[Illustration: Cover art]
[Frontispiece: _The Bridge of Sighs._]
Venice
THE QUEEN OF THE ADRIATIC
_By_
CLARA ERSKINE CLEMENT
_Author of "Naples, the City of Partbenope," "Constantinople,
the City of the Sultans," etc._
Illustrated
BOSTON
Dana Estes and Company
PUBLISHERS
_Copyright, 1893_
BY ESTES AND LAURIAT
_All rights reserved_
_COLONIAL PRESS
Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, U.S.A._
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. To-Day and Long Ago
II. A Summer Day
III. The Doges: their Power and their Achievements
IV. The Venetians at Constantinople
V. Modern Processions and Festivals
VI. Gradenigo, Tiepolo, and the Council of Ten
VII. Murano and the Glass-Makers
VIII. Marino Faliero; Vettore Pisani and Carlo Zeno
IX. Burano and Torcello
X. The Two Foscari; Carmagnola and Colleoni
XI. An Autumn Ramble
XII. Venetian Women: Caterina Cornaro, Rosalba Carriera
XIII. The Archives of Venice
XIV. The Treasures of the Piazza
XV. Glory, Humiliation, Freedom
XVI. Saints and Others
XVII. Historians and Scholars
XVIII. Palaces and Pictures
XIX. The Accademia; Churches and Scuole
INDEX
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
The Bridge of Sighs (Photogravure) ... Frontispiece
Cathedral of San Marco
Ducal Palace
Festival Scene, Bridge of the Rialto
Church of Santa Maria Della Salute
Bridge of the Rialto
Molo of San Marco; Columns of Execution
The Piazzetta; Ducal Palace; San Marco
Panorama from the Campanile of St. Mark
Museo Civico; formerly Palazzo Ferrara, later Fondaco dei Turchi
Piazza of St. Mark
Horses of St. Mark
Campanile of St. Mark
Torre dell' Orologio; Clock Tower
Ca' d' Oro, on the Grand Canal
Dario Palace, on the Grand Canal
Court of the Ducal Palace; Giants' Staircase
{1}
THE QUEEN OF THE ADRIATIC;
OR,
VENICE, MEDIÆVAL AND MODERN.
CHAPTER I.
TO-DAY AND LONG AGO.
The Venice which one visits to-day is so curiously a part and not a
part of the ancient Venice of which we dream, that one feels, when in
that sea-enveloped and fairy-like city, a strange sense of
duality,--of being a veritable antique and an equally veritable
modern. He has a genuine sympathy with the past, and regrets that he
has not the enchanter's wand to bring it all back again,--long
enough, at least, for him to revel in its magnificence.
If he believes in reincarnation, he is speedily convinced that he was
once a Venetian indeed; else how could he feel so much at home, and
how love Venice as he does! And yet, alas! he cannot quite lose his
modern point of view.
The first emotion is all delight, and a delight that never loses its
thrill; for until the time comes for reflection, we are under the
charm of a perfect atmosphere, of skies of liquid blue, tinged at
times with crimsons, gold, and violets, such as come only from
Nature's loom; of music and soft, fascinating speech; of mysterious
labyrinths and sunlit spaces,--in a word, under the spell of Venice.
And if {2} Time brings to us the thought of the other side of the
picture,--the decay which is stealthily doing its sad work, the
grayness when it is gray, and all the pathos which ever attends a
queen uncrowned,--yet through all and above all is the joy and
pleasure which having once been ours, we are resolved to keep.
To sail from Trieste in an evening of the spring, and make one's
first approach to Venice in the early morning, affords an experience
that one should not forego. With the clear sun rising behind,
surrounded by the marvellous waters blushing in every color of the
rainbow beneath his rays, and the pearly tinted city lifting itself
from this many-colored sea, as if in welcome, every poetic and
artistic sense is filled to overflowing.
Can this coloring be described in words? Alas! no. For when the sea
is likened to liquid fire, broken into scintillations and spread over
a quivering background of sea-blue and sea-green waves, the half has
not been said. When the eye rests on some far-away sand, dun and
sombre in the distance, what vividness of flaming red and glorious
orange comes out in the middle ground, while nearer the blues and
greens are mingled with a shimmering silver! The atmosphere itself
seems tinted by reflections from Aurora's garlands, and the strangely
luminous blue sky smiles over all.
"Then lances and spangles and spars and bars
Are broken and shivered and strewn on the sea;
And around and about me tower and spire
Start from the billows like tongues of fire."
To the south stretches the long island reaching from the Porto di
Lido to Malamocco, its sands now sparkling like gems. The fort of
San Niccolo guards the entrance to the Lagoon; the little island of
St. Elena is passed, and Murano is seen to the north. But glances
only can be spared for these; for Venice itself, with its towers and
domes, its {3} belfries, spires, and crosses, its palaces all
lacework and arabesques, rises above, while all around, on the canal,
numbers of light, curiously shaped boats and sombre gondolas are
gathering,--their boatmen clamoring for news and customers.
Descending, as in a dream, we enter a gondola for the first time.
The Giardini Pubblici is passed, and soon one stands on the Piazzetta
and enters the Piazza of St. Mark, feeling as if he had passed
through a living, moving transformation scene, and been dropped into
the middle of the twelfth century. And why not? For at this early
hour the Piazza seems consecrated to the Past. The few boatmen,
fruit-sellers, and lazzaroni who are there might belong to the Middle
Ages as well as to the nineteenth century.
Why might they not have seen that grave procession which in 1177
passed into the Chapel of San Marco to celebrate the reconciliation
of a Pope and an Emperor,--that day when proud Frederick Barbarossa
so nobly proved his greatness?
He had struggled against the Church on the one hand, and the spirit
of independent government on the other, with a determination and
bravery such as few men in all history have shown.
Threatened with excommunication by Pope Adrian IV., and actually laid
under the ban by Alexander III., Frederick refused to recognize him
as Pope, and set up four anti-popes, one after another, who died, as
if their position brought its own fatal curse. During sixteen years
he carried matters with so high a hand that he successfully defied
Alexander and Italy; and the much humiliated Pope wandered from court
to court, seeking the aid of one kingdom after another, always in
vain.
Some States frankly acknowledged their fear of Barbarossa; others
dared not meet the sure vengeance of the {4} Ghibellines which would
follow the espousal of his cause; Sicily could give him a home, but
could not seat him firmly on his throne; and all eyes began to turn
to the Republic of the Sea.
The Barbarossa scarcely gave Italy time to rise from beneath his
tread and recover herself from one of his disastrous marches through
her territory, marking his route by flames and ruin, before he again
appeared with his barbaric army, pillaging and destroying all that
had escaped his last visitation, and returning to his Northern throne
in triumph. At last he turned his face towards the Eternal City for
the fifth time, only to find that the Confederacy of the Lombards had
raised a barrier against which he beat himself in vain. He was
repulsed in repeated engagements; and after the battle of Legnano,
May, 1176, he saw the beginning of the end of the audacious policy by
which he had so long dominated at home and abroad.
Soon after this first humiliation of his arch enemy, Alexander
decided to appeal to the Venetians for succor; and early in 1177 he
sailed from Goro, attended by five cardinals and ambassadors from the
King of Sicily, who had fitted out a papal squadron of eleven galleys.
After some disasters and perils, his Holiness reached Venice at
evening on March 23, and was lodged in the Abbey of San Niccolo. The
Doge, the nobles, and the clergy made haste next day to welcome the
Holy Father to Venice; and after a service in San Marco, where he
gave his benediction to the people, the Doge Sebastiano Ziani
escorted him to a palace at San Silvestro, which was his home so long
as he remained at Venice.
The Venetians now sent two ambassadors to Frederick at Naples to
arrange, if possible, a peace between the Pope and the Emperor. The
bare mention of Alexander as the true successor of Saint Peter so
enraged Frederick that he could scarcely speak his words of
defiance:--
{5}
"Go and tell your Prince and his people that Frederick, King of the
Romans, demands at their hands a fugitive and a foe; that if they
refuse to deliver him to me, I shall deem and declare them the
enemies of my empire; and that I will pursue them by land and by sea
until I have planted my victorious eagles on the gates of St. Mark."
Whatever regret the Venetians may have had at being thus forced to
protect their guest and punish so insulting a foe, they immediately
prepared thirty-four galleys, commanded by the flower of their
nobility, among whom was the son of the Doge Ziani; and Ziani himself
assumed the chief command.
Barbarossa's fleet was more than double in number, and under the
command of his son Otho. On the 26th of May, on the stairs of the
Piazzetta, Alexander girded upon Ziani a splendid sword, and gave him
his blessing. Feeling the great responsibility they had
assumed,--for not only the holy cause, but the glory of Venice was in
their keeping,--the Venetians fiercely contested the day. Not less
desperate the army of the German prince, and not less bravely did he
fight. But after six hours of dreadful slaughter, he found himself a
prisoner, with forty of his ships in the hands of the enemy, and his
whole following completely routed.
Otho was at once released, having solemnly sworn to persuade his
father to a reconciliation with Alexander. A promise faithfully
kept; for although this dreadful defeat at Salboro must have largely
contributed to the repentance of Barbarossa, he never again attempted
to rebel against his Holiness.
The Pontiff met Ziani at the spot on which they had parted, and all
who had survived the battle followed them to San Marco in triumph and
thankfulness; and there Alexander gave the Doge a ring, saying, "Take
this, my son, as a token of the true and perpetual dominion of the
{6} ocean, which thou and thy successors shall wed every year, on
this Day of the Ascension, in order that posterity may know that the
sea belongs to Venice by right of conquest, and that it is subject to
her, as a bride is to her husband."
And now began the somewhat difficult arrangement of a meeting between
Frederick and the Pope, which was at last appointed at Venice, where
the Emperor arrived on Saturday evening, July 23. Six cardinals met
him at San Niccolo Del Lido, and formally absolved him from the papal
curse, that he might not enter the city while under the ban.
On Sunday morning the Pope, in his pontifical robes, sat enthroned at
San Marco. (In the vestibule, by the centre portal, a lozenge of red
marble in the pavement marks the historic spot.) On his right hand
was the Doge, and on his left the Patriarch of Grado; while the
ambassadors of England, France, and Sicily, the delegates from the
free cities, and a throng of nobles and cardinals and other
ecclesiastical dignitaries, all in splendid attire, gave dignity and
brilliancy to the scene.
And now trumpets are heard, and the tread of the procession
conducting Barbarossa across the Piazza. The doors of San Marco are
wide open, and guards are at each portal to hold back the pressing
crowds of citizens eager to see the grand ceremony. The procession
is passing in; and from out the multitude of armed warriors, with
glistening helmets and shining lances, nobles in richly flowing
togas, and wealthy commoners in brilliant, graceful draperies, one
figure stands out alone.
[Illustration: _Cathedral of San Marco._]
The Emperor advances with a martial step, and his whole bearing
bespeaks a man great even in submission. His serious face is calm,
his crowned helmet is on his head, and his red beard falls far down
on his breast. His armor is not concealed by his flowing mantle, and
his slashed surcoat of dark, rich velvet, bordered with gold {7}
embroidery, discloses a tunic of more delicate tint and stuff. On
his breast and partly hidden by his beard is embroidered a large
Crusader's cross. In his splendid jewelled baldric, on the right, is
a large sheathed knife, while, on the left, his heavy long sword
reaches almost to the ground. Well may the historian Hazlitt say:--
"It was certainly a grand and imposing spectacle, and one which was
apt to raise in the breasts of the spectators many strange and
conflicting emotions; and while the greater part of those present
looked on such a consummation perhaps as the triumph of a great man,
the latter solemnly declared that to God alone was the glory.
"Assuming a lowly attitude, Barbarossa approached the steps of the
throne on which Ranuci (Alexander) was seated, and, casting aside his
purple mantle, he prostrated himself before the Pope.
"The sufferings and persecutions of eighteen years recurred at that
moment to the memory of his Holiness; and a sincere and profound
conviction that he was the instrument chosen of Heaven to proclaim
the predestined triumph of Right might have actuated the Pontiff, as
he planted his foot on the neck of the Emperor, and borrowing the
words of David, cried:
"'Thou shalt go on the lion and the adder; the young lion and the
dragon shalt thou tread under thy feet.'
"'It is not to thee, but to Saint Peter, that I kneel,' muttered the
fallen tyrant.
"'Both to me and to Saint Peter,' insisted Ranuci, pressing his heel
still more firmly on the neck of Frederick; and it was not until the
latter appeared to acquiesce that the Pope relaxed his hold, and
suffered his Majesty to rise.
"A _Te Deum_ closed this remarkable ceremony; and on quitting the
cathedral, the Emperor held the sacred stirrup and assisted his
tormentor to mount."
How the recollection of this narrative incites the fancy, and how the
Piazza, but just now so empty, is crowded to {8} overflowing with
representatives from East and West and the Isles of the Sea!
From the different stories of the Ducal Palace, and extending quite
around the square, from every possible projection, float the
standards and banners that have been taken from the enemies of the
Venetians; while the great scarlet banner, with its embroidered Lion
of St. Mark, waves gently above the principal entrance to San Marco,
where the bronze horses now stand. Rich stuffs in the brilliant
coloring of Eastern looms, and cloths of gold and silver fall from
the balconies thronged with ladies pressing eagerly forward to watch
all that happens in the square below.
On the roofs are hundreds of human beings, and every corner that
affords a view of San Marco and the Piazza is fully occupied. Men
perch like birds on such slight and insecure footholds that they seem
like colored statues made fast to the edifices themselves. Here and
there a few proud chargers champ their bits and strive to free
themselves from their grooms, who wait impatiently, as we do, for the
sound of the trumpets to proclaim the rising of this august conclave.
Just here a soft, musical voice deprecatingly suggests: "The Signior
has not chosen his lodgings, and one knows not where to take his
luggage."
THE FEAST OF LA SENSA.
Pope Alexander, as indeed he ought, wished to confer all the benefits
in his power upon the Venetians, and gave the papal sanction, rather
unnecessarily as it would seem, to certain customs which this
independent people had for some time followed without authority.
They were now duly authorized to seal their letters and despatches
with lead rather than with wax; to use tapers and trumpets, {9} and
even to display the silken canopy and sword of state when ceremony
made them fitting. This silken canopy is disagreeably contracted
into an umbrella by some over-careful writers, but there is good
reason to believe that long before this time the Doges had indulged
in this luxury.
Before the departure of the Pontiff he celebrated a High Mass and
preached a sermon in San Marco, and at the end conferred upon the
Doge the highest and most flattering favor that could be bestowed
upon a temporal ruler, by descending from the pulpit and presenting
him with a consecrated Golden Rose, in token of friendship for Ziani
and for Venice.
These seals and umbrellas and trumpets and tapers made little
difference to the people; the Golden Rose gratified their pride and
love of their idolized Republic; but it was with the Marriage of the
Adriatic--the _Andata alii Due Castelli_, as it was called by the
Venetians--that they were principally concerned; that characteristic
Venetian fête, which soon became famous in all the world. Alexander
had comprehended their love of pageants, their luxuriousness, and
pride of wealth.
And now, as if by magic, the Bucentaur appears; and the dignity and
splendor of this galley vastly increased the magnificence and
effectiveness of state occasions. It was about twenty-one feet wide
in the broadest part, and nearly five times as long. The lower deck
was manned by one hundred and sixty-eight rowers, who rowed with
gilded oars, while forty other mariners managed the evolutions of the
ship. The outside was covered with carvings, and decorated in gold
and purple. The prow bore figures emblematic of the Republic, and
the beak was shaped into a Lion of St. Mark.
The upper deck, devoted to the illustrious strangers and guests of
the Republic, and to the Dogaressa and other {10} patrician ladies,
was finished in a grand cabin, with a splendid carved ceiling, and
divided by rows of graceful pillars. On the outside this saloon was
covered with the richest velvet, and furnished within with luxurious
cushions. The Doge had an equally splendid cabin in the stern,
encircled by a balcony from which the whole fête could be seen; and
from a second balcony outside the prow he dropped the ring into the
sea, proudly repeating the form of words given him by the Pontiff.
Sails there were none, but from the top of a huge mast floated the
scarlet banner of Saint Mark, with an image of the lion on one side,
and of the Virgin Mary on the other,--as it may still be seen in the
Municipal Museum,--and beside this sacred standard hung the white
flag, the gift of the Pope.
The old pictures of the Bucentaur represent her as crowded with
ladies in splendid attire, all intent upon the varied and curious
spectacle around them. Here was a throng of boats, galleys,
feluccas, gondolas, and the small, swift boats which always covered
the canals and lagoons wherever there was anything of interest to be
seen, as quickly as a crowd on foot now gathers in the streets of a
modern city.
There were the patrician gondolas, each vying with the other in the
costliness and brilliancy of its carving and decorations. The houses
in the centre, with curtains drawn, revealed the lovely women in
their gorgeous and picturesque costumes, and the music of fifes and
lutes added to the joyousness of all; while the sound of the church
bells, as they grew more and more indistinct, served to emphasize the
deeper meaning of the day and ceremony, which was almost forgotten in
this dazzling scene.
Then, too, the "Anti-Doge" was always there,--the representative of
the poor people, chosen by them, and usually the best gondolier among
them. On some half-ruined {11} boat he held a court of his fellows,
all wearing masks. He had his own fifers, who fifed anything but
well, and surrounded by hundreds of little boats he performed all
sorts of buffoonish tricks,--now offering to tow the Bucentaur, again
begging for a seat on the Ship of State, and all with most ridiculous
gestures and in apparent good faith. Whatever he did was received
with laughter and merriment, not only by his friends but by the
patricians as well.
At length the castles of San Andrea and San Niccolo were reached; and
just outside them the ring was dropped into the majestic Gulf of
Venice. At this moment every sound was hushed. Each one of the vast
throng desired to hear the words of the Sposalizio (marriage); and
immediately following it the Patriarch of Venice returned thanks to
the sea for all its blessings, and prayed for their continuance.
With the first buzz that indicated the close of these solemnities,
the "Anti-Doge" cast an iron hoop into the water, and in a moment
gayety reasserted itself. The return to Venice was in some sense a
race for the smaller craft; the Bucentaur and the patrician boats
were enlivened by songs and witty persiflage; and the whole evening
was given up to merry-makings of various sorts.
Doubtless, in the earliest celebrations of this marriage there were
those who shook their heads, looked solemn, and tried to be serious
and even sad in the midst of the festivity, recalling and regretting
the more simple celebration of Ascension Day, which had been good
enough for their fathers, and was consequently fine enough for them.
Such people exist everywhere and at all periods; but what was the
difference?
At the end of the tenth century, and almost two hundred years before
the visit of Pope Alexander, when, as the record says, "there was no
custom of triumphs," {12} Pietro Orseolo returned from his victorious
expedition against the pirates and corsairs of Africa, who had been
the scourge of all the coasts of the Adriatic. He had cleared the
sea of robbers, and greatly extended the dominion of Venice.
For the first time a triumphal entrance was involuntarily made. The
grateful populace surrounded the victor and attended him to the Great
Council, where the most flattering praises were addressed to him,
couched in magnificent words.
Orseolo had set out on his expedition on Ascension Day, and on its
first anniversary the Feast of La Sensa was inaugurated. In a large
barge, quite concealed by its covering of cloth of gold, the clergy
in their richest vestments, wearing all the sacred jewels and
ornaments, left the olive-groves of San Pietro in Castello, and at
the Lido met the still more magnificent barge of the Doge. Then, as
in later days, every sort of boat that could be used in all Venice
was there, filled with all conditions of people.
The ceremony began with litanies and psalms, after which the Bishop
rose and prayed aloud: "Grant, O Lord, that this sea may be to us and
to all who sail upon it tranquil and quiet. To this end we pray.
Hear us, good Lord." Then the singers intoned, _Aspergi me, O
Signor_ (Cleanse thou me, O Lord), while the two barges approached
each other, and the Bishop sprinkled the Doge and the Court with holy
water, and what remained was poured into the sea.
This simple religious rite, celebrated in the enchanting atmosphere
of the lovely, blooming season of the year, must have deeply moved
the hearts of those who went down to the sea in ships, as who did not
in Venice? It was perfectly adapted to the initial years of a
Republic when aristocratic rule was in its infancy; but two centuries
later all was changed, and the Sposalizio was in accord {13} with
Ziani and his aims as truly as La Sensa represented Orseolo.
There are those who question all the story of the romantic incidents
of Pope Alexander's visit to Venice. To them we would give the
customary and most satisfactory answer of the Venetians: "Is it not
depicted in the Hall of the Great Council? If it had not been true,
our good Venetians would never have painted it."
THE BOATS OF MODERN VENICE.
Most of the craft one sees in Venice now are vastly different from
those we have been thinking of. The gondolas, alas! all look as if
ready for a funeral,--black, only sombre black. This seems an
unnecessary extension of the time when the sins of the fathers shall
be visited on the children; for many more than three or four
generations have perambulated these fascinating waters in these
dismal boats. Why should the undue extravagance of the past, which
was curbed by this monotonous gloom, forbid a bit of cheerfulness
now, hundreds of years later?
It may be fortunate that the Bucentaur went up in fervent heat, for
it is more than possible that it might not have realized our ideal of
what it should be; and now each one can gaze in imagination at just
what he would have made it if he could. But we would like to have
some galleys remaining, and rowed by slaves or prisoners. It would
afford an outlet for sympathy and pity, the exercise of which virtues
is good for us, and which are so often, even in Venice, bestowed on
those who neither merit nor need them.
But we have the felucca, the sandolo, the bissone, and innumerable
little boats to add life to the canals and lagoons. If we can see
numbers of these, with their variously colored sails, running the
gamut from white to {14} brilliant orange and tawny red, with here
and there those that are striped, and many that are deliciously
patched and resemble Joseph's coat in their variety of tones,--if we
can but get all these between the Riva degli Schiavoni and the Isola
di San Giorgio Maggiore at the sunset hour, we need not regret not
having lived under the Doges.
Never were colors more picturesquely mingled; and as they pass to and
fro, out from and into the Giudecca, we almost forgive the gloom of
the gondolas, especially if now and then one adds its effect in
contrast with the brilliancy of the other boats. That marvellous
Venetian sunset! It is an unending subject. One talks of it, writes
about it, tries to exaggerate it and fails to do so, and can never
think of Venice without recalling it. It is like a vast
conflagration, and its flames seem likely to lap up the water it
blazes over, together with all the boats and men who dare to row or
sail into its fiery circle.
But we must not omit the steamboats that now traverse Venetian
waters. What can we say of them? There are two views, each having
strong supporters. Perhaps the larger number cry out, "Desecration
and deterioration;" but others find them more in the spirit of Venice
at its best than anything that is equally prominent in the modern
city.
How eagerly did the old "makers of Venice" seize on everything that
could advance her commerce and her trade! Would they have hesitated
to use any power that could save their ducats and their time? Ah,
no; and the glorious new impulse which this age has brought to United
Italy finds expression in the revival of her industries, and her
adoption of ideas evolved by others while she slept the dreamless
sleep from which she now awakens.
{15}