CHAPTER II

I

The Legends of the Middle Ages were the fruitful source of the Poetry of the Renascence. Greek mythology and Roman mysticism yielded place to the humanistic tenets of Platonism and the heroic narratives of Christianity. Every temple and church and every monument and monastery became the treasury of moral and religious stories. Traditions of the past were the foundation of the histories of the present and these superstructures the forecasts of the future.

Venice, by the reason of her unique environment, gathered all that was fairest, noblest and most moving of the life above and around her. The charms of allegory found in the people of the lagunes ready acceptance, and the halo of romance shed a brilliant light in the homes of every family.

“If to-day be another’s, to-morrow is yours,” was a sentiment deep down in the hearts and minds of every man, woman, and child. Venice was the apple of each eye; each individual cared for her before self-interest.

“La Campagna me consola, Me Venegia ze la sola Che me posa contenter O Venegia benedetta Nole vogio pia la sar!”—

So ran the popular barcarolle.

Each family had its own legends and its peculiar characteristics,—the very names were indicative of an eventful past—each had its symbol and its story.

The family of Ursoilo or the Orseoli, “Little Bears!” was one of the four great ruling families in the early days of the Venetian Republic. They originally came from Aquileia when the Huns devastated Veneto. Their arms were two dancing brown bears, shaggy and obese, upon a blue field. With the Badoeri, Candiani and Michieli they shared the unique distinction of supplying Doges for full two hundred years.

Pietro dal’ Orseolo (976–978) was the first representative of the family to mount the ducal Chair of State. He succeeded upon the assassination of Pietro Candiano IV., in which atrocious act he was reported to have a share, although probably, it was another Pietro, a namesake, who plotted against the Candiani.

The new Doge was an excellent man, “laudato di tutti” as it was said of him,—but hardly the sort of ruler needed in such turbulent times. His first work was to remedy the excesses of the popular outbreak, and next he set himself the task of rebuilding both the basilica and the palace. To him is due the unique Pala d’oro or Altar-front of beaten and embossed silver-gilt, made at Constantinople.

His spouse, of a gentle loving nature like his own, was Donna Felicia Malipiero, by whom he had two sons—Pietro and Domenigo. The Doge and Dogaressa were devoted to the exercises of religion and their modest home during the rebuilding of the Ducal palace was thronged by ecclesiastics, both regular and secular, native and foreign-born.

Everything which had to be done was laid before these clerical advisers—quite naturally exciting the resentment of the nobles of the Council. The Ducal mênage was very staid and meagre, and the merry maidens and modish matrons of the city had no countenance from devout Donna Felicia.

By degrees the Doge and Dogaressa altogether withdrew from State affairs: partly because they were weary of the importunities of Dowager Dogaressa Valdrada, whose dowry the Doge at length paid out of his privy purse, and partly because they had ceased to be in touch with the worldly occupations of their fellow-citizens. To pious works they addressed themselves, and first, in memory of Doge Pietro Tradonico, who, in 837, was murdered on the patronal festival of Saint Mark, they founded a hospital for poor pilgrims on their way to Palestine. The site chosen was a piece of waste ground (now included in the Piazza) belonging to the nuns of San Zaccaria. Whilst the Doge spent his leisure in devotions before the shrine, the Dogaressa visited the patients in the hospital and performed the most menial of offices.

After two years of dignity Doge Pietro Orseolo abdicated his high office, and, accompanied by the Abbot Guarino of the Monastery of Saint Michele de Cassano in Aquitaine—a priest, of whom he had made a personal confidant—he withdrew secretly to France, and died many years after in his lonely cell at Longuedére near Cassano.

A characteristic story is told of the cloistered Doge, who had placed himself under the guidance of the far-famed and ascetic Abbot Romoaldo, the founder of the strictest rule of the Camaldolites. Being unable to bear the austerity of his life, and suffering from hunger and the hardships of heavy manual labour, Brother Pietro Orseolo asked the holy man for some relaxation.

“Father,” said he, “I have a gross body and I cannot, for my many sins, support my strength upon the daily morsel of hard biscuit, grant me, I pray thee, a more generous fare.”

“My son,” replied Romoaldo, “thy body must be kept under, nevertheless I will allow thee one half biscuit more a day.”

Dogaressa Felicia survived her husband many years—cloistered in the convent of San Zaccaria. She was much comforted by the filial devotion of her two sons, to whom she was never tired of repeating their father’s pious advice:—“Take care to preserve the rights of the Church, and be drawn aside from doing justice neither by love nor hate.”

The fame of Pietro Orseolo’s renunciation and good works reached the ears of the Sovereign Pontiff, who authorised the necessary steps to be taken for his canonisation; and thus Saint Pietro Orseolo took his place among the many venerated saints of Venice. In the year 1732, his right arm was brought back from Cassano, and was deposited in San Marco among the holy relics.

In the Museo Civico, in Venice, is a quaint painting, quite Byzantine in style, by the Venetian painter Giovanni Santacroce of the Madonna and Bambino attended by a choir of cherubs. Upon either side of Saint Mary kneel Pietro and Felicia Orseolo. He is clad in an ermine cape over a monkish habit and upon his head he wears a plain horned bonnet. The Dogaressa is attired in the rochet of a nun and wears the close-fitting wimple of the cloister.

The ordinary dress for nobles and men of commanding talent and wealth consisted of long stuff tunics or cassocks with leather belts, full cloaks of silk lined with fur and fastened on the left shoulder, in the Greek fashion, by a plain gold brooch. Upon their heads they wore caps or bonnets of a Phrygian pattern with a band of interlaced coloured silk ribbons. Full beards and flowing locks were worn by all classes of the community until the middle of the tenth century, when the Roman mode of clean-shaven faces and short cropped hair became universal.

The gentlewomen of Venice had long trailing skirts of coloured stuff or silk,—blue most favoured,—the bodices were cut square and low exposing the breast. In winter they superimposed silken mantles, generally of light blue—much like their lords’ cloaks. A cincture with a jewelled clasp made of metal, beads, or amber kept the folds of the garment in position. The hair was well combed out, not plaited but worn loose beneath natty light blue caps of silk cord or chenille. Girls had tonde,—circular white veils,—in public and matrons black ninziolette—mantillas. Jewels were sparingly worn,—a single row of pearls round the throat, one ruby or red-stone ring, and a tortoiseshell comb. The richer ladies added chains of gold with cameo pendants of Greek origin.

Pietro Orseolo II. was the second “Grand” Doge of Venice. The son of pious, if misguided, parents who sought the good of others rather than their own, he learnt, at his mother’s knee, lessons of self-restraint and generosity. He was but seventeen years old when the abdication of his father left the Ducal office vacant.

Too young of course to succeed he was placed under able tutors who inculcated the duties appertaining to the rôle of a leader and ruler of men. The hereditary principle was constantly and repeatedly affirmed in Venice notwithstanding the universal fear of a personal rule. Given a wise father and a good mother, the child was bound to be a worthy citizen—so they held.

The dogado of Tribolo Memo (979–991) was disturbed by the feuds of the Morosini and Caloprini. The former supported by the Orseoli were in favour of a democratic alliance with the Empire of the East, whilst the latter, aided by the Candiani desired an aristocratic arrangement with the Emperor of the West.

The Doge was much too weak a man and far too feeble a ruler to deal effectively with the situation, they stigmatised him in Venice as “a stupid man!” Matters came to a head in 983 when, one day Domenigo Morosini was found stripped of his clothes and dead in a ditch near the Piazza of San Pietro di Castello. His followers accused Stefano Caloprini of being privy to the deed. He fled to the Court of the Emperor Otto and sought protection from the Imperial Court sitting at Verona, and he gained the ear of the gracious old Empress Adelheid, she who had befriended the imperious Valdrada.

A truce was effected and the two parties joined in the deposition of the Doge. As by convention bound he sought the repose of religion and Dogaressa Marina, the daughter of Pietro Candiano IV.—who had escaped almost miraculously with her mother Valdrada from the fire at the Ducal Palace,—assumed the nun’s veil in the convent of S. Trinita.

It was in the dogado of Memo that seven unmarried sisters—a prodigious number of spinsters as Venice society went—lived together in their own house opposite the Ponte della Maravigie just below the Palazzo Bembo. Six were plain and one was fair, the youngest—and their spinsterhood was regarded with suspicion. One day there chanced along the Rivo di San Trovaso a gondolier who had just gained laurels at the regatta. Something constrained the stalwart youth to linger by the iron-grilled window of the spinsters’ home, but strange sensations pervaded his whole anatomy so that he became weak and incapable of movement.

His companions chided him and threw the name of the least prepossessing of the sextet, Dulcina, in his teeth, and they said he was bewitched! No face was shown at the lattice, and no sound issued from the darkened room, still poor Giovanni was rooted to the spot. At last with a fierce effort he threw off the enchantment, if such it was, and determined to unfathom the mystery, and if the sisters were witches to out upon them! Good Friday came round and Giovanni sought once more the mysterious dwelling. It was broad daylight and climbing up the grille he peered into a room, and there beheld not Dulcina, but Marina, the pretty sister, upon her knees before a crucifix!

The athlete entered the room, and, as he did so, he beheld in the water of the canal the reflection of seven brilliant stars,—all paled, as he looked up, but one,—and that one flashed its beams upon the kneeling girl. She was astounded at his presence, and, when he straightly charged her with witchcraft, she weepingly replied:—“My art is not that of a witch, goodly youth, but of Cupid. I have prayed for thee, that Heaven would make thee strong and true. See, my star is shining o’er thy head—”

“And my arms,” exclaimed the enraptured Giovanni, “are around thy breast, witch or no witch thou hast gained me for thine own.” With that he held her tightly to his bosom, and, unresisted planted hot kisses upon her lips and with his finger removed her tears.

No doubt there was a wedding, and possibly the six plain bridesmaids were transformed into comely brides as well: but the story has no such ending. No,—alas,—brave Giovanni was stabbed in a night affray and beauteous Marina drowned herself in the canal! Sometimes they say, an eerie sound comes round the corner of the bridge—people call it “Marina’s Wail.”

Young Orseolo, now grown into man’s estate, was hailed as sole Doge of Venice. At once he showed his mettle by crushing party differences. Such feuds never assumed the terrible proportions which made Florence, Siena and other Tuscan towns the scenes of fraternal bloodshed times out of mind. The new ruler proclaimed a strong policy abroad, and set to work to equip a navy of armed vessels, wherewith to make the name of Venice feared in all seas.

The Dogaressa was Maria the only daughter of Vitale Candiano, brother of Pietro Candiano IV. Very diplomatic was this union, linking, as it did, the two most renowned families in Venice, and offering a safeguard to the ambitions of the rival Caloprini and Morosini. Seven children were the offspring of this marriage, and their baptisms and marriages the Doge tactfully made the occasions of adding to the honours of the family and to the renown of Venice.

Giovanni, the first born, was betrothed to the Princess Maria, daughter of the younger brother of the Emperors Basil and Constantine,—Prince Agroupoulos. The wedding was celebrated in Constantinople with great pomp, the bride’s dowry was rich and rare, and upon the groom was bestowed the rank and privilege of a Prince of Byzantium. The two were crowned, at their nuptials, with imperial diadems of gold. A Venetian navy escorted the bridal pair to the lagune city, where royal honours were rendered. It was an auspicious home-coming, and the pigeons, which had already made their home in the Piazza, flew round the young couple’s heads in emulation of the popular ovation.

They were a remarkably handsome couple: Giovanni possessed all the good looks for which his family was famed, and Princess Maria, according to old Giovanni Diacono,—the busy chronicler of Venice and the Venetians,—was “a lovely bride.” Her effigy, if not her portrait, is preserved upon the Ten of Spades in the suit of playing-cards preserved at the Museo Civico with the following legend:—

“Dogaressa Maria Orseolo, niece of two Emperors of the East, Basil and Constantine, wife of Giovanni Orseolo, son of the Doge of Venice, fair and compassionate, a goddess who is so beautiful can never be hard-hearted!”

Some historians say that the Princess Maria took after her aunt, the Empress Teofanea, wife of Otto II., Emperor of the West, who introduced into Germany the luxury and extravagance of her brother’s court at Constantinople. She was greatly admired for her beauty, her grace, and her erudition. German chroniclers speak of Teofanea’s “modesty and strong compassionate character,” and praise her as “a woman of unsullied virtue.”

Giovanni’s imperial consort probably prepared the way for a still more luxurious and attractive Greek Dogaressa, Teodora, the consort of Doge Domenigo Selvo. Alas, both Giovanni and Maria Orseolo, with their only child, died of the plague in 1006.

Doge Pietro Orseolo’s conduct of state affairs, in spite of the limitations placed upon the Ducal prerogatives by the jealousies of the nobles, was marked by a vigour quite new to the Venetians. His enthusiasm fired their imaginations for they saw that the favourable commercial treaties he contracted, both in the East and in the West, opened out new possibilities of aggrandisement and opulence.

The flag of Venice was unfurled in every foreign port and was accorded a respect shown to no other national emblem. Pirates of the Gulf alone braved the displeasure of the Lion of San Marco, and, to overawe them, a punitive expedition was despatched to the coast of Istria and Dalmatia,—the first actual fleet of battleships sent forth from Venice. The Doge took command in person and Bishop Gradenigo, in the church of San Pietro di Castello, delivered into his hand the great red oriflamme of the Patron Saint, which had been embroidered by the skilful hands of the Dogaressa and her ladies. Upon the finial of the pole she tied, with a great bow of blue silk ribbon, a floral wreath of sea-pinks and carnations.

The expedition was an unqualified success. Everywhere Venice triumphed, and, when Lesina, the pirate capital, capitulated, the climax was reached. The Doge forthwith annexed the whole littoral to the dominions of Venetia, assuming for himself and his successors the title of “Duke of Dalmatia and the Islands of the East.”

The conquered towns were laid under heavy contributions:—Pola in two thousand pounds’ worth of purest olive oil, and one thousand yards of fine spun linen, twenty sables and a bale of thinnest silver gauze, for the Dogaressa’s use. Thus Doge Pietro Orseolo laid the foundation of Venetian greatness abroad just as Doge Agnello Badoero had done at home, at Rivo-Alto a hundred and twenty years before.

The home-coming of the fleet was a magnificent triumph, the first of those splendid aquatic pageants which became so remarkable in the annals of Venice. Among those who hastened to welcome the Venetian Doge was the Emperor Otto III. who spent seven days as the guest of the Doge and Dogaressa.

Peace with honour having now placed laurel leaves around the heads of the Ducal pair they addressed themselves to the pleasant task of decorating the new basilica of San Marco and adorning the new ducal palace; but, alas, whilst superintending these undulatings, Doge Pietro Orseolo “fell ill of a fever” and died on the tenth anniversary of the fall of Lesina, at the early age of forty-nine. By his will he divided his property into three parts:—one third for the one observance of the “Festa delle Marie,” one third to the Church and certain monasteries, and one third for his widow and his children.

“Pietro Orseolo has come down to us as a good prince, beloved by his fellow-citizens and feared by the enemies and the rivals of Venice.” The Dogaressa Maria took, as it behoved her to do, the vow of chastity and became an inmate of the convent of the nuns of San Zaccaria. In the crypt of the monastic church was laid the body of her husband, “buried,” as chroniclers have related, “per la trista Citta e lachrimosa”; and she found a last resting-place by his side—“a good woman and a great Dogaressa.”

The Doge’s second son named Pietro,—but renamed Otto or Ottone, in honour of the visit of the Emperor of the West,—married Grimelda, sister of Geiso, King of Hungary, in 1003, and succeeded to the ducal Estate on the death of his father. Little is recorded of him save that he had been created by his father Count of Ragusa after the Venetian conquest of Dalmatia. He and his consort were not made of their parents’ grit, for, alas, when the rising family of Gradenigo preferred claims to the dogado, they fled to Constantinople, and there they died. Dandolo, the historian, says:—“The Dogaressa Grimelda was a woman of sweet disposition, of considerable attainments and of remarkable nobility of character.”

The third son of Pietro Orseolo II. and Maria was christened Orso and early dedicated to a monastic career. Domenigo, the youngest of the family married Imelda, granddaughter of Pietro Candiano III. and Richielda. The three daughters were, Icella married in 999 to Stefan, son of Surigno, Prince of Croatia; Imelda who died young and unmarried; and Felicia, Abbess of Sant’ Antonio di Torcello.

With the death of Pietro,—grandson of the “Great” Pietro, son of the fugitive Ottone, in 1038 ended the famous family of Orseolo. The “dancing bears” ceased their gambols but the blue sky of Venice still cast its effulgence upon the mirrored waters of the canals.

II

The long reign of Doge Domenigo Contarini (1043–1076)—the longest on record—was uneventful. It presented no special features—for Venice was at peace both at home and abroad. Family feuds were hushed, though doubtless the Morosini ill-brooked the elevation of a rival house.

Those were days of repose and plenty when it was boastfully said by her citizens:—“Venice wants for nothing!” Such seasons of rest are occasionally granted to States, when leisure is found to apply the lessons of the past and to prepare for the developments of the future.

Contarini was the premier of a triumvirate of Doges—the “Tribunal system”—as it was called,—being again enforced to limit personal autocracy. His co-Doges were Domenigo Selvo and Vitale Faliero—the former being especially the representative of the democratic section of the community.

Selvo belonged to an ancient family of Greek extraction. In the eighth century his ancestors the Dorsoduri, or, in the Venetian vernacular, Spinalunge, were exiled by the Emperor Emmanuel from Byzantium and settled at Aitino in Veneto. By the time, however, of Domenigo, all such antecedents were forgotten, and he was received cordially as the Ambassador of Venice by the Emperor Constantine Ducas. Upon the death of the venerated Doge in 1071, Domenigo Selvo was unanimously chosen by the Council and vociferously acclaimed by the citizens as his successor. The cry was raised upon the Piazzetta:—“Noi volemo Dose Domenigo Selvo, e lo laudiano!” and hoisted upon the shoulders of his friends he was borne in riotous procession to his coronation. Passing the open doors of the grand basilica he leaped out of the arms of his bearers, and, kneeling humbly upon the tesselated pavement, he devoutly implored the help of Heaven and the blessing of the Church.

The dogado of Selvo was perhaps less remarkable for the potentiality of the new Doge—strong man as he was no doubt—than for the personality of the haughty princess he brought to Venice to share the honours of the ducal State.

Dogaressa Teodora Ducas was the daughter of the Emperor Constantine and her betrothal to the Doge of Venice was brought about by her brother Michael, who in 1067 succeeded his father as Emperor of the East. She landed on the Lido first for Mass, and then at the Piazzetta, wearing the imperial diadem with which her brother had crowned her at the nuptials in Constantinople.

At the same time everybody noted that His Serenity the Doge’s bonnet of Estate was encircled by a richly wrought band of pure red Grecian gold, encrusted with precious stones! No Doge had ever worn such a conspicuous mark of royalty, and many a noble lord looked askance at the wearer—doubting in his mind whether it was intended as an emblem of sovereignty! Feelings of alarm filled the minds of the citizens and the welcome accorded to the ducal pair was cold and formal.

The new Dogaressa was accompanied by a very numerous retinue, such as no previous consort of the Chief Magistrate had presumed to gather round her. Secretly the Venetians liked well their Doges and their nobles to contract splendid foreign marriages, and no “Brides of Venice” were more thoroughly admired than the “donne Greche fonte di cortesia at amorevolezza!”

Teodora unfortunately did nothing to propitiate the insular prejudice of the men and women of Venice. Her autocratic bearing and her ill-disguised contempt for the “women of the Rialto” caused head-shakings and tongue-waggings in every circle of society. From the first she was as unpopular as her consort, the Doge, was beloved.

In the Ducal Palace the Dogaressa set up an Imperial Court and required the nobles and state officials to render the honours to which she had been accustomed at Constantinople. She had her ladies of honour, her chamberlains, her pages and her slaves. Superbly robed and glittering with precious ornaments, Teodora Selvo offered an amazing contrast to Elena—the homely consort of the first “Grand” Doge—Agnello Badoero!

Teodora was an Athenian of the Athenians, with all the predilections of a Sultana of the harem. Pomp and pettiness were strongly mingled in her character. The corruption of the Byzantine Court, in which she had been reared, had laid their indelible marks upon her: she shocked the susceptibilities of the simple, homely Venetians by her voluptuousness, her petulance, and her extravagance.

Still, there was something about the Dogaressa which attracted sympathy, for were not the people of Rialto and her linked-up islets, descendants of Greek colonists in Veneto, and did they not preserve many traits and idiosyncrasies of their ancestors! Then, too, many a sea-faring Venetian, conquered by the artifices of Cupid in the Orient, had brought home a Greek bride to be the mother of his children, so the ways of the Dogaressa were not altogether without appeal.

Teodora lived delicately: the plain fare and simple service of her consort’s establishment, which also obtained too in the casas of the nobles, were not to her liking. She introduced exquisite cooking—the Greek cuisine in place of the crude joints and inartistic concoctions of the Roman menu. Costly wines and liqueurs from Syria and the remote East supplanted the heavier beverages of the lagunes. Her table service was of pure gold and costly rock-crystal.

Unlike the primitive ways of the unsophisticated Venetians, who were content to convey their food to their mouths with their fingers or with ladles, and to share cup and plate, the Dogaressa introduced a Grecian fork—an entirely new instrument in Western Empire—which was of solid gold, two-pronged, and beautifully chased, with which she ate dainty morsels, neatly carved and arranged by the eunuchs of the table. Moreover, she made constant use of fingerglass and finger-napkin—things which were unknown in Venice. Great wax candles were lighted after dark, and stuck into costly sconces—in spite of the archaic regulations of the curfew.

Teodora Selvo rarely walked in the Piazza—the gondola was for her an ideal conveyance, it ministered to her love of ease and admirably served her secret flirtations. In public she always wore gloves, scented with aromatic herbs, and in this she set a fashion, which, no Venetian noble or simple of to-day, fails to observe.

Into the mysteries of the Dogaressa’s toilet we may also most fortunately be admitted, through the grace of those who kept her diaries. The air of her apartments was perfumed each day before she rose for her levée. Beautiful scent-scatterers of blown grass, and elegant pastille stands were carried up and down by her attendants. This little bit of extravagance we may all thoroughly endorse, for doubtless, in her day, the odours of the canals were as bad if not worse, than in our own!

The morning bath was administered with perfumed water, or white wine, and sometimes with freshly-gathered dew from the flower petals and green sward of her garden. If the Latins were especially careful as to washing their feet, the Greeks were equally particular about their heads: they found the douche healthful and invigorating. The more exquisite Athenians had a special perfume and wash for each portion of the body. It was said that simple-minded peasant Paris was directly influenced, in the bestowal of his golden apple, by the seductive odours exhaled by the massaged, painted, powdered, well-laved person of the fascinating Queen of Beauty!

No doubt Teodora carried with her into the Ducal Palace a full battery of toilet requisites and delicacies—for example: for her arms, sweetened mint, clearest oil of palms for her lips and breast, sweet marjoram mixed with the pomades for hair and eyebrows, and for knees and neck essence of ground-ivy—such was the custom of her people.

The Dogaressa’s clothing, if not quite “of fine gold” was of the richest damask and the fairest linen procurable; her marriage coffer was full of marvels. Everything she wore was heavily scented, so that wherever she went a delicious perfume was scattered around and about.

Probably Cleopatra was Teodora’s best-loved model, not indeed that she ever went so far as to dissolve pearls in sour wine or place biting vipers in her bosom! There is a very beautiful painting by a pupil of Paris Bordone—perhaps by the master himself—of a “Gentildonna Venetta” in the dress of the Eastern queen—may it not have been inspired by the story of the Dogaressa Teodora!

What a thousand pities it is that art was too crude in the eleventh century to permit of an actual portrait of the Venetian Queen of Fashion Teodora!

We know not whether she was fair or dark, tall or short, embonpoint or thin. The probabilities are that she was blonde, as most Greek beauties were, but any attractions her figure may have offered as a bride possibly were diminished when she became a matron. High living, sensuous conduct and idleness bring their punishment to most men and women, and Teodora Selvo was no exception to the rule.

Plain old Pietro Diacono,—that unmercifully exact chronicler of things Venetian,—speaks of Teodora’s “Tanta delicatezza.” He says:—“Her Serenity’s sinful voluptuousness and inordinate self-indulgence brought with them a judgment. About two years after her marriage with the Lord Selvo the Dogaressa was attacked by a putrid fever. The malady became at last so insufferably distasteful that the proud daughter of Constantine was an object in her latest moments of mingled compassion and abhorrence to all around her. She was left to die alone almost, the victim of outrageous splendour and outrageous uncleanness!”

The Dogaressa Teodora died in 1083.

As to the exact negotiation which ended in Domenigo Selvo leading home an imperial bride, we have no information. That he was astute enough to get the best of a bargain goes without saying, for, in common with the generality of Venetians he was able to weigh the promises of one favourable alliance against the presumed advantages of another.

Possessed of immense wealth and of the faculty of ever adding to it, fortuitously enough for him, the Imperial Government at Constantinople was at the period of Selvo’s embassy in dire need of funds. The Army was mutinous through the non-payment of the troops, the Navy was undermanned and unready for action, and the Exchequer was depleted.

Selvo, and those who saw what he saw, feared oppression from the Germans and the French, and when another power,—the Norsemen,—as mighty or mightier than Venice on the Seas pushed conquests along the Mediterranean shores, all eyes turned to their natural ally at Constantinople. An alliance was arranged, Venetian ships and men were placed at the service of the Imperial Government, and the hand of the Emperor’s sister was thrown into the bargain.

The Doge took command in person of the fleet which gave battle to the bold Norsemen under Roberto Guiscardo at Durazzo and vanquished them, but, alas, he was defeated later on at Corfu. Nevertheless, Selvo showed splendidly the grit that was in him and wore the laurels he gained triumphantly.

One other enterprise—a peaceful one also endeared him to his fellow-citizens—his love for the Ducal Palace and for San Marco. With rare munificence he embellished both edifices with rare marbles and mosaics which he had collected in the Orient, and dowered both edifices with revenues.

The manner of his death is not recorded, some say he abdicated, soon after the arrival of the Dogaressa, in favour of his son, Michele, and ended his days in a monastery. Anyhow he survived his unhappy wife but a short twelve months and left the direction of State affairs to the care of his former coadjutor Vitale Faliero who in 1085 assumed the proud title of Doge of Venice, Croatia, and Dalmatia.

Teodora Selvo was not forgotten by the Venetians. She had, in all her recklessness of life, been a splendid figure-head for the State, no less than a generous patroness of the industries of her adopted city. Much of the extravagance which marked the manners of the nobles, at the end of the eleventh century, was due to her example.

One very excellent fashion survived her—and still survives—the love of perfumes. The botteghe of the apothecaries and perfumers in the Merceria were made, by the Dogaressa’s example, the fashionable daily rendezvous of the best people in Venice and so they have remained. None to-day are so fond of scent and cosmétiques as the Venetians of all classes. Still in Chioggia, and other outlying portions of the lagunes, women of every station, are remarkable for the painting of the face, the dyeing of the hair, and other gentle artifices.

The Tuscan motto:—“L’Uomo fa le legge—la donna i costumi”—was true of Venice what time the fascinating Dogaressa Teodora set the fashions in the Piazza.

III

The last of the four chief or “Apostolic” ruling families of Venice to gain the dogado was that of the Michieli. The designation “Apostolic” was assigned to each of the twelve foremost families in the roll of nobility—the families of the twelve Tribunes who joined in the election of the first Doge Paolo Lucio Anafesto. Their names were enrolled in 709 at Eraclea:—Badoeri (Orseoli), Candiani, Contarini, Morosini, Gradenighi, Memi, Falieri, Michieli, Dandoli, Poli, Barozzi, and Tiepoli.

The very name “Michielo” indicates their origin—descendants of Greek colonists in Veneto. They were among the fugitives from Altino, who fled to the lagunes on the approach of the Longobards, and settled on the lido of Torcello.

The first Michielo to be elected Doge was Vitale, in 1096, in succession to Vitale Faliero, under whom the new Republic shattered the last shreds of vassalage to the Byzantine Empire. Vitale Faliero’s consort was Cornella Bembo, who presented her spouse with a daughter to whom he gave the name of Enrica, after her sponsor, the Emperor Enrico, thus confirming the new alliance with the Germanic powers.

The Bembi came from Eraclea and were reckoned one of the four noble families of the second grade, who, in 800, signed the roll of nobility in the church of San Giorgio Maggiore. They, with the Giustiniani, Cornari and Bragadini, were styled “Evangelistic.”

Vitale Michielo married Donna Felicia Cornaro,—“gracious in speech, modest in bearing, the goodness of her soul shone out in the sweetness of her countenance,”—so is she spoken of by the chronicler. Perhaps too Sansovino’s estimate of the women of the Michielo period may be most strictly applied to the Dogaressa Felicia:—“Having made it their aim to be peaceful and religious, they kept on an equality with one another, that equality might induce stability and concord. They made their dress a matter of conscience, conformable to their seriousness of demeanour—concealing the figure.” This was undoubtedly a reaction from the dazzling personality of Dogaressa Teodora and the fascinating frivolities of her regime.

Tales of the sufferings endured by Christian pilgrims in Palestine reached Venice what time the virtuous Dogaressa Felicia influenced the counsels of her husband for good. At first they attracted little sympathy, for the Venetians were too much absorbed with their own domestic development and with the condition of their home politics, to take much heed to foreign affairs.

To the Dogaressa directly was due the initiations of efforts on behalf of the poor Syrians and the strangers within their gates. She persuaded the Doge to convene a meeting of the heads of families in support of the Crusade so eloquently preached by Peter the Hermit, and other holy men. By way of raising funds to assist in the sacred enterprise Dogaressa Felicia set an example of self-denial and liberality, by giving up her splendid jewels and dresses for sale; she also greatly restricted her personal pleasures and the hospitalities of the Ducal Palace.

This noble conduct, which was provocative of the best results, was recorded upon her tomb in the portico of San Marco. The lengthy inscription states that “Felicia Vitalis lived and died in the fear and love of God; she hated luxury and was an example for all good women.”

So great was her influence that in 1099 two hundred ships assembled at the Lido, each of which carried at her helm the hallowed ensign she presented to their commanders. Sailors, troops and equipment from every European state were poured into Venice, and her fleet conveyed them safely to Syrian ports.

The Doge and Dogaressa spared not their own family, for their first-born, Giovanni, a mere youth, sailed with the leader of the Venetian contingent, Arrigo Contarini, Bishop of Castello. Mothers of Venetian lads hastened to follow the good Dogaressa’s example, and parted tearfully but prayerfully with their dearest and their best.

After the departure of the Crusaders the Dogaressa busied herself in the foundation of hospitals and homes of rest for pilgrims on their way to the Holy Sepulchre. Preparations too were made for the care of the wounded, the ailing and the sad on their return from service under the Cross. Women’s work is never so noble as when it links the care of suffering humanity to the cause of faith and hope. Dogaressa Felicia was messenger of pity and angel of love to all around her.

The Crusade met with vicissitudes of course, but at length, their aim attained, the saintly Crusaders returned to Venice, bearing with them the body of Saint Nicholas of Myra or Morea. Well may we imagine the rejoicings of the mothers and sweethearts of Venice when they descried the coloured sails of the home-coming vessels making for the Lido! The battle-songs and hymns of the Christian warriors were wafted over the gently rippling blue water, and they found an ecstatic response in the sweet voices of women and children gathered all along the sandy beach.

The holy relics were landed ceremoniously at the Lido, and, with pomp and circumstance escorted to the church of San Niccolo: they were the undeniable tokens of fervent and successful devotion in the service of Christ’s cross and sepulchre. Women almost forgot the sadness of bereavement,—for many homes were desolate,—in their joy and gladness at the accomplishment of the holy enterprise.

One other notable event in the dogado of Vitale Michielo I. was the appeal of the great Countess Matilda of Tuscany to the Dogaressa Felicia to use her influence with the Venetians,—who were devoted to her,—for the recovery of Ferrara which had revolted. She recognised that the noble spouse of the Doge of Venice possessed all the attributes of religion, justice, and benevolence. The plea was not in vain, and ships and seamen of Venice regained for the Countess the rebel city.

Doge Vitale Michielo died in 1102, and Dogaressa Felicia in 1111. They were both buried at San Zaccaria.

The most famous of the Michieli Doges was Domenigo (1117–1130) grandson of Vitale I. His immediate predecessor was Ordelafo Faliero whose dogado was memorable by reason of its terrors—earthquakes, floods, fires and pestilence! Dogaressa Matelda, cousin, or as some say, sister of Baldwin, King of Jerusalem, headed the crowd of panic-stricken women who thronged the churches to supplicate Heaven for pity and forgiveness. She tried to dissuade her husband from personally leading the naval demonstration, which Venice made against the Greeks, saying that:—“The place of the Doge, as the father of his people, is in their midst during tribulation.” Dandolo speaks of her as a “miracle of probity,” and says, “Her fame was widely spread about as a model of what a good wife should be.” Nevertheless Doge Faliero went on board his war-galley and met under the walls of Zara a hero’s death.

Sad was Dogaressa Matelda as she met the returning warships, and broken-hearted as she took possession of her beloved husband’s body. Slightly comforted was she however, when his lieutenant placed in her hands holy reliquaries, wherein reposed a splinter of the True Cross, and relics of St James the Less, and of Saint Plato the Confessor of Constantinople. She assisted in the solemn procession which accompanied these holy treasures to their last resting-place in San Giorgio Maggiore. Then she quietly retired, as a good example, to her contemplative cell at San Zaccaria.

Another story relates that Doge Faliero was only wounded at Zara, and, having accomplished his mission and administered punishment to the Greek pirates of the Gulf, he sailed on to Constantinople, and there secured the venerable relics and with them returned to Venice. With the Dogaressa he shared the honours of the translation of the precious prizes he had obtained, and helped to bear on his shoulder the body of Saint Stephen to its last resting-place in the chapel of San Giorgio Maggiore; then he and she renounced their high station and humbly dedicated the residue of their lives to the peace of the cloister.

Domenigo Michielo was cast in a sterner mould. Pious, no doubt as most Venetians were, and imbued with a spirit of reverence as a devoted son of the Church, he has come down to us with the title “Cattolico Uomo e Audace!”

The desire that the people of Venice expressed for the possession of relics of the Saints became almost an infatuation. It was the popular belief that the terrors of Heaven and the disasters of earth could best be met by the deposition of the bodies of martyrs on Venetian ground. Hence Doge Domenigo acquired the body of Saint Isidoro from the island of Sio, and that of Saint Donato Bishop of Eurœa from Cephalonia, and with the latter the bones of the dragon, which beast he slew!

These were some of the spoils of the Second Crusade wherein Venice took an active and noble part, and from which she obtained great political results and immense booty. Very acrimonious were the debates and consultations on the part of the Crusader chiefs and keen their rivalries for saintly distinctions and profit. Each of them had an eye to personal advancement and shirked the hardships of the campaign. Domenigo reproved them sternly:—“Those,” he said, “who share the glory of our enterprise must be prepared to share its trials.”

The fleet of Venice not only aided greatly the pilgrims and the forces despatched from all lands to Palestine, but, turning homewards, ravaged the Grecian Archipelago. The name of Venice was renowned as that of—“The Greatest Sea Power of Europe,” and Doge Michielo was hailed as—the epitaph upon his tomb in San Giorgio Maggiore—“The Terror of the Greeks and the Glory of Venice.”

In his train he brought to Venice many distinguished captives, among them the Lady Sofia—a beautiful Eastern houri, who was carried off by Domenigo Morosini, by him raised to the Ducal seat, and, at last, buried with him in the church of Santa Croce.

Years of peace and prosperity followed, such as Venice had rarely experienced. She was coming to be looked upon as the nursery of the Fine Arts and the boudoir of the Graces, as well as Patroness of the Crafts and the “Mistress of the Seas.”

The frequent and often protracted absences of the Doge in command of fleets, from time to time despatched to punish pirates and marauders and maintain the prestige of the flag of Venice in foreign waters, by no means diminished the importance and privileges of the Dogaressa.

As the First Lady of the Commonwealth she had many responsibilities which were greatly enlarged when her Consort was not in residence. If she had no position with respect to the Council of State and had nothing whatever to do with politics, there were numerous duties which devolved upon her. The patronage and direction of charities of all kinds—whether eleemosynary or educational, the maintenance of the Ducal hospitalities, the reception of ambassadors, the claims of family, and the encouragement of arts and crafts gave her Serenity much to devise and do.

As Consort of a militant Head of the State she was expected to exhibit all the virtues of a virago, and to introduce virility into all the feminine avocations of the day. If indeed her powers for usefulness were limited by restrictions she easily cast aside many of the conventions of her position. Such was the rôle in particular of the Donna Alicia, the able wife of Doge Domenigo Michielo. She lived up to the reputation of her husband, sharing his anxieties, his ambitions and his success.

When stricken by the labours and responsibilities of his office he sought relief in abdication and seclusion in the monastery, Dogaressa Alicia, however, asserted herself, and, instead of retiring to a convent, as she was expected to do, she determined that neither the prayers and meditations of the cloister, nor the self-effacement and bigotry of a recluse should enslave her energies.

The Societa de’ Pinzocchere—“Bigots!”—to which many of the noble widows of Venice belonged, had no attraction for Donna Alicia. To be merely a hired mourner at State funerals was no life for her. She had her children to put out into the world and, in particular, she had her sons to prepare for high places under Government. Whilst, by necessity she had to yield the pre-eminence to the actual Dogaressa, her successor, she remained a free agent and a very useful and dependable confidante for men and women who had shared the toils and the rewards of her husband’s dogado. In due time Dogaressa Alicia’s prescience had its reward. Her son Vitale Michielo II.—the child of his mother’s solicitude, was elected Doge in 1156.

By his high tone and probity he raised the position of Doge to its highest level and reigned almost as a Sovereign Prince. His two sons he married well—Leonardo, created Count of Osero, to Alecia daughter of the King of Servia, and Niccolo, Count of Arbe, to Maria niece of Stefano, King of Hungary. To him was due the admission annually of forty young nobles to the rank of “Barbarini” among the members of the Grand Council; and the first silver coinage of Venice, together with the foundation of the first public Bank.

Alas Doge Vitale, who espoused the cause of the Papacy against the Emperor Frederic Barbarossa, came to an untimely end. Seeking sanctuary one day from a crowd of ruffians,—many of alien origin,—who demanded largesse he knocked at the gate of the convent of San Zaccaria. Before the porter could open to him the ill-conditioned wretches were upon him and offering personal violence if their claims were not satisfied. The Doge turned to address the men, and as he did so, one, Casiolo, a discharged gondolier lately in the Ducal service, struck him with his stiletto. This was the signal for a brutal assault, and before succour could arrive Vitale Michielo’s body was hacked to pieces in the street!

Dogaressa Felicita Maria, daughter of Boemodo Prince of Antioch, it was said was at the time paying a visit to the nuns: so dumbfounded was she at the tragedy that nothing could shake her resolution never to leave the convent,—and there she remained and died. She and her sons were great benefactors to Venice. They greatly enriched the patrimony of San Zaccaria, and endowed the monastery and built the church of San Giovanni Evangelista.

A very pathetic and romantic episode in the history of the family of Doge Vitale II. and Dogaressa Felicita Maria Michielo was the marriage of their daughter Anna. Inspired by the holy example and goodly precepts of her mother Anna Michielo had taken the vows of an enclosed nun at the convent of Sant’ Adriana d’Amiano, where she meditated deeply upon the trials of the Christians in Syria, and prayed for the weal of sons of Venice gone forth to the Holy War.

In the disastrous expedition in 1170 against the Emperor Emmanuel Commeno all the young men of the Venetian family of Giustiniani were slain—save one. Niccolo Giustiniani was a monk in the Benedictine monastery of San Niccolo di Lido, where he had been professed when Anna Michielo renounced her love for him to become, by fervent self-denial, a Bride of Christ.

The extinction of a noble family in those days was a thing of rare occurrence: the State usually stepped in to prevent such a catastrophe. This was the course adopted with respect to the Giustiniani. Niccolo at San Niccolo and Anna at Sant’ Adriana were summoned from their cells, and, with the express permission of Pope Alexander III., were joined together, vows or no vows, in the holy estate of matrimony.

Never was there a happier conjunction of kindred souls, and never so auspicious a resuscitation of a family-tree. Anna Giustiniani gave to her husband—her true and only love—twelve pledges of marital affection. Nine of them were sons. So worthy Anna was in truth and deed the “Mother of the Giustiniani!”

All twelve olive-branches reached maturity and then, Niccolo and Anna, freed from family cares, agreed to separate once more and, as the highest act of self-denial, to renew the sacred vow of chastity, and again entered upon the seclusion and the silence of the cell. With holy Anna went her three young daughters Martha, Margherita and Bartoletta. The two former returned to the world upon their marriage, but Bartoletta followed her mother’s example and became a nun. Soon after, and during saintly Anna’s life, the nuns were removed from the island convent of Sant’ Adriana to Venice proper, and took possession of their new home at Santa Caterina, of which Bartoletta was named first Abbess.

Anna died in the odour of sanctity, and she is still remembered by devout Venetian women in prayer and example as “Beata Anna Giustiniani.”

It was in the days of Doge Vitale Michielo II. that three brothers came to Venice from Morea, and settled themselves and their goods in a small casa on the Fondaco de’ Mastelli. Rioba, Sando, and Africo were their names, but because of their origin they were popularly called Mori, and their arms displayed a Moor leading a laden camel—the most stupid of beasts. They soon acquired wealth and set about rebuilding their humble residence. At the corner of the new palace, on the Campo de’ Mori, they stuck up three sculptured figures of themselves under the guise of Saints Mark, Theodore, and John Baptist. They were very highly coloured and soon became laughing-stocks to passers-by.

Two of the figures disappeared mysteriously, and the Baptist alone remained, but his name was changed to “Sior Antonio Rioba Pantaleone.” It became a custom for jocular Venetians to send unsophisticated youths and over-trustful strangers with messages to the “Sior,” much as we were wont to treat our friends on “April-Fool Day!” At a later date “Sior Rioba’s” mouth became the receptacle for denunciations of enemies—so fitful are the customs of people!

IV

The splendid dogado of Sebastiano Ziani (1172–1178) was remarkable for one event, at least, of romantic and historic interest—the first “Espousals of Venice and the Sea.”

In March 1177 Pope Alexander III. arrived at the Lido after weary stately wanderings through Europe. He was received with joy and honour by all classes of the community: they were fervent Catholics and cared little about questions and parties for or against Papacy which moved other States. Residing pompously at the Palace of the Patriarch of Grado, his Holiness entered fully into the ecclesiastical and political affairs of the city.

Doge Ziani was absent in command of the Venetian fleet, and in May news reached Venice that he had gained a decisive victory at Salboro over the Emperor Frederic Barbarossa, and that his son and heir, Prince Otto, was a prisoner of war. The whole city turned out to welcome the victors, with their rich booty and many captives. Upon the beach of Lido stood the Pontiff—the centre of a notable group of dignitaries in full robes of state. Alexander was the first to congratulate the victorious Doge, and at the same time he publicly blessed the brave seamen and their leaders. Raising the kneeling Doge to his feet the Pope embraced him, and, taking off one of his own signet rings, he placed it upon Ziani’s thumb.

“Take this, my son,” he said, “as a token of the true and perpetual dominion of the sea, which thou and thy successors shall wed every year upon this auspicious festival of the Ascension, that all men may know that the sea belongs to Venice, and that she is indissolubly joined thereto as a bride to her husband.”

Then the whole company adjourned to the venerable church of San Niccolo where “Te Deum” was sung pontifically. By gondola, and barca, and in flat-keeled galley, a water pageant made its way to the Piazzetta, and the rest of the day was spent in general merry-making.

The annual commemoration was made the occasion of universal rejoicing and pageantry. The Doge and the most distinguished members of the Council and the foreign ambassadors to Venice took their places on board a wonderful vessel “Bucintoro,” it was called, and in stately procession went off to the Lido. We must not suppose that only statesmen and seamen took part in the pageant, for, obviously, it was an occasion for the display of the personal charms and elegant fashions of the gentildonne. For the use of the Dogaressa and her ladies a splendid galley was built, shaped like a Grecian temple, and tethered to a pair of wooden sea-monsters, wherein the forty rowers were seated.

Arrived at the historic spot the Doge and Dogaressa, with their ecclesiastical and official attendants, embarked in a gaily decorated boat and set out to sea. Thence the Doge cast a superb ring into the deep—a ring of gold, enriched with onyx, lapis-lazuli, and malachite, engraved with the sign of St Mark holding a book of the Gospel. “Sponsamus te mare nostrum in signum veri et perpetui dominii,” were the words he uttered solemnly, whilst the clergy from golden vases sprinkled holy water upon the company and upon the smiling rippling sea. The Dogaressa and the ladies of her suite cast into the clear water the lovely nosegays they had brought with them—roses, carnations, and lilies.

Returning to Venice, after devotions in San Niccolo, the Doge gave a magnificent banquet in the palace to the notables of the city, and then all the lovely girls and the comely youths of every class were entertained at a vast ball, which overflowed the Piazza, and found relief only in the most distant calli. By old prescription the workmen of the Arsenal were entertained at supper by the Doge and Dogaressa. Each man had the privilege of keeping his knife and spoon, his glass and his napkin, and he received besides a silver medal—bearing the effigies of the Most Serene couple, a case of useful medicines, a beautiful box of comfits, and a flask of Greek Muscat wine.

In later times the “Marriage of the Sea” was made a second carnival—lasting fifteen days, during which a great fair was held in the Piazza with fireworks such as Venetians only knew how to make, each evening at the Lido.

From Doge Ziani’s day came the annual athletic festival on the Lido. Lads turned fifteen, and young men up to thirty, after careful training in their various sestieri or city wards, went off to the butts and tracks set up upon the beach to contest for prizes in shooting, wrestling, boxing, running, and other sports. The competitors were arranged in twelve groups called, “Duodene” and every one was expected to be a proficient bowman. Merchant ships always carried a certain number of such expert young bowmen. All “catches” were permissible—indeed kicking, wringing the neck, and all the features,—brutal as they were,—of the Olympian grievous boxing were not disallowed. Bamboos as well as fists were used! All classes of the male folk of the islands were eligible to compete in every contest and upon equal terms. Matrons and maids thronged to watch and encourage sons and sweethearts, each fair one scrupulously careful about her dress and veil. Many a Venetian “Venus du Milo” doubtless longed to try herself against her companions, but such maiden contests were inadmissible by the State laws.

Incidentally these sports, which revived the athletic contests inaugurated by the Dogaressa Teodora Selvo, gave rise to rivalries between the inhabitants of the eastern and western halves of the City, which were ultimately resolved into two opposing parties—the “Castellani” and the “Nicolotti.” A neutral zone was ultimately marked out, whereupon stood the church of San Trovaso. The sacred building had doors opening west and east so that adherents of both parties might attend the Divine Offices without encountering one another. Difficulties however soon arose through the wantonness of women: maidens of one party were constantly falling in love with men of the other, and then trouble ensued!

The Emperor Frederic Barbarossa himself came to Venice in July 1177—reconciling himself to the power of the world in the person of Doge Sebastiano Ziani, and to the power of the Church in the person of Pope Alexander III. He was sumptuously entertained by the Doge and Dogaressa. Conquerors and conquered joined together in scenes of gaiety and splendour. The Doge appeared in regal guise, accompanied by the new insignia of office, bestowed by the Sovereign Pontiff,—a folding Chair of State, a Royal Cushion, a golden Sword of State, a great painted lighted candle, and four silver trumpets. The Dogaressa wore a jewelled diadem around her Ducal horned cap, the gift of the Pope, and a cape or mantle of gold brocade, bearing the Imperial cognisance placed around her shoulders by the Emperor.

Happily Sebastiano Ziani was a wealthy man and so was able to maintain the Ducal dignity without reproach. He was born in 1102—the son of Marino Ziani of Santa Giustina in Castello, a noble of ambassadorial rank. A curious legend was treasured in the family: an ancestor at Altino, discovered among the ruins of the Temple of Juno, a cow moulded in solid gold! This was the foundation of the vast riches of the family,—the wealthiest by far of all in Venice, and known by the sobriquet “Famiglia della Vacca d’oro.” “L’haver de Ziani!” became a proverb—synonymous of the possession of great wealth.

Sebastiano lavished munificence unstintingly in Venice—new bridges, new facades to buildings, new churches, were witnesses to his benevolence, and dying, in 1175, he left the bulk of his fortune for the decoration of San Marco. He abdicated in 1170 and entered the monastery of San Giorgio Maggiore. No historian has preserved the date of Dogaressa Cecilia’s death,—probably she too found a refuge in the ducal convent of San Zaccaria.

It may be interesting to note the prices current during the dogado of Sebastiano Zani for certain commodities of everyday life. The following is a brief table of the Autumn sales in 1173:—

Wine (except Greek) 21 soldi per libbra (pound) Beef—a fair average quality 21 „ „ „ Oil „ „ „ 25 lire „ 1000 libbre Corn „ „ „ 16–17 soldi per staio (bushel) Eggs 25 soldi per 400 Fish, sturgeon, trout, and ray 3½ „ „ libbra „ tench and pike 3 „ „ „ „ gudgeon, red-mullet and gunard 2½ „ „ „

These prices were quoted on the Ponte di Rialto and at the retail markets on the fundamenti: they were controlled by the Corte della Giustizia which Doge Ziani empanelled.

Games of chance and gambling were always restricted in old Venice, but in 1175 Niccolo Barattieri, as a reward—onesta grazia,—in the words of the Doge,—for having succeeded when many others had failed, in lifting and placing the two great pillars of Samos granite at the end of the Piazzetta, claimed the privilege of opening a gaming saloon or tent, between the columns. The promise could not be gainsaid—“whatever the successful engineer likes to ask”—but to prevent so far as possible the success of the undertaking it was ordained that all public executions should be carried out on the spot. Between the two pillars a raised flat stone was placed, and upon it “are laid, and hath ever been, for the space of three days and three nights, the heads of all such as are enemies or traitors to the State, or some notorious offender.”

In all the gorgeous pageantry of Venetian Story, perhaps, no scene is more striking and more affecting than that which was enacted upon the Feast of the Nativity of Christ in 1202, within the storied walls of the most wonderful of all the basilicas of Christendom—San Marco.

In due order within the noble choir were gathered together representatives of the seventy-and-two churches, and more than seventy-and-two monasteries of the islands. Before the great screen stood Christian knights from every European state—clothed in complete armour and bearing upon their hearts the red cross of pilgrimage. The great white oriflamme of the Crusade, charged with the red cross of the Captain of Salvation, was held unfurled by Lord Boniface, Marquis of Montferrat, commander of the French contingent. It had been wreathed by ladies of the Doge’s household with white lilies of the Annunciation and red carnations of the Crucifixion. Around the great pulpit was assembled all that was fair and virtuous and all that was frail and voluptuous in Venice. The women’s great black veils, and the girls’ veils of purest white linen, modestly gathered in around their full open bosoms, revealed beauteous classical features and abundant golden tresses.

All were fired with ecstatic devotion as, kneeling humbly upon the stone pavement, they uttered with deep emotion their “Aves” and their “Paternosters.” Like the chromatic ripples of a summer sea re-echoed the orisons aloft upon the resonant mosaics of the lofty roof, and the devout dropping of innumerable rosary-beads resembled the rolling of beach pebbles by the beating waves. The women of Venice were gathered together to encourage their men folk to be true and brave for Christ and home!

The age and youth of Venice alike mustered there no less wrapt in devotion than their wives and sweethearts; each man’s berretta is in his hand, his right grasps his sword-hilt, and his knees are bent in self-dedication. The stripling kneels alongside his sire, and he again supports a more venerable man,—the grandsire, for the Crusaders knew no age limit.

A wide avenue down the centre of the great church is left for the progress of the magistrates, and furtively are eyes turned to the great open portal as the solemn procession comes into view. Their Excellencies pass to their places, and, last of all, wearing his full Ducal State, marches, with the stalwart step Arrigo Dandolo—the Doge. Lightly, as upon few, sit his ninety-and-four years, his lameness is hardly noticeable, his back is no longer bent, and his eyes are keen: his Serenity bears the marks of a hero approaching the zenith of his career. All eyes are riveted upon the “Grand Old Man of Venice.”

Dandolo makes his obeisance to the Sacred Host,—exposed above the famous Pala d’oro, but, to the universal wonderment, he ascends not his Ducal seat beside the altar, but mounts the stairway of the pulpit. With hand raised aloft, and voice piercing and full of purpose, he cries out:—“Sirs, we are here assembled to engage in the highest of all human enterprises, Christ calls Venice to fight for His sepulchre profaned by the hated Turk. I that speak in His Name, am old and feeble in appearance, but my heart is that of the Lion of Saint Mark. If you bid me, I am ready to lead you right on to Jerusalem. I will take up my cross now, and set forth to conquer and to die!”

An intense sensation runs through the immense concourse, and every man’s sword is raised on high, as the white-headed leader kneels humbly before the Patriarch, who places the red cross upon his jewelled horned cap. Women’s sobs mingle in the “Te Deum” chanted by the clergy and choristers, and every bell in every campanile clangs, if not in harmony still in full-toned sympathy.

Not a man hesitates longer, if Venice has been lukewarm in the matter of the Crusades, she shall be so no more. The women and the girls emulously pin the Crusaders’ badges upon the breasts of fathers, brothers, husbands, sons, and sweethearts, and lead them ungrudgingly to the water-side, where boats are waiting to carry the warriors on board the galleys—three hundred of them. The fleet sailed that evening. In the van were three giant vessels—“Pelegrina,” “Paradiso” and “Aquila”—upon the latter Doge Dandolo embarked—holding in his hand the gorgeous crimson banner of San Marco.

“Veni Creator” resounded from church to church, fundamento to fundamento, ship to ship, as the fleet sailed out of sight, and then upon every riva and in every calle were girls and women weeping and disconsolate—theirs was the true sacrifice, for had they not dedicated all that was dearest to them to the service of their Lord! The bride of a day lay clasped in the arms of her who had kept her jubilee, and little children left their games crying bitterly for fathers and for brothers they would never see again.

Venice was a city of the dead, no one was there to sing and dance: women had to turn their hands to manly avocations,—none repined, and their devotions were redoubled. From noble church, before humble shrine, and out of simple homes arose passionate appeals. All the nine patron saints of Venice were invoked, along with Christ’s gracious Mother. They knew that their suppliant cries would be as efficacious for the rescue of the Holy Places as the deeds of daring of their men.

The Crusade was a glorious success: wreaths of fame crowned the brow of Christian warriors and the women of Venice wove garlands of sweetest flowers to wind lovingly around their necks. The heroes came not however straight home to Venice but went aside to punish the hateful Turk in his capital. Doge Dandolo led the attack, but alas, with the fall of Constantinople fell many of the bravest Venetians, and among them the venerable Doge. They buried him in the basilica of Saint Sophia and put up his epitaph:—“Mult ere sages et proz”—“One of the wisest and the best of the Sons of Venice!”—and then they set sail for home. It was the time of the budding of the rose tree: the fresh fragrant blossoms of a new life,—a new world,—a new people,—the year 1205.

The prelude of the “Cantata” of the new century was pitched in the minor key, but the feeble treble of fatherless children harmonised pathetically with the full contralto of their mothers:—

“Misere nobis infelicissime, Maria Requiescant in pace omnes, Domine.”

Fathers, brothers, husbands, sons and sweethearts returned not to Venice. She was once more “Venus Calva”—Venice, bereft of her stalwart sons, stripped of her trusty councillors, naked and bereaved.

“Some lay unshrouded in Palestine, and Some lay in the deep. For man must go forth to fight and to die And women must weep.”

There were many widows in Venice.