“The dire aspect
Of civil wounds ploughed up with neighbours’ swords.”
— William Shakespeare

Venice, in the mid-thirteenth century, was still in the full vigour of her strength. Though shaken by loss, she retained the buoyancy of a power conscious of its destiny. Alone among the Italian states, Venice could awaken a deep and unified patriotism. Rich and poor alike — patricians and commoners — were stirred by a shared resolve.

To the astonishment of her enemies, fleet after fleet was launched against Genoa. Minor engagements followed, with fortunes varying on both sides, until at last the two maritime rivals met off Trapani in 1264 for a decisive battle.

The Genoese fleet was superior in number and favoured by the wind. The Venetians, having intoned the Gospel of the day and invoked the aid of Christ and Saint Mark, advanced to the attack. What followed was a savage struggle fought upon interlocked vessels, transformed into a vast floating battlefield. The carnage was immense. In the end, Venetian courage and seamanship prevailed, inflicting a crushing defeat. The Genoese fleet was utterly destroyed.

Venice and the Eastern Question

This disaster cooled the Greek Emperor’s affection for Genoa. Seeking reconciliation, he sued for peace. After prolonged debate — during which a more aggressive faction in Venice vainly proposed founding a new empire centred on Constantinople — a treaty was concluded in 1268. Venice recovered her commercial standing in the imperial capital, though she chafed at the continued presence of her rivals.

The Crusade Against a Tyrant

In 1265 the banner of the Cross was raised once more in Venice, this time against an Italian prince: Eccelino da Romano of Padua. Dark-browed and notorious for cruelty, he was later immortalised by Dante, submerged to the eyes among tyrants in the river of boiling blood.

A platform was erected in the Piazza, from which the papal legate, the Archbishop of Ravenna, denounced the atrocities of the serverissimo tiranno. The Doge himself delivered an oration in support of the crusade, and Venice joined the league against the tyrant.

Padua was eventually stormed. Eccelino’s prisoners were released, and he himself was mortally wounded by an arrow in a later engagement. As he lay dying, he asked the name of the place where he had been struck.

“Cassano,” replied his attendant.

An astrologer had foretold that he would die at Bassano.

“Bassano, Cassano,” he murmured, “what small difference lies between them.”

He tore the arrow from his wound, rejected the friar sent to confess him, and died unrepentant. According to the chronicler Da Canale, never had Italy known such joy. Venice rang her bells as on saints’ days, and that night every tower blazed with candles and torches.

Venice in the Thirteenth Century

Da Canale, writing with fervent pride, offers a vivid portrait of Venice at the close of the thirteenth century. He describes a city unmatched in beauty, wealth, and order — a place where merchants and goods flowed like water from fountains, where provisions were abundant, and where faith and obedience to the Church were universal.

He praises the Piazza of Saint Mark as the most beautiful square in the world, flanked by the Basilica, the Doge’s Palace, the Campanile, hospitals, noble residences, and the dwellings of citizens and barons alike. Venice, in his telling, was not merely powerful but harmonious — a city where heresy, usury, and violent crime dared not dwell.

Disorder and Authority

Despite this splendour, internal tensions simmered. During the reign of Doge Zeno, the cost of renewed naval war led to an increase in the corn tax. A bread riot erupted in the Piazza. The Doge attempted persuasion, but was forced to resort to arms. The uprising was crushed, and its leaders executed between the red columns. Order restored, the tax was quietly withdrawn.

The government showed equal severity toward aristocratic violence. When members of the Dandolo family sided with the people against the authorities, they were heavily fined, and laws were passed forbidding commoners from displaying noble heraldry.

The Doge died in 1268 and was honoured with a magnificent state funeral at Santi Giovanni e Paolo.

The Election of a Doge

Before choosing his successor, the Venetian aristocracy devised perhaps the most elaborate electoral system ever conceived. Through a complex sequence of ballots, reductions by lot, and repeated voting — blending chance with calculated control — an electoral college of forty-one was formed.

After hearing Mass of the Holy Ghost, the electors debated, objected, defended, and voted until one man obtained the required majority. The Doge-elect was then presented to the people, sworn to uphold the laws of the Republic, invested with the ducal mantle, crowned with the ducal cap, and paraded through the Piazza amid public rejoicing.

This intricate machinery, with minor alterations, endured until the fall of the Republic.

Festivities and Civic Pride

Da Canale’s account of the election of Lorenzo Tiepolo in 1268 reveals the magnificence of Venetian civic life. Bells rang throughout the city. Children and elders alike rushed to Saint Mark’s, crying out the Doge’s name. Guilds processed in splendour — smiths, furriers, weavers, tailors, glass-makers, surgeons — each in distinctive dress, bearing banners, music, gifts, and symbolic displays.

Some released birds into the air. Others staged elaborate chivalric performances. The canals teemed with boats from Murano and Torcello, adorned with banners and shields. Venice celebrated not merely a man, but the continuity of her institutions and the vitality of her communal spirit.

In this fusion of ritual, pageantry, and political order, we glimpse the essence of medieval Venice — a republic at once disciplined and exuberant, austere in governance yet lavish in expression.