CHAPTER III

I

Upon the smiling little islet of San Giorgio in Alga, midway between the Punta di Santa Maria—the westernmost limit of Venice proper, and Fusina—the principal port of the Laguna Morta, there lived, once upon a time, a good-looking young fisherman. Zian Zorzio della Laguna,—so named after his patron Saint, Saint George of Cappadoccia,—as skilful in his calling as he was comely in his person.

Zorzio had wooed and won the prettiest girl in all Rialto, as hard-working as himself and as good to look upon. One day Bella offered her lover an extraordinarily fine fishing-net which she had, unknown to him, knotted with her own fair hands; and, Zorzio delighted with the gift, tossing it over his shoulder, went off to dedicate it to his saintly patron in the island Sanctuary.

Kissed on both cheeks, coloured with the ripest peach-bloom, her golden hair coiled neatly around her shapely head, save for one rebellious love-knot upon her brow, the beauteous innamorata waved loving farewells to her Zorzio as he sculled off in his light barca to make trial of his treasure.

With a daring cast the spider-web-like mesh sank beneath the gentle ripples of the lambent water, and the young fellow, confident of a worthy haul, presently began to pull in his net. “Per Bacco!” cried he, for something eerie had caught itself in the all but invisible strands of Bella’s handiwork. A piece of petrified seaweed,—very delicate in form, very beautiful in colour, very exquisite in texture, verily a scudding flake of opalescent sea-foam transformed by the mermaids of the deep into lovely coral lace,—yielded itself to his ready hand. Zorzio had never beheld such a perfectly beautiful object, and in a transport of delight he hailed his prize as the pledge of his success in life. Speeding homewards in the evening he made Bella the sharer of his good fortune, and she locked up the bit of coral lace safely in the simple home they had prepared against the next festival of the “Brides.”

Alas, the even tenor of their lives was rudely shattered by a call to arms, and brave Zorzio was enrolled among seamen drafted for service in the Orient. Broken-hearted Bella surveyed his empty seat, and her tears fell fast. Should she ever see her Zorzio again she wondered and whispered. Looking up at last, her eyes fell upon her lover’s gift—the lovely spray of coral seaweed. An inspiration seized her mind, and with alacrity she reached down her lace-pillow, and guided by an unseen power, she crossed and crossed her bobbins of fine thread until she had completed, in interlacing arabesques, a similitude of her treasured model. Thus was invented the far-famed and precious merletto a piombini—the point-lace of Venice. It is a charming story and it has a striking moral. That piece of coral seaweed was the mascot of the Venetian Renaissance.

In the morning of the “Vita Nuova”—it was the hour of “Lauds,”—Commerce,—strenuous father, and Industry,—faithful mother, were busy rearing their numerous family—the vigorous progeny of the Crafts. Away back in the ninth century, in the days of the “Grand” Doge Agnello Partecipazio, the Emperor Lothair issued his “Constitutiones Olonenses,” wherein eight cities and towns of Northern Italy are named as suitable centres for the establishment of the revived Roman “Collegia” or “Scholæ”:—Bologna, Cremona, Firenze, Ivrea, Milano, Padua, Torino and Rivoalto (Venice). In each place the designation of the Scholæ varied: in Venice they were called “Fragilia,”—from “Flagelli,”—whips,—the exact meaning of which it is difficult to state, perhaps “training schools” wherein learners were whipped into shape!

Each “Fragilia” had its teachers, its pupils, its officers, its constitution, its duties, and its bylaws. The earliest distinct mention of a “Trade” is in 826, when a maker of lead pipes for organs was working away near San Giacomo di Rialto: doubtless the artificer in question was a Greek, his name has not been preserved. Orso Partecipazio employed clock-makers in 864 and silversmiths and carvers of ivory: these craftsmen were Greeks however. The “Cassellari”—makers of arcelle and cassoni—formed already a vigorous Corporation in the time of the rape of the “Venetian Brides.” The first notice of “Fabbri”—blacksmiths, was in 1184 as forming a “Fragilia,” but the Calle de’ Fabbri was a well-known lane in the tenth century. The Altino Chronicle names Fishermen, Smiths, Saddlers, Carriers by water, Shepherds, Butchers, Masons, Carpenters, Cabinet-makers, Shoemakers and Furriers as the earliest incorporated craftsmen in the islands of the lagunes. “Marzeri” or silk-mercers were established in Rivoalto in 942.

Doge Pietro Polani, in 1143 drafted a “Table of Precedence,” which established as the premier “Fragilia” or Trade-Guild, the Corporation of Fishermen. Thirty years later Doge Sebastiano Ziani set up the first “Corte della Giutizia” in the interest of traders and operatives. Thereafter numerous other Crafts are named in Venetian history; but Venice never attained to the eminence of Florence in the development of her Guilds—she was sui generis a great sea-port rather than a metropolis of industry. The thirteenth century first saw the cradle of the Crafts rocking effectively,—just as the fourteenth furnished the nursery of the Fine Arts,—and Venice felt the impulse of the new industries, along with the rest of Italy.

Doge Arrigo Dandolo had annexed one-fourth of the old Roman Empire to the tutelage of Venice, and ten great Turkish galleons brought home, with the remnant of her forces, vast treasures,—the loot of Constantinople and the islands of the Greek Archipelago. Upon the Piazzetta was outpoured the wealth of the Levant. Never before had Venetian eyes and hands beheld or handled such creations of art and craft. Every church and monastery, every palace and mansion, and every poor man’s home, were enriched by things of joy and beauty. Mothers and maidens laid up in honoured hiding-places tokens of their heroes resting in Paradise, and all the sons of Venice gathered objects of interest which engrossed their intelligences and set their minds and hands at work to imitate—the fall of Constantinople was the rise of craftsmanship in the Lagunes.

The Conquest of Constantinople—a notable turning-point in the history of Venice—was the initial mark of a new era throughout Europe. By common consent every class of the Venetians welcomed the promise of new conditions,—social and political,—and set to work to exchange Oriental ideas and sympathies for the pushful methods and modes of Northern and Western Europe. The first step was the election of a Doge, who should be, not only a desirable figure-head for the State, but who, by his force of character and personal experience, should lead the Commonwealth along progressive ways.

The qualifications for the Dogado were: (1) Ripe age; (2) Urbane temperament; (3) Good birth; and (4) Ample private means. One man, and one man alone, stood out head-and-shoulders above his peers, as possessed of these four qualities, a man whose thirty years of distinguished public service placed him in the unique position of first citizen of Venice. By universal acclamation Pietro Ziani was chosen to wear the laurel-wreathed berretta of the great Dandolo. The son of one of the most distinguished of the Doges—Sebastiano Ziani—he had borne himself nobly as a successful naval commander, a tactful ambassador, and an upright magistrate. Handsome above the ordinary, pious without hypocrisy, talented in linguistic and forensic aptitude, and passionately loyal to the Constitution, he was calmly awaiting his destiny at his country residence at Arbe in Dalmatia.

A deputation of the Lords of the Council boarded the magnificent “Bucintoro,” and accompanied by thirty galleys, all splendidly decorated with rare brocades and tapestries, set off to meet and escort the new Doge. Pietro Ziani’s progress was a triumphal procession, calling to mind the unanimous and felicitous election of Domenigo Selvo one hundred and fifty years before. Almost the first act of the new regime was the affirmation of the cordial relations which his father, Sebastiano, had entered into with Guglielmo II.—“The Good,” King of Sicily. Dante refers to the death of this distinguished Sovereign in Canto XX of the Paradiso:—

“William whom the land bewails So well beloved in Heaven.”

In confirmation of the new treaty the new Doge, in 1213, sought and gained the hand of the Princess Costanza, daughter of King Tancredo, Guglielmo’s son and successor. She was the first Norman Dogaressa of Venice, daughter of a brave and ardent race, a woman of conspicuous ability and ambition, and an ideal consort for the Head of a rejuvenated Venice.

Pietro Ziani had but lately buried his first wife, the modest and beautiful Countess Maria Baseggio—whose father held the high office of Procurator of San Marco—nobilis et decora nimis Maria Dukessa—as she is called in the Altino Chronicle. The sole offspring of this union was a son, Giorgio, but, alas, when yet a child, he was torn to pieces by the savage mastiff watch-dogs of the monastery of San Giorgio Maggiore. It was said that the Doge was so infuriated by this misfortune that he ordered the church and monastery with all the animals,—the poor monks as well,—to be consumed with fire: one may hope the innocent Religious escaped the fury. Anyhow the rest were all burnt, and then the remorse of Ziani was pitiable. By way of reparation he set to work at once to rebuild and re-endow what he had so petulantly sacrificed.

Dogaressa Costanza was handsome and gracious, and wore her Royal honours with distinction. Palazzi wrote thus of her—“A Queen by birth, Dogaressa of Venice by marriage, she exhibited all the attributes of her royal station,—she was also Duchess of Calabria,—and her high breeding, no less than her beauty, raised her above all petty jealousies.” In the ancient pack of playing-cards, at the Venetian Museo Civico, we find her represented upon the “Ten of Spades,” with the following legend:—“Costanza, daughter of Tancredo King of Naples, wife of Doge Pietro Ziani, was accustomed to meet all the malcontents against the Doge and herself with the saying:—‘I have nothing to do with you!’”

The State being involved in tremendous financial difficulties on account of the cost of the Crusades, and also in behalf of the purchase of the island of Crete, in view of the Doge’s great private wealth,—“L’haver Ziani” was quite as true of Pietro as of Sebastiano—reduced his official salary to 2800 lire, with 100 thrown in as a free gift. It was further decreed that all tributes to the Doge should henceforth be shared between him and the treasury of San Marco. Moreover he was required to make an offering of three silver trumpets for ceremonial processions, and to undertake the repairs of the Ducal Palace,—rather a one-sided bargain!

Fifteen years of marital happiness fell to the lot of the Doge and Dogaressa. Three children were borne by imperious Costanza—Marco, Marchesina, and Maria. Some authorities say that the Dogaressa died suddenly in 1228 and that the Doge, broken-hearted, followed her within a month. The Altino Chronicle however records the abdication of Pietro Ziani, and adds that he and his Consort, with their family, retired into private life and went to reside in their palace upon the fondamento of Santa Giustina, where he died, and then received sepulture in the church of San Giorgio Maggiore, in the tomb of his father Sebastiano.

There is still a third version of the deaths of Doge Pietro and Dogaressa Costanza. In the terrible earthquake of 1220, when the church and monastery of San Giorgio Maggiore were destroyed, and the islands of Amiano and Costanzina swallowed up, it was said that many people died of fright, and among them the Dogaressa. The Doge, sharing the universal sense of insecurity in Venice, proposed to move the seat of Government to Constantinople, but, upon the cessation of the seismic disturbances, wiser counsels prevailed, and he set to work to rebuild the shattered edifices. In 1229 Pietro Ziani exchanged the silk-brocaded robe of State for the worsted habit of a Benedictine, and ended his days in the new monastery of San Giorgio which he had built.

During his dogado a year of Jubilee was appointed by the Pope—1214—in thankfulness for the general peace; and every Italian State held festivals and fêtes. Treviso led the way, for nothing could exceed the beauty and the human interest of the “Marca Amorosa.” The centre of the most fruitful and delightful region of all Northern Italy, Treviso, with her borders, was renowned for the richness of her vegetation, the salubrity of her climate, the beauty of her women, and chivalry of her cavaliers. The rallying-point too of knights and champions from the vigorous Teutonic north and the vivacious Frankish west Treviso was the fascinating rendezvous of all that was romantic, brave and fair.

The Crusades had been the making of the soldiery of all Europe,—not indeed in the elements of warfare but in the courtesies of the battle-field. Men went forth to fight the Saracen and the Turk to vindicate the nobility of the Cross and the gentleness of the Son of Mary. For the weak and the oppressed they gave and took sword-thrust and arrow-tip, and not as men fighting men alone. Heroes returned to Venetian, Trevisan and Paduan homes famous for their valour and their virtue: the Crusades were schools of Christian chivalry. To fight for women and for children in Palestine meant to honour and exalt those of their own dear land, but this was quite a new idea. Saint Mary and the Saints of God held the hands of their own babes and youths, the hands of their own girls and women, and men worshipped at human shrines as well as in saintly sanctuaries.

Treviso put forth her best efforts in the way of pageant, spectacle, and mask—albeit she did not forget to dress her altars, light her candles, and burn her incense, in honour of the Jubilee. In the centre of the Piazza della Spineda, the Guild of Carpenters erected a grandiose palace—“Castle of Love” it was named, overlaid with gilding and painting, and decorated with rich silk velvets, costly furs, and precious tapestries. Trophies from Palestine and spoils from Constantinople were raised aloft, with rose-trees full of roses, myrtles in white flower, and jessamine, the marriage bloom, and many another decorative feature. All this bravery was the mise-en-scène for such a castle garrison as no knight’s eyes had beheld nor indeed his heart imagined.

Two hundred of the fairest damsels of Treviso and Padua, and with them not a few noble matrons of attractive personality, manned or shall we say “womaned” the lofty battlements. Dressed in most becoming garbs and covered with jewels, with faces painted and hair coiffured in exquisite taste, the fascinating amazons have at hand no weapons or grenades of lethal warfare, but baskets of sweet flowers, cornucopias of ripe fruit, and crystal vases filled with delicious scents, ready for the besiegers.

Three Companies in turn assault the “Castle of Beauty”—gallant knights and esquires of Venice, Padua, and Treviso. Strange are their battle-cries. Lately singing Litanies to the Saints, their lips have learned compelling dulcet tones, as they have prayed at or for the Holy Sepulchre, and now they again give forth the refrain “Ora pro Nobis”—addressed not to St Giustina, St Catherine, or St Barbara, but to Donna Beatrice, Donna Fioretta, Donna Felicita, and to all the beauteous two hundred!

Amid the plaudits of thousands of spectators on pavement, in window, on balcony, on roof, drawn from all the plains of Lombardy the Company of Treviso—as gallant goodly lads as ever donned tight hose and well-shaped tunic,—deliver the first attack, making trial of their knighthood. Appealing to the tender unsullied hearts of the fair defenders of the Castle, with gentle words, they shower such things as affect most the eye of woman—lovely flowers, amorous billets-doux, and delicate scent-sachets. Not so can they gain the battlements, and falling back, the second line of attack is opened out by the Company from Padua. Clever pleasant youths are they and full of artistic fancies, well groomed too, they rally to the charge with such things as may please their ladies’ palates,—boxes of expensive sweetmeats, baskets of delicious fruits, and fresh rissoles of fish and chicken. The fair ones catch all they can, but yield not their portcullis. Now comes the turn of the fresh-complexioned, well-figured, fair-haired, silent, haughty young Venetians. They step boldly forward, in silken tights, each lad a lord in self-esteem: they have special ammunition for their service, attractive to all the senses of woman-kind,—scented walnuts, Oriental sweeties, and sugared rose-leaves, but, in their scarlet satchels they have a wealth of good gold ducats, and with them the day is won, for the maidens toss the glittering spoil from hand to hand and laugh and sing right merrily!

But before the conquerors can carry off their bewitching prisoners, the defeated warriors rally to the call of “Down with Venice,” and rush the standard-bearers. In a trice the red banner of San Marco is trailing on the ground and the Venetians have whipped out their swords! Messer Paolo da Sermedole, the Master of the Pageant, and his assistants intervene, and the tears of the captured maidens arrest the flow of blood, but the Venetians leave the “Marca Amorosa” vowing vengeance for the insult. War was declared forthwith against the sister cities and the end of it came not till two years had passed, when at Bebe near Chioggia, the Paduans accepted the Venetian terms. Doge Pietro Ziani stipulated, as a condition of peace, that twenty-five Paduan Knights, who had participated in the “Marca Amorosa” at Treviso, should present themselves at the Ducal Palace, submissive to the orders of his Serenity.

In Venice the gallant Company was welcomed right nobly, as became magnanimous foes, feasted for ten days, and well laden with costly presents, and so were speeded home again. History has not exactly told us whether any, or all of that gallant band, took away things more precious still than the splendid offerings,—the hearts of Venetian maidens! The revenge of the conquered, in true chivalry, is the spoiling of the conqueror. Anyhow at least one Venetian bride was led away to Padua, and with her went a goodly trousseau:—“One bed, two down-quilts, a whole piece of scarlet ‘noble’ cloth, four linen sheets, two feather pillows, two striped silk petticoats, two robes, or gowns, of silk brocade, four bodices of lawn, one fur mantle with silver buttons, one silver bell, a silver rosary, seven ornaments of gold, two of pearls, a coronal of pearls, seven fine amber beads, etc., etc.”

When she reached Padua the bride was to receive from her husband a purse full of money, to pay for musicians at the home-coming, for the cooks, and for her chaperon—one Donna Riccidoni—and for herself she might retain twelve silver soldi as pin-money. The bridegroom was mulcted at the same time in dealings in beef, veal, fresh fish and fruit, cakes, eggs, bread, wine and oil, and for the payment of the boatmen who had rowed them up the Brenta. Alas the chronicler in the “Archivio” has failed to give the names of the interesting couple, but apparently Venice and Padua were at one upon the question of matrimony!

“Maridite! Maridite! Donzela; Che dona maridada è sempre bela: Maridite! finchè la foglia è verde, Perchè la zoventu presto se perde!” VENETIAN “BARCAROLLE.”

(“Marry! Marry! pretty maid, Lest ye lose your youth and fade— The young girl’s her husband’s Queen Marry whilst the leaves are green!”)

II

The last years of Doge Pietro Ziani were embittered by the rivalries of the families of Tiepolo and Dandolo—partisans of both sides eagerly grasping the Ducal chair, and impatient of the demise of its occupant. The Doge and Dogaressa were so worried and oppressed by these unseemly contentions that he executed a deed of abdication, and returned to his private residence, leaving the distinguished but thankless office to be filled by another.

Giacomo Tiepolo represented the old ideas and Marino Dandolo the new, and the votes of the Council were equally divided; but at last, a majority was found for the former. Tiepolo was out and away the most enlightened and intellectual man of his time. He came of an ancient family, one of the “Apostolic” order of nobility—“Teupolo” in the old spelling, and originally from Rome. Bartoldo Teupolo, the head of the family in 697, was one of the electors of Doge Paolo Lucio Anafesto. In 1204, when so many Venetian nobles assumed territorial titles of sovereignty over islands in the Greek Archipelago consequent upon the fall of Constantinople, Giacomo Tiepolo was named Duke of Candia. His father was Lorenzo, Procurator of San Marco in 1207, and Podesta of Treviso.

“Duke” Tiepolo took to wife Maria Storiato—a Venetian gentlewoman of no high degree, but a good and faithful spouse and mother. She was received as Dogaressa the day of Giacomo’s election in 1228, but alas, she died in 1240, having given him three sons as pledges of her devotion—Pietro, Lorenzo, and Giovanni. The eldest became Count of Sant’ Agostino and Podesta of Milan and Treviso, but, being taken prisoner by the Emperor Frederic II., he was treacherously beheaded.

A two years’ widowerhood found the Doge once more at the feet of an attractive woman, not indeed a simple Venetian maiden but a Princess of Royal degree,—Valdrada, the daughter of King Tancredo of Sicily. The new Dogaressa, like her brother King Ruggero, was famed for good commonsense, and sound probity of life, and she assumed at once an unquestioned control over the actions of her Consort, strong man though he was. Like her sister, the Dowager Dogaressa Costanza, she was a virago, in the sense of a strong personality; and she followed in her sister’s steps, ruling not alone her husband, but bending to her will all with whom she was thrown in contact.

Perhaps the new Dogaressa’s ostentation of Regal rank in the Venetian Court was a decisive factor in the promulgation of what was called the “Promissione”—perhaps best translated by the French term, Protocol—of 1242, the provisions of which greatly restricted the power and liberty of the Doge and Dogaressa. The Doge was henceforth to be, not the executive Head of the State, but the executor of the orders of the Council. Acts of homage were no longer to be rendered to him, nor was he to be addressed as “Domine Dominus.” In times gone by the deputation of nobles, commissioned to acquaint a new Doge of his election, were accustomed to greet him thus:—“Welcome, Messer Doge, God give you Messer Doge a good morrow, we are come to dine with you, we await your orders, and we wish to kiss your hand.” The Dogaressa also shared the new restrictive conventions, and neither relatives of hers, nor of the Doge, were eligible for any public office. Their household was limited—only twenty-five free retainers were allowed and a like number of unpaid dependent slaves.

“Il Statuto di Giacomo Tiepolo,” or “Il Statuto Veneto,” as it was called, was a compilation, by Doge Tiepolo, of laws in five books, which treated of the domestic relations of married people. The husband was required to render an account to his wife of his use of her dowry, and the capital sum remained in her power to will as she chose. An unfaithful wife forfeited her dowry, but a widow enjoyed her husband’s patrimony till her second marriage or death. If ever a couple decided to renounce secular life and enter Religion, the united property was shared equally, each being free to do what he or she liked with the money. Children, if any and under age, were provided for equally by each parent. Many sections of the “Statuto” dealt with the vexed questions of Slavery and Prostitution—all aiming at the amelioration and moralisation of manners.

Doge Giacomo Tiepolo’s time was much occupied with the settlement of internal jealousies and factions, and by the conduct of naval and military expeditions. While he was so employed Dogaressa Valdrada gave her whole time to the patronage and support of the Trade Corporations—a rôle maintained by all her successors.

At length, in 1209, the Doge, wearied alike by the exertions of his foreign enterprises and by the keenness of political rivalries at home, executed a deed of abdication, and, with Dogaressa Valdrada and her two young children retired to his private residence at Sant’ Agostino, in the sestiere of San Polo or Paolo. He did not long survive his retirement from office, and both he and his Consort, who outlived him three years, were buried in SS. Giovanni e Paolo. In every sense of the word Giacomo Tiepolo—“The Legislator”—was a “Grand” Doge—the sixth upon whom that title may be properly bestowed.

In his “Stones of Venice” Ruskin tells a well-known and characteristic story of Doge Giacomo Tiepolo. The noble church of SS. Giovanni e Paolo—San Zanipolo in the vernacular—was begun by the monks of San Domenigo in the year 1234, under the patronage of the Tiepolo family. Three years before Giacomo was called upon to succeed Pietro Ziani, he dreamed a dream wherein he beheld all the ground around the rising building covered with rose-bushes in full and fragrant bloom. Flitting to-and-fro and imbibing the floral nectar were numbers of white doves with golden crosses upon their breasts. Whilst the dreamer wondered what it all meant forty angelic beings appeared out of a crimson cloud, bearing in their hands smoking censers, and, circling around the lovely garden, they flung hither and thither their sweet incense smoke. Then a rich clarion voice proclaimed from somewhere above the rose-trees:—“This is the place I have chosen for my preachers.” The solemn words awoke the sleeper, and he went straightway to the Council and declared what he had seen and heard. They agreed to grant forty paces of ground for the extension of the monastery and Messer Tiepolo, out of his private munificence, endowed the brotherhood with a noble revenue.

Upon either side of the entrance of the church are the two Roman sarcophagi, in which were interred the bodies of Doge Giacomo and his son Doge Lorenzo Tiepolo. Ever after Doge Giacomo Tiepolo’s solemn obsequies the bodies of all the Venetian Doges and many of the Dogaressas were laid in State and their funeral rites were performed within the choir of the great Dominican church.

Marco, or Marino Morosini’s dogado (1249–1252), was quite uneventful, except for the establishment of the Holy Inquisition in Venice. Its operations however were only allowed upon sufferance, and its decrees required the imprimatur of the Council before being carried into effect. Doge Morosini, nearly seventy years of age at the time of the election, was of venerable appearance, amiable disposition, and irreproachable character. His Consort’s name has not been preserved. He is credited with the initiation of the Scola de’ Battitori,—Guild of Flagellants,—which attracted very many of the more devout of the citizens. Men and women were equally affected by this call to asceticism, and were accustomed to lash themselves both publicly and in private with “Scope” birchrods or “disciplines,” whilst they sang Miserere and other doleful chants! The furore had a brief duration, for the commonsense of all classes checked exhibitions of infatuation. There was however one admirable feature in the movement—the devotion of vast sums of money, rich lands, and fine houses, to the cause of charity: in one year (1251), 80,000 lire were contributed to deserving objects, and the “Battitori” numbered at least 12,000.

Marco Morosini was buried with full honours, clad in State robes with his jewelled sword by his side, whilst women made loud lamentations and men forsook their avocations to touch his bier, and pray for his soul. These solemn burial scenes were swiftly followed by the gorgeous installation ceremony of the new Doge—Reniero Zeno (1252–1268).

Where had been scattered branches of yew and cypress, and where had swayed great lengths of dismal black cloth, now flaunted in the fresh sea-breeze, the emblazoned banners of the “Fragilie” and the splendid silk draperies of the nobles, whilst garlands of freshly woven fragrant blossoms shed their painted petals upon the path where along a comely Dogaressa was borne by gallant escort to the Palace. There was just one “fly in the ointment” of satisfaction—for Loicia da Prata,—as attractive as any of her predecessors, indeed she had charms surpassed by few,—was alas from Friuli, and “nothing good for Venice,” it was said, “ever came thence!”

The new Doge belonged to the most recent order of the nobility, that composed of men whose ancestors had purchased their patents in celebration of the last war with Candia—the Videmani, Labio, Zenobio, Fini, Manini, Gambarri, Zeno, and others. Whether Messir Reniero, the son of Ser Pietro Zeno, possessed all the qualifications sought in the person of the Head of the State we know not, but we know that he was a man of great wealth—perhaps, as times went then and as they go now, the most valuable consideration! This being so, the Council considered it a favourable opportunity for further curtailing the privileges of the Doge and Dogaressa, for, by the way, it was a certainty that they would be the recipients of considerable offerings on behalf of the Trade Corporations, seeing that the Doge was engaged in active commercial pursuits and was a great employer of labour.

By the new “Promissione” the Doge, the Dogaressa, their sons and daughter, and daughters-in-law, were debarred from receiving food stuffs, cattle and horses, poultry and game, etc., etc., except upon due payment. The Dogaressa was directed not to promise situations or offices to those who sought her aid, nor to write recommendations of such suppliants to the Doge or to the Council, and also not to make gifts to any official dependant. If she bestowed her patronage upon Craftsmen they were forbidden to make capital out of it. On the other hand, no limits were put to the private charities of her Serenity, and, as Dogaressa Loicia was famed for her benevolence, this freedom of action granted to her by the Promissione, had an astute and sly significance. As a matter of fact she did exhibit her piety in a remarkable way by the erection and endowment of a Hospital, upon the site originally occupied by that of Doge Pietro Orseolo II., with an Oratory,—Oratorio del Crocifisso,—still in existence near the great Campanile of San Marco.

During the dogado of Reniero Zeno, in 1255, a writ was put forth by the Government regulating the marriages of nobles and citizens. Banns of marriage had been asked, time out of mind in all the Venetian churches, but gradually they had ceased to be regarded as necessary, and clandestine unions were the fashion. A priest had come to be regarded as at anybody’s beck and call, whether in a public consecrated building or in the privacy of the domestic parlour; and, instead of many sponsors, one witness was deemed sufficient. Often as not a priestly personage was not requisitioned at all—times were easy, so were manners.

Quite a characteristic and amusing story has been preserved illustrating the new mode of wedding contracts. Madonna Catarussa of San Gervaso, lingering one evening at her house door, awaiting her late home-coming spouse, was accosted by one, Ser Pierino da Trento, an itinerant seller of brooms and brushes. Noting the Madonna’s abstraction he passed a courteous greeting:—“Good Lady,” he said, “can you find a poor devil like me a pretty girl I wonder?” Madonna Catarussa was indignant and used pretty freely not too pretty Venetian expletives!

“No! no! not that dear Lady, not that,” interjected Ser Pierino, “I mean marriage now and honourable, a little wife and a modest dowry!”

“Well, well, if that be your true wish I will see what I can do. Come again to-morrow about this time. Fare you well fond lover!”

Madonna Catarussa knew well a very charming girl, just what the amorous pedlar wanted,—Donna Marina Contarini. She broached the subject of Ser Pierino’s commission, and because he was of good reputation and withal a good-looking fellow, the girl agreed to the assignation. Without delay or preparation, upon the morrow, in Madonna Catarussa’s best parlour, the couple met and with them one, Menigo Moïse, a friend of the Madonna, prepared to carry out an impromptu matrimonial rôle.

“Ser Pierino, does Donna Marina suit you?—Donna Marina, does Ser Pierino please you?—Say ye both”—asked he.

A ready double “Yes” sprang from the nuptial couple and promptly and with glee Ser Moïse joined their hands. Thereafter congratulations were showered upon the newly-married pair, and a merry party sat down to a hearty wedding breakfast. Company is never wanting when marriage festivities are on the go, and so it was in Madonna Catarussa’s calle—perhaps Ser Giovanni was at sea—fishing!

Doge Zeno died in 1208, but Dogaressa Luicia survived him many years. He left to her absolutely the bulk of his property and she continued to reside in the great Casa Zeno, whence she administered the munificent gifts he and she had made to religious bodies, to churches and hospitals. At her death,—the date is not recorded,—she devised her personal effects for the benefit of her Ospedale di Santa Maria per gl’Incurabili, namely bedding, mattresses, coverlets, gowns, furs, her nuptial chests, plumes of feathers, six reading easels, chests of medicines, and very many personal and domestic comforts. Thus the attractive, virtuous, and benevolent Dogaressa passed quietly, and we may hope peacefully, from the people and the scenes she loved so well. Many warm hearts beat for her and salt tears fell, for she was well beloved in Venice.

III

Lorenzo Tiepolo mounted the Ducal throne in 1268, with a splendid, well-nigh unique, reputation, and he sustained its dignity admirably for seven eventful years. He was the Head of a strong and wealthy republic, which, surrounded with high honours, was rejoicing in every kind of delight and ostentation. The son of a “Grand” Doge, blessed by his father’s reputation, renowned for his personal bravery and courtesy, and endowed with the wherewithal to minister to his own luxuries and to the dissipations of a brilliant court without restraint, the second Tiepolo Doge was the man of the moment, the plaything of fortune.

Venice was like a spoilt woman, dowered with beauty and ability, jealous of her freedom, a fierce foe to her enemies, a dangerous vixen to her friends, loving adulation, commanding obedience, proud, selfish, cruel, and revengeful—this was the Venice which Lorenzo, the champion of the Giostre had to control. The spirit of the time was wholly favourable to the new Doge’s government. Harmony and healthful rivalry existed between the craftsmen and the masters. In 1271 the Gastaldi—Heads of Guilds—met under the presidency of the Doge; and agreed to devote a goodly portion of their Guild revenues to the relief of the poor and sick, provide pensions for the widows and families of deceased members, attend funerals, and keep the lamps burning in their Guild Chapels. They gave, as their incentive to these pious works, the sententious aphorism:—“Stare in lo amor di Dio e di Santa Paxe.”

Venetians loved music, dancing, birds, and flowers. Picnics were held in the gardens of Murano, in the orchards of San Giorgio Maggiore, in the vineyards of San Zaccaria, in the olive-yards of Malamocco, and by the aviaries of San Giobbe. Everyone had his own garden,—great or small,—and in it rare exotics mingled with homely plants. At all windows and balconies were boxes of carnations and cages full of singing birds. Venice too was the shop of Europe, whether for tasty culinary delicacies or for the fashionable fripperies of the fair sex. All the good things of the East were displayed upon her fundamenti and in her markets. The banquets she set before her guests were sumptuous and unrivalled: the beef of Aquileia, the veal of Chioggia, and the pork of Friuli were as famous as the sausages of Bologna. Her wines, her fruits, and her sweetmeats were celebrated.

Two meals a day were the rule in Doge Lorenzo Tiepolo’s time—dinner before noon, supper between seven and eight. For dinner, the better classes had soup,—grasso or magro,—fish and meat with vegetables, fruit, cakes, and wine. Elegant little baskets of silver and gold were placed upon the tables filled with freshly-made sweetmeats. The poorer people’s dietary was chiefly fish, bread, oil, and fruit,—meat was beyond their means and vegetables were also dear.

The Venetians had not been noted for refinement of manners, in fact they had rather prided themselves that they were “less effeminate” than their neighbours on the mainland; but, under the patronage and example of the foreign modes of the nobles and richer citizens, there sprang up, in the middle of the thirteenth century, a marked improvement with a corresponding growth of courtesy. Very quaintly a worthy friar of Milan, Bonvesino da Riva, drew out a “Table of Etiquette.” “Thou shalt remember,” he wrote, “the poor when thou sittest at table. Thou shalt be gentle in offering water for the hands. Thou shalt not eat nor drink to excess. Thou shalt sit easily, show courtesy, be cheerful, thy dress well arranged. Thou shalt not fill thy mouth too full. Thou shalt take thy cup of wine and put it to thy lips with both hands, so as not to spill any, and, when thou hast moderately drank, thou shalt not pass it on to another but place it carefully upon the table. If thou shalt happen to sneeze or cough, draw thyself away a little, never complain of the seasoning of the dishes. Thou must not soak thy bread in thy wine. Thou shalt always offer thy guest the best cut. Thou shalt be scrupulous about the cleanliness of thy servants; thou and they must always have clean hands. Thou shalt not thrust thy hands into thy mouth nor pick thy teeth. Thou shalt not fondle thy neck, nor thine ears. At table thou shalt not relate sad news....” And so the writer goes on giving excellent lessons in good deportment.

Lorenzo Tiepolo had made himself a great name before he came to the dogado. He had humbled Genoa and in the East he had commanded a victorious Venetian fleet which had brought back twenty-five prize galleys, great stores of booty, and above all, the venerated body of Santa Saba. In 1264 he was Podesta of Padua, and, when there, he married Donna Agnese Ghisi, whose family held the titular marquisate of Stampiala in the Greek Archipelago. She gave her husband two sons who, when grown, married, Giacomo,—a princess of Dalmatia, and Pietro,—a rich countess of Vincenza. Very little is known about Dogaressa Agnese except that she was a patroness of Hospitals and a friend of those in distress. Out of her dowry she endowed a Maternity and Lying-in Hospital for poor women, and a Hostel for prisoners condemned to death. The good Dogaressa went by the gracious title—“La Donna della Misericordia.”

Soon after the death of his first wife Lorenzo Tiepolo married again. The Venetians, whilst controlling the privileges and the liberty of the Consort of the Doge, were exigent that he should have a spouse, if for no other reason, than as an additional ornament to the State. The new Dogaressa was Marchesina, daughter of Boemondo da Brienne, King of Rascia and Servia, who was brother of the Emperor John. If we have no authentic portrait of her, Palazzi’s pack of cards in the Museo Civico has upon the “Nine of Clubs”:—“Dogaressa Thiepolo aggrandisce ed arrichisce cole noze la prole Nobilita langue ove ricchezzo manca.” Perhaps briefly Englished “A noble and a wealthy heiress!”

The recognition ceremonies of the new Dogaressa were accompanied by a splendid pageant two days later. Whilst the citizens were content to leave all matters of State policy and the details of the Administration to the governing class, represented by the Doge without demur, to the Dogaressa, craftsmen looked for protection and patronage in the prosecution of their industries. Accordingly the Gastaldi, or Masters of the several Guilds,—there were just thirty of them,—met in Council, and resolved to arrange an exhibition of their various Crafts at the Ducal Palace in honour of the new Dogaressa.

To accompany her Serenity to her Coronation and to secure her presence at the inauguration of the Exhibition a huge procession set off to the Tiepolo palace, which Doge Giacomo had enlarged and decorated so lavishly. Headed by banners and trumpets and drums first march the “Smiths” with garlands upon their heads; next the “Furriers,” wearing costly furs; the “Wool-weavers” followed,—an imposing detail of the pageant,—singing ballads to the accompaniment of horns and cymbals, and carrying silver goblets and flasks full of red wine. Fourth in order came the “Tailors” in white garments covered with scarlet stars and over their shoulders cloaks lined with fur; “Woollendrapers” succeeded with branches of olives in their hands and olive crowns upon their heads—the Masters of the Craft wore fustian mantles; “Makers of Doublets and Coverlets” were ranged alongside, wearing white capes sewn with blue lilies. The eighth Guild by reason of the costliness of its manufactures commanded universal admiration—the “Makers of gold and silver cloth,”—whose members wore caps decorated with fine filigree work and sewn with pearls; following came the “Shoemakers,” the “Mercers,”—clothed from head to foot in silk; the “Pork-butchers,” in scarlet cloaks lined with vair; the “Glass-blowers” and the “Carding-comb Makers” made way for a gorgeous detachment—the “Goldsmiths,” adorned with gems and precious stones. It would be tedious to name all the “Trades” in that vast procession, which wound up with the “Barber-surgeons,” who certainly made the most of their opportunity. They marched with their heads dressed in the latest fashion and wearing gold ornaments and pearls. Two mounted men, in the armour of Knight-errants, conducted four lovely young girls in white, their rich golden hair all over their shoulders, and each supposed to represent one of the four great foreign States,—France, Germany, Spain and England.

Having passed under the windows of the Dogaressa, the two Knights dismounted and addressed her Serenity as follows:—“Duchess, we are two wandering Knights, and we have ridden forth in search of adventures and have carried off from persecution and wrong these noble maidens. Now if there should be any warriors who will come forth to prove their valour, we are prepared to defend the damsels and sustain our honour.” The Dogaressa smiled her approval, and waved her hand that she was ready to accompany her honourable escort to the Palace.

Taking her place by the side of the Doge she received the courteous salutation of the assembled nobles, and then passed through the ante-room and reached the Hall of Exhibition, where she was received by the Masters and Officials of the Guilds, and from whom, in spite of all “Promissioni” she accepted characteristic presents. To each Master she addressed a few pleasant words and invited him to sup with her that night in the Ducal Palace, whilst the Doge entertained the Lords of the Council and other Dignitaries of State.

The Dogaressa Marchesina was part-founder in 1272 of the celebrated Ca’ di Dio—House of God—for the reception of ladies of good birth but reduced to poverty. Hitherto such unfortunate gentlewomen had been cared for along with the widows of craftsmen, and they felt keenly the degradation: they were certainly “the poor who feel shame.” Not many years elapsed before the joy of prosperity in Venice was turned into the sorrow of want—the splendid hospitalities of the Ducal Palace gave place to plain spreads for starving people. Famine followed feasting and Doge and Dogaressa were occupied with the leading nobles in dealing with scarcity and unemployment.

Doge Lorenzo Tiepolo died in 1275, and Marino da Canale, the chronicler, wrote of him:—“There was no one in all the Venetian nation who did not lament with reason the loss of such an excellent ruler.” He was buried with his father, and his brother Giovanni, at SS. Giovanni e Paolo. Of the Dogaressa Marchesina’s death and burial we have found no record.

Lorenzo Tiepolo’s successor, Giacomo Contarini,—a member of a prominent family of the “Apostolic” order of nobility,—was in every way an estimable man and not suspected of any ulterior aims with respect to the aggrandisement of his family. Nevertheless the Government demanded sworn promises that “neither he nor Madonna Jacobina, his spouse, should accept any fee or fief, nor undertake commissions of any kind and, in particular, that the Dogaressa should on no account contract debts with the citizens nor enter into speculations, in salt, cheese, or wine!”

The Doge was forbidden to hold land outside Venice, his sons were forbidden to marry foreign wives, except with the approval of the Council (two were already married and the third was a Religious), and whatever was required for the Ducal household was ordered to be paid for within eight days. The Dogaressa and her daughters were expressly prohibited from receiving gifts or samples from tradesmen. In other respects the dogado of Contarini was uneventful, and after a short reign of five years in 1280 he abdicated his office, and retired into private life upon a pension of fifteen hundred lire di piccioli,—a beggarly sum indeed, but he was glad enough of it, for he was a poor man, perhaps the least wealthy of all the Doges, though he came of a wealthy family.

How Dogaressa Jacobina submitted to the severe restrictions upon her liberty of action we know not, nor indeed anything whatever about her, except her name. The Doge died shortly after his vacation of office, and was buried quietly in the church of the Frati Minori,—Santa Maria Gloriosa de’ Frari,—in a marble sarcophagus which was enriched with mosaic figures of the Doge and Dogaressa upon their knees,—comely in their lives: in death they were undivided. The epitaph is very brief:—“Heic requiescit Dominus Jacobus Contarinus, Dux inclytus Venetiarum, et Domina Jacobina, ejus uxor, Ducissa.”

Bearing a great name Giovanni Dandolo a descendant of the “Grand” Doge Arrigo Dandolo was peacefully living at his country villa at Arbe in Dalmatia,—that favourite resort for wealthy Venetians who there could indulge in the chiefest of their hobbies the cultivation of flower gardens, and fruit orchards, and in the pleasures of the chase,—when news of Doge Contarini’s abdication reached him. Apparently neither he nor his good spouse were unprepared for a summons home, for they started towards Venice before the deputation of nobles sent to salute them reached their domicile.

The new Doge had all the high moral tone, firmness, and energy, of his great ancestor, but he was lame and somewhat uncourtly in his manner. Morose in disposition and possessed of peculiar habits, he seemed to be hardly the sort of man for the onerous post to which he was called, moreover he was credited with democratic tendencies.

The times were tranquil and, as a consequence, prosperous, and Venice and the Venetians were approaching the zenith of success. She was the emporium of the world: the business of all Europe and of the East was transacted in and about the Piazza di San Giacomo di Rialto. Each trading nation had its warehouses and its consular staff. In front of the Fondaco de’ Tedeschi, just beyond the bridge, were anchored ships from Northern ports, and upon the wharves were dumped all sorts of foreign merchandise. Higher up the canal were fleets of great barges laden with casks of oil and wine. The Fundamenta Toscana was filled with Florentine merchants and choice wares from Tuscany, the Fondaco de’ Turchi and the Campo de’ Mori, were thronged with traders from the radiant East. Jews and Armenians traversed calli and rive at will, bartering their commodities.

Right away from the Rialto bridge to the Piazza di San Marco, all along the Merceria, were shops overflowing with costly objects, rare perfumes, and the latest modes. There strutted young gallants of Venice with slender, graceful figures, fair-haired, and clad in well-fitting hosen and tunics, richly trimmed, with natty shoes and jaunty red berrette, peering as they sidled up and down into screened doorways for revelations of feminine charms and fashions. If, as it was said, matrons frequented that famous rendezvous to study mannikins draped to show forth the smartest costumes, and ostentatiously to give their alms, we may be sure maidens, perhaps clandestinely, found themselves there too, with their white veils coyly arranged to please their admirers—young and old.

Giovanni Dandolo splashed no red mark upon the escutcheon of the City, the white lily of a virtuous life was not denied him, but he wearied of his dignity, and, in 1289, retired to his restful home in Dalmatia, and there he lived till 1320. When dying he left by will to his lamenting consort, the Dogaressa Caterina, “many chests full of fair linen, vests, shawls, and coverlets, with a couple of ningoli—chemises (?), and many other things.” The wearing of under linen was unusual then, and, be it said sotto voce, little care was taken in the matter of cleanliness—the wearer went on wearing till the garments were worn out! A Sonetto, written about the Venetians, by Antonio Beccario da Ferrara, refers amusingly to this peccadiglio:—

“Nun s’no da mutar lur pani lini E cho’ mantegli vannu dimezatti, Porton solete chalzertti. Tal che impegna boriz e cholterlini.”

The chemise—and its complement—were luxuries in the year 1307, when Donna Sofia Battango, in her will, bequeathed one of each garment, with special injunctions, to two of her dearest friends—Donne Reni and Donadi.

Dogaressa Caterina Dandolo survived her husband many years and died, if the record may be believed in 1341, when she must have been quite a centenarian. At any rate there is extant the Inventory of her wardrobe, which contained a wealth of rich and costly dresses, viz.: “a robe of white silk serge pleated with silver; a robe of cerulean-blue cloth lined with grey fur; a tunic of red brocade trimmed with braid and buttons of silver; a cape or cloth of gold and watered silk; and train of fine thin scarlet cloth covered with silver trimmings; two silk hoods lined with ermine, several lace caps covered with pearls—etc., etc.” Possibly some of her belongings got into the hands of Venditori di Panni Vecchi,—dealers in old clothes, who in 1283 had been subjected to strict inspection. Women were allowed to buy and sell, but all shops had to be closed on festivals and Sundays, which, in Venice, totalled up to half the year. Perhaps the good Dogaressa bestowed her wardrobe, or some of her garments, upon the members of that most curious Guild of all the Guilds of Venice—the “Zonfi”—the lame and blind; for it was incorporated under her patronage.

Of those days indeed the words of the quattrocento poet of Padua, Giovanni Sanguinacci, were true:—

“Venice rich and free wears the world’s crown high— Queen of the Sea, of the Shore, of the Sky.”

IV

Upon the abdication of Giovanni Dandolo the popular choice of a successor fell upon Giacomo, Doge Lorenzo Tiepolo’s eldest son,—a prudent and unselfish man—“un huomo de bene” as he was called; but he refused the honour, and promptly went off to his estate at Mestre, and set to work farming. Eventually Pietro or Perazzo—“Proud Peter”—Gradenigo was elected. His character was marked by gentleness of disposition, equability of temper, tenacity of purpose, and strength of will,—all very desirable traits in one chosen to fill such a cumbered-about and difficult position as the Dogeship of Venice.

Moreover he had strong views concerning the status of the Dogaressa. He had himself sought no foreign Princess, as had the men of the house of Tiepolo, but had taken his wife from a Venetian family, as illustrious as his own—both were of the “Apostolic,” or twelve premier, families—Tommasina Morosini. She presented him with five sons and a daughter,—Paolo, Marco, Niccolo, Giacomo, Giovanni, with Anna, who lived to be the consort of Giacomo da Carrara, Lord of Padua.

Convinced, by diligent study and close observation, that an autocracy was the only satisfactory form of government for Venice, as opposed to the intricate jealousies of the aristocracy, and to the varying pretensions of the democracy, the new Doge caused the Great Council to pass a law which fixed the administration of the State in the hands of the Doge and the Council of Ten. With a stroke of the pen the popular Government, established under Doge Sebastiano Ziani, in 1172, was abolished, and the Venetian Republic came perilously near being controlled by the will of one strong man. More or less to allay the apprehensions of his fellow-nobles Gradenigo instituted the “Libro d’Oro de’ Quarantia.” Almost the first action of “the Forty,”—quite characteristic, but at the same time grimly humorous,—was to hedge the ambitious Doge about with greater restrictions than ever. He was never to leave Venice under any pretext, and never to walk about the City unattended. His official income was fixed at 14,000 ducats (say £2000) for the worthy support of his family and for the entertainment at dinner, four times a year, of the Lords of the Council. The State robes to be worn by Doge and Dogaressa were also exactly indicated:—for the Doge, over a close-fitting long tunic or cassock of silver cloth, a full mantle of cloth of gold lined with ermine, and an ermine hood. The Corno was of crimson silk-velvet with a plain band of gold, and he was shod with crimson shoes. The Dogaressa’s Court robe was similar to that of her husband; she wore her bodice cut low, her veil was white gauze,—other ladies wore black,—and she exhibited what jewels she liked.

In 1312 the Dogaressa was required, by a pettifogging edict, which the Council passed ironically, to be careful about her payments. She was not to incur debts, but to pay ready cash, and to be particular to pass no longer the smaller copper coins, but to make use of new silver ducats. Her alms too in the Basilica and other churches were to be in gold—perhaps the Dogaressa Tommasina had been chary of her offerings!

Doge Pietro Gradenigo was a politician pure and simple, he cared neither for military or naval questions, nor did he give heed to the interests of the industrial classes. A fluent speaker, he dissembled where he could not convince; and he gained the people’s ears by his much talking, while he restrained their tongues with lavish hospitalities. Like the Medici of Firenze, in later times, his motto was:—“Do nothing without the people,” and his practice was to amuse them. Call this Macchiavellian if you like—that mischievously misused designation for two-faced and hypothetic policies and politicians.

Venice became a vast pleasure fair,—all kinds of vulgar excesses were tolerated, and incentives to abstention from politics were scattered broadcast, in the form of constant panderings to popular fancy. Shooting-butts were set up in the piazzas, and boxing and general pugilistic encounters were established upon the bridges. These latter sports took fast hold upon the people’s taste, and resulted in pitched battles between champions of the various sestieri. The Ponte di San Barnaba was the favourite “coign of battle,” or as it came to be called “Ponte de’ Pugni”—“Bridge of Fisticuffs!” At Carnival and on Public Holidays the whole city forgathered to applaud those who held the Bridge, and to deride those who toppled over into the water. Combatants usually ranged themselves under two flags—the red of the “Castellani” and the black of the “Nicolotti.” Their rivalries were fierce and entered into their daily lives, where lie met lie and boast foiled boast. “Reds” mocked “Blacks” and vice versa:—

“Swine that ye be, all ye Nicolotti How can ye expect the girls to love ye?”

“Have ye no care for Donne—Domini? Thieves that ye be, all ye Castellani!”

Regattas were ever popular and Doge Gradenigo and Dogaressa Tommasina emulated the far-off example of Doge Domenigo and Dogaressa Teodora Selvo by presiding at the contests and personally distributing the prizes. The first prize was a crimson silk purse full of gold ducats; the second, green full of silver coins; the third, blue filled with coppers; the fourth, yellow and empty, but with the addition of a model of a little black pig! Whilst Padua had its Passion Plays and Fruili its Religious Masks, Venice, under the Gradenigo Doges, had no such pious orgies: Venetians loved the drama and the ballad—the mysteries and the passions of actual life. Dancing in the piazzas, and serenades upon the Grand Canal—such were their manners.

We gather very little of the Dogaressa Tommasina from the history of her husband’s dogado: Some say she died in 1300, and that the Doge married, in the following year, Donna Agnese, the daughter of Pietro Zantani—“a woman of the people”—who survived him, and dying, left her personal property to her only son Pietro. Another woman’s name is associated with that of the Doge, one Sabba Minotti, but who and what she was we do not know. Domestic morality under Pietro Gradenigo did not attain a very distinctively high mark!

At the close of the thirteenth century, and throughout the whole of the fourteenth, Venice was agitated by revolutionary projects. The year 1300 was marked by the conspiracy of Marco Bocconio, a man of great wealth with a great following of suborned adherents. He aimed at the deposition of Doge Pietro Gradenigo and the substitution of himself as Supreme Lord of Venice. Bocconio and ten of his principal supporters were hanged between the two marble columns of evil augury upon the Piazzetta.

The conspiracy of Marco Quirino and Baiamonte Tiepolo was a more serious affair, and the ancient families of the Badoeri, Barozzi and Dori and many others, were implicated. Pietro Gradenigo was again the obstacle in the way of the conspirators, he appeared to have attained to such a measure of personal pre-eminence that nothing less than his head could save the situation. Never before in all her history had Venice witnessed such a spectacle of personal ambition and personal animosity. Marco Quirino,—the father-in-law of Baiamonte Tiepolo, aimed at the absolute Lordship, with its devolution upon his second in command. They were possessed of immense resources, and had large retinues of highly-trained servants and well-drilled slaves. Baiamonte appealed to the populace in his character of “Il gran Cavaliere” by which title he was known and respected. The Doge, with a firmness of the hard man that he was,—he was in truth “Un’Atila”—“a merciless man,”—crushed the rebellion. Marco Quirino was beheaded and his mansion, on the Grand Canal, turned into a shambles, and Baiamonte Tiepolo exiled with the confiscation of all his property.

There is a story in connection with the Quirino-Tiepolo rising which is quite worth while the telling. Baiamonte Tiepolo, at the head of his armed mercenaries, was passing noisily along the Merceria, on his way to the Ducal Palace, when suddenly the lattice of a window was thrown back and a woman looked out,—an action unwarrantable and criminal. Without a moment’s hesitation she seized the heavy stone pan, full of growing red carnations, and dropped it upon the head of the standard-bearer! The confusion which followed the fall of their leader’s banner gave the Doge’s men the chance of a decisive charge, and the rebels were driven back. Giustina Rossi, such was her name, was taken before his Serenity, publicly thanked, and offered a handsome reward. However she declined every proposal but at length she said she would accept two favours:—“that she might hang out of her window a banner of San Marco upon the anniversary of St Vito’s day; and that her rent should never be raised beyond fifteen gold ducats a year.” Both requests were at once granted, and the “Casa Giustina” as it was called, just beyond the Arco del Cappello, was ever after a landmark in Venice. A white stone on the pavement still marks the spot, and a bust of the heroine Giustina was placed near the arch in 1841.

Little more can be recorded of “Proud Peter.” That he raised the position of Doge to the highest point cannot be doubted, and his treaties with European States,—England included,—caused his fame to resound far and wide. His death was somewhat inglorious, he had gained no man’s goodwill and no one mourned for him. The usual burial rites of Doges were not accorded him, but privately his remains were removed to the island of Murano, and secretly buried in the vaults of San Cipriano:—it was in the winter of 1310.

One of the sweetest stories of old Venice is that of “La Beattina” or “Beata.” In the Campo San Vio (Vito), close to the Palazzo Loredan, there was, in the thirteenth century, a notable casa, where resided Count Pier Nicolo Tagliapietra, a soldier of fortune in the service of the Republic, and ennobled by the Emperor. One bright sunny day in June, in the year 1289,—when Pietro Gradenigo was Doge,—the Countess Elena presented her husband with a lovely baby girl—as delicate as a daisy, as lovely as a lily. No name was found for the child more suitable than “Maria Beata”; and, as she grew, the beauty of her little person was matched by the sweetness of her disposition. “A little saint come to earth,” was she called. Like all the mothers of Venice Countess Elena was as devout in her religious duties as she was devoted to her husband and her child. Daily she was one of the foremost at Mass and Vespers, and, as soon as little Beata could toddle across the riva she accompanied her good mother in her visits to the church of her choice, San Maurizio, across the Grand Canal.

There were no gondolas in those days so little Beata made friends with the barca men at the landing-place, any one of whom would ferry the little Countess to the other side as often as she willed. After a time the Count became uneasy at his daughter’s marked predilection for Church and Convent,—he had in his mind a favourable marriage scheme;—for girls were betrothed often as not whilst barely in their teens. Beata would not listen to his proposals, and moreover disobeyed his prohibition of her devotional exercises. The only way to check his daughter’s visits to San Maurizio was to bribe the boatmen not to ferry her across. A day came when, in spite of the girl’s startled entreaties, not a man of them would do her service,—almost with tears they refused her request. So Beata knelt upon the rough pavement of the riva, and, holding up her hands to Heaven, she begged Saint Mary and Saint Maurice both to help her in her trouble. Then, approaching the canal side, she untied her pinafore, and, in sight of her admirers, she spread it out upon the water, and stepped gently upon it. It bore her weight and, wonder of wonders, began to move her from her supporting boat-pile, and, wafted by a gentle breeze, La Beata was soon at the other side of the canal!

Dumbfounded the boatmen and the riva loungers stood gazing at the wondrous scene, and then, with one accord all shouted “Uno miracolo! Uno Miracolo!” The news was carried over the Campo, right down each riva and calle, until all Venice knew that they possessed another Saint,—a holy virgin, a new companion for their beloved Santa Giustina.

Whatever might have been Count Tagliapietra’s plan for Beata’s betrothal mattered little, for every eligible youth in Venice promptly made an offer for her hand; but no suitor received encouragement, for “La Beata” professed herself a “Bride of Christ,”—the bride of none beside,—the convent cell should be her marriage bed, the altar her cassone,—so resolved she prayed most earnestly for death; life had no charms for her.

A merciful Providence, perhaps, granted the child-saint’s request, for, from no apparent cause, save only her earnest wish, she surrendered her young beauteous life on the eve of All Saints’ in 1308—it was in her one-and-twentieth year. All Venice followed “La Beata” to her burial at San Vito with tears of joy and words of sorrow. Never since the strict sumptuary laws were passed did so many wax candles illuminate church and casa. Everybody burned one to the young saint’s honour, and then her sepulchre became a shrine,—a place for special prayer, a rendezvous for pilgrims. Annually the Doge and Dogaressa with their official household made a State visit to San Vito and left their offerings at “La Beata’s” altar. Strangest of all strange devotions,—a custom sprang up in Venice, “the City of Saints,” on All Saints’ Day. “La Beata’s” coffin was uncovered, and mothers came from far and near to lay their new-born babes upon the saintly bones—a certain preventive from drowning! The devotion to Santa Beata became so absorbing that at last, to avoid scandals, it was decided by the Ecclesiastical authorities to seal her tomb and forbid her votaries. Nevertheless from that time to this the church of St Vito is thronged at the yearly festival of All Saints with mothers and their young children who have learned from them the story and the virtues of “the sweetest of the Saints of Venice.”