“Capo” Barbarigo for having provided them with much more sufficient and
convenient
[Sidenote: _Rom. viii. 399._]
means of earning their bread during the present hard times.’
The Inquisitors’ ordinance was soon modified so as to allow the cafés to
remain open till midnight.
As for the minor courts, Goldoni, who was brought up to be a lawyer,
says that there were nearly as many different ones as there were
different kinds of suits possible. They paralysed each other, and could
not have worked well even if they had been honest.
But they were not. An Avogador acquitted a man accused of theft. The
Signors of the
[Sidenote: _Mutinelli, Ult. 143._]
Night--the chiefs of police--who had committed the accused for trial
believed him guilty and determined to examine the papers relating to
the trial.
[Illustration: THE DOGANA]
With this intention they made a search in the house of the Avogador and
confiscated the private accounts in which he set down the profit and
loss of his judicial industry; for he was a very careful man. Surely
enough, the Signors found an entry of one hundred and fifty sequins
(£112. 10s.) received for acquitting the thief.
About the same time there was a very beautiful dancer called the Cellini
at the theatre of San Cassian.
[Sidenote: _Mutinelli, Ult. 144._]
A magistrate who exercised the righteous functions of an ‘Executor
against Blasphemy’ became anxious to get into her good graces, but as
she would have nothing to do with him, he brought an accusation against
her in his own court, tried her, and condemned her to a severe penalty.
But she appealed to the Council of Ten, proved her innocence, and was
acquitted. Thereupon the Venetians began to swear ‘by the holy Virgin
Cellini.’
With such a state of things in Venice, it was only to be expected that
the condition of justice in the provinces should be still worse. When
[Sidenote: _Mut. Ult._]
Goldoni was Secretary to the Chancery of Feltre, in the Venetian
territory, there was a huge scandal about a whole forest cut down and
sold without any order or authority from the government. An inquiry was
attempted and begun; it was found that more than two hundred persons
were implicated, and as it soon became apparent that the same thing had
been done before them, within the century, it was judged better to draw
a veil over the whole affair.
This naturally encouraged others. In 1782 the Provveditor Michiel
informed the Senate that the Podestà of the city of Usmago had calmly
pocketed the price of an oak forest, which he had asked leave to cut
down on pretence of using the funds for repairing his official
residence.
Finally, a number of posts, especially in the ducal household, were
openly sold; in the last years of the Republic even the office of a
procurator of Saint Mark could be bought.
In close connection with the magistracies and the legal profession
generally, I give the following amusing extract from Goldoni’s memoirs.
He begins by telling us that although he had been entered at a lawyer’s
office for two years, he left it fitted for the profession in eight
months,
[Sidenote: _Goldoni, i. 23._]
because the administration interpreted the two years to mean the dates
of two consecutive years, without any regard to the months. Young
Goldoni then took a lodging in the lawyers’ quarter near San Paterniano,
and his mother and aunt lived with him.
I put on the toga belonging to my new station (he continues), and
it is the same as that of the Patricians; I smothered my head in an
enormous wig and impatiently awaited the day of my presentation in
the Palace. The novice must have two assistants who are called in
Venice Compari di Palazzo [‘Palace godfathers’]. The young man
chooses them amongst those of the old lawyers who are most friendly
to him....
So I went between my two sponsors to the foot of the grand
staircase in the great courtyard of the Palace, and for an hour
and a half I made so many bows and contortions that my back was
broken and my wig was like a lion’s mane. Every one who passed
before me gave his opinion of me; some said, Here is a youth of
good character; others said, Here is another Palace sweeper; some
embraced me, some laughed in my face. To be short, I went up the
stairs and sent the servant to find a gondola, so as not to show
myself in the street in such a dishevelled state, naming as a place
of meeting the Hall of the Great Council, where I sat down on a
bench whence I could see every one pass without being seen by any
one. During this time, I reflected on the career I was about to
embrace. In Venice there are generally two hundred and forty
lawyers entered on the register; there are ten or twelve of the
first rank, about twenty who occupy the second; all the others are
hunting for clients; and the poorer Procurators gladly act as their
dogs on condition of sharing the prey....
While I was thus alone, building castles in the air, I saw a woman
of about thirty approaching me, not disagreeable in face, white,
round, and plump, with a turned-up nose and wicked eyes, a great
deal of gold on her neck, her ears, her arms, her fingers, and in a
dress which proclaimed that she was a woman of the common class,
but pretty well off. She came over and saluted me.
‘Sir, good day!’
‘Good day, Signora!’
‘Will you allow me to offer you my congratulations?’
‘For what?’
‘On your entrance into the Forum; I saw you in the courtyard when
you were making your salaams. Per Bacco! Sir, your hair is nicely
done.’
‘Isn’t it? Am I not a handsome young fellow?’
‘But it makes no difference how your hair is done; Signor Goldoni
always cuts a good figure.’
‘So you know me, Signora?’
‘Did I not see you four years ago in the land of the lawyers, in a
long wig and cloak?’
‘True; you are right, for I was then in the house of the
Procurator.’
‘Just so; in the house of Signor Indrie’ [Goldoni’s uncle].
‘So you know my uncle too?’
‘In this part of the world I know every one, from the Doge to the
last copyist of the Courts.’
‘Are you married?’
‘No.’
‘Are you a widow?’
‘No.’
‘Oh--I do not dare ask more!’
‘All the better.’
‘Have you any business?’
‘No.’
‘From your appearance I took you for a well-to-do person.’
‘I really am.’
‘Then you have investments?’
‘None at all.’
‘But you are very well fitted out; how do you manage to do it?’
‘I am a daughter of the Palace, and the Palace supports me.’
‘That is very strange! You say you are a daughter of the Palace?’
‘Yes, sir; my father had a position in it.’
‘What did he do?’
‘He listened at the doors and then went to take good news to those
who were expecting pardons, or verdicts, or favourable judgments;
he had capital legs and always got there first. As for my mother,
she was always here, as I am. She was not proud, she took her fee,
and undertook some commissions. I was born and brought up in these
gilded halls, and, as you see, I also have gold on me.’
‘Yours is a most singular story. Then you follow in your mother’s
footsteps?’
‘No, sir. I do something else.’
‘That is to say?’
‘I push lawsuits.’
‘Push lawsuits? I do not understand.’
I am as well known as Barabbas. It is very well understood that all
the lawyers and all the Procurators are my friends, and a number of
people apply to me to obtain advice for them and counsel for
defence. Those who come to me are generally not rich, and I look
about amongst the novices and the unemployed [lawyers] who want
nothing but work in order to make themselves known. Do you know,
sir, that though you see me as I am, I have made the fortunes of a
round dozen of the most famous lawyers in the profession. Come,
sir, courage, and if you are willing, I shall make yours too.’
It amused me to listen to her, and as my servant did not come, I
continued the conversation.
‘Well, Signorina, have you any good affairs on hand now?’
‘Yes, sir, I have several, indeed I have some excellent ones. I
have a widow who is suspected of having occultated her monkey;
another who wishes to prove a marriage contract got up after the
fact; I have girls who are petitioning for a dowry; I have women
who wish to bring suits for annulment of marriage; I have sons of
good families who are persecuted by their creditors; as you see,
you need only choose.’
‘My good woman,’ I said, ‘so far I have let you talk; now it is my
turn. I am young, I am about to begin my career, and I desire
occasions for showing myself and obtaining occupation; but no love
of work nor fancy for litigation could make me begin with the
disgraceful suits you offer me.’
‘Ha, ha!’ she laughed, ‘you despise my clients because I warned you
that there was nothing to earn; but listen! My two widows are
rich, you will be well paid, and shall be even paid in advance, if
you wish.’
I saw my servant coming in the distance; I rose and answered the
chattering woman in a fearless and resolute tone.
‘No, you do not know me, I am a man of honour....’
Then she took my hand and spoke gravely.
‘Well done! Continue always in the same mind.’
‘Ah!’ I exclaimed, ‘you change your tone now?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, ‘and the tone I take now is much better than
the one I have been using. Our conversation has been somewhat
mysterious; remember it and see that you speak to no one about it.
Good-bye, sir. Always be wise, be always honourable, and you will
be satisfied with the result.’
She went away, and I was left in the greatest astonishment. I did
not know what all this meant; but I learned later that she was a
spy and had come to sound me; yet I never knew, nor wished to know,
who sent her to me.
[Illustration: RIO DELLA SENSA]
XIII
THE LAST SBIRRI
It is worth while to glance at the agents of the police, of the Council
of Ten, and of the Inquisitors of State
[Sidenote: _Mutinelli, Lessico._]
at the end of the Republic. The two Councils had six in their service,
called the Fanti de’ Cai, the footmen of the Heads, and one of them was
at the beck and call of the Inquisitors. This particular one was the
famous Cristofolo de’ Cristofoli, whose name is connected alike with
all the tragedies and the comic adventures of the last days.
He was a sort of general inspector of freemasons, rope-dancers,
circus-riders, antiquaries, bravi, and gondoliers, and he exercised in
his manifold functions all the civility of which a detective can
dispose. He was a giant in body, a jester and a wit by nature, a
combination certainly intended for the stage rather than the police.
His especial bugbear was freemasonry, together with all the secret
societies which were then largely in the pay of France, employed by her
to promote general revolution. A manuscript preserved in the Museo
Correr gives an account of the first discovery of a Lodge.
A patrician named Girolamo Zulian, says this document, when returning
one night from a meeting of the Lodge left upon the seat of his gondola
a piece of paper on which were drawn certain incomprehensible signs. The
gondoliers found the paper, and supposed that the symbols were those of
some kind of witchcraft. One of the men took the scrap to a monk he knew
and begged him to decipher the signs, or at least to give his advice as
to what should be done with the thing, as it might be fatal even to
destroy a spell of black magic. The monk told the gondolier to take it
to the Inquisitors of State. The man did so, and one of them kept him in
a garret of his house, to protect him against any possible vengeance on
the part of the secret society, and Cristofolo de’ Cristofoli was
commissioned to clear up the mystery. On the following night he raided
the house indicated by the gondolier with thirty Sbirri, and found there
assembled a large meeting of the brethren, one of whom had the presence
of mind to throw into the canal the heavy register containing a complete
list of their names. Cristofoli took a quantity of papers, however,
together with the paraphernalia of the Lodge, and he afterwards, says
the manuscript, dictated from memory the names of the persons he had
seen at the meeting. But he must have made mistakes, since several of
the persons he designated are known to have been absent from Venice on
foreign missions at the date of the raid, May sixth, 1785.
Another manuscript, published by Dandolo, gives a different account of
the affair, under the same date. It was copied by the famous Cicogna,
and is amusing for its language:--
It was the anniversary of the feast of the principal Protector of
this most serene dominion, Saint Mark the Evangelist, April the
twenty-fifth, 1785, when it was discovered that the public Arsenal
of Venice had been treacherously set on fire; the fire was
eventually discovered by a certain woman, who was rewarded for life
[_i.e._ with a pension] by the public munificence; and by the
discovery of it, a fire was prevented which might have been fatal
to a large part of the city, and which was not to have broken out
till the night following the twenty-fifth, but which showed itself
after noon on account of an extraordinary wind which had
temporarily arisen from the east and which blew with fury all day.
Such an accident, as fatal as its prevention by the Evangelist
[Illustration: FONDAMENTE NUOVE]
Saint Mark was miraculous, not only moved the public vigilance to
guard that public edifice under more jealous custody, but also [to
watch] all the quarters of the city; to this end multiplying
watchmen and spies, in order to discover, if that
[Illustration: RIO S. STIN]
might be possible, the perpetrators of such an horrible and
terrifying felony.
In the inquiries, it was observed by trustworthy spies on the night
of the [date omitted in the original] May, that a certain palace
situated in Riomarin, in the parish of San Simon Grande, was
entered from time to time after midnight by respectable-looking
persons, for whom the door was opened at the simple signal of a
little tap. Information of this being given to the Supreme
Tribunal, the latter ordered the most circumspect inquiries; when,
on the same morning, information was given to the Secretary of the
said Supreme Magistracy by a certain ship’s carpenter that having,
on commission of N. N., finished making a large wardrobe, he
inquired of that cavalier where he was to bring it in order to set
it up properly; and that he had been told to bring it to a certain
palace in Riomarin and to leave it in the entrance (gateway) of the
same, and that he would be sent for later to place it where it was
to go; that seeing several days go by without receiving that
notice, and yielding to curiosity, he stole near in the night to
see if the wardrobe were still in the entrance of the palace, where
he had placed it, and he convinced himself that it had been taken
elsewhere; and being displeased with this, because some other
workman might have handled his work, and guessing from a hint of
the gentleman’s that the wardrobe had been intended to be placed
against the windows of a balcony, and observing in this palace a
balcony of just about the length of the wardrobe made by him, he
tried to get into the apartment above the one where the balcony was
[let to some one], explaining to the people who lived in that house
that his suspicion induced him to ask their permission to make a
hole with a gimlet, in order to see whether his wardrobe had been
put up where he guessed it must be; and that he had obtained
consent to this request, because the lodgers in that second
apartment had conceived some curiosity to know who the persons
might be who met there only at night time; that therefore he betook
himself to that dwelling on the night of the fourth of May, having
previously made a hole, and stopped there till the first-floor
apartment was opened, and he saw that after midnight a hall was
lighted up which was hung with mourning and furnished with a
throne covered with blue cloth and with other symbols of death, and
here and there were disposed small lanterns, and persons also
sitting here and there, dressed in black robes; so that at this
horrid sight he was terrified, and he heard him who sat on the
throne say these very words: ‘Brethren, let us suspend our meeting,
for we are watched’; and in that room he saw indeed his wardrobe
placed against a balcony.
And that he left the lodgers in that second apartment in
consternation, and he himself, full of amazement and terror, and
still surprised by the novelty of the things, and supposing, in his
simplicity, that witchcraft was practised there and the works of
the devil, he was scandalised, and went to the parish priest of San
Simon Grande, his confessor, and that having told him all he had
seen, heard, and observed, he (the priest) advised him to quickly
lay before the government all that he had chanced to see and hear.
The good man did so, and told all to the Secretary of the
Inquisitors of State. A warrant was therefore issued on that same
morning of the sixth of May by the Supreme Tribunal to its own
officer Cristofoli, to go thither (to Riomarin), accompanied by the
Capitan Grande and twenty-four men. Having entered that apartment,
where he surprised a nobleman who guarded the place, he
(Cristofoli) discovered a lodge of freemasons.
Emanuele Cicogna [the distinguished historian] copied this on the
twenty-fourth of August 1855, from two codices existing in his
collection.
On the following day, the Inquisitors publicly burned the black
garments, the utensils, the ‘conjuring books,’ as they are described,
and
[Sidenote: _Mutinelli, Ult._]
all the booty Cristofoli had confiscated, while the populace, believing
that it was all a case of witchcraft, danced round the fire and cheered
for Saint Mark.
The persons implicated were treated with the greatest indulgence, and
Malamani observes that in the whole affair it was the furniture that got
the worst of it.
About the same time Cristofoli made a vain attempt to arrest the
notorious Cagliostro.
This man, whose real name was Giuseppe Balsamo, was born in Palermo on
the eighth of June 1743. His youth was wild and disreputable. He tried
being a monk, but soon tired of it, and threw his frock to the nettles,
as the French say, in Caltagirone, in Sicily; after that he lived by
theft, by coining false money, and by every sort of imposture. In Rome
he married a girl of singular beauty, Lorenza Feliciani, who became his
tool in all his intrigues.
The French freemasons made use of the singularly intelligent couple to
propagate the doctrines of the revolution. Pretending to change hemp
into silk, and every metal into gold, and selling marvellous waters for
restoring the aged to youth and beauty, the two got into many excellent
houses, changing their names and their disguises whenever they were
compromised.
Balsamo arrived in Venice in 1787 or 1788, under the name of Count
Cagliostro, and began an active revolutionary campaign, to the great
annoyance
[Sidenote: _Mutinelli, Ult. 31._]
of the Inquisitors, who fancied they had suppressed the whole movement
when Cristofoli had discovered the famous Lodge. He was less fortunate
this time. He tracked the Count everywhere, but could get no substantial
evidence against him, till he suddenly came upon positive proof that the
impostor had stolen a thousand sequins from a rich merchant of the
Giudecca. And then, at the very moment when the great policeman was sure
of his game, the man disappeared as into thin air and was next heard of
beyond the Austrian frontier.
The chief of the Sbirri had better luck when he raided the Café
Ancilotto, which was a favourite place of meeting for the
revolutionaries. They
[Sidenote: _Tassini, under ‘Ancilotto.’_]
tried to open a reading-room there, furnished with all the latest
revolutionary literature, but Cristofoli got wind of the plan, called on
the man who kept the café, and informed him that the first person who
entered the ‘reading-room’ would be invited to pay a visit to the
Inquisitors of State. After that, no one showed any inclination to read
the French papers. In connection with Cristofoli, we also come upon the
curious fact that he arrested, at the Café
[Sidenote: _Tassini, under ‘Caffetero.’_]
of the Ponte dell’ Angelo, a number of Barnabotti, who were preaching
suspicious doctrines. As usual, the poor nobles were the class most
easily bribed and most ready to betray their country.
Cristofoli was occasionally entrusted with missions more diplomatic than
the arrest of revolutionaries. He was sometimes sent to present his
respects to great nobles who did not guess that they had attracted the
eyes of the police.
It was the business of the Inquisitors to watch over the artistic
treasures of the capital. During the last year of the Republic a number
of nobles sold precious
[Illustration: RIO DELLA GUERRA]
objects to strangers, such as paintings and statues, of which the
government much regretted the loss to the city. A few measures were
passed for preventing this dispersion of private collections, but it
happened only too often that priceless things were suddenly gone,
leaving no trace of their destination, except in the pockets of the
former owners.
The Grimani family possessed some magnificent statues and a wonderful
library of rare books, inherited from Cardinal Domenico Grimani, who
died in 1523. Shortly before the fall of
[Sidenote: _Statue of M. Agrippa; Museo Correr._]
the Republic a foreigner bought the statue of Marcus Agrippa; the boat
which was to take it on board an outward bound ship was at the door of
the palace, and the men who were to take it down from its pedestal and
box it were ready, when Cristofolo Cristofoli appeared at the entrance,
gigantic and playful.
He walked straight to the statue, took off his cap to it and bowed
gravely before he delivered his message to the marble: ‘The Supreme
Tribunal of the Inquisitors, having heard that you wish to leave this
city, sends me to wish a pleasant journey, both to you and his
Excellency Grimani.’
‘His Excellency Grimani’ did not relish the idea of exile; the workmen
disappeared, the boat was sent away, and the statue remained. It was
destined to be left as a gift to the city by another Grimani, less
avaricious than ‘His Excellency.’
In spite of his good-humour, Cristofoli inspired terror, and his mere
name was often
[Sidenote: _Molmenti, Studi e Ricerche._]
used to lend weight to practical jokes. It is related, for instance, of
the famous Montesquieu, the author of the _Esprit des Lois_ and the
friend of King Stanislaus Leczinski, that when he was making notes in
Venice his friend Lord Chesterfield managed to cause a mysterious
message to be conveyed to him, warning him to be on his guard, as the
Chief of the Ten employed spies to watch him, and Cristofoli was on his
track. And thereupon, says the story, the excellent Montesquieu burned
all his most compromising notes, and fled straight to Holland with the
remainder of his manuscripts.
The Council of Ten and their Sbirri had not yet done with the Bravi.
They were numerous in the provinces, and when they were caught they were
tried and hanged in Venice. The ‘Signorotti’--the rich landowners, who
were not Venetian nobles, but called themselves ‘knights’--were many and
prosperous, and were the professional murderers’ best clients. Indeed,
the Venetian mainland provinces and much of Lombardy presented a case of
arrested development; at the end of the eighteenth century they had not
emerged from the barbarism of the early fifteenth.