The Dogaressas of Venice (The Wives of the Doges)

“To the Lagunes!”—“To the Lagunes!”—“Attila Australis plaga!”—“Attila Flagello di Dio!”—these were the despairing cries of panic-stricken people in dire distress.

Ominous sounds came hustling over ragged peaks, and through dense forests from the lofty snow-fields of the distant Alps; and, like the storm-borne scum of tempestuous seas,—leaping and hissing,—they tore along the hurrying torrents. Sweeping wildly over rippling lake and rolling plain the warning cry re-echoes across the ruffled waters of the salt marshes, and strikes terror in hearts of oak and pales brows of bronze.

The heavy tread of barbarian hordes, their savage oaths, and the clashing of their rude weapons, rush upon the wings of the tramontana, as underfoot they trample the fertile lands of Gallia Togata on their way to Rome.

The dreaded Huns are upon the prosperous Græco-Roman cities of Veneto, with their noble civilisation, their graceful villas and gardens, their well-equipped baths and theatres, their imperial palaces, their arsenals, and their mints. “Splendid Veneto,” as Cassiodorus, the Emperor Maximus’ famous minister of art and literature, in startled admiration, calls the province,—is doomed to destruction.