The name of his father was Bussone; but the soldier took his name from the town, near Turin, in which he was born, in 1390. While he, as a boy, tended flocks upon his native hills, the clash of arms and the noise of battle which filled all Europe reached even his ears; and fired with desire for adventure, he deserted the first duty of his life, and through one chance and another entered the service of Facino Cane, a great general in the service of the Duke of Milan. Carmagnola soon proved his fitness for the profession he had chosen, but it is doubtful if the jealousy of Cane would have permitted him to come to the front. It may therefore be said to have been the making of his fortune when Facino Cane and Gian Maria Visconti died on the same day, and Filippo Maria Visconti became the head of the house; for when this young prince needed a general, he chose Carmagnola, who embraced his cause zealously, and at once took Milan for him, and subsequently, one after the other, overcame thecities which had revolted. Naturally this was a work of time; and meanwhile the great captain was high in the favor of his prince, held a conspicuous position at court, and was the chief counsellor of the Duke in all important matters.
So distinguished had he become that the Duke had given him a wife from his own family, with the privilege of bearing the name of Visconti, and the arms of that reigning house were also conferred on him. To the large booty won in his service great wealth had been added, and this peasant soldier lived in Milan in a style suited to his riches and his wife's birth. He was in the midst of erecting the Broletto, a royal palace (now used for municipal purposes), when the shadows of misfortune first fell on him. This was in 1424, when Foscari had been Doge of Venice for a year, and twelve years after Duke Filippo Maria had made Carmagnola his captain-general.
This Duke suffered much from morbid timidity. His sensitiveness as to his personal appearance amounted to torture, and caused him to seek a seclusion that but increased his morbidness. He was so suspicious of all who served him that he made it the duty of one set of guards to watch over another, and so on, through several relays, and then purposed himself to watch the last. The fear of murder haunted him, and he used all his ingenuity in devising schemes of self-protection, such as constantly changing his apartments, and other methods equally futile if his fears were well grounded.
He married the widow of Facino Cane, Carmagnola's first commander, and through the conquests and efficient counsels of his great captain, the Duke was now the master of the Lombard plains and many wealthy cities, while he was respected as well as feared by his rivals. Finally Carmagnola had added Genoa to his other conquests; and this proud rival of Venice, with her commerceand her splendid harbor, seemed to complete the glory of the Duke of Milan. It may be that it was all suspicion on the part of the Duke (when one has such a nature as his, who can tell?); but at all events, it would seem that the glory which this last success brought to the Captain was more than the Duke could support. He feared lest Carmagnola should become too powerful, and naturally there were enemies of the successful man who were only too ready to encourage suspicions against him; and though there had been no thought of treachery imputed to him, the Duke demanded the surrender of the troop of three hundred horse, which had been Carmagnola's special command.
He implored the Duke not to deprive him of his soldiers, without which his life would be wretched. But to his prayers no answer was made, and he began to perceive that evil influences were working against him. He was at Genoa, of which place he had been made governor, and the Duke was at a fortress on the borders of Piedmont, not far away; and his letters not being answered, he determined to face the Prince. In full assurance of regaining the confidence of the man for whom he had done so much, he set out with all the impulsiveness of a generous nature.
Imagine his surprise when, arrived at Abbiate, he was not permitted to pass the bridge into the castle. The guards had been forbidden to admit their commander-in-chief. However, he did not yet understand that he was insulted, and sent word to the Duke that he desired an audience. The answer directed him to communicate with Riccio (his deadly foe), as the Duke was too busy to see him. Carmagnola curbed his pride and anger, and again sent to say that his message was for the ear of the Duke alone; and to this no answer was vouchsafed.
As he waited with a handful of followers on the bridge,his only answer being a command to speak to his well-known enemy, he thought he saw the face of the Duke at a loophole above. As he looked down on the scene around him, he found himself in the midst of his own hirelings, who were only too glad to see their peasant captain humbled. The fire of his rage flamed forth, and he called God to witness his innocence of any wrong to the Duke, in thought or deed, and then accused his enemies as perfidious traitors, and swore a solemn oath that they should soon feel the want of him to whom they would not now listen.
He turned his horse and rode towards the Ticino, the border of Savoy, his native province. This much alarmed the conspirators, who were watching from the castle, and an attempt was made to call him back; but he rushed furiously on, and stopped not until he reached the castle of the Duke of Savoy, to whom he told his story and offered his services. But Amadeo was a clear-headed, cautious man, and well knew that he could not compete with Milan; and Carmagnola, seeing that there was no hope for him here, remembered that he knew of a power greater than that of Milan, and cautiously made his way to Venice. He was received with the distinction which his fame as a soldier commanded, and possibly more, just at the time of his arrival, when there was already a question of war with Milan, in behalf of Florence.
Envoys from Milan and Florence were already at Venice when Carmagnola arrived, and the whole city was full of excitement. Indeed it was a curious thing to watch the representatives of these two Italian States, so near to each other geographically, both of one nation and tongue, and yet so different,—the Florentines grave, and occupied only in the serious affairs which had brought them hither; the Milanese, gay in dress and manner, carelessly passing here and there, as if their only object were to see thesights in this Queen of the Sea, of which they had heard so much. But they could scarcely have failed to have some uneasy thoughts when they saw Carmagnola there. The man whom they had driven from their midst by unjust accusations, the man whom they had insulted and betrayed, was not likely to help their cause with the Republic, nor speak to the Senate in accord with the representations they would there make. But all must have the privilege of speech, and the interest to hear was very great with the Venetians.
The Florentine Ridolfi was the first to whom the Doge and Senate listened. He made a passionate and moving appeal, begging that the Venetians would unite with the Florentines to curb the power of Milan, and warning them that when Philip had once overcome Florence he would find the means to conquer Venice also. The Senate was greatly moved by his eloquence and the force of his arguments, but they were divided between sympathy for Florence and hesitation at the enormous cost of aiding her, between fear of Philip for themselves and doubt of his ability to overcome and dominate Florence and Venice; and they thought it best to listen to the Milanese before expressing themselves to the Florentines.
Very different from the earnest pleading of Ridolfi was the bravado of the orator from Milan. He declared that he and his companions had come on no important embassy, but simply to pay their respects to Venice and her Senate in the name of their Duke. They had no league to make, no favors to ask, since the treaties which existed between Milan and the Republic were still unbroken. He then represented the Florentines as false men, whose speech was full of lies. He declared that though the former rulers of Milan had been enemies of the Venetians, Duke Philip was their friend, as the Visconti had been for a century, and that he desired peace and repose, being "thevery model of liberality and courtesy." In fact, no new light was thrown on any subject by the speech of the Milanese, and the Senators were much divided in their opinions. A part were for immediate war with Philip, who only desired to speak them fair until he could overcome Florence; the others begged for greater caution, and recalled the truth that to begin a struggle was much easier than to end it.
It was now Carmagnola's turn, and a new wrong which he had suffered filled his wrath to the full. At Treviso an attempt had been made to poison him. It had failed, and the perpetrator of the act had paid for it with his life; but it had turned the feeling of injury which Carmagnola had cherished before into fierce hatred, and he appeared before the Venetian Senate with fire in his heart and on his tongue. With hot words he depicted the benefits he had conferred on Philip, and the base ingratitude with which he had been treated. He declared that he had received no rewards, but simply the just hire for what he had accomplished; and now, he said, the prince he had thus served had not only wounded and insulted him, not only turned his back on him, and driven him into exile, but he had sought to kill him,—not in a fair and open battle, such as soldiers love, but in the way of the cowardly assassin, with poison. He then congratulated himself on his preservation, and declared that although he had left his wife, his children, and his wealth in the country he had lost, he was still fortunate in that he had found a country where justice was honored and villains did not rule.
Carmagnola then represented that Philip was far less powerful than he was thought by the Florentines; that his soldiers were not paid, his citizens were not rich, and his own means were much exhausted; that the Duke's successes had depended on himself; and that without himPhilip was weaker than the Florentines, and much weaker than Venice. And finally he offered his services to the Republic, promising to increase its dominions and to conquer Philip, and declaring that though they might have had greater commanders, none had been more loyal than he would be to Venice, and none had ever hated her enemies as he hated the Milanese.
The speech of Ridolfi had appealed to the intellects of the Senators, but that of Carmagnola moved both their heads and hearts, and almost all pronounced for war. Foscari followed; and an old chronicler says that "the energetic speech and great influence of the Doge, whichwas greater than that of any prince before him," decided the Senate to make the league with the Florentines. War was at once declared against Milan, and Carmagnola was made general of the forces. He speedily led to action the soldiers who were ready, while all Italy was scoured for recruits.
The first point of attack was Brescia, and the story of its possession is indeed a sad one. Historians disagree as to the extent of blame to be fixed on Carmagnola; but at the best, as Bigli gives it, it seems a cold-blooded betrayal of the many Brescian friends of the great captain. By the aid of two men within the city, at the dead of night, Carmagnola marched his troops into the Piazza, the very centre of the city, and suddenly, with an illumination of torches and blare of trumpets, announced his sovereignty in the name of Venice, which he now served. The historian says: "Though at first dismayed by the clang of the trumpets and arms, as soon as they [the inhabitants] perceived that it was Carmagnola, they remained quiet in their houses, except those who rushed forth to welcome the besiegers, or who had private relations with the General. No movement was made from any of the fortified places in the city."
So far all had gone well, but the real work was yet to be done; and it was only after seven months of siege, of trenching and assaults, of shutting out supplies, and many tasks which demanded infinite skill and patience, that Carmagnola was master of the city with all its wealth,—a splendid conquest for Venice. Brescia being actually reduced, the villages and castles belonging to it surrendered without resistance, and as far as the Lago di Garda the sovereignty of the Republic was acknowledged.
Philip was furious, but as he was in no condition just then to make war, he employed a legate of the Pope to make peace for him; and this was accomplished at the cost of his relinquishing, not only Brescia, but a portion of the Cremonese territory, in all nearly forty miles in extent.
Meantime, in all these months, there had been some mysterious elements in the conduct of Carmagnola, which by no means escaped the all-searching eye of Venice. Very early in the siege of Brescia he had left the authority with his chief engineer, and after a plundering expedition on Lago di Garda, had retired to the Baths of Abano, pleading that an old wound in his thigh gave him so much pain as to unfit him for service. The Venetians regarded this as a hint for some benefit to be conferred on their Captain-General, and they promptly made him a noble of Venice, with the title of Count of Castelnuovo, and offered him a principality in Cremonese territory if he would rejoin his army and push his victory across the river Adda.
The Duke of Milan, on his part, was pursuing a tortuous policy, by which he set a snare for the great Free Lance. He determined to make it appear that he had some understanding with Carmagnola. His envoys were constantly seeking the General, and whenever Philip made any proposals to Venice, he named this officer ashis ambassador. Carmagnola was weak enough to be flattered by this. He believed that he was absolutely essential to both Venice and Milan, that everything revolved around him, and that he might decide the fate of these two powers from his retirement at the Baths of Abano.
The treaty which followed the fall of Brescia was signed in December, 1425, and in one clause of it the Duke promised to restore to Carmagnola his property in Lombardy; but Visconti broke this as well as other stipulations of the treaty, and it soon became evident that war was again inevitable. In February, 1427, Carmagnola was summoned to Venice to aid the government in its plans for a new campaign. Soon after his arrival his wife joined him, and was accorded, by the Seigniory, a splendid reception, in which neither trouble nor money was spared; and thus the Senate indicated to its Captain that his faithful service would be fully recognized by the Republic.
The second campaign more plainly revealed the sluggishness of Carmagnola. In spite of the impatience of Venice and the magnificence of the rewards she promised, there was no activity. Again the Duke was full of intrigue, and pretended intelligence with the Venetian commander. It began to be understood at Venice that Carmagnola was neither as great nor as sincere as the Senate had believed when he first addressed them; and their distrust was not lessened when again the Duke proposed terms of peace through the mediation of his sometime friend and commander.
Casal Maggiore had been retaken by the Milanese. Angry letters were sent to Carmagnola, who replied that when the proper time arrived he would recover it in three days. This he did; but as he wished to free all his prisoners, according to the then custom of war, and as theRepublic was a law to herself, and did not aim to follow the rules of mercenaries, there was a direct disagreement at once. The Senate ordered the captured garrisons to be detained. Carmagnola obeyed, but considered it a disgrace to his honor as a soldier. He so resented this infringement of his authority that he allowed his opportunities to slip away unimproved. The Duke was now sorely pressed by Savoy, as well as Venice, and yet Carmagnola refrained from entering his territory, and quietly remained in camp at Casalsecco and on Lago d' Iseo; and it was not until October, 1427, that by the battle of Macalo he retrieved his fame, and restored the Venetians to good-will towards him, in spite of the great dissatisfaction and grave suspicions of him which they had entertained for months.
A house in Venice at San Eustachio was given him, with Castenedolo in the Bresciano for himself and his heirs; and two nobles were sent to convey the thanks of the Republic to him, and at the same time to exhort him to follow up his victory at Macalo with a series of equally splendid triumphs, which were clearly within his reach. The government also suggested that the time had arrived for passing the Adda, and ending the war by a glorious victory which would insure an honorable peace.
But it seemed that Macalo was deemed sufficient by Carmagnola to quiet Venice for a time; and though all Italy agreed in the view of his employers, he did no more, and at the end of the year asked for permission to go again to the Baths. The disgust of the Venetians may easily be imagined; but as the Duke had already begun negotiations for peace through the friendly offices of the Pope, an ungracious consent was yielded to the request of their general; and as the envoys of the Duke came to him, even at Abano, he fancied that he could return to Milan whenever he willed. He was playing a game for himself,like a true mercenary soldier, and he desired by his sluggishness to lay the Duke under obligations to him. No doubt he intended to return to the service of Visconti, whose constant wars brought him great wealth in booty; and then his half-finished palace was there, and we can readily imagine that his wife desired to return to her own country.
While he was at Abano the negotiations proceeded, and a peace which was advantageous to Venice was signed on the 19th of April, 1428. Almost immediately Carmagnola made a triumphant entry into Venice, and his old father came to see how his son was honored by the Republic. Forty years ago a peasant-herder, he was now a noble of the proudest republic of Italy. Days of festivities followed. Venice had not realized her fullest hopes; but the Peace of Ferrara gave her Brescia and Bergamo, and added much to her territory and her importance.
But no peace with Milan could be long maintained, and soon the Senate knew that a third war was inevitable. They had paid Carmagnola the customary retaining-fee, and felt themselves quite secure of their leader, when suddenly, just as hostilities seemed imminent, he sent in his resignation. When the Senate met to consider this outrageous act, Carmagnola distinctly stated his price. He must have a thousand ducats a month, in peace or war. And now the mortification of Venice was complete. Through distrust of her own sons, and by her own laws, no Venetian gentleman could command more than seventy-five men. Had their General been one of their own countrymen, with Venetian soldiers, as in the old days, how great would the difference have been! But now, with the Duke of Milan ready to attack them, they were at the mercy of the greatcondottiere.
The war actually began in 1430, and this third campaign seemed only to emphasize the conduct of the second.Carmagnola was more inactive. The Duke sent his envoys to the General with greater frequency. The Venetians were less patient, especially as the audacity of their General became more and more surprising. In spite of offers to reward him with the lordship of Milan if he would reduce it, he refused to move. He attempted no concealment of his constant communication with Philip. He even wrote to the Senate concerning the envoys who were with him, and took no warning from the sullen replies he received. He was trifling with Venice, and did not try to hide it; and he was not intriguing with the Duke, although the latter intended to make it appear so, and succeeded in his plan.
According to Sabellico, the discussions of the Senate over the best way to treat Carmagnola went on for months. There were those who had always distrusted him. Others refused to desert his cause unless proofs of his treachery could be given. The General was in Venice during these discussions, but had no suspicions of them. This proves the perfect faith of the councillors, for his friends would not tell him any sooner than his enemies; and though there were those of them who greatly needed the rewards that the General would so generously have given for the information, not one would speak. The great court of the palace has been the scene of comedy and tragedy, many times repeated; but one act in the Carmagnola drama which occurred here is by no means the least interesting of these events.
One morning as the General went to pay his respects to Foscari, he met him passing from the Council Chamber to the Palace. The soldier cheerfully asked if he should bid his Serenity good morning or good evening, as he had not slept that night. To which the Doge smilingly replied that among the many matters spoken of in the long discussion nothing had been more frequently mentioned thanCarmagnola's name,—a ghastly joke when we know that the discussion involved the soldier's life.
At last the whole matter was put in the hands of the Council of Ten, who at once invited the General to come to Venice to consult on matters of importance. Utterly unsuspicious, he set out at once; and all along his way, on the plains of Lombardy, as he rode, or as he sailed down the Brenta, he was honored and welcomed as if he were a royal personage. At Mestre he was met by eight gentlemen, who blandly escorted him to his fate. We may well wonder of what they talked to him,—if they told him of his wife and daughter who were expecting his return; or were they silent and abstracted, as if preoccupied with the grave questions to be discussed with him before the Council? They conducted him directly to the palace, and there dismissed his retainers, saying that their master would be long detained by the Doge, who had much to say to him.
Not finding the Doge, Carmagnola turned to go to his own house; and then his friends, under pretext of showing him a shorter way, conducted him through intricate passages into the prisons. When he saw to what place he had been led, he exclaimed, "I am a lost man!" And when his friends endeavored to console him, he replied, "No, no! we do not cage the birds we mean to set at liberty."
It is easy to understand that the Seigniory were determined on his death. They would be free of him, and did not wish him to serve any other power. It is said that the Doge favored his imprisonment for life; but, be that as it may, he was examined and tortured, and finally led, with a gag in his mouth, to the Piazzetta, and there decapitated "between the Columns." He was buried in a church which no longer exists, and later his remains were taken to Milan. His family was banished to Treviso,with a small pension, and commanded not to pass beyond certain limits under pain of death. Strangely enough, what became of them is not known.
Severe as Venice was in her treatment of her great mercenary, and stupidly as he acted his part, they were both consistent with their position and character. He was an adventurer, thinking only of himself,—not a traitor in the usual sense of the word, and yet untrue to the interests he was most generously paid to protect. Venice was unforgiving of lighter sins than those of Carmagnola; and in accordance with her views and policy, he must die. Each acted logically and consistently from the stand-point of the principle, or want of principle, by which they were governed. Carmagnola would offer a favorable subject for the dramatic dissection of character which is so popular in our day. And for one thing he must be remembered and admired,—he was not a traitor in deed, whatever he was in thought; and this can be said of none of his fellow-captains. They all, sooner or later, betrayed one master for another; and this fact entitles Carmagnola to be called THE GREAT SOLDIER OF FORTUNE.
BARTOLOMMEO COLLEONI.
Thiscondottiereis called Coglioni by his biographer, Spino, who tells us that he was born near Bergamo, in 1400. His father, a noble of no exalted rank, was driven from his fortress by a conspiracy in his family; and Bartolommeo and his brothers very naturally sought military service and pay, according to the custom of their time.
Having acquired a certain recognition in the service of the Queen of Naples, Colleoni, with forty horsemen, entered the service of Venice at the beginning of the first campaign under Carmagnola. Did we credit hisbiographer with perfect truthfulness, we should esteem him to be already a great soldier. There is no doubt that he did good service at Bergamo, when, with his own horsemen and three hundred infantry, he warned the Bergaraese of the approach of the army under Piccinino, and helped them to prepare for the attack so well that the Milanese were forced to retire.
In 1448 Colleoni was made a lieutenant in the army of Sforza, as undisturbed by his change from the enemy to the friend of Milan as possible. In 1455 he was made the Captain-General of Venice, and remained in that position ten years; but even while he held so important a post, the mention of him in the Venetian records is quite unimportant, until in 1475 it was recorded that he had died at his castle of Malpaga, where he had lived in great luxury.
To the Republic he bequeathed arms, horses, and other objects of value, with 216,000 ducats in money, on condition that his statue should be placed in the Piazza of San Marco. The Seigniory were overwhelmed by this liberality, and were anxious to show their appreciation of Colleoni, but their laws forbade compliance with his ambitious request to stand forever in their Piazza. The Senate, however, considered that the condition was sufficiently fulfilled by placing the statue in the Campo in front of the Scuola di San Marco, and near San Zanipolo, where it now stands,—a horse and rider so alive, so full of force and motion, that it seems like a guardian of Venice, that would tread under foot any foe who came to harm her.
This was the second equestrian statue cast in Italy; that of Guattemalata at Padua, executed by Donatello a little more than twenty years before, being the first, and which, doubtless, inspired Colleoni with the ambition to be thus immortalized.
The statue was designed by "Andrew the keen-eyed" (Verocchio), but was completed by Alessandro Leopardi, whose name is seen on the horse's girth. The story goes that Verocchio came to Venice, and had modelled the horse when he was told that another artist was to execute the rider. In his indignation at this he broke the head and legs of the horse into fragments, and returned to Florence. The Senate sent after him a decree prohibiting his again entering Venice under pain of death. To this he replied that he would surely obey, as he knew that were his head taken off no power in Venice could replace it, while he could easily replace the head of his horse, and doubtless improve it.
After a while the Venetians realized his value to them, and rescinded the edict, at the same time asking him to return, with the promise that he should be undisturbed, and should have his pay doubled. Verocchio was thus pacified, but had not finished his horse when he was attacked by a fatal illness, and in his will begged the Senate to permit his pupil Lorenzo di Credi to complete the work. In spite of this, the Venetian Leopardi received the commission, which he executed so well as to be afterwards called Leopardi del Cavallo. The figure of the rider of this wonderful horse sits straight in the saddle, with its head turned so as to look over the left shoulder. The face shows remarkable determination, and the deep-set eyes are in accord with this expression. It is clad in armor, with a helmet on the head. The trappings of the horse are richly ornamented, and the mane is knotted. The elegance of the pedestal adds much to the effect of the whole.
Mrs. Oliphant may well say: "It is a great thing for a man when he has some slave of genius either with pen or brush or plastic clay to make his portrait. Sforza was a much greater general than Colleoni, but had no Verocchioto model him. Indeed, our Bartolommeo has no pretensions to stand in the first rank of the mediævalcondottieri." And as I have tried to trace his story I have thought that had he not given so generous a sum of money to Venice, and had she not made this statue, we should scarcely have heard of him. Is not this in reality a monument to Verocchio and Leopardi rather than to Colleoni?
The artist has gone on a tramp in the Alps, and now begins the long neglected sight-seeing,—a pure delight in the golden October days. There is no such haste in the early morning as in the summer time, and it is usually ten o'clock when I have read my papers, written my letters, and Anita is ready to go with me with her never-failing luncheon-basket; for we do not like to be bound to return at a fixed hour, and we never know quite where we shall be when we are hungry, so we take ourcollazionewith us. As a rule we are home again at four, just in good time for a cup of tea and a rest before dinner. When the summer is over, it is delightful to feel that the gondola is not obligatory, to use it only for excursions on the lagoons, for views on the Grand Canal, for moonlit evenings, and when one is indolent. Venice is quite another place when one walks and makes the acquaintance of the curious, characteristiccampiandcalli, as well as of some of the people. One of the most charming walks is along the Riva degli Schiavoni, ending at the Arsenal, after various detours.
Passing through the Piazzetta, we turn to the left on the Molo. This side of the Ducal Palace is beautiful in spite of the disproportion in the height of the lower story; this is caused by the rising of the sea-level, which is said to average three inches in a century, and consequently the pavement must be raised; if this is correct, the columnsof the palace must be fifteen inches below the present pavement. The entireloggieon this side of the palace are the work of the Bon family; the designs on the capitals of the columns are very curious, illustrating mediæval allegories and legends which symbolize justice and good government. The windows are fine, and the balcony in the centre is richly ornamented; the bas-reliefs are wrought with great delicacy and skill.
Panorama from the Campanile of St. Mark.Panorama from the Campanile of St. Mark.
From the Ponte della Paglia, at the end of the Molo, we have the best possible view of the Bridge of Sighs, which Howells calls a "pathetic swindle," and not without reason. It was not built until the end of the sixteenth century, since which there has been but one victim of political imprisonment. But there it hangs, high in air, "a palace and a prison on each hand." Looking up from the Paglia it is most effective, although vulgar prisoners only have passed over it to their death. No doomed Foscari or Carmagnola ever saw it; and perhaps its greatest interest is from that much-worn line of Byron's, "I stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs."
Passing the Paglia, we are on the Riva degli Schiavoni, in front of the Carceri, or public prison. As the apartments of theSignori di Notte(heads of police) were on this side, it was not made to look like a prison. Below are rustic arches, above which Doric columns, on pedestals, support a fine cornice with consoles in the frieze. The upper rooms are now used for convicts and the windows are grated. One can but wonder how it would seem to be there, shut off from the world, and gaze out on the beautiful Church of San Giorgio Maggiore and the lagoon beyond, with the ever-changing aspect of the divinely colored waters; to watch the multitudes of steamers, gondolas, and other boats passing and re-passing; to listen to the sound of steps and voices on the Riva, and to all the different songs and cries from the boats. It must bemaddening. Was it the effect of the restless waves that Saint John watched from Patmos, in his exile, that made him say, "And I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away;and there was no more sea"?
Passing another bridge, we turn into a curious vaulted passage at the left which leads to the beautiful Church of San Zaccaria; it is three centuries and a quarter old, and the third which has been erected on this spot. Architects lavish praises on it; Fergusson says: "One of the finest of the early façades of Italy is that of San Zaccaria at Venice."
In 854 Pope Benedict III. visited Venice, and the Abbess of San Zaccaria succeeded in obtaining from his Holiness the gift of the bodies of Santa Sabina and San Pancrazio and other sacred relics. After these treasures had been received, the Doge Tradenigo paid a visit of devotion to this favored shrine, and the abbess presented to him the splendid Ducal Beretta. It was studded with rare gems, having in the centre a large diamond surrounded by twenty-four pear-shaped pearls; above the diamond was a ruby of dazzling brilliancy, and in the front a cross was woven which contained twenty-three emeralds and other precious stones. The Doge made a solemn promise that each year he, and his successors after him, would visit San Zaccaria at Easter, in solemn procession, and wearing the precious Beretta.
The nuns of this sisterhood also gave a part of their garden to enlarge the Piazza of San Marco, and proved themselves as generous and public-spirited as they were opulent.
From the ninth to the twelfth century the Doges were buried in San Zaccaria; and the same Tradenigo who received the Beretta was assassinated in front of the church, where the column now stands. Its architectureis semi-Byzantine, except in the choir, which is Gothic. The pentagonal tribune is beautiful, with its circular arches below and its pointed arches above, which are exquisite in proportion and effect.
Near the door of the sacristy is the monument of the "Michelangelo of Venice," Alessandro Vittoria. He began this funeral monument thirteen years before he died! The bust is by his own hand, and the whole work is very interesting.
But that which holds us longest in San Zaccaria is the picture of the Virgin and Child, with four saints, by the adorable Giovanni Bellini. It is not one of his best, but it is a glorious picture. In 1797 it made the sad and disgraceful journey to Paris, and the restorers have not improved it; but in spite of all, we love it, and before we go away must also see the same master's small picture of the Circumcision, in a chapel of the choir, which is very much admired.
As we return to the Riva and pass on to the Ponte del Sepolcro, a very different sort of interest is aroused by the sight of the inscription upon the house which now replaces the Casa del Petrarca. The Palazzo delle due Torri was given to the poet in 1362 by the Republic, in return for a portion of his library. This frank statement of a perfectly creditable business transaction is somewhat of a shock to those who have thought of Petrarch as a disinterested benefactor of Venice. But we must remember that he was now nearly threescore years of age; he had exhausted the romance of his life long before; he had attempted to make peace between the Italian powers in vain; he abominated the manner in which wars had come to be made, by employing the mercenaries who brought with them pestilence and death; and he longed for a peaceful home for his old age more than for anything else.
With what comfort he must have settled himself in his luxurious house on the Riva; how differently must he have felt from those prisoners in the Carceri, of whom we have spoken, when he gazed upon the broad harbor and heard the bustle of the port! That it all appealed to him is proved by the following extract from one of his letters:
"See the innumerable vessels which set forth from the Italian shore in the desolate winter, in the most variable and stormy spring, one turning its prow to the east, the other to the west; some carrying our wine to foam in British cups, our fruits to flatter the palates of the Scythians, and, still more hard of credence, the wood of our forests to the Ægean and Achaian isles; some to Syria, to Armenia, to the Arabs and Persians, carrying oil and linen and saffron, and bringing back all their diverse goods to us."
He soon gathered around him a choice circle of friends; Boccaccio came to visit him and remained three months. What a picture is presented to our imagination when Petrarch reminds the great story-teller of their "nocturnal rambles on the sea, and that conversation enlightened and sincere"! He urges him to come again in this wise: "The gentle season invites to where no other cares await you but those pleasant and joyful occupations of the Muses, to a house most healthful, which I do not describe because you know it." It is not thus that we are apt to think of Laura's lover, or of the author of the Decameron; but in Venice they seem to have been two quiet old men seeking peace and health.
An interesting occasion when Petrarch played an important part was that of the great tournament which terminated the festivities after the capture of Crete in 1364. He sat beside the Doge in a balcony behind the horses of St. Mark. The balcony was as splendid as the richest awnings and hangings could make it, and the ducalrobes and crown were in strange contrast to the black gown and hood of the Laureate. Did he take pleasure in the thought that his fame as a poet would be known to future millions who would not be able to call the name of a single Venetian among the thousands who were there assembled? Surely it was a pleasant episode in Petrarch's life, this time in Venice; but it was all too short, and ended most unhappily.
After four years on the Riva, in that "house most healthful," a number of the patriciangiovinastri—all infidels and much puffed up with their little learning—after discussing their philosophies with Petrarch came to the grave decision that he was "a good but ignorant man"! To us it is absurd that this great poet should have given a serious thought to such folly; but the same sort of young men had driven Marino Faliero to such straits that he turned traitor. Petrarch showed his pain and indignation in a milder way, by quitting Venice to return no more. This was certainly the worse for Venice, since he imparted to the Republic the only poetical association connected with its palmy days. No poet with a name to live was born of that nation of wise statesmen, bravo soldiers, cunning merchants, and glorious artists. We can but wonder if it would have comforted him to know that the first exquisite book from the Aldine press in Venice, more than a century and a quarter after his death, would be his own poems and printed in fac-simile of his own handwriting!
Petrarch retired to Arqua del Monte, a quiet little town in a valley of the Euganean Hills, where he lived peacefully, visited by his friends and enjoying the many proofs that came to him of the appreciation which the scholars of his time had for his character and works. In 1373, again he went to Venice with Francesco Carrara Novello, who was to make submission as the proxy of his father,after the treaty at the termination of the Carrarese War. Again, the Laureate addressed the Doge, the peers, and senators, as the Apostle of Peace; it was his valedictory at Venice. In July, 1374, he was found dead in his library at Arqua.
"But knock, and enter in.This was his chamber. 'T is as when he went;As if he now were in his orchard-grove.And this his closet. Here he sat and read.This was his chair; and in it, unobserved,Reading, or thinking of his absent friends,He passed away as in a quiet slumber."
While thinking thus of the happenings on this very Riva five centuries agone, we pass through the narrow calle which leads to the campo of San Giovanni in Bragora. The pictures in this church are very interesting, and the font by Sansovino is beautiful; but to-day the Palazzo Badoer especially appeals to me, and yet one must almost regret having seen it since the restorers—Heaven save the mark!—have spoiled it. If the ghosts of the seven Badoer Doges ever walk this way, what must they think of the squares of red and white marble in which it is now dressed?
What a family they were, descended from Tribunes of the Rialto in the time of Theodoric the Goth; and to what good purpose they swayed the Ivory Sceptre during seventy-four years. It was Badoer II. who erected the first chapel in the Ducal Palace for the body of Saint Mark, which came to Venice during his reign. A daughter of Badoer IV. was an abbess of San Zaccaria, and many of the sons of these Doges entered the Church; but theirs was a proud, brave, just, and patriotic race, better suited to governing the Republic than to the offices of Holy Church. In their day the Doges were absolute monarchs, and the Badoeri gave almost constant domestic tranquillity to Venice, and won the hearts of the Venetians.
And now we are in the broadest street of Venice, the Via Garibaldi. It leads to the Giardini Pubblici, which is a park rather than a garden, and was made by Napoleon in 1807. The space was gained by the destruction of four churches, as many monasteries, and a hundred houses, none of which are now missed. It is a pleasant place to take luncheon, with a lovely panorama before us, to which the boats and their ever-fascinating sails give life and cheerfulness. Beyond the canal of the Giudecca rises the dome of the Redentore; the square tower of the Dogana and the cupolas of the Salute make a striking effect against the cloudless sky; well round to the right we see the top of the Campanile behind the Ducal Palace, and before us, the island of San Giorgio Maggiore, with its picturesque church and fine clock-tower, seems very near.
Undoubtedly, all this is best at sunset with the golden west for a background; indeed, few points are so favorable for watching the glorious death of day, especially if one lingers while the fires die out and even the more delicate tints fade away. Then a mysterious indistinctness steals over all the distant objects, but now so clearly cut against the flaming sky. There was a reality and emphasis about these towers and spires, the canals, and all the moving objects that made them a part of a work-a-day, practical world, but in the dusky twilight the outlines run together; we see and do not see the true forms of the various parts of Santa Maria della Salute, but a beautiful whole remains; even the nearer San Giorgio becomes mysterious; the smaller features disappear, while the whole is profoundly impressive and grand, seeming to clothe itself with the night, as if retiring into its own world of peaceful and solemn repose.
But at whatever hour one comes, this garden seems deserted, except on the one September Monday when it is the custom to picnic here. To-day we leave it quite empty,and walk along the Riva of the Rio di Sant'Anna, making our way to thecalle largaand the bridge which connects Venice with the island called San Pietro, or Olivolo, or Quinta Valle. Early in the history of Venice this island became important; and the first large church of the Republic, built here among the olives, was made the patriarchal church, and so continued until Napoleon bestowed that honor on San Marco, and converted the patriarchal palace of San Pietro into a barrack. After 766 the Bishop of Olivolo was an important man; he could not have been very wealthy, since his income depended on the mortuary tax, from which he was calledVescovo de' Morti(the Bishop of the Dead), and on an annual poll-tax of three hens from the people of a certain district.
One evening in June, 836, as the Doge Badoer III. was leaving San Pietro after vespers, unattended, as was his custom, he was seized by a number of bravoes, who compelled him to submit to the tonsure and then hurried him to a neighboring convent, where he was securely lodged. To kidnap a Doge of Venice was a most high-handed and extraordinary proceeding, and it is gratifying to know that his enemy who caused it to be done, was not elected to fill the vacancy he had created.
It was also at San Pietro di Castello, as the church came to be called, that the "Brides of Venice" were wed. By ancient custom, on Saint Mary's Eve, January 31, twelve poor virgins, endowed by the Republic, came here with their lovers, parents, kinsfolk, and friends; the brides were dressed in white with their hair hanging loosely about the shoulders, and each one with her dower in a little box suspended by a ribbon around her neck. Many boats dressed with flags and flowers bore the happy company over the canals towards Olivolo.
The Doge and the chief officers of State assisted at the ceremony, and the Bishop preached a sermon and pronounceda blessing on all these fortunate young people, who went away wedded and joyous. But in 939 a most unhappy interruption occurred. The pirates of Trieste, who knew all about this wholesale wedding, hid themselves near by until all the assembly had entered the church, and then, rushing in, just as the brides were to be given away, they seized them, even at the foot of the altar, and before the Venetians could comprehend the danger, the maidens were in the barks of the pirates and sailing towards Trieste!
No such outrage as this had ever been perpetrated in Venice, and the Doge Sanudo II. summoned the people to arms with the bell of the Campanile. The trunk-makers offered their boats, which were near at hand, and the Doge with the lovers and friends of the brides were soon in hot pursuit, and erelong hundreds of other boats followed. They soon overtook the Istrians, and killed almost every one of them in the conflict which ensued. The rescued brides were taken back to the usual festivities of the evening, which were greatly enhanced by their gratitude at being delivered from the unusual dangers that had threatened them.
After this episode the Festa delle Marie was established. Twelve dolls were dressed in bridal costume, and carried around the Piazza in procession; but this dumb show did not satisfy the Venetians, and was soon replaced by a solemn procession of twelve virgins attended by the Doge and the clergy. They paid a visit of ceremony to the parish of Santa Maria Formosa, where the trunk-makers who originated thisfestawelcomed them most hospitably. Tradition says that when these men requested the Doge to institute this Andata, he asked,—
"And what if it should rain?"
"We will give you hats for your head; and if you are thirsty, we will give you drink," answered they.
Accordingly, each year, the Doge received two bottles of Malmsey, two oranges, and two hats, on one of which was his own coat-of-arms, and that of the reigning Pope on the other. In the thirteenth century such extravagance had crept into this ceremonial that the brides wore crowns of gold adorned with precious stones, and cloaks of cloth of gold, and all in the procession were treated to wine and sweetmeats. This was continued until 1379, when the War of Chioggia interrupted all Venetian merry-makings; and on account of its cost, and a certain license of conduct which had been indulged in its celebration, the Festa delle Marie was discontinued.
Another delightful story in Bandello relates that Elena was secretly married to Gerardo, and separated from him by the same cruel fate that presides over many secret marriages, and on the eve of an enforced marriage she fell into a death-like trance and was laid in a sarcophagus in San Pietro. On that very evening a more propitious fate brought Gerardo home from Syria. When he learned of Elena's death, he rushed to the church, snatched her from the tomb, and carried her off; in his embrace she again found life, and the sorrowing parents gladly forgave these most interesting young people.
Having all these associations with San Pietro in mind, I had long wished to go there, but I found little to detain me. The Campanile (1474) is stately and fine, but the church (1594-1621) is not interesting. There is little to notice within. Two pictures by Marco Basaiti are soft and graceful, as are all his works; and the faces of the saints seem to express enjoyment of their placid melancholy. Near one of the altars is an ancient Arabian seat or throne, said to have been used by Saint Peter at Antioch. It was given to the Doge Pietro Gradenigo by Michele Paleologo in 1310. The curious inscriptions on the back are thought to be in Arabic.
Retracing our steps to the Via Garibaldi, we turn into the corte nuova, and soon stand where one is sure to be impressed with the power and grandeur of Mediæval Venice.
The first Doge of the Falieri had the honor to found the Arsenal, than which nothing could be more important in that "City of the Sea." There is a fascination in thinking of the time when the ringing hammers were swung by brawny arms, when the pitch was always boiling, and the primitive vessels of the Middle Ages were built with a miraculous rapidity; but in the eight centuries that have rolled away since its foundation there has never been a time when the Arsenal of Venice was not of great interest, as it still is.
Formerly, more than now, it seemed to be the ever-flowing fountain of Venetian greatness; for no matter by what enemy the Republic was threatened or attacked, no matter whether the danger was to her commerce or her territory, it was to the Arsenal she turned for strength. To repulse her own enemies, whether they were Saracens from the East, Genoese from the West, or pirates from all quarters, her Arsenal must furnish her with ships and arms; and in order to increase her wealth, the sea must be an open field to traffic and enterprise. To insure this, her ships must be many and fine; and, in short, but for her Arsenal she could never have attained or preserved her empire of the waters.
And now, although the workshops are not teeming with artisans, and the forges are not blazing as of old, it is not difficult to imagine the thousands and tens of thousands of men who here forged and welded the real strength of the beloved Republic.
The Venetians, among modern nations, first built ships on a truly great scale. Their galleys were enormous in power; their transport ships could carry a thousand menwith their stores; their galeasses permitted sixteen hundred men to fight on board, while they carried fifty pieces of heavy artillery, and had their prows made cannon proof. Naturally the nations with whom they disputed the sea endeavored to build ships equal to those of Venice; but she always had one advantage, in that even the small vessels bore at least fifteen guns, and the Venetian gunners were good marksmen.
Even to the end of the thirteenth century, however, the Arsenal was not firmly established, and vessels were built in temporary dockyards, wherever room was found. But with the beginning of the fourteenth century the Senate determined on making the Arsenal so fine and so strong that it could not be taken by an enemy. It was constantly guarded, and many attempts were made to destroy it. At the end of the fifteenth century it was under the care of a special magistracy, and sixteen thousand ship-builders and thirty-six thousand seamen were employed in Venice.
The three magistrates or keepers of the Arsenal were appointed for a term of thirty-two months, and were obliged to inhabit three official houses, called Paradiso, Purgatorio, and Inferno. Each keeper was on duty fifteen days at a time, during which he slept within the fortification, kept the key in his room, and was answerable with his head for the safety of the place. But one passage led out of the Arsenal,—that to the iron gate which opens on the small campo. With the exception of the great lions now at the entrance,—brought from Greece in the seventeenth century,—the exterior has changed but little in three centuries and a half.
Small arms and artillery were made here, as well as ships; and in each department the superiority of the manufactures resulted from the skill of the workmen and the quality of the materials used. The ship timber, afterbeing carefully selected and brought from various countries, was floated near the Lido for ten years to season it. The different parts of the vessels were cut and fitted in the workshops with such exactness that they could be put together with marvellous rapidity. It is said that when Henry III. of France visited Venice, a galley was put together and launched in two hours, while he was at a banquet; and during the famous League, before the battle of Lepanto, for one hundred days a new galley left the Arsenal each morning.
In truth, the Arsenal was a town by itself,—a town of foundries, forges, magazines of arms, and munitions of war, timber-yards, rope-walks, model-rooms, and warehouses; a town full of smoke, toil, and uproar. Dante had been here; and when he wished to describe a lake of pitch in which corrupt statesmen are immersed, in his Inferno, he thus begins:—
"In the Venetians' arsenal as boilsThrough wintry months tenacious pitch, to smearTheir unsound vessels; for the inclement timeSea-faring men restrains, and in that whileHis bark one builds anew, another stopsThe ribs of his that hath made many a voyage,One hammers at the prow, one at the poop,This shapeth oars, that other cables twirls,The mizzen one repairs, and mainsail rent."
TheArsenalotti, as the workmen were called, had their own organization and certain privileges. They well merited the confidence of the Republic, which they called their "good mother;" and she wisely gave them pledges of her trust. The treasures of San Marco, the Mint, and the Bank were guarded by them. Whenever the Great Council assembled, the Guard of Honor before the Ducal Palace was elected from their number. Each new Doge was attended byArsenalotti, when, after his election, he went through the city to receive the congratulations ofthe people; and, above all, the Bucentaur was in their care when the Marriage with the Adriatic was celebrated.
We can readily understand that the destruction of the Arsenal was the first aim of the enemies of Venice. It was only by "eternal vigilance" that it was preserved, and the severest punishments were thought too mild for those who attempted its ruin. In 1428 a man suspected of being a tool of the Duke of Milan and of intending to burn the Arsenal was dragged at a horse's tail and then quartered in the Piazzetta. Certainly a man who would burn the Arsenal was not needed in Venice, and we are not surprised that the Council of Ten were of this opinion; but they might have used a more humane method in his taking off.
For example, in the Museum of this very Arsenal there are many instruments of torture that one would not care to have used, even for the worst criminal imaginable; but there is one curious little death-dealer that claims to give its victim no pain whatever. It is a sort of key with a spring, by means of which a poisoned needle is shot into the victim, who dies without discomfort or the loss of a particle of blood.
Going home from the Arsenal, we take a gondola; and as we glide along, we recall the curioustableaux vivantswhich we have seen in this long ramble. All about the quarter of San Zaccaria we saw and heard the bead-stringers, as busy with their tongues as with their fingers. They are very skilful, and in their bright-colored handkerchiefs, with here and there a flower or gay comb or pin in their dark hair,—they know exactly how and where to put them in order to make the best effect,—they are picturesque, and some of them very handsome. They hold a tray of beads on the lap, and with a long needle, which carries the string, they dive among the beads at one end of the tray, push it quickly through the whole mass, and bring it up and out at the other end,well laden with the fascinating, many-tinted little globes. They do it as if they enjoyed it, and meanwhile they talk with each other, have a few words with the passers-by, and amuse and scold the children who play around them.
From San Pietro one sees, on the opposite side the canal, a neighborhood much adorned with fishing-nets. They are spread or hung everywhere that they can be made to stay on, and at a distance the effect is curious and picturesque. Old sails, too, are being dried or mended, while new ones are cut, sewed, or painted. This last process is novel and interesting; and as Giacomo needed a new sail for the sandolo, we saw the operation. The colors used are principally red and orange, and more rarely a pale green and a heavy sort of blue. If by chance you see a distant sail with a spot of sky blue on it, you will find on nearer acquaintance that you were looking at the real sky through a rent in the sail. The colors are made by mixing a kind of earth with water and adding the coloring matter; and these colors are "set" by dipping the sail, when finished, in the sea, and drying it in the sun, repeating this several times. The colors are applied with a sponge instead of a brush; and when one sees in how rude a manner the painting is done, it seems a wonder that the results are so effective. The artist (?) simply walks around the edge of his design with his sponge full of color, and the broad, rough outline is made. A certain slap and dash puts in the details, and the background is laid on rapidly.
Our new sail had a red heart pierced by an orange arrow, on a blue field, and the outer border was in stripes of dull red and orange. It sounds uncommonly ugly on paper, but Giacomo and Anita were very proud of it; and after it was soiled and faded it was not bad, although the plain colors, or stripes and geometrical designs, are preferable, we think,—but we are not Venetian gondoliers or fishermen.
In the history of Venice women play a very unimportant part. They seem, so far as the public were concerned, to have been put away with their best clothes, only to be brought out on such occasions as were suitable for the display of fine attire and splendid jewels. If they had power, it was certainly behind the throne, and so far behind that by no chance was it ever apparent.
The names of eight women who devotedly nursed the Genoese prisoners after the battle of Porto d' Anzo, have been preserved. There is a tradition about a very beautiful and learned Pisani. Now and then an abbess is mentioned, like that one of San Zaccaria, of the Morosini family, who presented the Beretta to the Republic. All we know of Caterina Cornaro seems to depend upon the fact that the Republic, by adopting her and making her Queen of Cyprus, was able to add that island to its dependencies. But for that fact we should probably not have heard of her; and, in short, of what Venetian woman do we know, of whom we may be proud, save Rosalba Carriera? and she was born after Venice was far on the way to its decline.
The historical fact that such a magnificent collection of jewels as adorned the Beretta existed in Venice in the middle of the ninth century proves that its Oriental commerce must already have been prosperous and extensive; and the earliest paintings of Venetian life represent aremarkable splendor of costume and ornament. We know that the fifteenth century was the most luxurious period in Venice; but its wealth and splendor were gradually developing during five centuries at least, and happily the decline, though much more rapid than the growth, did not rob its actual life of æsthetic interest for at least a century and a half after its well-recognized beginning.
We turn to the canvases of the Bellini, Titian, Giorgione, Tintoretto, and Palma Vecchio to see what the Venetian ladies were like; but we must remember, alas! that many of these were not the honorable wives and mothers of the men who made the strength and glory of Venice. Where else have the women who give their beauty and their lives for the pleasures of men been so much in evidence, so tolerated, and so luxurious in their living, as in Venice in her palmy days? They were not even excluded from the society of the Dogaressa herself on the occasions of balls and festivities in the Ducal Palace.
Their houses were marvels of luxury; and in the society that gathered about them the best wit, the most brilliant conversation, and the most delightful music in Venice were enjoyed. It was to the drawing-rooms of the women to whom he would not introduce his wife, much less his daughter, that a man must go if he would meet the best artists, scholars, and thinkers of the city. It was there and there only that women were found who were accomplished in music and poetry, and could interest superior men by their superior talk. Was the conversation of the lightest matters, and did they say nothing, they said it in a fascinating way; or were politics and the more earnest questions of life discussed, they were strong in their opinions, discriminating in their judgments, and quite as bold in their expression of them as the Ten would have permitted men to be. Theirbon-motswerequoted, their goings and comings were noted, and, in short, the interest of all Venetian gayety centred about these women.
Quite the opposite was true of the realgentildonne. They were rarely seen except on great public occasions, when, to the credit of the husbands, it must be acknowledged that they were careful to see that their wives were more magnificently attired than their mistresses. But so rarely were they seen that this indulgence could well be accorded them without envy. Yriarte calculates that not more than sixty or seventy of the seven hundred noble ladies of Venice were seen daily. Many of them were not in society more than two or three times in a year, and then on the most formal and ceremonious occasions.
While the more favored ones moved all about the city, clad in rich silks and velvets, the patrician wives wore a long black silkcappa; and even if they possessed beauty, nothing in their every-day dress added to its effect. They were guarded with almost Oriental jealousy. Why not? If a man cannot believe in himself, cannot trust himself, how can he trust another? The remark of the councillor when talking of the pattens that the ladies wore—sometimes two feet in height, so that to move at all they must lean on two attendants—gives the key to the whole theory of suspicion and lack of confidence.
The French ambassador spoke of the pattens as most incommodious. The Doge admitted that shoes would be more comfortable and convenient; but the councillor, shaking his head with a cynical expression, remarked, "Yes, far, far too convenient." God help the women who live in such an atmosphere!
The matrons, however, were far more fortunate than the maidens, whose dress was symbolical of retired life and domestic education. The home was all their world, and they knew nothing of any recreation outside thefamily circle. Even down to the last century it was not allowable to introduce gentlemen to the unmarried daughters of Venetian nobles. Their dresses were most simple, of plain white or black, and when they went to church, they wore thefazzuolo, a long white veil. On other occasions this was exchanged for a silken mantle, very thin and gauzy, through which they could see, but not be seen.
The marriage day was the day that brought freedom. For the first time the maiden was introduced to society, and it was intended that on that day she should first see the bridegroom. We more than suspect that many of the faithful and trusted nurses permitted thefazzuoloto be thrown aside for a moment when they well knew that the lover was watching in concealment for a glimpse of the face of his future wife; and sometimes these nurses so sympathized with the lover as to grant him meetings, all too brief, by the church door or in some crookedcalle.
With the innate love for dress and gayety entirely ungratified, without a jewel or ornament, save a simple cross or a rose from the garden, why should the Venetian maiden not dwell with longing anticipation on the thought of her wedding day, and if ever she talked with other girls, of what else could they speak? But, after all, when she saw the life of her mother and other matrons, what great pleasure did marriage offer her? Freedom in a sense,—servants, a gondola, ropes of real pearls, the formal court balls, and other ceremonies, all observed under the strictest rules of etiquette. To us there does not seem to be much brightness in the life of noble Venetian women, married or single.
The preliminaries of a marriage having been duly arranged by the parents and friends on either side, when the day arrived, the groom, bearing his gifts, went to the Ducal Palace, where he was welcomed by his own friendsand some of the friends of the bride. The marriage banns were published, and all present shook hands. These friends and the magistrates who were engaged in the ceremony, with the bridegroom, all went that evening to the home of the bride, where they were welcomed by her relatives and friends. And now, for the first time, the bride appeared. She was dressed in white, and still wore her veil, which at the proper moment was unfastened, and as it fell disclosed her long hair falling about her shoulders, and the marriage formula was pronounced.
The bride, followed by her maidens, with a rhythmic motion, to the music of flutes and trumpets, then passed around the salons and welcomed each guest, and afterwards retired to her own apartments. Whenever new guests arrived, the bride and her maidens repeated the dance of welcome, and at the end they all descended the staircase to the canal, where a gondola awaited them. The bride's seat was richly decorated, and raised in front of the cabin, and with her attendants she went to a convent to announce her marriage. Here other relatives and friends were waiting to congratulate her.
The next day many ladies called to pay their compliments to the bride, and after a few days some grand festivity or a series of banquets took place, as was the case when the marriage of Jacopo Foscari was celebrated. Five or six hundred guests were frequently entertained, and vast sums were expended in decorations of the house, in choice dishes and rare wines, until at last these lavish expenses were restricted by sumptuary laws.
About 1450 the wealth of the nobles was at its climax, and such extravagance was indulged in dress and entertainments that in 1514 certain Senators demanded a hearing in full Senate to denounce the ruinous manner in which money was spent by the Venetian ladies. In 1474 certain stuffs and jewels had been actually prohibited bylaw, and pearls were most severely forbidden. In 1514 amber, chased silver, agates, ladies' cloaks, laces, diamond buttons, chains, silk capes, lace sleeves, enamelled gold, damasks of all colors, velvets of all qualities, leathers, embroideries, fans, gondolas, with their rugs and carpets, and sedan chairs lined with velvet were all put under regulations. The style and cost of entertainments were limited. The expense of the gold and silver plate, the cost and number of courses served, even the sweetmeats and smallest details of the table, were legislated upon. For some time already the Dogaressa had been under strict orders as to her costumes at home and abroad, at church, on ceremonial occasions, and even in the privacy of her own apartment.
At certain times these rules were relaxed by necessity. How could plainly dressed women support the background of the salons of the Ducal Palace? When there they must be gorgeously attired; and knowing that these opportunities must come, the ladies of Venice bought as many pearls and other jewels and as splendid garments of every sort as they could get, and waited impatiently for a festival when they might wear them. In 1574, when Henry III. visited Venice, an edict announced that, "all contrary decrees notwithstanding, it shall be permitted to every lady invited to the said feast to wear all dresses and jewels of what kind soever seems to them most favorable for the adornment of their persons."
One can imagine the result. How gladly these ladies, so long restricted to plain dressing, would vie with each other in the beauty and richness of their dress in these festal days; and from the pictures and the written accounts of their magnificent costumes we know with what success their efforts were crowned. Some of them covered their arms, chests, throats, hair, and even their robes with pearls of untold value, sometimes costing millions of ducats.
For a long time the custom of bleaching the hair prevailed. A large hat-brim with no crown was used. The hair, being wet with some preparation, was thrown out of the crown space and spread over the broad brim, which shaded the person from the sun. Thus prepared they sat on their balconies and housetops as long as a ray of sunshine could be had. Titian and Veronese painted golden and shining hair on women, goddesses, and nymphs because no other color of hair was in good form. Many of the fashions in dress of the Venetian ladies of the time of the Renaissance were artistic and elegant; others were too grotesque for expression, and none more so than the pattens, to which we have already referred. Not being tall and stately, they wished to raise themselves artificially; but when pattens were extreme in height, all elegance and dignity of carriage was out of the question.
One can but wonder how the "potent, grave, and reverend seigniors" of the Venetian Senate could have found time to attend to all the detail of the dress, and even of the eating of the Signori, their wives, and their guests; but it is plainly to be seen that the jealousy which had led them to lessen from year to year the power and dignity of the Doge, found food to feed upon in the privileges and honors which were permitted to the Dogaressa.
As early as 1084 the extravagance of the wife of Doge Selvo was much written of by the chroniclers of the time. It was said that this Theodora, the daughter of a Greek emperor, had her cheeks bathed in dew every morning to give them a glow of freshness. This would not seem to have been an expensive habit. Her ablutions were made with rose water, and her linen was scented with fine balsams; and so many aromatic perfumes pervaded her apartments that it was not unusual for her maids to faint while dressing her. She always wore gloves, and fed herselfwith a double-pronged gold fork; and all this was so sinful in the eyes of the Venetians that the loathsome malady from which she died was regarded as a legitimate punishment of her vanity.