The plague of 1630 was the seventieth, and the last great plague of Venice. Eighty-two thousand victims had died in the city and the neighboring islands, and sixteen months of horror and suffering had passed since its outbreak. Not a sound of joy was heard in all the extent of Venice when special public prayers were made, and the Senate vowed to the Holy Virgin—"Mary, the Mother of Health"—that a church should be built in her honor if she would but stay the plague. And lo! suddenly, in November, 1631, the scourge was stayed.
Fifty-five years before, the votive church of the Redentore had been built in gratitude to a similar answer to their prayers; and now the people were determined to erect a still more splendid church, upon a piece of land on the point of the Dogana, which the Knights Templars had given to the Republic. But it would take a long time to build a church, and the people were in haste to put all their sadness behind them, and to have one festal day without delay. Accordingly, the 28th of November was appointed, and a wooden structure erected hastily, in which to celebrate the jubilee.
Church of Santa Maria della Salute.
The procession left the high altar of San Marco; and when it reached the centre of the Piazza, the health officers announced that the plague was stayed by the Virgin. This announcement was welcomed by salvos of artillery, peals of bells, and blare of trumpets. The procession then moved on, and crossing the Grand Canal by a pontoon bridge, it reached the wooden church.
A writer of that period tells us that the day was most propitious. Not a cloud obscured the deep blue sky, and the air was as mild as that of spring. Nothing was omitted that could add to the splendor of the procession. The gorgeous robes of the priests, the candlesticks of gold and silver, the flags of all the noble guilds and companies, the elder nobles with long white tapers in their hands, and the younger in all the bravery of doublets and hose, furnished a spectacle not easily excelled; and in every year of the two hundred and sixty-two that have since passed, this jubilee has been repeated with all possible splendor.
On the April following the first stone was laid in the new church, which rests on 1,200,000 piles. And there, at the entrance of the canal it stands, with its buttresses and statues and cupolas,—in a word, with all its architectural audacity,—declaring the grateful veneration of the Venetians for "Mary, the Mother of Health;" and on this festa every Venetian, be he devout or not, feels it a duty to visit her church.
From the early morning the noise of the gathering crowds is heard. All around the church are stalls with hot coffee, fish, and other food for sale, and above all gallani,—a delicacy which belongs especially to this jubilee, of which the Venetians are very fond. It consists of little cups of pastry filled with a preparation of lard, white of eggs, and flour whipped to a froth. It must be an acquired taste to be enjoyed by any but a true Venetian. Other little booths are filled with "portraits" and statuettes of the Madonna and the saints; and there is a lively fair all about the church before the hour for the great function.
This begins at half-past ten. The procession is formed, and moves to the church in the same manner as that of the Redentore. Within the church the people light the candles they have brought, one taking the fire from another; and these lighted candles, in all sizes, from the largest that are on sale down to mere tapers, are handed to the priests within the altar-rails, and are placed near the statue of the Madonna, triumphing over a symbolic figure of the plague. Thousands of candles are thus massed, until the space around the altar is a sheet of flame. Those who add to the candles a small sum of money receive a picture of the Madonna, which they kiss devoutly, and then conceal in some hiding-place about their dress.