(Download this essay as PDF. Open the album.)

The complex political and cultural relationship between Venice and her Dalmatian colonies lasted for almost eight hundred years, from the turn of the first millennium until Venice’s final capitulation to Napoleonic forces in 1797. This bond between protector and protected, the colonial power and the colonised reveals a new facet of the oft-discussed Myth of Venice that has received little attention and demands analysis. This paper will examine and contrast the image of Venetian imperial identity forged within the metropolitan context of the Lagoon, with one designed expressly for the Republic’s Dalmatian subjects. Two questions immediately arise and demand answers. How did Venice articulate its political and imperial identity through a vocabulary of iconography and architecture and why create different identities for home and abroad?

Beginning with a brief history of the relationship between Venice and Dalmatia, which formed an important basis for the development of Venetian imperial expansion in the Mediterranean, we then examine the practice of myth making and cultural appropriation within Venice’s most important civic spaces and public monuments. The development of Venezia, a potent personification of the Republic, provides insight into the changing fortunes of Venice as an imperial power during the Late Medieval and Early Modern period. How her feminine qualities were supported by architecture and promoted an image of longevity and stability amongst Venetians will be revealed in an analysis of the Porta Della Carta and its surrounds in the Piazzetta di San Marco. The feminine qualities of Venezia also offer a foil with which to contrast the masculine and militaristic themes and monuments that the Venetians imposed upon their Dalmatian subjects. The Porta Magna of the Arsenale is a useful source within the metropolitan context of Venice, highlighting the overlap between these two facets of Venetian imperial identity.

We then move our focus to Dalmatia, examining travellers’ accounts of the area. These prove revealing of what elements in Dalmatian culture and history, particularly those of a classical nature, proved a help and a hindrance for Venetian ambitions in the area. Maps commissioned by the Signoria provide insight into the utilitarian nature of these ports and towns. Finally, the architectural contributions of the Venetians, mainly in the guise of fortresses and gateways are equally telling of the Republic’s aims, ambitions and inadequacies. The works of the Sanmicheli family in the area at the behest of the Signoria, such as the Porta Marina in the Dalmatian city of Zadar, prove especially useful for this discussion, revealing how the Republic reconciled reality with myth and architectural propaganda.

Although Venetian rule over Dalmatia was not confirmed as a bureaucratic reality until 1420, Venetian domination of the area began around the year 1000 with Doge Pietro Orseolo II striking at the heart of a pirate stronghold at the Narenta river at the invitation of the cities of Zadar, Pula Trogir and Split. This area along the Dalmatian coast was known as the Gulf of Venice. Thus began the colonial advance of La Serenissima, contributing in no small part to her identity as a supreme maritime force.

Dalmatia as Colony

But what was the particular appeal of this stretch of the Adriatic Coast and Gulf of Venice to La Serenissima in contrast to the relative proximity and land-based cities of the Terraferma? Between 1000 and the end of the seventeenth century, Venetian territories in the area were confined to a slip of coastline, with invasion inland occurring only in the last century of the Republic’s existence (Fig. 1, Fig. 2 and Fig. 3). Revolt and bloody suppression of towns along the Istrian, Dalmatian and Albanian coasts pepper Venice’s history. Piracy was another major threat. In contrast to Italy, the Dalmatian coast is riddled with inlets, natural harbours and island screens that are ideal for launching naval offensives. The most infamous group of maritime marauders were the Uskoks, at their most active during the late sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. Their base of Senj is a case in point. The perilous Gulf of Quarno protected the town by sea. On land, the forest and hazardous mountains prove equally impenetrable to attack. Vincenzo Coronelli’s stylized map of 1689 gives some indication of the topographical nature of the area (Fig. 4).

Senj was just one of many port towns along the coast, such as Trogir, Split, Sebenik and Zadar. The control of such a strategically important stretch of coastline was vital to Venetian imperial ambitions in the area. As a result Dalmatian towns, Zadar in particular, proved important stopping points for commercial and military shipping enroute to Byzantium or the Levant. The Venetians were well aware that trade and export generated taxes and from these came salaried bureaucratic positions. The patriciate cut their teeth upon these roles before returning to govern Venice itself. Finally, Dalmatia proved a vital source of manpower, from slaves, to galley hands and domestic help. Nor was it simply a case of Venetians exploiting the bounty of Dalmatia. The Dalmatians themselves travelled to Venice, recruiting professionals such as doctors and teachers to tend to the population back home In Venice it was only the “Zaratini” who were legitimately able to apply for a level of acquired citizenship defined as de Intus. This enabled an individual the chance to trade in luxury goods, invest in government bonds and hold minor public office. Although the Signoria never formally granted this status to other Dalmatian cities, it was an unspoken assumption that the same rules would nonetheless apply. When it came to the bestowing of the next level of citizenship, civilitas de extra, which allowed access to the lucrative trade routes between Venice and the Levant as well as lower custom rates, each case was assessed individually. The significant point to note is that Venetian citizenship of any level meant economic gains and a small level of local political power for the Dalmatians. It did not, however, define them as Venetian nor detract from their own sense of cultural identity. The foundation of the Scuola di San Giorgio degli Schiavnoi, in existence prior to 1451, stands testament to a strong Dalmatian identity balanced with the economic benefits afforded by Venetian protection.

Venetian Imperial Aspirations

This protection, however proved a double-edged sword for the inhabitants of the Dalmatian littoral, with the Venetians demanding concessions in return. From the start of the second millennium, the Dukes or Doges of Venice styled themselves ‘by the Grace of God, as Duke of Venice, Dalmatia and Croatia’. The bloodiest show of Venetian power occurred in November 1202. Nineteen years earlier, in 1183 the Zaratini had rebelled against the Venetian dominion of their town, only to be taken by the Hungarians in 1186. In 1202, enroute to Constantinople and the infamous sack of 1204, Doge Enrico Dandolo (1192–1205) found himself with boatloads of crusaders, lusting for a fight and their leaders still owing Venice financial recompense for the maritime transportation to the Levant. Instead of demanding pecuniary remuneration from his passengers, Dandolo was paid in brute force. He convinced the participants of the Fourth Crusade to aide in the recapture of Zadar by unleashing their mercenaries upon its citizens. In one fell swoop, Dandolo exacted revenge for the rebellion of 1183, ousted the Hungarians, reclaimed the city for Venice and thus helped the Venetians define their political sphere of influence within the Adriatic. Although this was the first of seven clashes between Zadar and Venice, it was certainly the most violent. With expanding colonial interests into the Adriatic and Aegean, most proudly manifest in Venetian involvement during the Latin Empire of Constantinople from 1204–1261, the Doge’s title was extended soon after the Sack to include ‘Lord of one quarter and one half [of a quarter] of the Empire of Romania’.

This was a far cry from the origins of La Serenissima, a city founded by frightened refugees from the mainland, escaping the hoards of barbarians invading the Italian Peninsula, according to tradition on the 25th March 421 AD. This foundation amongst the marsh of the lagoon, apparently upon the Feast of the Annunciation, was a significant part of Venice’s later identity. In contrast to the other major cities and powers of Europe, and her other Italian competitors, Venice was not imbued with the honour associated with a Roman heritage. This city lacked the ruins of Antiquity, the triumphal arches, portals, arenas and columns that constituted an architectural rhetoric of imperialism. Although revelling in her distinctly Christian origins rather than the negative pagan connotations of ancient Rome, there was a sense of insecurity and anxiety in this lack of heritage throughout Venice’s history. Even colonial towns, such as Split in Dalmatia and Verona or Padua on the Terraferma could claim a more respectable and essentially imperial tone to their urban environs. Later in Venice’s history this proved awkward, embarrassing even for a major European force during the late Medieval and Early Modern periods; the subjugated having a more legitimate claim to imperial aspirations, as testified by their very buildings, than the subjugator. With this challenge though, how did the Venetians impress their imperial aspirations upon the urban sites of early modern Dalmatia? Essentially practices of fabrication and the appropriation of cultural heritage began at home. Before a discussion relating to practices in Dalmatia can be presented, examples from a Venetian tradition of cultural fabrication in architecture warrant attention and analysis.

The most famous instance is in the ninth-century Basilica of San Marco. This edifice was built as a Venetian version of the Apostoleion in Constantinople, mimicking the cupolas and floor plan of Christendom’s great repository of saintly relics, an apt architectural statement for the grand reliquary of St Mark and a threatening symbol of the spiritual legitimacy of the state. The Sack of Constantinople brought a vast amount of architectural and sculptural spolia or booty to the city, dramatically changing the urban fabric and the architectural language of Venice. Columns, porphyry Tetrarchs, the Horses of San Marco, marble reliefs of peacocks, saints, geometric patterns and a bronze chimera modified into St Mark’s Lion in the Piazzetta di San Marco are just some of the examples that are visible within metres of the Basilica. A number of these components, such as the bronze equestrian monuments and porphyry columns connote the visual language of Imperial Rome, transported as they were across to Byzantium with Constantine and back to Venice through the canny military endeavours of Doge Enrico Dandolo. The Piazza San Marco was the largest public space in Medieval Europe and was imbued with a stolen classical heritage, a cultural translatio comparable and as significant to the Myth of Venice as the actual arrival of St Mark’s bones in the ninth century. Just around the corner from the basilica, the Piazzetta di San Marco is an equally powerful civic document reflecting the evolving sense of imperial identity through the Medieval and Early Modern periods. The elements within this space include a sculptural roundel of the personification Venezia, the Loggetta of the Campanile and the Porta Della Carta. The latter was the official entranceway into the otherwise physically impenetrable Ducal Palace, a building that paradoxically from afar appeared delicate, elegant, permeable and ultimately feminine. The palace proved a useful screen hiding the political realities of a masculine oligarchy that developed over the course of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries behind a virginal façade. This was indicative of an image and language of Venetian might intended expressly for consumption within the city and for the forces of foreign powers, in contrast to the masculine, imperial image that was necessary for control of the Dalmatian colonies abroad.

Venezia and the Porta della Carta

The intricacies of a domestic iconography of imperialism were primarily expressed in the potent guise of Venezia. Originally juxtaposed with the Lion of St Mark, Venezia was to become an independent figure, a compilation of many other significant female symbols. These are identified as Justice, the Virgin Mary, Venus and Dea Roma, the female personification of Ancient Rome. One of the most significant sculptural examples is in a large roundel on the West Façade of the Ducal Palace overlooking the Piazzetta (Fig. 5). The figure sits atop a Solomonic throne of two lions, the sedes sapientiae or seat of wisdom. Usefully this Old Testament motif also reminds the viewer of the Lion of St Mark, thereby emphasising again Venezia’s role as an allegorical personification of the city blessed with the relics of an Evangelist. In one hand Venezia wields a sword of retribution, a sign that she is a symbol of an imperial force ready to subjugate dissent. Her other hand holds down a scroll upon which is written the words ‘Strong and in Judgement I sit on the Throne and Keep the Furies and the Sea at Bay Beneath my Feet’. In order to emphasise the point made in word, in image Venezia crushes two vices beneath her feet, recognised as Ira and Superbia. The whole scene floats upon a stylised sea, a reference to the notion of Venezia as maris dominatrix Adriatici, mistress of the Adriatic. This element of the iconography is all the more pronounced on the Molo façade of the Ducal Palace (Fig. 6). It is here that Pier Paolo dalle Masegna’s sculpture of Venezia seated on fictive waves looks out over the actual waters of the Molo, towards the Adriatic and East. Dated to around 1400 the iconography and physical context of this particular piece would surely have been extremely potent for the Venetians. Between 1409 and 1420 Venice acquired large swathes of the Dalmatian littoral, through a combination of dubious business transactions and military threat. This campaign was the beginning of a period of intensive imperial expansion on land and sea, led primarily by the charismatic Doge Francesco Foscari (1423–1457).

With Venice’s evolving maritime and imperial role came the need to enhance and promote the public spaces of the city. The Porta della Carta by the workshop and hand of Bartolomeo Bon between 1424 and 1438 is a prime example of this programme of urban renewal. It was produced at the height of the gotico fiorito style for which Venice is famed and was an important practical addition to the Ducal Palace (Fig. 7). Prior to the Porta della Carta, ceremonies of state occurred outdoors, either in the Piazzetta or on the waters of the Molo. As a result, there was limited need for a gateway or arch that was the standard architectural motif in the ceremonial life of the cities of Antiquity. The redevelopment of the Ducal Palace during the early fifteenth century however, presented an opportunity to create not only a grand entrance way but also a physical link between the political and spiritual cores of Venetian identity; the Ducal Palace and the Basilica of San Marco. Although stylistically far removed from classical architectural precedents, this door way was arguably as powerful a testament in stone and brick of contemporary Venetian political ambition as the Arch of Titus (c. 82 BC) in Rome.

Atop the Porta dell Carta is depicted an important allegorical element of Venezia, that of Justice. She holds out the scales of judgment in the in one hand and clasps the sword of retribution in the other (Fig. 8). Yet again she sits upon her Solomonic throne of two lions and oversees the entrance to the main judiciary within the Venetian Empire. For those convicted and doomed to incarceration in the prison on the east side of the Ducal Palace, Justice has also been appropriately placed in relief on the side of the Bridge of Sighs (Fig. 9). There she sits as a warning to those contemplating mischief for Venice declaring that she would not be kind to their efforts.

The Solomonic reference to both Justice and Venice is a powerful one. Beneath Justice on the Porta della Carta is an image of Doge Foscari kneeling in supplication before the winged Lion of St Mark (Fig. 10), flanked by the characteristics of good leadership as personified by Charity, Fortitude, Prudence and Temperance (Fig. 11, Fig. 12, Fig. 13 and Fig. 14). Just to the right of the portal is a depiction of the Biblical narrative for which the role of Doge and the image of Justice are so dependent, the Judgement of Solomon (Fig. 15). Here Solomon sits on his throne watching while his guard grasps the child about to be sliced in half at the king’s command. The babe’s real mother peers over the guard’s shoulder, clutching her breast in a gesture of agony.

At first glance, one would assume this was simply a lesson in sculpture for the Doge himself, figurehead of a Republic that had enjoyed almost a millennium of political stability. However, placing the archangel Gabriel above the Judgement of Solomon emphasises another level of meaning that is part of the complex allegory of Venezia (Fig. 16). Gabriel clutches a lily, his usual accoutrement when depicted arriving in time for the Annunciation, the very day in March when it was believed that those first refugees founded Venice in the swampy lagoon of the fifth century. The sedes sapientiae was also a motif associated with the Virgin Mary thereby emphasising the biblical, judicial and political legitimacy of the Venetian Republic in architecture and sculpture. The Virgin is another facet in the complex personification of Venezia. By placing the sculptures of The Judgment of Solomon and the annunciate Gabriel between the Piazzetta tondo of Venezia and the Porta della Carta, a sculptural and architectural overlap has been created between the elements of Justice and the Virgin that contribute to Venezia.

Venice as Virgin

The notion of virginity, not only linked to Venice’s origins, is a recurrent theme in the descriptions and myth of the Republic. Although La Serenissima had suffered her fair share of maritime and military threat, complete conquest was never achieved. The most dangerous foes during the later Middle Ages were the Genoese and by the sixteenth century, the League of Cambrai came within sight of the city on the shores of the Lagoon but no further. Venice would remain standing, unsullied by the humiliation of sack and pillage. In contrast, by the mid fifteenth century Constantinople, spiritual inheritor of the Roman Empire, had fallen. Rome itself was violated by hoards of mercenaries in the pay of Charles V, Holy Roman Emperor, during the ignominious Sack of 1527, whereas by the seventeenth century, the indomitable English traveller Thomas Coryat wrote of Venice in his Crudites:

It is a matter very worthy of consideration to think how this noble citie hath like a pure Virgin and incontaminated mayde…kept her virginity untouched these thousand two hundred and twelve years…though Emperors, Kings, princes and mighty Potentates, being allured with her glorious beauty, have attempted to deflower her, every one receiving the repulse: a thing most wonderful and strange.

This idea of impenetrability and physical purity is also made manifest in the architecture of the fourteenth-century Ducal Palace. Juxtaposed with the triumphal San Marco, dripping in the spolia of past conquest, the Ducal Palace is light, airy and permeable. The elegant crenellations along the roof, the fragile tracery, pink brickwork and open façade all suggest a feminine quality, quite delicate in contrast to seats of government throughout Western Christendom. Castles and fortresses were strategically built throughout Europe. Building such as the Castello Estense of Ferrara and the Palazzo della Signoria in Florence, are smothered in rusticated masonry and in certain instances surrounded by defensive moats. The Ducal Palace had been blessed with the largest moat of all, the Lagoon. It is this natural obstacle that prevented invasion throughout Venice’s long history. Overlooking the vast expanse of water the Ducal Palace stood testament to the Republic’s strength and permanence, with a show of fragility and great beauty.

Classical Venice

The sea upon which the city stands contributes to yet another facet of Venezia, that of Venus. To our modern eyes, this pagan goddess seems to be in complete opposition to the pure, chaste and Christian figure of the Blessed Virgin Mary, yet contemporaries had no difficulty in reconciling the two. The Roman goddess of love, born near the island of Cyprus, was an appealing Olympian figure to add to the development of the Venezia personification. This evolution coincided with the acquisition of Cyprus into the Venetian Empire in 1489. Francesco Sansovino’s (1537–1540) Loggetta of the Campanile opposite the Porta Della Carta highlights this particular manifestation of Venezia, seated between personification of Cyprus and Crete (Fig. 17). The choice of Venus as a member of the Olympian panoply of gods was also useful in that it suggested a longevity for the Venetian Republic that stretched into the venerability of antiquity, well beyond the origins in the marshy lagoon of the fifth century.

The legitimacy of Antiquity was further enhanced with the incorporation of Dea Roma into Venezia. This pagan personification of ancient Rome was a useful element in the Venetian tradition of heritage appropriation and evolution. Although not imbued with the legitimacy of a Roman foundation, as Venice superseded Constantinople during the late Middle Ages the Republic acquired the additional responsibility to continue as the Christian heir to pagan Rome’s legacy.

Thus the image of Venezia is one imbued with the virtues of leadership, particularly that of Justice. The city’s patron in the guise of the Virgin Mary promised divine blessing in all actions and her chastity was deemed a suitable analogy for the impenetrability of the city. Venus was an intoxicating element, hinting at the exoticism of Venice and a useful classical trope to manipulate as an allusion to the Republic’s maritime adventures. Finally, Venezia transformed the pagan Dea Roma into a more appropriate Christian personification, justifying the legitimacy of claiming imperial ambitions even for a Republic not blessed with true origins in Antiquity.

Venezia versus Europe

This female allegory was promoted as a symbol of Venetian success during the course of the fifteenth century and the rise of the nation state elsewhere in Europe. Other Italians considered the Republic’s expansion and imperial incursions onto the Terraferma, with Doge Foscari leading the charge, an even greater threat than the aggressive aspirations of the French Crown during the fifteenth century. The French had consistently failed with their military campaigns onto the peninsula, dreams of glory shattered by the realities of low troop moral and over-extended supply lines. The Venetians had no such problems as their Republic was already situated south of the Alps. Even amongst Italians, respected for their diplomacy, wit and guile, the Venetians were especially noted. Ultimately, although fragmented into city-states, dukedoms and kingdoms, the Italians deemed themselves the heirs of Rome with all its political chicanery and cunning. The Northerners, or ultramontes, descendants of those barbarians subjugated by Rome, were merely blessed with brawn. The Venetians however, even though they lacked the physical origins of Antiquity, were embracing the aggressive diplomatic and military tactics of an imperial expansion disconcertingly reminiscent of Ancient Rome.

The evolution of a female allegorical personification that represented these imperial successes must have been galling to Europe’s heads of state. Aside from Isabella of Castille and ambitious regent mothers such as Louise of Savoy, late fifteenth and early sixteenth-century Europe was dominated by male rulers. The Pope and Holy Roman Emperor were roles that by their very nature were closed to women. Monarchies such as England maintained centuries of kings between the tumultuous reigns of Matilda and Mary Tudor, whilst France’s Salic Law merely codified the general sentiment against female rulers. Although the Doge was always male, it was the personification of Venice, whom he helped maintain that enjoyed the perceived immortality, continuity and success. Not only did she have the political acumen of the few actual female counterparts in Europe, she, in contrast to them, was also beautiful.

The very urban spaces of Venice supported this notion. The architecture is a melange of Byzantine, Arabic and Northern Gothic influences and as a result, uniquely attractive and feminine. The Grand Canal that meanders through the city presents a shapely and undulating urban plan, much like the soft bosom of a matron or the shapely curves of a young woman. The city itself, through the demands of the natural marshy environment, is as torn between the maternal Virgin Mary and a sensual Venus as the personification Venezia. The protection and stability provided by the lagoon meant that the Venetians could indulge in the creation of an imperial identity that was beautiful and feminine. The realities of pirates, Turks and the importance of trade in the Republic’s Adriatic outposts, primarily in Dalmatia, afforded no such opportunity. Pragmatism demanded an aggressive and masculine idiom, most succinctly articulated through classical architecture and the potency of the Lion of St Mark.

The Porta Magna

One can see the first inkling of this manifestation on the Porta Magna of the Arsenale (Fig. 18), an instance where the boundaries between Venice’s domestic and colonial identities were blurred. The Arsenale was the heart of Venice’s maritime empire and economic success in the Eastern Mediterranean, producing thousands of ships over the course of centuries to maintain the bloodlines of trade and commerce. The Porta Magna was begun in 1457, the last year of Doge Foscari’s long and successful reign at the head of Venice’s imperial expansion onto the Terraferma and the first year of Doge Pasquale Malipiero (1457–1462). The gateway was completed in 1460 during a period of apparent political and military stability but behind the scenes, or more specifically the feminine façade of the Ducal Palace, preparations and the realities of a maritime arms race was under way. Following the Fall of Constantinople in 1452, Venice prepared for the inevitable power struggle against the Turks. The Porta Magna and its architectural sources prove telling documents, reflecting the long evolution of Venetian imperial identity at home and abroad over the course of two centuries.

We shall begin our analysis with the physical appropriation of heritage with the unfluted Cippolino columns. These are undoubtedly spolia, probably from the island of Torcello or one of many ecclesiastical and monastic ruins that littered the lagoon. The symbolic appropriation is apparent in the choice of model for the Porta Magna. The anonymous fifteenth-century architect used the antique arch of the Sergii at Pula, a city along the Istrian coast and a part of the Venetian empire. The triumphal arch of the Arsenale is within a square rather than the rectangle at Pula, but nonetheless, with elements such as the winged victories in the spandrels, the arch is clearly in keeping with the classical precedent. When the Arsenale portal was built the triumphal arch at Pula was a part of the town’s walls. Thus by placing the Porta Magna into the wall of the Arsenale the architects created a facsimile of the arch’s original urban context in Istria. Above the Istrian elements however stands the Lion of St Mark, whose precedent is more than likely to be that of the Foscaria and Lion panel atop the Porta della Carta. St Mark’s Lion is beneath a pediment containing a scallop shell (Fig. 19). The placement of a contemporary Venetian attic over such a famous architectural quotation from her colonies indicates that the minds behind the commission intended the viewer to recognise all the trappings of imperial power and triumphalism that came with this appropriation.

The next iconographic and sculptural embellishment of the Porta Magna occurred in the sixteenth century. Girolamo Campagna is credited with the creation of the statue on the pinnacle of the triangular pediment, that of Santa Giustina. Placed there in 1578, the figure of the saint stood testament to the defeat of the Ottomans by the Venetians at the Battle of Lepanto on the 7th October 1571. This is also the feast day of Santa Giustina. Considering that the Porta Magna was built for the Arsenale during a period of militarization in preparation for an impending Ottoman assault, it seems appropriate that the fruits of Venice’s preparatory efforts should be commemorated thus. For the purposes of this paper it is also useful to note that a large proportion of the sailors involved in that battle were from Dalmatia.

The various statues of classical gods on the terrace around the Arsenale portal were added in 1682, another contribution to the complex Venetian imperial identity that was still evolving over a century after Lepanto. Although the figure of Venezia herself is not present, instead replaced by St Mark’s Lion in the architectural confection of the portal, we find ourselves faced with Justice (Fig. 20). The sedes sapientiae was removed, although references to it, subconscious or not, can be seen in lion head reliefs in the pedestals upon which the Olympian hosts stand (Fig. 21). Instead of a seated late gothic incarnation, as seen on the Porta Della Carta, Justice holds a contra posto stance, a classical sculptural motif that is mimicked by Venus who stands directly behind her (Fig. 22). In order to reinforce the maritime nature of the Arsenale compound, one is also greeted by Neptune (Fig. 23). Also on the terrace, we find the Christian spiritual legitimacy of Venice in the guise of St Mark’s Lion, emphasising her role as a judicial force in the Eastern Mediterranean as well as her imperial ambitions. It is fascinating to see that civic patrons of this portal chose not to revel in the indigenous architectural vocabulary of the city, one that successfully portrayed Venice’s power in both Byzantine (San Marco) and gotico fiorito (Ducal Palace) manifestations. Rather the Porta Magna was a clever concoction of classical quotation and spolia that sated the Venetian’s desire for a Roman heritage at the expense of her colonies. It was also an image of aggression, the Lion of St Mark in conjunction with a forged classical vocabulary.

Tourists to Dalmatia

How the Venetians used this potent iconographic and architectural vocabulary as a form of control over the Dalmatian realm is significant. By examining the accounts of independent travellers (i.e. non Venetian and non Dalmatian visitors), we can see precisely what sort of sites the Venetians controlled, how this was achieved, why it was necessary and what this meant for the Dalmatian population. The most common element mentioned in travel writings of the seventeenth century is the military importance of Dalmatian towns, which resulted in subsequent essential Venetian fortifications, maps and gateways, the most powerful tools in the manifestation of Venetian imperial identity in the area. Englishman Henry Blount, travelling to the Levant in 1634, noted of the location of the city of Zadar as

most apt to command the whole Adriatique, and therefore has formerly beene attempted by the Turke; wherefore the Venetians have fortified it extraordinarily, and move though in times of firme peace, keepe it with strong companies both of horse and foote.

Upon arrival in Split, Blount presented a thorough description of the economic, political, strategic and historical import of the city.

It stands in a most pleasant valley on the Southside of great mountains: in the wall toward the Sea, appears a great remainder of a gallery in Dioclesian his pallace. Southward of the towne is the Sea which makes an open port capable of ten, or twelve galleys; without is an unsecure bay for great shippes, at the entrance above halfe a mile broad; yet not so renowned for the skill of Octavius, who chained it up, when he beseeges Salone, as for the fierce resolution of Vulteius, and his company there taken: in this Towne the Venetians allow the great Turke to take custome of the Merchandize; whereupon there resides his Emir or Tresurar who payes him thirty five thouƒand dollars a yeare, as himselfe, and others told me: there are hyghwalles, and strong companys to guard this City; yet I heard ther cheife safty to be in, having so unusefull, and small an Haven, wherefore the Turke esteemes Spalatro in effect, but as a land towne, nor so much as his present custome, and so covets it not like Sara, for if he did, he has a terrible advantage upon it, having taken from the Venetians Clyssi, not above fower miles off; which is the strongest land fortresse that I ever beheld.

Klis, a fortified town within sight of Split, was taken by the Turks in 1537, and was to remain in Ottoman hands until 1647. This worrying proximity to the Ottoman threat emphasised to the Venetians the importance of Dalmatia as a buffer zone between Islam and Christianity in the Adriatic. What is also useful to note are Blount’s references to classical precedents of military campaigns in the area, most famous of which was that of Octavius, the future Emperor Augustus. The military movements of the Turkish and Venetian maritime forces during the Early Modern period were a continuation of these campaigns from Antiquity.

Jacob Spon (1647–1685) was a Frenchman who travelled through Italy, Dalmatia, Greece and the Levant on a grand tour that began in October 1674. In Zadar he commented upon the town’s heavily fortified citadel, manned by eight companies of infantry and three of cavalry, made up of Slavs, Croats and Tramontans, or modern day Bosnians. Nonetheless, Zadar was not lacking in beauty or culture of her own. Spon noted that this truly was the loveliest place ruled by Venice in Dalmatia and went on to discuss the classical remains that made the town so appealing.

Near the church of the Greeks called St Hélie, I saw two beautiful columns of the Corinthian order, the base, plinth, capital and architrave were also executed in a pleasing manner… The door of St Christopher is made up of the remains of an arch from antiquity…

So the urban space itself was made up of recycled Antiquity. To the eighteenth-century traveller Abbot Fortis, this posed a challenge to the Signoria back in Venice and her governors in Dalmatia. As Larry Wolff attests,

To emphasize the presence of Roman remains and to cite the concern of the Roman emperors was, for Fortis, an implicitly political matter, reminding his reader’s of Dalmatia’s ancient status as a subject colony and challenging Venice to live up to the optimal imperial standards of Rome.

The potency of classical ruins and the Roman heritage of the Dalmatians was strengthened with the mythology of Antiquity, of which the landscape of Dalmatia had played an active role. Joško Belamaric recently noted how during the sixteenth century and the influence of a humanistic intellectualism upon the cities of Dalmatia increased the awareness of the wealth of indigenous history and mythology.

The familiar promontories suddenly reached back in time and appeared in the orbits of the classical heroes, the towns proclaimed themselves the heirs to Troy, the meadows filled with miraculous ancient herbs, while the caves set within the familiar mountainsides the mythical healers were found to have worked. It was thereabouts that Aesculapius had been born, that Cadmus had been buried together with his wife Harmonia, and that Diomedes and Antenor – and even Odysseus – had strolled. In short, in the Renaissance and Baroque periods the convergence of popular legends and fables with humanist erudition transfigured the native homeland into a classical garden, with all its mythological topography reconstructed.

Continuing references to a bona fide classical heritage in both Dalmatian and foreign treatises regarding the Croatian littoral helped emphasise the antiquity of Dalmatia’s heritage, to the detriment of Venetian imperial aspiration. This was in contrast to the image of strength, stability and success coupled with beauty that Venetians manufactured at home for the consumption of both citizens and foreigners.

It appears though that Venice’s Dalmatian subjects, often represented by Venetian popular culture and perceptions as a contented and inarticulate colonial workforce, in fact enjoyed contemporary success and cultural finesse. These were not a people simply revelling in inherited past glories. Even in 1778, toward the end of the Venetian Republic, Abbot Fortis noted:

The society of Zara is also cultivated and is truly a town remarkable in Italy, and all the personages are distinguished with careers of letters.

Jacob Spon lists the great number of canvases in the Duomo by Renaissance painters such as Jacopo Tintoretto, Palma (although whether the older or younger is not clear) and Schiavonetto. The former two names hint at the wealth of the Dalmatian coast, that the citizens of Zadar could afford a Virgin with Sts Peter and Anthony by Tintoretto. This is indicative of a trend that brought major Venetian artists and their work to Dalmatia, beginning at least as early as the fourteenth century, with the travels of Paolo Veneziano after the Black Death in 1348 to Gaspare Diziani of the eighteenth century.

Spon’s travels took him to Trogir, Sebenik and Split. In all of these cities, he comments upon the military presence of Venetians and indigenous mercenaries, the fortifications and finally the classical architecture and heritage. This is highly suggestive that the Venetians intended purpose for these towns was ultimately a defensive one that, regardless of the fact the Dalmatians were blessed with wealth through trade, cultural sophistication and a phenomenal heritage of antiquity.

Maps

The reason for this defensive focus on the part of the Venetians is made clear with even a brief study of maps during the early modern period. Curiously, after over six hundred years of activity, both imperial and economic, along the Dalmatian coast, Venice struggled to find accurate maps of the area until the seventeenth century. Vinecenzo Coronelli was finally commissioned to produce a number of maps of the cities. Larry Wolff notes that one of the reasons for this commission was to trace the movement of contagions and disease through the colonies. If that was a factor, why did Coronelli and later cartographers of the Dalmatian coast ignore the civic make up of a city and instead focus upon the defensive shape and fortifications? Surely, depictions of the residential and economic areas of a city, where one would assume cases of the plague would be concentrated, would have been more helpful for the Venetian authorities in trying to contain the outbreaks.

Instead, maps such as the seventeenth-century ones by Pierre Mortier of Trogir and Split (Fig. 24 and Fig. 25) depict the towns as two-dimensional floor plans. Much more attention is given to the surrounding countryside; with topographical details such as hills, coastline and forest shown. Even outer lying suburbs are reproduced with much more detail. This suggests that the maps had a purpose for trade or military interests rather than one of glorification of these towns and their role within the Stato da Mar. This is in contrast to the great map by Jacopo de’ Barbari of Venice in 1500, a feat in cartographic detail that revelled in the complexity of such a specialised cityscape. Barbari depicted almost every single building through the various sestieri or wards, to the extent that it is possible to identify specific houses and churches still extant today. Naturally, the Piazza di San Marco and surrounding buildings are granted pride of place within this exceptionally detailed cartographic achievement. In contrast, the elements that identify the Dalmatian towns just over a century later are the ports and fortresses, not the ecclesiastical or temporal centres of power. Vincenzo Coronelli’s maps of Zadar focus first upon the layout of the fortress itself and then upon the structure of the city walls (Fig. 26). Of the topographies Coronelli produced, significant urban monuments such as the Duomo in Sebenik are absorbed into a melange of generic building shapes and structure (Fig. 27). Instead, the only edifices worthy of note are the Castello atop the hill overlooking the city and the Castello di San Nicolò at the mouth of the bay. Another seventeenth-century print however does include a detail of Sebenik’s Duomo, suggesting just how culturally and spiritually important a building it was within the city (Fig. 28). Yet, the same print also has a topographical view of Sebenik, which places more emphasis on the surrounding hills, valleys and fortifications than upon the city itself. Ships in the foreground attest to the maritime function of the city, with the occasional campanile appearing amongst the townscape to suggest a purpose other than purely defence (Fig. 29).

Sta Maria del Giglio

Intriguingly it is in Venice proper that the defensive function of Dalmatian cities is most apparent and in a truly spectacular and public fashion. The façade of Sta Maria del Giglio was added to the twelfth-century church in 1679. Antonio Barbaro, sea captain and competent colonial administrator left 50,000 ducats in his will to create this sculptural memorial to the honour of his personal achievements and thus the glory of his patrician family. The majority of this baroque confection is not useful for our purposes, but what does prove relevant are the maps in relief on the bottom level of the façade, produced almost a decade earlier than the official cartographic commission of Vincenzo Coronelli. Barbaro expressly instructed in his will ‘Nelli guariselli da basso dovranno scolpirsi Candia, Corfù, Spalato, Zara, Padova et Roma’. Candia, Zadar, Split and Rome were all posts during his long administrative and diplomatic career.

What is most fascinating between these maps is how different the detail is between the Italian cities of Padua (Fig. 30) and Rome (Fig. 31) and those of Dalmatia, Zadar (Fig. 32) and Split (Fig. 33). In the former, residential, commercial and cultural edifices of the urban environs have been depicted in great detail such as the Vatican and Coliseum in the map of Rome. Split and Zadar are simply the ‘floor plans’ that we have seen produced by the likes of Coronelli and Mortier. No comment has been made in the two main scholarly texts about Sta Maria del Giglio’s façade. Wladimir Timofiewitsch merely mentions the maps in passing, whilst Giuseppe Maria Pilo examines the Split map as a separate entity from the other cartographical reliefs. Pilo suggests that the Split map, which depicts Diocletian’s palace within the fortifications built by Venice in 1667 against the Turkish threat, was intended to indicate the city as a centre of culture. If that was the case then why not imbue the maps of both Split and Zadar with the topographical and urban detail bestowed upon those of Rome and Padua? The reality was Venice deemed its Dalmatian colonies as serving a defensive and military function, even sacrificing the local classical heritage to the building of modern Venetian fortresses and embankments. By placing these maps prominently on the façade of Sta Maria del Giglio, which overlooks a major thoroughfare through the sestiere of San Marco, the Venetian domination of her colony, in cartographical terms, was complete.

Gateways and the Lion of St Mark

The emphasis upon topographical context rather than urban splendour in maps in conjunction with descriptions presented by our seventeenth-century travellers, ultimately attest to the dramatic changes in power in the eastern Mediterranean during the early modern period. This was a time of great unrest for the Venetians. Not only did the Republic have to cope with the forces of Western Christendom at her doorstep, most worryingly manifest in the War of the League of Cambrai between 1508 and 1517, but she also had to handle the Ottoman threat. With the fall of Constantinople in 1452, Venice deemed herself a true defender of the faith in the Adriatic, with the Dalmatian and Albanian colonies providing a buffer between Christendom and Islam. One proud military instance was the defence of Scutari in 1474 and 1478 against the forces of Mehmet II. An image celebrating this victory can be seen even today in relief of the side of the Scuola degli Albanesi in Venice, just a round the corner from Sta Maria del Giglio. Unfortunately, the Scuola is now hemmed in by later additions along the calle. Nonetheless, what is apparent is that the small Venetian company is represented as the Lion of St Mark atop a mountain, while a naturalistic representation of Mehmet stands at the bottom of the incline. The Venetians were ultimately to lose their Albanian territories by 1479.

It seems a wise choice with the Turks so close at hand to choose a distinctly Christian symbol rather than a complex composite female personification, with which to adorn one’s territories. In conjunction with a classical architectural vocabulary, known throughout the Mediterranean to connote power, the Venetians were projecting an image of security and strength with the help of an Evangelist and the aggressive threat of a lion in itself. This combination is most clearly seen in a number of the porte, or gateways in her Dalmatian territories. Towns such as Trogir and Zadar had two gateways, one looking toward the sea, the Porta Marina (Fig. 34 and Fig. 35), and the other looking toward the mainland, the Porta da Terraferma (Fig. 36). The Lion of St Mark, a threatening symbol of Venetian sovereignty was placed atop these gates. Even in towns less significant than Zadar or Sebenik a small lion is still to be seen such as at Nin above the North and South portals to the city (Fig. 37 and Fig. 38). The judicial and imperial interpretation of the lion can be seen most clearly in a relief within the courthouse at Trogir (Fig. 39). This example emphasises the more aggressive, masculine qualities desirable Venetian imperial identity necessary for its colonies, in contrast to the complexities of Venezia, which were feasible in the stability of the metropolitan context of the Lagoon. In the Dalmatian relief, situated behind the Judge’s bench is the winged Lion, the most prominent element of the relief, which would seem to float atop the head of the seated magistrate. Two saints flank the Lion, the most significant being St Laurence, the patron saint of Trogir, on the right. Above the Lion is Justice, without a sword therefore not in reference to Venezia, and no longer sitting upon her sedes sapientiae. The Lion however, has a similar function to the lions in relief upon the Arsenale pedestals: an echo of the Old Testament motif. Much like the counterpart on the Arsenale terrace, this figure of Justice is also classically inspired. The folds of her drapery and the manner in which they enfold her body are closer to models from Antiquity rather than the late Gothic manifestation atop the Porta della Carta. This sculptural reference to classical Rome is not an imported element but a part of the indigenous urban makeup in Dalmatia, which Venice could only dream of. In conjunction with the Lion of St Mark though, this appropriated heritage is used to testify to Venice’s right as imperial power, judiciary and defender of the Faith.

Colonial Architects

The Venetian choice of architects charged to create this imperial vocabulary of architecture and iconography is a telling one. In the case of Zadar, a Venetian did not design the Porta da Terraferma (Fig. 40). Rather the Signoria charged architects from Verona to create suitably imposing and defensive gateways and fortresses in Dalmatia. Michele Sanmicheli (1484–1559) and his nephew Gian Girolamo (1513–1559) were the most prolific architects along the Adriatic coast and into the Eastern Mediterranean of this period. Projects included fortresses at Zadar, Corfu, Candia, Split and that of San Nicolò at Sebenik during the 1530s as well as the fort of San Andrea at the Lido in 1545. As the Sanmicheli family came from Verona, a city with its own Roman heritage, they had no difficulty transferring this urban architectural vocabulary to the Dalmatian coast. Both the Veronese and Dalmatians would have understood the implications and messages of this classical architecture with its notions of imperial power demanded and desired by the Venetians. Split, for instance, had been the home of an emperor. Diocletian’s palace and outlying buildings were absorbed over time into the city itself so that the town’s imperial heritage has become an integral part of its urban fabric (Fig. 41). The Sanmichelis’ use of an aggressive ashlar-faced Roman Doric order for their fortresses and gateways is in stark contrast to the more slender and elaborate Corinthian order that adorns the remnants of Diocletian’s palace. In Zadar, the metopes of the Porta da Terraferma’s frieze are filled with alternating foliate rosettes and bucranium, (Fig. 42) beneath which is a central arch between two columns (Fig. 43). This is the main entrance for carts and other larger vehicles and is flanked by two smaller pedestrian arches. Both traders and invaders would have been made keenly aware of which Mediterranean superpower they were dealing with; the Lion of St Mark placed above the central archway evoked Venice’s Christian credentials and legitimacy as an aggressive force within the Adriatic. The juxtaposition of the Lion atop an arch in the Doric order, a style representative of masculinity and military might, suggests complete cultural and political domination of the Dalmatians by Venice.

Like the Porta Magna, it is apparent that the Venetians had no qualms about appropriating the cultural treasures of the colonies to further their own imperial aspirations. One issue remains though; if a Venetian architect created the Porta Magna then it is curious that the Venetians did not choose one of their own to design the fortifications and gateways of the Dalmatian colonies. Instead, they turned to architects from Verona who were already familiar with the impact of original Roman architecture upon the identity of a city. Verona like Zadar, Split and Trogir was a colonial city under the jurisdiction of Venice. So it seems that in order to fashion the façade of a new Rome abroad, Venice had to depend upon the talents and cultural legacies of its colonial subjects rather than its own metropolitan citizens. The former enjoyed the legitimacy of Antiquity whilst subject to the control of the latter, whose identity at home as feminine, successful and gothic in architectural idioms sat more comfortably than the masculinity of appropriated classicism abroad.

One final instance of the overlap between the two imperial identities is apparent in the fortress of San Andrea. This was designed by Sanmicheli, the fortress is on the island of La Vignole, off the northern end of the Lido and was completed in 1545 (Fig. 44). The fortress faces east to any potential threat that may emerge from the Adriatic and Gulf of Venice. The use of pink brick is reminiscent of the Arsenale Gate and the Ducal Palace, with St Mark’s Lion depicted in contrasted white relief. The Lion is not an integrated part of the classical order beneath, rather, it is still physically linked to a quintessentially Venetian structure in terms of the brick work and colour. This is supported by a rusticated Doric level of three arches. Upon the frieze the metopes alternate between lions, rosettes and naval emblems. The latter motif is particularly useful as the entire fortress guards a body of water that was the main shipping lane in and out of Venice’s Arsenale. This contrasts with the bucolic choice of a bucranium in the metopes of the land facing Porta da Terraferma in Zadar. The entire structure of San Andrea was built after much of the work along the Dalmatian coast and unites the imperial face of Venice abroad with her own indigenous urban language.

Conclusion

In conclusion, much like the Myth of Venice, the representations of Venetian imperialism in the city itself and amongst its Dalmatian cities was as complex and multifaceted as the relationship between coloniser and colonised. Venice presented its political and metropolitan face to the outside world as a woman, Venezia, a heady cocktail of virgin, saint, pagan and sinner. These elements all constructed a manifesto of Venetian political aims and intentions during the late Medieval and Early Modern period. The Porta della Carta provided a tangible link between the architectural symbols of Venice’s temporal and spiritual centres, the Basilica of San Marco and the Ducal Palace. This portal in conjunction with the beauty and potent iconography of the Piazzetta di San Marco, also proved a heady summation in sculpture of Republic’s desire for acknowledgement, acceptance, money and power amongst the other nations of Europe. The complex female allegory of Venezia however, was unsuitable for the Dalmatian outposts. Although the accounts of independent travellers testify to the fact that Dalmatian towns and ports were sophisticated centres of learning, culture and art, ultimately they were strategically and commercially too important for this to be the prevailing image. Cartographic representations of the urban centres of the Dalmatian littoral support this notion. Threatened by the Ottomans, piracy and the increasing competitiveness of trade in the Eastern Mediterranean, it was imperative that Venice controlled these towns using a more aggressive symbol of her sovereignty in the guise of St Mark’s Lion. Christianity was not enough however and out of a true heritage of Antiquity, enjoyed by both the Dalmatians and the Sanmicheli of Verona, was forged an architectural idiom of imperial and military pretensions, one that was alien to Venice’s true history. This classical idiom would prove vital to sustain the Republic’s complex imperial identity, one that that hid the realities of cultural, political and economic insecurities and would last until the Venice’s final fall in May 1797.

Zoë Willis
Art History
University of Melbourne