Italian Yesterdays, vol. 1

by Mrs. Hugh Fraser

He contrived, however, to wheedle one of the Regents, Adelbert by name, into interceding with the Venetian Government for him, and they, partly out of gratitude to her and partly out of a desire to remain in the good graces of the Imperial Government, consented to the Caloprini’s return. But Stefano never saw Venice again, for he died before the negotiations were concluded, so that his sons had to return alone and face their fellow-citizens as best they could without him.

On their return, they discovered that the Morosini had not been standing still in their absence, for they had brought the Doge and his family into an alliance with them, and the feelings of the two brothers were not improved by the more or less open detestation of every soul in Venice. Not that they would have ever owned that the affection or hatred of the common people was a matter of any interest to them whatever, but such things make themselves felt constantly, through any armour of indifference, however strong.

The position became more strained with every passing day, and it was not long before the embers, fanned by such inspiring winds, burst into flame, and civil war broke out again as merrily as ever. This time it ran its course, and for three or four years Venice was in its grip until at last, one morning as the two brothers were entering their gondola to return home, they were set upon by some of the Morosini and stabbed.

Then at last Venice rose in its wrath and demanded satisfaction, vowing that a term should be set to the horrible state of things, when the city was at the mercy of a single family, who did what they pleased with whom they pleased, and of a Doge who was their ally. The latter vehemently disclaimed any connection with the affair, but they paid no attention to his protestations and he, realising that the supporters of the Caloprini were strong enough, with the public fury at their backs, to overthrow him, stepped down from the ducal throne and retired into a monastery, where, soon after, he died.

He was not the only Doge to leave the world and fly to the spiritual life.

One Oneolo, the successor of that Candiano, of whose tragic end I have already written, was elevated to the Dogeship in spite of himself, while the aftermath of the hurricane that had destroyed Candiano was threatening to destroy Venice; outside influences, too, were adding their quota to his heavy responsibility, for the dower of Candiano’s wife had to be repaid and the Emperor was behind her. The Ducal Palace and St. Mark’s had to be rebuilt, and he was a poor man, but, despite his poverty, he surrendered a very large part of his personal property to the building of St. Mark’s, and sent far and wide for workmen worthy of the task. He did not do anything by halves, for he gave to the Church some of its most beautiful possessions, and raised a great hospital opposite the ducal palace, besides.

He did not have much political peace during the time that he was striving so hard and sacrificing so much for Venice and the Venetians, for the Candianos, recovering their balance, plotted against him ceaselessly; but he seems to have borne his trials with a strength and a constancy hardly of this world, consoling himself with daily visits to the poor and afflicted and the joy of giving to them everything that he could spare—and, very often, a good deal that he could not.

He met with small encouragement from any one. The people were not enthusiastic over his diligence in repairing the damage which they had done, and only the very poor ever really loved him, while the great Houses were monuments of silly wickedness and selfishness from whom nothing useful could be hoped or expected; so that it can be easily understood that the advent into his life of a really good and intelligent person must have come near to unsettling his mind for the time being.

It happened that among the crowds of pious visitors to the shrine of St. Mark, during the second year of his reign, there was a certain Frenchman, Abbot of a monastery in Aquitania, and, the instant attraction of kindred souls drawing them to one another, the Abbot became the Doge’s confessor, counsellor, and friend.

When, at the end of the day, his last visitor dismissed, his last piece of business despatched, Oneolo could close the doors of his palace upon the world, one can imagine the relief and joy with which he would draw up his chair beside the Abbot, and lighten his heart of all the accumulated resentments, fears, and worries of the day, immersing himself in the priest’s description of the holy sweetness and sanctified calm of a monk’s life. Oneolo was a born monk, and he must have felt, as he sat and listened, much as a soul in the purifying fires of purgatory may feel when the gates, far above him, are opened for a moment to allow some fortunate soul to creep in, and it catches between the opening and the closing a sight of the Heavenly City and obtains a breath of the perfumes of the Celestial Rose Garden.