to become Emperor Baldwin I.1616 It was rumored that Dandolo turned down the crown, and he seemed less concerned with ceremony than with governmental affairs and selecting objects to send back to Venice, particularly the four bronze horses. The doge died in May 1205 of a septic hernia sustained during a three-day ride visiting his troops outside the city, and was buried in Hagia Sophia – the only man to be so honored.
The “Latin Empire” in the East would last only until 1261, when the Byzantines once again gained control of Constantinople.
St. Mark’s Basilica: February 1438
The Byzantine courtiers could not help but be impressed. They had traveled west seeking aid, and Venice was putting on a fine display of its wealth. More than two centuries had passed since the crusader sack of Constantinople, which still bore physical scars from the attack, but an even more brutal enemy was now at the gates. The Ottoman Turks had already whittled the empire down to little more than the capital city itself, and the emperor could not pick and choose his friends. John VIII Palaeologus had come personally to seek reconciliation with the West, hoping it would bring material assistance from Christian allies to keep Constantinople out of Ottoman hands. Along with the leaders of the Orthodox Church, he would be attending an ecumenical council in Ferrara (later transferred to Florence).
Pisanello, medal of John VIII on his visit to Italy, c. 1440.
The Orthodox patriarch of Constantinople, Joseph II, had expressed a special interest in visiting St. Mark’s Basilica. He arrived in state at the quay beside the Doge’s Palace, and the long retinue of courtiers paraded down the Piazzetta toward the basilica, pausing frequently to examine objects of interest. While relatively small in comparison with the colossal churches of the imperial city, St. Mark’s made up for it in opulence. The mosaics were largely complete by this point, and the spoils from the Fourth Crusade had been carefully installed throughout the complex. Sophisticated visitors like the Byzantines would have understood the messages conveyed by the sumptuous decoration.
For example, there was the statue of the Tetrarchs at the corner where the church met the passage to the Doge’s Palace. The Tetrarchs had been created to represent the four rulers of the Roman Empire when it was administratively divided for a time before Constantine gained sole control. Made of the dense purple stone called porphyry, which in Roman antiquity was exclusive to the emperor, the statue had stood for more than eight hundred years at the Philadelphion, the great council hall of Constantinople, as a symbol of unity and good governance. Now the figures were embedded into the juncture of church and state in Venice, which claimed to have extended its influence into the four quadrants of the old Roman Empire.
The courtiers gazed at them dejectedly, and even more so at the gilded horses prancing over the central portal of the church. Like the Tetrarchs, this foursome had become symbolic of Venice’s power, but the horses had an additional and more ancient significance. The details of their creation were obscure, but the prevailing impression was that they had originally come from Greece. Fantastic rumors said they were created by Phidias for Pericles, or by Alexander the Great’s favorite sculptor, Lysippus, as the quadriga, or four-horse team drawing the chariot of the sun. While neither attractive attribution could be proved, the horses were undeniably of the highest quality.
The Tetrarchs, c. 300 AD.
When the horses first arrived in Venice, they were stored for a time at the fortress known as the Arsenale. Representatives of Florence, whose rising republic was beginning to rival Venice, circulated a spiteful story that they were saved from being melted down only by the intervention of some Florentines who truly understood art (although it would have been easier to do the melting in Constantinople had that indeed been the intent). But even if the Venetians had been incapable of recognizing the horses as great works of art, their connection with the revered Enrico Dandolo would have protected them.
In any event, their period in storage was brief. By 1267 they had been hoisted up over the main entrance to St. Mark’s onto a marble platform where the doge customarily addressed the Venetian people after his election. From here on out, he would deliver his oration flanked by a pair of horses. But they were not there solely as an accessory for the doge, although they remained closely linked with the office.
According to Saint Jerome, the four Evangelists – Matthew, Mark, Luke and John – were the quadriga of Christ, who drew his light into the world through the Gospel.1717 So while the mosaics on the lower walls of the church focused on the story of Mark and his miraculous transfer to Venice, here at the base of the dome he took his place as one of a sacred foursome that transcended the earthly realm. It would not have escaped the notice of the visiting Byzantines that the position of the horses over the five entrances to St. Mark’s also echoed the traditional arrangement of a Roman triumphal arch, thus not only filling a sacred function but also commemorating in perpetuity the Venetian-led capture of Constantinople.
Freeman, The Horses of St. Mark’s, 100.
Detail of the façade of St. Mark’s Basilica.
The Byzantine retinue moved on into the church and were shepherded up to the main altar. While many churches had large, elaborate altarpieces, the one in St. Mark’s was unique: it was solid gold, glimmering in the light of the hundreds of candles that had been lit for these special visitors. (The winter weather had been miserable, depriving them of the famous reflecting sunlight of Venice.)1818 The doge led the way into the apse so they could walk all the way around the altar, known as the Pala d’Oro (or Golden Altar), and see the brilliant gems and exquisite enamels embedded in the gold. The main dignitaries then gathered symbolically under the great central dome for a staged display of unity, while a smaller group of courtiers lingered by the Pala d’Oro to examine it more closely.
The Memoirs of Sylvester Syropoulos IV.21, available at the Syropoulos Project, www.syropoulos.co.uk.
“It is something of a hybrid,” one of the Venetians explained. “The main body was made for us in your city many years ago, with the story of Saint Mark across the bottom. Then the top part, with the icons, came after the Latins took Constantinople.” He paused awkwardly before adding, “It was all legal, of course, as captured enemy property.”
Pala d’Oro, 976 and 1342–45.
Detail of the Pala d’Oro with Empress Irene.
“We understand these things,” replied George of Trebizond, a classical philosopher who was a close aide to the emperor. “But how did they become a single object?”
“Andrea Dandolo – descendant of our great doge Enrico Dandolo – was the procurator of this church before his own election as doge, and he is responsible for much of what you see here. It was his idea to unite the old and the new, and make the most beautiful altar in Christendom. There are thousands of jewels and pearls – so many that it is impossible to count them all. The enamels came from your own Hagia Sophia – and as you know, Doge Enrico has the honor of
