To turn from the fair temple of the Christian faith in Venice—warm with the affection and presence of her people—to the empty splendour of the Palace where her secular princes once sat in state, is to turn from life to death.

If a patrician of the great days were to revive and enter St Mark’s, he would find the same hierarchy, the same ritual, the same prayers and praises uttered in the same language to the God he knew. But were he to seek entrance to the Ducal Palace, a servant of what would now seem a petty dynasty would demand a silver coin before allowing him to ascend the Golden Staircase.

There, upon steps once trodden only by those whose names were inscribed in the Book of Gold, he would meet a strange company. He would find the great palace of Venice transformed into a museum; her millennial power reduced to memory; and the gorgeous halls that once echoed with the voices of masters of land and sea occupied by crowds of sightseers—alien in race and creed—gazing curiously at the faded emblems of her former pride, glory, and imperial state.

Origins of the Ducal Residence

The earliest official residence of the Tribunes of Rivoalto stood near the church of the Holy Apostles, close to the Rio dei Gesuiti, whose northern mouth faces the channel leading to Murano. This fortified structure, equipped with a great gate perpetually closed and a guarded postern, survived into the late sixteenth century, by which time it served as a prison.

In 820, Doge Angelo Participazio erected another feudal-like structure on the site of the present Ducal Palace, near the church of St Theodore. This early palace bore little resemblance to the palazzo fabbricato in aria we know today. At that time, both the building and the Piazza—then scarcely a third of its current size—were enclosed by strong walls with Ghibelline battlements. One of the ancient towers still survives, embedded in the masonry near the corner where the four porphyry figures now stand.

Angelo’s palace was destroyed by fire during the riots surrounding the murder of Doge Pietro Candiano in 976. Reconstruction began under his successor, Pietro Orseolo, and was completed in the late eleventh century by Doge Selvo, who adorned the exterior with marble columns and enriched the interior with mosaics.

Gothic Expansion and Political Grandeur

In the late twelfth century, Doge Sebastiano Ziani extended the complex. Early in the fourteenth century, construction began on the eastern portion of the southern façade, likely under the direction of Pietro Basseggio, the chief mason (Prototaiapiera). Over the following century, the southern wing was completed and the western façade extended as far as the boundary of Ziani’s original structure.

Around 1365, Doge Marco Cornaro ordered the walls of the Hall of the Great Council to be painted with scenes depicting the reconciliation of Pope Alexander III and Emperor Barbarossa. The cornice was adorned with portraits of the Doges, arranged so that Cornaro’s own likeness appeared directly above the ducal throne.

The new Gothic structures rendered Ziani’s earlier palace comparatively modest, and proposals to rebuild it emerged. The Senate, however, wary of public expense, forbade such proposals under penalty of a fine of one thousand ducats. In 1419, fire damaged the old palace, and Doge Tomaso Mocenigo paid the fine himself to permit reconstruction. The Gothic rebuilding, completed between 1424 and 1439 under Doge Francesco Foscari, extended from the Porta della Carta northwards to the sixth arch.

Renaissance Additions and Survival by Fire

The richly ornamented eastern façade, best viewed from a gondola or the Ponte di Canonico, was designed by Antonio Riccio and built between 1483 and 1500.

After the catastrophic fire of 1577—described by contemporaries as resembling an eruption of Etna—the palace narrowly escaped demolition. Plans to replace it with a Palladian structure were thwarted by the determined opposition of architects Giovanni Rusconi and Antonio da Ponte. Da Ponte’s proposals were ultimately accepted, and the palace was repaired and redecorated.

The Bridge of Sighs, added around 1600 by Antonio Contino, is a later and comparatively unremarkable structure. Despite its romantic reputation, it was crossed only by ordinary criminals on their way to imprisonment.

Architecture and Sculpture

The brick core of the palace remains visible in the Cortile and from the Ponte della Paglia, where Riccio’s refined work concludes.

At the palace’s free angles stand sculptural groups representing:

• The Drunkenness of Noah (south-east),
• Adam and Eve (south-west),
• The Judgment of Solomon (north-west).

The last of these was executed by the Tuscan sculptors Pietro di Nicolo di Firenze and Giovanni di Martino da Fiesole.

The southern and western façades share a distinctive architectural scheme: a lower arcade surmounted by an upper gallery whose columns support the massive upper walls—a bold inversion of architectural convention. Though not entirely satisfying structurally, the marble lozenge-patterned incrustation alleviates the visual weight. A fourteenth-century drawing in the Bodleian Library suggests that the upper storeys may originally have been set further back.

The columns of the arcade appear squat today due to the raising of the Piazzetta’s level by nearly thirty inches since the palace’s construction. Originally, the building rose from a stylobate of three steps, greatly enhancing its dignity and proportions.

Civic Life Beneath the Arcades

Under the arcade, Venetian nobles once gathered to discuss public affairs. Meetings in private homes risked attracting the suspicion of the Council of Ten. As they walked, the patricians lifted their eyes to the sculpted capitals above—among the finest in Europe for invention, craftsmanship, and symbolic richness.

The themes include children, animals, emperors, virtues and vices, zodiac signs, trades, the ages of man, months, seasons, and legendary lawgivers—executed with the didactic clarity characteristic of Gothic art. Many bear inscriptions aiding interpretation. Notably, several fifteenth-century capitals on the western façade repeat designs from the earlier southern façade, revealing a decline in originality among later craftsmen.

The Gallery and Interior Spaces

Above the arcade runs a gallery of unparalleled grace and originality. Its serene elegance contrasts sharply with the grim civic fortresses of Florence and Siena, imparting a sense of stability and confidence unique to Venice.

From here, visitors pass through the Porta della Carta into the Cortile, ascend the Scala dei Giganti beneath Sansovino’s statues of Mars and Neptune, and continue up the Scala d’Oro to the chambers of government.

Most of the interior decoration dates from after the fire of 1577. While these later works lack the devotional intensity of earlier Venetian art, they vividly convey the ceremonial splendour and declining grandeur of the Republic in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries.

The Hall of the Great Council

The vast Sala del Maggior Consiglio stands as the palace’s crowning space. Its most famous feature is Tintoretto’s monumental Paradiso, a daring and overwhelming vision comprising hundreds of figures. Though lacking symmetry and bearing signs of execution by assistants, it remains one of the most audacious works in Western painting.

Surrounding canvases depict episodes from Venetian history, while the ceiling features masterworks by Veronese, Tintoretto, Palma Giovane, and Bassano. Along the frieze are portraits of seventy-six Doges—save for Marino Falier, whose place is marked by a black tablet inscribed with his crime and execution.

Decline and Legacy

Beyond the Great Council chamber lie the Hall of the Scrutineers, the former private apartments of the Doges, and rooms now devoted to archaeology and art. These spaces house Greek and Roman sculpture, Renaissance bronzes, maps, coins, and paintings of varying merit.

Before leaving, the visitor may request permission to view the Cobden Madonna, a marble relief attributed to Pietro Lombardo. Created to commemorate the reduction of grain duties during a famine, it later received an unexpected mark of history when Richard Cobden inscribed his name upon it in 1847.

Thus ends the journey through the Ducal Palace—a monument not merely of architecture and art, but of the rise, power, and gradual fading of a republic that once ruled the seas.