In 1296 he brought forward a measure which, it must be admitted, would have been an act of vengeance upon the people for attempting to proclaim Jacopo Tiepolo as Doge, and for receiving the announcement of Gradenigo’s regular election in silence and ill-concealed discontent. The Doge now proposed to reform the process of election, as had been contemplated by the bill of 1286, but at the first attempt the measure failed, owing to the determined opposition of the Tiepolo family and their friends, who formed themselves into a party, which they called conservative. It was brought forward again in the following year, however, and passed by a majority of votes. It restricted the right of eligibility at each annual election to those who had sat in the Great Council during one of the four preceding years, and it required that they should receive at least twelve votes from the Council of Forty which elected them. This was a successful stroke, for the Council of Forty consisted wholly of nobles, who would use their elective power altogether in accordance with Gradenigo’s intention.

In order not to rouse the opposition of the people by giving the law an absolute form, it was declared to be only provisional, and to be in force from one Saint Michael’s Day to the next, that being the date of the election.

A year passed. So great was the prestige of the aristocracy and its power, and so completely accustomed were the people to be guided by it and to be despoiled by it of their rights, that the resentment aroused by this so-called provisional law was not enough to prevent its becoming a lasting one, though its general form was still subject to possible variations.

Grave dissensions, however, appeared in the caste of patricians. Gradenigo found himself opposed on the one hand by the Tiepolo faction, on the other by certain families which, although descended from the ancient tribunes of the island, and consequently of most ancient and respected race, were excluded from the Great Council, merely because they had not been represented in it during the last four years. It became necessary, therefore, to modify the law in the following manner:—

It was decreed that all who had sat in the Council themselves, and all who, though they had not had a place there themselves, could prove at least one ancestor a member of the Council since 1172, should be eligible for the Council, by the vote of the Forty. It is a remarkable fact that the word ‘nobles’ is not to be found in any of these decrees; but it was clearly useless to insist upon a mere word when the whole aristocracy, which had proposed and passed the law, was to profit by it. The nobles never lost sight of a possible danger to themselves in the resentment of the people.

Last of all, it was decreed that those who had never themselves sat in the Council, nor had any ancestors who had been members, should be considered as ‘eligible by grace.’ This was done in order to leave a shadow of hope to ambitious men of other classes, an idea that they might some day be admitted as ‘new men’ into an assembly which was shutting its gates for ever. As a matter of fact, in the beginning a limited number of councillors ‘by grace’ were created, and some were chosen for their own personal merits, or to quiet the ambition of certain turbulent citizens. In order to be admitted in this manner, it was necessary in the first place to receive twenty-five votes from the Forty, and the votes of five out of six of the Doge’s counsellors. A few years later, admission was made still more difficult by requiring thirty votes from the Forty, and it is likely that under this law very few ‘new men’ were ever elected. Venice was still far from the days when the first comer would be able to buy a seat in the Great Council at auction, in order that the proceeds might help to pay the interest on the public debt. The exclusion of illegitimate sons, which was already in force, was maintained, and it was further ordained that no one under twenty-five years of age should enter the Council. The latter measure, however, was soon followed by a palliative one. Each year, on the fourth of December, the feast of Saint Barbara, the Doge placed in an urn the names of all young nobles twenty years of age, who at twenty-five would have the right to a place in the Council, and thirty of these were drawn by lot, and received permission to be present at the assemblies of the Council from that day, but without the right of voting; this constituted a sort of novitiate in those duties to which, at the regular established age, the young men would be called. The process of admission was called ‘coming to the Barbarella.’

It appears to me that the last word contains a play on words; for it may mean ‘the little Barbara,’ the saint on whose feast the lots were drawn, or it may mean the down on the chin of a youth of twenty, ‘the little beard,’ for though an improperly formed diminutive, it is quite a possible one in dialect.

As may be imagined, the nobles showed the utmost haste and anxiety to prove their rights before the ‘avogadori,’ or counsel to the commonwealth, whose duty it was to decide upon them. In some cases there was evidence that an ancestor had sat in the Council at the end of the twelfth century, but it might be that there were no documents to prove it, and the most

extraordinary means were resorted to, to persuade the judges of the truth of the assertion. Some families, in order to prove that they were nobles, which of course was the real object of the inquiry, adduced the fact that they possessed great quantities of arms in their houses. The number of persons who, without the slightest chance of proving their rights, inscribed their names on the books of the avogadori, beginning in 1315, was so great that it was found necessary to impose a fine upon those who had done so without any chance of establishing their claim, and all titles whatsoever were carefully examined before being allowed. It is almost needless to say that the families about whose right there was no doubt possible did their very best to exclude all the rest.

As soon as the first list of members by right, and members who were eligible, was made out, it was decreed that they required to be elected, if they had attained the age of twenty-five years, in order to sit at the Council. It appears that no matter what the precise number of the members under this category might be, a certain number were always elected from among the ‘eligibles,’ a fact which explains the changing number of councillors in each year. There is reason to believe that the assembly had never consisted of more than five hundred members before 1297, but that after the law passed in that year it reached (1340) the number of twelve hundred.

It is clear from all this that the measure known as the Closure of the Great Council did not consist so much in any regular elections yearly as in a close limitation of the class of candidates, and the fact that it was necessary that they should be elected by the Council of Forty; whereas in former times they were elected by the people, represented in their turn by one or two electors in each of the six regions of the city, or else by two electors from the regions on one side of the canal, and two from the regions on the other.

Little attention has been paid to the law of 1298, which at the time appeared to be of secondary importance, but which had close connection with the others that had been framed by the aristocracy. The law of 1298 established that no one should belong to the Forty who had not already sat in the Grand Council, or whose father or grandfather had not sat there. By this law each assembly was strictly dependent on the other, and the right to sit in the one, like the possibility of sitting in the other, became a privilege of noble birth.

The aristocracy had now completely got the upper hand, almost without a struggle, by skill, persuasion, and tact. Henceforth the history of Venice is that of the nobility, who had monopolised the power, and, with it, all responsibility. If Venice was great, healthy, and vigorous in the fourteenth century, she owed it to the nobles, who still treated the people generously and kindly. And later on, when the people allowed themselves to be intoxicated with the amusements provided them while their last rights were trodden under foot, the nobles were to blame. So they were, too, in the end, when the Lion of Saint Mark was torn down from its column in the Piazzetta and broken upon a soil no longer free. The people were not oppressed at any time, but they suffered what was morally worse, for they were systematically hypnotised into a state of utter indifference to real liberty.

The assemblage of so many nobles in the hall of the Great Council must have presented a splendid spectacle. It was rigidly required that all should wear the cloak, or toga, of violet cloth, with its wide sleeves and hood lined with warm fur in winter and with ermine in the milder seasons. Here and there a few red mantles made points of colour, those of the High Chancellor and of the avogadori of the commonwealth, though the latter appear to have worn only a red stole over the cloak of violet. There were black cloaks, too, and they marked the ecclesiastics who belonged to the Council, for until 1498 priests who proved that they were nobles were eligible like the other members of their family.

When the Council was to meet, an official called the ‘comandatore,’ a sort of public crier, proclaimed the summons from a fragment of a porphyry column, which stood upside down on its capital at the corner of the Piazza of Saint Mark towards the ducal palace, and another issued the proclamation from the steps of the Rialto, these being the two most frequented points of the city; at the same time full notice was given of the offices which were to be distributed at the coming Council by the High Chancellor. At the appointed hour the cavaliers appeared in the neighbourhood of Saint Mark’s, spurring their comely mules; but it was forbidden to cross the Piazza itself, except on foot, because it was paved, so that the riders left their mules tied up to the elderbushes

which formed a thick growth, exactly on the spot where now stands the Clock Tower at the entrance to the Merceria.

About 1356 the public crier’s office was abolished, his place being supplied by the ringing of a bell in the tower of Saint Mark, in the evening after vespers, when the Council was to meet on the following morning, and

at the hour of tierce (half-way between dawn and noon), if it was to meet in the afternoon. At the time of assembling in council this bell was rung again, and the people nicknamed it the ‘trotter,’ because councillors who came late always

reached the entrance to the Piazza at a sharp trot before the last strokes had rung.

By this time the appearance of the Piazza and the Piazzetta had been considerably modified. The ‘Rivo Battario,’ which formerly ran through the length of the square, had been filled up; the little church of Saint Gemignano had been demolished, and the great

Campanile had been built. The nobles used to meet before the Council upon the old platform, which was turned into a convenient place for walking, and here also there was built a covered loggia, as a protection in bad weather. The first time that a young patrician came to the Council, either on his election by lot after the manner of the ‘Barbarella,’ or because he had reached his twenty-fifth birthday, a little ceremony took place on the platform or under the loggia, in which he was presented to his older colleagues, and a sort of civil bond began here between the man who was introduced and the person or persons who introduced him, which lasted through life, and received the general name of ‘sponsorship.’ I may remind the reader here that all bonds of sponsorship, called generally ‘comparatico’ throughout Italy, are under the special protection of Saint John the Baptist, and even now have an importance which foreigners find it hard to understand.

Before the meeting of the Council the throng on the platform was swelled by those who came to solicit the councillors on private matters of their own, or were seeking offices or dignities which it lay with the Great Council to bestow, such as judgeships and magistracies. The ‘private matters’ might include anything connected with taxation, money loans, laws in general, pardons, and even the public peace and national alliances.

A curious custom was connected with such interviews. Those who had favours to ask of the Great

Council were accustomed to show their respect by taking the strip of cloth that hung down from their shoulder to the ground on the right side, and tying it or rolling it upon the arm, and this action was called ‘calar stola,’ and appears to have been the equivalent of the later custom by which the inferior takes off his hat to speak with his superior.

If any member of the Great Council had recently been bereaved of a near relation, it was upon the platform or under the loggia that he received the condolences of his peers, being himself wrapped in a black mantle with a train, of which the length diminished little by little as his time of mourning came to an end, until at last it was only a short black cloak; this in its turn was replaced by a simple leathern belt worn over the ordinary clothes instead of the usual girdle, which was made of velvet.

This meeting of the nobles in the Square was naturally the occasion for carrying on all sorts of intrigues; and in Venice, as in the early days of ancient Rome, the relations of client and patron played a large part in public affairs, and were productive of no small evil, especially in the creation of great numbers of minor offices merely for the purpose of satisfying the claims of dependents.

So the nobles loitered and talked between the Campanile and the two columns, one of red and the other of grey stone, which stand near the Grand Canal. These two columns, which had been brought

to Venice from the archipelago in 1127, under the Doge Domenico Michiel, had been set up about fifty years later by the skill of a certain Lombard named Nicola Barattiere. A chronicler tells in Venetian dialect that this engineer went to the Signoria, asked for ropes, timber, and beams, and then set to work with eight men, and no more. He drove down piles for the foundations, and having completed these in seven days he set up the columns on the eighth by means of ropes and capstans. When he was asked what reward he wished for his work, he only requested that so long as Venice should exist his descendants should be enfranchised and be free to keep gaming-tables between the two columns he had set up—contrary to the law which forbade all games of chance in Venice—and he asked for a decent lodging for himself and a small stipend. It may be noted that his name, ‘Barattiere,’ means at once a money-changer and a dishonest gambler, and it may have been given to him as a nickname after the fact. At all events, his requests were granted, and he set up gaming establishments, with tables, between the columns for his own profit. At a later time this privilege became a monopoly of other speculators, and it only ceased to exist in 1529, nearly three hundred and fifty years later, when the destruction of all gaming-tables and booths, which marred the beauty of the Square, was commanded by the government.

This story recalls the action of Charles II., who, in order to reward certain Cavaliers who had sacrificed their fortunes in his interest, and finding himself insufficiently

supplied with funds, conceded to a number of them the right to keep gambling-tables between the columns and under the arches of Covent Garden. These persons were known as ‘lottery Cavaliers.’

At the end of the thirteenth century the Lion of Saint Mark had been placed upon one of the two columns in the Piazzetta, while upon the other was set up the statue of Saint Theodore, the co-patron of the city; so that the common people of Venice, by way of expressing that a man was driven to the last extremity, used to say, ‘He is between Mark and Theodore.’ In connection with the column of Saint Mark it is worth while to quote the answer given not many years ago by a gondolier to a lady in regard to the emblem of Saint Mark. All the other winged lions visible in Venice hold an open book under their paw, and the book is placed in such a way that one may read the usual motto—‘Pax tibi, Marce.’ But though the book of the lion on the column is really open, it lies down, so that from below it appears to be shut; and the lady in question inquired of her gondolier what the cause of this difference might be. ‘It is because,’ replied the gondolier, ‘when a man got between these columns his account was closed’! The story shows how vividly the people still remember that the gallows were sometimes erected there. It seems strange, however, that the young patricians, while waiting for the first hour of the Council, should have patronised gaming-tables set up so close to the place of public execution, and it is now generally considered that executions originally took place between the red columns in the high first story of the ducal palace, overlooking the Square, and that the object of transferring them to the spot between the columns of the Piazzetta was to drive people away from gambling there.

After this brief glance at the development of the aristocracy and its legal institution as the ruling caste, it is necessary to consider the nature of that body which lay between it and the working people, and which included all well-to-do Venetian citizens in general.

For in Venice, as in most countries where the social equilibrium of large numbers of mankind is natural and not artificial, the population had long separated spontaneously into three classes. As long as the work of organising the new republic was going on the three fraternised, for the law granted no privilege to any one, and the men who imposed their opinions and their will upon the rest, without any sort of violence, were without doubt the most gifted members of the community. Nothing, as Daru justly observes, assured to the nobles, up to the end of the thirteenth century, any right not possessed by all the other citizens. Nevertheless, as he adds, the important office of High Chancellor had been especially reserved for non-nobles several years before the closing of the Great Council, which shows that custom, if not law, accorded other privileges to the descendants of the early tribunes.

It was not to be expected that after the final closure of the Great Council all the rest of the people should remain in a condition of thoroughly legal equality. There were, for instance, artists of great merit,

magistrates whose families throughout many generations had commanded the general respect, and were by no means willing to be thus forced down to the level of the fishermen of the lagoons. The nobles considered that this high middle class constituted a danger to themselves by its wealth and solidarity, and special measures were taken to propitiate it. As early as 1298, and while the noble class was acquiring its legal existence, we find mention of the citizen class, and of the manner in which it was divided. To belong to it certain requisites became necessary; he who aspired to its privileges must have been born in Venice of parents properly married, and without any taint of criminality; he was to owe nothing to the State, to have been exact in the duties of standing guard, etc., and he was obliged to prove that during three generations none of his ascendants had followed any mechanical or vulgar trade.

In the same way in which the so-called ‘Golden Book’ of the aristocracy was compiled little by little under the supervision of the avogadori of the commonwealth, who were themselves chosen from the citizen class, at least in the beginning, so also under their authority another book was begun, called the ‘Silver Book,’ in which were inscribed the names of citizens ‘de jure,’ afterwards called ‘original citizens.’ After the closure of the Great Council the office of High Chancellor continued to be strictly reserved to this class, as when the office itself had been created some years earlier. It was of a nature

to satisfy any reasonable and justifiable ambition. The High Chancellor was the head of the ducal chancery; he signed all public acts, all nominations to any important office, and was present at all the most secret meetings of the Councils, though only as a witness, and never with the right to vote. He was elected by the Great Council, and took office with a ceremony almost as solemn as that accorded to the Doge himself, and like the latter he held his position for life; he received a generous salary, and had precedence over all nobles, both in meetings and processions, both over the nobility of the Great Council and over the sons and brothers of the Doge, and was preceded only by the procurators of Saint Mark and by the six counsellors of the Doge. He wore the ducal purple with scarlet stockings, was forbidden to dress in black in public, and like the Doge he was privileged to wear his hat on all occasions. The form of address used to the head of the Republic was ‘Domino, Domino’; that used in addressing the Chancellor was ‘Domino,’ without repetition; whereas all other patricians were addressed as ‘Messer,’ the usual prefix to the names of knights throughout Italy.

When the High Chancellor died his funeral took place in Saint Mark’s with a pomp equal to that accorded to a dead doge.

Very valuable privileges were attached to the condition of a citizen ‘de jure’; all chancellors were taken from those included in the ‘Silver Book,’ so that in the course of time, in the fourteenth century, a special course of study was prescribed for young men destined for that career; and those who embraced it were

frequently sent to the smaller courts of Europe as ‘ministers resident,’ but not as ambassadors, and they could aspire to the highest commands in the army.

From all this it is clear that the position of the ‘original citizen’ class in Venice had a strong resemblance to that of the ‘magistrate’ class in France, for instance; and on the whole it had enough privileges to ensure its not being hostile to the nobility.

The art of glass-making contributed in such a degree to the wealth of Venice that glass-makers were regarded as benefactors of the State, and all the glass-makers of Murano were inscribed from their birth in the class of citizens ‘de jure.’ Another very wise measure of the Venetian government with regard to this intermediate class between the aristocracy and the people was the concession of its privileges to foreign persons of respectable origin established in Venice. It was only in the middle of the fourteenth century that citizenship ‘by grace’ was regularly admitted, and it was of two kinds: the one ‘de intus,’ and the other ‘de intus et de extra.’ The first conferred only a certain number of privileges, as that of engaging in commerce, and of holding some office of secondary importance in the public administration; the second conferred the full privileges enjoyed by the citizens ‘de jure,’ including those of sending vessels to sea under the flag of Saint Mark, and of carrying on business in the cities and ports where Venetian commerce was established, with the full rights of a Venetian.

Although it was only in 1450 that the law regularised the admission to citizenship, a number of admissions took place before the time of the foundation of the caste.

The miserable conditions of navigation in the fourteenth century, and the depredations of pirates, caused many to request the privilege of navigating under the protection of the Venetian Republic. Those who asked this were generally noble and rich persons. For instance, in 1301 we find the favour asked by the Scrovegni of Padua, by Azzone, Marquis of Este and Ancona, in 1304 by the lords of Camino, mentioned by Dante, by Ludovico Gonzaga, lord of Mantua, and many others. Venice not infrequently offered the title of citizen, with all rights belonging to it, to persons who had exhibited special marks of talent in other parts of Italy; it was offered to Messer Ravagnino, a student of physical science in Belluno, and to Petrarch. It was frequently given to foreigners who had lived as long as twenty-five years in the city, and to others who had voluntarily submitted during a certain number of years to standing guard, paying taxes, and the like; and further, to those who, having married Venetian women of the citizen class, desired to fix their residence in the island of Rialto. Among the foreigners who were thus generally adopted, some of the most interesting in the fourteenth century were the inhabitants of Lucca, who between 1310 and 1340 fled before the tyranny of Castruccio Castracane. These were about thirty families, almost all of which had been in their own country spinners and weavers of silk, and they had brought a numerous retinue of weavers and spinners with them. The Venetians at once understood the advantage to be derived from this immigration of an

industrious people. Until then the richest stuffs had been imported from the East, but from this time forward Venice began to develop a new industry. The fugitive families were received not only with courtesy, but with something like enthusiasm. The Senate assigned them a quarter in the Calle della Bissa, between the square of the Rialto and the church of Saint John Chrysostom, allowing them to govern themselves with their own magistrates, on condition that they should teach their art to the Venetians. The same courtesies were extended in the case of German and Armenian colonies. The race of Venetian citizens in this way received a new element, with new prospects of life and industry, by the introduction of the best element that could possibly have come to Venice from without. The Jews, however, attempted in vain at the same time to obtain the same liberty of existence in Venice. After being barely tolerated during fifty years, and kept under the closest supervision, they were at the end of the fourteenth century ignominiously expelled from the city, and obliged to keep within the confines of Mestre. I have not been able to discover the date at which they were again allowed to reside within the city in the quarter which is still pointed out as theirs.

A singular circumstance, already noticed in passing, presents itself in connection with all the conspiracies of the fourteenth century. The people continually sided with the nobles who had deprived them of their power, and they outnumbered them and were superior to them in strength and moral force. They never lent any important help to any one who attempted to rouse rebellion against the existing civil order. It can hardly be supposed that this was the result of indolence, or of a lack of patriotism, since the Venetians were naturally very proud and extremely energetic. They seem to have considered themselves as bound to the aristocracy by the bond of gratitude, of common memories, and of common hopes; and while they led an existence of generous comfort and ease, it satisfied them to be joint possessors of a country which had grown glorious in Europe. They looked upon the Venetian nobility as the first in the world, and Molmenti says, with truth, that the surnames of certain great Venetian families not yet extinct existed before the names of even reigning families were known in the rest of Europe. Until quite modern times, the ‘people’ very rarely gave any trouble unless they were hungry.

It has already been noticed here that in the other Italian republics the great houses had nothing in common with the people they ruled—neither their origin, nor their traditional points or view, nor even as a rule their interests; and more than once they showed themselves ready to sell their country to the highest bidder, regarding it as their adoptive rather than their real home, and the population as property that went with the fields.

But the nobles of Venice were true Venetians, and their ancestors had led those of their own people, by sheer superiority, before Venice had been founded; and the government of the islands had in reality been always aristocratic. The people had really never had much to say beyond confirming by a sort of acclamation the result of elections held by the nobles. The individual elected was sure to be one of the latter, chosen for his courage in war, or for his pious generosity in founding a church or a monastery in time of peace.

The Serrata only made a law of a practice which had existed a long time; and this sufficiently explains why the people did not rebel against it, accepting laws which only affected formalities, without in any way threatening the true sources of the Republic’s vitality. The nobles legally monopolised a power which they had always succeeded in reserving for themselves; but the State did not monopolise commerce, nor industry, except as regards the salt trade and shipbuilding, and in these occupations the workmen received such compensation that many of them grew rich.

Furthermore, the government supported all persons not able to work for themselves. Men and women who had reached an age at which heavy manual labour was no longer possible, but who were not helpless enough to do nothing, were licensed to sell vegetables and fruit in the public squares; but the State and the guilds supported regular asylums for the aged and infirm, for cripples, for widows, and for old sailors. Every one felt that the State could be relied upon, and no one feared to die of hunger.

The closing of the Great Council might affect the ambitious designs of a few men who had recently grown 

rich, and whose fathers had never sat there, but it could not possibly have any immediate effect on the lives of fishermen, seamen, salt-refiners, shipbuilders, and artisans to none of whom it had ever occurred that the Council was meant for them. When a conspirator made a pretext of vindicating the rights of the people, the people laughed at him, and the motive which in all other countries has been the mainstay of revolutionaries was found not to exist. The people of Venice were, on the whole, honest, contented, and happy, and both laws and traditions combined to preserve them in that enviable state; and the government itself provided wise alternations of work and rest, which greatly contributed to the same end. For every Venetian, whatever his condition might be, was expected to be a good sailor and a good soldier, and the regattas, public archery matches, and gymnastic exercises, which I shall presently describe, helped to make men both. In 1332 these competitions were made obligatory for all youths who had reached their eighteenth birthday. But another matter must be briefly explained before proceeding further.

In the story of the Venetian conspiracies no mention is ever found of the two famous factions, the Castellani and the Niccolotti, although the most bitter hatred was alive between them at the very time when Tiepolo was conspiring against Gradenigo. It is interesting to follow the rough and strong threads of those famous popular factions through the woof and web of Venetian history; and it is curious to find oneself convinced that they never did the slightest harm to the government of the Republic, for the reason that both of them loved their country sincerely.

The reader may remember that in the days of Paulus Anafestus, the first Doge elected by the popular assembly, a violent dispute arose between the inhabitants of the islands of Heraclea and Jesolo, which turned into a pitched battle in the woods of Equilio, so that the stream which became the Canal Orfano was red with blood.

The former combatants, finding themselves shut up within the walls of one city, cherished their ancient grudges from generation to generation, and for more than five hundred years they gave vent to their hatred as best they could, keeping themselves divided, first as separate parties, then as separate wards, and finally both in wards and districts, according to the later divisions of the city; and fighting freely with one another whenever the public games brought them into conflict, under the names of Castellani and Cannaruoli, taken from the parts of Venice they inhabited—the one in the three districts of Castello, Saint Mark, and Dorsoduro, the other in those of Santa Croce, San Paolo, and Canarreggio at the other end of the city. They had continued their separate existence about three hundred years without, seriously disturbing the public peace, never intermarrying, never even entering the cathedral by the same door. But in the year 1307 a certain Ramberto Polo was the bishop of Castello, and the bishop of Castello was ex officio the bishop of Venice, and depended from the patriarch of Grado. Now this Ramberto attempted to exact certain tithes which his predecessor had considered it right to renounce. Five districts of Venice, and among them that of Saint Nicolas, refuse to pay these tithes. The bishop insisted, and in spite of the threats of the people, who had grown

riotous, he determined to visit the church of Saint Nicolas, situated in that quarter, and to go on foot. At the turn of the street, being accompanied only by a few persons, he was attacked and cruelly put to death. That part bears to this day the name of ‘Malcantone,’ the ‘Evil Corner.’ Those of the Castellani who were held responsible for this murder were promptly

excommunicated; and the others, who had submitted to the bishop, refused to hold any communication with them, or to have any interest in common with them, even after the removal of the interdict. The consequence was that, by way of spite, they now joined the party of the Cannaruoli, thus forming a numerous faction, which from that time forth was called that of the ‘Niccolotti,’ and maintained as its device the black banner and costume of the Cannaruoli, whereas the

faction of the Castellani kept the red. The murderers repented and obtained pardon, but the new hatred, which had grown upon the old grudge, was relentless.

Up to this time the custom of fighting only with reed-canes had been maintained by both sides; but having heard of the celebrated pugilistic encounters which were practised at Siena, they now determined to introduce a custom which offered such excellent opportunities for fighting. From September to Christmas regular encounters took place every Sunday upon the bridges, mostly built without parapets, where the two factions met, each endeavouring to knock and throw as many of their adversaries as possible into the canal. The bridge which was preferred for this form of exercise was that of Saint Barnabas, which soon got the name of ‘Ponte dei Pugni,’ the ‘Bridge of Fisticuffs.’ A less dangerous form of competition was also practised by the factions, under the name of ‘Forze d’ Ercole,’ literally the ‘Strength of Hercules.’ A platform was erected upon empty hogsheads, if the game was to be played on land; or on punts, if it was to be tried on the canal, as more usually happened; and upon this foundation the men built themselves up into a sort of human pyramid. The base was formed by a number of individuals standing close together, and linking themselves still more firmly by means of light joists which they held upon their shoulders; on these joists other men stood, and others again above them, until the pyramid came to its point in a small boy at the top. The prize belonged to that faction which could set up the highest pyramid in this way, and keep perfectly steady while the unenviable little boy at the apex performed acrobatic feats. This lad received the name of the ‘crest,’ as if the whole were a coat of arms.

The popular songs of that time exhibit the deep hatred that smouldered between these divisions of the people; and they have come down through the centuries to the Venice of to-day, with such little changes of speech as give new life to a thought without changing its substance.

The Castellani and Niccolotti, being constantly opposed to each other, systematically abused each other in verse during the days that preceded the encounters. Here is one from the side of the Niccolotti, for instance:—

The following is a fine example of party pride:—

And here is another:—

On the other hand, the Castellani sang as follows:—

The mud is that of the lagoons, the Niccolotti being fishermen.

In spite of this constant exchange of amenities, and in spite of their love of fighting each other, neither Bocconio nor Tiepolo nor Faliero ever got any advantage from the popular factions. I can recall no other case nor similar instance in history. They abused each other, but they all felt that they were sons of Saint Mark, a sentiment which strongly appears in another song of more generous type which was sung by the two factions together on occasions of common peril:—

The Niccolotti had a species of constitution; they had special customs of their own, and a head who was officially called their ‘gastaldo,’ but who by an old tradition bore the title of the ‘fisherman’s Doge’; and who on all public occasions arrayed himself in red like the High Chancellor, with wide skirts lined with fur in the winter, and, like the real Doge, wore red stockings and shoes of red morocco. He held so much to the right of wearing these red hose that he never appeared without them, even in ordinary life, and when fishing in his boat.

Little by little this chief of the people obtained the right to follow the Doge to the ‘Espousal of the Sea’ in a beautifully decorated boat towed by the Bucentaur; he was granted the privilege of dining with the Doge