The idea of a queen for the Republic of Venice could only ever exist as a scenic fiction—an aesthetic and symbolic representation of power that actually rested in the hands of a small male council. Yet, even the Republic contributed a true queen to Mediterranean history: Caterina Cornaro, Queen of Cyprus.
A Tumultuous Background
The Kingdom of Cyprus, ruled by the French Lusignan dynasty, was, in the latter half of the 15th century, shaken by the ambitions of James II, known as “the Bastard,” the illegitimate son of James I. He usurped the throne from his sister, Charlotte. After an initial failed attempt supported by the Venetians, James turned to the Sultan of Egypt. With the aid of Mamluk troops, he deposed his sister and seized Famagusta from the Genoese, who supported her.
Amid an atmosphere of conspiracies and betrayals, James began to fear a potential defection of the Mamluks still stationed on the island. According to chronicles, he had them massacred a few years later. His precarious position as an illegitimate king convinced him to seek a wife who could secure an alliance with a powerful state. After various complications, his choice fell on the young Caterina Cornaro.
It is said the ambassador selected her for her beauty – she was apparently also a natural blonde -, but her family’s influence likely mattered more. The Cornaro family held estates in Cyprus and was among the most influential in Venice. Through marriage to Caterina and the concessions he promised the Republic, James II ensured the ally he needed.
For Venice, it was an exceptional opportunity to strengthen its military and economic presence in the eastern Mediterranean, where the growing Ottoman threat loomed ever larger.
In 1468, Caterina was betrothed to the King of Cyprus. She was only fourteen, and fortunately, the marriage was formalized by proxy. Her husband, it seems, was in no hurry; he preferred a life of leisure and lovers, with whom he even had children. When James II drew closer to the King of Naples, the Venetian Senate, fearing a shift in alliances, insisted he honor his commitments. The king relented and, in 1472, sent a ship to Venice to fetch his young bride.
Caterina’s Journey to Cyprus
The Senate bestowed upon Caterina the title of “adoptive daughter of Venice,” an honorific created specifically for her. The Doge himself accompanied her to San Nicolò di Lido aboard the Bucintoro, the golden State galley. The Republic granted her all the honors befitting a future queen, but with the title of “daughter,” they reminded her where her loyalty should ultimately lie.
The royal wedding took place in Nicosia’s cathedral amid celebrations and the enthusiastic acclaim of a crowd welcoming their new queen. Unfortunately, this union was not destined for happiness. On an island seemingly pacified, James II’s reign was short-lived. A few months later, the king died under mysterious circumstances—possibly of food poisoning—leaving his wife pregnant and as the sole heir to the island.
Not yet nineteen, Caterina ascended to the throne as regent for her unborn child, facing turbulent times of conspiracies. The situation escalated when her son was taken from her, and she was forced to sign the island’s cession to Charlotte.
A Kingdom Reclaimed
At that point, Venetian galleys stationed nearby intervened, killed the conspirators, restored order, and took control of both the island and its queen.
Amidst intrigue and conspiracies, Caterina’s position was too precarious for her to remain in charge of such a strategically important kingdom for the Republic. The Senate surrounded her with administrators and officials, politically isolating her and stripping her of power. Caterina remained queen in name only.
Shortly thereafter, her son also died of malarial fever. Without husband or child, caught between pro-Mamluk and pro-Genoese factions and subjected to Venetian domination, Caterina continued to manage what little autonomy she retained. Though she had no authority, the queen displayed regal pride and tenacity.
Rumors, unsupported by documentation, suggested that Caterina had a lover. The possibility of a new marriage added to Venetian anxieties. The government feared that a husband opposed to the Republic’s interests or new heirs could legitimately claim the throne. This concern led Venice to rid itself of a troublesome queen.
The pretext came with yet another conspiracy in 1488, instigated by Cypriot nobles. Once again, the Venetians occupied the island, and this time the Senate, through Caterina’s brother Giorgio, officially requested her abdication. Caterina refused.
The Time of Obedience
Family pressures, appeals to her duty, and the urgency of her safety were futile; the queen would not yield. Faced with her obstinacy, the Republic resorted to explicit threats: the loss of her wealth and the status of a rebel. This ultimatum left Caterina no choice—a rebel was at the mercy of any assassin.
In 1489, alongside her brother, Caterina boarded a Venetian galley commanded by her cousin. Trapped by familial and political constraints, she had no escape. Dressed in black, she left Cyprus forever.
At San Nicolò di Lido, the same Bucintoro that had escorted her as a future sovereign awaited her. However, a new Doge now stood on the gilded galley. This was Venice: every glory had its expiration. A Doge died, another was elected; even a queen lasted only as long as the state’s interests allowed.
After a solemn ceremony, Caterina was sent into exile. The government allowed her to retain her titles and the lordship of Asolo, today one of Italy’s most beautiful villages, where her family owned property.
Even on the remote hills, Caterina was able to assert her regal nature.
A Court of Arts in Asolo
She won the people’s affection through significant initiatives: reforming the administration of justice, founding a Monte di Pietà, a public pawnshop, and dedicating much of her land to cultivation. During the 1505 famine, she imported grain from Cyprus to feed the population.
She also expanded the castle, built a “barco” (a villa), and invited artists, poets, and musicians. Her court became a cultural hub that attracted the era’s finest talents. The poet Pietro Bembo dedicated his *Asolani* to her, and others wrote panegyrics in her honor. Lorenzo Lotto painted an altarpiece for the local church, while Giorgione enjoyed music and perhaps painted frescoes in her villa.
Caterina transformed a small town into a kingdom of the arts.
When the War of the League of Cambrai brought Emperor Maximilian’s troops to the Treviso area in 1509, she returned to Venice, where she died the following year.
Caterina in Two Portraits
Two portraits of this indomitable queen stand out—one depicting the woman, the other her myth.
The first, by Gentile Bellini in 1500, portrays Caterina at forty-six, slightly heavyset, wearing gold-embroidered garments and long strands of pearls. A crown sparkles on her head. She is shown in three-quarter profile; her expression is stern, her eyelids drooping slightly, giving her gaze a shrewd, narrow look. Her lips are closed, yet there seems to be a shadow of a smile. I imagine her posing for the painter, perhaps urging him not to be timid and to capture her aging face as it was, with the weight of her history. And to not hold back with the gold. Beauty fades, but honors endure. This is how she would be remembered as a queen.
Quite different is the portrait Titian painted thirty years after her death. Caterina appears as a beautiful, sensual woman dressed in Oriental style. Her image merges with that of Saint Catherine of Alexandria, suggested by the wheel, perhaps an allusion to the queen’s Christian virtues. Yet, this image is too sensual for a saint—even too much for a queen. Here, Caterina has already become part of the Venetian myth.
If the wheel implies her Christian faith, a modern viewer may also see an allusion to personal martyrdom. Less cruel than the Alexandrian princess’s, yet serving the same purpose: to subdue a woman who had dared challenge the authority of the Republic.
