Chapter XVIII: Palaces and Pictures

Venice has no plan. The canals are bordered with edifices that appear to rest upon the water; and many of its palaces are so beautiful that they seem as worthy to have risen from the white sea-foam as was Venus Anadyomene herself. Behind these palaces, winding in and out like serpents, are the _calli_, which appear to begin nowhere and to lead to the same place, twining now and then about the little _campi_, which afford breathing-spaces on land, as the canals do on the water. It would seem that one must be Venetian born, or, forsaking all others, must cleave to Venice itself for better or worse, if he would learn to thread these mazy ways with confidence.

It appears, too, that this want of plan permeates the life of Venice. Everybody and everything seem to be guided by the fancy of the moment. It is charming and so easily acquired,--this _dolce far niente_. One feels it, and acts upon it without realizing it; it is inhaled with the air itself.

The stranger, when in the privacy of his own apartment, makes his plan for the morrow. He resolves to throw off this idleness; he will rise betimes and visit the Academy, and later go to several churches. He awakes to find it already late, and by the time he steps into his gondola he has forgotten what he was to do, and straightway decides to go once more up the Grand Canal {335} and gaze at those lovely palaces, which can only be seen to advantage in this way.

Emerging from the water as they do, their reflections in it add vastly to their attractiveness, much of which, I fancy, would be lost did they rise from the usual city sidewalk or even from green turf. Doubtless the lofty horseshoe arches of the lower arcades, the lightness of the open _loggie_ or _pergoli_, and the style of their decorations were all considered in regard to the effect of their reflections, as much as to that of the edifices themselves. Then, too, their space is so prescribed that grandeur and breadth of design were not possible, and must be replaced by picturesque effects of decoration and fancy.

The plan of the old palaces of Venice is much the same in all. They rest on a very solid basis of oaken piles driven down until they meet the hard, Caranto stratum which underlies the silt. Larch timbers are then laid on the piles, and marble slabs in cement are built up above the water-level. The ground floor is principally devoted to storerooms intended for heavy goods, and has a broad entrance leading to them. The next floor, the mezzana, is the place of business, the mercantile portion of the establishment.

From the court the ascent is made to the third floor, where the family apartments begin. Many of the staircases are stately, and very beautiful in their ornamentation. They lead to the principal saloon or drawing-room of the house. Frequently these palaces are built with a central portion, with wings on each side. The great saloon occupies the whole of the central part, having on its front the loggia, overlooking the canal. On each side are smaller rooms. The next floor is less lofty, and has a spacious kitchen, besides several sleeping-apartments. Still above these are garrets and store-closets, close under the roof.

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The principal pleasure to be derived from the palaces of Venice in these days is found by gazing at them while floating up and down the Canalezzo at various hours of the day, noting the exquisite effects of light and shade at morning, midday, and evening, especially the latter when there is a brilliant moonlight. Few of them now contain much that one cares to see, and few, indeed, have been kept up in such a way as to be anything but depressing. Those that are open to strangers are filled with the atmosphere of "the banquet-hall deserted." But all must agree with Ruskin in what he says of their exteriors:--

"The charm which Venice still possesses, and which for the last fifty years has made it the favorite haunt of all the painters of picturesque subjects, is owing to the effect of the Gothic palaces, mingled with those of the Renaissance.

"The effect is produced in two different ways. The Renaissance palaces are not more picturesque in themselves than the club-houses of Pall Mall; but they become delightful by the contrast of their severity and refinement with the rich and rude confusion of the sea life beneath them, and of their white and solid masonry with the green waves. Remove from beneath them the orange sails of the fishing-boats, the black gliding of the gondolas, the cumbered decks and rough crews of the barges of traffic, and the fretfulness of the green water along their foundations, and the Renaissance palaces possess no more interest than those of London or Paris. But the Gothic palaces are picturesque in themselves, and wield over us an independent power. Sea and sky and every other accessory might be taken away from them, and still they would be beautiful and strange."

Perhaps the Palazzo Vendramin Calergi is the most interesting of the Renaissance palaces, because it is well kept up, and its garden, with white statues and gilded railings, which are reflected in the water, adds much to the cheerfulness of its whole effect. It is more than four centuries old, and was built by Santi Lombardo for {337} Andrea Loredan. A century later it was bought by the Duke of Brunswick, and then by the Duke of Mantua; but some legal quibbles made it necessary to sell it again, and since 1589 it has been in the families Calerghi and Grimani, has been owned by the Duchesse de Berri and the Comte de Chambord, as well as the Duca della Grazia.

If some imitator of Sanudo could have kept the annals of these four hundred years in this house, their interest and variety would have been fascinating. Palma Giovane painted a frieze there, representing the Triumph of Cæsar; and the furnishing and pictures have been very attractive, perhaps all the more so for the reason that there have usually been some paintings and artistic objects for sale.

The Palazzi Farsetti and Loredan, separated by the Traghetto di San Luca, are very interesting. The Loredan dates from the twelfth century, while the Farsetti is in the Byzantine-Lombard style of that period, its front having been made from the pillars and columns of an older edifice. These palaces are now used for municipal offices. In the Farsetti, Canova first studied his art, and on the staircase are some of his earlier works.

The Palazzo Loredan is one of the few really old edifices in the Byzantine-Gothic style. It is this architecture that gives the unusual, fairy-like, and mysterious impressions which all artists get from Venetian exteriors; and the central arcade of the Loredan is a precious example of it. Ruskin says: "Though not conspicuous, and often passed with neglect, it will be felt at last, by all who examine it carefully, to be the most beautiful palace in the whole extent of the Grand Canal." The arms of Peter V. Lusignan are above the entrance and windows. This king of Cyprus lived here early in the fourteenth century as the guest of Federigo Corner Piscopia; and here Elena Cornaro Piscopia was born.

If one really lives in Venice, and has leisure to seek {338} for them, there are enchanting bits of architecture, sculpture, and painting which are quite unknown to the usual tourist. In Palazzo Contarini and Palazzo Bembo alla Celestia there are admirable staircases in the courtyards, and other details from the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. In Palazzo Sina (formerly Grassi), a modern edifice, there is a noble staircase, its walls being decorated with a representation of the Carnival of 1745. The portraits of the family are looking over the balustrades.

Behind the Church of San Gian Crisostomo, in the Corte del Millone, is the remnant of the Palazzo del Poli, the house in which Marco Polo first saw the light, in 1259, and where he died in 1323. It dates from the twelfth century, and in the little that remains of it one sees enough to admire to make it a matter of regret that so much is lost.

The little Marco was but a year old when his father, Niccolo, and his uncle Matteo started on their first great journey, which extended to the city of the powerful Kublai Khan. They returned, having seen many marvellous things, and again left Venice to repeat their travels, taking Marco with them when he was fifteen years old. All knowledge of them was lost for many years. The Casa Poli was filled with kinsmen who knew little of those who had gone away more than twenty years before, when suddenly, one evening in 1295, three strange figures appeared at the gate.

They were in Tartar garb, their hair and beards were long, and their skins dark from exposure, while their curious speech was most un-Venetian. We are told that the doorway through which we pass to-day in the Corte della Sabbionera, with its Byzantine arch, and the cross above it, is the very same at which the travellers knocked. At first they were not believed to be the Poli; and a great excitement was aroused, not only in Palazzo Poli, {339} but through all the neighboring quarter as well, and it seemed for a while very doubtful if they could ever come to their own again.

But at last they hit upon a plan by which they could prove themselves to be _the Poli_ by their peculiar conduct. They invited all their relatives to a magnificent banquet, and when the time arrived,--

"the three came out of their chamber dressed in long robes of crimson satin, according to the fashion of the time, which touched the ground. And when water had been offered for their hands, they placed their guests at table, and then taking off their satin robes put on rich damask of the same color, ordering in the mean while that the first should be divided among the servants. Then after eating something [no doubt, a first course], they rose from table and again changed their dress, putting on crimson velvet, and giving as before the damask robes to the servants; and at the end of the repast they did the same with the velvet, putting on garments of ordinary cloth such as their guests wore. The persons invited were struck dumb with astonishment at these proceedings. And when the servants had left the hall, Messer Marco, the youngest, rising from the table, went into his chamber and brought out the three coarse cloth surcoats in which they had come home. And immediately the three began with sharp knives to cut open the seams and tear off the lining, upon which there poured forth a great quantity of precious stones, rubies, sapphires, carbuncles, diamonds, and emeralds, which had been sewed into each coat with great care, so that nobody could have suspected that anything was there. For on parting with the Great Khan they had changed all the wealth he bestowed upon them into precious stones, knowing certainly that if they had done otherwise they never could by so long and difficult a road have brought their property home in safety. The exhibition of such an extraordinary and infinite treasure of jewels and precious stones, which covered the table, once more filled all present with such astonishment that they were dumb and almost beside themselves with surprise; {340} and they at once recognized these honored and venerated gentlemen of the Ca' Polo, whom at first they had doubted, and received them with the greatest honor and reverence."

The news soon spread all over Venice, and the Poli were besieged with visitors. The eldest, Matteo, was created a magistrate, and Marco was put forward to tell the story of their wanderings in answer to the many questions which were asked of them; and as he constantly told of millions as the revenue of the Great Khan, and of millions on millions as the wealth of Cathay, he came to be called Marco Milione. This sounds like a derisive title, and doubtless was so at first; but it was a most reputable one later, especially after Marco Polo had contributed large sums towards fitting out a fleet to oppose the Genoese, and himself went to the war, the results of which, as concerned him, have already been related. There is a puzzle to me in the foregoing tale: Why did the possession of their treasures prove the three men to be the Poli?

It goes without saying that in historic interest all other Venetian palaces fade away when compared with the Palazzo Ducale, which, as we have seen, played its part in all affairs of importance in Venice, since it was not only the residence of the Doge, but the place in which the councils were held, and all momentous matters of the State decided. It was the scene alike of the gayest festivities and of the most heart-rending tragedies. The splendid ball might be at its merriest in one grand saloon at the moment when the Ten in their Sala were decreeing the death of one of the dancers, and another of their sentences was being executed at the prison near by, where "most nights arrived the prison boat, that boat with many oars, and bore away as to the Lower World."

This palace is to-day a great library and picture-gallery, in which the pictures that reproduce the great events {341} in the history of the Republic are of a value that cannot be over-estimated. The masters here represented by religious and mythological subjects can be studied in other Italian and European galleries; but here, in the very halls where the wars, the embassies, and the pageants of Venice were decreed, they have been pictured upon the walls most fittingly, by the great masters of the flowering period of Venetian Art.

In the Sala della Bussola, where was the inner opening of the Lion's Mouth, into which the cowardly, secret denunciations to the Ten were dropped, are pictures of the "Surrender of Bergamo" and of Brescia to the Venetians. They are the work of Aliense (or Antonio) Vassilacchi, and like other pictures by him, in various portions of the palace, are affected, bizarre, and sometimes extravagant in their characteristics, but most interesting by reason of their subjects.

The Sala delle Quattro Porte is adorned by paintings of the "Capture of Verona," in 1439, by Giovanni Contarini, who may be described in a word as an expert imitator of Titian.

"The Arrival of Henry III. at Venice" is also of interest, although its painter, Andrea Vicentino, is an artist who merits attention and adverse criticism at the same time. This is his masterpiece. The Doge Mocenigo receives the King of France and Poland on a bridge which leads to Palladio's famous Triumphal Arch, erected in honor of this royal visitor. There are many portraits of famous men. Near the king on the right are the Cardinal San Sisto, Paolo Tiepolo, and Jacopo Foscarini, procurators of St. Mark, and other gentlemen, besides the pilot of the royal galley, Antonio Canale, whom the King of France embraced and knighted on this occasion.

"The Reception of the Persian Ambassadors by the Doge" is noteworthy, because it is the work of Carl (or {342} Carletto) Cagliari, the son of Paul Veronese. His father, not wishing the son to be merely his own imitator, had placed him in the studio of Jacopo Bassano; and at one time the young man spent some months on his father's Trevisan estate, sketching from Nature, and introducing animals and shepherds into his landscapes.

He was but sixteen when his father died, and he lived but eight years after, having overworked, and dying from the consequent exhaustion. His pictures display a feeling for the picturesque, and some of his heads are admirable; but the inimitable grace, brilliancy, and gayety of his father are not his, while his composition is much colder.

This is impressed on us when in the next Sala, the Anticollegio, we come upon the "Rape of Europa," which Gautier calls "the marvel of this sanctuary of Art" And finally he exclaims: "What beautiful white shoulders, what round and charming arms! What a smile of eternal youth is in this marvellous canvas where Paul Veronese seems to have said his last word! The heavens, clouds, trees, flowers, the earth, the sea, the carnations, draperies, all seem to be steeped in the light of an unknown Elysium."

In the Sala del Collegio, Veronese appears in a far different manner. Above the throne where sat the Doge and the Privy Councillors when receiving foreign ambassadors, is a representation of Venice triumphant after the Victory of Lepanto in 1571. The portraits of the hero of the battle, the Doge Sebastiano Venier, and of Agostino Barbarigo, who perished there, are introduced. It is a grand picture, but confused; for besides the figures we have mentioned are those of the Saviour in glory, Faith, Saints Mark and Justine, and other subordinate personages, and these are massed in the centre of the canvas. He certainly was an astounding painter. We must not think of his curious mingling of people who would {343} seemingly never be associated either on earth or in heaven; we must not note his improprieties of chronology, costume, and place; we must but feast on his dignified and splendid crowds,--his light, his color, and, on the whole, in its general effect, now so mellowed and harmonized by time. Who can resist his charm?

The Sala del Senate is also called dei Pregardi, because in the early times, before Wednesday and Saturday were fixed upon as the days for the meeting of the Senate, messengers were sent to pray the Senators to attend at the palace. It is principally decorated with religious subjects, and the centre of the ceiling is occupied by Tintoretto's conception of "Venice as Queen of the Sea;" but the historical pictures of the "Election of S. Lorenzo Giustiniani as Patriarch of Venice," by Marco Vecelli, and the "League of Cambray," by Palma Giovane, are attractive, although one can scarcely understand why "Venice seated on a lion and daring all Europe" should be chosen to represent the Republic just at that epoch, when she was at the mercy of other powers, and for a time quite helpless. To Art in Venice this league was almost fatal, since the patrons of artists were forced to give their attention and money to the affairs of the State, and the painters were forced to seek other cities where peace permitted them to gain a livelihood. Even Titian left his beloved Venezia, and went to Padua, where he was fully occupied.

Passing through the Ante-Chapel and the Chapel, in which there is little of interest, we reach a staircase leading to the private apartments of the Doge, at the foot of which is the only fresco known to have been painted by Titian, which remains in Venice, and is only shown by special permission of the _Conservatorio_. It is most carefully painted, and represents Saint Christopher, who is of a splendid Venetian type. The head of the saint is noble; {344} while the child is like an inferior earthly baby, and appears to be in great fear of falling. Tradition teaches that this was painted in honor of the arrival of the French at San Cristoforo, near Milan, in 1523. Titian's patron, the Doge Andrea Gritti, was very fond of the French, and at his election the French ambassador at Venice made great feasts in his honor. Had a patron saint of France been represented, it would have caused comment, perhaps suspicion of the Doge; therefore Saint Christopher was chosen.

In the Sala del Consiglio dei Dieci is the "Meeting of Alexander III. and the Doge Ziani on his Return from his Victory over Barbarossa," by Leandro Bassano. This remarkable portrait-painter had here a great opportunity to show his skill, and he improved it. The figures are evidently painted from life, and well present the patricians of his time, the end of the sixteenth and the beginning of the seventeenth century. The Doge Marino Grimani figures as Ziani in this canvas, and in the suite of the Pope Leandro has given us his own portrait. He is ordinary in type. His thick black hair rises above a receding forehead, and his commonplace head and whole bearing suggest the peasant in a borrowed garb. He carries the umbrella behind the Pope.

On the opposite wall is the "Congress at Bologna, in 1529, which concurred in the Peace between Clement VII. and Charles V.," by Marco Vecelli. It represents the whole assemblage; and while one of the secretaries of the Emperor reads the treaty, a Dominican is making an address, drums are beaten and trumpets sounded, and in the distance two cavaliers are riding a tournament, lances in hand. Charles Blanc happily suggests that it is fortunate that painting is dumb, when so many noises are represented. Curious and incoherent as this picture is, it is full of life and movement, and is interesting in {345} its costumes of cardinals, bishops, pontifical guards, ambassadors, and pages.

Naturally the immense Sala del Maggior Consiglio is of the greatest interest. It is now the Bibliotheca di San Marco or Marciana, the books having been brought here in 1812. The decorations are unchanged since the days of the Republic, and the same magnificent works of art which surrounded the meetings of the Great Council make a fitting setting for the treasures of the Library. This hall was burned out in 1577, three years after the great banquet to Henry III. had been given here; and thus the present paintings are by the later Venetian masters. The ceiling is very important, having been painted by Tintoretto, Palma Giovane, and Paul Veronese, whose "Triumph of Venice" far surpasses the works of the other two masters. I know of no description of this picture which can be compared with that of Taine, who says:--

"This work is not merely food for the eye, but a feast. Amidst grand architectural forms of balconies and spiral columns sits Venice, the blonde, on a throne, radiant with beauty, with that fresh and rosy carnation peculiar to the daughters of humid climates, her silken skirt spread out beneath a silken mantle. Around her a circle of young women bend over with a voluptuous and yet haughty smile, possessing that Venetian charm peculiar to a goddess who has a courtesan's blood in her veins, but who rests on a cloud and attracts men to her instead of descending to them. Thrown into relief against pale violet draperies and mantles of azure and gold, their living flesh, their backs and shoulders, are impregnated with light or swim in the penumbra, the soft roundness of their nudity harmonizing with the tranquil gayety of their attitudes and features. Venice in their midst, ostentatious and yet gentle, seems like a queen whose mere rank gives the right to be happy, and whose only desire is to render those who see her happy also. On her serene head, which is thrown slightly backwards, two angels place {346} a crown. What a miserable instrumentality is language! A tone of satiny flesh, a luminous shadow on a bare shoulder, a flickering light on floating silk, attract, recall, and retain the eye for a long time, and yet there is but a vague phrase with which to express the charm.... Beneath the ideal sky and behind a balustrade are Venetian ladies in the costume of the time, in low-neck dresses cut square and closely fitting the body. It is actual society, and is as seductive as the goddess. They are gazing, leaning over and smiling; the light which illuminates portions of their clothes and faces falls on them or diffuses itself in such exquisite contrasts that one is moved with transports of delight. At one time a brow, at another a delicate ear or a necklace or a pearl, issues from the warm shadow. One, in the flower of youth, has the archest of looks; another, about forty and amply developed, glances upward and smiles in the best possible humor. This one--a superb creature, with red sleeves striped with gold--stoops, and her swelling breasts expand the chemise of her bodice. A little blond, curly-headed girl in the arms of an old woman raises her charming little hand with the most mutinous air, and her fresh little visage is a rose. There is not one who is not happy in living, and who is not merely cheerful, but joyous. And how well these rumpled, changeable silks, these white, diaphanous pearls accord with these transparent tints, as delicate as the petals of flowers! Away below, finally, is the restless activity of the sturdy, noisy crowd; warriors, prancing horses, grand flowing togas, a trumpeter bedizened with drapery, a man's naked back near a cuirass, and in the intervals, a dense throng of vigorous and animated heads, and in one corner a young mother and her infant; all these objects being disposed with the facility of opulent genius, and all illuminated like the sea in summer, with superabundant sunshine. All this is what one should bear away with him in order to retain an idea of Venice.... I got some one to show me the way to the public garden; after such a picture one can only contemplate natural objects."

The only unbroken wall in this Great Hall is occupied by the "Paradiso" of Tintoretto, in some respects the {347} greatest of modern pictures; while the remaining wall-spaces are filled with twelve pictures illustrating the story of Pope Alexander and Barbarossa, and nine others of scenes connected with the Fourth Crusade. These splendid paintings are among the earliest which were executed on large canvases, and for that reason are important in the History of Art, while they bear witness to the wealth and generosity of the Republic at the time when they were painted. Much blackened by age as they are, and often villanously repainted, they are still a worthy study for the art student for many reasons.

Carlo and Gabriele Cagliari represented two scenes in the earliest period of the association of the Pope and the Doge Ziani. In the first the Doge and the Senators have found the Pope in the Convent of La Carità, where Alexander took refuge from Barbarossa in 1177. This convent, now the Academy of Fine Arts, is on the Grand Canal; and not only are the Senators and a crowd of people represented as surrounding the two principal personages, but there are fishermen in their boats, with baskets full of fish, a group of people in a gondola, and other figures which add much to the life and movement of the scene. The Pope is habited like a poor priest, in order that he may the better conceal his personality.

The second is a much smaller composition, divided by columns. On one side there is light; on the other, shadow. The subject is the "Embassy from the Pope and the Republic to Frederick II. at Pavia." The groups are animated, and the costumes varied, as senators, soldiers, and priests are all represented.

Above a window Leandro Bassano has painted a picture of "the Doge receiving a lighted taper from the Pope," commemorating this act which conferred on all future Doges the privilege of having a taper borne before them.

The fourth, by Jacopo Tintoretto, presents the scene at {348} Pavia, when Barbarossa declares that if the Pope is not surrendered to him, he will "plant his eagles above the portal of San Marco." Both the good and the bad in Tintoretto's manner are displayed in this work, but the figures of the two ambassadors are admirable. The more his pictures are studied, the better is the saying of the Venetians understood, "There are three Tintorettos,--one of bronze, a second of silver, and a third of gold."

The fifth painting, by Francesco Bassano, represents "the Pope presenting a consecrated sword to the Doge." It is a most interesting study, it being a representation of the Piazza as it appeared at the end of the sixteenth century. The scene is actually in the Piazzetta, between the landing and the column of the Lion. In perspective, on one side the Ducal Palace appears, and on the other the Campanile and the angle of the Procuratorie, while in the distance is the Clock-Tower. The Piazza is full of people. Priests in fine vestments, Senators in their robes, soldiers with nodding plumes in their hats, trumpeters and drummers, all witness the ceremony. The Doge, wearing the ducal crown, in his crimson velvet dress, beneath the mantle of the cloth of gold, is most impressive, as he slightly bends his knee when receiving the sword.

Francesco Bassano excelled in giving an air of reality to his paintings, and in his aptness in invention; and while this scene actually occurred in 1172, he has surrounded it with the Piazza of four centuries later, which greatly adds to its value for us,--he wrought better than he knew.

Above a window Fiammingo painted "The Doge receiving the Parting Benediction of the Pope;" and next that is the "Battle of Salboro," in which Otho, the son of Barbarossa, was taken prisoner. This is the work of Domenico Tintoretto, who showed himself at his best, {349} and seemed a worthy son of his father, in his pictures of naval battles. When we are told that the battle of Salboro was never fought, and that the whole story is but a piece of Venetian boasting, it is impossible to feel the same interest in the work that a representation of a well attested fact would arouse; but this does not prevent the study of the details of costume, armor, and naval equipments, which are very curious.

Above a door Andrea Vicentino painted a picture of "The Doge presenting Prince Otho to the Pope;" and in the next scene Palina Giovane represented the "Release of Otho by the Pope." After Veronese and Tintoretto, and among the secondary artists who were honored by commissions in the decoration of the Ducal Palace, Palma Giovane may well claim attention. Domenico Tintoretto alone rivals him in their class. He was skilful in design, but lacked sentiment and intensity of spirit. He knew all the optical effects in painting. He used his brush dexterously. He had studied and copied from Michael Angelo until he had mastered foreshortening. He handled his colors after Titian's manner. In short, he only lacked soul, in order to have been a great painter. But through the friendship and influence of Alexander Vittoria he became the fashion, and his pictures are seen in all the churches, and other edifices of honor in Venice, as well as in many galleries of the chief cities of Italy, and other European countries. His drawings and engravings were much valued, and were sold for nearly as large sums as were paid for his pictures in oil.

"The Emperor submitting to the Pope" affords one of the most interesting scenes and best artistic opportunities in the series. It is by Federigo Zucchero, who was by no means a great artist; yet this work is very attractive.

Above another door Girolamo Gamberato painted "The Doge landing at Ancona with the Pope and the Emperor {350} after the Reconciliation." Tradition teaches that on this occasion the people of Ancona came out to meet their visitors bringing umbrellas or canopies for the Pope and the Emperor only, and Alexander ordered a third to be brought for Ziani, who, under God, had been the means of establishing this peace.

The series ends with the scene in St. John Lateran in Rome, when "Pope Alexander III. presents consecrated banners to the Doge Ziani." It is the work of Giulio dal Moro, and so badly done that it merits no attention here nor when one stands beneath it. We need not be surprised when we remember that this "Jack at all trades" signed himself "painter, sculptor, and architect."

Of the pictures of the Fourth Crusade, the first is by Le Clerc, and represents the scene in San Marco, in 1201, when the alliance was concluded between the Venetians and the Crusaders,--a most interesting subject, which should have been treated by a greater master. The second, by Andrea Vicentino, is the "Siege of Zara;" and next, above a window, the "Surrender of Zara," by Domenico Tintoretto, which is followed by "Alexius Comnenus imploring the Help of the Venetians for his Father," by Andrea Vicentino.

Domenico Tintoretto represents the "Second Taking of Constantinople, in 1204." "The Election and Coronation of Baldwin" follow, by Andrea Vicentino and Aliense, and close the story of this Crusade, the final space being filled by Paul Veronese's representation of "The Return of Doge Contarini after the Defeat of the Genoese at Chioggia."

The frieze of this Hall of the Great Council is composed of the portraits of seventy-two Doges. The reign of the earliest dates from 809; and many of them must, of course, have been painted from fancy. A large number are from the hand of Tintoretto. The space where the {351} portrait of Marino Faliero should have hung is covered with a black veil, and has the inscription, "Hic est locus Marini Falethri decapitati pro criminibus" (This is the place of Marino Faliero, beheaded for his crimes).

What a world of associations must rush through the mind as one traverses the halls of this magnificent palace! What scenes of splendid gayety are called up by the pictures of the luxurious and splendor-loving men and women of the Republic! And then, when reading this inscription, we recall that other scene, the tragic extreme; and between these two types of association there are hundreds of others, which fill the distance between them with every shade of sentiment from "grave to gay." But just here we can only remember that "the Council of Ten was hastily summoned. The minor conspirators were first executed. Then the Doge, stripped of his insignia of office, was beheaded in the closed palace; and one of the Council, taking the bloody sword to the space between the Columns, brandished it, saying, 'The terrible doom hath fallen on the traitor.'" We are glad that the steps on which Faliero fell no longer exist, and that no such scene has been enacted on the splendid Staircase of the Giants, over which Mars and Neptune now preside, and where, since 1485, the Doges have been crowned with the formula, "Accipe coronam ducalem ducatus Venetorum." The author of the "Story of Italy" says: "It was a serious matter to be Doge of Venice. Five of the first fifty Doges abdicated; five were banished with their eyes put out; nine were deposed; five were massacred, and two fell in battle."

We remember that in the Sala dello Scrutinio is a picture of the Triumphal Arch erected in 1694, in honor of Francesco Morosini, called Il Peloponnesiaco from his conquest of the Morea, and whose name, alas! is now oftenest recalled in connection with the destruction of the Parthenon.

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One of the best works of Palma Giovane is also here,--"The Last Judgment," in one part of which he represents his mistress in heaven, and in another she is consigned to hell. "The Taking of Zara" is one of the wonderful pictures by Tintoretto. Charles Blanc says that he was possessed by the genius of battles, and in depicting such scenes seemed to be himself engaged in the assault. This work is full of fire. It is confused; but here and there a single picturesque figure stands out from the heroic disorder of this tumultuous story.

Blanc relates that an abbé who acted as his guide in the Ducal Palace called his attention to the fact that the portrait of Marino Faliero did not appear in "The Taking of Zara," which should have made his name immortal as much as his tragic death has done; but the Senate forbade Tintoretto to place him on his canvas, since his head had fallen by the hand of the executioner. Blanc asks: "If the Doge had betrayed the Republic, was that a reason why the Republic in its turn should betray the truth?"

The frieze of the portraits of the Doges is concluded in this hall, where the forty-one nobles were chosen who afterwards elected these rulers. It is now the repository of the manuscripts, the early printed books, and the Aldine editions of the Library.

The Sala dello Scudo is rich in a very different sort of decoration from that of the halls we have described. It is hung with maps, many of which represent the discoveries made by Venetian navigators. Here is the famous _Mappamondo_ of Fra Mauro, dating from 1457 to 1459, which is of great value in connection with mediæval history, showing as it does the geographical knowledge or ignorance of that era.

There is a class of pictures in the Ducal Palace so numerous that we have not space to speak justly of them. They are those of which Rio says:--

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"It was no doubt the passage of the Psalmist--_Non nobis, Domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo da gloriam_--which was so often repeated by the Venetians in the Crusades, which suggested to the Doges and naval commanders the idea of being represented in a kneeling attitude before the infant Christ or the Holy Virgin, in the pictures destined to transmit their names or the recollection of their exploits to future generations. This mode of pious commemoration, which offers the touching contrast of an humble attitude with great dignity or glory, continued in use during the whole of the sixteenth century, in spite of the paganism so universally triumphant elsewhere. After Giovanni Bellini and Catena, came the celebrated artists who adorned the second period of the Venetian school, and who also paid the tribute of their pencils to this interesting subject. It is on this account that pictures representing the Madonna seated, with a doge or a general kneeling before her, are so frequently to be met with in private collections, in the churches, and above all in the Ducal Palace, in which these allegorical compositions, intended to express the close alliance between Religion and the State, seem to have been purposely multiplied."

In no other place in all Venice does the atmosphere of the Middle Ages linger as it does in the Palazzo Ducale. The atmosphere of the days when the scroll in the hand of Venice enthroned bore this inscription, "Fortis, justa, trono furias, mare sub pede, pono" (Strong and just, I put the furies beneath my throne, and the sea beneath my foot). Emerging from this palace, with one's brain full of more thoughts than it can hold, it is restful to find a part of them so happily expressed as in these words of Taine:--

"We see here with surprise and delight oriental fancy grafting the full on the empty instead of the empty on the full. A colonnade of robust shafts bears a second and a lighter one decorated with ogives and with trefoils; while above this support, so frail, expands a massive wall of red and white marble, whose courses {354} interlace each other in designs and reflect the light. Above, a cornice of open pyramids, pinnacles, spiracles, and festoons intersect the sky with its border, forming a marble vegetation bristling and blooming above the vermilion and pearly tones of the façade, reminding one of the luxuriant Asiatic or African cactus which on its native soil mingles its leafy poniards and purple petals.

"You enter, and immediately the eyes are filled with forms. Around two cisterns covered with sculptured bronze, four façades develop their statues and architectural details glowing with the freshness of the early Renaissance. There is nothing bare or cold; everything is decked with reliefs and figures, the pedantry of erudites and critics not having intervened, under the pretext of purity and correctness, to restrain a lively imagination and the craving for that which pleases the eye. People are not austere in Venice; they do not restrict themselves to the prescriptions of books; they do not make up their minds to go and yawn admiringly at a façade sanctioned by Vitruvius; they want an architectural work to absorb and delight the whole sentient being; they deck it with ornaments, columns, and statues; they render it luxurious and joyous. They place colossal pagans like Mars and Neptune on it, and biblical figures like Adam and Eve; the sculptors of the fifteenth century enliven it with their somewhat realistic and lank bodies, and those of the sixteenth with their animated and muscular forms. Rizzo and Sansovino here rear the precious marbles of their stairways, the delicate stuccoes and elegant caprices of their arabesques: armor and boughs, griffins and fawns; fantastic flowers and capering goats, a profusion of poetic plants and joyous, bounding animals. You mount these princely steps with a sort of timidity and respect, ashamed of the dull black coat you wear, reminding one by contrast of the embroidered silk gowns, the sweeping, pompous dalmatics, the Byzantine tiaras and brodekins, all that seigneurial magnificence for which these marble staircases were designed; and, at the top, to greet you, are two superb women, Power and Justice, and a doge receiving from them the sword of command and of battle.

"At the top of the staircase open the two halls, the government {355} and state saloons, and both are lined with paintings; here Tintoretto, Veronese, Pordenone, Palma the younger, Titian, Bonifazio, and twenty others have covered with masterpieces the walls of which Palladia, Aspetti, Scamozzi, and Sansovino made the designs and ornaments. All the genius of the city at its brightest period assembled here to glorify the Republic in the erection of a memorial of its victories and an apotheosis of its grandeur. There is no similar trophy in the world: naval combats, ships with curved prows like swan's necks, galleys with crowded banks of oars, battlements discharging showers of arrows, floating standards amidst masts, a tumultuous strife of struggling and engulfed combatants, crowds of Illyrians, Saracens, and Greeks, naked bodies bronzed by the sun and deformed by contests, stuffs of gold, damascene armor, silks starred with pearls, all the strange medley of that heroic, luxurious display which transpires in Venetian history from Zara to Damietta, and from Padua to the Dardanelles; here and there, grand nudities of allegorical goddesses; in the triangles the 'Virtues' of Pordenone, a species of colossal virago with herculean, sanguine, and choleric body; throughout, a display of virile strength, active energy, sensual gayety, and, preparing the way for this bewildering procession, the grandest of modern paintings, a 'Paradise' by Tintoretto, eighty feet long by twenty wide, with six hundred figures whirling about in a ruddy illumination, as if from the glowing flames of a vast conflagration."

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