spite of the treaty which had been made soon after the fall of
Constantinople;
[Sidenote: _Daru; Rom._]
but when Venice herself was threatened by all the European powers
together, it was with the highest satisfaction that she saw the Moslems
attack her old enemies the Hungarians. Yet her joy was of short
duration, for the Emperor soon made peace with the Sultan. It will be
remembered that the Imperial throne had then already been hereditary in
the Hapsburg family for many years.
The character of Turkish warfare in the Mediterranean was always
piratical, of the very sort most certain to harass and injure a maritime
commercial nation like Venice, and the latter began to lose ground
steadily in the Greek archipelago, and now found herself obliged to
defend the coasts of the Adriatic against the Turks as she had formerly
defended them against the pirates of Narenta. From time to time a
Turkish vessel was captured, and hundreds of Christian slaves were found
chained to the oar.
There were also other robbers along the Dalmatian coast, who exercised
their depredations against Turks
[Sidenote: _Niccolò da Ponte triumphs over the Usocchi; Tintoretto, Hall
of the Great Council._]
and Christians alike, with admirable equity. These were the so-called
‘Usocchi,’ a name derived from a Slav root meaning to ‘leap out’--hence,
those who had escaped and fled their country and were outlaws.
About this time the island of Cyprus had fallen in part under Turkish
domination. The Turks had
[Sidenote: _Cicogna, Iscr. Ven. iii. 134._]
made a piratical descent upon Nicosia, and had carried off all the women
who were still young enough for the Eastern market. But one of these, a
heroine whose name is lost, fired the ship’s powder-magazine and saved
herself and her companions from outrage by causing the instant death of
every soul on board. This was in the latter half of the sixteenth
century.
Thirsting for vengeance, the Venetians now eagerly joined Philip II. of
Spain in the league proposed by the Pope. The three fleets were to meet
at Messina, and much precious time was lost, during which the Turks
completed their conquest of Cyprus, which was heroically defended by
Marcantonio Bragadin. His fate was horrible. His nose and ears were cut
off, and he was obliged to witness the death of his brave companions,
Tiepolo, Baglione, Martinengo, and Quirini. They were stoned, hanged,
and carved to shreds before his eyes, and a vast number of Venetian
soldiers and women and children were massacred before him during the
following ten days. At last his turn came to die; he was hung by the
hands in the public square and slowly skinned alive. It is said that he
died like a hero and a saint, commending his soul to God, and forgiving
his enemies.
The ferocious Mustapha, by whose orders these horrors were perpetrated,
ordered his skin to be stuffed and had it carried about the streets,
under a red umbrella, in allusion to the arms of the Bragadin family.
The hideous human doll
[Sidenote: _Molmenti, Seb. Venier._]
was then hoisted to the masthead of Mustapha’s ship as a trophy and
taken in that way to Constantinople.
But in his lifetime Bragadin had ransomed a certain man of Verona from
the Turks, and had earned his undying gratitude. This Veronese, hearing
of his benefactor’s awful end, swore to bring home his skin, since
nothing else remained, and with incredible skill and courage actually
entered the Turkish arsenal at Constantinople, where the trophy was
kept, stole it and brought it home. It is related that the skin was
found as soft as silk and was easily folded into a small space; it is
preserved in the church of San Giovanni e Paolo.
The vengeance of the league was slow, but it was memorably terrible; in
1571 Don John of Austria, a stripling of genius, scarcely six and twenty
years of age, commanded the three fleets and led Christianity to victory
at Lepanto.
[Sidenote: _Lepanto, A. Vicentini; ducal palace._]
One of the decisive battles of the world checked the Mohammedan power
for ever in the Gulf of Corinth, and the blood of eighty thousand Turks
avenged the inhuman murder of Bragadin and the self-destruction of the
captive Venetian women.
Not many days later, on the eighteenth of October 1571, the great ‘Angel
Gabriel,’ a galley of war, came sailing into the harbour of Venice, full
[Sidenote: _Molmenti, Seb. Venier._]
dressed with flags, and trailing in her wake long line of Turkish
standards, and turbans and coats. Then the cannon thundered, and the
crew cried ‘Victory! Victory!’ and the triumphant note went rolling over
Venice, while Onofrio Giustiniani, the commander of the man-of-war, went
up to the ducal palace. Then the people went mad with joy, and demanded
that all prisoners should be set free in honour of the day; and the
Council allowed at least all those to be liberated who were in prison
for debt. Then, too, the people cried ‘Death to the Turks!’ and would
have massacred every Mussulman in the Turks’ quarter; but to the honour
of Venice it is recorded that the government was strong enough to hinder
that.
And then the Doge, Aloise Mocenigo, found his way through the closely
packed crowd to the Basilica,
[Sidenote: _Aloise Mocenigo, praying, Tintoretto; Sala del Collegio._]
and fifty thousand voices sang ‘Te Deum laudamus Domine,’ till the
triumphant strain must have been heard far out on the lagoon. During
four days processions marched through the streets and hymns of victory
and thanksgiving were sung; the greatest battle of the age had been
fought and won on the feast of Saint Justina, who was one of the patrons
of Venice. In return for her military assistance an enthusiastic and
devout people resolved to set up a statue of her in the Arsenal and to
build her a church in Padua, as she already had one in Venice.
Religious obligations being thus cancelled, the universal rejoicing
manifested itself in civic pageantry,
[Sidenote: _Rom. vi. 317._]
and, to use a modern expression, the Venetians held a general exhibition
of their treasures. The square of the Rialto was draped with scarlet
cloth, on which were hung the pictures of the most famous masters, at a
time when some of the greatest that ever lived were alive in Venice and
at the height of their glory. In the midst of the square a trophy was
raised, composed of Turkish arms and banners, turbans, slippers, jewels,
and all sorts of ornaments taken from the slain. From the jewellers’
lane to the bridge a canopy of blue cloth covered with golden stars was
spread high across the way, the most precious tapestries were hung on
the walls of the houses, the shops showed all their most artistic wares
in their windows. The German quarter was so crammed with beautiful
objects that it seemed one great enchanted palace. To increase the
general gaiety, the government made a special exception and allowed
masks in the streets.
When it is remembered that Venice really obtained little or no immediate
advantage from the battle of Lepanto, her frenzy of triumph may seem
exaggerated; yet it was moderate compared with the reception Rome gave
to the commander of the Papal fleet, Marcantonio Colonna. The Venetian
captain, Sebastian Venier, was not present, and there was not the least
personal note in the rejoicings; that, indeed, would have been very
contrary to the usual behaviour of the Republic towards her own sons,
for if they failed she disowned them or put them to death, and if they
succeeded it was her motherly practice to disgrace them as soon as
possible, and generally to find an excuse for imprisoning them, lest
they should grow dangerous to herself.
We cannot help reproaching her for that; yet out of her magnificent
past comes back ever that same answer: she succeeded, where others
failed. She bred
[Illustration: DOOR OF THE CARMINE]
such men as Enrico Dandolo, Vittor Pisani, Carlo Zeno, and Sebastian
Venier, yet she was never enslaved by one of her own children. Rome
served her Cæsar, and her many Cæsars; France, her Bonaparte; Russia,
her Ivan Strashny, the Terrible; Spain, her Philip II.; England, her
Richard III.--and her Cromwell, Protector and Tyrant. But Venice was
never subject to any one Venetian man beyond the time needed to compass
his destruction and death, which was never long, and sometimes was
awfully brief.
Venier did not return to Venice till long after the battle of Lepanto,
and his presence was necessary in the Archipelago in order to protect
such colonies as were left to the Republic.
[Sidenote: _Venier returns in triumph, Palma Giovane; Sala dei
Pregadi._]
For though the Turks had suffered a disastrous defeat, final in the
sense that their advance westwards was checked as effectually as the
spreading of the Moorish conquest had been by Charles Martel at
Poitiers, yet they were still at the height of their power in
Constantinople, and were strong on the eastern side of the dividing line
which was now drawn across the Mediterranean, and which marked the
eastern limit of Christian domination. When Venier returned, the Turks
were absolute masters of the island of Cyprus, and Venice was already
beginning to pay what was really a war indemnity, destined to reach the
formidable sum of three hundred thousand ducats. As Montesquieu truly
says, it looked as if the Turks had been the victors at Lepanto.
Three years after that battle Venice was again adorned in her best to
greet Henry III. of
[Sidenote: _Rom. vi. 341._]
France, who visited the city in July 1574, the year of his accession.
The King was to make his entry on the eighteenth, and he was requested
to stop at Murano on the previous evening, in the
[Sidenote: _Horatio Brown, Venetian studies._]
Palazzo Cappello, which was all hung with silk and cloth of gold in his
honour. Forty young nobles were attached to his person and sixty
halberdiers mounted guard, dressed in yellow and blue, which were
regarded by the Venetians as his colours, and wearing a
[Sidenote: _Henry III. visits Venice, A. Vicentino; Sala delle Quattro
Porte._]
cap with a white tuft for a cockade. Their weapons were taken from the
armoury of the Council of Ten. There were also eighteen trumpeters and
twelve drummers dressed in the King’s colours.
Henry III. was still in mourning for his brother Charles IX., and
appeared very plainly clad in the midst of all this display. The
chronicles have preserved the details of his costume; he wore a brown
mantle that fell from his neck to his feet, and beneath it a violet
tunic of Flemish cloth with a white lace collar. He also wore long
leathern boots, perfumed gloves, and an Italian hat.
The night was passed in feasting, during which the French and the
Venetians fraternised most closely, and on the following morning a huge
galley was ready to take the King to Venice by way of the Lido.
On the high poop-deck a seat was placed for the King, covered with cloth
of gold; on his right sat the Papal Nuncio, who was the Cardinal San
Sisto, then came the Dukes of Nevers and Mantua; on his left the Doge
and the Ambassadors. Four hundred rowers pulled the big vessel over, and
fourteen galleys followed bringing the Senators and many others. To
amuse the King during the short passage, the glass-blowers of
Murano had constructed on rafts a furnace in the shape of a marine
monster that belched flames from its jaws and nostrils, while the most
famous workmen blew beakers and other vessels in the beast’s body, of
the finest crystal glass, for the King and his suite.
Just when he might be thought to be weary of this spectacle a long array
of decorated boats began to manœuvre before his eyes, with sails set and
banners flying. These belonged to the various guilds and were
wonderfully adorned. One represented a huge dolphin; on its back stood
Neptune driving two winged steeds, while four aged boatmen in costume
stood for the four rivers of the Republic, Brenta, Adige, Po, and Piave.
Some of the boats had arrangements for sending up fireworks, others were
floating exhibitions of the richest and most marvellous tapestries and
stuffs.
The royal vessel, instead of proceeding straight to Venice, went round
by the Lido to the landing of Saint Nicholas, where the State architect
Palladio had erected a triumphal arch which Tintoretto and Paolo
Veronese had covered with ten beautiful paintings. Here the King was
invited to leave his galley in order to go on board the Bucentaur.
Tintoretto was in the crowd, looking out for a chance of sketching the
King, precisely as a modern reporter hangs about the docks and railway
stations to get a snapshot at royalty. Tintoretto did not disdain the
methods of a later time either; he succeeded in exchanging his
threadbare cloak for the livery of one of the Doge’s squires or footmen,
by which trick he managed to get on board the Bucentaur. Once there he
made a sketch in pastels of the King which pleased the royal treasurer,
De Bellegarde, and the latter persuaded his master to sit to the artist
for a full-length portrait, which was presented to the Doge on the
King’s departure, in recollection of the visit.
During the following days nothing was omitted which might amuse the
Sovereign or tend to strengthen the pleasant impression he had already
received. Every sort of Venetian game was played, and all the
traditional contests of strength and skill between Niccolotti and
Castellani were revived, and with such earnestness on both sides as to
lead to a fresh outbreak of their hereditary hate. Two hundred men
fought with sticks at the Ponte del Carmine, as savagely as if the
safety and honour of their wives and children depended on the result. At
the most critical moment the fisherman Luca, the famous chief of the
Niccolotti, fell into the canal, his followers were momentarily thrown
into disorder by the accident, and the Castellani won the day.
Afterwards a banquet was given to the King, of which the remembrance
remains alive amongst the people to our own time. The gondoliers and
fishermen of to-day describe the feast, its magnificence, the beauty of
the patrician ladies, the splendour of the service, as if they were
speaking of something that happened yesterday instead of more than ten
generations ago.
The tables were set in the hall of the Great Council for three thousand
persons. The King sat in the middle of the hall under a golden canopy.
We are told that the bill of fare set forth twelve hundred different
dishes, and that all the company ate off solid silver plates, of which
there were enough for all without having recourse to the reserve which
had been set up for show on a huge sideboard at the end of the hall.
After the feast, the King assisted at the performance of the first opera
ever given in Italy, composed by the once famous master Zarlino da
Chioggia.
The banquet and the music must have occupied several hours; yet we are
amazed to learn that so short a time sufficed for putting together a
whole galley, of which Henry had seen the pieces, all taken apart, just
before sitting down to table. When he left the ducal palace, he saw to
his stupefaction the vessel launched into the canal on rollers, and
towed away towards the Lido.
Not surfeited by the official amusements offered him by the Republic,
the King diverted himself on his own account and went about the city in
disguise,
[Sidenote: _Mut. Annali._]
like Otho of old. The government had directed the jewellers and
merchants to have in readiness their finest wares in order that when the
King sent for them, he might buy objects worthy of the reputation of the
Venetian shops; and the shopkeepers inquired with feverish anxiety when
they were to go to the Palazzo Foscari.
But Henry preferred to go out shopping himself. One morning the jeweller
at the Sign of the Old Woman on the Rialto Bridge was visited by a noble
stranger, who inquired the price of a marvellously chiselled golden
sceptre: apparently the Venetian jewellers kept sceptres in stock in
case a king should look in. The price of this one was twenty-six
thousand ducats, or between eighteen and nineteen thousand pounds,
which seems dear, even for a sceptre. But the noble stranger was not at
all surprised, thought the matter over for a few seconds, nodded
quietly, and ordered the thing to be sent to the Foscari palace, to
[Illustration: CAMPO BEHIND S. GIACOMO IN ORIO]
the inexpressible joy of the jeweller, who knew the address well enough.
At that time there dwelt in Venice a branch of the famous Fugger family
of Augsburg, the richest bankers of the sixteenth century. They owned
all
[Sidenote: _Mutinelli, Annali._]
the district of the city round the church of San Giacomo, and had even
protected themselves by a sort of wall. There they had built a bank, a
hospital, and houses for their numberless retainers, and they lived in a
kind of unacknowledged principality of their own which was respected
both by the State and the people.
The family had the most magnificent traditions of hospitality. When the
Emperor Charles V. passed through Augsburg in the earlier part of the
same century, he lodged in the Fuggers’ house, and as it was winter, his
hosts caused his fires to be made only of aromatic wood imported as a
perfume from Ceylon. Henry III. visited the Fuggers in Venice, and they
were neither surprised by his unannounced visit nor unprepared to
receive a royal guest.
While in Venice the King spent much of his time with Veronica Franco,
the celebrated poetess and courtesan. She, on her side, fell deeply in
[Sidenote: _Tassini._]
love with the man who was to be the worst of all the French kings. But
he was only twenty-three years old then, he was half a Medici by blood,
and all of one by his passionate nature. Veronica loved him with all her
heart, and amidst all the evil he did there was at least one good
result, for when he was gone she would not be consoled, nor would she
ever look on another man, but mended her life and lived in a retirement
to which she sought to attract other penitent women.
She had a picture of the King painted, and no doubt he was vividly
present in her thoughts when she wrote the following sonnet, which is
attributed to her, and which I do into prose for greater accuracy:--
Begone, deceiving thoughts and empty hope,
Greedy and blind desires, and bitter cravings,
Begone, ye burning sighs and bitter woes,
Companions ever of my unending pain.
Go memories sweet, go galling chains,
Of a heart that is loosed from you at last,
That gathers up again the rein of reason,
Dropped for a while, and now goes forth in freedom.
And thou, my soul, entangled in so many sorrows,
Unbind thyself and to thy divine Lord
Rejoicing turn thy thoughts;
Now bravely force thy fate,
Break through thy bonds; then, glad and free,
Direct thy steps in the securer way!
In order to give my readers some idea of what was done to furnish the
Palazzo Foscari for Henry’s visit, I quote some items of the expenditure
from the _Souvenirs_ of Armand Baschet:--
‘Crimson silk and gold hangings, fifty-eight pieces making three hundred
and seven braccia and a half at a ducat for each braccio and twelve
inches. White silk and silver stuff; shot-silk and silver stuff; white
satin with gold lines, etc. Cushions of brocade embroidered with gold
and of blue velvet with gold and fringes etc. at forty ducats each. A
bed quilt with gold lines and scarlet checks, twenty ducats. Yellow
damask with little checks at one ducat the braccio. A rep rug of gold
edged with blue velvet and lined with red silk, sixty ducats. A
tablecloth of silver and gold brocade with white and gold fringe,
thirty-four ducats. Green and blue velvet for the floor, at one ducat
the braccio. Complete hangings for a room of yellow satin with gold and
silver fringe and gold lace, over seven hundred and thirty ducats.’
Further, we find for the royal gondolas the following items:--
‘Felse of scarlet satin, one hundred and fifty-six ducats. A boat’s
carpet of violet Alexandria velvet; a felse of the same velvet lined
with silk, fifty-five ducats. Another velvet carpet of the same colour,
two canopies, one of violet satin fringed and embroidered with gold, the
other of white satin, and two cushions of scarlet satin and gold.’
These things were put away in boxes, an inventory was taken, and they
were valued at four thousand two hundred sequins, or more than three
thousand pounds. The King on his side was generous. When he went away he
presented each of the young noblemen who had attended him with a chain
worth a hundred ducats, and gave a collar worth three hundred to his
host, Foscari. The captain of his guard received a silver basin and ewer
worth a hundred crowns. For the halberdiers of the guard there were
three hundred crowns, eighty for the trumpeters and sixty for the
drummers. His Majesty left a thousand crowns for the workmen of the
Arsenal, two hundred for the rowers of the Bucentaur, one hundred for
the major-domo, and fifty to the chief steward of the house.
The Duke of Savoy, who accompanied the King of France, also left some
splendid presents. To the wife
[Illustration: THE PIAZZA]
of Luigi Mocenigo, in whose house he had been staying, he gave a belt
composed of thirty gold rosettes, ornamented with fine pearls and
valuable precious stones. The Duke was doubtless unaware that as soon as
he was gone the handsome ornament would have to be handed over to the
Provveditori delle Pompe, not to be worn again unless a special and
elaborate decree could be obtained for the purpose.
In the first year of the reign of Sixtus V. Japan sent ambassadors to
the Pope ‘to recognise him officially as Christ’s vicar on earth.’ These
[Sidenote: _1585. Rom. vi. 387._]
personages, who were converts to Christianity, were received with
demonstrations of the greatest joy and esteem when they visited Venice,
and were regaled with spectacles which were partly religious in
character and partly secular. A procession was organised against which
the Pope himself protested in the most formal manner; but the Republic
paid no more attention than usual to this expression of papal
displeasure. It was always the dream of Venice to be Roman Catholic
without Rome.
The Japanese envoys looked on while all the clergy of the city passed in
review before them, as well as all the guilds bearing the images of
their
[Sidenote: _Giustina Renier Michiel, Origini._]
patron saints and their standards; these were followed by cars carrying
enormous erections of gold and silver vessels, built up in the form of
pyramids, and of columns, stars, eagles, lions, and symbolic beasts.
Other cars came after these with platforms, on which actors represented
scenes from the lives of saints, even including martyrdom. The
[Illustration: PIGEONS IN THE PIAZZA]
Japanese may have been more amazed than edified by these performances.