Venice

by Clara Erskine Clement Waters

The people treasure many legends of their saint, and their love and reverence for him survive their knowledge of their former state. San Marco the Saint, San Marco the Cathedral, and San Marco the Piazza remain to them,—facts of which they may well be proud,—but the Doges, the Bucentaur, the coronations, the tournaments, the pomp, luxury, and wealth,—where are they?

If one doubted the miraculous benefits which Saint Mark has conferred on Venice, he need but to listen to some pious Venetian while he recounts in his soft and fascinating dialect the saving of the city in 1340.

He would hear that on the 25th of February in that year a terrific storm prevailed. The sounds that came from the sea were as if some frightful enemy were approaching with shrieks and curses, which rent the air as no storm was ever known to do. For three days the floods had been swelling, and the water was three cubits higher than ever it had been, and threatened the destruction of the city.

Affrighted and helpless before an enemy whom they could neither attack nor repulse, the people sought the Basilica, and prayed to San Marco for succor. Masses were constantly repeated, and the vast throngs prayed and watched by turns for an answer to their prayers.

An old fisherman made his way from one of the islands with great difficulty, having vowed to San Marco that if he would but guide him home in safety, his earnings for the rest of his days should be devoted to the saint. More dead than alive, he reached the Riva di San Marco; for, more than the storm, and more than all his exertion in rowing, the unearthly shrieks and yells he had heard had unfitted him for further exertion,—he was paralyzed with fear.

But scarcely had he reached the Riva when a man suddenly stood beside him, and asked to be taken to San Giorgio Maggiore. He would listen to no refusals, and so entreated the fisherman that he believed it must be the will of God that he should go. Strangely enough, though going against the waves, a path seemed to open before them, and the rowing was far lighter than it had been when he was alone in the boat. At San Giorgio the stranger landed, and bade the boatman await his return.

When he came he brought with him a much younger man, and now bade the fisherman row to San Niccolo del Lido. Aghast at such a distance in such a sea, the poor man begged for mercy and release; but he was encouraged to row boldly, and promised strength for all his task. And so it was: the boat seemed to leap over the waves; and when they reached San Niccolo, the two men landed, and soon returned with a third, and bade the boatman row out beyond the two castles.

When they came to the sea, they saw a bark full of demons coming to overwhelm the city with water. The three men in the boat made the sign of the cross, and bade the demons depart. Instantly the bark vanished, the sea was calm, and the waters began to subside. Then the men commanded the boatman to land them at the places from which he had brought them; this he did, and of the third demanded payment for what he had done.

"Thou art right," replied the man; "go now to the Doge and to the Procuratori of St. Mark. Tell them what thou hast seen, for Venice had been overwhelmed but for us three. I am Saint Mark the Evangelist, the protector of Venice. The other is the brave knight Saint George, and he whom thou didst take up at the Lido is the holy bishop St. Nicholas. Say that you are to be paid, and tell them likewise that this tempest arose because a certain schoolmaster of San Felice did sell his soul to the Devil and then hanged himself."

The fisherman replied that his story would not be believed. Then Saint Mark gave him a ring from his finger, saying, "Show them this, and say that when they look in the sanctuary they will not find it;" and as he spoke he disappeared. The next morning, when the boatman went to the Doge and the Procuratori, it all happened as had been said. The man was paid, and a solemn procession was ordained to give thanks to the three saints. The boatman received a pension, and the ring was replaced in the sanctuary. If any one doubts this, let him go to the Accademia, and look at the pictures which commemorate this story. Would Giorgione have taken all the trouble to represent the scene if it had never occurred; or would Paris Bordone have repeated it, as may be seen in the same gallery?