VENETIAN WOMEN: CATERINA CORNARO, ROSALBA CARRIERA.
In the history of Venice women play a very unimportant part. They
seem, so far as the public were concerned, to have been put away with
their best clothes, only to be brought out on such occasions as were
suitable for the display of fine attire and splendid jewels. If they
had power, it was certainly behind the throne, and so far behind that
by no chance was it ever apparent.
The names of eight women who devotedly nursed the Genoese prisoners
after the battle of Porto d' Anzo, have been preserved. There is a
tradition about a very beautiful and learned Pisani. Now and then an
abbess is mentioned, like that one of San Zaccaria, of the Morosini
family, who presented the Beretta to the Republic. All we know of
Caterina Cornaro seems to depend upon the fact that the Republic, by
adopting her and making her Queen of Cyprus, was able to add that
island to its dependencies. But for that fact we should probably not
have heard of her; and, in short, of what Venetian woman do we know,
of whom we may be proud, save Rosalba Carriera? and she was born
after Venice was far on the way to its decline.
The historical fact that such a magnificent collection of jewels as
adorned the Beretta existed in Venice in the middle of the ninth
century proves that its Oriental commerce must already have been
prosperous and extensive; and the earliest paintings of Venetian life
represent a {219} remarkable splendor of costume and ornament. We
know that the fifteenth century was the most luxurious period in
Venice; but its wealth and splendor were gradually developing during
five centuries at least, and happily the decline, though much more
rapid than the growth, did not rob its actual life of æsthetic
interest for at least a century and a half after its well-recognized
beginning.
We turn to the canvases of the Bellini, Titian, Giorgione,
Tintoretto, and Palma Vecchio to see what the Venetian ladies were
like; but we must remember, alas! that many of these were not the
honorable wives and mothers of the men who made the strength and
glory of Venice. Where else have the women who give their beauty and
their lives for the pleasures of men been so much in evidence, so
tolerated, and so luxurious in their living, as in Venice in her
palmy days? They were not even excluded from the society of the
Dogaressa herself on the occasions of balls and festivities in the
Ducal Palace.
Their houses were marvels of luxury; and in the society that gathered
about them the best wit, the most brilliant conversation, and the
most delightful music in Venice were enjoyed. It was to the
drawing-rooms of the women to whom he would not introduce his wife,
much less his daughter, that a man must go if he would meet the best
artists, scholars, and thinkers of the city. It was there and there
only that women were found who were accomplished in music and poetry,
and could interest superior men by their superior talk. Was the
conversation of the lightest matters, and did they say nothing, they
said it in a fascinating way; or were politics and the more earnest
questions of life discussed, they were strong in their opinions,
discriminating in their judgments, and quite as bold in their
expression of them as the Ten would have permitted men to be. Their
_bon-mots_ were {220} quoted, their goings and comings were noted,
and, in short, the interest of all Venetian gayety centred about
these women.
Quite the opposite was true of the real _gentildonne_. They were
rarely seen except on great public occasions, when, to the credit of
the husbands, it must be acknowledged that they were careful to see
that their wives were more magnificently attired than their
mistresses. But so rarely were they seen that this indulgence could
well be accorded them without envy. Yriarte calculates that not more
than sixty or seventy of the seven hundred noble ladies of Venice
were seen daily. Many of them were not in society more than two or
three times in a year, and then on the most formal and ceremonious
occasions.
While the more favored ones moved all about the city, clad in rich
silks and velvets, the patrician wives wore a long black silk
_cappa_; and even if they possessed beauty, nothing in their
every-day dress added to its effect. They were guarded with almost
Oriental jealousy. Why not? If a man cannot believe in himself,
cannot trust himself, how can he trust another? The remark of the
councillor when talking of the pattens that the ladies
wore--sometimes two feet in height, so that to move at all they must
lean on two attendants--gives the key to the whole theory of
suspicion and lack of confidence.
The French ambassador spoke of the pattens as most incommodious. The
Doge admitted that shoes would be more comfortable and convenient;
but the councillor, shaking his head with a cynical expression,
remarked, "Yes, far, far too convenient." God help the women who
live in such an atmosphere!
The matrons, however, were far more fortunate than the maidens, whose
dress was symbolical of retired life and domestic education. The
home was all their world, and they knew nothing of any recreation
outside the {221} family circle. Even down to the last century it
was not allowable to introduce gentlemen to the unmarried daughters
of Venetian nobles. Their dresses were most simple, of plain white
or black, and when they went to church, they wore the _fazzuolo_, a
long white veil. On other occasions this was exchanged for a silken
mantle, very thin and gauzy, through which they could see, but not be
seen.
The marriage day was the day that brought freedom. For the first
time the maiden was introduced to society, and it was intended that
on that day she should first see the bridegroom. We more than
suspect that many of the faithful and trusted nurses permitted the
_fazzuolo_ to be thrown aside for a moment when they well knew that
the lover was watching in concealment for a glimpse of the face of
his future wife; and sometimes these nurses so sympathized with the
lover as to grant him meetings, all too brief, by the church door or
in some crooked _calle_.
With the innate love for dress and gayety entirely ungratified,
without a jewel or ornament, save a simple cross or a rose from the
garden, why should the Venetian maiden not dwell with longing
anticipation on the thought of her wedding day, and if ever she
talked with other girls, of what else could they speak? But, after
all, when she saw the life of her mother and other matrons, what
great pleasure did marriage offer her? Freedom in a
sense,--servants, a gondola, ropes of real pearls, the formal court
balls, and other ceremonies, all observed under the strictest rules
of etiquette. To us there does not seem to be much brightness in the
life of noble Venetian women, married or single.
The preliminaries of a marriage having been duly arranged by the
parents and friends on either side, when the day arrived, the groom,
bearing his gifts, went to the Ducal Palace, where he was welcomed by
his own friends {222} and some of the friends of the bride. The
marriage banns were published, and all present shook hands. These
friends and the magistrates who were engaged in the ceremony, with
the bridegroom, all went that evening to the home of the bride, where
they were welcomed by her relatives and friends. And now, for the
first time, the bride appeared. She was dressed in white, and still
wore her veil, which at the proper moment was unfastened, and as it
fell disclosed her long hair falling about her shoulders, and the
marriage formula was pronounced.
The bride, followed by her maidens, with a rhythmic motion, to the
music of flutes and trumpets, then passed around the salons and
welcomed each guest, and afterwards retired to her own apartments.
Whenever new guests arrived, the bride and her maidens repeated the
dance of welcome, and at the end they all descended the staircase to
the canal, where a gondola awaited them. The bride's seat was richly
decorated, and raised in front of the cabin, and with her attendants
she went to a convent to announce her marriage. Here other relatives
and friends were waiting to congratulate her.
The next day many ladies called to pay their compliments to the
bride, and after a few days some grand festivity or a series of
banquets took place, as was the case when the marriage of Jacopo
Foscari was celebrated. Five or six hundred guests were frequently
entertained, and vast sums were expended in decorations of the house,
in choice dishes and rare wines, until at last these lavish expenses
were restricted by sumptuary laws.
About 1450 the wealth of the nobles was at its climax, and such
extravagance was indulged in dress and entertainments that in 1514
certain Senators demanded a hearing in full Senate to denounce the
ruinous manner in which money was spent by the Venetian ladies. In
1474 certain stuffs and jewels had been actually prohibited by {223}
law, and pearls were most severely forbidden. In 1514 amber, chased
silver, agates, ladies' cloaks, laces, diamond buttons, chains, silk
capes, lace sleeves, enamelled gold, damasks of all colors, velvets
of all qualities, leathers, embroideries, fans, gondolas, with their
rugs and carpets, and sedan chairs lined with velvet were all put
under regulations. The style and cost of entertainments were
limited. The expense of the gold and silver plate, the cost and
number of courses served, even the sweetmeats and smallest details of
the table, were legislated upon. For some time already the Dogaressa
had been under strict orders as to her costumes at home and abroad,
at church, on ceremonial occasions, and even in the privacy of her
own apartment.
At certain times these rules were relaxed by necessity. How could
plainly dressed women support the background of the salons of the
Ducal Palace? When there they must be gorgeously attired; and
knowing that these opportunities must come, the ladies of Venice
bought as many pearls and other jewels and as splendid garments of
every sort as they could get, and waited impatiently for a festival
when they might wear them. In 1574, when Henry III. visited Venice,
an edict announced that, "all contrary decrees notwithstanding, it
shall be permitted to every lady invited to the said feast to wear
all dresses and jewels of what kind soever seems to them most
favorable for the adornment of their persons."
One can imagine the result. How gladly these ladies, so long
restricted to plain dressing, would vie with each other in the beauty
and richness of their dress in these festal days; and from the
pictures and the written accounts of their magnificent costumes we
know with what success their efforts were crowned. Some of them
covered their arms, chests, throats, hair, and even their robes with
pearls of untold value, sometimes costing millions of ducats.
{224}
For a long time the custom of bleaching the hair prevailed. A large
hat-brim with no crown was used. The hair, being wet with some
preparation, was thrown out of the crown space and spread over the
broad brim, which shaded the person from the sun. Thus prepared they
sat on their balconies and housetops as long as a ray of sunshine
could be had. Titian and Veronese painted golden and shining hair on
women, goddesses, and nymphs because no other color of hair was in
good form. Many of the fashions in dress of the Venetian ladies of
the time of the Renaissance were artistic and elegant; others were
too grotesque for expression, and none more so than the pattens, to
which we have already referred. Not being tall and stately, they
wished to raise themselves artificially; but when pattens were
extreme in height, all elegance and dignity of carriage was out of
the question.
One can but wonder how the "potent, grave, and reverend seigniors" of
the Venetian Senate could have found time to attend to all the detail
of the dress, and even of the eating of the Signori, their wives, and
their guests; but it is plainly to be seen that the jealousy which
had led them to lessen from year to year the power and dignity of the
Doge, found food to feed upon in the privileges and honors which were
permitted to the Dogaressa.
As early as 1084 the extravagance of the wife of Doge Selvo was much
written of by the chroniclers of the time. It was said that this
Theodora, the daughter of a Greek emperor, had her cheeks bathed in
dew every morning to give them a glow of freshness. This would not
seem to have been an expensive habit. Her ablutions were made with
rose water, and her linen was scented with fine balsams; and so many
aromatic perfumes pervaded her apartments that it was not unusual for
her maids to faint while dressing her. She always wore gloves, and
fed herself {225} with a double-pronged gold fork; and all this was
so sinful in the eyes of the Venetians that the loathsome malady from
which she died was regarded as a legitimate punishment of her vanity.
We have elsewhere spoken of the custom of conducting the wife of the
Doge to be seated on the throne beside him soon after his own
investiture with the insignia of his office; and as the luxury and
pageantry of Venetian life increased, naturally the first lady of the
Republic acquired more importance and greater privileges. At length,
in 1595, the wife of the Doge, Marino Grimani, who was herself of the
Morosini family, was conducted from her home to San Marco in a style
that aroused all the jealousy of the Seigniory. She was dressed in
cloth of gold, and wore a gold crown. The Bucentaur brought her to
the Piazza, and strains of martial music there welcomed her, as well
as salvos of artillery. In the palace she occupied a throne, and was
attended by noble ladies in regal state. The festivities in which
she played a prominent part were extended unusually, and the Pope
sent her the golden rose, which is presented only to sovereign
princes.
This was more than the jealous Senators could endure. It was also
noticed that this ambitious lady wore a closed or arched crown,--a
privilege denied to all but such reigning princes as acknowledged no
superior. It was now thought to be high time to limit the state and
assumption of these ladies; and the Senate published a decree
ordering the golden rose to be taken from the Dogaressa and deposited
in the treasury of St. Mark, and good care was afterwards taken that
no other Dogaressa should be crowned at all.
{226}
CATERINA CORNARO, QUEEN OF CYPRUS.
This beautiful woman was born on St. Catherine's Day, in 1454, in one
of the distinguished Venetian families. Her mother was the
granddaughter of the Emperor of Trebizond, and her father of most
noble descent.
James Lusignan, whom, as king of Cyprus, Caterina was afterwards to
wed, had been driven from his home by the intrigues of the second
wife of his father, Elena Paleologus, who, in order that her daughter
might come to the throne, had secured James's appointment as
Archbishop of Nicosia, where he lived a gay life, little suited to
the office he held.
Many Venetian merchants frequented Nicosia; and there Andrea Cornaro,
uncle of Caterina, became the intimate friend of the youthful
archbishop. Happily for James, Queen Elena died before his father,
who at once recalled his son to his side with the intention of
securing the succession to him. But death claimed the old king
before the proper steps had been taken; and Charlotte, the daughter
of Elena, was proclaimed queen. James took the oath of allegiance,
and was about to leave the island, when he was detained and confined
in prison, and an attempt made to poison him.
But thanks to his friends and the Cypriotes, who preferred a king to
a queen, he escaped and reached his bishopric, fully determined to
dethrone his sister if possible. Genoa had favored Charlotte; and
Andrea Cornaro was confident that on this account, if for no other
reason, Venice would aid James to gain his rights,--such was the
enmity between the two republics. Queen Charlotte was greatly
alarmed by the escape of James. She knew not what to fear from his
intrigues, and she was fully conscious of her unpopularity in Cyprus.
She was {227} betrothed to Louis, son of the Duke of Savoy, who had
been selected by Queen Elena on account of the feebleness of his
character, for the desire to rule absolutely was so powerful with her
that she wished for no energetic son-in-law; and little as she could
rely on him, Charlotte begged him to hasten to her assistance. Louis
passed through Venice, and reached Cyprus before James had time to
perfect a plan of action.
At Nicosia James felt himself to be in danger, and determined to fly;
and as the Sultan was the titular ruler of Cyprus, James put himself
under his superior at Alexandria. The beauty and charming manner of
the young king of Cyprus, together with his sex,--a strong argument
in his favor to the Oriental mind,--so influenced the Sultan that in
the midst of his Mamelukes, in the great hall of the palace, he
adopted James as his son, ordered him to be robed and crowned, and
declared him King of Cyprus. It has been said, and repeated by a few
chroniclers, that James signed a recantation of the Christian faith,
and thus succeeded in his plans. Indeed, a document of this nature
was sent to Pius II.; but it is believed by good authorities that
this paper was a forgery perpetrated by the knights of Rhodes, who
were greatly in favor of Queen Charlotte.
Be this as it may, James was twenty-two years old when the Sultan
gave him ships and Mamelukes with which to conquer Cyprus. Very
shortly he was master of the kingdom. Little resistance was made,
and that was of a feeble sort. Louis returned to his father's court;
and Charlotte went first to Rhodes, and then to Rome, to implore the
aid of the Pontiff against her infidel brother and his allies. James
now saw that his enemies--the Genoese, the Duke of Savoy, and the
Pope--were far too powerful for him to struggle against them without
aid, and the only bribe with which he could repay an ally was {228}
his kingdom. Marriage was his one means of salvation, and Cyprus was
a dowry that could not fail to be acceptable. Several powers hinted
at their readiness to form such an alliance with him; but Andrea
Cornaro boldly asserted that Venice only could maintain his power,
and proposed his niece, Caterina, as his wife.
It is said that by chance James had seen a miniature of Caterina, and
had fallen in love with the sweet girl it represented; but the uncle
skilfully pretended that the original of the picture was quite out of
the reach of the king, and aroused him to a frenzy of passion. Then
he told the truth,--that Caterina was his niece, and could only be
won as Queen of Cyprus. At once James sent an embassy to demand her
hand in marriage.
The Senate accepted in the name of Venice; and that Caterina might be
the equal of her husband, they promised a dowry of a hundred thousand
ducats, and to adopt her as a daughter of the Republic. The contract
was signed by the Doge and by the ambassador of James, in 1468; and
the Hall of the Great Council was the scene of the betrothal. The
bride was conducted from the Palazzo Cornaro to the Ducal Palace by
forty ladies of quality. She was received by the Doge and Senate and
other officials. Mastachelli, as the representative of his master,
placed a consecrated ring on her finger. The Doge gave her away to
James Lusignan, and then with royal ceremony she was re-conducted to
her father's house.
Thus far all was well; but, alas! some difficulties arose in the
negotiations between her parent, Venice, and her husband, Cyprus.
Four weary years rolled on, and still Caterina remained in Venice.
She was treated as a queen, but she must many times have doubted if
this pretence would become a reality.
Ferdinand of Naples was using every means in his power to persuade
James to refuse Caterina and marry {229} his daughter. James
quarrelled with Andrea Cornaro; and finally Venice sent an ambassador
to Cyprus to declare plainly that a rupture of the marriage contract
would be revenged by the guardian of the queen, but that its
fulfilment would assure the protection of Cyprus by the Republic. In
1471 James sent his representatives to bring Caterina to him.
A most impressive ceremony now took place in San Marco, where, before
the high altar, she was made a child of Venice. No longer was she a
Cornaro, but Caterina Veneta Lusignan. The whole city rejoiced
greatly; and one chronicler says: "It seemed to each and all that the
Seigniory had won a kingdom, as by God's good grace did actually
happen."
Early in 1472 the Bucentaur lay before the Palazzo Cornaro, in
waiting for the Queen of Jerusalem, Cyprus, and Armenia. In cloth of
gold, and all regal attire, she stood in the doorway of her father's
house. The Doge himself led her into the galley, and seated himself
at her side. Slowly and majestically the splendid barge moved
through the Grand Canal, followed by the prayers and good wishes of
thousands of her countrymen, and, it cannot be doubted, by the envy
of many of her own sex. At the Lido the admiral of the Cypriote
fleet waited with his ships to take his young and beautiful queen to
his sovereign.
She was now eighteen years old; and Titian's portrait of her shows a
slight, graceful, beautiful girl with a happy face. Her robe is of
purple velvet. She wears a crown and veil, and holds a flower in her
hand. Why should she not have been happy? Fortunately she had no
prophetic vision. She was protected as few young queens had ever
been, being the daughter of Venice. The splendor and pomp which had
replaced the dead level of monotony in her home must have been
intoxicating to {230} her. She had listened with joy and pride to
the accounts of her husband's bravery and beauty. She knew that he
had preferred her before others, and she did not pay herself so poor
a compliment as to doubt her ability to retain and strengthen his
love. How beautiful her dreams as she sailed to Cyprus! and we have
reason to believe that they were realized for one brief year. And
then James died, leaving Caterina about to be a mother, with enemies
on every hand.
By his will James bequeathed the kingdom to her and to her child.
Her advisers were named by him, and her uncle was of the number; but
there were six others, little likely to favor her, since that meant
to favor Venice, of which the Cypriotes were jealous. Again
Ferdinand of Naples aspired to the throne, and Caterina was by no
means ignorant that her parent, the Republic, would not hesitate to
take her kingdom from her; but just at that time the Turk was
demanding the attention of the Seigniory, and while Venice was not
ready to occupy Cyprus, no other power would be permitted to molest
the young queen. Meantime Charlotte was enforcing her claim to the
throne, but had no support powerful enough to contend with the
Venetians.
Things were in this condition when Caterina gave birth to a son, in
August, 1473. The Admiral, Mocenigo, and two _provveditori_ of the
fleet stood sponsors at the baptism of this grandson of Venice; and
by the will of his father his birth should have settled the
succession, and brought peace to Cyprus. But Ferdinand had laid deep
plots, and had induced the Archbishop of Nicosia to act as his tool;
and no sooner had the Venetian fleet left Cyprus than a revolt
occurred, and the city of Famagosta, where Caterina was lying ill,
was seized by the archbishop, and three of the commissioners, who had
been named by James in his will as the protectors of his wife.
{231}
There was a terrible scene in the chamber of the queen, whither her
physician had fled for safety. He was pursued, and absolutely slain
in Caterina's arms. Her uncle, who had done so much for her, and her
cousin, Marco Bembo, were killed, and their bodies thrown into the
castle moat, within sight of the windows of Caterina's chamber; and
so terrified was she that she dared not have them removed until they
had been half devoured by dogs. The baby James was taken away, and
Caterina was held a close prisoner. Alfonso of Naples had been
married to Zaila, an illegitimate daughter of James Lusignan, and had
been proclaimed King of Cyprus. A letter was sent to the Venetian
Senate attributing the murder of Cornaro and Bembo to a private
quarrel with soldiers whom they had not paid; but the Venetian consul
sent a true statement of all that had been done to the Seigniory, and
Mocenigo was at once despatched to Cyprus with orders to secure the
safety of Caterina and her child at any cost.
Mocenigo had already been alarmed, and before receiving these orders
had sent his _provveditor_, Soranzo, to do what he could, promising
to follow speedily. Soranzo found the conspirators quarrelling with
each other, while the Cypriotes of Nicosia and Famagosta were in
revolt, and demanding the liberation of the queen. When Mocenigo
arrived, the chief conspirators fled. He took possession of the
forts in the name of Venice, and left them in the keeping of men
devoted to the Republic. Many of the revolutionists were executed,
and everything possible was done to impress upon the inhabitants the
fact that Caterina and her kingdom would be protected by the strong
arm of Venice, against which Cyprus was powerless in its present
unsettled condition.
Caterina presented to Mocenigo a golden shield emblazoned with the
arms of Lusignan. Apparent quiet reigned, and the admiral sailed
away. Venice had now {232} obtained a right to a share in the
government of Cyprus, which she carefully followed up by appointing a
_provveditor_ and two councillors to reside permanently at Cyprus to
aid the queen in her government.
A few months of comparative peace came at last to the young mother,
and we can picture her joy at the restoration of her baby and her
delight in watching his budding affection for her. But it would seem
that evil fortune had selected Caterina for its victim, and that she
was fated to drain the cup of sorrow and bitterness. When a year
old, the little James died. The queen wrote to the Senate of her
sorrow; and her father, Marco Cornaro, was sent out to comfort his
daughter, and bear to her the sympathy and condolences of the
Republic. He was also empowered to act with Soranzo, as the agent of
Venice, should any fresh revolution occur.
Charlotte Lusignan was a determined woman, full of resources, brave
to a fault, and as ambitious as brave. When the infant king died,
Charlotte was at the court of the Sultan. Many nobles of Cyprus
declared themselves in her favor, she being the last true Lusignan.
Caterina had allowed the annual tribute to the Sultan to fall into
arrears. This Charlotte promised to pay if the Sultan would help to
establish her as Queen of Cyprus. But by the advice and aid of
Venice Caterina paid the full tribute, and explained that her
tardiness had been due to the ravages of the locusts. By reason of
this and other diplomatic acts, all arranged at Venice, the Sultan
preferred Caterina to Charlotte, and the latter was dismissed from
his court. She then turned to Milan, Genoa, Savoy, and Rome for
assistance; and a plan for a descent on Cyprus was far advanced when
a letter of Charlotte's was intercepted and sent to Venice.
The Republic immediately ordered their admiral, Antonio Loredano, to
garrison Cyprus completely; to {233} arrest Maria Patras, the mother
of the late king, and three illegitimate children of the same
sovereign, and send them to Venice. One of these was that Zarla
whose marriage with Alfonso had not been completed. By this means
Venice held in her hand all possible claimants to the throne of
Cyprus, save Charlotte. But Alfonso would not abandon his betrothed
wife, and with his father's assistance he very nearly succeeded in
carrying her away from Venice, whereupon she was sent to Padua, where
she soon after died from the plague, as it was said. Ferdinand was
still determined to acquire Cyprus, and in spite of all
discouragements sent Alfonso to the court of the Sultan to claim the
crown of the much disputed island. Again Caterina paid her tribute,
but demanded in return a formal deed of investiture. This was sent
her, and Alfonso relinquished his pursuit of a kingdom, and was more
than content with the pleasures of life in Alexandria.
Caterina seemed now to be free from all her rivals; but she owed
everything to Venice, and her adopted parent did not forget to watch
over her constantly. Her income was limited, and so carefully was
she guarded that the Doge himself wrote that she ought to move about
more freely, and ordered that her table should be generously
provided. But this sort of care was necessary to keep her alive
until the Republic was ready to assume full possession of Cyprus, and
even now she had but a semblance of peace. Speaking of this time in
her life, Brown says:--
"The citizens, the people of Cerines, Famagosta, Nicosia, were
faithful to her; they loved their queen. But all through the island
the great nobles were her enemies, and drew with them their peasants.
They were profoundly jealous of Venetian rule; they saw the weakness
of the queen; some of them coveted the throne for themselves.
Caterina was compelled to live in {234} constant dread of revolution,
murder, or dethronement, shut within the walls of one or other of her
faithful towns. Conspiracy after conspiracy was discovered,--some
directed against her life, others against her liberty. At each new
outbreak she could see the frown gathering upon her parent's brow.
The dread of Venice was always before her eyes. Yet she was
absolutely helpless; never was queen more so, caught between
rebellious subjects whom she could not rule, and a cold,
uncompromising guardian who desired her kingdom."
For ten years this life went on; Venice constantly sending officials,
whom the Cypriotes hated and regarded as spies. Caterina's personal
dangers were increased with each new move on the part of Venice, and
in no account that I can find is there mention of any friendly woman
who was beside her to lighten her burdens or cheer these sad,
disastrous years. At length the time arrived when Venice, having
freed itself from more pressing engagements, only awaited a pretext
to assume full authority over Cyprus; and this pretext was given by
the last man in the world who would willingly have aided the
Republic,--Alfonso of Naples.
In 1488 Alfonso encountered an old conspirator, Marin Rizzo, who
persuaded Alfonso to sue for the hand of Caterina, and obtaining that
to rely on his father to seat him on the throne. Rizzo sailed for
Cyprus in a French boat, taking with him Tristan Giblet, whose sister
was a maid of Caterina. These two landed at Fountain Amorous, and
ordered the captain of their boat to cruise off the coast until he
should see a fire-signal on the head-land at night. But when Rizzo
thought to outwit the Venetians, he made a grave mistake. His whole
plan was known to the admiral, Priuli, who seized the French captain,
manned the galley with his own men, answered the signal, took Rizzo
and Giblet on board, and sent them to Venice. Giblet poisoned
himself, and Rizzo was kept a {235} prisoner for a time because he
claimed to be an agent of the Sultan; but at last he was strangled by
order of the Ten.
Venice now instructed Priuli to bring Caterina to her old
home,--willingly, if possible, but unwillingly if he must. "We fully
authorize you to bow her to our will, with or without her consent."
So ran his order, but he was also recommended to be gentle as well as
firm. The queen's brother, Giorgio Cornaro, was sent with Priuli to
assist in persuading Caterina to resign; and however her resignation
might be obtained, Priuli was instructed to declare everywhere that
she left Cyprus of her own choice. Theirs was no easy task.
Caterina clung to her make-believe royalty, and answered every
argument with the question, "Is it not enough that Venice shall
inherit when I am gone?" But no entreaties, arguments, or tears
availed; and at last, worn out by contention, she yielded. She was
promised a queenly reception at Venice, a large income, and the state
of a royal personage during her life. Again we quote from Brown:--
"In the piazza of Famagosta and of Nicosia solemn _Te Deums_ were
sung, and the banner of St. Mark was blessed and unfurled, while the
queen looked on from a baldachino. She saw her cities taken from her
one by one, the cities that had always been her own. No point in all
the long ceremony of unrobing was spared her; in every town and
village the same cruel pageant was performed. She entered each one
as a queen and left it discrowned. Venice was determined that all
the world should see how willing had been her abdication. But the
people flocked about her on her mournful progress with tears and
blessings,--tears for their liberty lost with their queen. At last,
early In 1489, it was finished. Caterina and her brother sailed for
Venice, and Cyprus became a part of the Venetian kingdom."
It was on a lovely day in early June when Caterina reached the Lido,
and landed under a gold and crimson {236} awning, whence she was
conducted to San Niccolo to await the ceremonies of the next day.
The Doge, with a train of noble ladies, came to conduct her in state
to the then Palazzo Ferrara (later Fondaco dei Turchi, and now
Municipal Museum), a residence which the city had prepared for its
daughter. As the Bucentaur, bearing his Serenity and the ladies,
neared the Lido, a great wind became so alarming that the queen's
embarking was delayed. At length, the sea having subsided, Caterina
was brought on board in the costume which Bellini painted in "The
Miracle of the Cross," where she kneels, dressed in black velvet,
with a veil and jewels in the fashion of Cyprus. The Bucentaur, with
a procession of boats following, moved up the Grand Canal. When
opposite the Cornaro Palace, the Doge knighted Giorgio Cornaro, in
recognition of his services in persuading Caterina to resign her
crown.
The three days following were devoted to banquets and ceremonials in
the Palazzo Ferrara, when all possible honor was showered on
Caterina, and her pride and vanity satisfied to the full. But one
more sacrifice was needed to content her tender parent, Venice. In
San Marco, before the same altar where nineteen years earlier she had
been made the child of the Republic, she was obliged to go through a
long and solemn office of abdication. She was then given the castle
of Asolo for life; and until it could be made ready to receive her
she was lodged in the palace on the Grand Canal, which was afterwards
called the Palazzo Corner del la Regina, in her honor. It is now the
Montè di Pietà.
It was at the most favored season when Caterina made the journey to
Asolo. She was met by olive-crowned peasants, who came to welcome
their lady, bearing garlands and flowers in their hands. They held a
gorgeous canopy above her, as they led her to the Piazza, where an
orator showered compliments, apostrophies, and hyperbole upon her in
this fashion:--
{237}
"Oh, happy land of Asolo! and oh, most happy flock that now hast
found so just and sweet a shepherdess! Oh, ship thrice fortunate,
whose tiller lies in such a skilful hand! Ye then, ye laurel boughs,
the victor's meed, endure the sharp tooth of our knife that carves on
you the name of Caterina. Sing, birds, unwonted strains to grace the
name, the glorious name, Cornelia!"
One can scarcely imagine a more charming spot than the site of the
castle of Asolo. Encircled by the Alps, the plains of the Brenta and
the Piave spread out before it. The group of Euganean Hills rises
proudly in the distance. Under a clear moon the silver threads of
the rivers may be followed to the sea; and in the rich, distant,
level country Vicenza and Padua lift their towers, while far away to
the sun-rising lies Venice, its many spires clear cut against the
blue sky and the blue Adriatic; and to the north the snow-capped
Rhœtian Alps stand forth as if to guard all the land they overlook.
In contrast to all this expanse and grandeur is the little town of
Asolo, just beneath the castle at the foot of the hill on which it
stands. It is a walled town, with genuine mediæval turrets and some
quaint house-façades, and in Caterina's day was inhabited by a people
glad to be protected with gentleness and ruled by one who cared for
their gratitude and love. To them Caterina gave good laws. She
brought grain from Cyprus, and gave it to them. She appointed a
judge to hear their causes, and established a pawnbroker's bank for
those who needed it. Her little court included but twelve maids of
honor. She had eighty serving-men besides her dwarf jester, and a
favorite negress who cared for her parrots. She had her hounds,
apes, and peacocks, and, we are glad to know, she had a generous
income.
Here she lived during twenty years, and we doubt not that her title
of Lady of Asolo came to be very sweet to {238} her. Certainly she
bore it with more peace than ever she had known as a queen. Here the
outside pleasures were rambles in gardens and woods, the harvest
_festa_, and the May Day gayety with her people; and within her
castle she had the lutes and songs at eventide, and at all hours the
never-ending speculations on platonic love and other sleep-begetting
subjects.
Pietro Bembo, when twenty-eight years old, as full of life and keen
of intellect as handsome in person, came one fine September day to
Asolo. He had been at the court of Lucrezia Borgia, at Ferrara.
Imagine the contrast between these two beautiful women, and their
lives. It was the wedding of Floriano di Floriano da Montagnana with
one of Caterina's ladies that drew Bembo away from the golden-haired
Lucrezia, and many other guests had come from Venice, and from all
the neighboring land, glad to escape from the plains to the heights
of Asolo.
Bembo describes a day, beginning with the breakfast at noon, in a
large hall with a _loggia_ on either side, breezy and cool in spite
of the heat without. Between the pillars of the loggia the spires of
the cypress come up from the gardens below, and by their deep, dark
green remind one of coolness and shadow as contrasted with the sunny
lawns outside. The meal is done; but Caterina gives no signal for
rising, and two of her maids move down the hall, and courtesy low
before her. One of them strikes her lute and sings a song decrying
love; the second answers in the opposite strain; and a third, the
favorite of Caterina, to the accompaniment of her viol, sums up the
argument on both sides.
Then Caterina and most of her guests retire, to be seen no more until
evening, when supper will call them together, and be followed by
music and dancing until dawn. But three Venetian couples go to the
gardens, the pride of Asolo, the young men in short black cloaks
{239} and close-fitting hose of many-colored silks, the ladies in
velvet and brocades, with masses of golden hair rolled tightly around
cushions. How sorry we are that on this warm day they had no more
comfortable apparel! Bembo gives a minute description of the walks,
the stream from the living rock that flowed into a basin of stone,
and similar objects, and ends by saying that they talked of platonic
love through all the afternoon.
The wedding proves that all love was not platonic here, and every
fortnight there came the lord of Rimini, Pandolfo Malatesta, a man
not well inclined to platonism. Whether he paid his suit to Caterina
or to her maid Fiammeta, we know not, but in either case it gave a
spice of something human and real to both their lives. Then
Caterina's family were always coming and going. They thought to
shine by the reflected light of her position, and she was called upon
to arrange a marriage for her niece with a prince of Naples. All
this was displeasing to Venice. The Cornari had a knight and a
cardinal in their family, which seemed quite sufficient to the
Senate, and Caterina was warned to make no attempts to confer greater
benefits. It was also surmised that she did not forget Cyprus, and
she was curtly advised to be content with Asolo, and send not her
thoughts over sea.
These suspicions were unjust. Caterina loved her home; her castle,
her gardens, her court, and her subjects were all dear to her, and
she left them but three times during her life there. Once, when the
severity of the winter made it possible for men to walk on the ice
from Mestre to Venice, she fled to her palace on the Grand Canal. A
second time she visited her brother Giorgio at Brescia, where he was
podestà. Here she was received as a queen, and entered the city in a
chariot drawn by four white horses, escorted by a splendid
procession. Pageants of one sort and another were kept up for twelve
days. It {240} was her last royal reception. Venice was jealous;
and for this honor to his sister, Giorgio was recalled and deprived
of his position.
The wars of the League of Cambray drove Caterina to Venice to return
no more. She died on July 10, 1510, when fifty-six years old.
Venice was very poor, but her funeral was as splendid as could be
afforded. The Patriarch, the Senate, the Doge, the Archbishop of
Spalato, and an immense procession of citizens followed her coffin to
the Cornaro chapel in the Church of the Sant' Apostoli on a stormy
night when the wind howled and the rain fell in torrents. The queen
was dressed in the habit of Saint Francis, with cord and cowl, but on
her coffin lay the crown of Cyprus.
The next day a full funeral service was celebrated, and an oration
pronounced by Andrea Navagero, a poet and scholar, who had known all
her life, and whose writings make one of our authorities concerning
this unhappy and gentle queen. Doubtless now that she was dead, and
no longer to be feared by those suspicious Senators, he was allowed
to speak of all the beauty of person and character of Caterina
Cornaro, and to give full expression to the love which she had
inspired in Venetians, Cypriotes, and Asolini. In 1660 her coffin
was removed to San Salvadore, and placed in a tomb in the right
transept of this church.
Few episodes in the history of Venice more clearly show her
astuteness, her prescience, and her patient determination than does
the story of Caterina Cornaro, by which we see that from the
beginning the object of the Senate was to obtain possession of
Cyprus. For this cause the little maid of fourteen was made the
child of the Republic. Venice had not the faintest claim to Cyprus.
If James justly bore the title and authority which Venice recognized
as his, his will should have been regarded. The simple truth is that
Venice coveted Cyprus, and {241} Caterina was the cat's paw with
which she could work her will. Ninety-two years later the Turks
robbed her of it, and during this short rule there were endless costs
and constant difficulties to be overcome. Historians believe Cyprus
to have been an incalculable injury to the Republic. The unbridled
luxury and license in the life of the island had its evil effect on
Venice, and the early part of the sixteenth century developed there
such expensive living as threatened financial ruin,--such license,
even in the religious houses, as brought her world-wide disgrace, and
such growth in vice, decay of health, and increase of infectious
diseases as threatened the extermination of the noble and wealthy
classes.
ROSALBA CARRIERA.
Born in 1675, this artist belongs to modern Venice. Her father,
Andrea Carriera de Costantino, was chancellor of the little village
of Gambarare, on the Brenta; and as his salary was insufficient for
the support of his wife and three daughters, Rosalba, the eldest,
worked with her mother at making Point de Venise lace. Fortunately
for Rosalba's fame, this lace went out of fashion, and she then
attempted the painting of miniatures on tobacco boxes, in which art
she was instructed by a French painter, Jean Stève, having before had
lessons in drawing from a Hungarian, Bencowich. The boxes she
painted are now much prized.
Later she studied under Antonio Lazzari, Diamantini, Balestra, and
others. She practised painting in oils, but preferred miniature and
crayons. Her taste for crayons was cultivated by an English artist,
Cole, who excelled in that art. When twenty-four years old, Rosalba
had become famous for her miniatures and portraits in crayon. Carlo
Maratti and Crespi compared her {242} to Guido Reni, and she was made
an Academician at St. Luke in Rome and at the Clementina at Bologna.
We know how, in her time, the royal personages of the whole world
loved to visit Venice; and it came to be a part of their pleasure
there to have miniatures from Rosalba's hand. In 1709 the King of
Denmark sat for his own portrait, and gave her an order for twelve
miniatures, to be portraits of some of the loveliest young girls in
the city. The Elector Palatine soon after sat for a portrait, and
sent her afterwards a golden medallion on a chain, weighing two
hundred ounces; and the enamel box containing it was of great value.
Augustus III., Elector of Saxony, after he became King of Poland, was
one of her benefactors; and her portrait of him in a scarlet dress,
with a cross on the breast and a peruke on his head, was much prized
by him. The list of her friends and admirers at this period includes
many well-known names. John Law, the Scotch financier, Vleughels,
who became the director of the French Academy at Rome, and the
distinguished author Zanetti were among them; and Pierre Crozat urged
her going to Paris, offering her the use of his own hotel.
She was so celebrated at home and abroad that she could not fill her
orders, and was aided in her crayon pictures by her sisters, who also
painted somewhat. In all the courts of Europe the miniatures of
Rosalba were preferred before those of the Florentine Giovanna
Fratellini, and she was most happy in her life and in her art, when
the death of her father prostrated her with grief. Her sister Angela
had married Antonio Pellegrini, and by his persuasion Rosalba
consented to go to Paris. Her mother and sister Giovanna were with
her; and the three were received into the Hôtel Crozat, on the Rue de
Richelieu, where all possible comforts and a carriage were at their
disposal. Pellegrini and Angela lodged near by, {243} and for a year
Rosalba was in constant association with the best society in Paris.
Crozat admired her to enthusiasm. He thought her as fine a musician
as painter. He gave concerts, at which she played the violin
accompanied by other instruments played by well-known musicians. The
guests at these musicales were celebrated artists, authors, and
prominent persons, among whom the Regent himself was glad to be
numbered. Watteau painted a picture of the principal virtuosos at
these concerts. Mariette wrote their names on it in Latin, and with
his collection it went to the Louvre. Rosalba's journal, kept while
in Paris, is very interesting, and has been published both in Italian
and French.
During her stay in Paris, Rosalba painted numerous small pictures,
made many drawings, and executed two pictures of Venus for M. Crozat,
and an Apollo and Daphne for Claude Audran, besides nearly fifty
portraits. Among her subjects were men and women of the highest
character and position. Her artistic skill was recognized by the
greatest compliment that could be paid her in France. She was
elected a member of the Academy of Painting, "no one wishing to cast
a black ball," as she wrote in her journal. She was invited there,
and presented a portrait of Louis XV. in pastel, which was praised by
the director, Antoine Coypel. Her "picture of reception," which was
sent from Venice later, is now at the Louvre.
She returned to her little house in Venice a widely celebrated woman,
whose praises were sounded in prose and verse. She dwelt in the
Quarter Dorsoduro, near the Church of San Vito. Here she received
many distinguished visitors. She was invited to various courts of
Europe; and until she reached the age of seventy her life was
fruitful in work and in triumphs such as could not have failed to
make her native city proud of her. Eleven {244} years before her
death she became blind, and from that time she received no strangers,
though many desired to see her. To her sister Angela she sent
letters, written from her dictation, which spoke all too plainly of
the loneliness she would fain have concealed from those who loved her.
By her will she remembered all her relatives, her servants and
attendants, and some of her pupils. She gave the bulk of her
property to her sister Angela, who was but two years younger than
herself. She died when eighty-two years old, and was buried in the
little church of her parish beside her sister Giovannina, whose death
she had mourned for twenty years.
Pictures by Rosalba Carriera are seen in the Louvre, and in the
Academy of Venice and the Church of San Gervasio e Protasio, but the
largest collection is at Dresden; and to be perfectly candid, it does
seem that the eighteenth-century critics have been more than kind in
their praises of her works. If we were writing strictly of art, we
could not give her a very exalted rank; but as a Venetian woman who
made herself of note in the world in her day and generation, she is
most important, and stands quite alone.
{245}