Marino Falliero, Doge of Venice, was, at this time, eighty years of age; a time of life when the violence of the passions is generally pretty much abated. He had, even then, however, given a strong instance of the rashness of his disposition, by marrying a very young woman. This lady imagined she had been affronted by a young Venetian nobleman at a public ball, and she complained bitterly of the insult to her husband. The old Doge, who had all the desire imaginable to please his wife, determined, in this matter at least, to give her ample satisfaction.
The delinquent was brought before the Judges, and the crime was exaggerated with all the eloquence that money could purchase; but they viewed the affair with unprejudiced eyes, and pronounced a sentence no more than adequate to the crime. The Doge was filled with the most extravagant rage, and, finding that the body of[146] the nobles took no share in his wrath, he entered into a conspiracy with the Admiral of the Arsenal, and some others, who were discontented with the government on other accounts, and projected a method of vindicating his wife’s honour, which seems rather violent for the occasion. It was resolved by those desperadoes, to massacre the whole Grand Council. Such a scene of bloodshed, on account of one woman, has not been imagined since the Trojan war.
This plot was conducted with more secrecy than could have been expected, from a man who seems to have been deprived of reason, as well as humanity. Every thing was prepared; and the day, previous to that which was fixed for the execution, had arrived, without any person, but those concerned in the conspiracy, having the least knowledge of the horrid design.
It was discovered in the same manner in which that against the King and Parliament of England, was brought to light in the time of James the First.
Bertrand Bergamese, one of the conspirators, being desirous to save Nicolas Lioni, a noble Venetian, from the general massacre, called on him, and earnestly admonished him, on no account, to go out of his house the following day; for, if he did, he would certainly lose his life. Lioni pressed him to give some reason for this extraordinary advice; which the other obstinately refusing, Lioni ordered him to be seized, and confined, and, sending for some of his friends of the Senate, by means of promises and threats, they at length prevailed on the prisoner to discover the whole of this horrid mystery.
They send for the Avogadors, the Council of Ten, and other high officers, by[148] whom the prisoner was examined; after which, orders were given for seizing the principal conspirators in their houses, and for summoning those of the nobility and citizens, on whose fidelity the Council could rely. These measures could not be taken so secretly as not to alarm many, who found means to make their escape. A considerable number were arrested, among whom were two chiefs of the conspiracy under the Doge. They being put to the question, confessed the whole. It appeared, that only a select body of the principal men had been privy to the real design; great numbers had been desired to be prepared with arms, at a particular hour, when they would be employed in attacking certain enemies of the State, which were not named; they were desired to keep those orders a perfect secret, and were told, that upon their fidelity and secrecy their future fortunes depended. Those men did not know of each other, and had no suspicion[149] that it was not a lawful enterprise for which they were thus engaged; they were therefore set at liberty; but all the chiefs of the plot gave the fullest evidence against the Doge. It was proved, that the whole scheme had been formed by his direction, and supported by his influence. After the principal conspirators were tried, and executed, the Council of Ten next proceeded to the trial of the Doge himself. They desired that twenty senators, of the highest reputation, might assist upon this solemn occasion; and that two relations of the Fallier family, one of whom was a member of the Council of Ten, and the other an Avogador, might withdraw from the court.
The Doge, who hitherto had remained under a guard in his own apartments in the palace, was now brought before this Tribunal of his own subjects. He was dressed in the robes of his office.
It is thought he intended to have denied the charge, and attempted a defence; but when he perceived the number and nature of the proofs against him, overwhelmed by their force, he acknowledged his guilt, with many fruitless and abject intreaties for mercy.
That a man, of eighty years of age, should lose all firmness on such an occasion, is not marvellous; that he should have been incited, by a trifling offence, to such an inhuman, and such a deliberate plan of wickedness, is without example.
He was sentenced to lose his head. The sentence was executed in the place where the Doges are usually crowned.
In the Great Chamber of the palace, where the portraits of the Doges are placed, there is a vacant space between the portraits of Fallier’s immediate predecessor and successor, with this inscription:
Locus Marini Fallieri decapitati.
The only other instance which history presents to our contemplation, of a sovereign tried according to the forms of law, and condemned to death by a Tribunal of his own subjects, is that of Charles the First, of Great Britain. But how differently are we affected by a review of the two cases!
In the one, the original errors of the misguided Prince are forgotten in the severity of his fate, and in the calm majestic firmness with which he bore it. Those who, from public spirit, had opposed the unconstitutional measures of his government, were no more; and the men now in power were actuated by far different principles. All the passions of humanity, therefore, take part with the royal sufferer;[152] nothing but the ungenerous spirit of party can seduce them to the side of his enemies. In his trial we behold, with a mixture of pity and indignation, the unhappy monarch delivered up to the malice of hypocrites, the rage of fanatics, and the insolence of a low-born law ruffian.
In the other, every sentiment of compassion is effaced by horror, at the enormity of the crime.
In the year 1361, after the death of the Doge John Delfino, when the last electors were confined in the Ducal Chamber to choose his successor, and while the election vibrated between three candidates, a report arrived at Venice, that Laurentius Celsus, who commanded the fleet, had obtained a complete victory over the Genoese, who were at that time at war with the Venetians. This intelligence was communicated to the electors, who immediately dropped[153] all the three candidates, and unanimously chose this commander. Soon after, it was found, that the rumour of the victory was entirely groundless. This could not affect the validity of the election; but it produced a decree to prevent, on future occasions of the same kind, all communication between the people without, and the conclave of electors.
This Doge’s father displayed a singular instance of weakness and vanity, which some of the historians have thought worth transmitting to us. I do not know for what reason, unless it be to comfort posterity with the reflection, that human folly is much the same in all ages, and that their ancestors have not been a great deal wiser than themselves. This old gentleman thought it beneath the dignity of a father to pull off his cap to his own son; and that he might not seem to condescend so far, even when all the other nobles shewed[154] this mark of respect to their sovereign, he went, from the moment of his son’s election, upon all occasions, and in all weathers, with his head uncovered. The Doge being solicitous for his father’s health, and finding that no persuasion, nor explanation of the matter, that could be given, were sufficient to overcome this obstinacy, recollected that he was as devout as he was vain, which suggested an expedient that had the desired effect. He placed a cross on the front of his ducal coronet. The old man was as desirous to testify his respect to the cross, as he was averse to pay obeisance to his son; and unable to devise any way of pulling off a cap which he never wore, his piety, at length, got the better of his pride; he resumed his cap, as formerly, that, as often as his son appeared, he might pull it off in honour of the cross.
During the reign of Laurentius Celsus, the celebrated poet Petrarch, who resided for[155] some time at Venice, and was pleased with the manners of the people, and the wisdom of their government, made a present to the republic, of his collection of books; which, at that time, was reckoned very valuable. This was the foundation of the great library of St. Mark.
In perusing the annals of Venice, we continually meet with new institutions. No sooner is any inconveniency perceived, than measures are taken to remove it, or guard against its effects. About this time, three new magistrates were appointed, whose duty is to prevent all ostentatious luxuries in dress, equipage, and other expensive superfluities, and to prosecute those who transgress the sumptuary laws, which comprehend such objects. Those magistrates are called Sopra Proveditori alle Pompé; they were allowed a discretionary power of levying fines, from people of certain professions; who deal entirely in articles of[156] luxury. Of this number, that of public courtesans was reckoned. This profession, according to all accounts, formerly flourished at Venice, with a degree of splendour unknown in any other capital of Europe; and very considerable exactions were raised to the use of the State, at particular times, from the wealthiest of those dealers. This excise, it would appear, has been pushed beyond what the trade could bear; for it is at present in a state of wretchedness and decay; the best of the business, as is said, being now carried on, for mere pleasure, by people who do not avow themselves of the profession.