Petrarch’s will made no mention of his precious library, or of his promise to Venice. As a result, the manuscripts and books were sold off piecemeal, and can now be found scattered in collections ranging from the Bodleian Library in Oxford to the Vatican Library in Rome, as well as in London, Paris and even Venice. Indeed, it appears that when Petrarch departed in high dudgeon from Venice he may even have left a part of his library behind in the Ca’ Molina. These manuscripts would become, in the words of the modern Italian scholar Manlio Stocchi, the ‘subject of an uncertain and veiled tradition … halfway between history and legend’. In 1635, the antiquary Giacomo Tomasim discovered a long-forgotten cache of Petrarch’s manuscripts hidden away, in a small dark room behind the four horses of San Marco, above the great entrance doorway. According to the nineteenth-century historians Charles and Mart Elton, ‘Some had crumbled into powder, and others had been glued into shapeless masses by the damp. The survivors were placed in the Libraria [sic] Vecchia.’ Many historians now dispute that these were left behind by Petrarch, claiming that the abandoned ‘survivors’ in fact came from Petrarch’s dispersed collection. Either way, neither Petrarch nor Venice fared well from this ‘veiled tradition’ of broken promises, ingratitude and neglect.
While the Venetians had celebrated their crushing of the Cretans, the early 1370s saw familiar anxieties return, with another increase in tension between the Republic and Genoa. This would come to a head in Cyprus at the coronation of the fifteen-year-old King Peter II, which took place in October 1372 at Famagusta. Afterwards a grand banquet was held at the royal palace. The festivities were attended by a variety of local nobles, church dignitaries, visiting foreign aristocracy, as well as the resident Venetians and Genoese, who were segregated at separate long tables. After the consumption of much strong local wine, the Venetians and Genoese began boisterously pelting each other with bread. This quickly turned nasty when the Genoese drew back their robes to reveal that they were armed with swords and daggers – an unforgivable breach of etiquette as well as a threatening insult to the king. Amidst widespread outrage a riot ensued, with the Genoese coming under violent attack from both angry Cypriots and Venetians (who appear to have found miraculous access to arms of their own, with no recorded breach of etiquette). A number of Genoese were thrown to their death from the palace balcony, and others were rounded up outside and summarily executed, while a mob began to rampage through the Genoese quarter, setting fire to buildings. Scores of Genoese managed to board two ships in the harbour, eventually making it back to their home city, where their arrival caused a sensation.
The Genoese bided their time, assembling two fleets, which set sail for Cyprus the following summer. The first, consisting of seven galleys, landed raiding parties at several spots along the coast, with armed men conducting a campaign of rape, plunder and hostage-taking. Meanwhile the other fleet of thirty-six ships, carrying some 14,000 men as well as cavalry and artillery, landed at Famagusta. Within days the Genoese had virtual control of most of Cyprus. At a stroke, the balance of power in the Mediterranean had taken a decisive shift. Holding Cyprus meant that the Genoese had command over the lucrative trade routes to the Levant. Such were the origins of the Fourth Genoese War (also known as the War of Chioggia), by far the most vicious and dangerous conflict to erupt between the two maritime republics. Both sensed that this would be a fight to the death, and reacted accordingly.
Venice appointed to take charge of its fleet two exceptional admirals. The first of these was Carlo Zeno, a brother to Nicolò and Antonio, the explorers who may have sailed to Greenland and America earlier in this period – indeed, according to some sources, Carlo accompanied his brothers on this legendary pioneer voyage. The Zeno family was amongst the more distinguished Venetian nobility, but Carlo was one of ten brothers and was forced by financial circumstances to take up holy orders at an early age. Seldom would a vocation prove more inappropriate. However, all began well enough and the young priest was despatched to France, to serve in the papal court of Clement V at Avignon. The pope eventually rewarded the teenage Venetian with the post of canon of the cathedral of Patras in the distant Greek Peloponnese. This benefice provided him with a sizeable income, and after sixteen months at Avignon Carlo set off back to Italy, where he decided to study law at the University of Padua. Here, despite his priestly vows, he threw himself wholeheartedly into student life, especially the pursuit of women, gambling and revelry – to such an extent that he was eventually forced to sell everything he had, including his books, and enlist as a mercenary to escape his creditors. And it was now that his true character emerged.
Carlo would prove to be an embodiment of that Venetian adventurous-ness so admired by Petrarch. He was a natural soldier, and he spent the next five years honing his military skills, travelling as far afield as France, Germany and England in the service of the Holy Roman Emperor, Charles IV.* Surprisingly, he then arrived at Patras to take up his post as canon of the cathedral; he was now a battle-hardened warrior of twenty-two. At this time the Ottoman Turks were advancing into the Peloponnese, and once again Zeno took up arms. However, although the Bishop of Patras saw nothing remiss in one of his canons leading a troop of cavalry, he drew the line at undisciplined behaviour. When the hotheaded Carlo challenged one of his fellow officers to a duel, the archbishop stripped him of both his military rank and his post as canon. Considering himself to be absolved of his priestly vows, Carlo immediately married a local Greek lady, who soon died – whereupon he returned to Venice and married a Venetian lady belonging to the noble Giustinian family. According to his grandson, Japopo Zeno, Bishop of Padua, who wrote his biography drawing on family papers, Carlo now:
made up his mind to adopt the life of a merchant; and leaving Venice with this intention, remained seven years absent, living partly in a castle called Tanai on the banks of the river Tania [at the head of the Sea of Azov], and partly in Constantinople.
The other admiral appointed by the Venetians to take charge of their fleet at the start of the War of Chioggia was Vettore Pisani, nephew of the celebrated Nicolò, who during the previous hostilities had led the Venetian fleet to its great victory over the Genoese off the coast of Sardinia, and had later been lucky to escape with his life in the catastrophic defeat by his rival, Paganino Doria, at Porto Lungo.
The young Vettore Pisani is said to have been present at Porto Lungo, and to have escaped with his uncle. Though he was charged with cowardice on his return to Venice, his case was overwhelmingly dismissed. He was a courageous, flamboyant character and became a popular naval captain, commanding the loyalty and admiration of his crews. Such regard was unusual during this period, when nobles were still much despised for their arrogant behaviour. On one occasion Pisani stood up for a galley master wrongly accused of smuggling for his own gain, a serious offence. One of the accusers was the noble Pietro Cornaro, who during the proceedings sarcastically implied that Pisani was lying. Outraged at this affront to his honour, Pisani afterwards went up to Cornaro in the street and demanded to know if he was armed. When Cornaro replied that he was not, Pisani knew that he could not challenge him, so he warned him that next time they encountered each other Cornaro should make sure he was armed. That night Pisani stood waiting for Cornaro to return to his palazzo, so that he could challenge him. But as soon as Cornaro saw Pisani he fled into a nearby house. For this serious breach of public order Pisani was fined 200 ducats, and was stripped of a public office in Crete to which he had recently been elected. However, such was his popularity that he was quickly elected to another Cretan post, and would become one of the few to serve the Republic with honour and bravery during the Cretan revolt. The choice of Vettore Pisani to lead the Venetian fleet, along with the redoubtable Carlo Zeno, was popular with citizens of all ranks throughout the city.
The official outbreak of the War of Chioggia came in 1378, a good six years after the riot at the coronation of King Peter II in Famagusta. The Venetians held an early advantage thanks to the adventurous
escapades of the irresponsible Zeno. In 1376 he had found himself in Constantinople when the Byzantine emperor John V Palaeologus was deposed by his son Andronicus, who imprisoned him and two of his sons in the Tower of Anema, at the same time declaring himself emperor. The former emperor John V had spent some time in Venice (where he had suffered the indignity of being confined in a debtors’ gaol); nevertheless he remained a friend of Venice, while his son – the new emperor Andronicus IV – favoured Genoa. According to the papers consulted by Zeno’s biographer-grandson, which contain Carlo’s not-always-reliable version of events, he now became involved in a spectacular adventure that would change the course of Venetian history no less. Seemingly, John V managed to smuggle a message from his cell in the Tower of Anema to Carlo Zeno, imploring the Venetian to rescue him. Under cover of darkness, Zeno and some companions rowed across the Golden Horn in a small boat, putting ashore beneath the Tower of Anema, where John V let down a rope-ladder from the window of his cell. Zeno climbed up the ladder, but John V refused to escape unless he could take his two sons with him. As there was no room for his sons on the boat, Zeno was eventually forced to leave empty-handed. Making his getaway as best he could, Zeno raised sail and made for the Sea of Marmara. Here he was eventually picked up by a Venetian squadron, which happened to be under the command of his father-in-law, Mario Giustinian. In recompense for Zeno’s brave attempt to rescue him, John V had handed Zeno an imperial decree granting possession of the Aegean island of Tenedos (modern Bozcaada) to the Venetian Republic. This island was of great strategic importance, guarding the entrance to the Hellespont (Dardanelles). When Giustinian landed and showed the imperial decree to the Byzantine-Greek commander of Tenedos, he immediately handed over the island, making no attempt to defend it.
However, it so happened that the new emperor, Andronicus IV, had just promised Tenedos to the Genoese, and the following year a Genoese-Byzantine fleet arrived off Tenedos to enforce this claim, but was soon repulsed by the resident Venetian forces. Although the Genoese continued to hold Cyprus and command the trade routes to the Levant, Venice now commanded the trade routes running through the Hellespont into the Black Sea and the ports in the Sea of Azov that lay at the western end of the Silk Route from the Orient.
Despite this early advantage, guaranteeing Venice an important source of income from the Orient, which should have enabled it to compete with Genoa, it proved of little avail, as the Republic now found itself under severe threat at home. Hungary remained in possession of much of Dalmatia, and Francesco da Carrara appeared to be marshalling troops in Padua. With Venice all but surrounded on the mainland side, it was likely that Genoa – allied to the Hungarians – would attempt to mount a direct attack on Venice from the sea, much as Paganino Doria had done in the previous war, only this time they would bring the full might of their fleet. Consequently Pisani was ordered to use his fleet to protect the Adriatic and its approaches against any direct Genoese threat, whilst Zeno was given a more general brief to patrol the Mediterranean, attacking Genoese colonies and any enemy convoys that he came across on the trade routes.
The extent to which Venice remained economically and militarily depleted can be seen from the fact that Pisani had command of just fourteen galleys, and even these were undermanned. The loss of Dalmatia had cut off not only an important source of grain, but also a recruiting ground for galley oarsmen. Several of Pisani’s galleys were manned by Cretans, and a few were even reduced to skeleton crews, with just one man to some oarsmen’s benches. As a result, these galleys were almost totally reliant upon sails for propulsion, and could not manoeuvre at close quarters – the one great military advantage of rowed galleys.
The first serious naval encounter of the war took place in late May 1378, when Pisani spotted a convoy of ten Genoese galleys moving down the south-western coast of Italy near the mouth of the Tiber. Pisani set off in pursuit, catching up with the Genoese off the cape at Anzio on 30 May. By this stage a storm had blown up, with heavy seas and darkened skies, but Pisani ordered his galleys to attack nonetheless. As a result of the weather, and undermanning, four of Pisani’s galleys were unable to engage with the enemy, and while the others closed in on the Genoese, grappling proved extremely hazardous. Despite this, only four of the Genoese galleys managed to escape, one was driven onto the rocks and the other five were captured, together with the Genoese commander, Luigi de’ Fieschi.*
Pisani had hardly won a great naval victory, but its effect would prove as such. At the time the citizens of Genoa were much in need of reassurance with regard to this latest war with Venice. Encouraged by Venice, Genoa’s neighbour, Francesco, Marchese dal Carretto, had risen up and seized Albenga just forty miles west along the coast, laying waste to Genoese territory in the process. Now, with Genoa’s naval defences down to a minimum, came news of a threatening Venetian victory, quickly followed by rumours that the enemy fleet was assembling in the Bay of Spezia, just over a day’s sailing distance to the east. Overcome with fear, the population of Genoa rose up on 17 June and stormed the palace of the aged, long-serving doge, Domenico di Campofregoso, causing him to be deposed. When order was restored, the younger and more popular Niccolò Guarco was elected in his place.
In fact, the victorious but undermanned Venetian galleys were nowhere near Spezia. Pisani realised that he had insufficient strength to take Genoa, no matter how ill-defended it might have been. Instead, he sailed east to keep a rendezvous off the south-western Peloponnese with six galleys from Crete. After a fruitless search for Genoese shipping he set off back for the Adriatic, where he attacked the strategic Hungarian-held ports of Cattaro (modern Kotor) and Sebenico (Šibenik), returning them to Venetian control. He then set sail for Venice, intending to winter his ships in the lagoon, where they could be refurbished at the Arsenale, and many of the sailors could spend some well-earned time with their families.
To Pisani’s surprise, his request to enter Venice was denied by the authorities. He was instead expected to winter almost 100 miles to the south at Pola, in readiness to escort and protect an expected convoy of grain ships from Apulia in the heel of Italy. This decision by the Venetian authorities has been called ‘a serious error of judgement’, resulting as it did in an unnecessary collapse of morale amongst the crews, who would spend the winter in damp, cramped conditions aboard ship, rather than at home where they felt they deserved to be after six months of risking their lives and fighting for their country. Likewise, this decision also affected the readiness and seaworthiness of the ships, which could not be so easily overhauled with the lesser facilities available at Pola. On the other hand, what Pisani could not have realised was that by now the city of Venice was down to its last supplies, with virtually all its sources of food cut off.
After a winter of storms, and disease amongst his crews, in February 1379 Pisani duly despatched a flotilla to escort the grain fleet up the Adriatic to Venice. In the course of this two of his ships were driven ashore and lost at Ancona. Then, on the morning of 7 May, the Venetians in the harbour at Pola were shocked when they awoke to the sight of a large Genoese fleet hove-to in the nearby waters. The Genoese admiral, Luciano Doria, had wintered his twenty-five ships 100 miles down the coast at the Hungarian-held port of Zara (Zadar). Intelligence from local travellers and fishermen had led him to suspect that Pisani was at Pola, and his hunch had paid off.
The Genoese now challenged the Venetians in the traditional manner by hauling aloft their battle ensigns depicting a raised sword; but Pisani realised that his ill-readied ships were in no fit state to take on such superior numbers, even though his depleted crews had now been supplemented by a large number of locally recruited Slavs. Pisani refused to allow his ships to put to sea, ordering them to remain within the safety of Pola’s protected harbour in the Well-founded hope that Carlo Zeno and his fleet would soon return. But Pisani’s captains were dissatisfied at such orders, seeing them as cowardice; after much wrangling Pisani caved in, against his better judgement. Gathering his ships t
ogether, he delivered a rousing speech to the assembled crews: ‘Brave men, now is the time to prove your valour …’ He then ordered the trumpets to sound the call to attack and led his ships into battle. Pisani was no coward, and could not tolerate the fact that his men might see him as one. Indeed, his initial sortie resulted in such success that he personally was responsible for the death of Luciano Doria. However, although the Genoese were initially surprised by the speed of Pisani’s sudden attack, they quickly regrouped, proceeding to inflict a heavy defeat on the Venetians, capturing fifteen galleys and no fewer than 2,407 prisoners, described by the chronicler Daniele di Chinazzo as ‘the flower of seamen of Venice’. Pisani decided to cut his losses and managed to flee, along with six heavily damaged galleys, which limped up the coast to the safety of the port of Parenza (Poreč). From here he was eventually summoned to Venice, where he suffered the fate of any Venetian commander defeated in battle – he was put on trial. Regardless of his bravery, it was charged that he ‘led the fleet into battle in disorderly fashion’ and that ‘he had quit the fight while the battle was still going on’. The guilty verdict left him disgraced, sentenced to six months in prison and banned from all public office for five years. Had he not been so popular, he might well have suffered a more severe punishment (an admiral on such charges was liable to suffer execution).
Venice now faced extreme danger. Its fleet was destroyed, the Hungarians had cut off the trade routes to the north, while the Paduans held the mainland to the west. And the Genoese fleet was evidently poised to attack from the sea. All the authorities could do was strengthen the defences of their wall-less city. The fortifications in San Nicolò di Lido at the main entrance to the lagoon were reinforced with artillery, and a chain-boom with two hulks was strung across the channel. In case the invaders broke through this defence, the posts marking the navigable channels through the treacherous shallow waters of the lagoon to the city itself were uprooted. Meanwhile the citizens gathered in the churches praying for a miracle – the return of Carlo Zeno and his fleet. But no word of him was forthcoming: throughout the Adriatic, from Pola to the Peloponnese, no report of his whereabouts in the Mediterranean had been received. He could have been anywhere from Cyprus to Constantinople, from Crete to Sardinia.
Venetians Page 7
