Italy, the Magic Land

by Lilian Whiting

The origin of Venice is steeped in sacred history. It is pre-eminently the city founded in religious enthusiasm. The chronicles of De Monici, written in 421, give this passage: “God, who punishes the sins of men by war, sorrow, and whose ways are past finding out, willing both to save the innocent blood, and that a great power, beneficial to the whole world, should arise in a place strange beyond belief, moved the chief men of the cities of the Venetian province both in memory of the past, and in dread of future distress, to establish states upon the nearer islands of the Adriatic, to which, in the last extremity, they might retreat for refuge. . . . They laid the foundation of the new city under good auspices on the island of the Rialto, the highest and nearest to the mouth of the Brenta, on March 25, 471.”

The first Doge of Venice was Paolo Lucio Anafesto, elected by the tribunal of commonalty, tribunals, and clergy, at Heraclea, in 697. The period of the subjection of the ecclesiastical to the ducal and patrician powers followed. The “Council of Ten” was established in 1335, and the last Doge elected was Lodovico Manin in 1789, who exclaimed, “Tolè questo: no la doperò più,” as the French Revolution destroyed the Republic of Venice.

The finest example of Renaissance architecture in Venice is that of the Libreria Vecchia, the work of Jacobo Sansovino, completed in the sixteenth century. Never were the creations of poet and philosopher more fittingly enshrined. The rich Doric frieze, the Ionic columns, the stately balustrade, with statues and obelisks, the resplendent richness of ornamentation, offer a majesty and beauty seldom found even in the best classical architecture of Europe. On the ceiling of one sala is a picture by Titian representing “Wisdom” as a woman, reclining on a cloud, her right hand outstretched to take a book that Genius is offering her. There are two beautiful caryatides by Vittoria and rich mural work by Battista Franco and De Moro.

Petrarca, returning from his wanderings in 1362, pleaded with the Senate of Venezia to give him a house, in return for which he offered the inheritance of his library. This was the nucleus of the fine collection which since 1812 has been included in the Palace of the Doges. In it are some magnificent works by Paolo Veronese, one portrait by Tintoretto, and others by Salviati and Telotti.

The Doge’s Palace is a treasure house of history. One enters the Porta della Carta, which dates back to 1638, erected by Bartolomeo Buon. The portal is very rich in sculpture, and among the reliefs is a heroic one of Francesco Foscari, kneeling before the lion at St. Mark’s. One recalls his tragic fate and passes on. Perhaps, en passant, one may say that his pilgrimage through Venice and Florence is so constantly in the scenes of tragedy that he is prone to sink almost into utter sadness, even, rather than seriousness. The air is full of ghosts. One feels the oppression of all the life that has there been lived, all the tragedies that have been enacted in these scenes.

In Renaissance nothing more wonderful in Europe can be found than the court of the Palace of the Doges. Antonio Rizzo began the east façade of the building in 1480, and it was continued by Lombardo, and completed by Scarpagnino. “Words cannot be found to praise the beauty of these sculptures,” says Salvatico, “as well as of the single ornaments of the walls and of the ogres which have been carved so delicately and richly that they cannot be excelled by the Roman antique friezes.”

By the golden staircase one goes to the council chambers,—the hall of the Senate, the Council of Ten, and the Council of Three. In the great council chamber is that most celebrated mural painting in the world, “The Glory of Venice,” by Paolo Veronese, which covers the ceiling. In a frieze are the portraits of seventy-six of the Doges, but in one space is a black tablet only, with the inscription: “This in place of M. F., who was executed for his crimes.”

The “Sala del Maggior Consiglio” (hall of the grand council) is very rich in paintings. Above the throne is Tintoretto’s “The Glory of Paradise,” and the walls are covered with battle pieces and symbolic and allegorical paintings. There is “Venice Crowned by Fame,” by Paolo Veronese, “Doge Niccolò da Ponte Presenting the Senate and Envoys of Conquered Cities to Venice,” by Tintoretto; “Venice Crowned by the Goddess of Victory,” by Palma Giovane, and many another of the richest and most wonderful beauty.

Descending into the prisons and dungeons brings one into a vivid realization of the grim history of which these were the scenes. The Bridge of Sighs has two covered passages, one for the political and one for the criminal prisoners. Here is shown a narrow ledge on which the condemned man stood, with a slanting stone passageway before him, which, when the guillotine had done its swift and deadly work, conveyed the crimson flood into the dark waters of the canal below, while the body was thrown in the water on the other side. There are the “Chambers of Lead,” where prisoners were confined, intensely hot in the summer, and as intensely cold in the winter. Many of these dark, close, narrow cells—in which the one article of furniture allowed was the wooden slanting rack, that served as a bed—still remain. In many of these are inscriptions that were written by the prisoners. One reads (in translation): “May God protect me against him whom I trust; I will protect myself against him whom I do not trust.”

The murderer, Giovanni M. Borni, wrote in his cell: “G. M. B. was confined very unjustly in this prison; if God does not help it will be the last desolation of a poor, numerous, and honest family.”