From these beginnings, which we have so cursorily considered, in little more than a quarter of a century, the Italy we now know has arisen.
In the earliest days of the Venetian Republic a church was built on the Rialto, and dedicated to Saint James; and when in 452 the decree was issued at Padua which ordered the gathering together of the straggling inhabitants who had fled from Attila and his Huns, and the formation of a town under the rule of consuls, it was to this notable warrior saint that these people looked for protection. Tradition teaches that this earliest church in Venice stood on a portion of the land now covered by the Cathedral of San Marco.
About a century later, when already the Republic of Venice was rising in importance and esteem, Narses, coming from his victory over the Ostrogoths, visited the Venetians, and built them a new chapel, which he dedicated to Saint Theodore,—a young Syrian soldier saint, much honored in the Oriental church. He was apparently a satisfactory protector, for all went well with the Venetians under his tutelage. Their numbers and wealth increased so that one island was quite insufficient for their habitations, and no one church could suffice for the growing state or city.
During these important years images of Saint Theodore, whom we have seen standing on a column in the Piazzetta, opposite the lion of his more fortunate successor, were cherished and worshipped by the people, who looked to him as their efficient patron and guardian; and withreason,—for if his symbols were rightly understood, his saintship taught the Republic the wise policy of exerting its strength for protection and defence rather than for invasion and assault. But the time came when Saint Theodore was superseded, in spite of the good services he had rendered Venice during nearly three centuries,—centuries, too, when the struggle to live and grow and build up the Republic taxed the heads and hands of all, and required an able defender to watch over them.
There is a legend that during the first Crusade, in 1099, when Vitale Michieli was Doge, a flotilla of two hundred and seven vessels sailed from Venice in command of the son of the Doge, Giovanni Michieli, and Arrigo Contarini, Bishop of Castello, whose father had been Doge about twenty years before.
Their alleged object was to succor Godfrey de Bouillon; but they seem to have been far more successful as relic-hunters than as Knights of the Cross, and brought back rich treasures to the churches of Venice, among which was the body of Saint Theodore, which they found at a small town near the city of Myra. It was received with joy at Venice, and deposited in the Church of San Salvatore; but as this saint had already been superseded by the great Evangelist, he seems to have been left principally to the Confraternity of San Teodoro, whosescuolais close to San Salvatore.
In 829 two Venetian merchants, Buono of Malamocco and Rustico of Torcello, with ten galleys, were trading clandestinely in the port of Alexandria, just at the time when the Caliph of Egypt was building a splendid palace, and for its decoration was contemplating denuding all the Christian temples of their treasures and ornaments. Hearing this, these merchants feared that the Church of St. Mark, where that Evangelist was honorably reposing, would be desecrated; and they determined if possible torescue the sacred body and bear it to Venice. When they proposed to the Greek priest of the temple to aid them in their designs, he naturally refused, and represented to them the sin and danger of such an act; but their promises of riches and prosperity at Venice overcame his scruples, and he yielded to their wishes. The body of Saint Mark was wrapped in the linen shroud of Saint Claudia, and laid in a deep basket. It was then covered with a thick layer of herbs, on which joints of pork were laid. The Venetian seamen who carried the basket to the ship walked leisurely, taking the precaution to cry outKhanzir! Khanzir!(pork, pork), which effectually prevented any examination by Mussulmans. When safely on the vessel, the basket was hoisted into the shrouds, and was thus safely borne away.
A tradition adds that during a tempest on the voyage the saint appeared to a priest, who was one of the passengers, and commanded the sails to be furled. This being done, the ship next morning reached the port of Olivolo, while the remainder of the fleet were scattered by the furious storm.
The saint was welcomed with immense satisfaction, and his arrival was of great importance to the State. It increased the courage and the commerce of the Republic. Pilgrims of all ranks, from crowned heads to the poorest sailors, came to worship at his shrine. A commercial fair was instituted in his honor; and although Saint Theodore was not discarded, Saint Mark was by common consent placed above him, his image and name being stamped on the coins of Venice, and woven in her banners, while the battle-cry from this time wasviva San Marco!
Very soon the Doge Badoer II. died, and in his will provided for the erection of a mausoleum for the sacred bones of the new patron saint, which was the beginning of the Basilica of San Marco. Meantime the relicsof Saint Mark were deposited in the Chapel of St. Theodore, and there worshipped; and as if that were not sufficiently humiliating to the superseded warrior, the chapel itself was demolished to make room for the more imposing edifice of the newly arrived saint. More fortunate than his predecessors, Saint Mark has retained his honored place in the hearts of the Venetians, through all the days of their glory, and alas! through those of their decline.
The people treasure many legends of their saint, and their love and reverence for him survive their knowledge of their former state. San Marco the Saint, San Marco the Cathedral, and San Marco the Piazza remain to them,—facts of which they may well be proud,—but the Doges, the Bucentaur, the coronations, the tournaments, the pomp, luxury, and wealth,—where are they?
If one doubted the miraculous benefits which Saint Mark has conferred on Venice, he need but to listen to some pious Venetian while he recounts in his soft and fascinating dialect the saving of the city in 1340.
He would hear that on the 25th of February in that year a terrific storm prevailed. The sounds that came from the sea were as if some frightful enemy were approaching with shrieks and curses, which rent the air as no storm was ever known to do. For three days the floods had been swelling, and the water was three cubits higher than ever it had been, and threatened the destruction of the city.
Affrighted and helpless before an enemy whom they could neither attack nor repulse, the people sought the Basilica, and prayed to San Marco for succor. Masses were constantly repeated, and the vast throngs prayed and watched by turns for an answer to their prayers.
An old fisherman made his way from one of the islands with great difficulty, having vowed to San Marco that ifhe would but guide him home in safety, his earnings for the rest of his days should be devoted to the saint. More dead than alive, he reached the Riva di San Marco; for, more than the storm, and more than all his exertion in rowing, the unearthly shrieks and yells he had heard had unfitted him for further exertion,—he was paralyzed with fear.
But scarcely had he reached the Riva when a man suddenly stood beside him, and asked to be taken to San Giorgio Maggiore. He would listen to no refusals, and so entreated the fisherman that he believed it must be the will of God that he should go. Strangely enough, though going against the waves, a path seemed to open before them, and the rowing was far lighter than it had been when he was alone in the boat. At San Giorgio the stranger landed, and bade the boatman await his return.
When he came he brought with him a much younger man, and now bade the fisherman row to San Niccolo del Lido. Aghast at such a distance in such a sea, the poor man begged for mercy and release; but he was encouraged to row boldly, and promised strength for all his task. And so it was: the boat seemed to leap over the waves; and when they reached San Niccolo, the two men landed, and soon returned with a third, and bade the boatman row out beyond the two castles.
When they came to the sea, they saw a bark full of demons coming to overwhelm the city with water. The three men in the boat made the sign of the cross, and bade the demons depart. Instantly the bark vanished, the sea was calm, and the waters began to subside. Then the men commanded the boatman to land them at the places from which he had brought them; this he did, and of the third demanded payment for what he had done.
"Thou art right," replied the man; "go now to theDoge and to the Procuratori of St. Mark. Tell them what thou hast seen, for Venice had been overwhelmed but for us three. I am Saint Mark the Evangelist, the protector of Venice. The other is the brave knight Saint George, and he whom thou didst take up at the Lido is the holy bishop St. Nicholas. Say that you are to be paid, and tell them likewise that this tempest arose because a certain schoolmaster of San Felice did sell his soul to the Devil and then hanged himself."
The fisherman replied that his story would not be believed. Then Saint Mark gave him a ring from his finger, saying, "Show them this, and say that when they look in the sanctuary they will not find it;" and as he spoke he disappeared. The next morning, when the boatman went to the Doge and the Procuratori, it all happened as had been said. The man was paid, and a solemn procession was ordained to give thanks to the three saints. The boatman received a pension, and the ring was replaced in the sanctuary. If any one doubts this, let him go to the Accademia, and look at the pictures which commemorate this story. Would Giorgione have taken all the trouble to represent the scene if it had never occurred; or would Paris Bordone have repeated it, as may be seen in the same gallery?
Another legend of the benefits which Saint Mark loved to confer on his people is perpetuated by a wonderful picture of Jacopo Tintoretto's in the same collection. A poor slave who persisted in worshipping at the shrine of Saint Mark had for this reason been condemned to torture by his cruel master. Just when the brutal executioners were about to begin their fiendish cruelties, the saint descends like a whirlwind; the executioners are confounded, their instruments are broken, and the slave is free!
Another miracle of Saint Mark's is connected with thepreservation of his own relics. In 976 a fire destroyed a large portion of San Marco; and when the repairs were completed, the place in which the body of the saint had rested was forgotten. This was a true sorrow to the Doge and the people, and at last they determined to keep a fast and pray God to show them what no man could tell. The 25th of June was appointed for this fast, and a solemn procession was made; and while in the cathedral all were fervently imploring the manifestation of their treasure, with great joy they beheld a pillar shake, and then fall to the ground, disclosing the bronze chest in which the body of the Evangelist was preserved. These sacred relics are now beneath the high altar in San Marco, as is recorded on a marble slab at the back of the altar.
Sanudo gives a curious account of the acquisition of another saint. He says that in 992 Pietro Barbolano, together with Pietro Giustiniani, was sent to Constantinople on a diplomatic mission. There the future Doge saw the remains of Saint Saba, and was seized with the desire to obtain them for his beloved Venice. At length Barbolano, by one argument and another, prevailed on the guardians of the saint to sell her to him; but when the night came on which he was leaving the Golden Horn, these men showed signs of breaking their bargain. The rain was falling in torrents, and the Greeks construed this as an omen that they ought not to permit the saint to undertake the voyage.
But Barbolano had with him his two sons and several servants, and he quickly ended the matter by ordering the chest which contained the sacred relics to be taken to his ship, which was soon under way, and made a prosperous voyage to Venice, where Barbolano ordered the chest to be put in a gondola and taken to his house, next the Church of San Antonino at Castello. But when this was attempted, the chest had become so heavy that it couldnot be lifted; and at the same moment the bell of the Campanile began to toll, with no visible agency, and with such violence as threatened destruction to the tower itself.
This caused many people to gather in the Piazza; and in their midst Barbolano threw himself on his knees and exclaimed, "We will carry it to the church, for the Saviour of Men has declared his will that this body shall be placed in the shrine dedicated to Saint Antonino." It is not easy to understand how the devout Barbolano knew all this; but apparently he was right, for the chest was now as light as before, and was placed in a gondola, taken to the church, and deposited on the altar. Then the bell ceased ringing, and a dove with miraculously white plumage hovered over the relics while aTe Deumand other services were celebrated, and then vanished.
A new altar was erected for Saint Saba, near that of San Antonino, and the bones were placed in the reliquary of the church; and on the evening of that day, as the curé of San Antonino walked in his garden, he "marvelled not a little to observe among the flowers a rose of surpassing beauty; and the good man hesitated not to associate the fair vision with the miracle of which he had just been a witness, looking upon it as a symbol of that yet fairer flower which had been so recently transplanted from the soil of Constantinople to that of Venice."
It would seem strange that such a wonder-working saint should not frequently have proved her power in the midst of the great events of the Republic, and at times when miracles in behalf of the Venetians were sorely needed; but doubtless she soon felt that those of her sex did not assume power publicly in this City of the Sea, and whatever she did was donesub rosa.
The same Michieli and Contarini who had brought to Venice the relics of Saint Theodore were extremelyfortunate in their relic-hunting; for they also brought home thedue corpi di San Niccolo, the greater and the less, and deposited them in the Church of San Niccolo del Lido. Saint Nicholas of Myra is a protector against robbers and violence, and is a favorite saint with sailors, travellers, and merchants. He is also a patron of poor maidens, of children, and especially of school-boys, and the legends of his goodness and kindly acts are innumerable; in fact, he is so celebrated and so important a saint that it is all the more grievous to recount that the majority of the people who have lived since the ninth century who have understood these matters and known all about saints do not allow that the relics of this sainted Lycian are, or ever were, in Venice, and Bari is the happy place wherein he is said to repose. Thus it happens that he is often called San Niccolo di Bari; but I should not like to speak of him thus to any of my devout Venetian friends, least of all to my good gondolier.
Another Venetian fleet which had been to the aid of Baldwin in the Holy Land, when returning, about 1125, obtained the body of Saint Isidore at Chios, and that of Saint Donato at Cephalonia. These were brought to Venice at the same time with the "great stone which had stood near one of the gates of Tyre since the time when Our Lord, weary after a journey, sat down to rest upon it," as well as vast treasures of jewels, gold and silver, embroideries and carpets, and all the splendid fabrics of the Orient. But to the reverent Christian all else paled before the bodies of the saints. Saint Isidore is believed now to rest in his own chapel in San Marco. San Donato, the once saintly Bishop of Evorea, was given by Domenico Michieli to Murano, and the Church of Santa Maria soon assumed his name. To Torcello was brought Saint Fosca, a noble virgin who had been martyred under the persecution of Decius at Ravenna; and her church was secondonly to the Cathedral of Torcello. When to this list of saints we add the bodies of San Pancrazio and Santa Sabina, which were given to the Abbess of San Zaccaria by Pope Benedict III., and Saint Christina, the patron of the Venetian States, and likewise Saint Justina of Padua,—another patron of Venice who is represented in Venetian costume, with the city or the cathedral of San Marco in the distance,—we may call Venice the City of Saints as justly as the City of the Sea.
SAN LAZZARO.
One saint still remains to whom we must pay our respects; and since his island lies some miles away to the southeast, we must devote to him at least half of a precious Venetian day. The gondola glides like a spirit through the narrow canals, out on the sea, where the motion is but enough to rock one into forgetfulness of all care, even that of self; and the mood which follows is just that in which one should come to the old Armenian convent, with its garden of figs and orange-trees, pomegranates and flowering shrubs.
The welcome from the monks adds still another element of peace; and one roams quietly through the restful old place, with its church and convent, and wonders if a less gifted mortal than he who here dwelt and wrote,—
"Around me are the stars and waters,—Worlds mirrored in the ocean, goodlier sightThan torches glared back by a gaudy glass,"
could tarry here and grow forgetful of the ought and must of life.
At each window a pause is made; and the fascination of the views leads to a feeling of sympathy with that good Mechitar, who founded his convent here one hundred and seventy-six years ago. From the courteous monk whois our guide, we learn that this same Mechitar, who at nine years of age desired to be a priest, and entered a convent at fifteen, was a wonderful scholar, a writer and poet. Some of his hymns are used in the churches of Armenia.
Mechitar, having exhausted the learning at his command in the institutions to which he could obtain admittance, and having learned from missionaries whom he met of the far greater advantages in Europe, conceived the idea of establishing a literary institution for the Armenian nation, and after many struggles founded a Mechitaristican Society at Constantinople in 1700. Here he began to print books in the Armenian language, and sent out some preachers to various cities of Armenia; but soon he became the object of such persecution that he barely escaped the galleys by putting himself under the protection of the French ambassador.
Again, in spite of immense hindrances, he gathered his disciples at Modon, in the Morea, and anew began the erection of a convent and church. For twelve years he labored, when war broke out between the Turks and the Venetians, and his property fell into the hands of the former. Meantime Mechitar had commended himself greatly to the Governor Emo, and to the General of the Marine, Sebastiano Mocenigo, both of whom had given him money for his building, and the aid of their friendship; and now he naturally turned to Venice, where he landed in 1715. After much consultation and at the recommendation of Emo and Mocenigo, in 1717 the Senate decreed to him the island of San Lazzaro, which had been used as a hospital for lepers until it was no longer needed.
Mechitar found little to help him in the old church, deserted dormitory, two wells, and a garden, which were the only remnants of the former buildings which existed.He obtained from Rome, where he presented his cause in person, permission to send missionaries to the East. Rich Armenians, of whom there are many, came to his aid; and in the remaining thirty-two years of his life he established his convent on such a basis, and made it of such manifest benefit to the world, that in 1810, when the monasteries of Venice were suppressed, the Mechitaristican Society was granted its independence.
Mechitar received only Armenians into his schools. The advance of his own nation was the object for which he lived, labored, and prayed. His courses of study were comprehensive, his discipline not severe, and his whole attitude towards pupils and monks that of a father. Seven hours a day for study, and seven for repose; in summer one hour in the day for sleep; after dinner two hours for conversation, and one hour at evening for walking in the garden and for games; forty days in the summer at the country residence on the Brenta; fifteen days in the Carnival devoted to instructive dramatic representations; attendance on the public festivals in Venice, with occasional outings on adjacent islands and in the neighborhood on the mainland,—such is the outline of the rule of Mechitar. On the other hand, his novitiate was long and exacting, and no members were admitted unless proved to be virtuous, talented, of strong health, and desirous, of their own choice, of joining the Society. If found to be of indifferent abilities, they were sent back to Armenia. He had prayers three times a day, according to Armenian custom, but excused the younger pupils from morning prayer in church. He made no rules of abstinence, and provided plenty of food. He allowed no monk to leave the island without permission, and gave as few rules of conduct as possible, his object being to strengthen them in virtue for virtue's sake.
It is difficult to leave the windows and fix one'sattention within, even to see the treasures of the library, with its Oriental manuscripts, illuminated missals, rare books, and goodly collection of prints. One can readily admit its claim to be the centre of Armenian literature in all the world, but why not a great Polyglot centre, since books are printed here in thirty-two different languages? Hare says that this convent "obtained a fictitious celebrity through Byron, who studied here for six months." However one may view this, it is most interesting to read Byron's letter to Moore (December, 1816), in which, among other things, he says:—
"By way of divertissement, I am studying daily at an Armenian monastery the Armenian language. I found that my mind wanted something craggy to break upon; and this—as the most difficult thing I could discover here for an amusement—I have chosen, to torture me into attention. It is a rich language, however, and would amply repay any one the trouble of learning it. I try, and shall go on; but I answer for nothing, least of all for my intentions or my success.... Four years ago the French instituted an Armenian professorship. Twenty pupils presented themselves on Monday morning, full of noble ardor, ingenuous youth, and impregnable industry. They persevered, with a courage worthy of the nation and of universal conquest, till Thursday, when fifteen of the twenty succumbed to the six-and-twentieth letter of the alphabet. It is, to be sure, a Waterloo of an alphabet,—that must be said for them."
After Byron's death, a Preface to the Armenian Grammar was found among his papers. It was probably intended for the Armenian and English Grammar which Byron helped Dr. Aucher to prepare. The following is an extract from this "Preface":—
"The society of the convent of S. Lazarus appears to unite all the advantages of the monastic institution, without any of its vices. The neatness, the comfort, the gentleness, the unaffected devotion, the accomplishments, and the virtues of thebrethren of the order, are well fitted to strike a man of the world with the conviction that 'there is another and a better, even in this life.'
"These men are the priesthood of an oppressed and noble nation, which has partaken of the proscription and bondage of the Jews and of the Greeks, without the sullenness of the former or the servility of the latter. This people has attained riches without usury, and all the honors that can be awarded to slavery without intrigue. But they have long occupied, nevertheless, a part of the 'House of Bondage,' who has lately multiplied her many mansions. It would be difficult, perhaps, to find the annals of a nation less stained with crimes than those of the Armenians, whose virtues have been those of peace, and their vices those of compulsion. But whatever may have been their destiny,—and it has been bitter,—whatever it may be in future, their country must ever be one of the most interesting on the globe; and perhaps their language only requires to be more studied to become more attractive. If the Scriptures are rightly understood, it was in Armenia that Paradise was placed,—Armenia, which has paid as dearly as the descendants of Adam for that fleeting participation of its soil in the happiness of him who was created from its dust. It was in Armenia that the flood first abated, and the dove alighted. But with the disappearance of Paradise itself may be almost dated the unhappiness of the country; for, though long a powerful kingdom, it was scarcely ever an independent one, and the satraps of Persia and the pachas of Turkey have alike desolated the region where God created man in his own image."
The hours pass imperceptibly away. In hearing what the monk tells, and in reading what he gives us concerning the Society,—like the above and kindred facts,—the day declines, until the sensation of the lessening light reminds us that there is still something to be done, delightful as this reading and musing is. Within twilight has come; but without, although the east is dusky, it is so by contrast with the west. The setting sun has sunkso far that it illumines the sky alone, where golden minarets are reaching toward mid-heaven, and low, sleeping clouds of purplish hue sink with the sun beyond the horizon. At the last there are flashes of brilliant flame, and then sea and sky are blended. The twilight grows less and less. How silent the world seems! The gentle dip of the oars alone is heard, until, as we come nearer the city, a snatch of song falls on our ear, a gondola overtakes us, and Giacomo cheerfully greets a comrade. As we near the Piazzetta, all light is gone from the sea. We leave an inky darkness behind, which makes the blinking lamps on the Molo seem brilliant by contrast.
Now comes a new pleasure,—for even in dreamy Venice mortals are still doomed to eat,—and to-night we leave our better-loved Zattere to meet friends at the Café Florian, with its frescos and mirrors and cosey cabinets, from which, while being served, we catch glimpses of the fast-filling square. The lights are multiplying; the concerts of violins and harps, and the songs of the singers are beginning. The flower-girls are tying their nosegays or weaving garlands, and gazing wistfully at the windows of the brilliant little shops; and hundreds of figures pass and repass, now in the shadow and now in the light.
But even this dinner will end. The delicious sorbet and the fragrant coffee are, all too soon, things of the past. However, we do not stay to regret them, since this evening affords one of the rare opportunities to see La Fenice open in summer. It is always entertaining to watch the coming and going of the gondolas to and from this theatre; but at this season, when most of the wealthy Venetians are away on the mainland, the audience is not brilliant, the play not very good, and we are glad to be back in the Piazza for an hour beneath the summer moon, and then to walk home through the crookedcalli, that seem more like the make-believe of the stage than likereal life. There are corners so dark that they might well be used for an ambush. But we have no enemies in Venice, and so by aid of Giacomo's lanthorn may safely explore these narrow ways at any hour we choose, and hang the pictures of them in our mental gallery to look at and think about when thousands of miles away. For who that loves Venice ever forgets her? and that which in her midst seems dreamlike and unreal, with time and distance crystallizes into the sharpest and clearest of memories.
On such a night as this impassionedlyThe old Venetian sung these verses rare,"That Venice must of needs eternal be,For Heaven had looked through the pellucid air,And cast its reflex in the crystal sea,And Venice was the image pictured there."I hear them now, and tremble, for I seemAs treading on an unsubstantial dream.Who talks of vanished glory, of dead power,Of things that were, and are not? Is he here?Can he take in the glory of this hour,And call it all the decking of a bier?No, surely as on that Titanic towerThe Guardian Angel stands in æther clear,With the moon's silver tempering his gold wing,So Venice lives, as lives no other thing.LORD HOUGHTON.
When we consider the literature of Venice, we are amazed to find how few names are in its list of authors, and how narrow the field they occupied. Of poets there were none; and, indeed, the only writers of importance were the early annalists and the later historians. That peculiarly self-centred trait of which we have spoken as belonging to the Venetians in various directions, was eminently characteristic of their writers. It was Venice, and only Venice, that interested them; and from its earliest days there were those, nameless now, who were so impressed with the growth, the strength, and the splendor of the city that they saw growing and spreading around them, that they wrote it all down, and thus furnished invaluable material to those who came after them and wrote in a more elegant and systematic style. Some of these early annals still exist. They are read by the learned, and are said to be a strange medley of history and fable, all expressed in language of such vigor as to emphasize the earnestness of the writers, and frequently with such realism as would eclipse the authors of our day who cultivate that quality. His Serenity Marco Foscarini, in his work on Venetian literature, gives the names of such a host of these imperceptible writers, who are more than half lost in the ancient fogs in which they existed, that one must be brave even to read these names, much more so to attempt their works.
Sagornino, of the eleventh century, is more real; and no aspect in which Venice could be viewed was neglected by him and his followers. Its ceremonials, treaties, ecclesiastical and other important matters, are treated with no more attention and respect than are the merest details and most common events. They were all lovers of this mistress, Venezia, to whom the slightest variation in her pulse was almost a matter of life and death.
But not until the fourteenth century were these chronicles put into a form which could be called history. Andrea Dandolo, Petrarch's friend, the first scholarly Doge, may also be called the first Venetian historian. His family had already given three Doges to the Republic, and he had not only the early annals, but the state papers and those of his ancestors, on which to rely for the facts which he wove into a formal, dignified, and conscientious narration of the lives and deeds of the rulers of Venice who had preceded him.
After him, for a half-century, again there were but the chronicles of monks who wrote of their orders, soldiers who fought their battles over on parchment, or idle patricians who amused themselves by keeping diaries. A history of Venice was talked of, was ardently desired; but no one undertook it, until Marco Antonio Sabellico, a native of Vicovaro, was seized with the desire to write such a book, which was published in 1487. It seems almost impossible to believe what we are told,—that he had seen no authoritative book on Venice, that he knew neither Dandolo's history, nor that best account of the Chioggian War, written by the nephew of the great Zeno. But be this as it may, in fifteen months he completed a work which, though not without its errors, stands as an authority, and is without doubt the most eloquent of Venetian annals. It was at once accepted with enthusiasm; and the Senate graciously gave to Sabellico twohundred ducats a year. The translation from the Latin by Dolce retains the telling eloquence of the original. It is a wonderful account of the internal and external affairs of the Republic, given with a pen so graphic as to make its word pictures full of the charm that we find in the work of the artist who places before the eye the color and the details of what he represents.
Again an interval of dilettantish essays transpired, until, in 1515, Andrea Navagero, whom Foscarini calls the most elegant Latin writer in Italy, was made the Historian of the Republic. But in spite of this great honor, which came to him early in his life, we have no history by him; and his own story is tragical. Fifteen years passed after his appointment to office, and the work done by Sabellico in as many months was not yet forthcoming, when, in 1530, he was sent on an embassy to France. Soon after reaching Paris he sickened and died, and on his last day burned all his papers,—ten books, it is said, of the history of Venice. It is believed that this was done in a delirium; but the sensitive nature of Navagero, and his morbid dissatisfaction with his work, leave a doubt as to his condition when he committed this deplorable act.
Then, too, another writer, older than he, of infinite research,—Mrs. Oliphant calls him "one of the most astonishing and gifted of historical moles,"—Marino Sanudo, was collecting and putting together that work of his for which we all thank him and his Maker,—an endless procession of facts with all possible details,—anomnium gatherumfrom which all seekers can select that which suits their needs.
Here we must note a curious coincidence. We have a chronicle written by another Andrea Navagero, sometimes quoted, but finished while the historian was a child. And likewise was there a second Marino Sanudo, calledTorsello, again the elder of the two, who wrote more than a century before the oft-quoted historian. This Sanudo Torsello wrote of the Crusades and of other matters more distinctly Venetian, and although sometimes quoted, is of little importance beside the younger man. In fact, the two elders, Navagero and Sanudo, serve principally to create a confusion by their names, and are of no special value in any direction.
The younger Sanudo is very important among Venetian historians, and really began his researches when but nine years old. He was of a noble house, had all possible advantages of education and travel, was keen in his observations, and in a very sober manner makes many a humorous remark, like that one so often quoted: "If the story had not been true, our brave Venetians would not have painted it." When Marino was seventeen years old, his cousin Marco Sanudo was appointed one of the Syndics of Terra Firma, and took the young author with him to Padua. From this time he noted in his diaries all that came under his observation, and all he heard. He left, besides his voluminous published works, fifty-six volumes of these journals, many, if not all, of which are now published, and afford an almost momentary account of the life in Venice for a half-century before 1533. He collected a great library, and was active in his public life. He records his speeches in the Senate, and they were almost numberless. He held many important offices, and was extremely active in the discussions of all public matters in the Great Council as well as the Senate. He was usually in the minority; but that never discouraged him, and he more than once records his determination to "let no day pass without writing the news that comes from day to day, so that I may the better, accustoming myself to the strict truth, go on with my true history, which was begun several years ago. Seeking no eloquence ofcomposition, I will thus note down everything as it happens." He also records his determination "to do something in this age in honor of the eternal majesty and exaltation of the Venetian State, to which I can never fail, being born in that allegiance, for which I would die a thousand times if that could advantage my country, notwithstanding that I have been beaten, worn out, and evil entreated in her councils." And thus it resulted that his diaries became an unequalled storehouse of minute and general information, and it is largely to them that we owe that fascinating and curious information which admits us, so to speak, into the houses and palaces, the social gatherings, the august assemblies, even into the Council of Ten, and the innermost recesses of life in mediæval Venice.
When one reviews a life like that of Marino Sanudo, and is impressed with the fact that he lived and breathed in exactly the atmosphere that suited him,—that from his earliest years he was inexpressibly busy in doing just that for which he was best fitted by nature, that which of all the world he would have chosen,—it naturally seems that he must have been a very happy man. But he had his trials,—some of them very heavy to him. Again and again he is excluded from public office. At first he congratulates himself on having more time, but later it becomes evident that he feels his unpopularity keenly, as one may see when he says:—
"In the past year [1522] I have been dismissed from the Giunta [Zonta], of which two years ago I was made a member; but while I sat in that Senate I always in my speeches did my best for my country, with full honor from the senators for my opinions and judgment, even when against those of my colleagues. And this is the thing that has injured me; for had I been mute, applauding individuals as is the present fashion, letting things pass that are against the interest of my dearest country, acting contrary to the law, as those who have theguidance of the city permit to be done, even had I not been made Avvogadore, I should have been otherwise treated.... I confess that this repulse has caused me no small grief, and has been the occasion of my illness; and if again I was rejected in the ballot for the past year, it was little wonder seeing that many thought me dead, or so infirm that I was no longer good for anything, not having stirred from my house for many months before. But the Divine bounty has still preserved me, and, as I have said, enabled me to complete the diary for this year; for however suffering I was I never failed to record the news of every day which was brought to me by my friends, so that another volume is finished."
But the signal grief of his life must have come from the appointment of the young and inexperienced Navagero as the historian of the Republic. He speaks of this Messer Andrea Navagero, who was paid for writing history, with gentle contempt; but the speedy death of Andrea, and the fact that he left nothing behind to be placed in comparison with the work of Sanudo, disposes of this matter with comparatively few words.
But when Pietro Bembo was appointed to succeed Navagero, what must have been Sanudo's indignation,—a man who had lived out of Venice, who did not even remove to that city to write its history, who had done nothing to prove his fitness for the office, and who hesitated not to ask Sanudo to lend him the precious diaries from which to extract materials for his own writing!
Well did Sanudo answer that he would "give the sweat of his brow to no one." And then Bembo wrote from Padua, asking the Doge to compel Sanudo to open his collections to him. But at last the poor, slighted man did give his "sweat" to his unconscionable rival; and the result is much to his credit, for beside his animated and entertaining narrative Bembo's writing is as dry as desert sands.
Very late in his life the Ten gave him one hundred and fifty ducats a year as a recognition of his books,—"which I vow to God is nothing to the great labor they have cost me," as he remarks. Until within two and a half years of his death he continued his diaries; and as soon as he ceased to write them he made a will, in which he gave them bound and enclosed in a book-case to the Signoria, to be placed where they should think best. And now comes the most astounding fact. These treasures, which we should naturally think would have been placed with care and pride where they could be seen and consulted, were put no one knows where, and in 1805 were found in the Royal Library at Vienna, having got there nobody knows how!
Sanudo's library and his collections of pictures and curiosities, from the celebratedmappamondoto matters of slight importance and value, had become famous; and we are told that "the illustrious strangers who visited Venice in these days went away dissatisfied unless they had seen the Arsenal, the jewels of S. Marco, and the library of Sanudo." Sometimes they were forced to be "dissatisfied;" for the old historian grew weary of "illustrious persons," and said them nay with a will, when asked to display his collections.
To him personally, while he had been greatly interested in all hisroba, the books were the most precious, and at one time he had intended to make a gift of them to the library of S. Marco; but although long promised, this library was not begun. Sanudo was poor. He could not even reward Anna of Padua, who had served him faithfully for twenty years, and had not been paid. He also felt himself compelled to relinquish the marble sarcophagus in San Zaccaria, for which a previous will had provided; and so at last, he directed his executors to sell his collections, to pay the worthy Anna, to bury him "wherehe falls," preserving only the epitaph which he had written to his great comfort. No one knows where he was laid; and not a word to his honor and remembrance existed in Venice until Mr. Rawdon Brown, who has rescued the name and works of Sanudo from oblivion, placed an inscription on his house, still standing, with the Sanudo arms upon it, behind the Fondaco dei Turchi (Museo Civico), in the parish of S. Giacomo dell' Orio. Mrs. Oliphant says:—
"Would it have damped his zeal, we wonder, could he have foreseen that his unexampled work should drop into oblivion, after historians, such as the best informed of Doges, Marco Foscarini, knowing next to nothing of him—till suddenly a lucky and delighted student fell upon those volumes in the Austrian Library; and all at once, after three centuries and more, old Venice sprang to light under the hand of her old chronicler, and Marino Sanudo with all his pictures, his knick-knacks, his brown rolls of manuscript and dusty volumes round him, regained, as was his right, the first place among Venetian historians,—one of the most notable figures of the mediæval world."
To be held in everlasting remembrance was the reward that Marino Sanudo ardently coveted; and though never appreciated by his contemporaries, and utterly forgotten by the whole world for hundreds of years, he is now respected and valued, and thateterna memoria, to earn which he valued no toil, at last is his.
It remains to speak of Theobaldo Mannucci, or Manutio, familiarly called Messer or Ser Aldo, best known to us as Aldus, the great printer of Venice, whose house may still be seen, in the Campo San Agostino, near the Scuola di S. Giovanni Evangelista, near by the spot on which stood the house of thegran cavaliere, Bajamonte Tiepolo. Aldus was not a Venetian, having first seen the light in Bassiano, near Rome. The history ofhis earlier years is indistinct; but this much seems to be true, that, being a great scholar and student, he had also been a tutor in the family of the Pii, princes of Carpi. He was also the friend of Count Giovanni Pico at Mirandola, one of the most scholarly men of his age.
At length, for one reason and another, too many and too involved to be given here, he decided to go to Venice, and begin that making of books which in his hands became such an honor and advantage to that city; and in this he was much encouraged, and probably substantially aided, by Count Pico. Thus a Florentine and a Roman brought to this Mistress of the Sea a kind of prestige which no son of hers had given. Aldus probably knew that foreign printers, of whom we have spoken, had been encouraged to do their work at Venice; but he was no mere printer, and although it is by that name that he is most frequently spoken of, he was a scholar before he was a printer, and became a printer because of his scholarship. He had found how meagre and incorrect were the text-books of his time; and to supply these defects and give to the world books free from blemishes in substance and form, was his untradesmanlike motive.
It is believed that he went to Venice about 1488, and his first publication appeared six years later. Meantime he had prepared the manuscripts he wished to print, and had drawn around him a large number of men, old and young, from senators and priests to the youths who sought learning, to listen to his reading and exposition of the Greek and Latin authors. The Neacademia of Aldo became a most important factor in Venetian life. To quote Mrs. Oliphant:—
"Sabellico, the learned and eloquent historian, with whose work Venice was ringing; Sanudo, our beloved chronicler, then beginning his life-long work; Bembo, the future cardinal, already one of the fashionable semi-priests of society, holding acanonicate; the future historian who wrote no history, Andrea Navagero, but he in his very earliest youth; another cardinal, Leandro, then a barefooted friar,—all crowded about the new classical teacher. The enthusiasm with which he was received seems to have exceeded even the ordinary welcome accorded in that age of literary freemasonry to every man who had any new light to throw upon the problems of knowledge. And while he expounded and instructed, the work of preparation for still more important labors went on. It is evident that he made himself fully known, and even became an object of general curiosity, one of the personages to be visited by all that were on the surface of Venetian society, and that the whole of Venice was interested and entertained by the idea of the new undertaking.... It was a labor of love, an enterprise of the highest public importance, and as such commended itself to all who cared for education or the humanities, or who had any desire to be considered as members or disciples of that highest and most cultured class of men of letters, who were the pride and glory of the age."
His house, though "far from the busy haunts," was soon a gathering-place and centre for such men as were seriously interested in what was there transpiring; and Aldus skilfully employed all who could and would aid him in the preparation of the almost indecipherable manuscripts, in proof-reading, and in many matters which demanded keen intelligence and infinite patience.
The picture of his busy shops, to which these men turned and where they labored, leaving the fascinations of the Piazza and the exciting life of Venice at her best, makes one of the most interesting of the many remarkable scenes of that unique and marvellous city. And it is curious to note how in the lives of men like Aldus in the present day his vexations are repeated, reminding us that there is nothing new under the sun. He complains that if he attempted to answer the letters he receives, both night and day would be too little for the task; andtroublesome visitors were as numerous then as now, wherever great men live. He humorously wrote of these:—
"Some from friendship, some from interest, the greater part because they have nothing to do,—for then 'Let us go,' they say, 'to Aldo's.' They come in crowds and sit gaping,—
'Non missura cutem, nisi plena cruoria hirudo.'
I do not speak of those who come to read me either poems or prose, generally rough and unpolished, for publication, for I defend myself from these by no answer or else a very brief one, which I hope nobody will take in ill part, since it is done, not from pride or scorn, but because all my leisure is taken up in publishing books of established fame. As for those who come for no reason, we make bold to admonish them in classical words in a sort of edict placed over our door, 'WHOEVER YOU ARE, Aldo requests you, if you want anything, ask it in few words and depart, unless, like Hercules, you come to lend the aid of your shoulders to the weary Atlas. Here will always be found in that case something for you to do, however many you may be.'"
We can well understand that the publication of the Greek Grammar, Aristotle, and kindred authors must have been a work of time. But five books were produced in two years, and that with the aid of two scholarly editors, besides the zealous help of friends, to which we have referred above. In addition to the costly methods that Aldus was forced to pursue, he could find no type that suited him, and set himself to invent one; that known at first as Aldino, and later Italic, was the result. There is a tradition that he aimed to reproduce the even and clear chirography of Petrarch, and himself described the result as a type "of the greatest beauty, such as was never done before." Aldus hastened to ask of the Signoria the sole right to use this type for ten years, which privilege was granted him upon the following appeal:—
"I supplicate that for ten years no other should be allowed to print in cursive letters of any sort in the dominion of your Serenity, nor to sell books printed in any other countries in any part of the said dominion, under pain to whoever breaks this law of forfeiting the books and paying a fine of two hundred ducats for each offence, which fine shall be divided into three parts,—one for the officer who shall convict, another for thePietà, the third for the informer, etc."
Query, was this not putting a strong temptation before the informer and the convicting officer?
The type we now use in italics is the descendant of the Aldino, but not so delicate and graceful as the ancestor. The first book printed in this manner appeared in 1501, and, as seems most fitting, was the poems of Petrarch, printed directly from his own manuscript. The Aldine mark on the titlepages of this great printer's books was the anchor and dolphin; and Lorenzo of Pavia said of this volume to the Duchess Isabella Gonzaga, it is "a rare thing, which, like your Ladyship, has no paragon."
After a time Erasmus of Rotterdam wrote to Aldus concerning the publication of his "Adages," and finally came to Venice, and became one of the assistants of the printer,—this man of great fame, greater than those Italians who called him "that Dutchman" and laughed at his moderation and large appetite. Jealousy and envy invaded the Stamperia, where the sounds of the gayety of fashionable Venice never were heard, and where little interest was felt in the struggles, the feuds, and the betrayals which were rampant there, from the Great Council and that of the Ten down through the many "sets" ofmaggioriandminoriin that busy, overflowing city. What a contrast to all this was that conclave of the Neacademia on the days when the obscure passages of Aristotle, Virgil, and other ancient authors were discussed! How gravely did they give their reasons why anadverb would better express the meaning than an adjective, and what lengthy arguments were needed to decide for or against a relative pronoun!
Sadly we record the total changes that came with the wars of the first decade of the sixteenth century. Aldus, his Stamperia, his precious manuscripts collected with such pain and care, all disappeared; and though he returned to his labors with characteristic zeal, he gained fame only, and died poor. He did not work for profit. His copyright in type, if we may use the word, was of little use, and his thoughts were bent on other things than money-making. He never swerved from his decision, in the preface to the Greek Grammar, to devote his life to the good of mankind. Renouard, the French critic, tells us how his devotion to his chosen calling became a passion. If he heard of a manuscript that could explain an existing text, he rested not until he got it. He valued no labor, expense, travel, or study that could further his ends, and it was wonderful to see with what readiness he was assisted. Some for money, some without reward, and others for the same reasons which influenced him, gave all the aid possible to further his success; and from distant places, without solicitation from him, precious manuscripts were sent for his advantage.
He was succeeded by his son called Aldoil Giovane, and his grandson; but even with the advances made in processes, no imitator nor rival excelled the scholarly bookmaker,Aldo il Vecchio, whose books are now among the very choicest treasures of the richest libraries in the world. Quoting again from the "Makers of Venice,"—
"Let us leave Aldo with all his aids about him,—the senators, the schoolmasters, the poor scholars, the learned men who were to live to be cardinals, and those who were to die as poor as they were famous; and his learned Greek Musurus, and his poor student from Rotterdam,—a better scholar perhaps than anyof them,—and all his idle visitors coming to gape and admire, while our Sanudo swept round the corner from S. Giacomo dell' Orio, with his vigorous step and his toga over his shoulders, and the young men who were of the younger faction came in, a little contemptuous of their elders and strong in their own learning, to the meeting of the Aldine academy and the consultation on new readings. The Stamperia was as distinct a centre of life as the Piazza, though not so apparent before the eyes of men."
It is a singular fact that the Senate of Venice, in 1362, should have thought it worth while to present Petrarch with a palace, that he might in return, "with the good will of our Saviour, and of the Evangelist himself," make Saint Mark the heir of his library, and yet should have postponed the beginning of the building in which the books should be kept nearly two centuries; for it was not until 1536 that Sansovino commenced the Libreria Vecchia, which Aretino considered superlatively beautiful. Meantime the gift of Petrarch, stored in a small chamber of San Marco, was quite forgotten. No one lived who knew its whereabouts; and the legacies of Cardinal Bessarion, of Cardinal Grimani, Contarini, and Nani, were the glory of the library which Petrarch wished to found. Not until 1634 were his precious manuscripts discovered. But a meagre number could be saved from the mass of corruption they had become; and for all time the neglect and destruction of these precious parchments will remain a disgrace to Venice.
In 1812 the splendid collection of one hundred and twenty thousand volumes and ten thousand manuscripts was transferred to the more spacious halls of the Ducal Palace, leaving the Great Hall of the Libreria with its paintings by Veronese and Tintoretto, and the row of Greek philosophers which look down from between the windows. Ruskin calls these last the finest paintings ofthe kind in existence. One of these is the Diogenes, which Tintoretto painted with the greatest care, because Titian had told the Procurators of St. Mark that Tintoretto was not worthy to be employed in the decoration of this hall. But these officials thought this a little severe, and gave Tintoretto his opportunity.
Diogenes is nude and seated, with his legs crossed. One elbow rests on the thigh, and the raised hand supports the chin. It is the impersonation of profound meditation. There is such power in the modelling of this figure, and the light is so managed, that it stands out as if it did not intend to remain in the niche where it is placed. Two other works of Tintoretto's are also here, in spite of the efforts to deprive him of the honor. They represent the removal of the relics of Saint Mark from Alexandria, and Saint Mark rescuing a sailor.
When, under Eugene Beauharnais, the Procuratie Nuove were converted into the Palazzo Imperiale, the Libreria Vecchia was made a part of the Palace, and united to the buildings of the Piazza.
Venice has no plan. The canals are bordered with edifices that appear to rest upon the water; and many of its palaces are so beautiful that they seem as worthy to have risen from the white sea-foam as was Venus Anadyomene herself. Behind these palaces, winding in and out like serpents, are thecalli, which appear to begin nowhere and to lead to the same place, twining now and then about the littlecampi, which afford breathing-spaces on land, as the canals do on the water. It would seem that one must be Venetian born, or, forsaking all others, must cleave to Venice itself for better or worse, if he would learn to thread these mazy ways with confidence.
It appears, too, that this want of plan permeates the life of Venice. Everybody and everything seem to be guided by the fancy of the moment. It is charming and so easily acquired,—thisdolce far niente. One feels it, and acts upon it without realizing it; it is inhaled with the air itself.
Ca' d' Oro, on the Grand Canal.Ca' d' Oro, on the Grand Canal.
The stranger, when in the privacy of his own apartment, makes his plan for the morrow. He resolves to throw off this idleness; he will rise betimes and visit the Academy, and later go to several churches. He awakes to find it already late, and by the time he steps into his gondola he has forgotten what he was to do, and straightway decides to go once more up the Grand Canaland gaze at those lovely palaces, which can only be seen to advantage in this way.
Emerging from the water as they do, their reflections in it add vastly to their attractiveness, much of which, I fancy, would be lost did they rise from the usual city sidewalk or even from green turf. Doubtless the lofty horseshoe arches of the lower arcades, the lightness of the openloggieorpergoli, and the style of their decorations were all considered in regard to the effect of their reflections, as much as to that of the edifices themselves. Then, too, their space is so prescribed that grandeur and breadth of design were not possible, and must be replaced by picturesque effects of decoration and fancy.
The plan of the old palaces of Venice is much the same in all. They rest on a very solid basis of oaken piles driven down until they meet the hard, Caranto stratum which underlies the silt. Larch timbers are then laid on the piles, and marble slabs in cement are built up above the water-level. The ground floor is principally devoted to storerooms intended for heavy goods, and has a broad entrance leading to them. The next floor, the mezzana, is the place of business, the mercantile portion of the establishment.
From the court the ascent is made to the third floor, where the family apartments begin. Many of the staircases are stately, and very beautiful in their ornamentation. They lead to the principal saloon or drawing-room of the house. Frequently these palaces are built with a central portion, with wings on each side. The great saloon occupies the whole of the central part, having on its front the loggia, overlooking the canal. On each side are smaller rooms. The next floor is less lofty, and has a spacious kitchen, besides several sleeping-apartments. Still above these are garrets and store-closets, close under the roof.
The principal pleasure to be derived from the palaces of Venice in these days is found by gazing at them while floating up and down the Canalezzo at various hours of the day, noting the exquisite effects of light and shade at morning, midday, and evening, especially the latter when there is a brilliant moonlight. Few of them now contain much that one cares to see, and few, indeed, have been kept up in such a way as to be anything but depressing. Those that are open to strangers are filled with the atmosphere of "the banquet-hall deserted." But all must agree with Ruskin in what he says of their exteriors:—
"The charm which Venice still possesses, and which for the last fifty years has made it the favorite haunt of all the painters of picturesque subjects, is owing to the effect of the Gothic palaces, mingled with those of the Renaissance.
"The effect is produced in two different ways. The Renaissance palaces are not more picturesque in themselves than the club-houses of Pall Mall; but they become delightful by the contrast of their severity and refinement with the rich and rude confusion of the sea life beneath them, and of their white and solid masonry with the green waves. Remove from beneath them the orange sails of the fishing-boats, the black gliding of the gondolas, the cumbered decks and rough crews of the barges of traffic, and the fretfulness of the green water along their foundations, and the Renaissance palaces possess no more interest than those of London or Paris. But the Gothic palaces are picturesque in themselves, and wield over us an independent power. Sea and sky and every other accessory might be taken away from them, and still they would be beautiful and strange."
Perhaps the Palazzo Vendramin Calergi is the most interesting of the Renaissance palaces, because it is well kept up, and its garden, with white statues and gilded railings, which are reflected in the water, adds much to the cheerfulness of its whole effect. It is more than four centuries old, and was built by Santi Lombardo forAndrea Loredan. A century later it was bought by the Duke of Brunswick, and then by the Duke of Mantua; but some legal quibbles made it necessary to sell it again, and since 1589 it has been in the families Calerghi and Grimani, has been owned by the Duchesse de Berri and the Comte de Chambord, as well as the Duca della Grazia.
If some imitator of Sanudo could have kept the annals of these four hundred years in this house, their interest and variety would have been fascinating. Palma Giovane painted a frieze there, representing the Triumph of Cæsar; and the furnishing and pictures have been very attractive, perhaps all the more so for the reason that there have usually been some paintings and artistic objects for sale.
The Palazzi Farsetti and Loredan, separated by the Traghetto di San Luca, are very interesting. The Loredan dates from the twelfth century, while the Farsetti is in the Byzantine-Lombard style of that period, its front having been made from the pillars and columns of an older edifice. These palaces are now used for municipal offices. In the Farsetti, Canova first studied his art, and on the staircase are some of his earlier works.
The Palazzo Loredan is one of the few really old edifices in the Byzantine-Gothic style. It is this architecture that gives the unusual, fairy-like, and mysterious impressions which all artists get from Venetian exteriors; and the central arcade of the Loredan is a precious example of it. Ruskin says: "Though not conspicuous, and often passed with neglect, it will be felt at last, by all who examine it carefully, to be the most beautiful palace in the whole extent of the Grand Canal." The arms of Peter V. Lusignan are above the entrance and windows. This king of Cyprus lived here early in the fourteenth century as the guest of Federigo Corner Piscopia; and here Elena Cornaro Piscopia was born.
If one really lives in Venice, and has leisure to seekfor them, there are enchanting bits of architecture, sculpture, and painting which are quite unknown to the usual tourist. In Palazzo Contarini and Palazzo Bembo alla Celestia there are admirable staircases in the courtyards, and other details from the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. In Palazzo Sina (formerly Grassi), a modern edifice, there is a noble staircase, its walls being decorated with a representation of the Carnival of 1745. The portraits of the family are looking over the balustrades.
Behind the Church of San Gian Crisostomo, in the Corte del Millone, is the remnant of the Palazzo del Poli, the house in which Marco Polo first saw the light, in 1259, and where he died in 1323. It dates from the twelfth century, and in the little that remains of it one sees enough to admire to make it a matter of regret that so much is lost.
The little Marco was but a year old when his father, Niccolo, and his uncle Matteo started on their first great journey, which extended to the city of the powerful Kublai Khan. They returned, having seen many marvellous things, and again left Venice to repeat their travels, taking Marco with them when he was fifteen years old. All knowledge of them was lost for many years. The Casa Poli was filled with kinsmen who knew little of those who had gone away more than twenty years before, when suddenly, one evening in 1295, three strange figures appeared at the gate.
Dario Palace, on the Grand Canal.Dario Palace, on the Grand Canal.
They were in Tartar garb, their hair and beards were long, and their skins dark from exposure, while their curious speech was most un-Venetian. We are told that the doorway through which we pass to-day in the Corte della Sabbionera, with its Byzantine arch, and the cross above it, is the very same at which the travellers knocked. At first they were not believed to be the Poli; and a great excitement was aroused, not only in Palazzo Poli,but through all the neighboring quarter as well, and it seemed for a while very doubtful if they could ever come to their own again.
But at last they hit upon a plan by which they could prove themselves to bethe Poliby their peculiar conduct. They invited all their relatives to a magnificent banquet, and when the time arrived,—
"the three came out of their chamber dressed in long robes of crimson satin, according to the fashion of the time, which touched the ground. And when water had been offered for their hands, they placed their guests at table, and then taking off their satin robes put on rich damask of the same color, ordering in the mean while that the first should be divided among the servants. Then after eating something [no doubt, a first course], they rose from table and again changed their dress, putting on crimson velvet, and giving as before the damask robes to the servants; and at the end of the repast they did the same with the velvet, putting on garments of ordinary cloth such as their guests wore. The persons invited were struck dumb with astonishment at these proceedings. And when the servants had left the hall, Messer Marco, the youngest, rising from the table, went into his chamber and brought out the three coarse cloth surcoats in which they had come home. And immediately the three began with sharp knives to cut open the seams and tear off the lining, upon which there poured forth a great quantity of precious stones, rubies, sapphires, carbuncles, diamonds, and emeralds, which had been sewed into each coat with great care, so that nobody could have suspected that anything was there. For on parting with the Great Khan they had changed all the wealth he bestowed upon them into precious stones, knowing certainly that if they had done otherwise they never could by so long and difficult a road have brought their property home in safety. The exhibition of such an extraordinary and infinite treasure of jewels and precious stones, which covered the table, once more filled all present with such astonishment that they were dumb and almost beside themselves with surprise;and they at once recognized these honored and venerated gentlemen of the Ca' Polo, whom at first they had doubted, and received them with the greatest honor and reverence."
The news soon spread all over Venice, and the Poli were besieged with visitors. The eldest, Matteo, was created a magistrate, and Marco was put forward to tell the story of their wanderings in answer to the many questions which were asked of them; and as he constantly told of millions as the revenue of the Great Khan, and of millions on millions as the wealth of Cathay, he came to be called Marco Milione. This sounds like a derisive title, and doubtless was so at first; but it was a most reputable one later, especially after Marco Polo had contributed large sums towards fitting out a fleet to oppose the Genoese, and himself went to the war, the results of which, as concerned him, have already been related. There is a puzzle to me in the foregoing tale: Why did the possession of their treasures prove the three men to be the Poli?
It goes without saying that in historic interest all other Venetian palaces fade away when compared with the Palazzo Ducale, which, as we have seen, played its part in all affairs of importance in Venice, since it was not only the residence of the Doge, but the place in which the councils were held, and all momentous matters of the State decided. It was the scene alike of the gayest festivities and of the most heart-rending tragedies. The splendid ball might be at its merriest in one grand saloon at the moment when the Ten in their Sala were decreeing the death of one of the dancers, and another of their sentences was being executed at the prison near by, where "most nights arrived the prison boat, that boat with many oars, and bore away as to the Lower World."
This palace is to-day a great library and picture-gallery, in which the pictures that reproduce the great eventsin the history of the Republic are of a value that cannot be over-estimated. The masters here represented by religious and mythological subjects can be studied in other Italian and European galleries; but here, in the very halls where the wars, the embassies, and the pageants of Venice were decreed, they have been pictured upon the walls most fittingly, by the great masters of the flowering period of Venetian Art.