Chapter I: To-Day and Long Ago

The Venice which one visits to-day is so curiously a part and not a part of the ancient Venice of which we dream, that one feels, when in that sea-enveloped and fairy-like city, a strange sense of duality,--of being a veritable antique and an equally veritable modern. He has a genuine sympathy with the past, and regrets that he has not the enchanter's wand to bring it all back again,--long enough, at least, for him to revel in its magnificence.

If he believes in reincarnation, he is speedily convinced that he was once a Venetian indeed; else how could he feel so much at home, and how love Venice as he does! And yet, alas! he cannot quite lose his modern point of view.

The first emotion is all delight, and a delight that never loses its thrill; for until the time comes for reflection, we are under the charm of a perfect atmosphere, of skies of liquid blue, tinged at times with crimsons, gold, and violets, such as come only from Nature's loom; of music and soft, fascinating speech; of mysterious labyrinths and sunlit spaces,--in a word, under the spell of Venice. And if {2} Time brings to us the thought of the other side of the picture,--the decay which is stealthily doing its sad work, the grayness when it is gray, and all the pathos which ever attends a queen uncrowned,--yet through all and above all is the joy and pleasure which having once been ours, we are resolved to keep.

To sail from Trieste in an evening of the spring, and make one's first approach to Venice in the early morning, affords an experience that one should not forego. With the clear sun rising behind, surrounded by the marvellous waters blushing in every color of the rainbow beneath his rays, and the pearly tinted city lifting itself from this many-colored sea, as if in welcome, every poetic and artistic sense is filled to overflowing.

Can this coloring be described in words? Alas! no. For when the sea is likened to liquid fire, broken into scintillations and spread over a quivering background of sea-blue and sea-green waves, the half has not been said. When the eye rests on some far-away sand, dun and sombre in the distance, what vividness of flaming red and glorious orange comes out in the middle ground, while nearer the blues and greens are mingled with a shimmering silver! The atmosphere itself seems tinted by reflections from Aurora's garlands, and the strangely luminous blue sky smiles over all.

"Then lances and spangles and spars and bars
Are broken and shivered and strewn on the sea;
And around and about me tower and spire
Start from the billows like tongues of fire."

To the south stretches the long island reaching from the Porto di Lido to Malamocco, its sands now sparkling like gems. The fort of San Niccolo guards the entrance to the Lagoon; the little island of St. Elena is passed, and Murano is seen to the north. But glances only can be spared for these; for Venice itself, with its towers and domes, its {3} belfries, spires, and crosses, its palaces all lacework and arabesques, rises above, while all around, on the canal, numbers of light, curiously shaped boats and sombre gondolas are gathering,--their boatmen clamoring for news and customers.

Descending, as in a dream, we enter a gondola for the first time. The Giardini Pubblici is passed, and soon one stands on the Piazzetta and enters the Piazza of St. Mark, feeling as if he had passed through a living, moving transformation scene, and been dropped into the middle of the twelfth century. And why not? For at this early hour the Piazza seems consecrated to the Past. The few boatmen, fruit-sellers, and lazzaroni who are there might belong to the Middle Ages as well as to the nineteenth century.

Why might they not have seen that grave procession which in 1177 passed into the Chapel of San Marco to celebrate the reconciliation of a Pope and an Emperor,--that day when proud Frederick Barbarossa so nobly proved his greatness?

He had struggled against the Church on the one hand, and the spirit of independent government on the other, with a determination and bravery such as few men in all history have shown.

Threatened with excommunication by Pope Adrian IV., and actually laid under the ban by Alexander III., Frederick refused to recognize him as Pope, and set up four anti-popes, one after another, who died, as if their position brought its own fatal curse. During sixteen years he carried matters with so high a hand that he successfully defied Alexander and Italy; and the much humiliated Pope wandered from court to court, seeking the aid of one kingdom after another, always in vain.

Some States frankly acknowledged their fear of Barbarossa; others dared not meet the sure vengeance of the {4} Ghibellines which would follow the espousal of his cause; Sicily could give him a home, but could not seat him firmly on his throne; and all eyes began to turn to the Republic of the Sea.

The Barbarossa scarcely gave Italy time to rise from beneath his tread and recover herself from one of his disastrous marches through her territory, marking his route by flames and ruin, before he again appeared with his barbaric army, pillaging and destroying all that had escaped his last visitation, and returning to his Northern throne in triumph. At last he turned his face towards the Eternal City for the fifth time, only to find that the Confederacy of the Lombards had raised a barrier against which he beat himself in vain. He was repulsed in repeated engagements; and after the battle of Legnano, May, 1176, he saw the beginning of the end of the audacious policy by which he had so long dominated at home and abroad.

Soon after this first humiliation of his arch enemy, Alexander decided to appeal to the Venetians for succor; and early in 1177 he sailed from Goro, attended by five cardinals and ambassadors from the King of Sicily, who had fitted out a papal squadron of eleven galleys.

After some disasters and perils, his Holiness reached Venice at evening on March 23, and was lodged in the Abbey of San Niccolo. The Doge, the nobles, and the clergy made haste next day to welcome the Holy Father to Venice; and after a service in San Marco, where he gave his benediction to the people, the Doge Sebastiano Ziani escorted him to a palace at San Silvestro, which was his home so long as he remained at Venice.

The Venetians now sent two ambassadors to Frederick at Naples to arrange, if possible, a peace between the Pope and the Emperor. The bare mention of Alexander as the true successor of Saint Peter so enraged Frederick that he could scarcely speak his words of defiance:--

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"Go and tell your Prince and his people that Frederick, King of the Romans, demands at their hands a fugitive and a foe; that if they refuse to deliver him to me, I shall deem and declare them the enemies of my empire; and that I will pursue them by land and by sea until I have planted my victorious eagles on the gates of St. Mark."

Whatever regret the Venetians may have had at being thus forced to protect their guest and punish so insulting a foe, they immediately prepared thirty-four galleys, commanded by the flower of their nobility, among whom was the son of the Doge Ziani; and Ziani himself assumed the chief command.

Barbarossa's fleet was more than double in number, and under the command of his son Otho. On the 26th of May, on the stairs of the Piazzetta, Alexander girded upon Ziani a splendid sword, and gave him his blessing. Feeling the great responsibility they had assumed,--for not only the holy cause, but the glory of Venice was in their keeping,--the Venetians fiercely contested the day. Not less desperate the army of the German prince, and not less bravely did he fight. But after six hours of dreadful slaughter, he found himself a prisoner, with forty of his ships in the hands of the enemy, and his whole following completely routed.

Otho was at once released, having solemnly sworn to persuade his father to a reconciliation with Alexander. A promise faithfully kept; for although this dreadful defeat at Salboro must have largely contributed to the repentance of Barbarossa, he never again attempted to rebel against his Holiness.

The Pontiff met Ziani at the spot on which they had parted, and all who had survived the battle followed them to San Marco in triumph and thankfulness; and there Alexander gave the Doge a ring, saying, "Take this, my son, as a token of the true and perpetual dominion of the {6} ocean, which thou and thy successors shall wed every year, on this Day of the Ascension, in order that posterity may know that the sea belongs to Venice by right of conquest, and that it is subject to her, as a bride is to her husband."

And now began the somewhat difficult arrangement of a meeting between Frederick and the Pope, which was at last appointed at Venice, where the Emperor arrived on Saturday evening, July 23. Six cardinals met him at San Niccolo Del Lido, and formally absolved him from the papal curse, that he might not enter the city while under the ban.

On Sunday morning the Pope, in his pontifical robes, sat enthroned at San Marco. (In the vestibule, by the centre portal, a lozenge of red marble in the pavement marks the historic spot.) On his right hand was the Doge, and on his left the Patriarch of Grado; while the ambassadors of England, France, and Sicily, the delegates from the free cities, and a throng of nobles and cardinals and other ecclesiastical dignitaries, all in splendid attire, gave dignity and brilliancy to the scene.

And now trumpets are heard, and the tread of the procession conducting Barbarossa across the Piazza. The doors of San Marco are wide open, and guards are at each portal to hold back the pressing crowds of citizens eager to see the grand ceremony. The procession is passing in; and from out the multitude of armed warriors, with glistening helmets and shining lances, nobles in richly flowing togas, and wealthy commoners in brilliant, graceful draperies, one figure stands out alone.

The Emperor advances with a martial step, and his whole bearing bespeaks a man great even in submission. His serious face is calm, his crowned helmet is on his head, and his red beard falls far down on his breast. His armor is not concealed by his flowing mantle, and his slashed surcoat of dark, rich velvet, bordered with gold {7} embroidery, discloses a tunic of more delicate tint and stuff. On his breast and partly hidden by his beard is embroidered a large Crusader's cross. In his splendid jewelled baldric, on the right, is a large sheathed knife, while, on the left, his heavy long sword reaches almost to the ground. Well may the historian Hazlitt say:--

"It was certainly a grand and imposing spectacle, and one which was apt to raise in the breasts of the spectators many strange and conflicting emotions; and while the greater part of those present looked on such a consummation perhaps as the triumph of a great man, the latter solemnly declared that to God alone was the glory.

"Assuming a lowly attitude, Barbarossa approached the steps of the throne on which Ranuci (Alexander) was seated, and, casting aside his purple mantle, he prostrated himself before the Pope.

"The sufferings and persecutions of eighteen years recurred at that moment to the memory of his Holiness; and a sincere and profound conviction that he was the instrument chosen of Heaven to proclaim the predestined triumph of Right might have actuated the Pontiff, as he planted his foot on the neck of the Emperor, and borrowing the words of David, cried:

"'Thou shalt go on the lion and the adder; the young lion and the dragon shalt thou tread under thy feet.'

"'It is not to thee, but to Saint Peter, that I kneel,' muttered the fallen tyrant.

"'Both to me and to Saint Peter,' insisted Ranuci, pressing his heel still more firmly on the neck of Frederick; and it was not until the latter appeared to acquiesce that the Pope relaxed his hold, and suffered his Majesty to rise.

"A _Te Deum_ closed this remarkable ceremony; and on quitting the cathedral, the Emperor held the sacred stirrup and assisted his tormentor to mount."

How the recollection of this narrative incites the fancy, and how the Piazza, but just now so empty, is crowded to {8} overflowing with representatives from East and West and the Isles of the Sea!

From the different stories of the Ducal Palace, and extending quite around the square, from every possible projection, float the standards and banners that have been taken from the enemies of the Venetians; while the great scarlet banner, with its embroidered Lion of St. Mark, waves gently above the principal entrance to San Marco, where the bronze horses now stand. Rich stuffs in the brilliant coloring of Eastern looms, and cloths of gold and silver fall from the balconies thronged with ladies pressing eagerly forward to watch all that happens in the square below.

On the roofs are hundreds of human beings, and every corner that affords a view of San Marco and the Piazza is fully occupied. Men perch like birds on such slight and insecure footholds that they seem like colored statues made fast to the edifices themselves. Here and there a few proud chargers champ their bits and strive to free themselves from their grooms, who wait impatiently, as we do, for the sound of the trumpets to proclaim the rising of this august conclave.

Just here a soft, musical voice deprecatingly suggests: "The Signior has not chosen his lodgings, and one knows not where to take his luggage."

THE FEAST OF LA SENSA.

Pope Alexander, as indeed he ought, wished to confer all the benefits in his power upon the Venetians, and gave the papal sanction, rather unnecessarily as it would seem, to certain customs which this independent people had for some time followed without authority. They were now duly authorized to seal their letters and despatches with lead rather than with wax; to use tapers and trumpets, {9} and even to display the silken canopy and sword of state when ceremony made them fitting. This silken canopy is disagreeably contracted into an umbrella by some over-careful writers, but there is good reason to believe that long before this time the Doges had indulged in this luxury.

Before the departure of the Pontiff he celebrated a High Mass and preached a sermon in San Marco, and at the end conferred upon the Doge the highest and most flattering favor that could be bestowed upon a temporal ruler, by descending from the pulpit and presenting him with a consecrated Golden Rose, in token of friendship for Ziani and for Venice.

These seals and umbrellas and trumpets and tapers made little difference to the people; the Golden Rose gratified their pride and love of their idolized Republic; but it was with the Marriage of the Adriatic--the _Andata alii Due Castelli_, as it was called by the Venetians--that they were principally concerned; that characteristic Venetian fête, which soon became famous in all the world. Alexander had comprehended their love of pageants, their luxuriousness, and pride of wealth.

And now, as if by magic, the Bucentaur appears; and the dignity and splendor of this galley vastly increased the magnificence and effectiveness of state occasions. It was about twenty-one feet wide in the broadest part, and nearly five times as long. The lower deck was manned by one hundred and sixty-eight rowers, who rowed with gilded oars, while forty other mariners managed the evolutions of the ship. The outside was covered with carvings, and decorated in gold and purple. The prow bore figures emblematic of the Republic, and the beak was shaped into a Lion of St. Mark.

The upper deck, devoted to the illustrious strangers and guests of the Republic, and to the Dogaressa and other {10} patrician ladies, was finished in a grand cabin, with a splendid carved ceiling, and divided by rows of graceful pillars. On the outside this saloon was covered with the richest velvet, and furnished within with luxurious cushions. The Doge had an equally splendid cabin in the stern, encircled by a balcony from which the whole fête could be seen; and from a second balcony outside the prow he dropped the ring into the sea, proudly repeating the form of words given him by the Pontiff. Sails there were none, but from the top of a huge mast floated the scarlet banner of Saint Mark, with an image of the lion on one side, and of the Virgin Mary on the other,--as it may still be seen in the Municipal Museum,--and beside this sacred standard hung the white flag, the gift of the Pope.

The old pictures of the Bucentaur represent her as crowded with ladies in splendid attire, all intent upon the varied and curious spectacle around them. Here was a throng of boats, galleys, feluccas, gondolas, and the small, swift boats which always covered the canals and lagoons wherever there was anything of interest to be seen, as quickly as a crowd on foot now gathers in the streets of a modern city.

There were the patrician gondolas, each vying with the other in the costliness and brilliancy of its carving and decorations. The houses in the centre, with curtains drawn, revealed the lovely women in their gorgeous and picturesque costumes, and the music of fifes and lutes added to the joyousness of all; while the sound of the church bells, as they grew more and more indistinct, served to emphasize the deeper meaning of the day and ceremony, which was almost forgotten in this dazzling scene.

Then, too, the "Anti-Doge" was always there,--the representative of the poor people, chosen by them, and usually the best gondolier among them. On some half-ruined {11} boat he held a court of his fellows, all wearing masks. He had his own fifers, who fifed anything but well, and surrounded by hundreds of little boats he performed all sorts of buffoonish tricks,--now offering to tow the Bucentaur, again begging for a seat on the Ship of State, and all with most ridiculous gestures and in apparent good faith. Whatever he did was received with laughter and merriment, not only by his friends but by the patricians as well.

At length the castles of San Andrea and San Niccolo were reached; and just outside them the ring was dropped into the majestic Gulf of Venice. At this moment every sound was hushed. Each one of the vast throng desired to hear the words of the Sposalizio (marriage); and immediately following it the Patriarch of Venice returned thanks to the sea for all its blessings, and prayed for their continuance.

With the first buzz that indicated the close of these solemnities, the "Anti-Doge" cast an iron hoop into the water, and in a moment gayety reasserted itself. The return to Venice was in some sense a race for the smaller craft; the Bucentaur and the patrician boats were enlivened by songs and witty persiflage; and the whole evening was given up to merry-makings of various sorts.

Doubtless, in the earliest celebrations of this marriage there were those who shook their heads, looked solemn, and tried to be serious and even sad in the midst of the festivity, recalling and regretting the more simple celebration of Ascension Day, which had been good enough for their fathers, and was consequently fine enough for them. Such people exist everywhere and at all periods; but what was the difference?

At the end of the tenth century, and almost two hundred years before the visit of Pope Alexander, when, as the record says, "there was no custom of triumphs," {12} Pietro Orseolo returned from his victorious expedition against the pirates and corsairs of Africa, who had been the scourge of all the coasts of the Adriatic. He had cleared the sea of robbers, and greatly extended the dominion of Venice.

For the first time a triumphal entrance was involuntarily made. The grateful populace surrounded the victor and attended him to the Great Council, where the most flattering praises were addressed to him, couched in magnificent words.

Orseolo had set out on his expedition on Ascension Day, and on its first anniversary the Feast of La Sensa was inaugurated. In a large barge, quite concealed by its covering of cloth of gold, the clergy in their richest vestments, wearing all the sacred jewels and ornaments, left the olive-groves of San Pietro in Castello, and at the Lido met the still more magnificent barge of the Doge. Then, as in later days, every sort of boat that could be used in all Venice was there, filled with all conditions of people.

The ceremony began with litanies and psalms, after which the Bishop rose and prayed aloud: "Grant, O Lord, that this sea may be to us and to all who sail upon it tranquil and quiet. To this end we pray. Hear us, good Lord." Then the singers intoned, _Aspergi me, O Signor_ (Cleanse thou me, O Lord), while the two barges approached each other, and the Bishop sprinkled the Doge and the Court with holy water, and what remained was poured into the sea.

This simple religious rite, celebrated in the enchanting atmosphere of the lovely, blooming season of the year, must have deeply moved the hearts of those who went down to the sea in ships, as who did not in Venice? It was perfectly adapted to the initial years of a Republic when aristocratic rule was in its infancy; but two centuries later all was changed, and the Sposalizio was in accord {13} with Ziani and his aims as truly as La Sensa represented Orseolo.

There are those who question all the story of the romantic incidents of Pope Alexander's visit to Venice. To them we would give the customary and most satisfactory answer of the Venetians: "Is it not depicted in the Hall of the Great Council? If it had not been true, our good Venetians would never have painted it."

THE BOATS OF MODERN VENICE.

Most of the craft one sees in Venice now are vastly different from those we have been thinking of. The gondolas, alas! all look as if ready for a funeral,--black, only sombre black. This seems an unnecessary extension of the time when the sins of the fathers shall be visited on the children; for many more than three or four generations have perambulated these fascinating waters in these dismal boats. Why should the undue extravagance of the past, which was curbed by this monotonous gloom, forbid a bit of cheerfulness now, hundreds of years later?

It may be fortunate that the Bucentaur went up in fervent heat, for it is more than possible that it might not have realized our ideal of what it should be; and now each one can gaze in imagination at just what he would have made it if he could. But we would like to have some galleys remaining, and rowed by slaves or prisoners. It would afford an outlet for sympathy and pity, the exercise of which virtues is good for us, and which are so often, even in Venice, bestowed on those who neither merit nor need them.

But we have the felucca, the sandolo, the bissone, and innumerable little boats to add life to the canals and lagoons. If we can see numbers of these, with their variously colored sails, running the gamut from white to {14} brilliant orange and tawny red, with here and there those that are striped, and many that are deliciously patched and resemble Joseph's coat in their variety of tones,--if we can but get all these between the Riva degli Schiavoni and the Isola di San Giorgio Maggiore at the sunset hour, we need not regret not having lived under the Doges.

Never were colors more picturesquely mingled; and as they pass to and fro, out from and into the Giudecca, we almost forgive the gloom of the gondolas, especially if now and then one adds its effect in contrast with the brilliancy of the other boats. That marvellous Venetian sunset! It is an unending subject. One talks of it, writes about it, tries to exaggerate it and fails to do so, and can never think of Venice without recalling it. It is like a vast conflagration, and its flames seem likely to lap up the water it blazes over, together with all the boats and men who dare to row or sail into its fiery circle.

But we must not omit the steamboats that now traverse Venetian waters. What can we say of them? There are two views, each having strong supporters. Perhaps the larger number cry out, "Desecration and deterioration;" but others find them more in the spirit of Venice at its best than anything that is equally prominent in the modern city.

How eagerly did the old "makers of Venice" seize on everything that could advance her commerce and her trade! Would they have hesitated to use any power that could save their ducats and their time? Ah, no; and the glorious new impulse which this age has brought to United Italy finds expression in the revival of her industries, and her adoption of ideas evolved by others while she slept the dreamless sleep from which she now awakens.

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