CHAPTER VIII.

The power of the Venetian government, during its latter years, has almost entirely consisted in the empire of habit and association of ideas. It once was formidably daring,--it has become lenient and timorous: hate of its past potency is easily revived, and easily subdued, by the thoughts that its might is over. The aristocracy woo the favour of the people, and yet by a kind of despotism, since they rather amuse than enlighten them; an agreeable state enough, while the common herd are afforded no pleasures that can brutify their minds, while the government watches over its subjects like a sultan over his harem, forbidding them to meddle with politics, or presume to form any judgment of existing authorities, but allowing them sufficient diversion, and not a little glory. The spoils of Constantinople enrich the churches; the standards of Cyprus and Candia float over the Piazza; the Corinthian horses delight the eye; and the winged lion of St. Mark's appears the type of fame. The situation of the city rendering agriculture and the chase impossible, nothing is left for the Venetians but dissipation. Their dialect is soft and light as a zephyr. One can hardly conceive how the people who resisted the league of Cambray should speak so flexible a tongue: it is charming while expressive of graceful pleasantry, but suits not graver themes; verses on death, for instance, breathed in these delicate and almost infantine accents, sound more like the descriptions of poetic fable. The Venetians are the most intelligent men in Italy; they think more deeply, though with less ardent fancies than their southern countrymen; yet, for the most part, the women, though very agreeable, have acquired a sentimentality of language, which, without restraining their morals, merely lends their gallantry an air of affectation. There is more vanity, as there is more society, here, than in the rest of Italy. Where applause is quick and frequent, conceit calculates all debts instantaneously; knows what success is owed, and claims its due, without giving a minute's credit. Its bills must be paid at sight. Still, much originality may be found in Venice. Ladies of the highest rank receive visits in the _cafés_, and this strange confusion prevents their _salons_ becoming the arenas of serious self-love. There yet remain here some ancient usages that evince a respect for their forefathers, and a certain youth of heart which tires not of the past, nor shrinks from melting recollections. The sight of the city itself is always sufficient to awaken a host of memories. The Piazza is crowded by blue tents, beneath which rest Turks, Greeks and Armenians, who sometimes also loll carelessly in open boats, with stands of flowers at their feet. St. Mark's, too, looks rather like a mosque than a Christian temple; and its vicinity gives a true idea of the oriental indolence with which life is spent here, in drinking sherbet, and smoking perfumed pipes.

Men and women of quality never leave their houses, except in black mantles; while the gondolas are often winged along by rowers clad in white, with rose-colored sashes, as if holiday array were abandoned to the vulgar, while the nobility kept up a vow of perpetual mourning. In most European towns, authors are obliged carefully to avoid depicting the daily routine; for our customs, even in luxury, are rarely poetic; but in Venice nothing appears coarse; the canals, the boats, make pictures of the commonest events in life.

On the quay of the galleys you constantly encounter puppet shows, mountebanks, and story-tellers; the last are worthy of remark. It is usually some episode from Tasso or Ariosto which they relate in prose, to the great admiration of their hearers, who sit round the speaker half clad, and motionless with curiosity; from time to time they purchase glasses of water, as wine is bought elsewhere, and this refreshment is all they take for hours, so strongly are their minds interested. The narrator uses the most animating gestures; his voice is raised; he irritates himself; he grows pathetic; and yet one sees, all the while, that at heart he is perfectly unmoved. One might say to him, as did Sappho to the Circean nymph, who, in perfect sobriety, was assuming fury: "Bacchante--who art not drunk--what wouldst thou with me?" Yet the lively pantomime of the south does not appear quite artificial: it is a singular habit handed down from the Romans, and springing from quickness of disposition. A people so enslaved by pleasure may soon be alarmed by the dream of power in which the Venetian government is veiled. Never are soldiers seen there. If even a drummer appears in their comedies they are all astonishment; yet a state inquisitor needs but to show himself to restore order among thirty thousand people, assembled for a public fête. It were well if this influence was derived from a respect for the laws; but it is fortified by terror of the secret means which may still be used to preserve the peace. The prisons are in the very palace of the Doge, above and below his apartments. The Lion's Mouth, into which all denunciations are thrown, is also here; the hall of trial is hung with black, and makes judgment appear anticipating condemnation.

The Bridge of Sighs leads from the palace to the state prison. In passing the canal, how oft were heard the cries of "Justice! Mercy!" in voices that could be no longer recognized. When a state criminal was sentenced, a bark removed him in the night, by a little gate that opens on the water: he was taken some distance from the city, to a part of the Lagune where fishing is prohibited, and there drowned: thus secrecy is perpetuated, even after death, not leaving the unhappy wretch a hope that his remains may inform those who loved him that he suffered, and is no more. When Lord Nevil and Corinne visited Venice, these executions had not taken place for nearly a century: but sufficient mystery still existed: and, though Oswald was the last man to interfere with the politics of foreign lands, he felt oppressed by this arbitrary power, from which there was no appeal, that seemed to hang over every head in Venice.