CHAPTER 5

BETWEEN EMPIRES:
The Peace of Venice, 1172–1200

The first Venetians fled to the lagoon to escape Europe. On July 24, 1177, Europe came to the lagoon.

It started early in the morning. First, Pope Alexander III (1159–81) awoke at San Silvestro church, had an ample breakfast, and was rowed to San Marco, where he heard a High Mass. Then Doge Sebastiano Ziani and his court took a richly decorated ceremonial galley to the Lido, where they picked up the Holy Roman emperor Frederick I Barbarossa (1155–90). They then returned to the newly paved Piazzetta San Marco, just west of the Ducal Palace, where the German emperor disembarked upon a scene of pomp and grandeur that few states in Europe could match. The entire Piazzetta was festooned with long banners of the lion of St. Mark, waving in the warm sea breeze. Thousands of dignitaries and onlookers from across Europe filled the Piazzetta and adjoining Piazza, either in positions of honor or craning their necks in the crowd to catch a glimpse of the most famous men in the Western world. The emperor, his retinue, and accompanying nobles proceeded through the Piazzetta, between the two monolithic columns bearing the heavenly patrons of Venice, and halted at the church of San Marco, where the supreme pontiff of Rome was waiting on a throne surrounded by a mob of ecclesiastical lords. Such a scene was rare even in Rome. But it was happening in Venice. The lords of Christendom had come to make peace.

The events that brought the pope and the emperor to Venice’s front door form the basis of a story that, with occasional embellishments, Venetians told proudly for centuries. Indeed, it is still recounted in paintings that cover the north wall of the chamber of the Great Council in the Ducal Palace. The story begins in 1158, when the Holy Roman emperor Frederick I Barbarossa issued his edicts of Roncaglia, which claimed that he was the rightful ruler of northern and central Italy, including some of the pope’s territories, but, of course, excluding Venice. These claims dated back to Charlemagne, Frederick’s predecessor centuries past. In truth, though, Holy Roman emperors generally had their hands full just trying to rule Germany. Northern Italian (or Lombard) towns willingly recognized the German emperor’s theoretical overlordship, but vigorously refused to offer anything tangible. Frederick Barbarossa was determined to change that. He planned to extend his dominion over all of Italy and demanded the support and loyalty of the Lombard towns for a planned invasion of southern Italy to eject the Normans, who had ruled there since the days of Robert Guiscard. Although medieval popes were not overly fond of Normans, they always opposed any initiative that might give one man control over Italy, since it would seriously threaten the independence of the Papal States. Pope Hadrian IV, therefore, strongly opposed Barbarossa’s plan and urged the fiercely independent Italian city-states to do the same.

Faced with the prospect of militarily subjecting Lombardy, Barbarossa was not sorry when the troublesome Hadrian died on September 1, 1159. At once the emperor sent a group of agents and a great deal of money to Rome to persuade the cardinals to elect a churchman favorable to him. They succeeded, at least partially. A slim majority of the cardinals elected Barbarossa’s candidate, Victor IV. Unfortunately for them, another group of cardinals had earlier elected a respected canon lawyer and defender of Church rights, Alexander III. Barbarossa chased Alexander and his prelates out of Rome, but the kingdom of France and most of the rest of Europe accepted Alexander as the true pope. Because Barbarossa did not, a state of war ensued in Italy that would drag on for more than a decade. On the one side stood the German emperor and his string of antipopes; on the other, Pope Alexander III and the newly created Lombard League, a consortium of cities that refused to bow to Frederick. The stakes were high: the cherished independence of the Italian cities as well as that of the papacy. When Frederick finally invaded Lombardy, he headed straight for the ringleader of the rebellion—wealthy Milan. On March 1, 1162, after a two-year siege, Frederick captured and destroyed the city, sending a plume of refugees pouring out from the region.

Venice took her share of those refugees. Although they were not members of the Lombard League, the Venetians’ natural sympathy was with the Italians who were fighting to keep the Germans on their side of the Alps. Pope Alexander sent the vicar apostolic, Cardinal-Legate Hildebrand Crasso, to Venice during the 1160s to oversee refugee services, communicate with nearby rebel towns, and negotiate with the Byzantine emperor for aid. Frederick Barbarossa recognized the threat that Venice posed, for it was a gaping doorway for Lombard support. In 1162 he encouraged the cities of Verona, Padua, and Ferrara—all currently under his control—to launch a naval attack on Capo d’Argine, some fifteen miles northeast of Venice at the edge of the lagoon, but a Venetian squadron easily repulsed Frederick’s men. In response, Venice supported rebellions the next year in Verona, Vicenza, and Padua and began funneling money to support their defense. Venice continued to support rebellions against Barbarossa in 1165 and 1167, but never sent men to fight.

Then came 1171, the year that the Byzantines seized and imprisoned thousands of Venetians in the eastern empire. Although much of Venice’s attention was focused on its hostage crisis, it could not ignore the war in Italy. The vicissitudes of the struggle were great, but by mid-1176 it was clear even to Frederick that he simply could not defeat an alliance of the pope, the Lombard towns, and the Normans of southern Italy. It was time to cut his losses and shore up his power in Germany, where his vassals had paid heavily for these foreign wars. What was needed was a peace conference to iron out the details. But where to hold such a meeting was a thorny question, for trust levels on all sides were exceedingly low. With no agreement on the location, Alexander III nevertheless left the Norman kingdom, where he was residing, in early 1177, and sailed up the Adriatic to Venice.

On March 24 the pope’s vessel landed on the Lido, where the sons of Doge Ziani and a party of leading Venetians received him with honor. After spending the night at the monastery of San Nicolò, Alexander boarded a lavish state galley and was rowed to the Piazza San Marco, jammed with thousands of people eager to see the first pope ever to visit Venice.

The San Marco area had changed dramatically in the years just preceding these events. In 1172 the area outside the church of San Marco was still a sandy, grass-covered field. A river called the Rio Batario ran through it, roughly where the Caffè Florian stands today. Across that river stood a small orchard, owned by the nuns of San Zaccaria, and a parish church dedicated to the fourth-century bishop of Modena, St. Geminian. Altogether it was a pleasant place, quite in keeping with the rustic character of Venice. However, it did not at all fit with the imposing edifice of San Marco, not yet a century old, nor really even with the fortified Ducal Palace—both among the few stone structures in the city. In one of his first actions upon taking office after his predecessor’s untimely demise, Doge Sebastiano Ziani ordered a complete transformation of the San Marco area. It is he who formed the distinctive L-shaped Piazza and Piazzetta of San Marco that we see today.

Ziani began by purchasing the orchard and then chopping it down. San Geminiano was likewise demolished and rebuilt at the western edge of the new piazza. (The church, later destroyed by Napoleon, is still commemorated by a plaque at this location.) The Rio Batario was completely filled in. Then the entire area was paved with stone—an extraordinary undertaking for medieval Europe. Where the Piazzetta San Marco meets the waterfront—the area known as the Molo—plans called for the raising of giant stone columns brought back from Greece by the ill-fated Doge Michiel. The former doge had actually returned with three columns in all, yet when the Venetians tried to raise one of them, it slipped out of their control and fell into the water, sinking deep into the mud of the Bacino, where it presumably still lies. Determined to put up the other two, Ziani spread word that he would handsomely pay anyone who could manage the feat. After some months, an engineer presented himself who claimed that he could do the job. All that he asked in return was the right to set up a gambling table between the columns for the rest of his life. The favor was granted, the columns were raised (by some method unrecorded in the chronicles), and the gambling commenced. Unfortunately, the engineer lived rather longer than many expected. It is said that to discourage his clients the state later decreed that all hangings should occur between the two columns, leaving the dead bodies swinging gently over the determined gamers.

On the western column Ziani placed a statue of a winged lion, the symbol of St. Mark, probably the same bronze statue that rests there today. It is an ancient work, perhaps from China or Persia, the original likely depicting a basilisk to which the Venetians simply added wings. The other column may have received a statue of St. Theodore, the original patron of the city, although the current statue was produced in the fourteenth century.

There is no doubt that all this construction was expensive. Why, then, did the doge and his court think it a worthwhile expenditure at a time when Venice remained at war with the Byzantine Empire and many thousands of their countrymen were still held hostage abroad? Perhaps it was an outward expression of Venice’s independence from the parent that had betrayed her. Or perhaps it was to provide a fitting place for the momentous meeting of emperor and pope in 1177. Whatever the case, the Piazza San Marco—the largest open gathering space in the city—would become the center of Venetian society, politics, and culture, magnetically drawing to it all visitors and, in times of crisis, all residents. In that respect, it has changed very little in the last eight centuries.

The arrival of Pope Alexander in 1177 certainly made for a fitting inaugural, and Venice’s stature as a global power was put on display. As his galley approached the Piazzetta, the pope was met by Doge Ziani, Patriarch Dandolo, and the patriarch of Aquileia, Ulrich II of Treffen, all in their own ceremonial galleys. Moving to the doge’s galley, the pope was seated between Ziani and Dandolo and then taken to the Piazzetta. The crowds parted as the pope, doge, patriarchs, and leading citizens proceeded to the church of San Marco, where a Mass was sung and the pope blessed the people in the church and the crowds in the Piazza outside. He then boarded the doge’s galley, which took him down the Grand Canal to the patriarch’s palace near the Rialto market. Alexander would remain the houseguest of Patriarch Dandolo for the next two weeks.

After a full schedule of ceremonies and the showering of Venice with many privileges, Alexander III left the city on April 9, bound for the nearby Italian city of Ferrara. There he met with representatives of the Lombard towns and the German emperor in an attempt to settle on a place for a peace conference. The Lombards, who had begun to question the depth of the pope’s commitment to them, insisted on Bologna, where they felt sure they could control matters. Not surprisingly, Frederick’s agents objected to this choice, suggesting Ravenna, Pavia, or Venice. Frederick himself favored Venice, because it was neutral, trustworthy, and “subject to God alone”—precisely why the Lombards opposed it. Nevertheless, after much arm-twisting, Alexander finally persuaded the Lombards to relent. To assuage their fears, the pope asked Frederick to personally remain outside Venetian territory, sending only his legates and advisers, until all sides had agreed upon a final peace. Frederick assented. Envoys were then dispatched to Doge Ziani requesting oaths of safe passage to Venice, which he promptly granted.

Frederick Barbarossa went to Ravenna, where he received regular reports from his ambassadors in Venice, while Pope Alexander celebrated Easter in Ferrara and then returned to Venice with his cardinals on May 10. Once again he was escorted grandly to San Marco and then to Patriarch Dandolo’s palace at Rialto, which became the headquarters for all negotiations. Twice a day, every day, the patriarch welcomed to his palace the various agents for another round of talks. The building was filled to capacity with lodgers, including the pope, his cardinals, and other clerical envoys from across Italy. The Rialto area, always buzzing with activity, was now crawling not only with merchants but also with diplomats. In fact, all parts of Venice had their share of visitors as the city swelled with the thousands of dignitaries and churchmen hoping to affect the peace or gain favors from the emperor or the pope.

Negotiations dragged on for many weeks, yet by the beginning of July it was clear that an agreement was close at hand. In order to minimize the delays during the final negotiations, Frederick requested that he be allowed to relocate from Ravenna to Chioggia, on the southern edge of the lagoon. Sometime around July 6, Alexander granted this request, provided that Frederick renew his promise not to enter Venice without papal permission. Shortly after Frederick’s arrival at Chioggia a party of cardinals and German agents were sent to gain the emperor’s approval on a final draft of the peace. If he agreed, it would end the schism and grant truce to the Lombards and Normans. At the patriarchal palace, all waited in hopeful expectation.

In a city of some eighty thousand people, most of whom were filled with anxious anticipation, it is not surprising that rumors began to circulate in Venice. One of them, though, almost scuttled the peace. At the doge’s court there had been considerable worry that either the negotiations or the final ceremony might be moved to another city. These worries intensified after Frederick moved to Chioggia, which was a rustic fishing town beset by “flies, gnats, and heat.” No one expected the emperor to remain there for very long. The doge had vessels ready at a moment’s notice to bring Frederick to the comforts of the Ducal Palace, yet he could do nothing until Alexander III gave the order. One evening, as they waited for word on the treaty draft, the doge and members of his court received an erroneous report that Frederick had approved the peace and was ready to leave Chioggia immediately. Fearing that he would go to the mainland rather than remain in Chioggia, the doge sent messengers to the patriarchal palace to determine the truth of the reports. Roused out of bed, Pope Alexander told the envoys that he had no information from his cardinals and assured them that he would give permission for Frederick’s transport into Venice the moment he learned that the emperor had agreed to the terms of the peace. With that settled, everyone went back to bed.

But the drama of the nocturnal visit to the pope sparked a flurry of rumors in the Rialto markets that spread quickly across the city. It was said that the doge and other leading Venetians were engaged in secret talks with Frederick to bring him into the city so that he could capture the pope and take control of the peace conference. So prevalent were the rumors that the Lombard delegates packed their bags and fled to Treviso. The Norman delegation urged Alexander to escape lest he fall into the clutches of Frederick. However, the pope’s information was rather better than that of the Venetian street. He told the Normans they should wait for definite word from Chioggia before doing anything. Frustrated, the Norman ambassadors stormed into the Ducal Palace, where they demanded and received an audience with the doge. Ziani tried to explain that the whole thing was simply a misunderstanding. He insisted that the Venetians were interested only in providing comfort for the emperor and ensuring that the peace would be celebrated in Venice. Unconvinced, the Normans returned to their vessels and sailed through the Grand Canal, blowing trumpets and announcing to anyone who would listen that they were leaving Venice because of the faithlessness of the doge. They also made a point of threatening Venetian expatriates and assets in Norman ports. As news spread, thousands of Venetians converged on the Ducal Palace, where they, too, demanded an explanation. Exasperated and frightened, Doge Ziani reaffirmed that Frederick would not be brought to Venice without Alexander’s assent. He then sent envoys to the pope to beg forgiveness for the whole episode and decreed that no one in Venice was to speak of bringing Frederick into the city until Alexander ordered it.

Finally, on July 21 and 22, all the parties swore to the terms of the newly crafted peace treaty. The pope then asked Doge Ziani to bring the wayward son to him. The next day six rich galleys loaded with various important personages went to Chioggia to collect Frederick and transport him to the monastery of San Nicolò on the Lido. Meanwhile, the citizens were busy preparing the Piazza San Marco for the big event. Ships’ masts were set up all along the length of the Piazzetta, each bearing the banner of St. Mark. In front of the church a dais was constructed for the pope’s throne and the dozens of prelates that would surround him.

The following day, July 24, was a Sunday. Alexander III woke early and went to San Marco, where he heard Mass. He then dispatched four cardinals to the Lido to receive Frederick’s renunciation of the schism and his promise of obedience to the pope. Then Doge Ziani, Patriarch Dandolo, and numerous other Venetian notables boarded the doge’s galley and went to the Lido, where they greeted Frederick and brought him to San Marco. At 10:00 a.m., those on the galley disembarked and walked in procession down the center of the richly adorned Piazzetta to the church, where the pope was seated on his throne surrounded by cardinals, archbishops, and bishops. Patriarch Dandolo, who was in the procession, took his place at the pope’s right hand. The emperor approached Alexander, took off his purple cloak, knelt, and kissed the pope’s feet. Crying tears of joy, Alexander stood, lifted Frederick up, and gave him the kiss of peace. Bells rang out across the city and the people lifted their voices in the Te Deum. The “Peace of Venice” had at last been concluded.

Alexander III’s visits to Venice in 1177 remained a treasured gem in the Venetian people’s trove of history. Indeed, more civic rituals in Venice were tied to these events than any other. Within a century a wide collection of stories had attached themselves to the Peace of Venice, many of which were developed to explain the trionfi, a group of prerogatives and rituals that surrounded the dogeship. It was said that during his first visit the pope had secretly entered Venice dressed as a beggar, because he was safe nowhere else. He was found sleeping in the doorway of a church (although exactly which church remained a bone of contention for centuries), and with filial devotion, Doge Ziani and the Venetian people had given him shelter and bestowed upon him every honor. In gratitude, Alexander gave Venetian doges the right to have a white candle precede them during feast-day processions to symbolize their honor and purity of faith. When Ziani later sent letters to Frederick in Pavia urging him to make peace, Alexander (it was said) declared that the doge should not use wax seals, like all other rulers, but lead seals as the pope and emperor did. When Frederick received the lead-sealed letters, he was outraged and ordered Ziani to place the pope in irons and hand him over at once. Ziani refused, so Frederick sent a massive fleet commanded by his son, Otto, to destroy Venice and capture the pope. But the much smaller Venetian squadrons not only defeated the German vessels, but heroically captured Otto. Before the battle Alexander gave Ziani and his successors a sword, which represented the justice of the war and promised remission of sins for all those who touched it.

But the most famous of the trionfi to be associated with the Peace of Venice was the golden ring, which the pope bestowed upon the doge to be used during the Feast of the Ascension. It was said that after Ziani’s naval victory against Otto, Alexander presented the doge with the ring, saying:

Take this, O Ziani, which you and your successors will use each year to marry the sea, so that posterity knows that the lordship of the sea is yours, held by you as an ancient possession and by right of conquest, and that the sea was placed under your dominion, as a wife is to a husband.

Thus was born one of the most unique and enduring of all Venetian civic rituals. Each year on the Festa della Sensa (Ascension) the doge, patriarch, and throngs of nobles and citizens sailed out to the eastern end of the Lido, where the lagoon met the sea, and performed a ceremony in which the Republic of Venice married the Adriatic. After prayers and the pouring of holy water into the sea, the doge would cast a golden ring into it, proclaiming, “We espouse thee, O Sea, as a sign of true and perpetual dominion.”

These colorful legends maintained that the Peace of Venice was settled not through complex negotiations, but simply by releasing Frederick’s son Otto, who promised to persuade his father to come to terms with the pope. And so it was on Ascension Day 1177 that Frederick knelt before Alexander and kissed his feet outside the church of San Marco. In memory of that day, the pope granted a plenary indulgence to all who visited San Marco on the Feast of the Ascension. Then, it was told, Ziani, Frederick, and Alexander sailed to Ancona, where the citizens greeted them with two ceremonial umbrellas for the pope and the emperor. Alexander, however, insisted that a third umbrella be brought for the doge, and decreed that his successors should henceforth enjoy the same honor. When they approached Rome, the pope was greeted with eight banners and many silver trumpets, which he then also gave to the doge as his right. Thus the doge’s trionfi were complete—the white candle, lead seals, sword, golden ring, umbrella, banners, and silver trumpets. These were ceremonial trappings associated only with the loftiest powers, yet the Venetian doge had acquired them all by serving God and his Church.

Little truth can be found in these legends. Alexander never disguised himself as a beggar and the doges’ use of lead seals can be dated well before 1177. The white candle was initially a symbol of penance, used each year when the doge visited San Geminiano in recompense for destroying the earlier church without ecclesiastical permission. Like the seal, the sword, umbrella, banners, and trumpets were adopted at various times in the twelfth century in imitation of Byzantine ceremonies. As for the Sensa ritual of marrying the sea, at least part of it was already practiced during the eleventh century, when the doge attended an annual blessing of the Adriatic. It may be that Pope Alexander took part in the ceremony in 1177, or perhaps provided a golden ring. But the ritual itself was much older.

That is not to say that Venice received nothing from the grateful pope. With the energetic goodwill that a long-delayed reconciliation often brings, Alexander and Frederick decided to stay in the city for a while, rewarding the republic and other friends with privileges and largesse. Patriarch Dandolo and Alexander III were strong supporters of reform orders, particularly the canons regular. In April, during the pope’s first visit to Venice, he had dedicated a new church of the canons regular, Santa Maria della Carità. Now, with the peace settled, Dandolo was in a position to ask for more favors. It appears that he directed the pope’s attention to the church of San Salvatore. Three decades earlier, it had been the conversion of the clergy there to the canons regular that precipitated the bitter struggle between the patriarch and the bishop of Castello—the struggle that ultimately led to the exile of the patriarch and his family. Accompanied by Patriarch Dandolo and Frederick Barbarossa, Alexander now dedicated the newly rebuilt church. He blessed the high altar, bestowed a number of indulgences on various shrines, and celebrated the first Mass there. It was a glorious ceremony, one that the canons of San Salvatore would recount proudly for centuries. For Patriarch Dandolo it was a satisfying moment indeed.

Although Dandolo could look with pleasure on the pope’s favor toward San Salvatore, he did not fare so well in other matters. In the wake of the Peace of Venice a new political landscape was conspiring against his jurisdictional interests outside the lagoon. Nowhere was this clearer than in the patriarch’s long rivalry with nearby Aquileia. As long as Aquileia had supported the imperial antipope, Grado had fared well with Alexander. Yet that changed with the accession in Aquileia of Patriarch Ulrich II of Treffen (1161–82). Ulrich began his patriarchate on a belligerent note, violently attacking the cathedral of Grado, prompting Doge Vitale II Michiel to lead a counterattack that not only repulsed the invaders but captured Ulrich himself and the twelve canons of his cathedral. As a condition of their release, Ulrich promised that henceforth, every Fat Tuesday, he and his successors would send to the people of Venice a bull and twelve pigs, to represent the patriarch of Aquileia and his canons. Thus began another of the most enduring civic ceremonies in Venetian history. Each year for centuries these animals were solemnly brought to the Piazza San Marco, where, under the watchful eye of the doge and his council, they were tried, convicted, and condemned to death. The revelers would then chase the animals around the Piazza, before decapitating, roasting, and eating them. The event was so popular that in the fifteenth century, when the patriarchate of Aquileia was merged with that of Grado, the Venetian government continued to provide the annual bull and twelve pigs at public expense.

When the antipope Victor IV died in 1164, Ulrich switched sides, bringing his church into communion with Alexander III. This put him in a unique position. He had come to the throne of Aquileia through his friendship with Frederick Barbarossa. Yet the growth of Venetian influence on the mainland meant that Aquileia and its dioceses were increasingly within Venice’s sphere of influence. With considerable political skill, Ulrich was able to retain his friendship with the emperor while recognizing Alexander as pope, all the while enjoying the support of Venice. He used this position to act as an honest broker during the years of the struggle and, in 1169, was made a papal legate. Now that the pope and emperor were at peace, both men wished to reward Ulrich for his services. Frederick extended the secular jurisdiction of the patriarchate of Aquileia. Alexander confirmed the patriarch of Aquileia’s right to wear the pallium, a wool band reserved for metropolitan bishops, and his ecclesiastical jurisdiction over sixteen dioceses, including those in Istria claimed by the patriarch of Grado.

There remained numerous other bones of contention between Grado and Aquileia, but the pope, emperor, and doge were united in their desire to have them at last sorted out. In March 1179 Patriarch Dandolo and his bishops traveled to Rome to attend the Third Lateran Council. There, with the representatives of Patriarch Ulrich, the details of a settlement were finalized. On July 24, 1180, in the presence of Alexander III and nine cardinals, Patriarch Dandolo formally ended the ancient disputes between Grado and Aquileia.

Soon the grand and glorious party in Venice was over and the people of the city began the business of getting back to normal—or as normal as things could be while thousands of Venetians were still hostages overseas. In the early months of 1178 the aged Doge Ziani fell gravely ill. This naturally led to questions about the method of selecting his successor. The sapienti of the court clearly wanted to keep the power to choose the new doge, which they had exercised in 1172. Yet had that authority been bestowed on them indefinitely, or only as a stopgap during a time of emergency? Like the members of his court, Ziani wanted to keep the election away from the people. These men had a natural desire to concentrate power into their own hands, but they also genuinely feared the recklessness of the arengo, which had led to the destruction of the fleet in Greece and the subsequent murder of the doge. Since 1172, the doge’s council had grown substantially in size, beginning to resemble what it would later become, the Great Council. In any governing body, size breeds factionalism. To avoid that problem, it was decided to select four men who would in turn choose forty from the doge’s council to serve as electors of the new doge. After swearing to act in the best interest of Venice, the forty would then make their decision by a simple majority vote.

After the selection of the Four, Doge Ziani retired to the monastery of San Giorgio Maggiore, where he died in early April 1178. Three days later the Four appeared in the packed church of San Marco to read off their list of forty electors for the people’s approval. Surely someone among the assembled must have noticed that the people were no longer being asked to choose their new doge, as they had throughout Venetian history, or even to approve a doge chosen by someone else, as they had done just six years earlier. Instead their approval was being sought merely for the electors of a doge. If anyone objected, however, it is not recorded. Those selected for the Forty were the most powerful and respected men in the city. Many of them were marked by their association with the murdered Vitale II Michiel, who still cast a long shadow over Venetian politics. When the Forty voted, they turned again to Michiel’s inner circle, electing Orio Mastropiero (1178–92). Like Ziani, Mastropiero was a member of a relatively new family that had grown wealthy in commercial ventures and that had only recently entered the highest levels of political power in Venice. Like his colleagues, he was a conservative man who valued prudence and moderation in all things, but nowhere more so than in Venice’s relationship with Byzantium. The highest order of business for Venice remained the release of the hostages, thousands of whom still languished in jail cells in Constantinople.

And yet, as uncomfortable as those cells no doubt were, they protected the imprisoned Venetians from the carnage that was soon to take place in the streets of the Byzantine capital. Emperor Manuel I Comnenus died on September 24, 1180, still at war with Venice. He left behind a twelve-year-old son, Alexius II. In the usual Byzantine fashion, a series of rebellions ensued, tainted with the virulent hatred for European Catholics (known as Latins because of the language of their liturgy) that now ruled the streets of Constantinople. In 1182 a Byzantine provincial governor, Andronicus Comnenus, took over the regency of the young emperor. To repay his supporters in Constantinople and to begin with a clean slate in the Italian quarters of the city, Andronicus signaled to the Greek citizens that they might give full vent to their hatred for their Latin neighbors—essentially sanctioning murder. The massacre of Catholics that ensued in Constantinople was brutally efficient. Greek mobs poured into the Latin quarters along the Golden Horn, murdering, raping, and torturing their victims. The easiest targets were women, children, and the aged, who were cut down mercilessly. Catholic priests and monks were also massacred. The papal legate to Constantinople was decapitated and his head tied to the tail of a dog that was chased through the bloodstained streets.

Venice’s alienation from Constantinople suddenly seemed good fortune. In 1182 the only Venetians living in the city were safely in jail. In retaliation for the massacre of their citizens, the Pisan and Genoese governments declared war against Byzantium. With the Normans also preparing to renew their attacks, Andronicus had little choice but to turn to Venice for support, having alienated everyone else. At once he released all Venetian hostages and promised to make installment payments on Venetian damage claims. He also restored the Venetian Quarter to its owners. Venetian merchants flocked once more to the lucrative city on the Bosporus that they knew so well, and the released hostages began returning home in January 1183. The first restitution payments did not arrive for almost three years, but the Venetians were willing to wait. What mattered most was that the hostages were home and good relations had finally been restored with the Byzantine Empire.

When the aged doge Mastropiero abdicated the throne in May 1192, the doge’s council again called the people of the lagoon to assemble at San Marco to approve the forty electors, in what they cleverly called the “customary way” of choosing a doge (although the custom had only been exercised once). The committee again selected an elderly member of one of the “new” families. There was nothing about Enrico Dandolo (1192–1205), the nephew of the patriarch of the same name, to indicate that he would be an especially effective doge. Although he could boast a distinguished career of service to the state, the eighty-five-year-old Dandolo suffered from cortical blindness—the result of a severe blow to his head almost twenty years earlier. The electors must surely have believed that Dandolo’s dogeship would be short and uneventful.

They were wrong. Enrico Dandolo would become one of the most famous men in Venetian history, and his dogeship would fundamentally transform Venice from a merchant republic into a maritime empire.

Yet that was still all in the future. The old man who was led to the altar of San Marco to receive the ducal regalia seemed a small, almost helpless creature. In truth, he was a man with extraordinary energy and a keen mind who would live to be almost a hundred. The people looked on as their new doge reached the altar and took his oath of office. It is not clear how far back the doge’s oath goes, but Enrico Dandolo’s is the earliest to survive. It is a relatively long document, with seventeen separate sections. In good republican fashion, most of the promises concern things that the doge could not do. He was forbidden to alienate state funds or property, divulge state secrets, permit prohibited exports, conduct foreign diplomacy, appoint notaries, or administer communal business without the approval of the doge’s council, a growing body of important Venetians who represented various portions of the city. Over the subsequent centuries the doge’s oath grew ever longer, augmented with additional prohibitions. In its own way, it became much like the American Constitution, enumerating and limiting the powers of government. Dandolo’s oath not only defined the extent of his authority, but also his greatest responsibility, to “consider, attend to, and work for the honor and profit of the people of Venice in good faith and without fraud.”

And this he did. It is clear from the outset of his reign that Enrico Dandolo was a man of action. He ordered the first-ever codification of Venetian criminal and civil law. He dramatically reformed Venetian coinage, issuing the first token coin (the quartarolo) and the first silver coin in Europe since the fall of the Roman Empire (the grosso). The grosso, which would become an international coin of exchange, bore on its face the image of the doge receiving the banner of the winged lion from St. Mark himself. It was a bold statement of the power and reach of the Venetian government.

And yet, many challenges remained. A particular source of aggravation was the city of Zara, on the Dalmatian coast. It had chafed under Venetian political and ecclesiastical control for years, especially since the city’s see had been subjugated to the patriarch of Grado. Rebellion after rebellion had been put down until 1180, when the Zarans finally won their freedom. For the next two decades Zara remained a lone holdout on the otherwise Venetian-controlled Dalmatian coast. Venetian merchants feared the pirates hidden along the Zaran coast, and the state coveted the supplies of oak in the forests near the rebel city. In 1187 Doge Orio Mastropiero had borrowed money from the republic’s leading citizens to prosecute a war against Zara, but the Zarans allied themselves with King Bela III of Hungary, who constructed a strong fortress to ward off the Venetians. The war was short-lived. Almost immediately after the Venetians began their siege, Pope Gregory VIII ordered a cessation of all hostilities in Europe in preparation for the Third Crusade. Venice complied, signing a two-year truce with the Zarans. In 1190, shortly after the truce expired, Doge Mastropiero dispatched another fleet against Zara, with disastrous results. The Venetians not only failed to capture the city, but in the process lost control of the nearby islands of Pago, Ossero, and Arbe. Among Doge Enrico Dandolo’s first actions was the launching of yet another strike force in 1193, recapturing the islands but failing to quell Zara’s defiance.

Relations with Byzantium were also strained. Although Andronicus I had restored the Venetian Quarter and released the hostages, the doge continued to press for the restoration of Venice’s trading privileges in the empire’s other ports. Dandolo devoted six years to painstaking negotiations with Constantinople, culminating in a new chrysobull, issued in 1198. The new emperor, Alexius III Angelus (1195–1203), made a point of favoring the recently reconciled Pisans, whom he hoped to enlist for the naval defense of the Byzantine Empire. This naturally caused friction with the Venetians, yet aside from some skirmishes in the Adriatic, matters remained at peace. The imperial chrysobull affirmed that Venetians should be free from taxes and tolls in a long list of Byzantine ports and further stipulated that Venetian expatriates should have criminal and civil cases heard by Venetian judges in all matters except murder or riot. It was an impressive document, meticulously negotiated and crafted. Unfortunately, Alexius III disregarded most of it. Byzantine officials continued to demand import and export duties from Venetian merchants, despite gold-sealed charters and lofty promises from Constantinople.

By the turn of the thirteenth century, then, Venice had grown into a prosperous, energetic, and optimistic republic in a world of feudal monarchies. Within a few years, though, it would become something more. Unexpectedly, and quite against the will of the Venetians, their republic would acquire an empire.