CHAPTER VI

I

The Gardens of Venice!

—“Veri paradisi terrestri, per la vaghezza dell’aiere e del sito lioghi di ninfe e di semedei!”—in an ecstasy of delight wrote Andrea Calmo, in one of his characteristic “Lettere.” He was not the first by any means who had felt the gentle influence of those earthly bits of Paradise, for an observant monk, Frate Felice Faber, of Ulm, goes into raptures, in his “Evagatorium Terræ Sanctæ,” over the roof-gardens he beheld in 1457, as he passed through Venice on his pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre. “Full of aromatic trees and perfumed blossoms,” he wrote, “nothing can be more wonderful, nothing more delicious.”

From the very first foundations of the campi and fondamenti gardens had been the chief home-joy of all the dwellers in the lagunes; a sweet-smelling flowering-plant was as acceptable to them as a piece of bread and cheese. Spread over all the sestieri, chequer-like, they added immeasurably to the amenities of the city. Time had grown the sapling into a shady tree, the sprig into a blossoming bush. Upon the Giudecca, gardens,—“delicati e rari,” belonged to the Bandoli, Conari, Barbari, Gradenighi, Mocenighi, Vendramini, and Gritti. At Villa Catteneo was the loveliest of them, all built up with rockeries, splashed by fountains, and running over with roses, lilies and carnations.

At Murano were the most famous of all Venetian gardens. Sixteen sumptuous Villa-Palaces sprang up like magic upon that sandy sea-shore, and, still more wonderful, the magician’s wand brought forth from alluvial sea-wash, hanging gardens and terraced orchards fairer far than ever were those of Babylon.

Afternoon and evening, fleets of gondolas cut through the murky water, full of visitors bent on pleasure, or to view the splendid frescoes at Villa Mocenigo and the glorious statuary at Villa Trevisan.

Every islet had its garden-patch, every family spent half at least of each day’s playing-hours al fresco: everybody was wise in Nature’s laws, and inspired romance and poetry amid the lights and shadows of the greenery, in the music and the measure of the rustling leaves, and from the delicious air perfumed by fragrant blossoms.

To realise something of what those villa and casa gardens were like, one must traverse sea and land to bonny Baveno, and there tell the affable boatman to steer his course to “Il Palazzo.” There, resting upon the azurine-green bosom of beauteous Lago Maggiore, is a palace like unto a jewelled crown, a garden like fabled Eden, all built and laid out, doubtless, by garden artists from Venice and Murano. Upon that delectable spot are gathered all the loveliest things of Nature’s second kingdom;—so it was at Murano what time Pietro Bembo walked and thought and talked, leading the muses of the grove and the mermaids of the shore in mystic dance and song.

“The strange flowers’ perfume turns to singing, Heard afar, o’er brightest moonlit seas The Syrens’ song, grown faint in ringing, Falls in sweet odours on dancing trees.”

Alas, where men of letters and women of fashion once forgathered in sumptuary and sympathetic symposia are wanton weeds and raw rank grass, with patches of unpoetic potato and uncultured cabbage. Rag-pickers and goat-herds hold unclean orgies where peach and cherry trees were wont to scatter scented painted petals upon the heads and breasts of those that discoursed philosophy and whispered love. “True love,” as the Poet-Laureate declared, “that seeks not only perfect beauty but god-like also:” expressing thus, in Venetian terms, the Greek of Plato,—“The desire to possess in one perfect union the beloved being and the lovely soul.” To kiss the hand and not the lips was the theory of those romancists—the reddest features of the human frame, the danger-signal of the soul, and so they grimaced and so they postured under overhanging boughs of acacia and catalpa. In his “Asolani” Bembo sang:—

“Vita giojosa e cara Chi da te non l’impara Amor non ave.”

The children of Murano now offer visitors humble nosegays of sea-pinks and flowering flags, but in the springtide of Venetian poetry and literature, the orchards were carpeted with hyacinths and anemones, violets and scented stocks. The terraces and borders yielded light begonias, banksia roses,—red and yellow,—and carnations of many hues, all as brilliant as the painted faces and the tinted bosoms of the beauties, who clasped them from the hands of their innamorati, to place upon their bare and ample breasts.

Bushes of daphne ordorifica and many another aromatic exotic attracted swarms of luminous butterflies, linnets sang in the laurels, and in the myrtle, nightingales; but the strings of guitars and the keys of flutes, vibrated by the gallants of La Calza, yielded sweeter music far. Pergolas were laden with golden grapes and purple, quinces struggled with pomegranates to delight sight, smell, and taste. Figs vied with oranges, melons with pines in fullness and in flavour. Solomon’s gardens poured out no more richly seductive treasures. Shadows were cast only by solemn cypress and rocking hollyhocks, but through them flashed saffron bees laden with pelf from honeysuckle, musk, and lavender.

Men and women, with gay peacocks on the lawn, preened themselves in gorgeous costumes, conversed in arboreal arbours of all things high and low, tossed salutations where the spray of fountains cast rainbows in the scented air, and sang, and danced, and flirted to their hearts’ content. Not that the gardens of Venice were given up wholly to love and romance, for many a venerable Doge and Dogaressa presided at feasts of reason, and received the reverences of men of letters and of women of culture, who have left their finger-prints upon the pages of literature.

If Pietro Bembo was the Poet-Laureate and the leader of the literary revels, as great as he, were Aldo Manuzio and Andrea Navagero,—court-printer and courtier-poet. Then Francesco Colonna,—lover of “La Polia” and Roman king of pageants,—shared with Ermolao Barbaro,—the humorist and the satirist,—passionate love of Venice. Lodovico Ariosto and Pietro Aretino,—empirics and critics both,—made love also to the Venus of the Lagunes, in the new Bohemia of the island gardens. All the poets sang of “Venus Physizone,”—“Venus the Fruitful,”—Venice sweetheart and wife. Benozzo Gozzoli, the Florentine, painted, in the Campo Santo at Pisa, the song and dance of Venice—the Rispetti and Ballate,—love ditties of youth, and the Frottole and Madrigali—murmurings of adult romance,—movements in life-tragedies.

Music, step, and cadence, traditional and patriotic, were the actualities of lagune life in the open: for stage, the garden-plot, the well-head, the gondola-herse, and the open campi. Refrains, piped and warbled, in calli and rive, and, graceful and heavy measures stepped there, were carried off to sea in the galleys of commerce and of war. Sympathetic language is everything, in expressive popularity, and, if cultured Venetians used Latin and Tuscan in lecture and conversation, no tongue of any time was so rich in scenes of caressing endearment as the common-talk of Venice, no dialect was anything like so soft, sensuous, and melodious.

Historians, great and small,—Martino Sanudo and Marcantonio Coccio and many another—forgathered in the gardens, and wrote delightful records of fascinating and learned women, as well as of bewitching butterflies of fashion. Cristina Pisano, in the fourteenth century, “Mother of women writers,” and Cassandra Fedele, in the fifteenth,—“Decus Italia,” Angello Poliziano, the Medicean, called her,—were leaders in the great Venetian pageant of the Graces and the Liberal Arts. Moderata Fonte sang sympathetically the glory on Venetian womanhood:—

“S’ornano il ciel le stelle Ornan le donne il mondo Con quanto e in lui di bello e di giocondo.”

There were lovely gardens also at Friuli, Asolo, and all along the Brenta, where Venetians,—fair and brave, wise and dignified—held revels and communings, masked balls and stately receptions.

If you would see and know the Messiri and the belle Donne of Venice, in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, you will find them resting or disporting themselves in their villas and their gardens. There, arrayed in his official crimson velvet robe of semi-State,—you will make your reverence to his Serenity the Doge, and, at his side you will bend your knee to kiss a gracious Dogaressa’s hand. She has not to bear the weight of her stiff State robe of cloth of gold; she is in crimson silk, and her fair hair, hardly showing streaks of white, is covered with a becoming veil of lace, fixed with great gold and jewelled pins. They are the most affable and most approachable noble couple in all history, and the younger people are all the gayer for their presence, strangers are completely at their ease, noble Lords of the Council, dignified matrons, the cultured, the artistic, and the seriously-minded, find pleasure and distinction in their company.

By electing Nicolo Marcello, in succession to Doge Nicolo Tron, in 1473, the Lords of the Council returned to their traditional usage. He was a member of one of the eight considerable families before 1289, ranking third in the premier grade of the nobility immediately after the “Apostolic” and “Evangelistic” families. He had, however, in the eyes of the very select, lowered himself by his marriage in 1427, with Donna Bianca Elena, daughter of Messir Francesco Barbarigo, Procurator of San Marco, a distinguished member of a family rising rapidly in wealth and influence, but only ennobled, with nineteen other families, after the Genoese war of Chioggia. Madonna Bianca died, probably of plague, two years later, and then Messir Marcello again entered the estate of matrimony with Madonna Contarina, widow of Messir Francesco Morosini. She was a Contarini, a daughter of one of the most exalted and wealthiest families on the Roll of Nobles.

Very little is recorded of either the Doge or Dogaressa, for their reign was the shortest of any in the line of Doges of Venice,—less than a twelvemonth. There is a very ambiguous notice in “La Storia di Venezia,” a manuscript history in the Museo Civico, which states that:—“Messir Nicolo Marcello, aged seventy-six, would not allow the Dogaressa, his Consort, to enter the Palace.” This of course refers to the usual solemn Entry and Coronation, but the why and wherefore are not stated, and no amount of surmise will explain the matter.

“This Doge,” the manuscript goes on to say, “was a very pompous sort of man, and he caused the regalia of his office,—including the State umbrella and cushion, which had hitherto been both of crimson velvet,—to be made entirely of gold and cloth of gold. He had a Corno entirely of gold and jewels, like the crown of an independent Sovereign, and he added, to the State robe of cloth of gold, a costly tippet of ermine, fastened down the front with solid gold clasps and buttons.” His ordinary dress was scarlet, but at State functions and in Council he wore white or cloth of silver under the State robes.

In his will, executed on 24th July 1473, the Doge made some recompense to his spouse for the denial of dignity. “To my dearly-loved Consort,” he deposed, “I leave eighteen hundred gold ducats (her dowry) together with two thousand gold ducats. I also bequeath to her the contents of my wardrobe, and assign to her, for use during her lifetime, my Casa, on the Campo di Santa Marina, together with all my equipages, horses, furniture, tapestries, and everything necessary for her honourable maintenance as my widow.” Doge Marcello died in January 1473–1474, and was buried in the ancient, but no longer existent, church of Santa Marina. His monument is now in SS. Giovanni e Paolo, whither it was removed along with that of Doge Michele Steno. The death and burial of Dogaressa Contarina Morosini-Marcello are unrecorded.

The dogado of Pietro Mocenigo (1474–1476), was almost as brief as that of his predecessor. He was a veteran leader of the armies of the Republic, fighting for years against the forces of the Turks. His monument in SS. Giovanni e Paolo bears the epitaph:—“Ex Hostium Manubis,” in recognition of his invaluable services. In life he was something of an old-man-in-a-hurry, for his energy was unbounded and his love of Venice enthusiastic. The Dogaressa was Donna Laura, daughter of Messir Giovanni Zorzi. We look in vain for records of his reign and notices of her virtues: all we have is a clause in his Promissione, which granted to her and her family, in the event of his predemise, the use of the private apartments in the Ducal Palace for three months after his death—“so as to avoid unseemly haste.”

Fresh sumptuary laws were passed affecting dress and fashions under Dogaressa Laura: she herself, as were all the Dogaressas, was expressly excluded along with her Dozete or daughters, from their operation. In 1474 long trains were forbidden, but quite easily this was disregarded for some inventive mind or other,—a stylish craftswoman doubtless,—created a new thing of beauty, which became a joy to train wearers, a jewelled gold bangle, through which the corner of the offending garment was caught up when occasion demanded!

Lionardo Bota, the Milanese ambassador to Venice in 1476, put on record that the gentildonne of Venice had reached such a lavish style of dressing that he “could not conceive how their costumes could ever be more gorgeous: many ladies boasted that several of them cost more than five thousand ducats apiece!” A decree of the Tribunale delle Pompe was issued to check and moderate the excessive expenditure. Costly gold and pearl embroideries were forbidden together with point-lace with gold and silver thread, and gold tassels with drops of precious stones. Belts and charms were ordered to be less jewelled and less massive.

Andrea Vendramin and Regina Gradenigo were acclaimed as Doge and Dogaressa of Venice in 1476. He belonged to a family ennobled after the Chioggian War and accounted among the wealthiest. Messir Vendramin appears to have made his fortune in the commercial pursuits of his family, and, settling for some years in the Greek island of Rhodes, as a purveyor and provision merchant amassed a fortune of no less than one hundred and sixty thousand gold ducats. Tradesman, or no, he was a man of rare artistic tastes and a keen antiquarian. Upon the dispersal of the collections of Doge Marino Falier his grandfather purchased everything of special value and interest, and through his father, Messir Andrea inherited the treasure, to which he added very considerably. The Catalogue of the Vendramin Museum and Gallery filled sixteen portly volumes.

The Dogaressa was a daughter of Messir Andrea Gradenigo of an “Apostolic” family, and much the superior of her husband in rank: she married the future Doge in 1426. Six daughters were born to the noble couple, for each of whom their father apportioned the very goodly dowry of seven thousand gold ducats, but upon one condition that he should choose their husbands! As a young man Andrea Vendramin was said to have been one of the handsomest and most courtly gentlemen of the city.

Dogaressa Regina made her solemn Entry with all the pomp and circumstance customary for that event,—but she was not crowned. This was the first step in the declension of the splendour and quasi-sovereignty of the First Lady of Venice. Gradually the Dogaressa had been accorded, and had assumed dignity upon dignity: henceforward she was as gradually to lose her distinctions.

The dogado of Andrea Vendramin synchronised with the most disastrous period in Venetian history. “He died,” wrote Ruskin in his “Stones of Venice,” “leaving Venice disgraced by sea and land, with the smoke of hostile devastation rising in the blue mists beyond Friuli.” His death in 1478, was due to pestilence, which followed the ravages of the Turks, carried to the shores of the lagunes, “from the Orient by the ships of the new Mistress of the Seas, the supplanter of the Supremacy of the Queen of the Adriatic.” He was buried in the now ruined Church of Gli Servi, but during the nineteenth century his monument was removed, with many others, to the Venetian Pantheon of SS. Giovanni e Paolo.

Dogaressa Regina survived her Consort many years, but of her end we have no account. There is, in the Museo Civico, a curious picture, apparently commemorative of her Solemn Entry, with the following inscription:—“Regina Gradenigo Andreæ Vendram, Veni, Princeps, Uxor, Senioribus ac Propinquis comitata ingenti populi plausa Regiam Aulam ingreditur MCCCCLXXVI.”

Giovanni and Taddea Mocenigo assumed the Corno in 1478. He was a younger brother of Doge Pietro Mocenigo, the third member of his family within the century to mount the Ducal throne—a circumstance only paralleled by the Dandoli since the far-off days of the Particepazi, Candiani, Orseoli, and Michieli. The Dogaressa was a daughter of Messir Giovanni Michielo and vindicated in her person the assertion often made, that “succession through the female line is always more certain than through the male,”—the last Michielo Doge,—Vitale II.—died in 1172.

In the February of the year of their accession the Sultan of Constantinople sent an embassy to Venice seeking terms of amity and reciprocity and bearing costly gifts to their Serenities, and also many presents for the principal nobles. Among the offerings was a magnificent Oriental carpet,—the like of which the Venetians had never beheld,—a number of handsome jewels for the Dogaressa, and a weird collection of new animals. Both the Doge and his Consort had a hobby for wild animals and greatly added to the number of such creatures in the Venetian Zoological Gardens—now the Giardino Reale—established in 1310 under the dogado of Pietro Gradenigo.

The arrival of these beasts, among them a giraffe,—hitherto an unknown animal save in fiction,—caused wild excitement in Venice, and, like its brother in Florence, it was the recipient of caresses by the nuns in the convents to whom it was exhibited. Unfortunately, the whole collection perished in a calamitous fire which burnt out, not only the beasts’ dens, but also ravaged the private apartments of the Doge and Dogaressa, and destroyed the whole sequence of portraits of former Doges, besides many priceless art treasures.

Unhappily Dogaressa Taddea, herself, perished in October of the year of her Coronation,—a victim, with many of the gentlewomen of her Court,—of the terrible scourge of the Black Death. Her funeral obsequies were conducted upon the most lavish scale,—quite the most sumptuous of any public funeral in Venetian history. The ceremonial was identical with that observed at the burial of a Doge, but far more impressive by reason of universal mourning—a “Mother of Israel” was borne through a sea of human tears to her last resting-place. After the operation of embalming, her body was first exposed in State within the Sala de’ Pioveghi, within the Ducal Palace, thence it was escorted to the no longer existent parish church of San Geminiano, in order that the poorer people might the more easily view the remains of their benefactress. Arrayed in her Coronation robes, with the smaller Ducal Corno on her head, and the face covered with a delicate lace veil of Burano, she was watched by a succession of nuns from San Zaccaria and of Pinzocchere, or noble recluses, in the exercise of their functions as State mourners.

The place of ultimate sepulture was the grand church of SS. Giovanni e Paolo. The cortège was accompanied by the clergy of the City churches, members of the various monastic Orders, the chapters and officials of San Marco and San Pietro di Castello, the five Scuole de’ Battudi, the three Ordini delle Pinzocchere, the Lords of the Council, the foreign ambassadors and a large following of Masters and officers of the Craft Guilds with their banners furled. Twenty noble relatives of the Doge and Dogaressa held the pall, and the bier was carried by relays of workmen from the Arsenal. The Ducal regalia was borne by the Officers of State, but the one absentee was the widowed Doge,—broken-hearted he remained inconsolable in his private apartments.

A splendid catafalque erected in the nave of the church was guarded by the Doge’s body-guard of one hundred Captains of Marine. This “Triumph of Death” ended with the interment of the beloved Dogaressa in the grand sarcophagus which Doge Mocenigo had prepared for himself and his spouse. He poor man was not only utterly prostrated by the sudden and unlooked-for death of his dearly-loved wife, but he was also deeply distressed by the ravages of the pestilence. Venice was for the nonce a pest-house, full of dead and dying people, with few able and willing to bury them. Scenes of savagery were to be witnessed in every casa and calle and the Beccamorte went about collecting corpses for submersion in remote deep waters of the lagunes,—funeral pyres were lighted in the distant campi. In 1485 Doge Giovanni Mocenigo followed his lamented Consort in a similar “Triumph,” and his body was laid beside hers under the huge monument which occupies the whole wall-space near the grand portal of SS. Giovanni e Paolo.

II

For a graphic account of Venice and the Venetians, at the close of the fifteenth century, the pen-pictures drawn by a Milanese monk, passing through Venice in his “Viaggio a Gerusalemme,” and published in 1494, are most interesting. He affirms first of all that “it is not possible to describe fully the charm, the magnificence, and the wealth of the City.” He assisted at the High Mass and Procession on Corpus Christi Day at San Marco and on Piazza. “The robes of velvet, crimson, purple, and yellow, and the togas of cloth of gold sweeping the ground, each finer than the last, were wonderful.” There was “great silence, such as I never before observed even at the very large gathering of nobles. Everything was well ordered as though ruled by one master. I have considered the quality of these Venetian courtiers, who for the most part are fair complexioned, slim, and tall, and I can quite readily believe their reputation for astuteness in their dealings. You must if you would treat successfully with them, keep your eyes and ears wide open. They are very proud, and I think it is because of the eminence of Venice afloat and ashore. When a son is born to Venetian parents they say ‘another young Lord has come into the World.’ At home they are fairly simple in their living but abroad, in public, they are lavish with their gifts and enjoyments. The richness of their dress is indescribable, but out of doors every man wears a full toga of black and none but a born fool would venture without it.”

The worthy Frate goes on to talk about the women and girls and their dress. “The married ladies and those no longer of the company of the belle giovane are all covered, in the streets and in church, in sombre cloaks, they look like widows or nuns of the Benedictine Order; it needs but the bell or the trumpet announcing the festa for them to assume the most splendid garments that women possess, and their jewels are wonderful. The young girls are beautiful and full of fun.”

Monk as he was Casola was taken, as was the Venetian custom, when a marked distinction was paid to an honoured foreign guest, to witness “the unique spectacle” as he calls it of a lying-in-mother. She was the wife of Messir Agnello Delfino, of that noble family. With him went an envoy of the King of France, and he judged that Messir Delfino’s motive in this particular case was to astonish his visitors by Venetian magnificence even in the privacy of the home. “The room,” he says, “had a charming piece of Carrara marble picked out with gold, and chiselled so as Praxiteles and Pheidias could not have bettered; the ceiling was so finely decorated with gold and deep blue, and the walls so finely hung that I cannot describe the effect. There was so much gold everywhere that I am not sure whether Solomon in his golden glory would not have looked small. Among the ornaments was a dish of gold valued at about five hundred gold ducats. The bed was of cedar or some such sweet scented wood and gilded, but of the ornaments and dress of the noble lady I think it best to keep silence rather than speak for fear no one would believe me. My attention was called off perhaps by the five-and-twenty lovely young noble ladies, each one fairer than her neighbour, seated around the bed, their blonde hair elaborately puffed and their features touched up with colour. Their dresses were discreet alla Venegiana: they showed no more than six finger-breadths of bare breast below their shoulders, back and front. These damsels had so many jewels on their heads and around their throats, and wore so many costly rings,—precious stones, pearls, and gold,—that we, who talked the matter over afterwards, came to the conclusion that the total value far exceeded one hundred thousand gold ducats. Their faces were superbly painted and so was the rest of them that was bare.”

This “unique spectacle,” later, became a scandal, and the authorities stepped in to amend the customs attending child-birth. Lying-in-women of all classes were forbidden to receive the visits of strangers in their bedrooms, near relatives alone were admitted, under a fine of thirty gold ducats. The Chief of the Cabinet of Ceremonials was the officer charged to see that the decree was duly observed. He had the right of entry at child-birth into the very presence of the mother, and was directed to remove in custody any unauthorised person. The penalty was absurdly severe—three months’ imprisonment in the dungeons and three months in the penal galleys! This edict however was easily evaded, servants, midwives and even police were open to receive bribes for silence and acquiescence.

The noble mother was usually dressed entirely in white silk, her cap was of fine Burano lace, upon her fingers she wore her rings. Her pillows were of embroidered white silk, and trimmed with white lace, the coverlet was rich damask-silk padded and stitched, and often as not fringed and tasselled with gold. Midwives were required to notify a birth within three days and to give the name and residence of the putative father. The parish priest had to register the sex and name of each child offered for baptism.

With respect to the entertainment of visitors very many more friends and neighbours looked in after the birth of a boy than that of a girl. They were served in vessels of gold and silver with spiced cakes, iced confectionery, figs, grapes, and coffee, and each was expected to leave a present behind for the child and ample largesse for the servants. This duty fell constantly to the lot of the Doge and Dogaressa who frequently went from house to house to honour this or that noble couple, with their presentations. The Doge’s gift was a gold cup, the Dogaressa’s a gold chain.

The last two Doges of the century were the brothers Marco and Agostino Barbarigo, sons of Messir Francesco Barbarigo and Madonna Caterina Morosini. The Barbarigo came originally from Trieste and claimed to be collaterals of the ancient and extinct family of Zobenico, which, in the tenth century was already settled in Rivo-Alto. Marco Barbarigo was elected Doge in 1485,—“a man,” if his epitaph may be believed, “upright in his dealings with his neighbours, he never sought praise or profit, but laboured for the public good.” The Dogaressa was Madonna Lucia Ruzzini,—beautiful and talented, although Marino Sanudo refers to her incidentally as nothing more than “a very tolerable kind of woman.” She was always ailing, and yet by way of proof that “a creaking gate hangs long,” she outlived her Consort ten full years, but her reign was as uneventful as it was short, one brief year, no more.

The Doge and his younger brother Agostino were never on good terms, and the disputes between them became so acrimonious that, one day, after an unusually harsh quarrel, Doge Marco fell ill of excitement and worry, and was seized with severe cardiac pains. Feeling the stringency of his attack and fearing the imminence of death, he summoned to his couch his four sons. He set before them their duty to the State and commended their suffering mother to their filial care, then he embraced them and her tenderly and blessed them, and, forgiving his headstrong brother, he quietly passed away. His body was laid in State with full honours in the Sala de’ Pioveghi and then ceremonially buried in the church of Santa Maria della Carita, the conventual buildings of which, and the Scuola Grande di Santa Maria della Carita,—the oldest of the religious corporations of the thirteenth century,—are nowadays the Palace of the Accademia.

Dogaressa-dowager Lucia Ruzzini-Barbarigo’s will was executed in 30th July 1496,—fourteen days before her death,—wherein she directs that her burial shall be “conducted simply in the Church of Santa Maria della Carita, where reposes the body of my husband.” ... “To Sister Margherita, Prioress of the Ospedale d’Ognissanti di Murano I leave five gold ducats and my new silken robe.” To her daughters, both cloistered nuns of Ognissanti, she left her State robes and her Corno, with five gold ducats apiece. She was interred by her husband’s side.

The Dogaressa had, among other dependants a Circassian slave, who bore the name of Maddalena, and to whom she was much attached. She had served Madonna Lucia and her family with fidelity for many years, now the testatrix declared her “free from every chain” and bequeathed to her a comfortable competence. This mention of a “slave” opens out a vexed subject. Far away in the eighth century the early Venetian merchant-adventurers, vigorous and amorous by nature and disposition, saw and loved beauteous maidens in Eastern ports. The harem life appealed to them and many an one became the happy possessor, by right of purchase, of helpless friendless damsels.

Oriental slaves were gladly welcomed as workers by the Trade Guilds, especially by the Carpet-weavers, the Makers of cloth of gold and silver tissue, and the Armourers. Public slave auctions were established at San Giorgio in Rialto. The average price for boys and girls seems to have been twenty-five gold ducats; but as many as eighty or one hundred changed hands for a particularly fine specimen of humanity or for one skilled in craftsmanship. These human chattels were well protected by State enactments and often as not they exercised considerable influence in the families of their owners. The wills of Venetians of property generally contained clauses indicative of wishes concerning their slaves.

In Florence, as Madonna Alessandra negli Strozzi has related in her “Lettere,” people preferred dark-haired, swarthy Tartars, who she says, “are the best for work, and most simple in their ways,” but in Venice,—where the sun turned all maidens’ hair into strands of gold,—fair-skinned auburn-haired Circassians, like Dogaressa Lucia Ruzzini-Barbarigo’s devoted Maddalena, were in most request. They were usually skilful in the artifices of the toilet and well adapted for the Venetian sol fa nienti sort of life. The presence of slaves in Venice and their absorption into the private life of the nobles and the citizens were paramount factors in the evolution of the courtesan. Whilst marriage with a slave was absolutely forbidden, the mutual relations of the races and of the sexes were such that perhaps the motto of our British Royal House is the best vindication:—“Honi soit qui mal y pense!”

The painful circumstances which led to Doge Agostino Barbarigo’s succession were soon forgotten in the revived life and prosperity of the Republic. It appeared as though, after flickering fitfully for many a weary year, the golden wax candles of Venetian shrines were again to burn with their wonted brilliancy. Venice recovered Rimini, Faenza, Brindisi, Otranto, and many other possessions on the Adriatic, and her flag once more flaunted proudly on the high seas. The following couplet succinctly set forth the glories of the departing century:—

“Polente in guerra et amica di pace Venetia el ben’ commun sempre le piace.”

Still the discovery by the Portuguese in 1486, of the water-way to the Orient round the Cape of Good Hope augured ill for Venetian commerce. So, directly, too, that other great maritime achievement,—the landing of Amerigo Vespucci of Florence, and Cristoforo Colombo of Genoa, upon the shores of the New World affected adversely the supremacy of the “Mistress of the Seas.”

Doge Agostino Barbarigo, born in 1419, had a brilliant career before he mounted the Ducal throne. Podesta of Verona and of Padua, Procurator of San Marco, he was a personal friend of the Pope Alessandro VI., who sent him the rare distinction of the “Golden Rose.” He married in 1449 Donna Elisabetta, daughter of Messir Andrea Soranzo dal Banco, “One of the proudest ruling families in Venice.” One son, Francesco, and four daughters blessed their union,—two of the latter entered Religion as nuns of Santa Maria degli Angeli di Murano.

Seven years after their succession Doge Agostino and Dogaressa Elisabetta were called upon to entertain a very distinguished visitor, Duchess Beatrice d’Este the consort of Duke Lodovico il Moro of Milan. As imperious and intriguing a beauty as ever boarded the “Bucintoro” the Princess was conducted in a pageant from Fusina to the Ducal Palace. Her suite counted princes and ambassadors and a host of attendants, so large indeed that three Palaces,—the Foscari and Guistiniani were requisitioned for her use. Very splendid fêtes were given in her honour. She remained in Venice for some time delighted with the pleasant society of the Dogaressa, and the ladies of the Court, and astonished at the beauty of the younger noblewomen and the comeliness of the young nobles, and perhaps, woman-like more than all at the splendour of their costumes and the magnificence of their jewels.

Her mission was diplomatic, to gain over Venice to the Milanese League against Charles VIII. of France. In this she was completely successful; few of the proud and unemotional Lords not yielding to her blandishments. Her correspondence with her Consort is quaint as quaint can be. She likens the older nobles and their ladies to “great dolls” or “Stately Deities,” and makes sly remarks about the scanty dress and easy manners of the girls. “They are,” she wrote, “clothed in pearls and gold chains from head to toe, but little else ... cloth of gold is as common here as fustian is with us....”

Whether caused by weariness of a prolonged dogado the old Doge began to feel the years heavy, and worn by the declension of the fame of Venice, Agostino Barbarigo expressed a desire to be relieved of his official responsibilities. The abdication of a Chief Magistrate had become a very rare event, and none of the Lords of the Council having any special wish for office, the idea was dismissed. However, on 13th September 1501, the Doge called a special assemblage of the Council,—an expedient rare enough and always ominous of trouble,—and presented a formal act of abdication of the Dogal throne. The proposition was received in silence, but drawing slowly off the Ducal ring, he handed it to the Senior Lord of the “Forty” and said:—“I leave this Palace to go to my own home at San Trovaso, there to end my days, and I pray you to be so good as to accept my profound regrets.” The Council however declined to permit the vacation of office and the Chancellor, speaking for the noble Lords, replied:—“Your Serenity must retain your high station and trust in God to heal you of your infirmity.”

Ten days later the Doge breathed his last at the advanced age of eighty-two. His end was sudden and painless. At first his career had been viewed with satisfaction and his many excellent qualities highly extolled, but disappointed suppliants for his patronage and that of the Dogaressa hinted at nepotism and favouritism and complained of corruption in his bestowal of favours.

What special part Dogaressa Elisabetta took in maintaining the dignity and prerogative of her station we know not, nor do we know anything about her Entry and Coronation, or her death and burial. Her Consort left an inordinately lengthy will with many codicils: he appeared to be determined to spread his bequests over as wide a field as possible. Almost every public institution received a legacy and personal gifts were numbered by the dozen. To his widow, “Ixabela,”—he calls her,—the Doge left the use of their private residence, with the furniture and decorations, the ornaments of the private chapel, the revenues from certain wool and silk weaving factories, ten thousand gold ducats, and, quite quaintly, the proprietary rights over her State robes and the jewellery he had given her.

The funeral of Doge Agostino Barbarigo was conducted with the usual impressive ceremonial at SS. Giovanni e Paolo, where orations were delivered by Bishop Domenigo Venier of Castello and Condottiere Vettor Cappello—who appears to have taken the Doges of his time under his special tutelage. The actual burial was conducted at Santa Maria della Carita, alongside the grave of Doge Marco Barbarigo. His monument bears the somewhat pedantic epitaph:—“He was the most popular man in Venice: a grand orator and a splendid soldier.”

III

Lionardo Loredano was the eleventh “Grand” Doge of Venice. Mentally and physically he was a perfect type of the Venetian noble,—not that his family was especially ancient,—they belonged only to the first division of the second grade of nobility,—nor that his wealth and influence were remarkable, but there was about him something or other which manifested the highest expression of Venetian dignity.

Called to the supreme magistracy in 1501, Loredano roused himself, although past sixty-six years of age, and beginning to show signs of failing health, to stand foremost among the men of the new Century. Tall and spare of figure, massive and reticent of feature, passionate yet kind-hearted in disposition, pushful yet tactful in bearing, he was recognised by the Lords of the Council as the man of the hour. All this is forcibly expressed in the lifelike and superb portrait by Giovanni Bellini in the National Gallery in London.

Nevertheless his election was challenged by the populace, gathered tumultuously on the Piazza. The cry was for Filippo Tron, son of old Doge Nicolo, older by ten years than Messir Loredano, very fat, very indolent, and very self-indulgent, but ever ready for a joke and to make fair promises. Moreover his estate totalled eighty thousand gold ducats against Lionardo Loredano’s modest thirty thousand. Happily with the sane constitution of Venice, the unintelligent and ill-directed will of the people was kept under restraint. Tron died suddenly of apoplexy after a heavy gorge within three months of Loredano’s election. Messir Filippo was no opponent of the old Venetian proverb:—“Dieta magga le medico!” “Diet dishes the Doctor!”

The new Doge had four sons, Lorenzo, Girolamo, Alvise, and Bernardo, but he was a widower,—a rare, perhaps unique, circumstance so far as the dogado was concerned. The mother of his sons, Giustina Giustiniani, died the year before the death of his predecessor—Doge Agostino Barbarigo. It appeared as though he was expected to contract a second marriage for his Promissione required that “the Dogaressa, his sons, nephews and nieces and other near relatives, should receive no gifts under a penalty of twenty-five gold ducats for each ducat value.” An oath was enjoined for “the Dogaressa-to-be to observe strictly all the conventions of her exalted position.”

The reign of Lionardo Loredano was one of the most important in all the long succession of Doges, for Venice passed through the most exigent crisis of her history. “The famous League of Cambrai” was aimed at nothing short of the annihilation of the Republic. The Pope Julius II., the Emperor Maximilian IV., the King of France, Charles XII., with the Dukes of Florence and Milan were allied, and they tried to win over the Kings of Spain and Naples, of Hungary, and of Scotland, with the Duke of Saxony. England was neutral, but friendly; indeed Henry VIII. championed the cause of the Republic, and ultimately offered to attack France, Spain and Scotland, and, by way of a pledge of amity, he sent an embassy to Venice. The Venetian Government gratefully acknowledged the English support, and despatched among other costly gifts to the King, a team of eight cream-coloured horses, with crimson and gold caparisons, the forebears of our present State equipage.

The year 1509 was a black one for Venice and her people. Her armies were severely defeated, and the strain upon the manhood of the Republic was excessive. Widows and orphans besought the compassion of the charitable, and hospitals and private houses were full of wounded heroes craving creature comforts. Every noble house was smitten and the gallant companies of La Calza lost their comrades and their joy. That Ascension Day—“La Sensa”—was a day long remembered; there were no festivities, no “Bucintoro” set forth to the “Marriage of the Sea,” there was nobody on the Piazza, and no visitors had entered the city for many a day, the Lords of the Council were broken down with grief and apprehension, and the Doge neither spoke nor smiled, he was like a man in a nightmare. At length a faint rift was seen in the darkling clouds, and Loredano, born discerner of times and judge of men, opened the precarious game of statecraft, after the manner of the chess-gambit he loved best, and adroitly played off his country’s foes one against another, until he succeeded in creating a position of mutual jealousy and mistrust. Spain declared for Venice and offered ships and men, James IV. of Scotland followed suit with promises of one hundred and fifty vessels, and ten thousand trained footmen. France made the first warlike advance, and the Doge met the danger by setting up floating corn-mills in the tidal ways of the lagunes, by acquiring vast stores of grain and ammunition, and by throwing chains across the chief canals. All suspects were expelled the City and every citizen was invited by proclamation to rally to the standard of San Marco and to contribute as much money as possible to the State exchequer. Loredano set a noble example for he sent all his gold and silver plate and the jewels of his late wife to the Mint to be melted down for money wherewith to meet the enormous expenses of resistance. His speech before the Grand Council was a model of patriotism and eloquence and was rapturously greeted.

War was waged in the mainland for eight weary years, during which the Pope placed Venice under an Interdict. At last a truce was proclaimed and “La Pace delle Donne,” as it was called, left Venice strong by sea and land. The ultimate arbiters of a settlement were two Royal Princesses—Louise,—Queen-Dowager of France, and Margaret of Austria,—the Emperor’s aunt. The public rejoicings in Venice were exuberant and the pageants were the most splendid ever organised in the sumptuous city. New Companies of La Calza were enrolled for the special purpose of emphasising the resources, the grandeur, and the independence of the “Queen of the Adriatic.” A very favourite spectacular play was “Miles Gloriosus” of which a particularly gorgeous representation was given by the “Fausti” in 19th February 1514 in the Corte dell’ Orefici’ in the rear of the Ducal Palace, which Marino Sanudo describes as “bellissimo” in its mounting and because of the distinguished part taken in it by the four sons of the Doge and his nieces. The Director of the romance was the Commander of the garrison, and the interlude consisted of an oration by a French master of rhetoric. The chorus was composed of a number of gentlemen and ladies of the Court very richly dressed,—in particular Madonna Giovanna Emo, who appeared in a robe of cloth of gold embroidered in coloured silk with silk velvet appliqué work and literally blazing with jewels. The play began at seven o’clock in the evening, followed by a sumptuous banquet, and winding up, long past midnight, with a ball. Every one regretted the fact that the popular Doge, who presided at the banquet, was a widower,—a stately Dogaressa would have added greatly to the distinction of the spectacle.

The recovery of Padua was the crowning victory of the Venetians. The news reached Venice on the festival of the Translation of Santa Marina, and the transports of the people made the popular ecclesiastical ceremonial a doubly impressive celebration. The “Eterni” and “Immortali” companies of La Calza,—especially concerned in the rendition of High Mass and Vespers with the utmost grandeur,—assisted the Doge in offering the keys of Padua upon the altar of the Saint. Venice was delirious: Mass and “Te Deum” were sung between dramatic representations and serenades,—for the triumph of the Republic was the triumph of Religion. But when the festivities were at their height in 1524, the Provveditori alle Pompe stepped in and forbade many splendid ornaments of the person and personal vanities. Amber beads, agate and rock crystal intagli, diamond buttons, chased gold and silver buckles and clasps, enamelled and gold jewellery for the hair, feathered and jewelled fans, lace sleeves, many-hued damasked cloth of gold gowns, velvet with gold and silver piqué threads, painted and gilded leather belts and shoes, gemmed embroideries, etc., etc., were placed upon the Index expurgatorium. The extravagant decoration of gondolas and sedans, table adjuncts of gold, resplendent liveries, and many more things of joy and beauty were severely cut down.

Through all these scenes of martial ardour and sumptuary magnificence Doge Loredano maintained supremely the dignity of the dogado and his twenty years of office were the ne plus ultra of the gorgeous panorama of Venetian history. He died full of years and honours in 1521, and he was buried by the High Altar of SS. Giovanni e Paolo.

The Loredanian tradition for patriotism and nobility was handed on in the gracious personage of Dogaressa Caterina Loredano, sister of Doge Lionardo Loredano,—the Consort of his successor Doge Antonio Grimani. He was an old man of eighty-seven,—one more example of Venetian fruitful longevity and senile ability, but his election was a narrow thing for after several attempts at a decision, the Lords of the “Forty” approved it by a bare majority of twenty-eight votes. Once more a popular candidate appeared on the scene in the person of another Messir Antonio Tron, son of the sybarite Messir Filippo.

The Grimani belonged to the second grade of nobility, their name being among the twenty families enrolled by the Serrar del Consiglio in 1289. Nevertheless they were as ambitious, able, and patriotic as any of the Lords of Venice. Messir Antonio had filled every office of State, previous to his dogado with rare distinction, and his spouse had acceptably participated in his honours and shared his fortunes. The date of their marriage is not recorded, but two of their sons rose to high positions. Domenigo, the eldest, entered Holy Order, and was ultimately preconised a Cardinal. His fame in the roll of literature is great for as a sapient collector of books and prints he was the patron of that most exquisite production, perhaps the most sumptuous illuminated manuscript in existence, the celebrated Grimani Breviary. The second son, Giovanni entered the service of the State, and brought his talents to bear upon the details of the Tariff reform of those days, much to the advantage of the City and her purveyors. At the Election and Entry of his parents, as Doge and Dogaressa, he headed a deputation of the Fruiterers’ Guild which made an offer of one hundred and thirty gilded lemons—surely a parallel to painting the lily!

The new Promissione contained some arbitrary, yet almost ludicrous clauses:—for example, the Doge was forbidden to speak alone with ambassadors and foreign agents, his two State Councillors were required to be present at all such interviews. Like most of the nobles and wealthy citizens Doge Antonio Grimani had a passionate love of sport. Among them all, fowling was a favourite pastime, the reeds and rushes of the smaller islets of the lagunes were splendid cover for aquatic game. Sportsmen wore high boots which they called fisolari, after the birds held most in esteem— fisoli,—divers. The coveys were approached in shallow boats, each manned by eight oarsmen, in blue and green liveries,—the colours most in affinity with the law of natural concealment. The Signore sat in the bows ready with his pecce or miniature cross-bow. Doge Antonio Grimani was forbidden to shoot, as had been his wont, whenever pleasure invited him, for he was restricted to four annual sporting excursions. Just before Christmas he was expected to assume his fowling dress and make a water excursion for the purpose of shooting not divers but wild ducks—oselle. His bag had to be enormously capacious for each Lord of the Council, of the “Forty” and of the “Ten,” required five birds dead in the feather! The sportive Doge usually failed to bring down sufficient game by his own cunning, and in returning to Venice, he directed his provvidetore to purchase the balance in the Poultry market! Even so the requirements of the Lordly blackmailers were not met quite to their satisfaction, for some received fat birds whilst others had those in poor condition. The only way out of the dilemma was conceived by the Doge himself, for, to square accounts, he dealt out so many birds apiece and sent the complement in cash value! This he effected in a novel and characteristic manner, he engaged the services of a stamper of medals and issued a neat little silver coin, a quarter ducat, worth four shillings English money. Upon the obverse it bore the similitude of a gold duck, and on the reverse, the quaint legend:—“Par osculata sunt,” and this was ever after a yearly Christmas-box to all and sundry of their Excellencies,—it went by the name “Osella!”

The Dogaressa’s Promissione was also restricted. An outcry from the baser sort of Venetian loafers and out-of-elbows nobles, was raised against her solemn Coronation. She was denied the customary salutations of the Masters of the Trade Guilds at the Ducal Palace, and the ceremonial reception of ambassadors. Poor Dogaressa Caterina had to be content to be the domestic helpmeet of her Consort not his State wife as well! It does not seem that for her the wealthy makers of cloth of gold had any commission for State robes! She wore simply the dogalina of crimson velvet with full deep sleeves of lined satin; her Corno,—very much reduced, in size,—bore pearls, rubies and diamonds; the velo sottile of thin net, not lace, fell from her head to her waist, and her golden girdle was shortened and unjewelled. Who was the Emperor of Fashion and the arbiter of sumptuary conventions nobody knows, possibly his office was in commission to the officials generally of the Tribunal of Ceremonies, and held by pettifogging busybodies and ill-natured nobodies.

There were and are several Palazzi Grimani in Venice. Doge Antonio Grimani’s residence is that called Grimani della Vida, on the Grand Canal, near the far-famed Ca d’Oro. He died in 1523 but the date of Dogaressa Caterina’s demise has not been preserved, nor do we know where their Serenities were buried.

Doge Andrea Gritti assumed the State robes and Corno in 1523. At once he made a strong bid for popular favour and distributed so vast an amount of largesse upon his election, that people looked askance at him, and cried out in return “Um! Um!—Trum! Trum!” This was an entirely new departure, but Doge Gritti set a fashion in making a pompous progress around the Piazza wearing his full regalia, when coins were scattered broadcast among the spectators, and a movable pozzetto, pulpit, or throne, was borne in the procession, and, when the Doge reached the centre of the Piazza, the youngest Lord of the “Forty” placed upon his head the Corno, and an address was offered him in the name of the citizens.

There is no record of the Dogaressa’s Entry and Coronation,—possibly the Doge’s progress was, in a way an alternative pageant. She was Donna Benedetta Vendramin,—a niece of Doge Andrea Vendramin. The Doge’s family was of no great distinction,—one of the sixteen families, ennobled when the new Libro d’Oro of 1450 was compiled.

His Promissione of 13th May 1513, was, like his predecessor’s, the work of the purist-faddist section of the Council. He was forbidden to go beyond the narrow limits of the City proper, the gardens of Murano, and the sea-baths of the Lido,—the pleasant places on the mainland and up the Brenta, were all beyond bounds! A fine of one hundred gold ducats was actually fixed for each breach of this ridiculous restriction. Letters, to and from his Consort, and his children were subject to official inspection, and statements therein considered by the “Ten” open to objection, placed the whole family at the risk of a fine of two hundred gold ducats—remarks affecting the status and privileges, the opinion and actions of the Council were marked down for banishment for a term of five years!

A further instance of the insolent intolerance of the Councils “The Forty” and “The Ten” and of their exercise of tyranny against the idol they had set up, to wit the Doge, was in connection with the Oselle issued by this Serenity. Doge Gritti presumed to have his token-medals stamped with the effigy of himself kneeling before Saint Mark, this was disallowed. At the same time the nobles sold their oselle to collectors, and then disputed the value of the Ducal gift! The “Ten” decreed the withdrawal of this largesse, together with the yearly dole of wild duck and instead demanded from the Doge the circulation among their Excellencies, at his expense, of a new coin of the value of one and a quarter gold ducats,—to which they gave the name “ducato d’osello.” Whether the unfortunate Doge was able to meet this very heavy annual tax or no, we know not. To be mulcted, without the right of remonstrance, in a yearly useless expenditure of £1000 was a heavy drain even on a rich man’s purse.

Doge Gritti, according to the chroniclers “was a very pliant sort of man,” indeed he had need to be! He was also a great eater, and his gustatory tastes ran to somewhat vulgar and common-place delicacies: his table was served every day with “fat pork, onions and garlic.” He had a shrewd old slave-housekeeper, one Marta, who alone was able to curb his appetite. He gave her permission to remove any dish of which she considered he had partaken sufficiently, or which she thought was bad for him! In person Andrea Gritti was of handsome graceful figure, his temperament was sympathetically voluptuous, and he was much admired by the fair sex—a lover through all his life of wine and women. It was reputed that he maintained a great establishment, after the fashion of an Oriental seraglio; he had many Greek and Circassian slaves and some of them were of gentle birth.

Fond as he was of pomp and circumstance he was able to gratify his tastes with respect to his domestic appointments. His table service was unique, mostly of gold and precious crystal; his gondola, alone among the ten thousand gliding over the water-ways, was decorated with crimson and gold. The sumptuary laws became more and more exacting, and, on one occasion, when a niece of the Dogaressa appeared at a reception at the Ducal Palace in a very magnificent costume of velvet embossed cloth of gold with scarlet and jewelled embroideries, Doge Gritti felt obliged to order her to leave the Court, and return in a less costly confection.

With all his extravagant and ambitious fancies Doge Andrea Gritti was a patriot. Called upon to make a retort to the insulting language of an ambassador of the Sultan, who declared openly that, “Till now Venice has wedded the Sea; henceforth it belongs to us who have supreme power thereupon.” The Doge quietly replied:—“We shall see, Constantinople will fall again perhaps to Venice.” This menace was followed up by an attack in force by the Turkish fleet in 1535. The Doge at once expressed his determination to lead the Venetian forces against the invader. His ardour however met with a snub from the Council, and he was advised to reconsider the terms of his Promissione.

Indeed the jealousy and meanness of the majority of the members of the “Forty” and of the “Ten” knew no bounds. The Doge was subjected to many insults, and to a secret code of espionage. Quite lately proof of this was found, when alterations were undertaken in the saloon occupied by the Archæological Museum in the Ducal Palace. Two narrow staircases were discovered, at the back of what had been the Doge’s bedroom, where Doge Agostino Barbarigo had erected Pietro Lombardo’s noble chimney-piece. These steps led to a space immediately behind the bed itself, where two movable panels in the wall permitted any one to have a peep at the Doge and Dogaressa (?) in bed and see what they were doing!

Among the pious works of Doge Andrea and Dogaressa Benedetta was the rebuilding of the ancient church of San Giovanni Elemosinario. The splendid picture over the high altar of the Saint bestowing alms was painted by Titian upon the Doge’s commission. In the chapel of San Clemente, within St Mark’s is a bas-relief with Doge Gritti kneeling before Saints Nicholas, James and Andrew. The famous painting by Paris Bordone, now in the Accademia, of “The Fisherman and the Ring,” although ostensibly offering a portrait of Doge Pietro Gradenigo really shows the handsome figure and features of amorous and ambitious Doge Andrea Gritti. Probably he and his Consort were buried in their fine new church, but records are wanting.

“What sort of a wife has he got?” was the constantly recurring question, which, upon the death of a Doge, was tossed from side to side in the deliberations of the Council of “Forty,” with respect to the nomination of a successor. “Cherchez la femme!” has no satisfactory equivalent in English phraseology, but the French axiom exactly suits the condition created in deciding the Ducal vote. The Promissione of each succeeding Head of the State, one after the other, tended more and more to eliminate individuality and initiative.

As often as not the physical attributes of a candidate weighed considerably in the election. The question of the spouse also resolved itself pretty much upon the same lines. The candidate whose wife was of commanding appearance, and had a fascinating manner, and who could display to advantage the richest robes ever woman was called upon to assume; and also was likely to add decorative distinction and artistic taste to the State functions had an excellent chance of election. All this was exemplified in the case of Doge Cristoforo and Dogaressa Dea Moro:—he was a cripple and proud, but she was a beautiful and accomplished woman. Certainly this reasoning is natural and not altogether fatuous, for the same economy of selection has ever determined the bestowal of honours in every nation—and does so to-day—incidentally and very aptly illustrating the quaint French mot.

In the long Roll of the Doges and Dogaressas of Venice there were periods where short reigns followed one another in succession. During the second half of the fifteenth century, 1471–1485, six pairs of Serenities bowed themselves on and off the Ducal throne; whilst the middle years of the sixteenth century, 1545–1571, saw an equal number of Ducal couples assume the Corno. Many of these reigns were uneventful and inconspicuous, and very little is on record for the story-teller to relate. Happy is it, perhaps, for the peace of a State and its prosperity, when the pen of the historian dips seldom in the red ink of episodes.

Messir Pietro Lando and Madonna Maria Pasqualigo-Lando followed Doge Andrea Gritti and Dogaressa Benedetta Vendramin-Gritti in 1538. Both of them belonged to comparatively recently ennobled families; the Landi as late as 1450, and the Pasqualighi, one of the thirty advanced to honour after the Chioggian War in 1391. The new Doge took up manfully the cudgels of the State, ready to lead against and fight its foes; but the military element of the lagunes was weary of debauches and defeats. Accommodations with the enemy accorded better with the degenerate spirit of the times, than open hostilities. The acutest phase of Venetian retrogression had set in.

In an inverse ratio the political ascendancy of Venice diminished, the while her artistic temperament became emphatic. She waited, for example, until every other painting school had grown to maturity before she began to nurse her native painters; but, under Doges Lando and Donato, she crowned Titian and his comrades with golden chaplets. They were the first in the Renaissance to portray the natural and unadorned charms of women.

The study of the classics and researches in philosophy never appealed to Venetians generally and gave no tone to society. Venice had neither permanent teachers nor libraries; and her sons and daughters had profound contempt for humanists. Cosimo de’ Medici, “Il Vecchio,” when an exile within the boundaries of the Republic, deplored the want of scholarship. The ensigns of Venice were “Make money and spend it,” and “Grasp power and keep it!” However Doge and Dogaressa Lando had literary tastes, and several Venetian writers dedicated their works to them. Pietro Contarini, of the school of Francesco Colonna, in 1541, inscribed their Serenities’ names upon the fly-sheet of his “Argo Vulga,” and addressed them as “O Sacio Phœbo—O Radienta Luna!”

The dogado of Francesco Donato, 1545–1553; of Marcantonio Trevisan, 1553–1554; and of Francesco Venier, 1554–1556, were uneventful. The position of Venice was wholly changed: what advance she made before the menace of the “League of Cambrai” was checked, and she began to sink into the position of a second-rate power, despoiled of her territorial acquisition and robbed of her naval glory. Her rulers and her citizens yielded themselves to the trivialities of fashion and the intrigues of party, and all the industries felt the influence of disaffection and indolence.

Doge Francesco Donato, whose Consort was Madonna Alicia Giustiniani-Donato, certainly strove manfully to stem the tide of disaster and the ebb of decay, and both he and the Dogaressa did all that was in their power to encourage art and craft. For example he took Tiziano Vecellio under his special patronage. He was appointed Head of the “La Senseria” or Broker of the Fondaco de’ Tedeschi at an annual salary of three hundred gold ducats, with the condition that he should paint portraits of all the Doges of his time at eight ducats a head to be paid by each. He painted Doges Grimani, Lando, Donato, Trevisan, and Venier.

Furthermore Doge Donato added greatly to the decoration of the Ducal Palace and the Dogaressa Alicia refurnished the private apartments. To them also was due the building by Iacopo Sansovino of the Libreria Vecchia, called by Symonds in his “Renaissance in Italy” “the crowning triumph of Venetian Art,” and praised by Aretino as “Superiore all’ invidia.” The Zecca or Mint was completed at Doge Francesco Donato’s instigation, as was also the church of San Sebastiano.

During the years 1547–1549 discontent was rife among the glass-workers of Murano. Members of this most highly privileged Trade-Guild complained that, what with the observance of Church and State festivals and the time restrictions of labour under legal enactment, the working year was reduced to less than thirty-five weeks. From another point of view they saw increasing disabilities in the introduction of foreign manufactures, as Luigi Conaro, in his “Discorso Intorno alla Vita Sobria,” published in 1543, has recorded:—“cloth of gold from India, porcelain and glass from Sevres, earthenware from Birmingham, and other manufactures entered Venice freely to the disadvantage of Venetian workers.”

Strangers of rank and wealth were always charmed with the rare specimens of glass shown, and often bestowed upon them, and invitations poured in upon the craftsmen to accompany the visitors back to their homes. Such advances were promptly declined, for a Murano glass-worker who left Venice to ply his calling in a foreign land was declared an outlaw! Besides this the export of materials, the elucidation of methods, and the sale of finished articles outside the Republic, were crimes visited by heavy fines and imprisonment.

The Gastaldi or Masters of the Guild laid their complaints before their patroness, Dogaressa Alicia, and she was instrumental in obtaining the removal of certain restrictions, and, through her influence, in 1550, a party of Murano glass-blowers were permitted to travel to England, Flanders, Spain and France. King Henry VIII. cordially welcomed them in London, and assigned them suitable quarters where they might instruct native workmen. The King moreover formed a remarkable collection of masterpieces of Murano glass-ware.

There was a quaint saying in Murano:—“The first woman was made of Murano glass—beautiful and brittle!”