In 1591 the Senate permitted the Ten to make use of a floor above the Sala de’ Capi in order that the detained might be in more comfortable, lighter and better-ventilated cells than those allotted to the condemned. The rooms were known as the Piombi, since they were on the floor next below the roof, which was covered with lead. According to Zanotto, between the ceilings, which were made of a double layer of larch planks, and the roof, was a space of several yards, varying with the slope of the roof. The rooms were small; roughly, about twelve by fourteen feet, and from six feet to eight feet high, and were wainscoted with larch. They were lighted from a corridor, and ventilators were fixed in the doors. The detained dressed as they pleased, were allowed to see visitors, and to walk in the corridor.
Gradenigo died before the papal ban had been removed, and found quiet sepulture at Murano. A distinguished senator, Stefano Giustiniani, was chosen his successor, but renounced the office and retired to the monastery at S. Giorgio. The annalists relate that while the electors sat anxiously pondering the situation thus created, a saintly old man was seen passing the palace on his daily round of charity, followed by his servant carrying a load of bread. It was deemed a happy omen, for the need of an understanding with the Pope was urgent, and Zorzi il Santo would be an excellent mediator. Being entreated, he accepted the charge and filled the ducal chair for ten months, during which period he was able to obtain a relaxation of the interdict, which was finally removed in the next reign.
Giorgio the Sainted left a troublesome legacy to his successor, Giov. Soranza. Zara, aided by Hungarians and Croats, was again recalcitrant, and only subdued after a heavy expenditure of men and treasure. But Soranza’s sixteen and a half years of office coincided with a time of great prosperity, and the strain was lightly borne. Venetian trade, aided by diplomacy and enterprise, expanded eastward and westward. The arts of life were developed. Refugees from Lucca founded a silk industry, which became a source of great profit to the Republic. They were governed by their own magistrates, the Provisores Sirici, who were located in the Corte della Seda, near Marco Polo’s house. The city was further embellished, and Soranza enjoyed the popularity that comes to a prince ruling in times of plenty. It was in Soranza’s reign, August 1321, that Dante came to Venice, an ambassador from Guido Novello da Polenta of Ravenna, to negotiate a peace with the Signory, and returned to die a few days after his arrival at Ravenna of a fever caught on the journey.
CHAPTER VIII
Conquests on the Mainland—Execution of Marin Faliero—The Fall of Genoa
“Ill-fated chief——
Him, only him, the shield of Jove defends
Whose means are fair and spotless as his ends.”
—Wordsworth.
WHEN the Great Council met in 1328 after Soranza’s death the oldest member rose, and after uttering praises of the late Doge and lamentations at his death, exhorted all around to be of good heart and to pray God for the election of a wise prince to succeed him.
And never had Venice greater need of wisdom in her rulers. Unhappy Italy, “reeling like a pilotless vessel in a mighty tempest,” had seen the last vain attempt of the Emperors to execute their ideal function. The heroic spirit of Henry VII. of Luxemburg, l’alto Arrigo, had already ascended to fill the vacant and crowned seat, which Dante saw awaiting him among the ranks of the blest, and the poet’s hopes of a Cæsar firmly seated in the saddle and curbing the wanton and savage beast of faction in Italy were shattered. From the political chaos three great families of despots emerged in North Italy, the Scalas of Verona, the Viscontis of Milan and the Carraras of Padua. In 1329 the lords of Verona under Mastino della Scala held sway over Vicenza, Padua and Treviso. Mastino, an ambitious prince subtly urged by the deposed Marsilio da Carrara of Padua, determined to tap the wealth of the Republic by levying duties on all Venetian goods passing through his territories. Venice retaliated by cutting off the supply of salt and a tariff war began. But her food supplies soon ran short and an appeal to arms impended. It was a tremendous choice, for the strength of Venice lay in her naval not in her military power. To fight the mainland despots she must employ mercenaries and successful condottieri were bad servants. Her infallible bulwark, the sea, would be gone, squandered for a vulnerable land frontier and the financial drain of a continental policy.
Such were the considerations that appealed to the mind of the new Doge Francesco Dandolo. But the time was past when a Doge could dictate the policy of the State. The oligarchy felt that inaction meant national suicide. If the passage for Venetian goods to North and West Europe was blocked, it meant ruin to her trade, and war was declared in the chivalrous fashion of the times. To the confines of Padua, envoys were sent, who delivered a protest and in token of defiance, three times cast a stone into the enemy’s territory. A levy was made on all males between twenty and sixty years of age, and alliances concluded with Florence, Milan, Ferrara and Mantua. Mastino, alarmed at the coalition against him, sent Marsilio da Carrara to treat with the Signory. Marsilio was invited, so the story runs, to sit next the Doge at dinner. The “wily old fox” made a sign to the Doge that he wished to speak with him. The Doge let fall his knife. Marsilio bent down to pick it up and as the Doge bent down too, whispered: “What would you give him who gave you Padua?” “We would make him lord of Padua,” replied the Doge. Mastino was unable to stand before so powerful a combination. Padua by collusion with the Carraras fell to Venetian arms, and Alberto della Scala, Mastino’s brother, was led captive to Venice. Marsilio became once more lord of Padua. The provinces of Treviso and Bassano were made over to Venice, who thus came into possession of one of the passes into North Europe and a rich corn land in North Italy. The glorious initiation of this new and vaster policy was celebrated with great rejoicings at Venice and the prophets of evil were silenced. The Republic proved herself a wise and tolerant mistress. Her new subjects were ruled with a paternal regard for their welfare, while local feeling and characteristics were tenderly treated. The device which still remains from Venetian times over the town-hall of Verona, Pro summa fide summus amor, admirably expresses the attitude of the Republic towards her mainland provinces. The citizens of many a State scourged with the scorpions of Italian despots hailed with delight the advent of Venetian rule. Sanudo in his diary describes the entry into Faenza of the Venetian governor on its occupation in 1495. The streets were decorated with tapestry and cloth. For many days the painters had been doing nought but paint San Marco on the doors of the houses. The whole city with great demonstration of joy came forth to receive the new governor, shouting “Marco! Marco!” A quarter of a century later the Venetian ambassador was able to tell Cardinal Wolsey that although the Duke of Milan and the Marquis of Mantua were candidates for the governorship of Verona, the Venetian army as it defiled through the mountains was received by the Veronese with joyful cries of “Marco! Marco!” and the Venetian commissioner installed in the seat of government. St Mark’s lion on his column standing in the market-place of an Italian city was the symbol of a firm, just, enlightened rule.
While Bart. Gradenigo was Doge, Venice was visited by an awful tempest. For three days the angry waves surged against the city. On the third night, February 25, 1340, so runs the legend, as the storm increased in violence a poor old fisherman was making fast his boat at the Molo when he was accosted by a stranger who craved to be ferried over to the island of S. Giorgio Maggiore. The fisherman, terrified by the awful storm, would not venture, but being urged and reassured by the stranger, he loosed his boat and they set forth and reached the island. Here a mysterious knight embarked and commanded that they should be rowed to S. Nicolo on the Lido, and on the boatman protesting the danger of going with one oar he was again comforted and promised good pay. Arrived at S. Nicolo, a third stranger, a venerable old man, joined them and demanded to be taken out to sea. Scarcely had they reached the open Adriatic when they beheld a ship filled with devils pressing swiftly forward to wreak destruction on Venice. Soon as the three strangers sighted the vessel they made the sign of the cross and ship and devils vanished. The sea grew calm: Venice was saved. The three strangers were then rowed back whence they departed and revealed themselves as St Mark, St George and St Nicholas. As St Mark stepped ashore he was stayed by the boatman, who demurred to accepting the honour of taking part in the miracle as adequate payment. “Thou art right,” answered the saint, “go to the Doge and tell what thou hast seen and ask thy reward. And say this has happened because of the master of a scuola at S. Felice, who had sold his soul to the devil and at last hanged himself.” The old man protested: “Even though I tell this, the Doge will not believe me.” St Mark then drew a ring from his finger the worth of which was about five ducats, gave it to the fisherman, saying, “Show this to the Doge and bid him keep it in my sanctuary.” The saint’s bidding was done and the fisherman well rewarded.