Pisani's lieutenant was Carlo Zeno, who came of a family noted for its bravery. He was ten years younger than Pisani, and had passed his life in adventures worthy of a knight of fame; indeed, he had been called "Zeno the Unconquered." He also had scoured the sea during the summer of 1378, in search of the enemies of the Republic, and had performed feats of daring and skill. Like Pisani, he often acted on an impulse which savored of recklessness, while it was but bravery. Zeno was also a scholar, and had been eminent in his college at Padua; but his besetting sin of gambling obliged him to fly, and his after life had been one long romance, until he entered the service of Venice in 1377.
Pisani's forebodings for the winter at Cyprus were more than realized; and in the spring of 1379, out of nineteen galleys six only were fit for service, and scarcely men enough to man these were still alive. But his personal friends in Venice built and equipped twelve other ships, so that his fleet numbered eighteen sail. His enemies were busy at Venice; but in spite of them and in spite of his absence, he was confirmed in his office, and Carlo Zeno and Michele Steno were made his lieutenants.
During the spring Pisani diligently prosecuted his search for the Genoese fleet without success; but on the 7th of May, 1379, when he was returning from Brindisi with a large convoy of grain, Doria, with twenty-five sail, including two brigantines, suddenly presented himself in the roads of Pola. Pisani had many good reasons for not wishing to give battle to the Genoese at this time: his ships were fewer than Doria's; there was much sickness among his men; Zeno was absent on another expedition,and he thought it wiser to act on the defensive only. But the council of civilians who were with him were unanimous in favor of an engagement, and even hinted at cowardice in Pisani, whose rage at this injustice was almost uncontrollable, and it was with great difficulty that he so far governed himself as not to attack his accusers.
He bade his captains prepare for battle, and soon all was in readiness. Pisani, in full armor, standing on the stern deck addressed his men: "Remember, my brethren, that those who now face you are the same whom you have vanquished with so much glory on the Roman shore. Let not the name of Luciano Doria terrify you; it is not the names of commanders that will decide the conflict, but Venetian hearts and Venetian hands!" He then cried out, "He that loves Saint Mark, let him follow me!" and this battle-cry was echoed from ship to ship.
At first the day was propitious to the Venetians, who fought with even more than their usual intrepidity, and victory seemed to be theirs, when the Genoese vessels began a retreat and Pisani followed in pursuit. After several miles had thus been made, and the Venetian ships were separated from each other, by a skilful manoeuvre Doria turned about, and renewing the combat with great vigor and ferocity, gained a complete victory.
From seven to eight hundred Venetians perished; twenty-four hundred were made prisoners, and but six galleys remained afloat. Near the end of the conflict Doria had raised his visor, exclaiming, "The foe are already vanquished; the battle is all but ours," when Donato Zeno plunged his lance into the throat of the victorious admiral, killing him instantly.
Venice was filled with consternation and surprise when this dreadful news was known. Her only fleet was destroyed; the enemy was approaching the lagoons, andCarlo Zeno was far away. A terrible cry was raised against Pisani; his enemies could now make him pay for his popularity and greatness and for some of his outbursts of temper from which they had suffered, and they demanded the extreme penally. He was brought to Venice in fetters, and was not permitted to speak a word in self-defence. In July it was moved in the Senate that he be beheaded between the Columns; but with a shudder, this motion was denied, and he was sentenced to prison for six months and to exclusion from all offices for five years.
Molo of San Marco; Columns of Execution.Molo of San Marco; Columns of Execution.
In August the Genoese fleet appeared before Venice, under the command of Pietro Doria. Happily, some preparations had been made, and the ports of Lido and Malamocco were blocked with sunken vessels, chains, and palisades, but that of Brondolo was still open, and there the enemy entered. Genoa was now allied with Hungary, Naples, Padua, Aquileia, Austria, and Ancona against Venice. Twenty-four thousand men were landed, and siege laid to the citadel of Chioggia. The Venetians who held the place under Pietro Emo were not more than thirty-five hundred; for six days these brave men held out against such fearful odds, and even then were defeated by accident. Hazlitt gives a picturesque description of the event:—
"On the 16th an alarm was suddenly spread among the troops of the Podestà that the bridge behind them was in flames. It was a fireship, of which the combustion in the canal of Santa Caterina had diffused the erroneous impression. The Genoese caught and echoed the cry, and renewed their flagging exertions with fresh ardor. They are mowed down by the guns as they advance; the carnage is terrific. Still, like demons in whose breast the thirst for vengeance and the lust of spoil has extinguished the fear of death, they continue to come up. The Venetians begin to lose ground and to fall back upon the bridge.They recede a little and a little more. It is in vain that Emo and fifty chosen men-at-arms dispute the front with desperate tenacity and transcendent heroism, foot to foot and hand to hand. The position is slowly forced. The allies are upon the bridge. The Venetians quicken their retrograde pace. In their haste they omit to destroy the communication; and they enter the gates pell-mell with their pursuers. Thus Chioggia fell."
The allies and Venetians had each lost many men, and nearly four thousand Venetians were prisoners. The town was pillaged, but the women were protected from harm. Some of the Venetians paid enormous ransoms,—Emo three thousand ducats; and others probably as much, so that the gain to the allies was large.
No words can portray the effect of the news of the fall of Chioggia at Venice. The bell of the Campanile was tolled, and at once the armed citizens filled the Piazza. The sobs and moans of women were heard; elsewhere they were seen wringing their hands and tearing their hair in mute despair. Some men, too, yielded to fear; while others in their avarice hid their treasures. But the majority were true Venetians, and declared that "the State cannot be lost while those remain who can man a galley and handle a pike;" and the aged Doge, the Council, and Senate refused to allow any reason for despair. There was a scarcity of food, and the Republic was much straitened in its resources; but Venetian fidelity would endure everything before it would submit to defeat.
Nothing had been known of Carlo Zeno since his separation from Pisani; his arrival would turn the scale, and he might come any day, since an envoy had been sent to recall him, and before taking any further warlike measures it was determined to try negotiation. But Doria, who almost felt that at Chioggia he had conquered Venice, replied: "By God's faith, my Lords of Venice, ye shall have no peace from the Lord of Padua or from ourCommune of Genoa until I have put a bit into the mouths of the horses of your Evangelist Saint Mark. When they have been bridled, you shall then, in sooth, have a good peace; and this is our purpose, and that of our Commune." Some Genoese prisoners had been sent with the embassy, and their unconditional surrender offered as a bait to the allies; but Doria scornfully sent them back, saying that in a few days he would come to release them and the rest of his countrymen.
Then all Venice was roused; the bell which summoned the popular assembly was rung, and the people were informed of their present peril, and invited to aid the government with wisdom and advice. There was, however, but one opinion; all desired to arm and go forth with such galleys as were at the Arsenal,—they thought it better to perish in defence of Venice than to perish in her palaces and squares from want. A terrible crisis followed: all salaries were suspended; no business was done; and by a new loan, to which the citizens liberally subscribed, the finances were bettered. The city was fortified by earthworks from Lido to Santo Spirito, and towers were erected on each side the pass of San Niccolo.
A new captain-general was now to be elected, and the favorite of the government, Taddeo Giustiniani, was nominated; but the people with one accord refused to serve under any man save Vettore Pisani. After a day's debate, late in the evening some Senators were deputed to inform Pisani that the Doge and Senate were awaiting him. Naturally the hero was much moved; and he replied that he preferred to have the night for reflection, and to wait on the Seigniory the next morning.
Accordingly, at daybreak, the delegates, followed by the people, came to the gates of the prison; and when he appeared with his usual cheerful and good-humored aspect, he was lifted by some of his old sailors and borneon their shoulders to the palace, amid cries of "Viva il Nostro Vettore! Viva Vettore Pisani!" but he chidingly cried, "Viva San Marco!" The Doge and senators met him on the staircase and graciously welcomed him. Mass was celebrated. Pisani was some time in conclave with the College, the people constantly shouting his name outside; and when he emerged he was borne, as he had come, to his own house in San Fantino, where he had not been for fifteen months.
As he was passing the Campanile, his old pilot, Corbaro, drew near to him and shouted out, "Now is the time,Compadre, for revenging yourself by seizing the dictatorship of this city. Behold, all are at your service; all are willing at this very instant to proclaim you prince, if you choose!" Pisani boiled with rage, and dealing Corbaro a heavy blow on the cheek, burst into indignant speech, and at last exclaimed: "Let none who wish me well say Viva Pisani! but, Viva San Marco!" and the populace then shouted, "Viva San Marco e Vettore Pisani! Viva il Pisani, ch'e nostro Padre!" and the throng was so dense from the Piazza to San Fantino that not another man could have found room to stand.
But the people soon learned that Pisani had merely been given the command of the Lido, while Giustiniani was at the head of the navy. Then a great tumult arose; and although the government alleged that Pisani was needed at the Lido, the people to the number of fifty thousand refused to embark on the galleys until Vettore Pisani was made captain-general of all the forces of the Republic by sea and land. The matter was then referred to the Ten, who were awed into compliance; and the commission was granted as desired, and this but four days after the fall of Chioggia, so hastily had all been done.
Meantime the allies had progressed less rapidly, owing to divisions in their counsels; but they had pushedforward to Malamocco, and there erected a battery within three miles of the capital. Many stray shots reached Santo Spirito.
Pisani had much to do to make efficient sailors and soldiers of raw recruits, to provide for the safety of the city, to equip between twenty and thirty skeletons of galleys which were at the Arsenal and were ready for sea in three days, and to attend to the lists of the volunteers. The whole city was enthusiastically patriotic. "All classes hastened to enroll themselves. Painters quitted their studios to be initiated in the rudiments of naval discipline on the Giudecca; cutlers and apothecaries closed their workshops, and devoted themselves to drilling and exercise. Artisans brought their savings; women plucked the jewels from their dresses, and begged the Seigniory to dispose of them as they would."
Pisani found the wooden towers which Giustiniani had erected at Porto Lido to be insufficient, and demolished them in order to build others of stone. Giustiniani, full of rage, endeavored to persuade the friends of Pisani not to approve of this; and he, seeing the hesitation, seized a trowel, crying, "He that loves Saint Mark, let him follow me!" and laid the first stone with his own hands. The men returned to their duty, and the castles of San Andrea and San Niccolo were built in four days! Many other preparations were made; and when on August 24 the Genoese attempted an attack at two different points, they were repulsed in such a manner as to convince them of the futility of their efforts, and the siege of Venice was raised. After a few weeks Doria destroyed the works he had raised at Malamocco and retired to Chioggia, there to await the fall of Venice by starvation.
The situation in Venice was so desperate that some of the councillors even made a motion for emigration to Candia or Negropont; but this wild notion was met withdeclarations that death among the ruins of Venice would be preferable to life elsewhere. Food was so scarce and dear that a large proportion of the people were famishing; even the wealthy families often ate their last loaf not knowing where to get another, and they were also as charitable as it was in their power to be to their poorer countrymen. Thus the autumn passed and winter had come, and yet Carlo Zeno had not returned. He was the only hope for Venice and her people. A letter found on a captured vessel gave information of splendid successes which he had achieved and rich booty that he had taken; his name inspired terror from the Golden Horn to the Riviera, and he was now probably off Canea, whither a messenger was sent to command his immediate return.
Just at this point Barbarigo captured three of the Genoese ships and took one hundred and fifty prisoners, and Pisani advised that this good fortune should be followed up by an endeavor to recover Chioggia. He recognized the daring and difficulty of the undertaking; but not to make this effort meant starvation, and they might reasonably count on the aid of Zeno very soon. This advice was acted upon, and a decree was published that of those families of plebeians who should most liberally meet this emergency by the offer of soldiers and money, thirty should be summoned to the Great Council; that to those not thus called five thousand ducats should be annually distributed, and continued to their heirs forever; that all foreign merchants who showed zeal for the cause should be made citizens, and all Venetians who eluded the burdens and hardships of the time should forfeit all civil rights. This measure produced immediate results. Men and money were freely offered; and the Doge Contarini, seventy-three years old, but hale and hearty still, wished to assume command, with Pisani as his admiral and vice-captain-general.
Pisani had learned, by one means and another, that Doria had thirty thousand men, fifty galleys, seven hundred or more light craft, and full supplies of every sort. The odds against the Venetians were overwhelming, but they delayed not, and December 21 was fixed for the beginning of the attack. Thirty-four galleys, sixty barks, and four hundred boats of all sorts of build and dimensions made up the Venetian fleet. Orders were issued that every man should be at his post in the ships, at noon, under pain of death. The whole force was divided into three parts,—the first under command of Pisani; the centre under the Doge, assisted by Cavalli; and the last under Cornaro, calledCollo stortofrom his crooked neck. At the hour for vespers the Doge, Pisani, and the leaders attended a Mass in San Marco, and it was eight o'clock before Contarini mounted his barge and unfurled the same great banner which had floated above the victory over Barbarossa. All had been done rapidly and without noise.
It was a mild winter evening; the stars were bright and the sea calm, and everything seemed propitious to the undertaking. Soon after passing the Lido a fog came on, but speedily disappeared; and not far from ten o'clock the fleet was off the Pass of Chioggia, at the southern point of Pelestrina. Pisani had planned to blockade the Genoese instead of attacking them; and in the course of three days the Strait of Chioggia was choked and dammed on the shores of Pelestrina and Brondolo.
But this had been done at the cost of great hardships and loss of life. Even in this winter-time the men had worked in the water up to their waists, all the while in danger of drowning as well as of being shot by the enemy. They began to murmur; they declared that this was more than flesh and blood could bear, and they demanded leave to return to Venice. Pisani had shared all their perils,but he knew that great firmness was required to put down this discontent, and he asked the Doge, in a tone which made his request a command, to swear on his sword that he would not return to Venice unless Chioggia was taken. Contarini took this oath without hesitation. This scene occurred on Christmas eve.
The Venetian engineers, now that the blockade was complete even to the canal of Lombardy, began the erection of a fort at Fassone, and mounted it with cannon of the largest caliber; one, called the "Trevisan," could throw stones weighing one hundred and ninety-five pounds, and the "Victory" was almost as powerful. Neither of these could be fired more than once in twenty-four hours! By the time that this work was accomplished, December 29, the condition of the Venetians was deplorable. They were on half rations, and every day in collision with the enemy, while the cold was piercing. The officers, oarsmen, and crossbowmen now declared that they would brave all consequences and return to Venice. Even Pisani was shaken for a little; but he summoned all his heroism and fortitude, and besought his men to hold out until Zeno could reach them. He prevailed, but at the cost of a pledge that if Zeno had not arrived on New Year's day, he would raise the blockade and return home.
Upon so slender a thread was Pisani forced to hang the existence of the Republic. Forty-eight hours might decide that the civilization of the world was to be sunk in darkness; that art, science, and letters were to be lost in a deluge of bloodshed. For if Venice were conquered, by whom would she be ruled? Such contentions must ensue as would involve all Europe, and result in consequences too disastrous to be imagined. The suspense of the last two days of the year was past any telling, and no change had come; but the first glimmer of the light of the New Year revealed fifteen sail in the offing. Can we understandthe anxiety of the Doge and his leaders as they asked the question, "Are these our ships under Zeno, or are they new forces for our enemies?" Light boats were despatched to learn the truth, and no imagination can apprehend the delirious joy when it was found that the Lion of St. Mark had been hoisted by the new-comers. Carlo Zeno was there, and Venice was saved!
It is needless to dwell upon the details of the continued siege of Chioggia and the various efforts made by the Genoese. They did not easily submit to their fate. They tried negotiation, and made every effort for a compromise; but the Venetians had suffered too much to make any terms save those of unconditional surrender, and this came at last on June 22, and Chioggia was given up to pillage by the Star Company of Milan and the Tard Venus of Sir John Hawkwood, the mercenary troops to which this privilege had been promised. The booty was enormous, and the Republic gained nineteen good ships, and large stores of salt, powder, and equipments of all kinds; the salt alone was valued at ninety thousand crowns.
The prisoners numbered 4,440, and were more like ghosts than men, so near starvation had they come. They were sent to Venice, where many died in their prisons while preparations were being made for the triumphal return of Contarini. This occurred on the first day of July, and was as magnificent as such a spectacle at Venice was sure to be. But rarely, even in this city, had so remarkable a trio been seen as that of the patriotic and dauntless Doge, the single-hearted Pisani, and the peerless Zeno.
But two days elapsed before Pisani again set sail and occupied himself in opposing the enemies of the Republic. In pursuit of the Genoese he reached Manfredonia on August 12. The hardships of service and imprisonment had told on the constitution of the Admiral, and he wasnow attacked by fever which greatly alarmed his friends; but he made light of it, and on the 18th despatched Corbaro, his old companion, with eight galleys to follow the Genoese fleet, which was in sight. But his impatience overcame his resolution to remain behind, and in spite of all expostulation he left his sick-bed, armed himself, and directed his sails to be set. The enterprise failed; Corbaro was killed; Pisani was wounded slightly, and returned at evening to Manfredonia much dejected, ill, and fainting. He was removed to the house of the commandant of the port, who procured a physician for him; he requested an amanuensis, and dictated a long letter to the Senate, closing with his plans which should "make Genoa rue the day when she entered upon the War of Chioggia."
The letter finished, he asked for water, and then for bread, which he began to eat ravenously, but suddenly changed color, gasped for breath, and sank lifeless upon his pillow. He was but fifty-six years old, and his life-work would have honored fourscore years, since we live not by time, but by deeds. He was deeply mourned, and the tears on the faces of the weather-beaten sailors when they learned of the death of their "Father" proved how truly they had loved their brave commander, who had survived the redemption of the Doge's vow but seven weeks.
The most sumptuous funeral was decreed by the Senate, and he was to be buried in San Antonio di Castello, where his father and brother already rested. The whole people were so wrapped in grief, and the public mind so occupied with the obsequies, that "if the smallest Genoese fleet had made a descent at that conjuncture, the country would have stood in the utmost peril." As the procession was about to move, a popular clamor was raised, the people declaring that Pisani ought to be buried nowhere but inthe Ducal Chapel; and just when a tumult was threatened, a sailor put his shoulder to the bier, crying out, "We, his children, are carrying this brave captain to our Father, Saint Anthony!"
This quelled the excitement, and the procession began to move; it extended from San Fantino to San Antonio, and yet, when the pall-bearers were entering the church, hundreds had not found a place in the line!
A splendid mausoleum was erected over the family vault, upon which was placed a statue of Pisani, in the uniform of a captain-general, grasping an ensign with two streamers, and surmounted by a cross. The capture of Cattaro, in August, 1379, was later painted to his honor by Andrea Vicentino in the Sala dello Scrutinio, in the Ducal Palace.
In 1381 a peace was made at Turin between Venice and the allies, and immediately afterwards the Senate redeemed its promise and created thirty new councillors, selected from the loyal grocers, skinners, apothecaries, and other plebeian traders. A series of public festivities followed; the newly made nobles went in procession to San Marco, bearing lighted tapers in their hands; tournaments, regattas, and banquets were held with unusual rejoicings, for the sadness of many months was forgotten, and thankfulness and joy filled all hearts. We may well imagine that some patricians of ancient and honorable descent saluted the newly ennobled masons and other artisans with a poor grace; but that was of small account to these men who had earned the honors that the others had simply been born to, by sacrificing much for the Republic, and they fully enjoyed their new estate and its privileges.
Contarini lived to witness this happy conclusion of the recent war, and died in 1382, when seventy-four years old. He may be called the last of the hero-princes ofhis time. He had been a grand central figure in the dreadful days of the Chioggian War; by his example he had imparted courage to failing hearts, and by his oath to conquer Chioggia or see Venice no more, he made it impossible for his soldiers and sailors to desert him, and thus his chivalry warded off failure and catastrophe. The generation which followed him listened to the tales of those who had fought under Pisani on the sea, or served under Contarini at Chioggia, with the same breathless interest with which our youth now listen to the stories of the veterans who were engaged in our own struggles for the preservation of our country.
When Vettore Pisani died, there was but one man thought worthy to replace him, and Carlo Zeno was made Admiral of the Fleet. Under him the Adriatic bore no enemies to Venice upon its bosom, and he suffered no defeat in any encounter, although the remaining thirty-six years of his life were largely spent in the service of the Republic.
Jacopo Zeno, Bishop of Padua, was the grandson of Carlo, and his biographer. He tells us that Carlo was "square-shouldered, broad-chested, solidly and strongly made, with large and speaking eyes, and a manly, great, and full countenance; his stature neither short nor tall. Nothing was wanting to him which strength, health, decorum, and gravity demanded."
The details of his life as given by the Bishop are not altogether assuring as regards "decorum and gravity;" for although he certainly was an admirable general or admiral, he was equally capable as a pirate, and though his patriotism was undoubted, he could make himself quite at home with any sort of men from any part of the globe. Indeed, he served Galeazzo Visconti at Milan and in Piedmont for ten years with the same zeal that he hnd served Venice. During this time he loaned four hundredducats to Francesco da Carrara, who then was at peace with Venice; some years later this money was repaid, and the entry in Carrara's book was simply this: "To Carlo Zeno, paid four hundred ducats."
After the death of the Carrarese and after Zeno's return to Venice, this register was sent to the Ten. A suspicion that Carlo Zeno had accepted a bribe was the natural result, and he was called before the secret tribunal. He told the simple truth; but it availed nothing, and he was sentenced to loss of public place and rank, and two years in prison! The Bishop vividly portrays the indignation which followed this sentence in Venice and in other cities where Zeno was known; and he does not say that his grandfather was a prisoner for two years, but he does say that when he was at liberty he went to Jerusalem, and turned his thoughts to spiritual things.
As he was returning, he aided the King of Cyprus to defeat the Genoese and save the island with the cunning and skill of his younger days, though he was now past seventy; and after reaching Venice, he married a third wife, as his grandson frankly states, "for no other reason than to secure good domestic government, and a consort and companion who would take upon herself all internal cares, and leave him free to study philosophy and the sacred writings."
He surrounded himself with learned men, and his house became a centre for the exchange of thought among scholars, statesmen, and good citizens, while he spent his days in reading, writing, and constant attendance on the services of the Church. "In the cold winter he had his bed filled with books, so that when he had slept sufficiently he could sit up in bed, and pass the rest of the night in reading, nor would he put down his book save for some great necessity."
But this serene and undisturbed life did not continue tohis end. His wife and his favorite son, the father of the Bishop, died; the son was but thirty, and his old father was desolate. His son Pietro was a naval commander of honorable repute, but it was on Jacopo that the old man's heart was fixed. At last, in 1418, when eighty-four years old, and honored by all Venice, the father also died.
The religious orders claimed the privilege of carrying him to his grave; but the seamen of Venice rose as one man, and hastened to the Doge to claim their right to bear the body of their beloved commander. "Their prayer was granted; and with all the ecclesiastical splendors in front of them, and all the pomp of the State behind, the seamen of Venice carried him to his grave, each relay watching jealously that every man might have his turn."
His tomb was in a church of the Cistercians, destroyed long since. Its site is now a part of the Arsenal. Let us hope that his bones rest beneath so fitting a monument as this for "Zeno the Unconquered."
The town of Burano, on the island of the same name, seven miles east of Venice, is now quite the superior of Mazzorbo, from which, in its infancy, it begged a piece of land to build itself on. Its founders were few and very poor, but at present there are about ten thousand Buranelli, who well sustain the reputation for disorderliness which they have inherited; for in the old days, even the women of Burano, who held a market in Venice, caused the magistrates much vexation by their quarrels, and now the Venetian gondoliers usually ascribe any troubles that arise on the canals to the Buranei, unless they know of the presence of those other disturbers, the Chiozzotti.
Burano is noisy and dirty. The people are rough in manner and speech, and the children bold and persistent in following strangers. The muscular development of the Buranelli and their statuesque figures are the only traits that one can admire in them. The men are occupied in fishing and towing barges, filled with lagoon mud, which goes to enrich the soil of Pordenone. They have the reputation of doing good work for reasonable pay.
The women are uproarious in their speech and behavior, and seem unfit to make the soft, lovely lace which is largely their occupation. But as one listens to their speech, it is found to be in a dialect so soft and sweet as to make one wonder how so much noise can be made withvowels alone, for apparently all the consonants have been lost. H. F. Brown says: "They dwell upon the vowels, redoubling and prolonging them, so that their words seem to have no close, but die away in a kind of sigh. For instance, they call their own town Buraâ instead of Buran. The effect is not unpleasant, but is rather too sweet and gripless for our northern ears."
Mazzorbo, which at the founding of Burano was the Urbs Major (the greater city), has gradually disappeared, and is now but the kitchen garden of Venice. Burano has annexed it by a bridge built on piles, and high enough in the centre for boats to pass under. There is scarcely a house left on the island, save the little inn where the boatmen get a glass of wine. Each morning the fruit and vegetable boats go to Venice, and their cargoes are sold near the Rialto. The difference between the people of these two islands is striking. Those of Mazzorbo are gentle and kind in manner, and really beautiful in person. What can make this dissimilarity in the twelve hundred feet which separates them?
But the special interest in Burano is the lace-making, which is now in full revival, thanks to the Countess Marcello, and other benevolent patrons, whose efforts have reproduced the Point de Burano in its old patterns. The hundreds of girls in the Fabbrica di Merletti di Burano are certainly more than good-looking, and are improving in their work each year. Indeed, one may believe that the old-time skill of their ancestors is not lost.
The sacristan of San Martino exhibits some fine bits of old Point de Burano, and the robes of the priests are so exquisite that one need not be a judge of laces in order to appreciate their beauty. One who has ever visited this independent little island will recall its peculiarities, and certainly its lace-makers, in whatever distant part of the globe their handiwork may be seen.
During the sixteenth century lace-making flourished in all the principal towns of northern Italy, but to Venice belongs the fame ofneedle-points; and Venetian ladies were the first to wear it, in the seventeenth century, from which time the fine Venetian lace-making dates.
Before this time the ladies of Venice had worn lace, as their portraits attest, but not of this particular sort. Artists of the highest order did not disdain to make designs for Point coupé, which was made for ladies of illustrious rank, for princesses and queens; and bits of this exquisite point now bring prices that are simply fabulous, and worse, to any but a collector of laces or a connoisseur in them.
"The special character of this lace consists in high reliefs, ornamental figures either in solid or open work, artistically formed and arranged in petals, overlaid with fantastic flowers of very broad design, the open blossoms of which detach themselves from rich foliage of marvellous workmanship, and are connected by joining threads and very delicate network stitches."
The authorities in this specialty put Venice point above all other laces, on account of its high relief, its softness and suppleness, and a certain velvety quality found only in needle-made laces. For some time the secret of the stitches used in making this lace were known only to the inventors. Its fame reached other countries immediately, and the demand for it naturally caused imitations to spring up. The real Venice point was made entirely with the needle. The foliage, the flower petals, the stems, all the raised parts, and all the connecting threads were made in one stitch. The time necessary for its completion gave it an intrinsic value; and its price was such that only very wealthy persons could pay it, while if exported the duty was also heavy.
In other countries laces were made which from adistance had much the same effect, but could not be compared to the true Venetian point. Louis XIV. gave much attention to this lace, and instructed his ambassadors to give him all possible information about its manufacture. He even wrote letters on this subject with his own hand, and was greatly interested in keeping Venetian lace out of France, thus compelling the use of French point. And on the other hand, the Venetian ambassador to France was able to discover just what workmen the French had induced to go to France to introduce the lace-making, and sent a list of them to the Senate. All this resulted in a decree of the Inquisitors, as follows:—
"If any workman or artist transports his art into a foreign country to the detriment of the Republic, he shall be sent an order to return; if he does not obey, his nearest relatives shall be imprisoned, so as to reduce him to obedience by his interest in them; if he returns, the past will be pardoned, and an establishment in Venice will be procured for him; if, in spite of the imprisonment of his relations, he is still determined to live abroad, an emissary will be charged to kill him, and after his death his relations will be set at liberty."
TORCELLO.
Torcello, that once populous city, now uninhabitable from malaria, is a realization of complete desolation; for the few traces of its past make its present more gloomy than if it had never been other than a desert isle. And yet in spring-time it is full of beauty, when its orchards and thorn-hedges are in bloom and fill the air with fragrance, or in the golden autumn days, when the sea-lavender, with its delicate, feather-like bloom, tinges all the meadows with its purple.
In his book on "Italian Sculptors" Mr. Perkins thus prettily tells the legend of the settlement of Torcello:—
"Two hundred years after the invasion of Attila had driven many of the inhabitants of Aquileja and Altina from their homes, the province was desolated by the Lombards. The Altinese, alarmed at their approach, anxiously deliberated whether they should remain to face this 'Australis plaga,' or seek safety in flight, when they beheld vast flocks of birds, with their fledglings in their beaks, take flight from the city walls and towers and direct their course seaward. Regarding this as a sign from heaven, some departed to Ravenna, some to Pentapolis, and others to Istria, leaving behind them a band of devout persons, who, in order to obtain a more direct manifestation of the will of Heaven, determined to fast and pray for three days, according to the advice of their bishop, Paulus. At the end of the time they heard a voice like thunder, saying, 'Ascend into the city tower and look at the stars.' They beheld a vision of boats and ships and islands, and taking this as an indication that their course should be directed seaward, they removed their most precious possessions to the island of Torcello.... Paulus, Bishop of Altina, migrated with his flock, their relics and treasure, to Torcello and the neighboring islands, A.D. 641."
The ascent of the tall, square Campanile (eleventh century) is not easy, for its ladders are rickety; but the view from its bell-chamber compensates for all the difficulty of reaching it. To the east lies a large district, which is neither sea nor land, but partly both, crossed and recrossed by broad ditches. These are thevalli, in which fish are bred. Many little huts stand beside thevalli, in which Venetian gentlemen live while duck-shooting in the winter. The sport is so fine that, in spite of cold and the absence of all real comfort, a shooting-party usually lasts several days.
To the south the view is over the Adriatic, and the eye follows the line of breakwaters, even to Chioggia. South-west lies Venice, her many towers and palaces cutting an irregular line across the azure sky, with the EuganeanHills for a background. To the north, far away beyond the plain, with nothing to intercept the view, stand the Dolomitic Alps, seen in perfection from Torcello. Tofano, Antelao, and Pelmo stand out boldly, their clear-cut peaks white with snow, and their long, lower ridges dark and shadowy. A more heavenly sky, a lovelier sea, more striking mountain peaks, and a more fancy-stirring city,—can these be found in any one panorama to excel the view from the Campanile of Torcello?
The Cathedral of Torcello was so injured by the repairs under the Austrians that one can find little pleasure in visiting it. The one interesting feature is the arrangement of the chancel, where the semicircular seats rise one above the other, and the bishop's throne in the centre, reached by a steep staircase, towers above all. Authorities agree that the fittings of this apse give a better idea of the way in which apses were originally arranged than does any other church, either of the same period with this (seventh century), or even earlier. It is most unusual; and Ruskin throws such a charm about it that it is pure pleasure to read what he says of it:—
"There is one circumstance which we ought to remember as giving peculiar significance to the position which the episcopal throne occupies in the island church; namely, that in the minds of all early Christians the church itself was most frequently symbolized under the image of a ship, of which the bishop was the pilot. Consider the force which this symbol would assume in the imaginations of men to whom the spiritual Church had become an ark of refuge in the midst of a destruction hardly less terrible than that from which the eight souls were saved of old,—a destruction in which the wrath of man had become as broad as the earth and as merciless as the sea,—and who saw the actual and literal edifice of the Church raised up, itself like an ark in the midst of the waters. No marvel if with the surf of the Adriatic rolling between them and the shores of their birth,from which they were separated forever, they should have looked upon each other as the disciples did when the storm came down on Tiberias Lake, and have yielded ready and loving obedience to those who ruled them in His name who had there rebuked the winds and commanded stillness to the sea. And if the stranger would yet learn in what spirit it was that the dominion of Venice was begun, and in what strength she went forth conquering and to conquer, let him not seek to estimate the wealth of her arsenals or numbers of her armies, nor look upon the pageantry of her palaces, nor enter into the secrets of her councils; but let him ascend the highest tier of the stern ledges that sweep round the altar of Torcello, and then, looking as the pilot did of old along the marble ribs of the goodly temple-ship, let him repeople its ruined deck with the shadows of its dead mariners, and strive to feel in himself the strength of heart that was kindled within them, when first, after the pillars of it had settled in the sand, and the roof of it had been closed against the angry sky that was still reddened by the fires of their homesteads,—first, within the shelter of its knitted walls, amidst the murmur of the waste of waves and the beating of the wings of the sea-birds round the rock that was strange to them,—rose that ancient hymn, in the power of their gathered voices: 'The sea is His, and He made it: and His hands prepared the dry land.'"
A picturesque cloister connects the Baptistery or Church of St. Fosca with the cathedral. The relics of the virgin martyr are said to rest beneath the low, ancient church. The pillars of the cloisters are so short that a tall man can touch the arches they sustain; but they are of pure Greek marble, with delicately sculptured capitals. Everything seems so small,—the two churches, the tower, an ancient well, and a marble column are all that remain, save one or two old buildings that may now have disappeared, so tumble-down were they when last I saw them. The Piazza (!) around which these buildings stand is such a bit of a grass-grown place! The only street is but afootpath, and yet we reverence Torcello for its age. The banner of Venice has floated here more than a thousand years,—more than six centuries before Columbus discovered our part of the globe.
There is a little museum in which a few antiquities are gathered, where one may rest and think before taking leave of this ghost-haunted island of Torcello, so well described by Helen Hunt:—
"Short sail from Venice sad Torcello lies,Deserted island low, and still and green.Before fair Venice was a bride and queenTorcello's court was held in fairer guiseThan Doges knew. To day death-vapors riseFrom fields where once her palaces were seen,And in her silent towers that crumbling leanUnterrified the brooding swallow flies."
As we row back to Venice in the lovely evening, with the orange and purple of the after-glow dissolving into paler and colder tints, and the stars peeping out one by one, Giacomo tells us a ghost-story which is familiar to the gondoliers and fishermen, a group of whom we have just met returning from Venice to their strange fishing-ground.
The story runs that once upon a time six men were fishing and living together in a small hut among thevalli. One of them had a little son who stayed in the hut to cook food for the men whenever they came in. As the night was the best time for fishing, the little fellow was often alone from sunset to dawn. One morning, as it was growing light, the men stopped their work and rowed toward home; and on the way they saw the body of a drowned man, which the tide was taking out to sea.
They lifted the corpse into their boat, and laid it on the prow, the head resting on the arm. The little boy was watching for them; and when he saw the seventh man,he thought he was some other fisherman who had fallen asleep after his night of work.
He cheerily called out, "Breakfast is ready; come along!" and ran to the hut to see that all was right.
When the six were seated at the table, the boy asked, "Where is the other man? Will he not have breakfast too?"
"Why, isn't he here? You had better run and call him," answered one of the men.
The boy ran to the canal and called out loudly, "Breakfast is ready, and there is enough for you. Why do you not come?" Getting no answer, the boy went again to the hut, saying, "What ails him? He will not speak."
"Ah," said another, "the old fool is deaf. You must shout at him and swear a little."
Again the boy went down and shouted, "The others wait for you. Come along, old fool!" But again the man moved not.
The third time back to the hut ran the boy, saying, "Come, one of you! He will not wake for me." But they only laughed and said, "Go shake his leg, and say we cannot wait till doomsday for him."
The boy did as he was bid, and clambered into the boat, and shook the man, who then sat up on the prow and said, "Go back and tell them I am coming." Then the boy hastened back, and found the men all laughing and joking, and he cried out, "It is all right now, and he is coming."
Suddenly the laughter ceased, and the six men turned ashy pale. They heard the footsteps approaching, and soon the dead man came in and sat in the boy's place. The eyes of the others were fixed on him, and they could neither eat nor speak. They could not turn their eyes from the stranger's face, and their blood was gradually chilled in their veins; and when the sun was risen, sevendead men sat around the table, and the poor little boy was alone. It is from this event that thevalleis called the Valle dei Sette Morti.
Ghost-stories are rare in Venice. There is another that one usually hears. It concerns a house called "haunted." It stands on the most easterly point of Venice, and is spoken of as the "Casa degli Spiriti." The old women say that "once upon a time" a fine young Venetian lived there with a charming bride, and the friend who had been their groomsman visited them frequently. He was godfather to their first child, which is a very sacred relation in Venice, and is called "Compare di San Zuan." After a time the young wife and thecomparefell in love with each other. The husband knew this very well, and all three of them were most unhappy.
Just then thecomparedied; and so greatly did the lady suffer that she grieved herself ill, and was about to die. Her faithful maid knew all the story of her love and grief, and with her last breath her mistress begged that when she was dead no one else should be permitted to watch beside her; and although the other servants would gladly have kept the vigil, the maid was left alone beside her dead mistress.
At midnight the door opened, and the deadcomparecame in. The maid could neither move nor cry out, and the ghost raised his dead love up, and she began to dress. When she was ready, the ghost took her arm, and signed to the maid to light them on their way. Then the three went down, down to the very lowest vault beneath the house; and there thecomparestruck the torch from the hand of the maid, and she swooned on the floor.
Thus runs the story of the old women; but there are other explanations of the name of this old house, which even now bears traces of its former beauty, though the whole edifice is going to wrack and ruin. A secondstory is quite as gruesome as the first, since it says that here dead bodies were brought by medical students, and autopsies made before they were buried in San Michele, which is very near. This is the view adopted by J. A. Symonds, who says:—
"Yonder square white house, standing out to sea, fronting Murano and the Alps, they call the Casa degli Spiriti. No one cares to inhabit it; for here, in old days, it was the wont of the Venetians to lay their dead for a night's rest before their final journey to the graveyard of S. Michele. So many generations of dead folk had made that house their inn, that it is now no fitting house for living men."
But a pleasanter explanation is, that long ago an artistic and literary society held its meetings here, and from thebeaux espritswho habitually gathered beneath its roof, it came to be called the Casa degli Spiriti.
Perhaps the most amusing Venetian ghost-story is that of the parish priest of San Marcuola, who declared his disbelief in ghosts in a sermon, and exclaimed, "Where the dead are, there they stay!" This made the ghosts of those who had been buried in San Marcuola very indignant, and they revenged themselves by going at night, in a body, to the chamber of this priest, whom they dragged out of bed, tossed about, and soundly thrashed for the insult he had put on them.
Meantime, while this story-telling has gone on, it has grown quite dark, and as we come into the canals, the calls,Stalì,Premè, are very frequent. These cries of the gondoliers are curiously startling, especially at night; but the celerity with which they are obeyed, and the narrow escapes from accidents, prove their usefulness.Stalirmeans go to the right;Premier, go to the left; andSciar, orSiar, means that the boat is to be stopped by turning the flat side of the oar against the current. Monckton Milnes prettily explains this in his verses:—
"When along the light ripple the far serenadeHas accosted the ear of each passionate maid,She may open the window that looks on the stream,—She may smile on her pillow and blend it in dream;Half in words, half in music, it pierces the gloom,'I am coming—stalì—but you know not for whom!Stalì—not for whom!'
"Now the tones become clearer,—you hear more and moreHow the water divided returns on the oar,—Does the prow of the gondola strike on the stair?Do the voices and instruments pause and prepare?Oh! they faint on the ear as the lamp on the view,'I am passing—premè—but I stay not for you!Premè—not for you!'
"Then return to your couch, you who stifle a tear,—Then awake not, fair sleeper,—believe he is here;For the young and the loving no sorrow endures.If to-day be another's, to-morrow is yours;May the next time you listen your fancy be true,'I am coming—sciàr—and for you and to you!Sciàr—and to you!'"
When the Doge Tommaso Mocenigo was about to die, he made a most remarkable statement, summing up the past and present condition of Venice, and giving much advice concerning its future, especially as to the election of his successor. One of his most pronounced judgments was against the election of Francesco Foscari. He prophesied that under his rule Venice would be perpetually at war, and that many other events would occur to lessen her prosperity. But in spite of all that he said, Foscari was made Doge at the tenth scrutiny, on April 15, 1423.
It is true that under his reign Venice was constantly at war; but since he had even less power than any of his predecessors, the responsibility of war or peace did not rest with him. He was a man of great ability, and had filled many offices of trust with honor. Abroad he had served as ambassador at several courts. At home he had once been Chief of the Forty, three times Chief of the Ten, and twice their Inquisitor. At the time of his election he was fifty-one years old, the father of a large family, and the husband of a young wife who added to the number every year.
Such festivities as satisfied even the Venetian taste for splendor followed his election; and, indeed, the tournaments and other spectacles were continued for a twelve-month. The thirty-four years of Foscari's reign was aperiod of great importance. The Republic, by joining the Florentines against Milan, was involved in a series of conflicts, sometimes gaining, at others losing, always engaged in intrigues, sending and receiving embassies, making treaties only to be broken, as it would seem, but finally, in 1454, emerging from a struggle of thirty years indisputably the first of Italian powers. Hazlitt says:
"The Venetian Empire was the most extensive, and promised to be the most durable, which had been formed on any constitutional principles since the days of the Romans. The Venetian Senate was the most august assembly in the world. The Venetian Navy was the finest which Europe had ever seen. During war, Venice employed, even at an exorbitant stipend, the best troops to be procured and the ablest generals of the age; and among her Captains of Companies it was not unusual to find Hereditary Princes. Her patricians, so far from being purely political in their education or sordid in their tastes, prided themselves on the extent and versatility of their acquirements. They excelled in all manly exercises and in all enlightened pursuits. Not content with reading contemporary history, with mastering the intricacies of diplomacy, or with attaining the highest honors in the military profession, they studied the language which Cicero spoke, the language of the Anabasis, and the language of Holy Writ. They applied themselves to the liberal, mechanical, and occult sciences, and to the Fine Arts. They became diligent scholiasts. They searched for manuscripts with an avidity eclipsing that of De Bure. They formed libraries, some of which were far larger than the Public Collections at Oxford or Paris. Some gave gratuitous instruction in the Elements of Euclid; others lectured on Ethics or Metaphysics. A Trevisano devoted ten years to the composition of a single Treatise, which he never lived to finish. A Giorgio naturalized among his countrymen the literature of the Troubadours and the songs of Provence. To a Polo, scientific men were indebted for the first book on Travels in China, Kamtschatka, and Japan. A Pisani filled Europe with the fame ofher beauty and genius; and four nations competed for the privilege of doing her honor! She chose France, and France was flattered by the choice.
'D'avoir le prix en science et en doctrine,Bien mérita de Pisan la Christine,Durant ses jours.'"
But the deep interest we feel in Francesco Foscari is not centred in the affairs of Venice while he served as its figure-head and held but a semblance of power, the real potency being in the Seigniory and Council of Ten. In the great rush of state affairs, conducted as they had come to be, each single man was lost. The State only survived; and its methods of secret councils and its schemes of unlimited ambition made of this same State a vast and overwhelming machine, the workings of which in their completeness were only comprehended by a few patricians, each one of whom was jealously watching to prevent every other from the exercise of any distinguishing or undue power.
It is with the personal experiences of the Doge that we are concerned. Within a few years his large family was swept away by death. Of his five sons Jacopo alone remained. He was a gay young fellow, who paraded in the Broglio, and took his part in all the gayeties and pleasures of his time. He was an elegant scholar, a collector of manuscripts, and altogether a delightful companion in a ladies' salon or on a festal day.
In 1441 Jacopo Foscari was married to Lucrezia Contarini, whose family had given three Doges to Venice. The marriage was celebrated in the Ducal Chapel before the immediate families of the Foscari and Contarini; and not until the third day did the rejoicings begin, which continued for ten days, and were very magnificent, as the gentlemen of both families were members of the Compagnia della Calza (Company of the Stocking). This society ofyoung noblemen was formed for the purpose of holding jousts, serenades, regattas, and like entertainments, and took its name from its peculiar uniform, which consisted of a striped, party-colored stocking on the left leg, reaching to the hip, drawn over tight breeches, and embroidered with figures of animals and birds. With this was worn a doublet of velvet or cloth of gold, with open sleeves and facings, and a shirt-frill. A flowing mantle of some costly stuff was thrown back on the shoulder, displaying a richly embroidered stocking on the lining; and the whole was completed by long pointed shoes studded with precious stones, and a black or red bonnet, also bejewelled. Aristocratic ladies were honorary members, and wore a stocking embroidered on their sleeves on festive occasions. As the society increased, it was divided into various branches, of which the Immortelles, Royals, Ethereals, and Peacocks were the most noted; but the most exclusive part of the society is said never to have numbered more than eighteen.
Since Foscari and his bride were both members of the Calza, the festivities attending their marriage were under its care; and the presence of Francesco Sforza, Barbaro, and a hundred Brescian nobles then in Venice, added much to the elegance of the assemblies. The Doge and the College appointed a "Master of the Feast," whose duty was to regulate everything that took place. At the appointed time all the Company of the Calza, in their most gorgeous apparel, repaired to his house, where the procession formed.
Each member had two servants in his private livery, and four others in the livery of the Calza, besides other attendants, dressed in silk, and men-at-arms in full armor. Masters and men were all provided with horses caparisoned with green velvet trimmed with silver. The bridegroom had twenty mounted attendants, while others hadfrom ten to fifteen. The procession was magnificent. So many jewels flashed in the sun, so many richly colored velvets and brocades were worn with easy grace, so many horses caracoled to the sound of trumpets, that the people in windows, balconies, and on the housetops could do nothing but applaud. The houses of the streets through which the cavalcade passed were hung with tapestries, silks, and banners, or arched with flags spread on lines stretched from one side to the other.
The procession rode around the Piazza and the court of the Ducal Palace, and then over the Grand Canal, on a bridge of boats, to the Contarini Palace at San Barnaba. Here the fair young bride came out to meet the procession. She was attended by two grave and reverend procurators of St. Mark in black dresses and cloaks, which by contrast heightened the beauty of her robes of white silk. Twelve children, all dressed in white, bore her train. In her dark hair diamonds were so woven that those who would see her face were forced to shade their eyes from the flashing of the jewels, and on her neck were the rarest of pearls, besides precious stones of great value on other portions of her person. She wore a cloak of lightest fur, as the wintry air compelled her to do. Sixty maids of honor followed her, all dressed in blue with many rare jewels, and all wearing cloaks. The Company of the Calza and their attendants formed two lines. Foscari descended from his horse, and made a profound obeisance to his wife, then placed himself beside her, and they, followed by the sixty maidens, walked between the lines of the cavalcade to the Church of St. Barnaba, where they heard Mass. After this the Lady Lucrezia, her maids, and the members of the Calza, with Sforza, Barbaro, and the Brescian visitors, took their places in the square outside the church, and listened to a eulogy upon the two great families united by this marriage, pronounced from a pulpit by a richly dressed priest.
The oration ended, Foscari and his bride returned to the palace of her father, while the cavalcade rode through the city, displaying their horsemanship, and engaging in mock battles in the squares, to the great delight of the people.
In the afternoon a splendid repast was furnished at the Ducal Palace, and then the Bucentaur was rowed up to the Piazzetta, where a hundred ladies in costly dresses embarked and proceeded to the Palazzo Contarini. Here they were joined by the Lady Lucrezia and her husband, attended by another hundred ladies. Then the Bucentaur, followed by numerous gayly decorated gondolas, rowed to the Palace of Sforza, to the sound of music, and paid a visit of state to the Captain-General, who then went on board the Bucentaur, and the whole company proceeded to the Ducal Palace. The Doge and Dogaressa, with a train of fifty ladies, met the barge at the landing; and they, with their guests in procession, entered the palace, where the evening was spent in dancing.
The next day festivities were resumed. Now a tournament was given, in which the nobles of Venice and their honored guests tilted together. Again a regatta was held, with large prizes, and the gondolas were brought out which were only seen at festivals. They were richly carved and gilded, and fitted with curtains and cushions of silk and velvet. The best rowers competed for the prizes, and won them amid great applause. Each day some novel feature was introduced. Acrobats and others performed their feats of agility in the squares, the bells rang softly all day long, bands played in the squares at night, and the people danced, while the patricians were entertained at a series of balls at the palaces of the nobility. Thus ten days passed, and then, as a finale, there was a procession of illuminated boats, every seventh one carrying musicians, which passed through the canals, and around the islands near Venice.
The Piazzetta; Ducal Palace; San MarcoThe Piazzetta; Ducal Palace; San Marco
But three years elapsed before Jacopo Foscari was suspected of having taken bribes for his services in obtaining officesper broglio, which would be called lobbying in our day. The Broglio was the lower gallery or arcade under the Ducal Palace, which was a general meeting-place for the higher classes, and where all sorts of schemes and conspiracies were broached, and consultations held; in short, an exchange which might be frequented for both good and evil purposes.
The penalties for such offences as those of which the young Foscari was accused, were very severe, and Jacopo was doomed to banishment in Naples, where each day he must present himself before the representative of the Republic in that city. Before this sentence was pronounced, Jacopo had fled to Trieste, and there fell ill. After some months he was permitted to go to Treviso; and at length, in answer to a pathetic appeal from his father, he was pardoned, and returned to Venice.
Again, three years later, one of the Council of Ten who had condemned Jacopo was assassinated as he was leaving the palace. The evidence which connected Jacopo with this murder was so slight that it is not worth recounting; but suspicion of him was strong enough to cause his arrest, and it is even said that he was tortured, with no result. He was now banished to Candia, where, separated from wife and children, from the refinements that he loved, and without congenial pursuits, he suffered a restlessness so intense that he further criminated himself for the sake of returning to Venice, even though that might mean the rack anew. He wrote a letter to the Duke of Milan, the enemy of Venice, asking his aid with the Seigniory. This letter he managed to have fall into the hands of the Council, never trying to send it to Milan at all.
He was also accused of having addressed a letter to theSultan, imploring him to send a vessel to convey him away secretly. He was now brought to Venice, and before the Council made a full confession, no doubt through fear of the torture-chamber, so near at hand. Some of the Ten favored severity. Loredano even wished him to be beheaded between the Columns, but the mild sentence of a year's imprisonment at Candia was the final result. When this sentence was given, he prayed that he might see his family, all of whom had been rigidly excluded from him and from the court during his trial. His father, mother, wife, and children were permitted to visit him; and when the time for his removal came, he was with them in the Ducal Palace. Even then, after all he had suffered and caused others to suffer, he did not seem to realize that the execution of his sentence was as sure as fate itself. He seemed rather to believe that some one could reverse it all; and naturally that some one seemed to be the Doge, his father, who, alas! knew but too well his utter powerlessness.
Amid the sobs and kisses all around him, once more he cried, "Father, I beseech you, make them let me go home!" But the old Doge, in his despair, could only reply, "Jacopo, go; obey the will of the country, and try no more," in saying which no doubt he suffered more than he who heard these fatal words.
All hearts were touched by these terrible griefs of the old Foscari, and six months later a full pardon was obtained for the son. But it was too late. He no longer lived to be condemned or forgiven. When this news came, the Doge was eighty-four years old. His courage was gone. He could no longer give heed to public matters, nor could he endure to sit in that court which had tortured and exiled the last of his sons. And so he stayed away; and soon there was a murmur against him, and a complaint that he no longer made a pretence ofhaving authority and of being necessary to the State,—a lie which he was tired of acting. Foscari had more than once proposed to retire, but the Council would not hear of it. Now, however, he was asked to resign his office; and when he did not answer quickly enough to please his persecutors, he was told that if he did not leave the palace within the next eight days, his property would be confiscated. He made no resistance. The ducal ring was drawn from his finger and broken in his presence. The ducal bonnet was taken from his head, and he promised to leave the palace at once.
As the deputies left him, Foscari caught the eye of one, Jacopo Memmo, who looked at him with sympathy and compassion. He called him, took his hand, and said, "Whose son art thou?" "I am the son of Marin Memmo." And then the Doge: "He is my dear friend. Tell him from me that it would be sweet to me if he would come to pay me a visit, and go in my bark with me or a little pleasure. We might visit the monasteries."
That very day the Doge left the palace with his old brother Marco, followed by his household. Marco said, "It is better to go to the boat by the stair that is covered;" but the old Doge replied, "I will go down by the same stair that I came up when I was made Doge." And then they rowed away to the splendid palace to which Jacopo had taken Lucrezia Contarini sixteen years before,—the house that we may still see on the point of the Grand Canal, where it turns to the east, with the water on two sides, and its fine old gateway on the small canal at the back. Here, in 1574, Francis I. was lodged, it being thought more suited to his royalty than any other in all Venice.
And here, many years before, on Oct. 24, 1457, came the old Foscari to die. The new Doge was elected on the 31st; and on All Souls Day, when the new princewent to San Marco to Mass, Foscari's son-in-law there announced that Foscari was no more. His funeral was magnificent. The new Doge was obliged to loan his crown to his predecessor, when he was laid in state in the palace from which he had been expelled but one short week before. Every honor was bestowed on him, dead, that the Republic could give. He was carried to the Frari, with many tapers lighting his way; and, to quote Mrs. Oliphant, "there he lies under a weight of sculptured marble, his sufferings all over for five hundred years and more; but never the story of his greatness, his wrongs, and sorrows, which last gave him such claims upon the recollection of mankind as no magnificence nor triumph can bestow."
When the bell rangAt dawn, announcing a new Doge to Venice,It found him on his knees before the Cross,Clasping his aged hands in earnest prayer;And there he died. Ere half its task was done,It rang his knell.ROGERS.
So intense was the excitement in Venice, caused by the deposition and death of the old Doge, that the Senate forbade "the affair of Francesco Foscari to be mentioned on pain of death."
FRANCESCO CARMAGNOLA.
The story of Jacopo Foscari affords a striking commentary upon the changes which had come over the armies of the Republic. It would seem that the want of any serious and engrossing occupation—a sort of elegant idleness—had led Jacopo to his misfortunes; and this idleness would not have been possible during so stirring a period as that of his father's reign, if the Venetians had still done their own fighting as they did it in the reign of Enrico Dandolo.
In Foscari's day it had come to be the custom, all over Italy and in other countries of Europe, to hire men to kill and be killed for money. Mercenary troops they were fitly called; for they not only received their hire, but they robbed the peasant of his harvest, and from the wealthy land-owner they extorted gold. Venice had employed these bands when they were made up of Bretons, Hungarians, Gascons, and other men, who spoke no Italian, and thought solely of gain; but by the middle of the fifteenth century the Free Lances had come to be an organized institution, with unwritten laws, which were well understood by them and by their employers; and the general or leader of these bands who was not successful was in much danger of having his head taken off by the Seigneur or the government he served, on the charge of treason. A most famous leader of one of these bands ofcondottieriwas Francesco Carmagnola.