent ;
and Messer Aldo was well aware of all the practical disad-
vantages with which the acquisition of knowledge was sur-
rounded, having been himself badly trained in the rules of
an old-fashioned **Doctrinale," '*a stupid and obscure book
written in barbarous verse." Their talk at last would
seem to have culminated in a distinct plan. Aldo was no
enterprising tradesman or speculator bent on money-mak-
ing. But his educational work would seem to have been
brought to a temporary pause, and in the learned leisure of
the little principality, in the fine company of the princely
scholars who could both understand and help, some lurk-
ing desires and hopes no doubt sprang into being. To fill
the world with the best of books, free from the blemishes
of incorrect transcription, or the print which was scarcely
more trustworthy — what a fine occupation, better far than
the finest influence upon the mind of one pupil, however
illustrious ! The scheme would grow, and one detail after
another would be added in the conversation \>hich must
have become more and more interesting as this now excit-
ing project shaped itself. We can hardly imagine that the
368 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
noble house in which the scheme originated, and the bril-
liant visitor under whose auspices it was formed, did not
promise substantial aid in an undertaking which the
learned tutor had naturally no power of carrying out by
himself; and when all the other preliminaries were settled,
Venice was fixed upon as the fit place for the enterprise.
Pico was a Florentine, Aldo a Roman, but there seems to
have existed no doubt in their minds as to the best center
for this great scheme.
The date of Aldo^s settlement in Venice is uncertain,
like many other facts in this obscure beginning. His first
publication appeared in 1494, and it was in 1482 that he
left Ferrara to take shelter in the house of the Pii. It
would seem probable that he reached Venice soon after the
later date, since in his applications to the senate for the
exclusive use of certain forms of type he describes himself
as for many years an inliabitant of the city. Manni con-
cludes that he must have been there toward 1488, or
rather that his preparations for the establishment of his
Stamperia originated about that time. He did not how-
ever begin at once with this project, but established himself
in Venice as a reader or lecturer on the classical tongues,
*' reading and interpreting in public for the benefit of the
noble and studious youth of the city the most renowned
Greek and Latin writers, collating and correcting those
manuscripts which it was his intention to print." He
drew around him while engaged in this course of literature
all that was learned in Venice. Senators, students,
priests, whoever loved learning, were attracted by his
already well-known fame as a fine scholar, and by the
report of the still greater undertaking on which he was
bent when a favorable moment should arise. No doubt
Aldo had been furnished by his patrons with the best of
introductions, and friends and brethren flocked about him,
so many that they formed themselves into a distinct society
— the Neacademia of Aldo — a collection of eager scholars
all ready to help, all conscious of the great need, and what
we should call in modern parlance the wonderful opening
for a great and successful effort. Sabellico, the learned and
THE MAKERS OIB VENICE. 369
eloquent historian, with whose new work Venice was ring-
ing; Sanudo, our beloved chronicler, then beginning his
life-long work; Bembo, the future cardinal, already one of
the fashionable semi-priests of society, holding a canonicate;
the future historian who wrote no history, Andrea Nava-
gero, but he in his very earliest youth; another cardinal,
Leandro, then a barefooted friar: all crowded about the
new classical teacher. The enthusiam with which he was
received seems to have exceeded even the ordinary welcome
accorded in that age of literary freemusony to every man
who had any new light to throw upon the problems of
knowledge. And while he expounded and instructed, the
work of preparation for still more important labors went
on. It is evident that he made himself fully known, and
even became an object of general curiosity, one of the per-
sonages to be visited by all that were on the surface of Vene-
tian society — and that the whole of Venice was interested
and entertained by the idea of the new undertaking.
Foreign printers had already made Venice the scene of
their operations, the Englishman Jenson and the Teutons
from Spires having begun twenty or thirty years before to
print Venezia on the title-pages of their less ambitious
volumes. But Aldo was no mere printer, iior was his work
for profit alone. It was a labor of love, an enterprise of
the highest public importance, and as such commended it-
self to all who cared for education or the humanities, or
who had any desire to be considered as members or .disci-
ples of that highest and most cultured class of men of
letters, who were the pride and glory of the age.
The house of Aldus is still to be seen in the corner of
the Campo di San Agostino, not far from the beautiful
Scuola di S. Giovanni Evangelista, which every stranger
visits. It was a spot already remarkable in the history of
Venice, though the ruins of the house of that great cava-
liere, Bajamonte Tiepolo, must have disappeared before
Aldus brought his peaceful trade to this I'etired and quiet
place — far enough off from the centers of Venetian life to
be left in peace, one would have thought. But that this
was not the case, and that his house was already a great
370 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
center of common interest, is evident from one of the
dadicatory epistles to an early work addressed to Andrea
Navagero, in which Aldus complains with humorous seri-
ousness of the many interruptions from troublesome visit-
ors or correspondents to which he was subject. Letters
from learned men, he says, arrive in such multitudes that
were he to answer them all it would occupy him night and
day. Still more importunate were those who came to see
him, to inquire into his work:
" Some from friendship, some from interest, the greater part because
tliey have nothing to do — for then * Let us go,' they say, 'to Aldo's.'
They come in crowds and sit gaping —
" ' Non missura cutem, nisi plena cruoris Jiirudo.^
I do not speak of those who come to read to me either poems or prose,
generally rough and unpolished, for publication, for I defend myself
from these by giving no answer or else a very brief one, which I
hope nobody will take in ill part, since it is done, not from pride or
scorn, but because all my leisure is taken up in printing books of
established fame. As for those who come for no reason, we make
bold to admonish them in classical words in a sort of edict placed over
our door — ' Whoever you are Aldo requests you, if you want any-
thing, ask it in few words and depart, unless, like Hercules, you come
to lend the aid of your shoulders to the weary Atlas. Here will al-
ways be found in that case something for you to do, however many
you may be.' "
This affords us a whimsical picture of one of the com-
monest grievances of busy persons, especially in literature.
No doubt the idlers who said to each other '' Let us go to
Aldo's" considered themselves to be showing honor to
literature, as well as establishing their own right to con-
sideration, when they went all that long way from the
gayeties of the Piazza or the lively bottegas and animation
of the Eialto to the busy workshops in that retired and dis-
tant Campo, where it might be their fortune to rub shoul-
ders with young Bembo steeped in Greek, or get into the
way of Sanudo, or be told sharply to ask no questions by
Aldo himself: let us hope they were eventually frightened
off by the writing over the door. The suggestion however
that they should help in the work was no form of speech,
THE MAKERS OF VENICE, 371
for Aldo's companions anil friends not only surrounded him
with sympathy and intelligent encouragement, but dili-
gently worked witli him, giving him tlie benefit of their
varied studies and critical experience — collating manu-
scripts and revising proofs with a patience and continuous
labor of which the modern printer, even in face of the most
illegible "copy," could form no idea. For the manuscripts
from which they printed were in almost all instances incor-
rect and often imperfect, and to develop a pure text from
the careless or fragmentary transcripts which had perhaps
come mechanically through the hands of ignorant scribes —
taking from each what was best, and filling up the gaps,
was a work which required great caution and patience, as
well as intelligence aiul some critical power.
The first work published by Aldus, true to his original
purpose, was the Greek grammar of Constantine Lascaris,
conveyed to him, as he states in his preface, by Bembo and
another young man of family and culture, *Miow studying
at Padua." Bembo it is well known had spent several
years in Sicily with Lascaris studying Greek, so that it
would seem natural that he should be the means of commu-
nication between the author and publisher. This is the
first work with a date, according to the careful Renouard,
which came from the new press. A small volume of poetry,
but without date, the "Musaeus," competes with this book
for the honor of being the first published by Aldus; but it
would not seem very easy to settle the question, and the
reader will not expect any bibliographical details in this
place. The work went on slowly, the first twoyears produc-
ing oidy five books, one of which was '^Aristotle " — the first
edition ever attempted in the original Greek. In this great
undertaking Aldus had the assistance of two editors, Alex-
ander Bondino and Scipione Fortiguerra, scholars well
known in their time, one calling himself Agathemeron, the
other Carteromaco, according to their fantastic fashion, and
both now entirely unknown by either appellation. It was
dedicated to Alberto Pio of Carpi, the young prince with
whom and whose training the new enterprise was so much
connected. It is not to be supposed that publishing of this
372 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
elaborate kind, so slow, so elaborately revised, so difficult to
produce, could have paid even its own expenses, at least at
the beginning. It is true that the printer had a monoply
of the Greek, which he was tlie first to introduce to the
world. No competing editions pressed his ^'Aristotle;'' he
had the limited yet tolerably extensive market — for this new
and splendid work would be emphatically, in the climax of
Eenaissance enthusiasm and ambition, one which no prince
who respected himself, no cardinals given to letters, or noble
dilettante could be content without — in his own hands. And
the poor scholars who worked in his studio, some of them
lodging under his roof, with instancaVdi confronti de' codici
migliori, collation of innumerable manuscripts according to
the careful ^^ judgment of the best men in the city, accom-
plished not only in both the classical languages but in the
soundest erudition '^ — would probably have but small pay
for their laborious toils. But under the most favorable
circumstances the aid of his wealthy patrons, was no doubt
indispensable to Aldo in the beginning of his career.
Nor was the costly work of editing his only expense.
From the time when the scholar took up the new trade of
printer, it is evident that a new ambition rose within him :
not only the best text, but the best type occupied his mind.
The ^^Lacaris," Eenouard tells us, was printed in '^caradere
Latin un peu bizarre " — of which scarcely any further use
was made. For some time indeed each successive volume
would seem to have been printed in another and another
form of type, successive essays to find the best, which is
another proof of the anxiety of Aldus that his work should
be perfect. Not content with the ordinary Roman char-
acter with which Jenson in Venice and the other printers
had already found relief from the ponderous dignity of the
Black Letter, he set himself to invent a new type. The
tradition is that the elegant handwriting of Petrarch, so
fine and clear, was the model chosen for this invention
which was received with enthusiasm at the moment. It
was founded by Francesco of Bologna, and called at first
Aldino, after its inventor, and then Italic. No one who
knows or possesses books in this graceful and beautiful
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 373
type will doubt that it is the prettiest of all print; but
after a little study of these beautiful pages, without the
break of relief or a single paragraph, all flowing on line
after line, the reader will probably succumb half blinded
and wholly confused, and return with pleasure to the hon-
est every-day letters, round and simple, of the Roman type.
A copy of the "Cortigiano," one of the best known of old
Italian books, lies before us at this moment, with the deli-
cate Aldine mark, the anchor and the dolphin, on the title-
page. Nothing could be more appropriate to the long un-
ending dialogue and delightful artificial flow of superfine
sentiment and courtly talk, than the charming minute and
graceful run of the letters, corsivo, like a piece of the most
beautiful penmanship. No reader could possibly wish to
read the ^* Cortigiano" straight through at one or a dozen
readings: but were the subject one of livelinr interest, or
its appeal to the heart or intellect a deeper one the head
would soon ache and the eyes swim over those delightful
pages. In the enthusiasm of invention Aldus himself de-
scribes his new type as*' of the greatest beauty, such as
was never done before," and appeals to the signoria of
Venice to secure to him for ten years the sole right to use
it — kindly indicating to the authorities at the same time
the penalty which he would like to see attached to any
breach of the privilege.
" I supplicate that for ten years no other should be allowed to print
incursive letters of any sort in the dominion of your serenity, nor to
sell books printed in other countries in any part of the said dominion,
under pain to whoever breaks this law of forfeiting the books and
paying a fine of two hundred ducats for each offense, which fine shall
be divided into three parts, one for the officer who shall convict,
another for the Pietd, the third for the informer: and that the accu-
sation be made before any officer of this most exceiient city before
whom the informer may appear."
Aldus secured his privilege from a committee (if we may
use so modern a word) of counselors, among whom is
found the name of a Sanudo, cousin of our Marino, who
himself according to a note in his diary, seefus to have pre-
pared the necessary decree. But the essential over delicacy
374 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
of the typo was its destruction. It continued in use for a
number of years, during which many books were printed
in it: but after that period dropped into the occasional
usage for emphasis or distinction which we will still retain
— though our modern Italics, no doubt the natural suc-
cessors and descendants of the invention of Alius, are
much more commonplace and not nearly so beautiful.
It is pretty to know, however, that the first Italian book
published in this romantic and charming form was the
poems of Petrarch, Le Cose Volgari di Messei- Francesco
P^trarchay edited with groat care by Bembo, " who," writes
a gentleman of Pavia to the illustrious lady, Isabella,
duchess of Mantua, ^' has printed the Petrarch from a
copy of the verses written in Petrarch^s own hand, which
I have held in mine, and which belongs to a Paduan. It
is esteemed so much that it has been followed letter by
letter in the printing with the greatest diligence." The
book is described on the title-page as ^' taken from the
very handwriting of the poet," and not only the year, but
the month of the date, July, 1501, carefully given.
Renouard tells a charming story of a copy he had seen, in-
scribed from one fond possessor to another, through three
or four inheritances, avec une sorte d'idolatrie, and which
contained at tl>3 end a sonnet in the handwriting of Pietro
Bembo;
** Se come qui la fronte onesta e grave
» Del sacro almo Poeta
Che d'un bel Lauro colse eterna palma
Cosi vedessi ancor lo spirito e I'alma:
Stella si cbiara e lieta,
Direst! , certoil ciel tutto non ave.
** Tu clie vieni a mirar I'onesta e grave
Sembianza del divin nostro Poeta,
Pensa, s'in questa il tuo desio s'acqueta,
Quanto fu il veder lui dolce e soave."
Lorenzo of Pavia (the same man apparently who visited
Carpaccio on behalf of Gronzaga, the husband of Isabella,
and saw that painter's picture of Jerusalem) secured a copy
of this true amateur's book, printed with such love and
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 375
care "on good paper, very clear and white and equal, not
thick in one part and thin in another, as are so many of
those you have in Mantua," as a '* rare thing, which, like
your ladyship, has no paragon" for Duchess Isabella.
After this fine beginning, however, there followed darker
days. In 1506 Aldus had to leave Venice to look after
properties lost or in danger, a troubled enterprise which he
sweetened as he could by his usual search after manuscripts
and classical information. In the month of July of that
year an accident happened to him which affords us an in-
teresting glimpse of the scholar-publisher. lie was riding
along with his servant, who was a Mantuan, but under sen-
tence of banishment from that princedom, returning to
Asola, where his family were, from a prolonged journey
through Lombardy. The pair rode along quietly enough,
though there were fightings going on round about — in
short stages, ever ready to turn aside to convent or castle
wliere codexes might be found, or where there was some
learned chaplain or studious friar who had opinions on the
subject of Aristotle or Virgil to be consulted — when sud-
denly, as they crossed the Mantuan frontier, the guards who
had been set to watch for certain suspected persons started
forth to seize the passengers. The servant, terrified, fled,
tliinking that he was the object of their suspicions, and his
master was seized and made prisoner, his precious papers
taken from him, and himself shut up in the house of tlie
oflQcial who had arrested him. Aldus immediately wrote
to the prince of Mantua, himself an amateur of the arts,
stating his hard case. His servant's foolish flight had
aroused all manner of suspicions, and perhaps the old manu-
scripts which formed his baggage strengthened the doubts
with which he was regarded. He writes thus with modest
dignity, explaining his position:
" I am Aldo Manutio Romano, priviliged to call myself of the
family of the Pii by my patron Alberto of Carpi, who is the son-in-
law of your illustrious highness — and am and have always been your
humble servant, as is my lord whom I naturally follow. At present
in consequence of my undertaking as a printer of books, I dwell in
Venice. Desiring to print the works of Virgil, which hitherto have
370 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
been very imperfectly rendered, correctly and according to the best
texts, I have sought through all Italy and beyond : and in person I
have gone over almost all Lombardy to look for any manuscripts of
these works that may be found. On my way back to Venice, passing
by your highness' villa at Casa Romana, and having with me Feder-
ico de Ceresara, my servant, who is a native of and banished from
these parts, he took fright when your highness' guards seized his
bridle, and, striking his horse with his feet fled outside the bounda-
ries of your highness' territory. Having got to the other side of the
frontier he sent back his horse : for which cause 1 am detained here
with my horses and goods, both those which my servant carried and
those which I myself had. And this is the third day that I am de-
tained here, to the great injury of my business, and I entreat your
highness to be pleased to command Messer Joanpetro Moraro, in
whose house I am, to permit me to proceed upon my journey, and to
restore to me my horses and my goods. As 1 am illustrating the
works of Virgil, who was a Mantuan, it appears to me that I do not
deserve evil treatment in Mantua but rather to be protected."
Two days after Aldus was compelled to write again, hav-
ing received no answer ; but on the 25th of July, when his
detention had lasted a week, he was liberated with Gonzaga^s
apologies and excuses. He did not like the incident, com-
plaining bitterly of the shame of being incarcerated ;but it
forms an interesting illustration in history to see him,
with all his precious papers in his saddle-bags, and his
consciousness of a name as well known as their master's,
answering the interrogatories of the guards, appealing to the
prince, who could not mistake, though these ignorant men-
at-arms might do so, who Aldo Manutio was.
Among the various assistants whom Aldus employed
during these first busy years, and whom his biographer,
Manni, calls correttori delta Stamperia, figured, among
others, a man more illustrious than any yet mentioned —
Erasmus of Rotterdam, uomo d'ampia e spaziosa fama.
It is said that Erasmus wrote from Bologna to propose for
publication his collection of Adages, a proposal which was
received eagerly by Aldus ; but when the philosopher came
to Venice, he shared at first the fate of those unfortunates
who were warned by the placard over the door of the Stam-
peria to state their business quickly and be gone. When
Aldus knew, however, who his visitor was, he hurried from
To face page 376.
mSAR SAN BIAOIO.
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 377
liis workshop and his proofs to receive witli honor a guest
so welcome. The Dutcliniaii would seem to have entered
his house at once as one of his recognized assistants. The
famous Scaliger, in a philippic directed against Erasmus,
declares that when he found refuge there, he ate for three
and drank for many without doing the work of one ; but
such amenities are not unknown among scholars any more
than among the ignorant. Perhaps the heavier Teuton
always seems to exceed in these respects amid the spare
living and abstemious sobriety of Italians. Erasmus him-
self allows that after the publication of his '' Proverbs" he
had worked witli Aldus on tlie comedies of " Terence and
Plautus" and the tragedies of ** Seneca" — not the loftiest
perhaps of classical works — ^' in which," he says, ^^I think
that I have happily restored some passages with the sup-
port of ancient manuscripts. We left them with Aldus,"
he adds, ** leaving to his judgment the question of pub-
lication." This work never seems to have been published
by the elder Aldus, so that perhaps Erasmus' indignant
denial afterward of ever having done any work of correc-
tion, except upon his own book, may after all be reconcilable
with the above statements.
The busy house on its quiet Campo, with all the bustle
of Venice distant — not even the measured beat of the oars
on the canal, most familiar of sounds, to disturb the re-
tired and tranquil square: but all the hum of incessant
work within, the scholars withdrawn in silent chambers
out of the way of the printing presses, poring over their
manuscripts, straining after a better reading, a corrected
phrase, with proofs sent from one to another, and the
master most busy of all, giving his attention now to a new
form, now to an old manuscript — how strange a contrast
it offers to the gay and animated life, the intrigues, the
struggles, the emulations, outside! No doubt the Stam-
peria had its conflict too. Ser Marino, stepping round in
his senator's robes from the Ca' Sanudo not far off, would
not meet perhaps without a gibe the youngster Navagero,
who had been named to the post of historian over his
head; nor could the poor Italian scholars refrain from re-
378 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
marks upon the big appetite and slow movements of that
Dutch Erasmus, whose reputation has proved so much
more stable than their own. But these jealousies are
small in comparison with the struggles of the council
chamber, the secret tribunals, the betrayals, the feuds and
frays that went on everywhere around them. When the
Neacademia met upon its appointed days, and tlie learned
heads were laid together, and the talk was all of Virgil and
Ovid, of Plato and Aristotle, how full of an inspiring
sense of virtue, and work that was for the world, was that
grave assembly! When Aldus wrote his preface to the
grammar of Lascaris, which was his first publication, he
declares himself to have determined to devote his life to the
good of mankind, for which great end, though he might
live a life much more congenial to him in retirement, he
had chosen a laborious career. They were all inspired
with the same spirit, and toiled over obscure readings and
much corrected proofs with the' zeal of missionaries, bring-
ing new life and light to the dark place. ^^ Everything
is good in these books," says the French critic Renouard.
*' Not only for their literary merit, most of them being the
greatest of human works, but also in the point of view of
typographical excellence, they are unsurpassed.^' Neither
rival nor imitator has reached the same height — even his
sons and successors, though with the aid of continually
improving processes, never attained the excellence of Aldo
il VeccMo, the scholar-printer, the first to devote himself
to the production of the best books in the best ws\j, not as
a mercantile speculation, but with the devout intention of
serving the world's best interests, as well as following his
own cherished tastes, and wording out the chosen plan
of his life.
It is one remarkable sign of the universal depression
and misery that Aldus and his studio and all his precious
manuscripts disappeared during the troubled years of the
great Continental war in which all the world was against
Venice. In 1510, 1511, and 1512, scarcely any book pro-
ceeded from his press. The painters went on with their
work and notwithstanding the misery and fear in the city the
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 379
statesmen, councilors, all public officials, were more active
and occupied tiuvn ever. Hud Venice possessed a great
poet, he would not in all probability have been put to
silence even by the terrible and unaccustomed distant roar
upon the mainland, of the guns.^ But the close and
minute labors of the literary corrector and critic were not
compatible with these horrible disturbances. Even in the
height of the Renaissance men were indifferent to fine
Latin and fine Greek and tlie most lovely varieties of type,
in the vehemence of a national struggle for life.
After the war Aldus returned to his work with renewed
fervor.
" It is difficult," says Renouard, "to form an idea of the passion
with which he devoted himself to the reproduction of the great works
of ancient literature. If he heard of the existence anywhere of a
manuscript unpublished, or which could throw a light upon an exist-
ing text, he never rested till he had it in his possession. He did not
shrink from long journeys, great expenditure, applications of all
kinds ; and he had also the satisfaction to see that on all sides peo-
ple bestirred themselves to help him, communicating to him, some
freely, some for money, an innumerable amount of precious manu-
scripts for the advantage of his work. Some were even sent to him
from very distant countries, from Poland and Hungary, without any
solicitation on his part."
It is not in this way however that the publisher, that
much-questioned and severely ciiticized middleman, makes
a fortune. And Aldus died poor. His privileges did not
stand him in much stead, copyright, especially when not
in books but in new forms of type, being non-existent in
his day. In France and Germany, and still nearer home,
his beautiful Italic was robbed from him, copied on all
sides, notwithstanding the protection granted by the pope
and other princes as well as by the Venetian signoria.
His fine editions were printed from, and made the founda-
tion of foreign issues wliicli replaced his own. How far his
princely patrons stood by him to repair his losses there
seems no infor-mation. His father-in-law, Andrea of Asola,
a printer who was not so fine a scholar, but perhaps more
able to cope with the world, did come to his aid, and his son
Paolo Manutio, and his grandson Aldo il Giovane, as he is
380 THE MAKERS OF VENICE.
called, suceeeded him in turn ; the first with kindred am-
bition and aim at excellence, the latter perhaps with aims
not quite so high. We cannot further follow the fortunes
of the family, nor of the highly cultured society of which
their workshops formed the center. Let us leave Aldo
with all his aids about him, the senators, the school-masters,
the poor scholars, the learned men who were to live to be
cardinals, and those who were to die as poor as they were
famous : and his learned Greek Musurus, and his poor
student from Eotterdam, a better scholar perhaps than any
of them — and all his idle visitors coming to gape and
admire, while our Sanudo swept round the corner from S.
Giacomo deir Orio, with his vigorous step and his toga
over his shoulders, and the young men who were of the
younger faction came in, a little contemptuous of their
elders and strong in their own learning, to the meeting of
the Aldine academy and the consultation on new readings.
The Stamperia was as distinct a center of life as the Piazza,
though not so apparent before the eyes of men.
Literature ran into a hundred more or less artificial
channels, in the Venice of the later centuries : it produced
countless works upon the antiquities of the city, often
more valuable than interesting : it brightened into the
laughter, the quips and quirks of Goldoni ; it produced
charming verses, pastorals, descriptions of pageants and
feasts : but never has risen into any of the splendor which
is the dower of the neighbor republic, the proud and grave
Tuscan city. The finest of literary memories for Venice is
that of the Aldine Stamperia, where for once there was a
printer-publisher who toiled and spent his life to fill the
world witli beautiful books, and hold open to all men the
gates of learning — ^'all for love and nothing for reward.''^
I had hoped to have introduced at the last in this little
gallery of Venetians a personage more grave and great, a
figure unique in the midst of this ever-animated, strong,
stormy, and restless race. He should have stood in his
monastic robe, the Theologian of Venice : he too, like
every other of her sons, for his city against every power,
even those of church and pope. But Fra Paolo is too
THE MAKERS OF VENICE. 381
great to come in at the end without due space and per-
spective about liiin. The priest who forestalled witli
his quick-flashing genius half the discoveries of his
time, who guessed what it meant when the golden
lamp with its red glimmer swayed as it hung in the
splendid gloom of 8an Marco, before ever Galileo
had put that heresy forth ; who divined how the blood
made its way through our veins before Harvey ; who
could plan a palace and sway a senate, as well as defy a
pope ; who was adored by his order and worshiped by his
city, yet almost murdered at his own door — is perhaps of
all Venetians the one most worthy of study and elucida-
tion. It is only natural, according to the common course
of human events, that he should therefore be left out.
The convent of Fra Paolo lies in ruins, his grave, just over
the threshold of that funereal place, is shown with a
grudge by the friar at San Michele, who probably knows
little of him save that he was in opposition to the Holy See.
To us at the present moment, as to so many in this city,
Fra Paolo must continue to be only a name.
The critics of recent days, have had much to say as to
the deterioration of Venice in her new activity, and the
introduction of alien modernisms in the shape of steam-
boats and other new industrial agents into her canals and
lagoons. But in this adoption of every new development
of power Venice is only proving herself the most faithful
representative of the vigorous republic of old. Whatever
prejudice or even angry love may say, we cannot cloubt that
the Michiels, the Dandolas, the Foscari, the great rulers
who formed Venice, had steamboats existed in their day,
serving their purpose better than their barges and peati,
would have adopted them without hesitation, without a
thought of what any critic might say. The wonderful new
impulse which has made Italy a great power has justly put
strength and life before those old traditions of beauty which
made her not only the '' woman-country" of Europe, but a
sort of odalisque trading upon her charms rather than the
382 THK MAKERS OF VENICE.
Tiuj'sing mother of a noble and independent nation. That
in her recoil from that somewhat degrading position she
may here and there have proved too regardless of the claims
of antiquity, we need not attempt to deny: the new
spring of life in her is too genuine and great to keep her
entirely free from this evident danger. But it is strange
that any one who loves Italy and sincerely rejoices in her
amazing resurrection should fail to recognize how venial is
this fault.
And we are glad to think that the present Venetians
have in no respect failed from the love entertained by their
forefathers for their beautiful city. The young poet of
the lagoons, whose little sonnet I have placed on the title-
page of this book, blesses in his enthusiasm not only his
Venice and her beautiful things, but in a fervor at which
we smile yet understand, the sirocco which catches her
breath, and the hoarseness which comes of her acquaintance
with the seas. But he and his fellow-townsmen have hap-
pily learned the lesson which the great Dandolo could not
learn, nor Petrarch teach, that Venice, glorious in her
strength and beauty, is but a portion of a more glorious
ideal still — of Italy for the first time consolidated, a gre>it
power in Europe and in the world.
!IHE END,
14 DAY USE
RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED
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Renewed books are subjea to immediate recall.
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