Horses of St. Mark.Horses of St. Mark.
Above them is the winged Lion of St Mark, that had such a curiously opposite effect on the minds of the Venetians and those of their enemies, imparting his traditional boldness to the former, and dissipating whatever of that quality existed in the latter. This lion is ubiquitous in Venice, and can be found of almost any age required; but this one is very modern. He is brave in his coat of gold, and the field of azure sown with golden stars which makes his background is very becoming. He rests one paw on the open book to emphasize the words "Pax tibi Marce Evagelista meus." Above him towers the statue of that saint whose symbol he is, the lion-hearted Mark,—the saint whose crumbling bones below, in the great Basilica, seem by some subtle spell to have made invincible the hearts and arms of those who look to him as their protecting guardian.
Rising from the pavement below, and towering far above the Bronze Horses, are the three cedarpili(flag-staffs), from which in the old days floated the banners of Cyprus, Candia, and the Morea, ever recalling to theVenetians the glorious victories they had gained. On Sundays and festivals the Italian colors are now seen on these masts, rising from the same magnificent bronze pedestals which have held them almost four hundred years, and which, according to ancient pictures, must have replaced still older ones. These were given by Paolo Barbo in 1501 and by the Doge Leonardo Loredano in 1505, and were all the work of Alessandro Leopardo. If the graceful tritons and sirens chiselled there could speak, how many questions we should like to ask them!
But alas! the only bronzes of the Piazza that give any sign of life are the two Moors on the top of the Torre dell' Orologio, and they only to strike the bell which each time reminds us that we have one hour less in Venice. There is a story that one of these Moors is a murderer, but not with malice aforethought. A poor workman, unconscious of the hour, was within the swing of the Moor's hammer, and so was thrown to his death below.
The azure and gold dial on this tower gives much information. The Italian hours, one to twenty-four, the quarters of the moon, and the twelve signs of the zodiac are there. On the upper story, above the dial, is a gigantic lion, with the starry background which he seems to affect, and beneath him is a gilded statue of the Virgin Mary. During the month of May, at certain hours, a door near her opens, and the Magi appear, pass before her, salute her with their crowns, and disappear by another door.
When all this happens at a quiet midnight hour, when the weird moonlight leaves much in shadow, bringing out only the most prominent objects, as the Moors and the Magi come to life, one involuntarily looks around, expecting to see the lion between the Clock Tower and the church shake his mane and come down from his block, to hear the horses neigh, and to behold a long line of saintsand angels who have left their dizzy heights to walk around the square in grand procession.
There are few objects in all Venice which have a greater variety of interesting associations than the Campanile, which so dominates the city and the surrounding sea that from its summit the fleets that have sailed away for war and for the pursuits of peace have been watched for many centuries, and followed by prayers and blessings until lost in the dim distance.
From this same height, what anxious eyes have been strained to catch the first glimpse of victorious, home-coming galleys! Or, in times of need, as during the Chioggian War, it was from the Campanile that the welcome aid-bearing vessels were first seen; and in all times of great events, for joy or sorrow, it was the tocsin of the Campanile that called the people to the Piazza to hear the news and take counsel for action. Nine hundred and ninety-two years has it performed these offices; and could a diary have been written of all its experiences, what book would be more wonderful?
Until 1518 there hung, from a projecting beam half-way up the tower, a wooden cage, grated with iron bars, in which some criminals were placed to endure the changes of the weather, as well as hunger and thirst, so long as life should last; for but meagre supplies of bread and water were let down to the cage from the top of the tower. Perhaps it was the influence of the golden angel which crowns the Campanile, and is kind enough to turn with every wind that blows, that wrought the merciful reform; for the cage was banished within a few months after he assumed the most commanding position in the Republic.
We are told that in the old days there were four bells rung from the tower for different purposes.La marangolasounded at dawn to call the laboring-classes to theirwork;la sestamezzanaannounced the opening of the official bureaux;la trotteracalled the councillors to their duties; and the belldel malefiziowas the knell that tolled during executions. About 1670 a fifth great bell was brought from Candia, which was heard only on Ascension Day, when the Doge espoused the Adriatic.
All lovers of Venice can sympathize with Arthur Hugh Clough, and will remember with delight the view from the Campanile, when for the first time the intricacies of this charming labyrinth can be unravelled,—
"My mind is in her rest; my heart at homeIn all around; my soul secure in place,And the vext needle perfect to her poles.Aimless and hopeless in my life, I seemedTo thread the winding byways of the townBewildered, baffled, hurried hence and thence,All at cross purpose ever with myself,Unknowing whence or whither. Then, at once,At a step, I crown the Campanile's top,And view all mapped below; islands, lagoon,An hundred steeples, and a myriad roofs,The fruitful champaign, and the cloud-capt Alps,And the broad Adriatic."
During the Crusades, in the cities of the East where the Christians were in power, it was customary to assign to each nation that had aided in the conquest a quarter in which they could live and worship in their own church. But at St. Jean d'Acre it happened that the Venetians and Genoese, enemies as they were, used the Church of St. Sabbas in common. As might have been foreseen, quarrels arose, and both claimed the building as exclusively their own. So fierce did the troubles become that at length the Genoese burned the church, with other buildings of the Venetian quarter. Such an insult could not be borne, and under Lorenzo Tiepolo the Venetians completely defeated the Genoese. In proof of the complete triumph of the Republic, two richly sculptured pillars, apart of the gateway of St. Sabbas, and a low column of red porphyry were sent to Venice. Naturally these were placed in the beloved Piazza; and the Senate decreed that the pillars should stand between the church and the Ducal Palace, at the inner entrance to the Piazzetta. The short column near by, at the southwest corner of San Marco, was put to good use, and called the "Pietra del Bando." From it the laws of the Republic, the sentences of banishment, and other important decrees were promulgated.
Campanile of St. Mark.Campanile of St. Mark.
But the most interesting columns stand at the opposite end of the Piazzetta, at the entrance from the lagoon. So typical were they of the spirit of Venice that they were duplicated in other cities under her sway. On one is a statue of that young Syrian warrior who stood the early Venetians in good stead as their patron saint, and still stands there upon the crocodile, at the chief entrance to the city, crowned by a nimbus, holding a shield on his right arm, and a sword in his left hand.
Opposite St Theodore, on the second column, is one of the many lions of St. Mark, with the open book. This one, alas! was desecrated by the French, and the gospel words replaced by the legend "Droits de l'Homme et du Citoyen," which caused a witty gondolier to say that "Saint Mark had turned over a new leaf." This lion made a part of the brazen menagerie that went to Paris in 1797, and returned to Venice in 1815. During his stay there he was appropriately lodged in the Invalides, no doubt suffering keenly the pains of dislocation. We must not forget that the Columns themselves have an interesting history. They form a sort of open door to the Piazzetta from the Molo, and are the first objects to attract the attention of the stranger who enters Venice from the sea. These two and another were brought from the islands of the Archipelago in 1127. One sank entirely out of sight,and has never been found, and these two lay on the shore a half-century before any one succeeded in raising them. But when the Doge Sebastiano Ziani promised anygrazia onestathat might be asked by any man who could erect them on the Piazzetta, Niccolò il Barattiere (Nick the Blackleg) placed them on their pedestals, and demanded that gambling, which was forbidden elsewhere in Venice, might be carried on between the pillars. For some time this privilege brought wealth to the family Barattiere, and ruin to so many others that the Senate resorted to a cunning device to render the promise of the Doge of no effect. It was decreed that all public executions should occur "between the Columns," which made the place of such ill omen that no one could be enticed to come there for any "chance" that could be offered.
As the criminals mounted the scaffold, they were accustomed to turn and look at a Byzantine Madonna, high on the wall of San Marco, and repeat theSalve Regina. A lamp burns before this Madonna at night to commemorate the remorse of the Ten for having unjustly executed Giovanni Grassi in 1611. Ten years later the truth was known; a pardon was published, and this Madonna set up in remembrance of Grassi, and as a warning against hasty and unjust judgments.
The Piazzetta has well been called the antechamber of the Piazza. It is the chief resort of the gondoliers; and at all hours of the day there is a procession of men, women, and children, carrying water from the Ducal Palace,—the best water in all Venice. The two splendid bronze cisterns from which the water is taken are more than three centuries old; and besides the debt due them for good water, an almost equal one is owing them as the centre of the picturesqueness by which they are daily surrounded.
Entering by the splendid Porta della Carta, one seesthese cisterns in the midst of the great inner court, the four façades of which are covered with reliefs and figures that symbolize Christianity and mythology with apparently equal approbation. Mars and Neptune seem quite at ease in the society of Adam and Eve; and such a wilderness of boughs and plants, of blossoms and vines, and such numbers of griffins, fawns, and goats as can rarely be seen with acoup d'œilmake a bewildering whole which may well be studied in detail. But great powers of concentration are needed if much of this is not forgotten while observing the moving, living actors in the scene around these wells.
The water-bearers come and go, carrying vessels of all sizes, forms, and colors. Some who are strong and seem to be in haste quickly fill their cans and jars, and go away. Others, more at leisure, put down their burdens and stay to tell and hear the gossip of the day. The variety of faces, young and old, of dress and manners, and especially of gestures, is most remarkable. The two distinctive charms of this court, the artistic past and the picturesque present, make it always fascinating, no matter how often seen; and if one would here study Rizzo and Sansovino, it is sometimes necessary to shut the eyes and think of what is to be done, or the human nature of to-day will prove itself far more absorbing than the sculpture of the past.
But the treasure-house of rare and precious antiques in Venice is the Basilica of San Marco. On the exterior, besides the Bronze Horses, there are numerous fragments from more ancient edifices which bear witness to the good taste and the acquisitiveness of the old Venetians. Within and without are more than five hundred pillars of rare marbles, mostly Oriental. During the building of the Basilica all Venetian vessels that sailed to the East were obliged to bring back a contribution to San Marco. Manyof the pillars in the façade have Armenian and Syriac inscriptions, having once adorned older edifices; and tablets with ancient sculptures, of which no history can be given, are inserted in the walls. Of the three doors which open from the vestibule into the church, that on the right is believed to have been taken from St. Sophia, in 1203; and the eight marble columns on each side this entrance came from the same temple. An ancient Greek altar, with bas-reliefs of dolphins and children, supports the basin for holy water; and within the baptistery the mass of granite which forms the altar is said to be the stone on which Christ stood when he preached to the people of Tyre, or, as another tradition says, upon which he rested by the gate of Tyre, whence it was brought to Venice in 1126 by the Doge Domenico Michieli.
The Pala d' Oro is a remarkable specimen of Byzantine art. It is only seen on high festival days, when the candles are lighted in front of the high altar, in the splendid candelabra given by the Doge Cristoforo Moro in the middle of the fifteenth century.
This altar screen was originally intended to decorate the front of the altar. It was ordered to be made in Constantinople by the Doge Pietro Orseolo in 976, and was not brought to Venice until 1105, when it was enlarged and enriched by Venetian artists, and this process repeated in 1209 and 1345. Naturally the splendor it has gained detracts from its original value. It was Byzantine; it is now also Gothic and Venetian. The inscriptions are both in Greek and Latin; and, on the whole, it is inferior in workmanship to other specimens of European gold and enamel work of the Middle Ages. That portion which was made in Constantinople consists of a picture in enamel or gold, enriched with chasing, pearls, cameos, and precious stones. This Pala is a fitting symbol of the Basilica, which is as composite in its architectureand as incongruous in its detail as it is splendid and imposing as a whole.
The canopy above the altar of the Holy Sacrament is supported by four spiral fluted pillars, said to have been brought from the Temple of Solomon. The bronzes by the Italian masters, here and there all over the Basilica, are of great interest. They date from the twelfth century, two of the doors from the vestibule into the church having been executed between 1100 and 1112. The five outer doors, made by the Venetian goldsmith Bertuccio, were finished in 1300. The bronze tomb of Cardinal Zeno is a magnificent specimen of the art of Lombardo and Leopardo (1505-15). It was decreed by the Republic to be placed in the chapel which the Cardinal had built. The statue of the Cardinal, surrounded by figures symbolic of his virtues, the lovely Madonna della Scarpa (golden shoe), with Saints Peter and John the Baptist, the two lions in colored marbles, and the mosaics of the twelfth century, make this chapel a wonderful treasure-house, and a worthy tribute to one who loved his Venice with supreme affection.
The Treasury of St. Mark once contained the finest collection of Byzantine jewelry in the world; and despite the demands made on it by the Republic in its emergencies, and the ravages of the robbers of 1797, it is still rich. It contains interesting reliquaries, chalices, cups, and similar objects in crystal, Oriental agate, gold, and silver, ornamented with enamels and precious stones. The reliquary containing a portion of the True Cross was given to St. Sophia, in 1120, by the Empress Irene. Among the other remarkable relics, all of which are in rich and costly reliquaries, are said to be a morsel of the skull of Saint John the Baptist and a bone from the arm of Saint George.
The altar of the Virgin Mary is continually surroundedby worshippers. A picture of the Virgin, believed to have been painted by Saint Luke, is there. It is usually veiled; but on certain festival days it is taken into the Piazza, also on occasions of plagues or other public afflictions, and there the people flock to make their prayers and vows.
But the most distinctive and interesting study in this Basilica is that of its mosaics. So numerous are they that much devoted attention must be given by one who would fully comprehend their order and meaning. Nothing less than Mr. Ruskin's exhaustive treatise on them is worthy to be offered to an intelligent student of symbolism in art; and although one derives great pleasure from the more superficial knowledge of these works, Mr. Ruskin speaks truly when he says that an understanding of the mosaics changes the whole impression and atmosphere of the Basilica. Having shown that the mosaics give an historical epitome of Christ's teaching, he says:—
"And this thought may dispose the reader to look with some change of temper upon the gorgeous building and wild blazonry of that shrine of S. Mark's. He now perceives that it was in the hearts of the old Venetian people far more than a place of worship. It was at once a type of the Redeemed Church of God and a scroll for the written word of God. It was to them both an image of the Bride, all glorious within, her clothing of wrought gold, and the actual Table of the Law and the Testimony, written within and without. And whether honored as the Church or as the Bible, was it not fitting that neither the gold nor the crystal should be spared in the adornment of it; that, as the symbol of the Bride, the building of the wall thereof should be of jasper, and the foundations of it garnished with all manner of precious stones; and that, as the channel of the Word, the triumphant utterance of the Psalmist should be true of it, 'I have rejoiced in the way of thy testimonies, as much as in all riches'?"
Torre dell' Orologio; Clock Tower.Torre dell' Orologio; Clock Tower.
In spite of the lavishness of gold, of red, and all the varied tones of marbles, bronzes, and mosaics with which San Marco abounds, there are few churches so severe and profoundly impressive. The mystical half-light which pervades it converts what might be a tawdry blaze into harmonious poesy of color, full of the sentiment of impassioned religion. All of spiritual emotion and aspiration is here expressed. One forgets the detail and remembers the whole, loses the actual in the ideal, and thanks God that in this modern, bustling, materialistic nineteenth century there still exist "an assemblage of saints, an infinite history, an entire legendary Paradise," like those of San Marco.
Again in the Piazza, and in the midst of its present life. If it be early morning, it is almost deserted, save for the softly cooing and carefully stepping pigeons. At ten or eleven o'clock it is full of practical life. The shops are brilliant with jewels, glassware, beads, laces, and innumerable objects of use and uselessness. There are many sellers and buyers of all sorts of ambulating merchandise,—from turtles and other shell fish, vegetables and fruits, hardware and matches, to the lovely nosegays and toothsome caramel. Gentlemen are persecuted by persistent shoeblacks and men who mysteriously whisper of Havana cigars, while the tourists, with red guide-books in hand, impatiently wave off both these intruders, and the guides who offer their services, and rush on to the Basilica or Palace, as if they feared that these wonders would disappear before their eyes. Oh, this wearisome hurry! At noon the energy of the venders is somewhat subdued, and they are glad to seek the shade of the arcades; and in the early afternoon, when all the world is taking its luncheon or its siesta, when the pavement is burning beneath the sun, the Piazza is again almost deserted.
But with the evening, from all parts of the city, come those who wish to see the world, to hear the music of the military bands, to dine at thecafés, and meet the friends they are likely to find there. And soon the Piazza is like an immense salon, brilliantly lighted, full of guests of many sorts, from the elegantly dressed ladies with their attendant cavaliers, to the plainly dressed traveller and the unobtrusive Venetians, who come to gaze at all who throng their dear Piazza. The flower-girls, in pretty costumes, offer their nosegays with a deprecating air, which is irresistible. When the band stops playing, strolling musicians sing, or play the violin and harp. The brilliant cafés are thronged, and hundreds of men and women, who surround the little tables in the square, leisurely enjoy theirsorbets, sip the delicious coffee, and smoke the Oriental tobacco. It will be midnight, perhaps some hours after that, when the Piazza is again silent, "when a bright sleep is on each storied pile," when the only sounds are the soft lapping of the water at the end of the Piazzetta and the distant music of some belated gondolier who sings, as ever,—
"Venite all' agile, Barchetta mia,Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia!"
All historians agree that the fifteenth century was the period of the greatest luxury and magnificence of Venice. In 1457 it seemed that the Republic would march on to greater power over a larger territory than had yet been held by any one of the North Italian States. Brescia, Bergamo, and Ravenna were securely hers. She was attempting to cross the Adda to the west, and to encroach upon the Romagna on the south. Could there have been peace anywhere,—at home or abroad,—could she have had a respite in which to think and plan her policy, she might have succeeded in becoming a powerful territorial State; but no such breathing-spell was possible. All Italy was in a ferment. Each power sought to lessen the strength of its neighbor. Political combinations were made, apparently only to be broken. Everything was in dire confusion, and Venice would have had more than she could do to carry herself advantageously in her own nation, when the Turks, by their conquest of Constantinople, threatened her with the death of her commerce, which was essentially her death as a Republic, since on that she depended for her revenue to enable her to maintain herself against all enemies at home and abroad.
For sixteen years Venice was continually at war in the East. While, in fact, all Europe was vitally interested in the outcome of this struggle, yet all Europe failed to offer any aid to Venice. It was assumed that since theRepublic had so largely profited by her relations in the Levant, she alone must bear the burden of the struggle. In the beginning she had promises of support, but all these failed her at the outset. She spent men and money, and fought with her accustomed bravery until she had no more to give. Then, in 1479, she made the best terms for peace that were possible, only to be cursed for perfidy to Christianity, and to be accused of cowardly submission to the Turks, in order to use all her strength to increase her territory on the mainland of Italy.
Unfortunately this accusation seemed to be well founded, when, in 1481, the Republic declared war against Ferrara, whose territory separated Venice from her own dependency of Ravenna. The Venetians were most patriotic in the support of this war. They wished to reinstate themselves in their own good opinion after all their humiliation in the East, and with the support of the Pope all went to their advantage in the beginning. But soon Sixtus IV. not only abandoned them, but placed them under an interdict because they did not lay down their arms at his request; and in the end the peace of Bagnolo was made in 1484, the Republic having gained very little in return for the vast expense of 1,200,000 ducats, great losses of men and ships, and a mortification of her pride which vastly increased the bitterness of the result. All these misfortunes occurred at the time when travellers and chroniclers who wrote of Venice failed to find words rich enough in their meaning to convey the just impression of the magnificence of the "Queen of the Adriatic,"—the time of which Brown says:—
"And yet, while the Republic was really hurling headlong to its ruin, the outward pomp, the glory, the splendor of Venice were just beginning to attract the eyes of Europe, blinding many Venetians and all foreigners to the real aspect of the situation. Venice was acquiring her reputation as the city ofmagnificent private life, the city of 'masks and balls begun at midnight, burning ever to midday;' the city, too, ofsfrenata lasciva, the 'Gehenna of the Waters.' This is the period when her great palaces arose, in all their pomp of balcony and pillared windows and frescoed façades, along the Grand Canal; when Vivarini, Carpaccio, and Bellini were preluding to Titian, Giorgione, Tintoret; when Bessarion presented his priceless codices to the Marician Library; when the colony of Greek Scribes was endeavoring to hold its own against the new invention of printing, against John of Speyer's 'Epistolæ Familiares' and Jenson's 'Ad Atticum;' when Aldus, by his brilliant, earnest, passionate scholarship, and his practical acumen in the conduct of his press, began to render the Greek classics the common property of mankind.
"It would seem that just as the rapid extension of Venice on the mainland under Francesco Foscari was the blossom of all her long centuries of physical and constitutional growth, so the sudden artistic expansion of the later fifteenth century was the flowering of Venice in the intellectual and emotional region. The bloom presaged decay. Death was already at the roots before the flower had opened to its fullest splendor."
Before the end of this century another event—unfortunate for Venice, but a blessing to all the world besides—was added to the misfortunes which had followed her in the Levant and on the mainland. In 1486 Diaz rounded the Cape of Good Hope; and two years later, when the news of Vasco di Gama's voyage was received, all intelligent Venetians knew that a fatal blow had fallen on their commerce. Its death might be a lingering one, but it was sure. Of this Brown says:—
"A new commercial route was opened to the world. Instead of passing up the Red Sea and across the Isthmus of Suez, or up the Persian Gulf and through Asia Minor, breaking bulk at Ormuz or at Suez, and being shipped again for European destinations at Alexandria or Aleppo, all the wealth of the Indies could now be carried in unbroken cargoes round the Cape ofGood Hope, to be discharged in the harbors of Holland, of the Hanseatic towns, of England. The Mediterranean instantly ceased to be the sole highway of communication between the East and West; the great commercial thoroughfare was now thrown outside the Straits of Gibraltar; and Venice, in whose hands Mediterranean traffic had become almost a monopoly, suffered a blow such as all her struggles with Genoa and all the victories of the Turks had hitherto failed to inflict."
In the Diaries of Priuli we read that on the receipt of the news of Di Gama's voyage the whole city was astounded; and the wisest Venetians agreed that never before had any information been so deplorable, nor could any other ever excel it in importance. Priuli continues:
"For it is well known that Venice reached her height of reputation and riches through her commerce alone, which brought foreigners to the city in great numbers; and now by this new route the spice cargoes will be taken straight to Lisbon, where the Hungarians, Germans, Flemish, and French will flock to buy them; they will find the goods cheaper in Lisbon than they can be in Venice, for before the freights can reach Venice by the old route, they have to pay exorbitant dues for transit through Syria and the lands of the Soldan of Egypt."
Lisbon was soon the mart to which all the northern merchants resorted; and the Florentines profited by this change to the exclusion of the Venetians, who suffered from three causes. They did not dare at once to break their commercial relations with the Sultan, who was, in a way, interested to defend Venice from the Turk; and, moreover, he had in his power the warehouses of the Venetians at Cairo and Alexandria, filled with a wealth of Eastern products. Again, they could not pass the Straits of Gibraltar without paying levies on their ships to Spain; and even if they did this, the northern men would soon forsake the dangers and toils of crossing theAlps for the less perilous and more comfortable voyage to Lisbon.
This overwhelming commercial misfortune was soon followed by the culmination of events which had been threatening political perils to Venice ever since she had indulged her desire for possessions on Terra Firma, as it was expressed. The many leagues and combinations, made apparently but to be broken, the sending and receiving of ambassadors, the vague replies and diplomatic avoidance of yea and nay, all resulted in the League concluded at Cambray in 1508. Here France, Spain, the Emperor Maximilian, the Pope, the Dukes of Ferrara and Savoy, and the King of Hungary were all combined against the Republic, or against what the preamble to the treaty called "the insatiable cupidity of the Venetians and their thirst for dominion." This is not the place to trace the steps, through a quarter of a century and more, by which all these powers and others had gradually crushed the prestige of Venice, in Italy, outside her own lagoons, as essentially as the Turks had destroyed her Levantine precedence.
Meantime, in all these years of slow poison and decline, few Venetians had recognized their danger, few had foreseen the end. Men of courage and devoted patriotism were not wanting. There was still great individual wealth, and it would have been given to the ever-beloved Venice with cheerful alacrity; but the complications were so many, and followed each other so rapidly, that the government was unable to hold itself clearly above these circumstances, and organize a policy which should reinstate the Republic, even in part. When in 1499 the Grand Vizier said to the agent of the Republic, "You can tell the Doge that he has done wedding the sea; it is our turn now," he but told the brutal truth, as did Malipiero when, speaking of the Italian wars, he said, "We shall have to beg for peace and restore all we have acquired."
It would seem, too, that a sort of madness blinded the Venetians to their true condition. They acted as if the mines of Golconda were beneath their Piazza, and they had but to go in by their private entrance and draw upon inexhaustible wealth. After sixteen years of a losing war with the Turks, when the Ducal Palace was destroyed, the proposal to build a much larger and more magnificent palace found much favor; and at this very time Venice was impoverished.
The League of Cambray, to put it in a word, simply divided among its members all the possessions of the Republic outside the city of Venice and its lagoon islands. France proceeded to carry out the treaty at once, and was so successful that by the first of June Sanudo wrote in his chronicles that, except the towns of Asola, Crema, and Pizzighettone not a town in Lombardy remained to Venice. "All the rest is lost,—yielded to the French without drawing sword."
Venice prepared for a blockade. The French had nearly fulfilled all the provisions of the League, and the Venetians might well fear the next steps. But the remarkable activity of the French did not altogether please the Pope, Julius II. He had by their aid recovered the territory of the Church, and so felt no further need of their presence in Italy; and before long he deserted the League and allied himself with Venice, and afterward they were joined by Spain in an alliance which the Pope called "Holy." This was in 1511; and after various battles, which resulted in no good to the Republic, she in turn deserted the "Holy League," and became the ally of France by the treaty of Blois, in 1513. Again fierce battles were fought; again the French retired, leaving the Venetians alone. Cardona, the leader of the army of the Holy League, pushed down to the shores of the lagoon, burning the Venetian towns in his progress, and evenpointing his cannon against Venice, and firing a few shots.
But the same lagoons that had defeated all her enemies from the time of the Huns still protected her. She was impregnable; and Cardona was forced to retire, as the Genoese had done long years before. During 1514 the Venetian territory was the scene of marching and counter-marching, with little or no result; when in 1515 Louis XII. died, and Francis I. at once declared himself Duke of Milan, and so conducted his affairs in Italy that the Peace of Brussels, in which Venice was included, was signed in 1516. This virtually ended the effects of the League of Cambray, and Venice again resumed her former territory on the mainland.
The struggles between Francis and Charles V. made little difference to the Republic, except that Charles demanded 80,000 ducats, which were paid; and in his settlement of Italy in 1529 he left Venice with her frontier where Carmagnola had fixed it, on the Adda; there it remained so long as the Republic endured. She was able to congratulate herself that she was still an independent power, although enfeebled beyond recovery.
And now her former strength was replaced by the only weapon left to her, diplomacy. The Council of Ten and the Three Inquisitors became all-powerful; while the slightest alarm raised a panic of fear and excitement, and secrecy, vigilance, silence, and mystery were relied on to preserve her existence, which actually depended on two circumstances,—first, her impregnable position; and second, the jealousy between other powers, which would not permit any one of them to appropriate her possessions on Terra Firma.
The Venetian characteristic which proved to be "the ruling passion, strong in death," her love of ceremonies and pleasure, was in no wise modified through all thesetroublous years. It would seem like dancing on its own grave, when at the wedding of Jacopo Foscari the ambassadors of the members of the League of Cambray were entertained with magnificent spectacles, while Brescia and Bergamo, Verona and Vicenza were in the hands of these very enemies. The gayety of the life and the safety of her position made Venice a desirable asylum to those who hated war. She was the only Italian city that had never been at the mercy of a brutal enemy; and many came to her for safety, as Petrarch had done. Art flourished; every comfort and luxury of living could be had. Great license of conduct was allowed; indeed, save committing a political fault, a man of wealth could do almost anything he chose, as private crimes seemed to be matters of indifference. In fact, Venice spared no pains to stand before the world as an attractive resort, a city of pageants and pleasure, to which all were made welcome.
From the Peace of Brussels in 1516 to the peace with the Turks in 1573 there is little to record to the glory of the Republic. In the war of the Valtelline and in that of the Spanish succession she simply strove to preserve her neutrality, and succeeded, but at the expense of having her territory overrun by both armies and submitting to humiliation in silence.
In 1537 a third war broke out with the Turks, and was concluded by a peace in 1540, which was ruinous to Venice in the further loss of territory in the Levant. This treaty was made with Suleiman the Magnificent; and when at his death, in 1566, Selim the Drunkard became Sultan, he at once determined to seize on Cyprus, and demanded its surrender on the plea that it was a dependency of Mecca. In its weakness the Republic appealed for help to the Pope, who promised that all Europe should give its support. But the usual disappointment was repeated,—the assistance was meagre,and the delay in sending it was such that although the cities of Nicosia and Famagosta made a stout resistance, and the Venetian commandants did all that brave men could do, hoping for relief from day to day, yet Cyprus was conquered by the Turks without a Venetian fleet coming within sight of the island. The details of the defence, and of the sufferings of the Italians at the hands of the barbarous Turks, are too heart-sickening for repetition.
At length the allied fleet of the Venetians, Spaniards, and Papal forces, when all too late to save Cyprus, encountered the Ottoman fleet off Lepanto, and a desperate battle for five hours resulted in a splendid victory for the allies. The Turks lost thirty thousand men and one hundred and seventeen galleys, while the Christians lost eight thousand. Sebastian Venier won great renown for himself and the Republic; and Venice had the supreme joy of once again celebrating a victory and hearing aTe Deumin San Marco. The Venetians desired to press on at once to Constantinople, having a reasonable hope, after such a defeat, of crushing the power of the infidel; but the allies would not consent, and Don John of Austria took his ships into winter quarters. By spring the Turks were ready with a fleet of two hundred and ten sail. Venice could not contend with them alone, and in the end made a peace which, together with Cyprus, contented the Turk for a time.
In 1574 Henry III. arrived in Venice, on his way from Poland to France, and afforded the Venetians an excuse for one of their dearly loved pageants. Everything was done to make the occasion impressive and magnificent His attendants were young nobles of high rank. He was received under a triumphal arch designed by Palladio and painted by Veronese and Tintoretto. He was lodged in the Foscari Palace, with the two adjoining palaces ofthe Giustiniani also at his service. A large platform floated on the canal before the palace, to accommodate the comedians by day and the musicians at night. A regatta, a banquet and ball, and other spectacles afforded him entertainment; and he left Venice as he might have left an enchanted island, intoxicated with its pleasures and beauties.
It may readily be seen that after the peace with the Turks, so different in spirit from what the Venetians had been accustomed to, there were constant difficulties arising between the vessels of the two powers, and it was impossible for the Republic to prevent such acts on the part of her seamen as might give any Ottoman prince an excuse for a declaration of war. But by the payment of indemnities and other pacific measures peace was maintained during more than seventy years, when the Sultan Ibrahim determined to take Candia, the last important stronghold of the Venetians in the Levant.
The Sultan alleged that the Knights of Malta had seized a Turkish vessel that was carrying pilgrims, and had then touched at Candia; and although the Governor of Candia had warned the Maltese off, it served the Sultan as the excuse that he desired for attacking the island. Well understanding this, Venice at once did all in her power to garrison and provision Candia, although the preparations were quite inadequate.
In 1645 the Turks began a war which endured nearly twenty-five years, in which time many brave deeds were done, and the true old Venetian spirit maintained itself in spite of the greatest discouragements, losses, and sufferings. Their determined defence of Candia interested all the world; and more than once succor was sent from France, and the solid ranks of the Mussulmans were impetuously assaulted to no purpose. Other nations were fired with admiration of the splendid resistance theseChristians were making, and determined to send them aid, but all too late. "The Republic was dying; but dying gloriously here in the Levant,—the earliest, as it was the latest, scene of all her solid triumphs."
Lazzaro Mocenigo, the brave commander of the fleet, after many splendid deeds, was killed by the explosion of his magazine. After an interval the great Francesco Morosini was made admiral. He was the last of the Venetian seamen to uphold the ancient fame of his country upon the seas, but it was his sad fate to end this struggle by negotiation instead of victory. The terms were honorable. Candia was surrendered; but the guns, the people, the sacred vessels, and the ammunition were removed to the Venetian fleet, and the roadstead of Suda remained to Venice. Morosini also made a peace between the Republic and the Sultan. This was in 1669, and Venice was on the brink of financial ruin.
Sixteen years later Morosini was again in command against the Turks, who had threatened attacks on Albania. The Admiral now conceived the idea of reconquering the Morea, in which he succeeded. He bombarded Athens in 1688, when one of his bombs set fire to a powder magazine within the Parthenon, and ruined the temple. He was recalled to Venice by the news that he had been elected Doge in recognition of his services; but he soon returned to the Morea, where matters were not progressing to his satisfaction. His embarkation in 1693 afforded almost the last of the great solemnities of the Republic, which proved to be also the last honor to Morosini, for he died at Nauplia very soon after his arrival, worn out with age ami long service of Venice.
The results of his conquests were of small account to the Republic. She had lost her power to maintain distant provinces; and finally, in 1718, all her long struggles in the Levant were ended by the final resignation of herclaims to the Morea. But she did not forget to emblazon the name of Francesco Morosini, the hero of her last conflicts on that sea of which she was so long the proud mistress, on the walls of the Sala dello Scrutinio.
We have already considered the Council of Ten, and defended it against some of the accusations which have been too frequently made against it. During the first two centuries of its existence it became enormously important. The State retained the management of the navy and army, of finance, and, in a certain sense, of diplomacy; but all urgent or unusual business was left to the Ten, who could call any case before its court, could make special expenditures, and could privately instruct ambassadors,—extensive powers, which made it the essential ruler of Venice,—and the last two centuries and a half of the constitutional history of the Republic is simply the story of a growing opposition to the power of the Ten.
In the early days of its existence, when a difficult question was before the Ten, that body was accustomed to appeal to the Senate for assistance from some of its number, appointed to the duty. These men formed what came to be known as the Giunta, or Zonta; and having but a temporary connection with the Ten, they were as likely to disapprove their course as to be content with it. But in 1529 this Zonta became a permanent body, and was composed of the most prominent members of each of the other councils of the State. Thus, if the action of the Ten was questioned, it was defended by the most powerful men of the Republic, and more and more was able to enlarge its office and increase its absolutism.
The first serious outbreak against the Ten occurred when that body clearly overstepped its province, and asked the Doge Foscari to resign. Legally such a request must come from the vote of the Great Council, with the adviceof the Ducal Council. These councils resented the action of the Ten; and its authority was declared to be limited to delicate and secret matters, which might be submitted to its consideration. These limitations were made in 1468, but were of little effect. We find in 1483 that it was the Ten who decided on the conduct of the Ferrarese war, and in 1508 it was the same power that took up and decided the questions which resulted from the League of Cambray.
A few years later a new departure was made by the Ten. In 1537 they delegated a part of their duties, the care of the public morals, to Esecutori contra la Bestemmia. This having been allowed, two years later the Three Inquisitors of State were created. The special duty of the Three was to deal with treason, which seemed to abound, as the state secrets were constantly communicated to the ambassadors of various countries. After the League of Cambray took effect, the Venetians relied solely on their diplomacy. If this could not be conducted with secrecy, their ship of state was without a rudder; and the repeated violation of this secrecy led to the belief that even Ten was too large a body to be trusted. The Three Inquisitors had all the powers of the Ten, except that they were obliged to report their sentences to the Great Council. They soon became very objectionable to the corrupt nobility, into whose morals they had the right to inquire; and the hatred for the Ten, and even more for the Three, constantly increased. The first real difficulty, however, did not occur until 1582, when the feeling developed into hostility between the Great Council and the Ten, and was never allayed during the existence of the Republic.
The dread of Spain, of Spanish plots and Spanish gold, had almost paralyzed the government ever after Cambray; and when, at the beginning of the seventeenth century,Venice was involved in a quarrel with Paul V., the Ten and the Inquisitors fully believed that the Pope would employ the army of Spain to reduce Venice to obedience to him. In 1612 one of the Inquisitors wrote in his memoranda: "Right piteous is our condition. Alone we cannot resist. Allies we have not, neither ready enough nor warm enough. Treaties we cannot construct upon any terms which are not ruinous to us."
Six years later all the fears inspired by the Spaniards were justified when the Spanish conspiracy was discovered. The Viceroy of Naples, Duke of Ossuna, and the Spanish ambassador at Venice, Marquis of Bedmar, were suspected of being the chiefs in the plot. Giacomo Pierre was at the head of the disreputable company of questionable characters, who were their agents, consisting of bravi, mercenaries, and other broken-down men who went frequently to the house of the ambassador. Pierre, however, betrayed enough of the plot to the Venetian Resident at Naples, Spinelli, to cause him to send Pierre, with his friends Regnault and Langlade, to Venice. They were there left free, but constantly watched. Pierre had alleged the plot to be the seizure of Venice. The boats of Ossuna were to enter the lagoon at Malamocco, steal up to the Piazzetta by night, and with the aid of confederates already there secure command of the city. Ossuna's fleet was certainly in the Adriatic, but it did not approach Venice.
At length, by a counterplot, a full knowledge of all Pierre's plans was brought to the Doge. Three of the conspirators were strangled, and hanged by one leg to the gibbet between the Columns. The effect was magical. At the sight of these three bodies, the inns and lodging-houses, which had been full of curious and unaccountable strangers, were immediately deserted. Thus the Spanish conspiracy came to naught; but it was soon suspected thatsome of the Venetian nobles were selling information to the Spaniards, and the discovery of the treason of Giambattista Bragadin proved these suspicions to be correct.
Bragadin secured his election to the Senate by a fraud, and by an ingenious method was selling to the Spanish ambassador the secrets of the Council Chamber. He went to the Frari for his devotions, and in a particular faldstool which he used, he left in writing his communication for the ambassador, which was taken away by a secretary of the embassy. A monk, who was somewhat surprised by the frequent devotions of Bragadin, observed that the secretary always came to the church on the same day with the Senator. This so aroused the curiosity of the monk that he watched the two worshippers until he discovered the secret, took one of these letters out of the faldstool himself, and carried it to the Doge. Bragadin was hanged between the Columns, and the ambassador hurriedly returned to Spain. In these two cases the conduct of the Ten commended itself to all parties; but unfortunately a sad case of another sort excited a furious hatred of them and of their methods.
In 1609 Antonio Foscarini, who had been a wise and faithful servant of Venice, was sent as ambassador to England. He had been there but a short time when it was found that the contents of his despatches to Venice were being given to other foreign ambassadors in England. His secretary was suspected and discharged, his place being supplied by Giulio Muscorno. After a time Muscorno and Foscarini disagreed seriously; and Muscorno took every means to make it appear that Foscarini was dishonest, and finally, at Venice, declared that the ambassador had himself sold the secrets of the State. The Inquisitors made a long and careful inquiry, which resulted in the acquittal of Foscarini and the imprisonment of Muscorno, in 1618.
But Foscarini, having been once suspected, was carefully watched; and when Lady Arundel of Wardour, who had been his friend in England, came to Venice for the education of her children, his visits to her house, where the ambassadors of different countries were also frequently received, attracted much attention. Girolamo Vano, a professional spy, now accused Foscarini to the Ten. He was arrested and tried for selling state secrets by the Three Inquisitors, who reported him to the Ten as guilty, in April, 1622. He was condemned, as a traitor, to be strangled in prison that night, and to be hanged by one leg between the Columns the next morning. Foscarini calmly dictated his will to his jailer, and died with fortitude.
But it would have been wiser in the Ten to have buried him privately. The public exposure of his strangled corpse angered the nobility, while it also terrified them; and when, four months later, it was proved that Foscarini had been an innocent man, the rage against the Ten and the Three was fully justified. Everything possible was done to repair the ghastly error. Girolamo Vano was strangled in his turn. An order was published at home and sent abroad, acknowledging the fatal mistake. The body of Foscarini was exhumed and reburied with all the pomp due a senator; but such an exposure of the Ten absolutely forbade confidence in them or their methods. They never recovered from its effect, and their opponents took every advantage of their grave and even criminal blunder.
The jealousy of the Great Council and the Senate brought about a feeling of opposition to the Ten, which was shared by a large party of the people; and at length, in 1627, a commission was appointed to revise the laws by which the Ten were governed. From time to time the hostility to the Ten and the Inquisitors was fanned to a brighter flame, and in the eighteenth century the oppositionto them became more active. In 1761 the Great Council refused to elect new members of the Ten; and it is both sad and amusing that so grave an act should result from a quarrel over a lady's caps!
A modiste had made caps for a lady, and failed to please her. A second lady was a friend of a Senator, Angelo Querini, who, in order to please the friend of his friend, procured an order for the expulsion of the cap-maker. The modiste appealed to the Three, and they cancelled the order for expulsion, and declared it unjust. Querini then began to complain of the tyranny of the Inquisitors, and found much sympathy among the nobles. All this so incensed the Three that they resolved to arrest Querini and exile him at Verona; and this folly gave the Great Council its opportunity to declare its hostility to the Ten and the Three, and to refuse to perpetuate these offices.
An examination into the affairs of the Ten and the Inquisitors resulted in their triumph; but there was a revolutionary spirit in Venice which was rapidly growing. An order was issued closing cafés and wine-shops at dark, and forbidding political discussions. The following reply to this was posted up: "The company of night thieves thanks the Ten for giving them the opportunity of winning their supper at a reasonable hour." The chief mouthpiece of the liberal party was Giorgio Pisani, and he was bold in the declaration of his opinions; but the Three were too powerful as yet to permit the theories of the Republicans to be thus freely expressed, and Pisani was deported to Verona in 1780. In that year the Doge Paolo Renier said: "If there be any State in the world which absolutely requires concord at home, it is ours. We have no forces, either on land or on sea. We have no alliances. We live by luck, by accident, and solely dependent upon the conception of Venetian prudence which others entertain about us."
"How are the mighty fallen!" What would Sebastiano Ziani, Enrico Dandolo, Pietro Gradenigo, and many another Doge have thought of such a fate as this for the Venice of their love and pride?
The time was soon to come when another Doge, deposed by a resolution of the Great Council, should give the beretta to his servant,—we may believe with a sense of relief,—and say, "Take it away; we shall not use it any more." Napoleon had come to relieve him of his cares; and we cannot doubt that he was half welcome to those who were so weary of the rule of the Ten and the Three, the party who believed in revolution. The efforts made to keep the Republic alive were so feeble as to seem ridiculous. But what could be done without an army, without a navy, and without money? A deputation was sent to Napoleon, and his reply was sufficiently clear and comprehensive: "I have eighty thousand men and twenty gunboats. I will have no more Inquisitors, no more Senate. I will be an Attila for Venice."
On May 3, 1797, Bonaparte issued his proclamation: "The Commander-in-Chief requires the French minister to leave Venice; orders the several agents of the Republic of Venice to leave Lombardy and the Venetian Terra Firma within twenty-four hours! He orders the different generals of divisions to treat the Venetian troops as enemies, and to destroy the Lion of Saint Mark in all the towns of the Terra Firma."
The whole government—Doge, Senate, the Ten, and the Three—seemed to vanish into oblivion. The great Venetian Republic fell without a sound. Eight days after the manifesto the tricolor waved above the Piazza, a popular constitution was declared, and a provisional government established. The Venetian fleet was manned and sent to Toulon. The French took possession of Corfu; and Venice was wholly in the power of France, to bedisposed of as might suit the will or the need of that nation. And the need soon came; for when, after a summer of fruitless negotiation with the Emperor of Austria, the snow appeared on the mountains, Napoleon decided to make peace. He would not risk a winter campaign, and said to Bourrienne, "Venice shall be exchanged for the boundary of the Rhine, and thus be made to pay for the war."
The treaty was signed at Campo Formio on the 17th of October. The ex-Doge, Lodovico Manin, when taking the oath of allegiance to Austria, sank insensible on the ground, and lived but a few days afterward. Thus he was spared the second humiliation of Venice, when, in January, 1798, the tricolor was replaced by the double-headed eagle, and the days of its captivity and oppression began.
Venice seemed now to be a make-weight to be used in Napoleonic treaties; and in 1805, at Presburg, the kingdom of Italy was ceded to its first conqueror, and Venice came within the government of the French Viceroy, Eugene Beauharnais. During ten years northern Italy, while not independent, was awake. New and broader ideas replaced the older theories; and the hearts of the people were filled with aspirations and hopes that were all blasted by the so-called Restoration of 1815, which confirmed a reign of tyranny in Venice. An Austrian Archduke, under Metternich, acted as Viceroy; and a system of secret courts, police spies, barbarous punishments, and oppressive taxation was inaugurated.
Under the French rule Italian soldiers remained at home, or won honors in the wars. Under the Austrians they were sent beyond the Alps, and the white-coated foreign troops held the Venetians as in a prison. The civil offices were filled by Germans, whose harsh gutturals conveyed no meaning, and inspired dislike in thesoft-speaking Venetians, who were in turn incomprehensible to these officials. The simplest matters were laboriously referred to the Aulic Council at Vienna. Letters were not safe, since the spies opened them. No redress could be had through the press, which was gagged. The pillory, flogging, and other equally barbarous customs were revived; and, in short, no method was spared that could impress on the Venetians the thought that they were living and breathing by the permission and according to the will of a cruel tyrant. To quote from "The Dawn of Italian Independence," by W. R. Thayer:—
"The Italian must obey laws imposed upon him by a foreigner,—laws which had been framed without his voice, for the benefit of a master who dwelt at Vienna. Were a law good, he hated it because it was a cog in the great wheel of tyranny; were it bad, he hated it because it threatened directly his property, his freedom, or his life. Napoleon's rule had been despotic, but it had been despotic on a grand scale; he had conquered by force; he had opened avenues to glory; he had awakened a virile spirit, and shed round him large and stirring ideas: but these Austrians had sneaked into their supremacy; they were arrogant and conceited; their emperor was bigoted, petty, and unyielding; a man who depended on eavesdroppers and tricksters for his information; a man who had not a single heroic attribute, nor uttered, during the course of a long life, a single thought whereby mankind was made stronger or wiser; a martinet, only fitted to be the superintendent of a small reformatory school for juvenile criminals. So to the Italians the contrast between the recent French rule and the present Austrian was typified by the contrast between Napoleon and Francis; but the incompatibility between the two peoples had the deepest source,—it sprang from racial antipathy."
When, in 1848, Metternich was driven from Vienna, and the Austrians from Milan, the Venetians also were ready to demand and to conquer their liberty. Manin, who had been imprisoned a few weeks before, was released,upon an order from the governor, who dared not refuse it. A few days later he agreed to withdraw with all foreign soldiers, leaving the munitions and public treasure behind. The Venetian Republic, with Manin as President, was at once declared in the Piazza; the Italian tricolor again streamed from the three masts before the cathedral, and without fighting or bloodshed Venice was free. Her oppressors departed; her flag waved over her borders on the south and west. Her independence was recognized by the Consul of the United States; and all the people, with one accord, assembled in San Marco to thank God and their glorious saint that again Venice was a Republic.
The Republic was declared on the 22d of March, 1848, and on the 18th of June the Austrians began to draw trenches round Mestre, thus cutting off communication between the mainland and Venice. The National Assembly did not meet until July 3, when, after attending Mass in the cathedral, one hundred and thirty-three deputies ascended the Giants' Staircase, and entered the Hall of the Great Council. It was a remarkable gathering, and momentous consequences hung upon its decisions. Thayer says:—
"If ever the monuments of a splendid Past might inspire men of a later generation with a sense, a hallowing sense, of the glory and dignity of which those monuments were the products and witnesses, it would be in that Hall of the Great Council, when those representatives of free Venice met there to determine her fate. Let a deputy look where he would, he saw reminders of the strength and beauty of the State which his ancestors had raised to a unique position among the nations of the world. Venice, though built on the shifting mud where sea-gulls made their nests, yet had, through the indomitable courage of her sons, a foundation more permanent than that of rock-born cities; she counted her life, not by decades nor bygenerations, but by ages, she had been strong when her neighbors were weak; she had been civilized when Paris and London were but half-barbarous settlements, and the site of Berlin was a morass; in her great days she had bowed neither to pope nor to emperor; and she had ever been so surpassingly beautiful, floating there on the Adriatic for fourteen hundred years, as delicate and wonderful as a nautilus, yet firm as marble and stancher than the stanchest ship. And now, after fifty years of servitude, she was again free, robed in the glory of her incomparable Past, and resolutely facing the strange world and perils upon which she had reawakened. No son of hers on that 3d of July could sit in the Great Hall and not feel that his action, must not only match the solemn exigencies of the Present, but also be worthy of the city to which forty generations of his ancestors had consecrated their lives, and to which Dandolo and Morosini, and many another as just and brave as these, had brought the offering of their individual fame."
The Assembly, after listening to all the arguments for and against the measure, voted to unite with Piedmont, and a deputation was sent to announce this decision to Charles Albert. We will not here recount the unhappy failure of this king, nor the armistice by which Piedmont was again placed under the Austrian yoke. It is enough to say that Venice was left alone, that no help came from France or England; and when, on March 27, 1849, news of the fatal defeat of Charles Albert at Novara was brought to the Venetians, with a summons to surrender, they knew that they must rely on themselves alone. The Assembly voted to resist Austria at any cost, and to give unlimited power to Manin. A red flag was unfurled from the Campanile, as a sign that Venice would resist to the death; and a copy of the vote was sent to the Austrians without a word of comment.
Then began the preparations for defence. The condition of the troops was discouraging. There were lessthan thirty thousand men, and but two hundred and fifty in the engineer corps. The soldiers had suffered for want of proper food, clothing, and shelter all through the winter, and there was much sickness at the forts in the low, malarial places. But her position gave the inhabitants of Venice great courage. At one point alone, the newly completed railway bridge, could she be reached from the land. Much, too, depended on the defence of the fortifications of Brondolo, which overlooked the passage of the Brenta. To prevent a successful attack at these two points, and a blockade by sea, would make Venice impregnable, protected as she was by sand-bars, marshes, pools, and canals.
The Austrians seemed in no haste; and throughout April the Venetians were busy in fortifying Marghera and in various defensive preparations. They also tried by every argument and offer in their power to persuade England and France to come to their aid. But on May 4 the attack on Venice began in earnest. As earnest was its defence; and the experience of the next three months and more is one that merits a far more detailed and careful history than can be given here,—such an one as may be found in "The Dawn of Italian Independence." During those months the heroism, the patriotism, and the devotion of the Venetians were such as has not been surpassed. They knew that without aid from some outside power they must at last succumb, not to the Austrians, but to famine and disease. The aid never came. Both French and English men-of-war lay in sight of Venice, beyond the line of danger, watching the bombardment as they might watch a harmless parade. They saw the corpse-laden boats passing and repassing to San Michele. In one week fifteen hundred died of cholera; but when the Venetian director of hospitals asked the French naval commander for medicine, he replied, "That would becontrary to the Law of Nations, since it is natural that the besieger seeks to do as much injury as possible to the besieged "!
Through all that summer Manin was the soul of Venice. On him devolved all responsibility, and he bore his trust with absolute fidelity. At length, when food was exhausted, the wells dried, and the city was being rapidly depopulated by famine, he capitulated. On the 30th of August Radetzky found that he had triumphed over a pest-ridden, starving, dying city. Forty Venetians had been condemned to banishment. Manin was of the number; and early on the 28th, followed by the prayers and blessings of the people, he sailed away, never to see Venice again. But as he looked back upon her beloved towers, as she faded from his sight forever, no foreign flag floated above her. The kindly exile saved him from the actual sight of her dismemberment by the Hapsburg bird of prey.
The enemies of Italy now believed that the last hope of Italian liberty was destroyed. Save in Piedmont, that little kingdom, no remnant of freedom could be discovered. The various princes who ruled, from the Alps to the Sicilies, ruled by Austrian permission, and maintained themselves by Austrian support. But there were those who still hoped, still prayed, still labored for the full liberty of all Italy; and among these Manin was with the foremost. Garibaldi never despaired, and even the defeated and dying Charles Albert wrote:—
"If Divine Providence has not permitted that the regeneration of Italy should be accomplished, I have confidence that at least it is only deferred; that so many examples of virtue, so many acts of courage and generosity, emanating from the nation, will not remain sterile, and that past adversities will only engage the peoples of Italy to be another time more united to be more invincible."
This prophecy was fulfilled. Venice was not the scene of the great struggle. It was on the mainland that the battles were fought, and in other parts of Italy that the diplomatic tournaments were held. It requires little imagination to see with what interest every action was watched, how eagerly all news was heard by the Venetians, ground as they were beneath the Austrian heel; and when, after the battle of Solferino, in 1859, from the Campanile the fleets were visible off the lagoons, the heart of Venice throbbed with that of all Italy in the feeling of a national life which was every day growing stronger and stronger.
But the end was not yet. The Peace of Villafranca brought the Venetians no release, and the fresh disappointment was hard to bear. They had rejoiced with each success of the allied Piedmontese and French. They had even dreamed dreams, and anticipated choosing their own ruler and being again an independent people. They longed to bring home their dead Manin, and by their respect to his remains testify their love for him. Every house in Venice in an hour became a house of mourning; and a feeling of utter desolation, of being deserted, forgotten, was like a black pall over all. Even Milan, which had so long shared the fate of Venice, was now free.
The truth was better than this. All Italy was rebellious at the fate of Venice; and at Milan, least of all, was she forgotten. No settlement was desired that did not give freedom to Venice. Every Italian in reality wished but one thing,—a united, a single Italy. In the new Parliament, in October, 1860, Cavour spoke of the union of Venice to the rest of Italy as a fact that must soon be accomplished; and we have trustworthy proof that neither the successful Garibaldi in the quiet of Caprera, nor the king amid his cares at Turin, was forgetful of Venice and Rome. In the midst of the exacting duties of thesedays, when a new government was to be organized and established, and that government was weighed down with debt, with brigandage, and with many other evils of a more subtle nature, which taxed the wisdom and forbearance of the king and his ministers, their thoughts were often fixed upon the injustice to Venice; and the only methods by which she could be freed—war or negotiation—were discussed with untiring interest, and there was constantly growing a determination to force a solution of the Venetian and Roman questions.
However, it was not until 1866 that the real struggle came. To the call for soldiers the most satisfactory responses were made. They came from all classes, from the most aristocratic families, as well as the middle and lower classes; and the Italian army soon numbered about two hundred thousand men. The Venetians had contributed fourteen thousand men before this; and when the call for volunteers was made, many more succeeded in passing the frontier and joining the army.
On the 24th of June the Austrians were triumphant at Custoza; but the Prussian allies of Italy, on the 5th of July, so defeated the Austrians at Sadowa, that through the French emperor an offer was made to restore Venetia to Italy. The final treaty was not concluded between Austria and Italy until Oct. 3, 1866; and meantime, in a naval battle off Lissa, the Italians had suffered a most mortifying defeat, under such circumstances as deprived Admiral Persano of his rank, and dismissed him from the service.
Three days after the treaty was signed, the troops of Italy were received in Venice with an enthusiasm which was only exceeded by that of the reception of Victor Emmanuel himself a month later. Now acknowledged as King of Italy by all other governments, with the iron crown of Lombardy and the famous quadrilateralpeacefully in his possession, he had but one thing more to gain,—the submission of Rome,—before he could proclaim the unification of Italy; and this was sure to come, as it did but four years later.
In 1873 the Emperor of Austria invited the King of Italy to Vienna on the occasion of the Great Exhibition. The invitation was most courteously given and as courteously accepted; and two years later the Emperor Francis Joseph proposed to return the visit of Victor Emmanuel, and suggested Venice as the city in which they should meet.
One must reflect for a moment on the meaning of such a visit to Venice. It was the fulfilment of the prophecy of Daniele Manin: "The day will come in which Italy, reconstituted as a nation, will be the first friend of Austria." This great patriot believed that freedom and right must triumph over despotism and wrong. But one month before the visit of the Austrian Emperor the statue of Manin had been inaugurated with splendid ceremonies, and the most heartfelt tributes to his honor paid by the Venetians whom he had served so faithfully. His remains had been brought from Paris, in 1868, and deposited in a temporary tomb in the Cathedral of San Marco, the only interment there for more than three centuries. The church of S. Paterniano was taken down, and the statue of Manin erected on the site near the red house in which he had lived; and the campo is now called by the name of the patriot instead of that of the saint.
It was on the 5th of April, 1875, that a procession of gondolas, all in gala dress, passed up the Grand Canal. The most magnificent of all these hundreds of boats bore the King of Italy and his guest, the Emperor of Austria and King of Hungary. The whole city demonstrated its good will in every possible way; and when the two sovereigns landed at the Piazzetta, there was a great demonstrationof welcome. The bands played alternately the national airs of the two countries, and in every possible way the people strove to express the fact that the hostility against Austria which had so long reigned at Venice, was absolutely a thing of the past. Victor Emmanuel was so much gratified by the conduct of the Venetians on this occasion that he frequently referred to it as a proof of the nobility of a people who could so soon forget and forgive all that Venice had suffered in the long years of her bondage under the Austrian rule.