The Ducal Palace as we see it to-day dates from Marino Faliero and is
the successor of an older one begun in 809 under Angelo Participazio
and carried on by the different Doges. It was Marino Faliero who caused
the two façades on the Mole and the Piazzetta to be built in 1355 as
they now are. This construction brought happiness neither to him who
ordered nor to the architect: the former was decapitated and the latter
hanged.
Into this strange edifice,--at once a palace, senate, tribunal and
prison under the government of the Republic,--we enter by a charming
door in St. Mark’s corner, between the pillars of St. John of Acre and
the great, thick column supporting the entire weight of the immense
white and rose marble wall that gives such an original aspect to the
ancient palace of the Doges.
[Illustration: THE DUCAL PALACE]
This door, called Della Carta, is in charming architectural taste,
adorned with little columns, trefoils and statues, without counting
the inevitable, indispensable winged lion of St. Mark, and leads into
the great interior court by a vaulted passage. This somewhat singular
arrangement of an entrance so to speak placed without the edifice to
which it leads has the advantage of not interfering in any way with
the unity of its façades, which are not broken by any projection except
that of their monumental windows.
Before passing under the arcade, let us glance over the exterior of
the palace to note a few of its interesting details. Above the thick
and robust column of which we have just spoken, there is a bas-relief
of savage aspect representing the _Judgment of Solomon_, with
mediæval costume and a certain barbarity of execution that renders it
hard to recognize the subject. This bas-relief opens into the long
twisted little columns that cordon each angle of the building.
On the façade of the Piazzetta, up on the second gallery, two columns
of red marble mark the place whence the death sentences were read,--a
custom that still exists to-day. All the capitals are in exquisite
taste and inexhaustible variety. Not one is a repetition. They contain
chimæræ, children, angels, fantastic animals, and sometimes Biblical or
historical subjects, mingled with foliage, acanthus, fruits and flowers
that forcibly show up the poverty of invention of our modern artists:
several bear half effaced inscriptions in Gothic characters, which in
order to be fluently read would require a skilful paleographer. There
are twenty-seven arcades on the Mole and eighteen on the Piazzetta.
The Porta della Carta leads you to the Giant’s Staircase, which is not
itself gigantic, but takes its name from the two colossi of Neptune
and Mars, a dozen feet in height, by Sansovino, standing on pedestals
at the top of the flight. This staircase, leading from the courtyard
to the second gallery that decks the interior as well as the exterior
of the palace, was raised during the dogedom of Agostino Barbarigo
by Antonio Rizzio. It is of white marble, decorated by Domenico and
Bernardo of Mantua with arabesques and trophies in very slight relief,
but of such perfection as to be the despair of all the ornamenters,
carvers and engravers in the world. It is no longer architecture, but
goldsmith’s work, such as Benvenuto Cellini and Vechte alone could
produce. Every morsel of this open balustrade is a world of invention;
the weapons and casques of every bas-relief, each one different, are of
the rarest fancy and the purest style; even the slabs of the steps are
ornamented with exquisite _niello_, and yet who knows anything of
Domenico and Bernardo of Mantua? The memory of mankind, already wearied
with a hundred illustrious names, refuses to retain any more, and
consigns to oblivion names that are deserving of all glory.
If we turn around on reaching the head of this staircase, we see the
inner side of the doorway of Bartolomeo, flowered over with volutes and
plated with little columns and statues, with remnants of blue painting
starred with gold in the tympanums of the arch. Among the statues, one
in particular is very remarkable: it is an Eve by Antonio Rizzio of
Verona, carved in 1471. The other side, facing the Wells, was built
in 1607 in the style of the Renaissance, with columns and niches full
of antique statues from Greece, representing warriors, orators, and
divinities. A clock and a statue of the Duke Urbino, carved by Gio
Bandini of Florence in 1625, complete this severe and classic front.
Letting your glance fall towards the middle of the court, you see
what look like magnificent bronze altars. They are the mouths of the
cisterns of Nicolo de’ Conti and Francesco Alberghetti. The first dates
from 1556, the second from 1559. Both are masterpieces. Besides the
obligatory accompaniment of griffins, sirens, and chimæræ, various
aquatic subjects taken from the Scriptures are represented in them. One
could not imagine such richness of invention, such exquisite taste,
such perfection of carving, nor such finished work as is displayed by
the kerbs of these wells enriched with the polish and verdigris of
time. Even the inside of the mouth is plated with thin sheets of bronze
branched with a damascene of arabesques. These two wells are said to
contain the best water in Venice.
Near the Giant’s Staircase is an inscription framed with ornaments
and figures by Alessandro Vittoria recalling the passage of Henry
III. through Venice; and farther on in the gallery at the approach to
the golden staircase are two statues by Antonio Aspetti,--Hercules
and Atlas bending beneath the starry firmament, the weight of which
the mighty hero is about to transfer to his own bull-neck. This
magnificent staircase, adorned with stuccos by Vittoria and paintings
by Giambatista, is by Sansovino, and leads to the library which now
occupies several rooms of the Palace of the Doges. To attempt to
describe them one by one would be a work of patience and erudition that
would require a whole volume.
The old hall of the Grand Council is one of the largest you could find
anywhere. The Court of Lions at the Alhambra would easily go inside it.
On entering, you stand still, struck with astonishment. By an effect
that is somewhat frequently found in architecture, this hall looks
much larger than the building that contains it. A sombre and severe
wainscoting, where bookcases have taken the place of the seats of the
old senators, serves as a plinth for immense paintings that extend all
around the walls, broken only by windows, below a line of portraits of
the Doges and a colossal gilded ceiling of incredible exuberance of
ornamentation, with great compartments, square, octagonal and oval,
with foliage, volutes, and rock-work in a taste scarcely appropriate
to the style of the palace, but so imposing and magnificent that you
are quite dazzled by it. Unfortunately, the pictures by Paul Veronese,
Tintoret, Palma the Younger, and other great masters, that filled these
superb frames have now been removed on account of indispensable repairs.
That side of the hall by which you enter is entirely occupied by
a gigantic _Paradise_ by Tintoret, which contains a world of
figures. It is a strong painting and it is a pity that time has so
greatly darkened it. The smoky shadows that cover it belong to a Hell
rather than to a Glory. Behind this canvas, a fact that we have not
been in a position to verify, it is said that there is an ancient
_Paradise_ painted in green camaïeu upon the wall by Guariento of
Padua in 1365. It would be curious to be able to compare this green
_Paradise_ with the black one. It is only Venice that has one
depth of painting below another.
This hall is a kind of Versailles museum of Venetian history, with
the difference that if the exploits are not so great, the painting
is far better. It is impossible to imagine a more wonderful effect
than is produced by this immense hall entirely covered by these
pompous paintings that excel in the Venetian genius. Above these great
historical scenes, is a row of portraits of the Doges by Tintoret,
Bassano, and other painters; as a rule, they have a smoky and bearded
appearance, although, contrary to the impression we form, they have no
beards. In one corner the eye is arrested at an empty and black frame
that makes a hole as dark as a tomb in this chronological gallery. It
is the space that should be occupied by the portrait of Marino Faliero,
as told by this inscription: _Locus Marini Phaletri, decapitati pro
criminibus_. All the effigies of Marino Faliero were also destroyed,
so that his portrait may be said to be undiscoverable. However, it is
pretended that there is one in the possession of an amateur at Verona.
The republic wanted to destroy the memory of this haughty old man who
brought it within an inch of ruin in revenge for a youth’s jest that
was sufficiently punished by a few months’ imprisonment. To finish with
Marino Faliero, let us note that he was not beheaded at the head of
the Giant’s Staircase, as is represented in several prints, since that
stairway was not built till a hundred and fifty years later, but in
the opposite corner at the other end of the gallery, upon the top of a
flight of steps since demolished.
We will now name the most celebrated chambers of the palace without
pretending to describe them in detail. In the chamber _dei
Scarlatti_, the chimney-piece is covered with marble reliefs of
the finest workmanship. On the impost also is seen a very curious
bas-relief in marble representing the Doge Loredan on his knees before
the Virgin and Child, accompanied by several saints,--an admirable
piece of work by an unknown artist. The Hall of the Shield: here the
arms of the living Doge were emblazoned. It is hung with geographical
charts by the Abbé Grisellini that trace the discoveries of Marco
Polo, so long treated as fabulous, and of other illustrious Venetian
travellers, such as Zeni and Cabota. Here also is kept a globe, found
on a Turkish galley, engraved upon wood and of strange configuration
being in accordance with Oriental ideas and covered with Arabic
characters cut with marvellous delicacy; also a great bird’s-eye view
of Venice by Albrecht Dürer, who made a long stay in the city of the
Doges. The aspect of the city is generally the same as to-day, since
for three centuries one stone has not been laid upon another in the
Italian cities.
In the Hall of the Philosophers, a very beautiful chimney-piece by
Pierre Lombard is to be noticed. The Hall of Stuccos, so called because
of its ornamentation, contains paintings by Salviati, Pordenone, and
Bassano: the _Virgin_, a _Descent from the Cross_, and the
_Nativity of Jesus Christ_. The banquet-hall is where the Doge
used to give certain feasts of etiquette,--diplomatic dinners, as we
should say to-day. Here we see a portrait of Henry III. by Tintoret,
very strong and very fine; and facing the door is the _Adoration
of the Magi_, a warm painting by Bonifazio, that great master of
whose work we possess scarcely anything in Paris. The Hall of the Four
Doors has a square anteroom, the ceiling of which, painted by Tintoret,
represents Justice giving the sword and scales to the Doge Priuli. The
four doors are adorned with statues of grand form by Guilio del Moro,
Francesco Caselli, Girolamo Campagna, and Alessandro Vittoria; the
paintings that enrich the room are masterpieces.
From this hall let us pass into the Anti-Collegio; it is the
waiting-room of the ambassadors, the architecture being by Scamozzi.
The envoys of the various powers who came to present their credentials
to the Most Serene Republic could scarcely have been in a hurry to
be introduced: the masterpieces crowded with such lavishness into
this splendid anteroom would induce anyone to be patient. The four
pictures near the door are by Tintoret, and among his best. These are
the subjects: _Mercury and the Graces_; _Vulcan’s Forge_;
_Pallas, accompanied by Joy and Abundance, chasing Mars_; and
_Ariadne consoled by Bacchus_. Apart from a few rather forced
foreshortenings and a few violent attitudes in which this master took
pleasure on account of their difficulty, we can do nothing but praise
the virile energy of touch, the warmth of colour, the truth of the
flesh, the lifelike power and that forceful and charming grace that
distinguishes mighty talents when they have to render sweet and gentle
subjects.
But the marvel of this sanctuary of art is the _Rape of Europa_,
by Paul Veronese. What lovely white shoulders! what blonde curling
tresses! what round and charming arms! what smiles of eternal youth
in this wonderful canvas in which Paul Veronese seems to have spoken
his final word! Sky, clouds, trees, flowers, meadows, seas, tints,
draperies, all seem bathed in the glow of an unknown Elysium. If we
had to choose one single example of all Paul Veronese’s work, this is
the one we should prefer: it is the most beautiful pearl in this rich
casket.
On the ceiling the great artist has seated his dear Venice on a golden
throne with that amplitude of drapery and that abundant grace of which
he possesses the secret. For this _Assumption_, in which Venice
takes the place of the Virgin, he always knows how to find fresh blues
and new radiance.
The magnificent chimney-piece by Aspetti, a stucco cornice by
Vittoria and Bombarda, blue camaïeu by Sebastian Rizzi and columns
of _verde antique_ and Cipolin marble framing the door complete
this marvellous decoration in which shines the most beautiful of all
luxuries,--that of genius.
The reception-hall, or the Collegio, comes next. Here we find
Tintoret and Paul Veronese, the former red and violent, the other
azure and calm; the first, suited to great expanses of wall, the
second, for immense ceilings. We will not speak of the camaïeu, the
_grisailles_, the columns of _verde antique_, the little
arches of flowered jasper and sculptures by G. Campagna: we should
never finish; and those are the ordinary sumptuous details in the
Palace of the Doges.
There are many other admirable rooms in the Ducal Palace that we
have not mentioned. The Hall of the Council of Ten, the Hall of the
Supreme Council, the Hall of the State Inquisitors, and many others.
Upon their walls and ceilings sit side by side the apotheosis of
Venice and the Assumption of the Virgin; the Doges on their knees
before some Madonna or other; and mythological heroes or fabulous
gods; the Lion of St. Mark and Jupiter’s Eagle; the Emperor Frederick
Barbarossa and a Neptune; Pope Alexander III. and a short-kilted
Allegory. Mix up stories from the Bible and holy Virgins beneath
baldaquins, captures of Zara embroidered with more numerous episodes
than one of Ariosto’s songs, and surprises of Candia with jumbles of
Turks; carve the door-cases; cover the cornices with mouldings and
stucco; set up statues in every corner; lay gold upon everything that
is not covered by the brush of a superior artist; say: “All those who
have laboured here, even the obscure, had twenty times as much talent
as our celebrities of the present day; and the greatest masters have
employed their lives here;” and then you will have a feeble idea
of all this magnificence that defies description. Painters, whose
names are not uttered once a century, here hold their place in most
terrible proximities. You would say that genius was in the air at that
climacteric epoch of human progress and that nothing was easier than
to produce masterpieces. The sculptors especially, of whom no one
ever speaks, display an extraordinary talent and are not in the least
inferior to the greatest painters.
Close to the door of one of these rooms we still see, though robbed of
all its prestige of terror, and reduced to the condition of an unused
letter-box, the ancient Lion’s Mouth to which the informers came to
cast in their denunciations. Nothing remains now but a hole in the
wall: the jaw has been removed. A sombre corridor leads you to the Hall
of the State Inquisitors, to the Leads, and to the Wells that have
served as a text for an infinity of sentimental declamation. Certainly
there are no beautiful prisons; but the truth is that the Leads were
large chambers covered with lead, a material with which the roofs
of most of the edifices of Venice are covered and which has nothing
particularly cruel about it; and that the Wells were not below the
level of the lagoon. We visited two or three of these cells. Covered
with wood on the inside, they had a low door and a little opening
facing the lamp fixed to the roof of the passage. A wooden camp-bed
occupied one of the corners.
It was black and stifling, but without any melodramatic accessories.
Upon the walls are decipherable several of those inscriptions that
prison weariness engraves with a nail upon the wall of the tomb:
signatures, dates, short sentences from the Bible, philosophical
reflections appropriate to the spot, a timid sigh for liberty,
sometimes the cause of the imprisonment, such as the inscription in
which a captive says that he has been incarcerated for sacrilege. At
the entrance to a corridor they showed us a stone seat on which those
who were secretly executed in the prison were made to sit. A slender
cord cast around the neck and twisted like a garotte strangled them
in the Turkish manner. These clandestine executions were only for
state prisoners convicted of political crimes. The deed being done,
the corpse was bundled into a gondola through a door opening on to the
Canal della Paglia and it was taken away to be sunk with a cannon-ball
or stone at the feet in the Orfanello Canal which is very deep and
where fishermen are forbidden to cast their nets.
Vulgar assassins are executed between the two columns at the entrance
of the Piazzetta. The Bridge of Sighs, which seen from the Paille
Bridge, looks like a cenotaph suspended over the water, has nothing
remarkable inside: it is a double corridor divided by a wall which
serves as a covered way from the Ducal Palace to the Prison, the severe
and solid edifice built by Antonio da Ponte, and situated on the other
side of the Canal facing the lateral façade of the Palace which is
supposed to have been built from the plans of Antonio Riccio. The name
of the Bridge of Sighs, given to that tomb that connects two prisons,
probably comes from the lamentations of the unfortunates going from
their cell to the tribunal and back again, broken by torture, or in
despair after condemnation. In the evening this Canal, squeezed between
the high walls of the two sombre edifices and illumined by some rare
gleam, has a very sinister and mysterious aspect, and the gondolas that
glide along there bearing some handsome pair of lovers going to get a
little fresh air on the lagoon, look as if they have a burden for the
Orfanello Canal.
We have also visited the ancient apartments of the Doge; nothing
remains of their primitive magnificence except a highly ornamental
ceiling divided into gilded and painted hexagonal compartments. In
these spaces, shielded by foliage and rosebushes, was an invisible hole
through which the State Inquisitors and the members of the Council of
Ten could spy upon what the Doge was doing at all hours of the day and
of the night. The walls, not content with listening by an ear, like the
prison of Denys the Tyrant, watched with an ever open eye, and the Doge
who had conquered at Zara or at Candia heard, like Angelo, “steps in
his walls” and felt a mysterious and jealous watch all about him.