Italian Yesterdays, vol. 1

by Mrs. Hugh Fraser

They were running more risks than that of the Emperor’s wrath that night, and they must have talked long ere they arrived at a plan of action for getting the body of the Saint on board. It would not be tamely surrendered, that was sure; in fact, as they knew, it would not be surrendered at all. They would have to take it, and, besides, transport it through the city afterwards.

When at last the night gathered the world into its mantle, they left the ship and were rowed ashore, when, taking their courage in their hands, they hurried through the soft eastern dusk towards the Basilica where the body was kept. How they came to know their way to it, history does not say, and that tangled maze of buildings which was Alexandria must have been a business to thread, seeing that they spoke no language which the common people in the streets understood. However, they eventually arrived at the Basilica and opened communication with the men in charge of the Church.

They seem to have gone straight to the point, for in a very short while they succeeded in bribing these latter (one can only speculate on what they must have been compelled to pay!) and in obtaining possession of the treasure. That done, they placed it in the bottom of a cart and filled the latter with as much salt-pork as the mules could draw, knowing well that no Mohammedan, however casual, would touch the unclean meat or even approach it, after which they retraced their way through the sleeping city and smuggled their prize on board.

They slipped out to sea while it was still dark, and, the wind holding, made the return journey swiftly. Coming near to their destination, they sent on a light boat to carry the good news and to give the city and its rulers time enough to arrange for the triumphal reception which they were sure would not be grudged to the freight they were bringing.

Nor were they disappointed. The population came down to the shore of the Lagoon en masse, and the four greatest nobles of Venice carried the casket on their shoulders to the private chapel of the ducal palace, where it was to lie in state until a church could be built for it, amid cries of “Viva San Marco” that swept over the city and from island to island.

And it was thanks to the Evangelist that the scattered factions in Venice drew together again and became true Venetians, for their allegiance to him bound them gradually to each other.

The early history of Venice is a succession of wars, foreign and internecine, as has been the experience of every tribe and race that has risen above the common herd. She came to greatness in battle, and sank to littleness in peace. Without strife—without the continuous necessity of keeping herself in readiness for self-defence—she relapsed, like all the rest, and sank into insignificance. Muscles unused will soon become useless, and this result will gradually affect the whole system.

As early as 809, she was important enough to attract the enmity of Charlemagne, who sent a fleet under his son Pepin to the skirts of the Lagoon. Then it was that Venice awoke to find herself a cause, for, in the face of the Franks, the partisan warfare ceased and under Badoer the Venetians stood together, back to back, and succeeded in handling Pepin hard enough to make him see the wisdom of leaving them in peace in their islands afterwards.

Situated as they were, they were the natural prey of freebooters of all sorts for centuries. It was an old custom with them that on the eve of St. Mary’s twelve poor girls, endowed by the State, should be married to their lovers in the Church of St. Peter the Apostle at Olivolo. On the 31st of January, 939, some corsairs who happened to be in the neighbourhood, resolved to abduct these Daughters of St. Mark, knowing that the general festa would make a surprise easy and defence difficult, if not impossible.

Now the parents and kinsfolk of the lucky virgins and their betrothed used to assemble on these occasions on the island of Olivolo, where stood the Church, and from the dawn the barks skimmed the canals, gaily dressed with flowers and flags, bearing the happy couples to San Pietro with their dowers and wedding presents; so the attackers, conducted by their chief Gaiolo, a renowned ruffian of that period, hid themselves the night before the festival in the thick woods of Olivolo, and the next morning, so soon as the procession had passed through the doors, they crossed the narrow canal and ran at the Church.