A fourth of Constantinople was assigned as a residence for the Venetians, where they were permitted to have their own magistrates and laws; throughout the Greek realm the coins, weights, and measures of Venice were recognized, and the treaty of 1198 was resumed with its privileges to Venetian merchants. The Doge of Venice was to be represented in Constantinople by an officer who should protect the commercial interests of Venice in the East. Marino Zeno, who had been a close friend of Dandolo, was at once elected to this office of Balio, or Podestà. Three Councillors of State, a Treasurer and an Advocate, a Court of Proprio and a Court of Justice of the Peace, and a commandant of the troops of the Republic in Romania were sent out to support Zeno in his lofty and arduous duties.
The Venetians cherished the memory of Dandolo. His genius had long added lustre to the Republic, and the news of his death plunged the whole city into sincere mourning. His achievements and the exploits of his army aroused the pride of the Venetians to its highest pitch, and they desired to perpetuate in some stable manner the fame of what is known as the Fourth Crusade. Fortunately the time was propitious to their wishes; the close of the thirteenth century brought a revival of art and literature which, among its many glorious results, numbers the rehearsal of the deeds of Dandolo and his allies by the historians, and the picturing of their immortal achievements upon the walls of the Ducal Palace.
Mediæval Venice was a city of imposing spectacles. Its church was a national church, and its Patriarch, the heir of Saint Mark, was, from the Venetian point of view, the peer of the heir of Saint Peter. It being a strictly Venetian or State church, the Doge was its head equally with the Patriarch, and indeed in a certain way was more important; for the chief church of Venice was not that of the Patriarch, but the Chapel of the Doge, while the Chapter of San Marco was far more powerful than the Bishop, who was officially its superior.
But it pleased the State to make its church prominent in its public ceremonies; and each great event in its history—be it the deliverance from the plague or a conspiracy, or a success in having proved a plague to any foe—was commemorated by a religious function. Some of these splendid processions corresponded to those of other Catholic countries and cities, such as those of the Corpus Domini and Palm Sunday; and Gentile Bellini's pictures of religious processions now in the Academy still impress us with the unequalled pomp and magnificence with which the Venetians loved to dazzle themselves and the strangers within their gates.
The festivals which were peculiar to Venice were important. The procession of the Doge to the smallest and perhaps the oldest church in Venice, San Vio, founded in 917, celebrated the deliverance of the city from theconspiracy of Tiepolo in 1310; and as it occurred on the 15th of June, that lovely season in Venice, we can but regret its discontinuance. But the deliverance from the plague in 1576 and in 1631 is still celebrated each year. The ravages of the plague in Venice at various times were almost beyond belief. That of 1171 is curiously associated with the Giustiniani. A hundred or more members of this most noble house were cut off by this scourge, and its very name was in danger of extinction, since the young Niccolo, who now represented the family, was a novice in the convent of San Niccolo, on the Lido. The Doge Michieli, under these circumstances, thought it not wrong to send at once to the Pope, asking that Niccolo Giustiniani might be released from his vows, and married to Anna Michieli, the daughter of the Doge. Mrs. Oliphant pictures the interval between the departure of the messenger and his return:—
"The old Giustiniani fathers, in the noble houses which were not as yet the palaces we know, must have waited among their weeping women for the decision from Rome. And it is wonderful that no dramatist or modern Italian romancer should have thought of taking for his hero this young monk upon the silent shores of the Lido, amid all the wonderful dramas of light and shade that go on upon the low horizon sweeping round on every side, a true globe of level, long reflections, of breadth and space and solitude, so apt for thought.
"Had he known, perhaps, before he thought of dedication to the church, young Anna Michieli, between whose eyes and his, from her windows in the Doge's palace to the green line of the Lido, there was nothing but the dazzle of the sunshine and the ripple of the sea? Was there a simple romance of this natural kind, waiting to be turned into joyful fulfilment by the Pope's favorable answer? Or had the novice to give up his dreams of holy seclusion, or those highest, all-engrossing visions of ambition, which were to no man more open than to a bold and able priest?"
The Pope could but consent under such circumstances, and the marriage was celebrated immediately. Nine sons and three daughters were born of this union; and many men of illustrious character and some great orators afterward proceeded from the Casa Giustiniani. But his life in the world, with all its good fortune, did not make Niccolo forgetful of his early vows nor of the peace of his convent; and when his duty to the State was done, he there re-dedicated himself to God's service, and his wife Anna entered her chosen nunnery, where the holiness of her life caused her to be made aBeataafter her death.
Four centuries later Venice was again decimated; and the deliverance from the plague of 1576 is celebrated to this day on the third Sunday of July, which is called
THE FÊTE OF THE REDENTORE.
For some days previously the city is in commotion. A pontoon bridge is thrown across the Grand Canal; and the ferrymen, whose earnings are thus lessened, receive three francs a day as compensation. Pilgrims from the neighboring islands and from the mainland are constantly arriving, and a motley crowd throngs all Venice.
All Sunday morning the Piazza of San Marco is a busy place, for there the priests from every parish of Venice gather, and form the procession that marches hence to the Church of the Redentore. The variously colored stoles of the priests indicate the parishes to which they belong; and when the procession is seen from a distance, these stripes of color are very curious in effect. As the church has a commanding position on the island of La Giudecca, one may easily have a fine view of the procession on the bridge, and by quickly crossing in a gondola lose little of the pageant in the church, which has no doubt lost much of its original splendor.
But the great interest of thefestais outside the church. The quays are filled with tents and stalls, decorated gayly with flags, and displaying cheap toys, cakes, ices, and fennel, as well as hotfritelle, and more solid food for those who wish. The children are never weary of these tents, while dancing-halls have been hastily improvised for their elders. And so all day long there is tramping and chattering, a sense of confusion and unrest, which invades even the interiors of the most retired houses; and one is better off to join in the festivities and fully do his part than to attempt to be quiet.
The realfesta, however, seems to begin only when the day is ended. As soon as the sun sinks to rest, the whole Giudecca Canal is covered with boats fancifully decorated with boughs, and illuminated with lanterns shaped like lilies, fuschias, and other flowers whose form lends itself to illumination. Much time and skill is lavished on these decorations, as the best device gains a handsome prize.
A little later the supper gondolas appear. These are brilliantly lighted with lamps, and so beautifully dressed with green branches and wreaths that they seem like living bowers. The tables are well filled, and the boats crowded with joyous holiday-seekers, whose laughs and jests, intermingled with the sound of mandolins and songs, are most contagious in their merriment. As soon as it is dark enough, fireworks are set off in many parts of the city, but especially on the Giudecca, and the air is full of rockets and Roman candles. The gayety of the scene can scarcely be exaggerated; and its whole appearance is so characteristic of Venice, and so unlike any other place, that it is quite impossible to draw a true picture of it in words. From the inauguration of thefestaof the Redentore, it has been the custom to pass the night on the water; and about two o'clock the boats all movetowards the Lido, there to salute the rising sun, and many of the people rush into the water to hail the God of Day.
Thus ends the midsummer fête, so well worth seeing and so unique. But is not all a Venetian summer full of charm? To us each day is a lovelyfesta.
A REGATTA.
Venice is especially suited to scenic displays upon the water,—the winding Grand Canal, cutting the city like a mammoth letter S, opening into the Basin of St. Mark, the Ducal Palace on one side, and San Giorgio on the other, the curve of the Riva degli Schiavoni running into the public gardens, all lend themselves to spectacles with perfect fitness.
Of late years, too, the Town Council has generously encouraged the regatta with money and influence. The course of the race is from the stairs of the public gardens to the Station, and back to the Palazzo Foscari. The prizes are money and flags,—red, green, and blue for the first three boats, and a sucking pig and a yellow flag with a pig embroidered on it for the last boat. One would think that after falling behind so much as to surely fail of the first prizes, there would be a contention for the hindmost place.
There is no end to the varieties of the Venetian craft,—gondolas,sandolos,barche,barchette,topos,cavaline,vipere,bissoni, and many more. Before the regatta begins, the Grand Canal is covered with boats of every size. All the palaces are hung with tapestries, rugs, curtains, and any stuffs of a gay color, while flags flutter everywhere. Every balcony and window is full of people and heads, while the roofs are black with those who have no more advantageous outlooks.
Festival Scene, Bridge of the Rialto.Festival Scene, Bridge of the Rialto.
By far the most interesting boats are thebissoneandpeote, rowed by ten and twelve oars, whose duty it is to keep the race-course clear. These are decorated by the commercial houses of the city, and are symbolical in their designs, the crews being dressed in accordance with the decorations. One may resemble a Chinese junk; another represents the tropics, bearing palms and gorgeous flowers and even tropical birds; another may have a Polar bear on its bows, with its rowers imitating walruses, and sitting on cakes of ice; one is usually decorated with glass from Murano, which sparkles like precious stones in the sunlight. These have each a special color,—blue, gold, pink, silver, green, and, in truth, all the gay colors known; and as, in order to keep the course clear, they must constantly move about, they make a charming effect, and are vastly amusing to those who are waiting and watching for the race.
The gondolas of the nobility are frequently gay, with the livery of the four gondoliers they carry. Many of them are dressed in antique style, with puffed hose, long silk stockings, gay doublets, and plumed hats; and other private boats, especially the large bissone, carry gayly dressed parties, while their crews are in liveries of velvet or silk with lace and costly trimmings.
Suddenly the boom of a cannon hushes all voices. The race has begun. It is rowed in small, light gondolas, and every eye is fixed on the spot where these boats will first be seen. When they are near enough to tell who leads, there are cheers and shouts of encouragement. The race sweeps by and disappears. The excitement becomes intense, and bets are freely made, comments of all sorts are heard, and until the boats again come in sight, on their return, one might well question if Babel were as noisy as Venice at a regatta. As the victor nears the winning post, the silence is breathless. He snatches his flag; his name is shouted by thousands; the regatta isfinished; and already the people are talking of the amusements which are still to be enjoyed.
THE SERENADE.
Coming after the regatta, the serenade is a fresh delight. The anxieties are ended, and everybody can now enjoy the lovely evening, the cool breeze, the glimpses of exquisite palace interiors, of gondolas filled with ladies infestacostumes, and of decorations and illuminations everywhere.
Eight o'clock is the hour for beginning; and a large barge decorated with many green and red lamps arranged in pyramids and other more fanciful designs carries the orchestra and the singers. It starts from above the Rialto, and is soon surrounded by numberless gondolas. Each gondolier strives for the best position, and that is thought to be at the bow of the music barge. The whole mass of boats float with the tide; and as they come to the narrower part of the canal, neither barge nor any gondola can move forward or back.
Under the arch of the bridge the scene is like a good-natured pandemonium. The police bid the rowers do this and do that, but they only make a pretence of trying to obey. The police shout, "Avanti, avanti!" the boatmen repeat the cry, but nothing moves. At last the chief official, by means of a trumpet, gives an order to "pump," and at once a fire-engine on the barge throws a stream of water which loosens the block a little, and the barge advances a few feet. A very curious effect is produced by the different sorts of lights. The cold, colorless electric, the brilliant hues of the Bengal lights, and the soft glimmering from the stars in the clear blue above, bring out the statuesque figures of the gondoliers and the fronts of the palaces,—now like startling ghosts, again likeblushing youths, and then as impalpable spirit-forms. They appear and disappear as the lights change and as the boats move. The gondoliers are mostly clothed in white, and seem like dream figures, as do the exquisite façades with their delicate tracery and ornament.
The serenade is apparently endless; for in spite of the pumping, its progress is very slow, and the barge will not reach the Salute until long past midnight. There the lights are put out, and the musicians released. Little attention is given to the music, which seems only to be a nucleus for this most novel and fantastic scene, from which one may easily escape by a side canal, and end the evening with one more spectacle.
THE ILLUMINATION.
This is the appropriate end of a really grand festival; and the scene in the Piazza is as beautiful, if not as exciting, as the race or the serenade. So brilliant is the light that not a detail of the architecture is lost. Every column, with all its ornament, each cornice, pillar, and curve is outlined by little jets of golden flame, and even of a deeper tint; and all these lights are flickering just enough to dazzle the eye with an effect like a rippling sea of fire. In weird contrast is the façade of San Marco, lighted by electricity. It is pale and unearthly, and its domes seem to be suspended in air. No wonder that the doves fly hither and thither in fright and amazement, and cluster in the darker Piazzetta, where they and we may thankfully rest our eyes and look out to San Giorgio, now all aflame with many-colored lamps.
Again to the Piazza, to note what we may not yet have seen. The two Procuratie and the Piazza walls are like sheets of fire, for the lamps of the square have globes of crimson glass. Surely nowhere else has one seen suchcolor, so splendid and fascinating, so blinding and confusing, that late though it be we bid our good gondolier make a giro in the quiet canals, which seem to welcome us as old friends do, and restore the equilibrium which the regatta, the serenade, and the illumination have somewhat disturbed; and in this quiet there come back to us the lines we learned so long ago, writ by another pilgrim in this same Venice,—
I can repeople with the past,—and ofThe present there is still for eye and thought,And meditation chastened down, enough;And more, it may be, than I hoped or sought;And of the happiest moments which were wroughtWithin the web of my existence, someFrom thee, fair Venice! have their colors caught.LORD BYRON.
THE MADONNA DELLA SALUTE.
The plague of 1630 was the seventieth, and the last great plague of Venice. Eighty-two thousand victims had died in the city and the neighboring islands, and sixteen months of horror and suffering had passed since its outbreak. Not a sound of joy was heard in all the extent of Venice when special public prayers were made, and the Senate vowed to the Holy Virgin—"Mary, the Mother of Health"—that a church should be built in her honor if she would but stay the plague. And lo! suddenly, in November, 1631, the scourge was stayed.
Fifty-five years before, the votive church of the Redentore had been built in gratitude to a similar answer to their prayers; and now the people were determined to erect a still more splendid church, upon a piece of land on the point of the Dogana, which the Knights Templars had given to the Republic. But it would take a long time to build a church, and the people were in haste to put all their sadness behind them, and to have one festalday without delay. Accordingly, the 28th of November was appointed, and a wooden structure erected hastily, in which to celebrate the jubilee.
Church of Santa Maria della Salute.Church of Santa Maria della Salute.
The procession left the high altar of San Marco; and when it reached the centre of the Piazza, the health officers announced that the plague was stayed by the Virgin. This announcement was welcomed by salvos of artillery, peals of bells, and blare of trumpets. The procession then moved on, and crossing the Grand Canal by a pontoon bridge, it reached the wooden church.
A writer of that period tells us that the day was most propitious. Not a cloud obscured the deep blue sky, and the air was as mild as that of spring. Nothing was omitted that could add to the splendor of the procession. The gorgeous robes of the priests, the candlesticks of gold and silver, the flags of all the noble guilds and companies, the elder nobles with long white tapers in their hands, and the younger in all the bravery of doublets and hose, furnished a spectacle not easily excelled; and in every year of the two hundred and sixty-two that have since passed, this jubilee has been repeated with all possible splendor.
On the April following the first stone was laid in the new church, which rests on 1,200,000 piles. And there, at the entrance of the canal it stands, with its buttresses and statues and cupolas,—in a word, with all its architectural audacity,—declaring the grateful veneration of the Venetians for "Mary, the Mother of Health;" and on thisfestaevery Venetian, be he devout or not, feels it a duty to visit her church.
From the early morning the noise of the gathering crowds is heard. All around the church are stalls with hot coffee, fish, and other food for sale, and above allgallani,—a delicacy which belongs especially to this jubilee, of which the Venetians are very fond. It consists of little cups of pastry filled with a preparation of lard, white ofeggs, and flour whipped to a froth. It must be an acquired taste to be enjoyed by any but a true Venetian. Other little booths are filled with "portraits" and statuettes of the Madonna and the saints; and there is a lively fair all about the church before the hour for the great function.
This begins at half-past ten. The procession is formed, and moves to the church in the same manner as that of the Redentore. Within the church the people light the candles they have brought, one taking the fire from another; and these lighted candles, in all sizes, from the largest that are on sale down to mere tapers, are handed to the priests within the altar-rails, and are placed near the statue of the Madonna, triumphing over a symbolic figure of the plague. Thousands of candles are thus massed, until the space around the altar is a sheet of flame. Those who add to the candles a small sum of money receive a picture of the Madonna, which they kiss devoutly, and then conceal in some hiding-place about their dress.
Then the solemn services begin, one Mass succeeding another, until the vespers and benediction close the day at five o'clock. Meantime the women sit and gaze at the men constantly moving under the great cupola, wherever they can thread the crowd. They are all clean, well shaven, and dressed in their best. The gondoliers, with blue sashes, present "a symphony in shirts;" for in this use of flannel they are able to show their love for color, and most of them are artists enough to know the tint that is most becoming.
The season of the year forbids the open-air festivities which accompany other fêtes; but the wine-shops and restaurants make a rich harvest through the evening and far into the night, and jests and songs are heard in all the streets. In truth, the hour when one may really sleep becomes a doubtful question; for it happens manytimes that just when one is comfortably dreaming, perhaps for the twentieth time, he hears in musical tones, sometimes singly and again in trios or quartettes, "Viva Italia! Viva il Re!"
FÊTES OF THE PEOPLE.
But perhaps the most interesting of all the Venetianfeste, and certainly the most characteristic, are those distinctly of the people, and confined to thecontrada, or quarter, in which the event occurs. A quarter is often thrown into the greatest excitement by a challenge to a rowing-match. The qualities of the champions are hotly discussed, bets are made, and the spirit of rivalry recalls that of the ancient Nicolotti and Castellani. Indeed, these very terms are still used on such occasions, though one is puzzled to know in what way one of these poor boatmen can represent the aristocratic Nicolotti of Heraclea. However, since these wear a black cap and sash, and the Castellani wear red, the names and their colors still serve a good purpose.
The street-fights between these parties, theForze d'Ercole, and other trials of their strength and skill are all things of the past; and it is only on the occasion of a regatta of the people that the question is asked, "Who will win, Castello or San Niccolo?"
The day before these races the two boats are carefully cleaned, everything being scraped off the bottoms. They are then weighed at the Custom House, and tied to the posts of a ferry, where they remain, under the guard of a friend of each of the contestants, during the night. The race is rowed early in the morning; and only those who may most decidedly be calledil popoloshow any knowledge or interest concerning it. They gather in all sorts of crafts close by the gardens and by San Giorgio. At half-pastseven the report of a gun is heard, and in a few minutes the race sweeps past. The red caps are leading; and those in the boats who favor that color are proportionately gay, while the black caps are silent and downcast.
All the boats that have been waiting follow the race for a certain distance; but its speed is too great for them, and near the end of the Giudecca they await the return. The course is usually about twelve miles; and after an hour and a quarter, or perhaps a little less, two white specks are seen far away across the water. These specks grow larger and clearer, and the greatest impatience possesses the watchers until they can discover which color leads. The boats stream out in two lines to meet the racers, who are taking different courses, and are so far apart that no one can yet decide as to the end. But when the first boat reaches the façade of San Giorgio, it is still the red cap that holds the lead. "Bravo, bravo!" is heard from all sides in joyous shouts; but the boats vanish like those in a dissolving view. They have given all the time they can afford, and each must now go to his duty, except a few of the more active spirits, who haste to greet the victor, and arrange a supper in his honor.
This feast usually takes place within the week, and is a gay affair, for after the supper there is dancing, and all are in the best of spirits. The hall in which the tables are laid is always decorated with the portraits of victorious boatmen, and flags and banners won in other races. The ancient custom of having a portrait made of the winner still survives, and it is a matter of great pride to collect these each time a new victory is gained for the red caps or the black.
The supper requires a long time; for three quarters of an hour is allowed to pass in smoking, talking, and singing between the courses. Wine is there in plenty; for ifonly men are at the supper, it is brought in a forty-litre tub, suspended on poles from the shoulders of two men, and welcomed with huzzas. The room grows warm, and jackets are thrown off, as the merriment increases, exposing the brilliant flannel shirts and sashes, until at last the final course of the orthodox boatmen's supper has been eaten, for the menu is as unalterable as the courses of the stars. And now the tables must be cleared and the dancing begin. And such dancing! Their waltz is slow and long, and they love it to madness. They abandon themselves to its rhythmic movement with delight, and often sing as they dance, as if every possible expression must be given to their perfect happiness. One cannot foretell the hour when it will end. Not so long as the musicians will play,—for when was a dancing gondolier known to be weary? And when theMarcia realeor Garibaldi's Hymn is played, with what impetuosity do the dancers respond!
THE SAGRA, OR PARISH FÊTE.
Each parish in Venice has its patron saint, and on that saint's day the whole parish is devoted to its celebration. Early in the morning a procession visits every shrine within the borders of the parish to burn incense before it.
First in the procession are those who carry the crosses, banners, and candelabra, all the portable belongings of the Church, made as fresh as possible for thesagra, and a Madonna, usually seated in a somewhat shaky chair. These bearers wear a sort of priestly vestment over their work-day clothes; and these are carefully arranged in groups of different colors,—first blue, then red, and lastly white. It is most interesting to see the faces of these bronzed, weather-beaten men, more accustomed to rowing than to walking. They stagger beneath their burdensfrom side to side of the narrow calle; but they smile as they meet the gaze of neighbors and friends, who watch from the windows and doorways the progress of their carissima Madonna.
Behind the bearers comes the sacristan,—a person of importance, clothed in scarlet, walking backward, and ringing a bell. He is the marshal of the procession; and every boy is sober and properly behaved when within sight of this important official. Following him the music comes,—usually a clarinet, fife, trombone, and drum,—playing the most cheerful themes, and followed by three little acolytes, who swing their censers with such a will as to send up perfect clouds of incense. The parish priest comes next, and is usually an old and venerable man. He is dressed in rich robes and laces, and attended by men bearing a canopy over his head. He carries the Host reverently in his hands, and is followed by all the lesser clergy and officials of the parish. Then the pious men and women, the first in black clothes and bareheaded, and the last in long black veils, make a large part of the procession; and here a most curious economical custom is observed. Each of these parishioners carries a lighted taper, and to avoid its dripping, holds it sideways across the breast; and beside each one of these walks some one with a paper bag in which to catch the drippings of the wax. And so the procession winds in and out of every possible place in all the parish. It is often forced to halt by some obstacle in the narrow way; and those below are nodding and smiling to those above, for every window and balcony is filled. The procession stops at the last bridge in the parish, which has been covered with gayly colored mats. The music ceases; the priest alone, under his canopy, climbs to the highest point on the arch of the bridge, and raises the Host in air. Every voice is hushed, every head uncovered, and every knee bent. The onlysound is of the water gliding on and on to the sea. All is enclosed by high walls; but if one throws the head quite back, a strip of lovely placid blue symbolizes the peace which these humble worshippers are hoping to gain at last.
Suddenly the music plays its gayest waltz, the procession returns to the church with the consciousness of duty done, and the rest of the day is devoted to festivity, and in the evening the principal open space of thecontradais illuminated with a few extra lamps and some Bengal lights. Before almost every window hangs a picture of the saint whose day it is, and these are lighted by little oil-lamps.
Here, too, as in the greater festivals, are stalls for selling fruit and pasties, or hot boiled chestnuts andfritelle; and much wit is expended in buying and selling these wares. Somewhere in the quarter there is dancing, too, usually in the middle of the square; and when the spectator is fortunate in his position, the whole scene is a delightful repetition of the fairs andfesteof the people so often seen upon the theatre or operatic stage, but far more beautiful and fascinating if the night be a moonlit one of early summer.
These parish festivals are managed entirely by the people, and are more or less impressive according to the collections that the capo, or manager, is able to make. On this depend the amount of the illumination and the brilliancy of the fireworks at the end; and no triumphant general ever had more pride in his victory than has this capo, when at the close of thefestahe is applauded, and bids the band play thefinale, which is, of course, the ever-present "Viva Italia! viva il Re."
It is only with plenty of time, and that at the right season, that one can really come to know the Venice of to-day, and nothing so plainly shows the spirit of a peopleas to see them at their play; and when, as in the case of thesecontrada feste, these working classes are quite by themselves, it is a tribute to their government and to their own natures to find them light-hearted and merry, easily amused, and contented in the quiet round of their every-day life.
GOOD FRIDAY.
This fast to the rest of the Christian world in Venice assumes the air of a feast. The people are all in holiday attire, and the children in crowds are romping and rolling, shaking their rattles to scare away Judas, turning somersaults and frolicking generally. And this day, more than any festival, affords delight to children, who have a custom of fitting up a Holy Sepulchre (Santo Sepolero), and appealing for coppers to all passers-by. They take the idea, naturally enough, from the Holy Sepulchres they see in all the churches; but the surprising thing is the readiness with which they improvise theSanto Sepoleroout of nothing, and then the ease with which they obtain the little coins. A small box, a bit of green, some candle-ends, and all is done; and if the child be sweet-voiced and winning, her Good Friday success is assured.
But at evening, in the most populous quarters, and those least invaded by strangers, the most unusual Good Friday custom is seen. The people of the quarter conduct a unique service of song, quite independent of the Church and at their own cost. They agree to sing the Passion of Our Lord, for which they use a chant with twenty-four verses. The necessary means are furnished by subscriptions of money, oil, wine, or anything that may be used in the celebration.
At one end of thecallea shrine is erected representing a temple, each part of which—pillars, pediment, and soon—is outlined by small lamps; while in the centre of the shrine there is a gas-jet with its paler light. A crowd gathers before the little temple waiting for the music to begin, while every window within hearing distance is open and filled with listeners, who meantime gossip with the people in the street. Somewhere in thecallethere is sure to be a Madonna and Infant Jesus, who have on this day been carefully cleaned and trimmed with wreaths of flowers, long sprays of graceful vines, and bits of ribbon.
When the leader of the singers begins the chant, all other sounds are hushed. Even the children know that they must now be quiet. The key-note being thus given, other voices join in; and each verse requires about three minutes for its rendering, and between the verses there is a pause of five or six minutes, when the chatter of the men and women and the pranks of the children are resumed, until again cut short by the voice of the leader. This is repeated until the twenty-four verses of sombre chant are sung in a manner much resembling ordinary psalm-singing elsewhere.
The music over, the evening ends, as do all Venetian celebrations, with a supper at the nearest wine-shop. This singular observance of a day so sadly solemn elsewhere makes a curious impression at first on strangers who witness it, and is perhaps the most characteristic of all the public customs that one can observe in Venice.
A new era was inaugurated in Venice by the fall of Constantinople. Prosperous and powerful as the Republic had previously been, it now sprang, as if by magic, into a position of which her most ambitious and far-seeing statesmen could not have dreamed.
A little more than a quarter of a century had elapsed since the visit of Pope Alexander, at which time sixty-five thousand was the highest estimate that could be made of her population; now, at the end of the Fourth Crusade, her nominal sovereignty embraced millions of souls, and the actual numbers within the borders of the Republic itself had vastly increased. The new territory and the various rights and privileges which she had acquired in the Lower Empire had largely increased her commerce and the sources of her wealth, and she hastened to make all these advantages permanent by a liberal and wise system of colonization.
At the beginning of the thirteenth century the Venetian nobility was the most powerful and opulent class in the world, as well as the most polished and enlightened, and were everywhere held in the highest consideration as men, soldiers, and diplomats. In the history of the Republic one fact stands forth prominently,—the devotion of Venetians to Venice,—devotion to the Republic, and to her elevation to the highest ideal of which they could conceive. To this end her sons directed all their powers, and were willing to sink their personality in her aggrandizement.
Not in a spirit of humility, for never a prouder race existed; but it was the pride of patriotism which moved them,—pride if by any act they could add to the stature of the Republic. Not in any spirit of sacrifice, for they felt it no hardship to spend and be spent if only the name of Venice could thereby be made more resonant wherever it was spoken. Venetians were united in one aim,—that Venice should be the most beautiful and most powerful of cities. And so it happens that in the voluminous records of her history and life, while they give a vivid realization of the thought, energy, and power which thousands of her sons must have possessed and must have dedicated to her glory; while as one reads he may almost hear the hum of her busy life and feel the throbbing of her pulses, little prominence is given to individuals. It is not of men nor of family that we read; it is of Venice, first, last, and always.
Often as the names of Contarini, Michieli, Ziani, Dandolo, and Tiepolo appear, no one family ever held absolute power, or was independent of the others. Was this the result of their jealousy of one another? Perhaps; and it answered a great end. Never was Venice at the mercy of a race like the Medici or Visconti; and when the great ambition of her sons was turned from personal exaltation and centred in the good of the State, it became an overmastering passion, and could but produce glorious results. Ten times it happened that the Republic was on the verge of ruin; and as many times did its leaders in Council, Senate, and College, together with the Doge, stake all they possessed for the preservation of Venice, and always with success.
The wisdom of its laws conduced to bring about this state of things; for every boy of the noble class knew that at twenty years of age he must appear before the proper magistrate and claim admission to the Great Council, he being the legitimate son of one whose name was in theLibro d' Oro. From that day, if he had ability, he must be a servant of Venice. He could follow no personal tastes in studies or pursuits. A refusal to accept appointments was subject to so heavy a fine as to occur but rarely. At the age of twenty-five, the beginning of manhood, he must enter the Great Council, serve on laborious committees, go thence to the Senate, and be elected or appointed to one position after another that demanded all his power of service. Sometimes he must fill several offices at once, and to the last day of life he can give himself no repose if the State finds his service valuable. No matter how old he is, nor how feeble, if Venice chooses him for her Doge, he must assume the beretta, the mantle of gold and ermine, and bear them as well as he can until the end of life brings his release.
Thus, by the middle of the thirteenth century the Venetians were held in the highest consideration throughout the civilized world, and still their reputation was increasing. The voice of Venice was powerful in every cabinet; her flag was respected on every sea; and, in fact, from the Great Council of Venice magistrates were chosen to rule in other parts of Italy where the native governing class was violent in its jealousies. To Milan, Bologna, Padua, and other important cities had these Venetians been called, and wherever they ruled the influence of Venice was potent. The intimate knowledge of the affairs of other provinces and cities which these Venetian governors gained was shared with the home government, and many advantages accrued from it.
The thirteenth century was an intermediate period, so to speak; for it followed the tremendous efforts with which the twelfth century closed and preceded the period when Venice reached its greatest glory and prosperity. It was largely spent in adjusting the Republic to the new conditions consequent upon its greatly enlarged territory,and in changes of matters of internal policy. There were struggles in its colonies, struggles with Genoa and with the Papal See, as well as insurrections and serious party differences at home.
A large anti-patrician party had arisen, and an effort was made to return to the old method of electing the Doge by acclamation. So bitter were the troubles with Rome that the Republic was laid under an interdict, and all the offices of religion strictly forbidden; and had not Martin IV. died suddenly in 1286, Venice must have suffered unspeakably from his severity. But the advent of a new Pope gave an opportunity for a reconciliation, and it is believed that the principal condition of the peace made with Rome in 1289 was the establishment of the Inquisition in Venice. This was the last act approved by Giovanni Dandolo. Prior to this date there had been trials of heretics from time to time, but no permanent institution had existed. Indeed, the Republic had stood out against the wishes and commands of ten Pontiffs, and even now such restrictions were placed upon the Holy Office as disarmed it of much of its power and danger.
Two months later, in November, 1289, Giovanni Dandolo died, and the time and occasion had come when the Democracy had determined to assert themselves. They congregated in large numbers in the Piazza of San Marco, and declared Giacomo Tiepolo to be elected Doge by acclamation. Two centuries before, this sort of revolution had been successful, but a different order of things now existed.
Tiepolo was a sincere democrat; he was a wise and good man, one of those whose love of Venice far exceeded his love of self. He knew that his party could not succeed, and that such an attempt to overcome established customs could only end in the gravest consequences; accordingly he hastened to withdraw from the contest, andretired to Villa Marocco to await the result of the election. His party, thus abandoned, seemed to disappear from the stage; but the tumult had proved to those in power that still firmer ground must be taken to secure the ascendancy of the aristocracy. To further this end, Pietro Gradenigo (contemptuously called Perazzo) was elected Doge in the usual manner.
Gradenigo was not a popular man, as the corruption of his name shows, for Perazzo was not a complimentary title, and he was known as a firm supporter of the patrician party. Many remonstrances against his election were made by the opposition; but the democrats were not organized, they had no reliable leaders nor any settled plan, and the firm determination of the aristocrats carried things with a high hand.
The deputy who was sent to announce the election of Gradenigo to the National Assembly pronounced the formula, "Pietro Gradenigo is your Doge, if it please you," and at once withdrew. As no dissent was heard by this deputy, the election was considered legal. Gradenigo was at Capo d' Istria; and a squadron of honor, carrying twelve noblemen as his escort, was sent to announce his election and invite his return.
And now commenced a reign which continued twenty-two years (1289-1311), during which time the most important changes were made in the government of Venice; serious wars were undertaken, and great disasters encountered; the Republic was placed under the ban of the Church; grave revolutions occurred. Indeed, these years seem not to have had a day that was not heavy with important results; and yet, as we now review them after the lapse of centuries, we know that the effect of wars, insurrections, interdict, and plague combined, did not compare in importance with two great political changes which were brought about under Gradenigo's leadership,—theclosing of the Great Council (Serrata del Consiglio Maggiore), and the establishment of the Council of Ten.
Daniel Barbaro sums up the character of Gradenigo thus:—
"He was a person of infinite astuteness and sagacity. For the vigor of his understanding and the soundness of his judgment he was not more remarkable than for his constancy of purpose and firmness of will. In the prosecution of his formed designs his energy and resolution were indomitable. As an orator, his delivery was fluent, his language copious, and his manner persuasive. Toward his friends and partisans, no one was more urbane in deportment, more profuse in kindness, more apparently studious to please. Toward those who had provoked his enmity, no one could be more unforgiving and implacable. In politics he was a dexterous tactician and an habitual dissembler; and he at all times evinced a backwardness to employ force, until intrigue and artifice were exhausted."
There is little doubt that Gradenigo was pledged to fully carry out the policy of the aristocrats. By a certain management they had been essentially in power for a long time, but occasionally they were made to realize the dissatisfaction of the people and their claim to authority. The time was favorable for the politicians to perfect and initiate their schemes, almost unnoticed by the people, who were fully occupied with the Genoese war, which gave them much anxiety and distracted their thoughts from what was being quietly done in their very midst. The intent of the closing of the Great Council was to exclude from election all save the aristocrats; it is thus explained by Romanin:—
"The citizens were divided into three classes: first, those who neither in their own persons nor through their ancestors had ever formed part of the Great Council; second, those whose progenitors had been members of it; third, those who were themselves members of the Council, both they and their fathers.The first were called new men, and were never admitted save by special grace; the second class were included from time to time; finally, the third were elected by full right."
This measure was not perfected without much diplomacy extending over many years,—indeed, it may he said to have been initiated in 1172,—and when it was finally accomplished Venice was ruled by an oligarchy beyond dispute, and for all time. It was confirmed in the statute-book when all Venice was occupied with the fitting out of the great fleet to be commanded by the Admiral Andrea Dandolo. The Genoese war had thus far been uncertain in its results, the advantage being sometimes on one side, and again on the other, until the Venetians were thoroughly aroused, and willing to contribute money and men, and to do everything possible to put an end to this vexatious conflict.
Dandolo's fleet numbered ninety-five vessels, and carried more than thirty thousand fighting men. One man-of-war was fitted out and commanded by Marco Polo, lately returned from travels in Tartary and other countries then rarely visited. So rich was he that he was called "Messer Marco Milioni;" and but for his engaging in this war our knowledge of him to-day might have been confined to this title.
The fleet sailed from Venice early in September, 1298, and proceeded down the Adriatic to the island of Curzola, where Dandolo learned that Lampa Doria, with the Genoese fleet, was approaching. He had but seventy-eight ships, many of them being much larger and heavier than those of the Venetians. Doria had hoped to reach Venice before Dandolo sailed, and was much chagrined to find the enemy's squadron stretched across the gulf in three lines, completely barring his passage.
Doria was so impressed by the superiority of the Venetians, and so well knew their indomitable spirit, that heat once gave up the thought of a battle, and sent to Dandolo to arrange terms of submission, offering to give up all his stores. Dandolo answered that the only terms he would accept were those of the unconditional surrender of the Genoese. This acted like a tonic on the courage of Doria and his men, and they determined to fight. Ten Genoese galleys were placed in concealment behind the island, and the remaining sixty-eight were disposed in line of battle.
Dandolo, finding that he was so placed that his men must fight with both the sun and wind in their faces, began to doubt the wisdom of his haughty and insolent reply, and decided to consult the civil councillors who had been sent from Venice as his advisers. Dandolo did not hesitate from fear, but from common prudence, which recognized the disadvantages he must encounter. But the civilians in their ignorance and arrogance urged him to fight, and he at once proceeded to do all in his power to overcome his unfortunate position.
The action took place on Sunday, September 8; and in the very beginning the Venetians crashed down on the Genoese, and ten of their vessels were sunk with every soul on board. The sea was strewn with the débris of these ships, and for some hours it seemed that victory still, as ever, attended the Venetians. As the ships met, the Venetians did not hesitate to board those of the enemy, who, knowing their fate if captured by the men of the Republic, fought like wild beasts in despair. Wounded men were hurled into the sea; many were crushed between the ships; the vessels of the two admirals were in conflict for hours, and the Venetians had almost won the day, when suddenly the wind changed, and several Venetian galleys were driven on the coast and completely wrecked.
Now all was changed; vainly did Dandolo exert every power to encourage his men and restore order; vainly did Quirini, Marco Polo, and other brave men expose theirlives with patriotic devotion; vainly did the men of Zara and Chioggia perform feats of valor; twelve captains were seized with such fear that they took to flight, and thus led to irretrievable defeat.
Doria quickly perceived his advantage, and his order to advance flew all along his line like lightning. A struggle followed which in desperation and loss of life has rarely been equalled, never surpassed. The conflict seemed still so equal that neither side could feel the confidence of success, when suddenly the Genoese, by a skilful movement, forced the Venetian centre, their reserve came up, and the rout of the Venetians was complete. The only vessels saved were the twelve which ran away; eighty-three were foundered in action or fell into the hands of the enemy, who dismantled and burned nearly all of them.
Five thousand Venetians were prisoners to the Genoese; the number killed was not known; Dandolo and Marco Polo, who had shown the most impetuous daring and bravery, were taken alive, and all the misgivings with which the brave admiral had opened the battle were more than justified.
"The spectacle which presents itself at Curzola on that terrible 8th of September, after the action, can be pictured more easily than described. In the evening the followers of Doria are seen in a dreamy and trance-like posture, holding with tremulous hands the palm which they have so dearly won, and thinking of the reply which they must give when, on their return, mothers ask for their children, and children for their fathers, who have lost their liberty or their lives on that too eventful day. Curzola hears no shouts of victory, no songs of triumph; several thousand Genoese have felt the edge of Venetian steel; several thousand Venetians see before their dim and feverish vision the horror and ignominy of a Genoese dungeon; and as the sun goes down on the conquerors and the conquered,its serene effulgence affords a striking contrast to the deep lurid hue which has been imparted to the sky for several miles around by the gradual immersion of sixty galleys in a sea of belching fire."
Even the Genoese writers speak of this victory as fortuitous; the losses of the combatants were nearly equal, and the squadrons were well matched, as the superior number of the Venetian ships was fully compensated by the size and strength of the opposing vessels; and even after the change of the wind, if the heroic conduct of Dandolo and his chiefs, of the Zaratines and Chioggians, had not been neutralized by the infamous desertion of twelve ships, the victory might yet have been with the Lion of St. Mark.
"No joy-bells or other manifestations of popular enthusiasm awaited the return of Doria to his country. Too many among the multitude which thronged the quays to witness the landing of the troops were doomed to retrace their steps to a bereaved home, and to hearths made desolate by war; and in the extremity of their affliction, the Genoese were almost tempted to forget their glory, and to check their unbecoming exultation at the abasement of Venetian insolence and purse pride.
"But there was one who was expected to be in the crowd of Venetian prisoners, and whom the Genoese displayed the greatest eagerness to see in chains.He was not there. Unable to support the galling thought that the son of a Doge of Venice was about to grace a Genoese triumph, to be paraded in fetters before a Genoese mob, and then to rot in a Genoese dungeon, the brave and unfortunate Dandolo took an opportunity of dashing his head against the gunwale of the vessel which was conveying him to his new destination, and thus miserably terminated his existence."
Marco Polo was wounded and in an alarming condition when taken to prison; but so much admired was he, and so capable of fascinating enemies as well as friends, thathe was cared for in such a way as to insure his recovery, and was even visited by Genoese gentlemen. All who came near him listened to his stories of travels and adventures with rapt attention and delight; and especially a fellow-prisoner, a Pisan, Rusticiano, who had been a writer in his day, and was seized with a desire to write out all the wonderful tales which Marco repeated again and again. Through the kindly offices of a Genoese noble the necessary materials were furnished, and three months were devoted to writing, in curious antique French seasoned with Italian idioms, the tales of the modern Herodotus. We can imagine the supreme felicity with which Rusticiano began: "Oh, emperors and kings, oh, dukes, princes, marquises, barons, and cavaliers, and all who delight in knowing the different races of the world and the variety of countries, take this book and read it!" The first perfect copy was presented to the Republic of Genoa. The length of Polo's imprisonment is not positively known; but he probably returned to Venice in 1299, just when the "Serrata" and the insurrections convulsed the city. But his public life was finished; and his marriage, the making of his will in 1323, and such personal matters are the only records of his remaining life.
The Venetians at once set about the building and organization of a new fleet of one hundred galleys, and rose from their defeat with an energy and spirit that astonished the world. They bought artillery in Spain, and built vessels with such rapidity that the Genoese were undoubtedly influenced to make their peace with Venice by the conviction that she would be ready again to attack much sooner than they to repel. At all events, within a few months, these rivals concluded a perpetual peace with all possible pledges of friendship and mutual respect.
The Venetians now gradually turned their attention to what the Doge and his creatures had accomplished whileall eyes had been directed elsewhere; and great excitement and discontent were soon manifested. The populace had seemed childish and almost worse than that in the simple and unreasoning way in which they had cherished the fallacy that they retained any political power worthy of the name; but of late, in certain directions, notably by trying to elect their own Doge, they had evinced an awakening appreciation of the facts, and a determination to re-establish themselves.
Naturally, when the closing of the Grand Council was understood and the whole drift of the government apprehended, a demonstration was made, led by Marino Bocconio, who had already made himself prominent by his emphatic opposition to the election of Gradenigo. Early in 1300 Bocconio, with some of his followers, demanded admittance to the Great Council, in order to protest against recent measures of the government. The Doge was present at the Council when this demand was made, and after some hesitation the visitors were admitted. What occurred has never been known; but the next day Bocconio and ten others were tried for sedition, condemned to death, and immediately hanged between the columns in the Piazzetta. It will be easily understood that this immediate and extreme punishment of malcontents brought peace to Venice, in seeming at least.
It is interesting to note one peculiar element in the policy of Gradenigo. By the changes in the Great Council the power of the Doge had been greatly lessened, and "The Forty," or the "Quarantia," was now the supreme power in the Republic. Gradenigo had thus strengthened the aristocrats to the prejudice of his own authority. Various reasons have been given for his course in this matter, the most reasonable one being that he thus redeemed his pledge to advance the policy of the aristocrats to the extent of his power.
During the preceding half-century the power of the Doge had been merely nominal; he was now simply the instrument of the officials about him. At the same time his pomp and circumstance had been augmented as much as his real power had declined, and the public occasions on which he appeared gradually increased in magnificence. Martino da Canale thus describes the Easter procession which could not have occurred later than 1268, as the Doge Renier Zeno died that year:—
"On Easter Day, then, the Doge descends from his palace; before him go eight men bearing eight silken banners blazoned with the image of St. Mark, and on each staff are the eagles of the Empire. After the standards come two lads who carry, one the faldstool, the other the cushion of the Doge; then six trumpeters, who blow through silver trumpets, followed by two with cymbals, also of silver. Comes next a clerk, who holds a great cross all beautiful with gold, silver, and precious stones; a second clerk carries the Gospels, and a third a silver censer; and all three are dressed in damask of gold. Then follow the twenty-two canons of St. Mark in their robes, chanting. Behind the canons walks Monsignor the Doge, under the umbrella which Monsignor the Apostle (the Pope) gave him,—the umbrella is of cloth of gold, and a lad bears it in his hands. By the Doge's side is the Primiciero of St. Mark's, who wears a bishop's mitre; on his other side, the priest who shall chant the Mass. Monsignor the Doge wears a crown of gold and precious stones, and is draped in cloth of gold. Hard by the Doge walks a gentleman who bears a sword of exquisite workmanship; then follow the gentlemen of Venice. In such order Monsignor the Doge comes into the Piazza of St. Mark, which is a stone-throw long; he walks as far as the church of San Gimignano, and returns thence in the same order. The Doge bears a white wax candle in his hands. They halt in the middle of the Piazza, and three of the ducal chaplains advance before the Doge, and chant to him the beautiful versicles and responses. Then all enter the Church of St. Mark; three chaplains move forward to the altar-rails,and say in a loud voice, 'Let Christ be victorious, let Christ rule, let Christ reign; to our lord Renier Zeno, by the grace of God illustrious Doge of Venice, Dalmatia, and Croatia, conqueror of a fourth part and of half a fourth part of all the Roman Empire, salvation, honor, life, and victory; let Christ be victorious, let Christ rule, let Christ reign.' Then the three chaplains say, 'Holy Mary,' and all respond, 'Help thou Him.' The Primiciero removes his mitre, and begins the Mass. Then the Doge shows himself to the people from the loggia, and afterwards enters his palace, where he finds the table spread; he dines there, and with him all the chaplains of St. Mark."
The coronation of the Doge had also come to be a magnificent fête.
The day was a general holiday, the streets were festooned with garlands, richly emblazoned banners floated from the windows, draperies were suspended from the balconies, and all the beauty of Venice gathered in casements and verandas to see the processions as they passed.
We have a description of the Coronation of Lorenzo Tiepolo the successor of Renier Zeno, in 1268, which is a type of these ceremonies. The newly elected Doge was escorted to San Marco by a solemn deputation, and at the door was met by the Vice-Doge and the clergy of the Ducal Chapel. At the high altar he took his oath of office, and received the standard of the Republic. He was then led to the throne, and invested with the mantle and other insignia of office, the youngest senators encircling his brow with the ducal beretta. All this was witnessed by a vast concourse of people, who were enthusiastic in their reception of the new Duke.
The chaplains of San Marco then conducted the Dogaressa to the Ducal Palace, where, amid great pomp and rejoicing, she was seated on the throne beside her husband.
The coronation was followed by splendid festivities. A water fête was held; and a squadron of galleys, gaylyand fancifully dressed with pennants, passed close along the canal in front of the palace, while choristers on board chanted verses in praise of the Doge and Dogaressa which were written for the occasion.
The procession of trades was an imposing feature of this festival. It was led by the smiths, who, wearing crowns and chaplets of flowers, carried banners and marched to the sound of musical instruments; the furriers followed, arrayed in ermine and minnever; and then came the skinners in taffeta robes, displaying their choicest manufactures; these were succeeded by the tanners, iron-masters, barbers, hosiers, drapers, cotton-spinners, gold-cloth workers dressed in their precious products, the weavers and tailors attired in sumptuous white costumes with rich, fur-trimmed mantles. The dress of the mercers, glass-blowers, fishmongers, butchers, and victuallers was equally costly, some being red and others yellow. Each corporation wore a badge or token of their calling, and the drapers carried olive branches in their hands.
The four deputies of the barbers were disguised as knights errant, two being mounted on richly caparisoned horses, while the other two walked beside them; they were accompanied by four damsels, fantastically dressed, whom they claimed to have rescued from deadly peril. When they were near the platform of the Doge, they halted and made a speech claiming to have come from some far country seeking their fortunes, and offering to defend the maidens against any others who might claim them. The Doge made a reply of welcome, and assured them of their safety under his protection; they then shouted, "Long live our Prince, the noble Doge of Venice!" and moved on.
Then ten master-tailors changed their dresses, and donned white suits sprinkled with vermilion stars, andtraversed the city singing the popular songs of the day; each one carried a goblet of malmsey and occasionally sipped it. This was extremely Venetian; and we can but wonder if the tunes these tailors sung are not the same that have descended through many generations to the gondoliers of our own day.
There were also games in which buffoons played the principal parts, and men carrying cages of birds many of which were liberated when they came near the court; this was greeted with hearty approbation, and the whole scene was as merry as possible. We are sorry to add that then, as now on like occasions, there were many light-fingered ones among the crowd who filled their pockets at the expense of honest folk.
All these entertainments closed with an industrial exhibition in the palace in compliment to the Dogaressa, who, as she passed through the apartments, was presented with gifts which she graciously received; and thus auspiciously was the reign of the new Doge inaugurated.
This flattered his vanity; and when he was borne about the Piazza, scattering gold as he went, he may have been elated and imagined himself of great consequence. Every four years the citizens swore allegiance to him, his person was declared sacred, and he never left the palace without an attendant train of nobles and citizens. On the other hand, his oath now obliged him to execute the orders of the various councils implicitly. He was not permitted to exhibit his portrait, bust, or coat-of-arms outside the Ducal Palace; he could not announce his election to any court save that of Rome; no one could kiss his hand, or kneel to him, or make him gifts,—in short, no homage must be personal to the Doge; it must be rendered to the aristocracy who had made him Doge, and who were the State. No member of the Doge's family could hold government appointments in any part of the Venetian territory;and his sons, who had formerly been associated with him in office, could now be elected to the Great Council and Senate only, and in the latter had no vote.
To make the power behind the throne more absolute, it was finally decreed that no one elected to the ducal office could refuse to serve, neither could he resign nor leave Venice. Thus the Ducal Palace became a prison, and the Doge the only man in Venice who absolutely could have no will of his own.
The quiet that followed the execution of Bocconio was a quiet full of storms. The discontents were not yet ready, and had no leader to inaugurate a revolution. Meantime the foreign policy of Gradenigo was making him the best-hated man imaginable. He had involved the Republic in a most disastrous war with Ferrara, in consequence of which the Pope had pronounced the sentence of excommunication against the whole Republic of Venice. It is difficult in our day to appreciate the full meaning of this.
Bridge of the Rialto.Bridge of the Rialto.
Not only the inhabitants of the Republic, but all who aided them in any way, were placed outside the pale of the Church; their property, wherever found, was declared sequestrated; their treaties were null; it was made unlawful to trade or eat or converse with them; every one was at liberty to take them and sell them into slavery; all sacraments were refused them; even the rites of burial were denied, and the clergy left Venice. A new Crusade was published, and papal indulgence given to all attacks upon Venetians or their property. In several parts of Italy Venetians were put to death; and at Genoa many of the prisoners of Curzola were sold as slaves.
"In England, in France, in Italy, in the East, the merchants were robbed. From Southampton to Pera the Venetian counting-houses, banks, and factories were forced, sacked, and destroyed. The commerce of Venice trembled on the verge of extinction;and all these evils were laid at the door of the Doge and the new aristocracy. But the party in power never wavered; their determination was the result and the proof of their youth, their confidence, their real capacity for governing. Though they were surrounded by a people suffering intensely from physical and spiritual want, as well as by a nobility who openly declared their hatred of the new policy and of its authors, yet they never deviated for a single moment from the predetermined line. Everything was done to win the regard and support of the people. The Doge instituted a yearly banquet to the poor, and the picturesque ceremony of washing and kissing twelve fishermen from the lagoons."
At the same time everything possible was done to humble and insult the opposing party. The noble Marco Quirini was refused a seat in the Privy Council, and his place given to a Dalmatian, who, according to the statute, was not eligible to this Council. It was attempted to strictly enforce the law against carrying arms in the street, which occasioned grave troubles. A watchman, called a "Signior of the Night," met Pietro Quirini in the Piazza one evening, and insisted on examining him; Quirini knocked the man down, and was heavily fined.
Meetings of the Opposition were held at the house of Marco Quirini, near the Rialto, and an organization was made. They determined to make Bajamonte Tiepolo their leader; he was a son-in-law of Quirini, and was greatly beloved by the people, who called him il gran Cavaliero. He had inherited all the popularity of his father, the Tiepolo who had been elected Doge by acclamation. Quirini had been the head of the Opposition. He was of exalted rank and personal character; and his relation to Bajamonte Tiepolo had increased his consideration by the union of two great families, so that he was now the most influential man in the Great Council. He had been sent as Podestà to Ferrara, doubtless in the hope that he wouldnever return; but he escaped pestilence and all other dangers, and was at home in time to engage in the insurrection with all his heart.
Bajamonte had been for several years at his Villa Marocco in the March of Treviso; but when, in 1310, his brother nobles invited his return, he readily assented, and his arrival in Venice was the signal for greater excitement and determination. He urged immediate action; and so many of his party agreed with him that the more cautious counsel of their elders was set aside, and on June 14, ten years after the execution of Bocconio, the fires of revolution were again kindled in Venice.
It was arranged that the conspirators should gather at night in the house of Quirini, and with the dawn rush to the Piazza, gain possession of the centre of the city, and kill Gradenigo. The night was terrific; thunder and lightning, and torrents of rain raised a tempest in which the cries "Death to the Doge!" and "Freedom to the People!" could not be heard; and under the cover of this terrible storm the insurrectionists went forth. One division, under Bajamonte, proceeded by the Calle of the Merceria; a second, under Quirini, took the nearer way by the bridge of Malpasso (now di Dai) and the Fondamenta; and all were to meet in the Piazza.
Up to this time the meetings of the revolutionists had escaped observation; but now a traitor, Marco Donato, gave such information to Gradenigo as led him to send three officers to ascertain the truth. At the Rialto they were met by drawn swords, and fled for their lives. The Doge at once apprehended the situation, and sent to the governors of the neighboring islands for a speedy supply of troops. He arranged his soldiers with great care, by the aid of the flashes of lightning; posted guards at every entrance to the Piazza; the main body being massed in the centre, awaiting the rebels in silence. No more dramatic scene is described in history.