His crown and ducal robes were then removed, and replaced by a black cloak and cap. His head was severed from his body at a single stroke, and the mutilated remains were viewed by thousands, in San Marco, before the burial. This occurred at the church of SS. Giovanni e Paolo, the "Zanipolo" which we all know so well, either through visits or books; there Faliero was secretly buried, and no inscription told those who walked above his grave that there rest had been found for the body of the fiery old Doge. The Ten simply inscribed upon their books one sentence, "LET IT NOT BE WRITTEN," and his portrait was hung in the Hall of the Great Council after his death; but twelve years later, the Ten substituted for the picture a black crape veil with the inscription, "This is the place of Marino Faliero, beheaded for his crimes." Perhaps no better method could have been taken to keep his name alive and cause his story to be repeated from one generation to another, ever raising the question, Was it a crime? Is not Mrs. Oliphant near the truth when she says,—
"The incident altogether points more to a sudden outbreak of the rage and disappointment of an old public servant coming back from his weary labors for the State, in triumph and satisfaction to what seemed the supreme reward; and finding himself no more than a puppet in the hands of remorseless masters, subject to the scoffs of the younger generation, supreme in no sense of the word, and with his eyes opened by his own suffering, perceiving for the first time what justice there was in the oft-repeated protest of the people, uud how they and he alike were crushed under the iron heel of that oligarchy to which the power of the people and that of the prince was equally obnoxious."
It seems like the irony of fate that the informer, Beltramo, should have been rewarded hy the Ten with a thousand ducats and the privilege of wearing arms, while but two thousand ducats were given to the Doge's family out of all his vast property. But Beltramo considered his claims so poorly satisfied that he outraged the Ten by his conduct and was thrown into prison. It is said that after his liberation he was assassinated by one of the conspirators whom he had betrayed.
VETTORE PISANI AND CARLO ZENO.
On April 22, 1378, the Doge Andrea Contarini, in the Basilica of San Marco, invested Pisani with the supreme command of the Venetian fleet. As he presented the great banner to him, the Doge solemnly said: "You are destined by God to defend with your valor this Republic, and to retaliate upon those who have dared to insult her and to rob her of that security which she owes to the virtues of our progenitors. Wherefore we confide to you this victorious and dread standard, which it will be your duty to restore to us unsullied and triumphant."
Pisani was fifty-four years old, and during more than half his life had been in the active service cf the Republic, sometimes in its naval battles, again as Governor of Candia, then as Captain of the Gulf, and everywhere successful. Now, in the full strength of middle life, he was adored by the common people, and by the nobles regarded with that hatred which is born of envy.
Two days after receiving his command, Pisani sailed from the Lido with fourteen galleys, in pursuit of the Genoese fleet under Admiral Fieschi. Not meeting the enemy, Pisani boldly sailed up the Tuscan sea, spreading consternation in Genoa, which was just then threatened with an attack by land. But Pisani soon sailed away, and met Fieschi on May 30, off Porto d' Anzo.
The day was most unpropitious for battle; the sky was covered with black, angry-looking clouds, while the rain poured down in torrents. The galleys carried no sails, and the oars were frequently high in air on one side while the ship rolled in the sea on the other. The men found it difficult to stand; and when the vessels met, it was dangerous and almost impossible to pass from one to another. At one moment two ships were in violent action, side by side; and then, quicker than it can be told, a mountainous wave raised one upon its crest while the other was buried in a yawning gulf.
All through this terrible day the battle raged, and at its close Pisani was victorious. He had taken or sunk four of the nine Genoese ships; he had eight hundred prisoners, among whom was Fieschi himself. Half of them were sent to Candia, and half to Venice, where noble ladies dressed their wounds, and tended them with such charitable piety that the names of eight of their number have been preserved in history.