Various - Chambers\'s Edinburgh Journal, No. 425
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Various >> Chambers\'s Edinburgh Journal, No. 425
CHAMBERS' EDINBURGH JOURNAL
CONDUCTED BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT CHAMBERS, EDITORS OF 'CHAMBERS'S
INFORMATION FOR THE PEOPLE,' 'CHAMBERS'S EDUCATIONAL COURSE,' &c.
No. 425. NEW SERIES. SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 21, 1852. PRICE 1½_d_.
VENICE.
At six, on a bright morning, the 1st of September 1851, we left the
quay of Trieste in the steamer for Venice. We were in no particular
mood upon the subject. If anything, we rather feared that the famous
City of the Sea might turn out to have been overpraised. However, we
resolved to be candid.
The morning passed pleasantly enough. We admired the snowy tops of the
Styrian Alps on the right, and the deep green of the Adriatic was
beautiful. We had calculated upon an eight hours' voyage; but it was
scarcely eleven o'clock when the pinnacles and towers of the city
began to appear above the water's edge to the west, taking us a little
by surprise. It was thenceforward an interesting occupation for an
hour or so to watch these objects gradually rising out of the waves.
By and by, a large dome took its place amongst them; then some little
domes and more pinnacles: at length a connected range of city objects
lay along the horizon, and this we knew was VENICE. The steamer by and
by began to wind through some straits or channels of the sea, with
fortifications covering the low banks on both sides. It went on; and
about one o'clock, under a bright sun, we found ourselves in an open
space of sea, opposite the famous series of buildings composed of the
Doge's Palace, the Cathedral of San Marco, the Piazza, &c.--objects
perhaps of their kind the most generally known in Europe.
The first few minutes was a confused mixture of romantic association
and solicitude about a right hotel. Our thoughts slid with prosaic
facility from the lion on the top of the obelisk, so well remembered
from Canaletti's pictures, to the sign of the Leone Bianca--a place of
entertainment not far off, much recommended by Murray. I recalled the
Byronian heroines sailing about in those gondolas, which we saw
skimming away here and there, and wondered whether it would be best to
go to Dameli's or the Emperor of Austria. The first business was to
get a gondola for ourselves and luggage; thus, at the very first
reducing to the character of a mere cab that picturesque species of
conveyance--I, the conductor of the party, wondering all the time how
much those two cowled villains would charge me. Seated there with my
two ladies, we speedily proceeded along the Grand Canal towards the
hotel last mentioned, to try if we could obtain accommodation in it.
It was curious to land from a boat at the steps of a house, and walk
from the sea into the hall. It was dazzling to see the splendour of
the building, with its fine marble vestibule within, and its superb
staircases. We did not find in it, however, exactly the range of rooms
we required, and we after all returned along the canal, and tried the
Hôtel de l'Europe, a similar, but somewhat plainer house, where we got
apartments to our mind.
I was curious at first to study the arrangements of houses and streets
in Venice. Here I found that what had once been the palace of a noble,
presented, first, a ground-floor about three feet above the medium
level of the Adriatic, composed of a broad vestibule crossing through
from front to rear, with the inferior apartments on each side; second,
a floor of good apartments, with an open hall in the centre right over
the vestibule--this hall adorned with pictures; third, a similar good
floor, with another hall in the centre, which had been the banqueting
or dining-room, and was now used as the _salle-a-manger_ of the
hotel--and this salle had balconied windows at one end looking out
upon the canal. There was, I suppose, a fourth floor of inferior
rooms, but there I never had occasion to be. Most of the rooms,
looking out at the sides of the building into narrow lanes, were
ill-lighted: only those having windows to the front were light or
cheerful. The walls, staircases, and floors, were all of marble--the
proportions large, and the decorations elegant. The date, 'JAN. 1676,'
appeared over an inner door in the salle.
A side-door in the rear of the house gave me exit for a walk into the
town. I found myself in a paved lane, here called a _calle_, with good
houses on each side. It led me into a wider lane, which had all the
characters of a street, excepting that it was comparatively narrow,
and only traversed by people on foot. Here I found shops of many
kinds, but almost all on a small scale; as also many stalls for the
sale of fruit and other petty articles. Following this way to the
right, I soon came to the outside of the great square, which is the
principal public place in the city. It was but necessary to go through
a wide passage, to find myself in the _Piazza_--that well-known paved
and arcaded quadrangle, which we have seen so often in pictures; the
far extremity being closed by the singular church of St Mark, while
close by rose the lofty campanile and the three tall flag-staffs. We
sauntered for an hour about this grand central region, viewing the
outsides of things only, and dreaming of those scenes of the past with
which they were connected. After dinner, I again went out by myself to
walk through the town, for it was agreed that we should put off
regular sight-seeing till next day. Let not the reader be surprised to
hear of walking through Venice. It is permeated in all directions by
calles and narrow streets, which cross the canals by high-arched stone
bridges, thus giving pedestrian access to and from all parts of the
city. Certainly, however, no such thing as a leading thoroughfare
exists, and it must be difficult for strangers to acquire that local
knowledge which will enable them to find their way without a guide.
Unlike all other cities, no kind of vehicle, not so much as a
wheelbarrow, ever rattles along these narrow, tortuous ways. The
gondolas upon the canals are strictly the only conveyances used in
Venice. Thus the city has a stillness which, even in its most
brilliant days, must have impressed strangers with a sense of
melancholy. In our time, when Venice is reduced at once from
independence and from wealth, the effect is peculiarly depressing. I
felt as if Venice were only a _curiosity_ to look at for a few days,
not a place in which any considerable portion of life could be spent
with comfort.
Next morning, at eight o'clock, by which time we had breakfasted, a
gondola with two rowers waited for us at the porch of the hotel, along
with a clever, well-informed youth named Alessandro, who had
undertaken to be our _cicerone_. The charges for both gondolas and
guides had, we found, been raised since the late troubles, in common
with everything else in Venice, liberty being always somehow a
provocative to taxation, whether temporarily or permanently enjoyed.
What in 1843 would have cost six English shillings, now stood us eight
or nine. The gondola, as is well known, is a long boat, pointed at
both ends, and painted black--furnished in the centre with cushioned
seats, all black, over which is erected a kind of cot, with windows,
to screen the passengers. One man stands in the fore, another in the
back part, rowing with their faces forward, the oar working in a
twisting manner on the top of a piece of wood curiously grooved for
the purpose. I cannot say that I saw anything very peculiar in the
dress of the gondoliers, or indeed in the appearance of any of the
people of Venice, excepting the female water-carriers. With that
exception, the people are dressed in much the same manner as is
customary over Europe generally. So far as I recollect, not a single
veiled or half-veiled lady, sailing in her own gondola, met our eyes
while we were in Venice. We have to revert for all such things to
Goldoni's plays and the pages of our own Byron.
The real grand thoroughfare of Venice is the _Canale Grande_--a wide
curving street, which sweeps through a great part of the city. The
principal palaces of the nobility, the superbest of the churches, and
the best hotels, are placed along this water-street. As we moved
along, Alessandro told us, in respectable French, the history of each
great mansion, and what its owners had done in the history of the
republic: a recital as intelligent and as accurate as could have been
expected in a book. Most of these buildings have a melancholy, decayed
look, being generally very old, and few of the owners being able to
spend much in or on them. A few that look tolerably fresh, are found
to be occupied by the post, the customs, or some other office, the
insignia of which figure in gaudy colouring over the principal
entrance. In connection with most of the palaces, the name of some
architect of reputation is mentioned. They are wholly of marble; and,
in many cases, round stones of a precious kind, or pieces of marble of
a brilliantly veined character, are set in a species of framework in
front, communicating a peculiarly rich effect. The least pleasing
circumstance connected with these superb mansions, is their being so
closely beset by other buildings. We saw only one or two which had any
spare space associated with them, to form either a court-yard or a
piece of garden-ground. Space is indeed the great want of Venice. Many
of the canals, dividing lines of houses as lofty as those of the Old
Town of Edinburgh, are not wider than the _wynds_ of that celebrated
city. And yet there we see the landing-places and entrances of
magnificent mansions, though more frequently the houses on such narrow
canals have the air of merchants' stores and warehouses.
It would be vain to attempt a detailed description of one-half of the
wonderfully beautiful old churches, palazzos, and other buildings,
which we examined during this and the subsequent day. We were
agreeably disappointed on the whole; for we had come with an idea that
we should see only the shell of ancient Venice, and few of those works
of art which used to be associated with its name; whereas the fact is,
that all the most remarkable old buildings are entire, and in
tolerable order; and scarcely a picture, or statue, or antique
curiosity, has been lost during the political changes which the city
has undergone. Doubtless, it is living Venice no more: it is Venice
reduced to a museum--but what a museum! And here I must do the
Austrian government the justice to say, that it appears to have a deep
feeling of interest in the ancient monuments of the republic. It
contributes handsomely for their maintenance; and no modern proprietor
of an old palazzo can make any change in it, till he has satisfied a
tribunal of taste, that the change will be in keeping with the antique
and picturesque glories of the place.
We went at an early hour one day to see the Pisani palace: one of
those which are attractive on account of their containing good works
of art. The Pisani are an illustrious family: and the representative
still lives in this fine old mansion, or at least occasionally
occupies it; but he is a broken-down old man, who has survived wife,
children, and other relatives, and his death must speedily close the
many-centuried history of his name. It was with melancholy feelings
that we stepped into the hall or vestibule, whose broken plasters are
still graced with coats-armorial and emblems of ancient dignity;
amongst the rest, two standards wrapped up round their staves,
probably memorials of the great Pisano--a naval commander of the
fourteenth century. The housekeeper's little children were playing
about the place, as children in an ordinary city would play in a
street among the dogs and carriages. Mounting a wide side-staircase,
we reached a handsome first floor, composed of a central _salle_ and
side-rooms, tolerably furnished; and here we found the two pictures
for which the Pisani are famous--The Death of Darius, and his Queen
supplicating Alexander, by Paul Veronese. They are beautiful
paintings; and by their value, still give a sort of dignity to this
decayed family.
Another palace we visited was that of the _Vendramini Colerghi_, now
the property of the Duchesse de Berri, who makes it her ordinary
winter-quarters. It is a large and elegant building, in a form
approaching that of the letter Z, with a flower-garden in front of the
receding part. The duchesse is understood to have purchased it for
120,000 zwanzigers--equivalent to about L.4000, and not the value of
the stones of which it is built. With great good taste, she has made
no alteration in the decoration or destination of the rooms, but has
added modern furniture, family portraits, and many objects of _virtu_.
The series of apartments on the first floor above the vestibule is
extensive and superb; and though the _tout ensemble_ is more
characteristic of a modern French princess than of an ancient
Venetian family, it was pleasant to see at least one of the palazzos
of the ancient republic handsomely furnished, and having the
appearance of cheerful occupation. Among the portraits are some that
could scarcely have been expected to survive the Revolution of
1792--as Louis XIV.; Louis XV. when a boy; some of the princesses,
aunts of Louis XVI.; also the dauphin, father of the latter monarch.
There is likewise a beautiful cabinet of Marie Antoinette. Such
articles, we presume, must have been obtained from the palaces at the
downfall of royalty, and preserved by various accidents till the
restoration, when the royal family would of course be eager to recover
them at whatever expense. We saw here a portrait of the Duchesse, with
her infant son, standing in widow's weeds, beside the bust of her
assassinated husband; also portraits of the Due de Bourdeaux, his
wife, the Duchesse's present husband, and her younger set of children.
In a glass-case were the gilt spurs of Henri IV. The Duchesse gives
gay parties in winter, when the full suite of rooms must have a fine
effect.
The churches of Venice are numerous--about a hundred in all, being one
for every thousand souls, while I am told there is a priest for every
hundred. We visited eight or ten of the most remarkable; and so
bewildering was their magnificence, and so confounding the multitude
of fine things shewn in them, that if I had not taken note of
everything at the moment, I must have had only one confused idea of
something supra-mundanely fine. A great church in Venice is usually a
structure of pure marble, with a dome or tower. The interior is one
open space, with the usual double colonnade, a railed off altar-space
at the upper end, and little chapels in the aisles on both sides.
Generally, over the principal altar is some large scriptural
picture--a Crucifixion, or a Taking Down from the Cross, or an
Ascension; the production of Titian, or Tintoretto, or Paul Veronese,
or some other artist of the Venetian school. Over the lateral altars
are similar works of art. Sometimes one of these side-chapels is at
the same time the tomb of a noble family, which assumes the duty of
keeping it in order. In many of the churches, nothing can exceed the
beauty of the sculpture which is lavished over the interior; and,
while many features are common, each usually contrives to have some
special beauty or some exclusive possession on which a peculiar fame
rests. For example, the church of _San Georgia Maggiore_ has some
wooden carved-work by a Belgian artist, of surprising beauty. _Gli
Scalzi_ is a paragon of elaborate decoration. The church of the
_Frari_, old and Gothic, is full of grand tombs, including those of
several doges, that of Titian, and a monument to Canova. The _Santa
Maria della Salute_ has a fine collection of pictures over and above
those in the church. This church was built in 1632, by a decree of the
Senate, as an act of thanksgiving to the Virgin for putting an end to
a pestilence by which 60,000 people had been carried off. It is a most
beautiful structure, full of fine things; and altogether a curious
monument of that delusion of ignorance and misdirected piety which
made men assign to a chapter of priests the duty now committed to a
Board of Health, and persuaded them that a church was of much greater
efficacy for the cure of the pestilence than an hospital.
I have as yet said scarcely anything of the ducal palace and church of
San Marco, which are the principal and central objects of Venice. The
first is a quadrangular building, with a court in the centre; very
peculiar antique architecture, with a double row of arcades both
outside and in; the whole having a strikingly Oriental character. In
front, and at one side, is a pavement, forming the principal open
space in Venice; the haunt, of course, of many loungers of all
characters; and distinguished by the two well-known pillars, one of
which bears the lion of St Mark. The interior of the palace presents a
succession of grand old halls, the scene of the court-glories of the
ancient doges. One, called the _Sala del Maggior Consiglio_, is 154
feet long by 74 broad. It has a _dais_ at one end, on which the throne
must have been placed; and over this a picture of Paradise by
Tintoretto, covering the entire end of the room--of course 74 feet
long--being thus the largest picture ever painted on canvas. Around,
under the ceiling, are the portraits of the series of doges. The _Sala
del Senato_ still exhibits the seats of the senators, each furnished
with its candlestick for protracted discussions--a melancholy memorial
of departed independence. We gazed, too, on the Hall of the Council of
Ten, and the lesser room where the more terrible Council of Three held
its sittings; all now reduced to mere show-places, but still strongly
suggesting their original destination. The Lion's Mouth, in the outer
gallery, to which any accusation could be committed, was not
forgotten. After dwelling a due time upon the rooms, and the numerous
pictures and other works of art presented in them, we descended into
the dungeons or _pozzi_--narrow stone-chambers destitute of light,
where Venetian justice formerly kept its victims--a terrific specimen
of the reckless inhumanity of past times. Finally, we passed to the
Bridge of Sighs, which is detected to be an afterthought structure,
designed to connect the palace with the more modern prison in the
rear, a canal intervening. I suspect, after all, that many of the
stories told about the pozzi and the bridge are mere myths, the
reflection of ideas which the appearance of the places suggests.
The church of San Marco, adjoining the palace, and forming one side of
the Piazza or square, is like no other building I ever saw--decidedly
Oriental in style--indeed such a building as Aladin might have evoked
by his lamp; which reminds me, by the way, that there is a prevalent
tinge of the East all over Venice, seen in the architecture
particularly. The vaulting and arching of this church are all
described as Byzantine in style, and are therefore round; but it has
been a custom in Venice to fix up on such a building as this any
reliques of antique sculpture which have been taken in the countries
with which the Republic was at war: accordingly, the front of San
Marco bristles all over with curious pillars and carvings, including,
above all, the four celebrated bronze horses which Napoleon took to
Paris, and which were restored after his downfall. Walking through one
of the low-browed doors, we pass across a vestibule, where a stone is
pointed out in the pavement as the spot on which the emperor
Barbarossa laid his head beneath the foot of Pope Alexander III. Then
proceeding into the interior, you find the dusky atmosphere dimly
blazing with a peculiar glitter from the walls and ceilings, the whole
being one mass of gold mosaic, on which scripture subjects are
inserted in a darker colouring. Think of a huge church, the interior
facing of which is composed of pieces of gilt stone, each no bigger
than the point of your finger would cover! But this is not all. The
wide-extending pavement is seen to be composed in like manner of small
pieces of marble and precious stones, set so as to form regular
figures, all most exact, and still wonderfully entire, though it has
endured the feet of daily thousands for several centuries.
Unfortunately, from some infirmity in the vaulting below, this
singular floor is thrown into undulations, in some places so great as
to require care in walking over them. I spent hours in wandering about
and examining the many curious things which are to be seen in this
church, including those of its famous treasury. It is truly surprising
that, after so many revolutions, so many of these valuables have been
preserved. The fidelity of the priesthood to their charge is surely
deserving of some admiration, considering how many opportunities there
must have been of making away with precious articles, after which no
inquiry would probably have ever been made.
A campanile, or bell-tower, has been erected in the square near the
church, and is one of the most conspicuous objects in Venice; rising,
as it does, above every other building. It seems slender; but I was
surprised to find, on a rough measurement, that the sides are not less
than fifty feet wide. A paved way, instead of a staircase, conducts to
an open _loggia_ near the top, whence you can have a complete view of
the city. I remarked that the tops of many of the houses are of use in
the same way as gardens and summer-houses are in other countries.
People go there to smoke, or to take their coffee--the chimneys being
a very slight obstruction to such enjoyments in a country where little
fire is used. We here also had a good view of the celebrated
_orologio_ of Venice; a tower containing an ancient clock of peculiar
elaborateness of construction. On the top stand two metal giants,
armed with ponderous hammers, with which to strike the hours and
quarters on a huge bell, placed between them. There is something
terrible in these automata; and the feeling is not allayed when you
hear that one of them once committed a _murder_, having with his
hammer knocked an incautious workman over the battlements! The
campanile was begun in 902; and I felt interested in tracing its
resemblance, both in architecture and relative situation, to the
square tower of St Andrews, which is supposed to be of nearly the same
age.
My limits leave me no room to dilate upon our visit to the Accademia.
Indeed, in the visit itself, we could do little more than pause here
and there as a Titian or Tintoretto cast up in the multitude of
pictures, or when we came before some specimen of the very early
masters, of whose works there are many dating so far back as the end
of the fourteenth century. There were some pictures representing
transactions in Venice, of not much later date, which I regarded with
interest, as preserving to us the appearance of men and things in that
age; particularly one depicting some miracle, in which several grave
ecclesiastics are seen swimming about in the Grand Canal, while ladies
look on from windows and balconies, which I convinced myself still
exist there. I must be equally brief with that place which no
countryman of Shakspeare can avoid visiting, though the present Rialto
is, after all, later than his time. It is of a curious structure as a
bridge; there being three rows of building along it, containing shops,
with two roadways for passengers. One crosses backwards and forwards,
muttering: 'On the Rialto thou hast rated me,' &c.; goes distractedly
into a shop, to purchase a breastpin, as a memorial of the place; and
then plunges down the stairs, to resume his place in the gondola. We
took a couple of hours to pay a visit to the Armenian monastery, on
the island of San Lazzaro--the place to which Byron resorted in order
to study the Armenian language. It is a curious old establishment,
with some modern activity about it in the diffusion of literature; the
monks having a printing-office in tolerable briskness, whence they
issue books in various languages. We were delighted with the flush of
beautiful flowering, from the oleander bushes in the central court,
and the vine-hung alleys in the garden behind. I must not forget, in
this hurried close of my adventure, the two moonlight sails we had
through those mysterious watery streets, where, the associations of
day and of the active world being shut out, we felt as if each light
in the old palazzi illumined some scene of mediæval romance. _That_
was like no other thing in our lives. On the third evening, we left
this dream-city by a means which we had studiously ignored all the
time of our visit--namely, a _railway_, which crosses from Venice to
the mainland. It was something of a wakener to find ourselves at 'the
station,' on the bank of one of the canals, and see a range of
'omnibus gondolas,' all duly labelled for their respective courses
through the city, and ranked up in front like so many of the
terrestrial machines which haunt the ordinary railway termini of this
earth. However, we had the consolation of reserving this to the close
of our visit, when, of course, we must have awaked out of our Venetian
feelings at anyrate. The train brought us to Padua long before
bedtime.
