religious and co-operative; and these took the name of ‘schools,’ which
vied with each other in building churches and hospitals and in making
pompous appearances in public during the religious or civil festivals.
The number of artisans inscribed in a guild was not determined, but the
number of brethren in each school was limited by its statutes. Each
school was directed by a ‘gastaldo’ and a number of elders, who were
generally the senior members of the guild from which it was derived.
This council of management was to admonish with grave words any brother
who led an immoral life, to punish blasphemers, and to be vigilant lest
any of the brethren should play at games of chance, even dice being
prohibited. The ‘gastaldo’ himself might be admonished by the elders,
and required to perform ‘great and good’ penance, according to the terms
of some of the charters. The brethren paid a tax of admission, and in
many schools bound themselves to flagellation at Lent. A certain number
of priests were admitted without any obligations, and from four to six
physicians; both ‘doctors of physic,’ as they were then called, and
‘doctors of wounds,’ as surgeons were designated. No brethren were
admitted under the age of sixteen years.
The brethren had a right to receive assistance from the schools in the
form of money and of medicine, if they were ill, either at home or in
the hospitals which were annexed to the abodes of some brotherhoods. We
find it stated that in some cases the schools assisted a brother with a
sum as large as three hundred of the ‘small lire,’ which was a very
considerable sum for that time, being equal to about fifty pounds
sterling. Among the advantages enjoyed by those who belonged to a school
was that even when absent from the city they could claim succour from
the brethren. The following words, translated from the statutes of the
School of the Holy Apostles, framed in Venetian dialect of the
thirteenth century, well express the general purpose of these
institutions: ‘Let the brethren be twelve good and honest men, who for
the love of our Lord Jesus Christ are to live holily, in peace and
charity, without fraud, pride, or murmuring, having ever before their
eyes the example of the apostles and the command of Christ, to wit, Love
peace and charity, and love your neighbour as yourself.’
[Illustration: RIO DELLA PIETA]
The worst of the misdeeds for which one of the brethren could be
subjected to the dishonour of being expelled from the school was openly
leading a bad life. The head of the brotherhood, upon the information
of other brethren and by his own knowledge, then warned the culprit to
correct his ways. ‘Let him be told to amend his life openly, for
charity’s sake; and if it be amended within fifteen days, then praise be
to God, and let him go in peace.’
It sometimes happened that a brother, of his own accord, rather than be
expelled, wished to quit a school, in entering which he had perhaps
experienced some difficulty. To this end the statutes of some schools
laid down that he should pay a considerable fine, that in the presence
of his companions he should be placed upon a bier, and that while the
bells tolled as for a dead man he should be carried round the church.
After the passage of this law such cases grew much less frequent.
In the end the schools became very rich institutions, for the members
not only contributed money, but they and their families, and doubtless
many members of the guilds, worked for nothing on their churches, their
hospitals, and their asylums for the old. The competition between
different schools was keen, and led to their beautifying their oratories
and their places of meeting with magnificent works of art, so that
almost all the great painters of Venice first acquired fame under their
protection.
In the fourteenth century such men as Carpaccio and Bellini, and later,
Titian, Veronese, and Tintoretto, were all humble brethren of the Guild
of Painters and Varnishers, and they all, without exception, submitted
in their schools to the authority of men who were very likely nothing
better than house-painters by profession, though they were undoubtedly
men of high morality and probably of considerable cultivation.
As for the treasure that accumulated in the name of the Guild, it was
not only used for the sick and in aiding young artists, but it was also
not unusual to give dowries to the daughters of poor brethren, and
sometimes considerable sums were sent to members of the Guild whom some
urgent matter detained abroad without sufficient means of livelihood.
[Sidenote: _Cecchetti, Corte._]
It is a singular fact, mentioned only by Cecchetti, that a number of
nobles, possibly in the hope of obtaining; influence over the guilds,
but pretexting religious devotion, requested and were permitted to be
inscribed as brethren. It appears that some of the brotherhoods
attempted at the very first to defend themselves from this invasion, but
were afterwards obliged to yield to the will of the Great Council,
though they limited the number of nobles to be admitted so as to make it
very small compared with that of the citizens. Later, however, in 1407,
the Great Council, considering that this was a slight upon the
aristocracy, required that all nobles should be admitted to the schools
who wished it, provided that they were of good repute. But the nobility
were not satisfied with this; they wished to join the schools and yet be
exempt from the usual dues. A few of the guilds yielded, but we find
among the papers of the school of Santa Maria della Val Verde, of the
year 1320, that all nobles who joined it must submit to all the
requirements of the statute, and that for them the admission fees should
be even larger than for ordinary citizens--‘and let him be what he
pleases,’ concludes the article of the statute with some disdain. In
other statutes we find that nobles could be admitted for nothing, but
that if they chose to pay something as conscience-money, of their own
free will, their offering would not be refused. Another right that the
nobles arrogated to themselves was that of refusing to submit to
flagellation in Lent, and the only schools where this custom was kept up
decided that the nobles, by way of compensation, should pay a
considerable increase of dues, and that the same immunity should be
accorded for nothing to all brethren over sixty years.
On the whole, the effect of the guilds was to keep alive in the people a
sense of their own dignity, and to distract them from hankering after
the offices of state, for which quite another education, different
studies, and an altogether different point of view would have been
required. For the equilibrium of a permanent state one prime condition
is that people should soberly, consistently, and, if possible,
intelligently, mind their own business.
In the fourteenth century Venice was unlike all other cities, both as
regards her external and internal administration, and the singularly
divers elements of which her strength was made up. In order to gain a
clear idea of the city’s condition at that time, a word must be said
concerning the numerous strangers who, though not taking up their abode
permanently in the city, passed through it or came to it on their way
to the East, and during the great fairs. I have spoken already of those
who established themselves in Venice and who sometimes became citizens
‘de intus et de extra’; I speak now only of that constant stream of
travellers, merchants, and men of business--Italians, Frenchmen,
Germans, and Orientals--who came and stayed a few weeks, or even months,
where people would now stay as many days, who transacted their business,
bartered their merchandise, and made acquaintance with the city,
visiting its monuments, its churches, and even its war-galleys in times
of peace. Venice showed them the most unbounded courtesy, and frequently
offered them the most magnificent hospitality. Their presence never
created the least disorder, and the manner in which the government
provided for their welfare is one of the most surprising things in the
internal economy of the city.
[Sidenote: _Mut. Costumi._]
When a stranger arrived in Venice and took up his lodging in one of the
many inns, some of which, like the ‘Luna,’ the ‘Selvatico,’ and the
‘Leon Bianco,’ are still nourishing in our own time, and were famous in
the fourteenth century, he found provided for him a tariff of prices,
which protected him against any possible imposition on the part of the
landlord; and he could hire a licensed guide to serve him lest he should
lose his way in the streets, or be cheated in the shops. The authorities
exercised a direct supervision over the rooms of the inns, requiring the
most perfect cleanliness of beds and linen and blankets, and they
forbade the crowding of strangers beyond a reasonable limit. For the sum
of fourteen soldi horses were provided with sufficient oats, hay, and
straw.
At times, when many strangers visited Venice, the population of the city
was almost doubled; and as the inns could not suffice to receive such a
number, the municipality placed at the disposal of visitors such empty
houses as it owned, and allowed private citizens to let rooms to
strangers; but severe penalties were imposed upon any who should venture
to let lodgings without a proper licence, or who should in any way
impose upon lodgers.
Pilgrims were received in hospices built for the purpose, and were there
served with reverence by the most distinguished persons in Venice; and
if they chanced to arrive at the time of any solemn festival they were
invited to join in the procession, walking on the right of the
patricians with wax torches.
[Sidenote: _Mut. Commercio._]
There was a special court for deciding questions between strangers, or
between strangers and Venetians; and it was the duty of this tribunal to
punish citizens who wronged any foreigner, or, if the latter was proved
to be the offender, to expel him from the city. Moreover, an express law
of 1317 required that the judges should ‘gently instruct’ persons who
did not present their passports in order, instead of sending them away
roughly or imposing a fine for an irregularity arising from ignorance of
the Venetian law.
When any very noble guest was in Venice, the State spared nothing that
could make his visit memorable to him as a time of wonder and delight.
The Duke of Austria never forgot the reception he met with, at a time
when he had little expectation of being so hospitably treated, for the
relations between the Duke and the Republic had been strained during
some time past. One of the Duke’s great vassals, the lord of Sench, who
was devoted to the king of Hungary, had stopped and imprisoned three
Venetian senators when they were on their way to the Court of the
Emperor Charles IV. to request, in the name of the Republic, the
investiture of certain lands to which the king of Hungary laid claim.
The Duke of Austria had at first tolerated this high-handed act, but had
at last yielded to the reiterated instances of the Republic, delivered
the prisoners, and sent word that he would bring them to Venice himself.
Though surprised, and a little uneasy at this proposal, the Council
determined to receive him with lavish hospitality, and several senators
were sent to Treviso with richly-adorned vessels to meet him. He
embarked, accordingly, with the restored captives, thirty knights, and a
train of two hundred young nobles and squires. Not far from Venice he
was met by the Doge with the famous barge, the Bucentaur, and the two
sovereigns met with every demonstration of friendship. The noble
Austrians were lodged at the charge of the State in the Dandolo and
Ziani palaces on the Grand Canal, and so magnificent were the
entertainments offered them that the expenses of their visit--for Venice
always knew precisely what she was spending--amounted to ten thousand
ducats--say, seven or eight thousand pounds sterling, when money was
worth three times what it is now.
My chronicler remarks that the money was well
[Illustration: RIO S. AGOSTIN]
invested, as the Duke was made a firm friend of the Republic, and
himself proposed a treaty by which he abandoned his claims to Trieste
for seventy-five thousand ducats--about fifty-six thousand pounds.
In the latter part of the fourteenth century Petrarch was received with
a hospitality as open-handed, and much less interested. The great poet
and famous ambassador was treated like a king; the palace of the Quattro
Torri on the Grand Canal was fitted up for him and placed at his
disposal for as long a time as he would stay in Venice, and at every
public function or festivity he appeared on the right hand of the Doge.
Touched by such consideration, Petrarch bequeathed a part of his
priceless library to the Republic, and Venice, on her side, refusing to
be outdone in generosity, presented him as a gift with the palace in
which he had been living.
The palace had originally belonged to the Molina family, and ultimately
became a religious house under the Sisters of the Holy Sepulchre. As for
the poet’s books, they came to a melancholy end. They are sometimes said
to have been the beginning of the library of Saint Mark. The authority
from which I quote says that amongst them were a manuscript of Homer,
given to Petrarch by Nicolas Sigeros, ambassador of the Emperor of the
East, a beautiful copy of Sophocles, a translation of the whole of the
_Iliad_ and of a part of the _Odyssey_, copied by Boccaccio himself, he
having learned Greek from the translator, Leontio Pilato, an imperfect
Quinctilian, and most of the works of Cicero transcribed by Petrarch
himself. Such treasures would make even a modern millionaire look grave;
yet it is said that when the celebrated Tomasini asked to be allowed to
see the books towards the end of the seventeenth century, he found them
stowed away in an attic under the roof of Saint Mark’s, ‘partly reduced
to dust, partly petrified’--‘in saxa mutatos’--a phenomenon of which I
never heard, and which I am at a loss to explain.
The tendency of Anglo-Saxons to extol and help conspiracy against every
government but their own has led Englishmen to waste sympathy on
Bocconio and Tiepolo, of whom it is now time to speak. The system of
laws and government which became defined after the closure of the Great
Council, though it already existed in great part so far as practice was
concerned, was designed to check every impulse of personal political
ambition in all classes of Venetians, beginning with the Doge himself.
Indeed his life, both public and private, was so hampered and hedged in
that his position at ordinary times seems to us far from enviable. Yet
in spite of this, and it is a singular reflection, it was quite possible
for a great man like Enrico Dandolo or Andrea Contarini to exercise
tremendous personal influence at decisive moments and to perform acts of
the highest heroism. Is there anything more heroic in all romantic
history than the aged Dandolo kneeling to receive the cross of the
crusader, and then leading a great allied host to one of the most
astounding conquests ever recorded? Was ever a man more of a hero than
old Contarini, swearing on his sword, when all seemed lost at Chioggia,
that he would never go back to Venice till the enemy was beaten--and
gloriously keeping his word? It seems to me that the heroism of both
those men grows when one considers that if either of them had been even
suspected of any personal interest or ambitious design he would have
been ruthlessly put out of the way by the men who had elected him.
The whole system was created to make anything like self-aggrandisement
impossible, and it worked so infallibly that during something near six
hundred years not one attempt to break it down was successful; and when
at last it fell, in its extreme old age, of weakness and corruption, it
was not finally destroyed by any inherent defect except old age, when it
was attacked by the greatest conqueror since Charlemagne.
It may not be possible to bring it under any philosophical theory, and
it bore but a small resemblance to Plato’s ideal State; but it had the
merit of being the most practical plan ever tested for maintaining the
balance between public and private forces, public welfare and private
wealth, national dignity and individual social importance. Of the three
great conspiracies only one was the work of an ambitious aristocrat;
another was a disappointed rich burgher’s ineffectual effort at revenge;
the third was headed by the Doge himself, partly out of private
resentment. None of them had any great chance of success, yet so great
was the apprehension they created that they were the source and origin
of all that terrible machinery of secret tribunals, spies, anonymous
accusations, and private executions which darken the later history of
Venice; a machinery which was almost always at work against the very
nobles who had constructed it, who feared it, but who never even
thought of doing away with it, though they could have voted it out of
existence at any meeting of their council; a machinery which hardly
affected the masses of the people at all, and which powerfully protected
the merchant burghers, but at the mere mention of which the greatest
noble became silent and looked grave.
Elsewhere in Italy the nobles of the twelfth, thirteenth, and fourteenth
centuries, iron-clad, hard-riding, and hard-hitting, were the natural
enemies of the people, whom they could kill like flies when they liked.
In sea-girt Venice they wore no armour, the people mostly loved them,
and the burghers needed their protection and shared in all the sources
of their wealth. The nobles’ only possible enemies at home were among
themselves.
[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 5._]
History has not left a very clear account of the conspiracy of Marin
Bocconio against the aristocratic Republic in 1300. We know that he was
a man who had a great following, chiefly on account of his immense
wealth, and Romanin remarks that his intelligence was not equal to the
arduous undertaking he had planned. We know that on the discovery of the
plot he was taken, that he was first confined in the prison of the ducal
palace, and afterwards hanged with ten of his principal accomplices
between the two columns, probably those of the Piazzetta, and we have a
list of those executed, showing that none of them were noble; but a few
noble names appear among those of persons exiled as having been
favourable to a revolution. Bocconio was certainly one of those
malcontents who were not satisfied with the position and privileges of
a
[Illustration: RIO JENA SECONDA]
Venetian burgher, and he was desirous of opening himself a way into the
Great Council by means of his fortune. The story that he knocked at the
door of the council chamber with the hilt of his sword, and armed to the
teeth, is an empty fable. He plotted, like the other conspirators, in
the dark, and he was betrayed by an accomplice.
[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 323._]
The facts as well as the details of the conspiracy of the Tiepolo and
the Quirini are better known, and it was this attempt at revolution
which first gave the government of the Republic that suspicious and
inquisitorial character which it never afterwards wholly lost. Mention
has already been made of that popular movement in 1296, which attempted
to seat upon the ducal throne Jacopo Tiepolo, son of the former Doge
Lorenzo, a man distinguished in the career of arms, and who was
therefore thought fit to take charge of affairs at the beginning of the
great struggle with Genoa. It will be remembered that the government
opposed the popular choice, partly in order not to yield an inch to the
popular demand, but also, on the other hand, because it was already
suspected that the Tiepolo family, which had previously given Venice two
doges, was desirous of making that dignity hereditary.
The doge chosen by the government was Gradenigo, and against him the
Tiepolo family and their friends, such as the Quirini, the Badoer, and
the Doro, continued afterwards to nourish resentment, and showed
themselves sternly opposed to the law of the closure of the Great
Council, which they looked upon as the triumph of Gradenigo’s policy.
The Tiepolo were very numerous, and so also were the Quirini. They
possessed many houses, were provided with vast stores of arms, and had
many servants and slaves. The two families were not united by friendship
only, for Bajamonte Tiepolo had married a daughter of the Quirini. Her
father, Marco, was of that branch which inhabited the palace situated on
the island of Rialto, in a little square beyond the Ruga degli Speziali.
Both families belonged by right to the Great Council, and during its
meetings they took advantage of the smallest incidents to give vent to
their wrath against the Doge and his policy. Sometimes they raised such
tumults during the sittings that the meetings had to be adjourned, and
on the following days they fanned the embers of disturbance into flame
in the public streets. The government showed its anxiety by renewing the
prohibition to wear arms abroad, and the greatest vigilance was
exercised by the ‘Lords of the Night,’ who were six magistrates,
generally nobles, charged with the duty of superintendents of police in
the city after dark, and were in command of the armed watch. Orders were
issued that no one was to keep fire burning, except in barbers’ shops,
after the ringing of the third hour of the night, _i.e._ three and a
half hours after sunset. At that time the streets were only lighted by
means of lamps that burned here and there before shrines set up by pious
persons, but the government now greatly increased this illumination. In
a word, every precaution was taken lest the discontent fostered by the
great families should suddenly break out into open revolt.
One evening the brother of Marco Quirini, Pietro surnamed ‘Pizzagallo,’
was met in the street by Marco Morosini, one of the Lords of the Night,
who was going his rounds. The magistrate’s suspicions were at once
aroused; he stopped Quirini, and insisted upon searching him to see
whether he were armed or not. Pietro Quirini, by way of showing his
displeasure at what he considered an offence, promptly kicked Morosini
off his feet, and left him lying on the ground. An action was of course
brought against the offender, who was condemned to pay a heavy fine for
his irascibility in thus gravely insulting an officer of the State.
Nevertheless a number of similar incidents took place, for prudence was
not among the virtues of the Quirini and Tiepolo families, and they
appear to have given themselves infinite trouble in seeking occasions
for disturbing the public peace. Nor was it difficult at that time to
stir up the elements of discord, for Venice was involved in a disastrous
war with the lords of Ferrara, a conflict which we must now briefly
explain.
In the eleventh century, during the War of the Investitures, the Church
under Gregory VII., Hildebrand, made common cause with the party of
Italian independence against the German Empire, and was vigorously
sustained by Matilda, Countess of Tuscany. She, on her side, naturally
found allies among those powers which desired to obtain the goodwill of
the Holy See. When the Countess wished to get back Ferrara, which she
had lost some years previously, the Venetians lent their help, both with
vessels and with armed forces; and in return they obtained many
privileges for their commerce in the city of Ferrara, and, among others,
that of placing there a ‘Visdomino,’ a sort of consul-general, to watch
their interests.
[Sidenote: _Rom. ii. 19._]
[Sidenote: _Rom. iii. 12._]