Part 25

It was now Ascension Weeke, and the greate Marte or Faire of the whole yeare was now kept, every body at liberty and jollie. The noblemen stalking with their ladys on _choppines_; these are high-heel’d shoes, particularly affected by these proude dames, or, as some may say, invented to keepe them at home, it being very difficult to walke with them; whence one being asked how he liked the Venetian dames, replied that they were _mezzo carne, mezzo ligno_, half flesh, half wood, and he would have none of them. The truth is, their garb is very odd, as seeming allwayes in masquerade; their other habits are also totally different from all nations. They weare long crisped haire, of severall strakes and colours, which they make so by a wash, dishevelling it on the brims of a broade hat that has no head, but an hole to put out their heads by; they drie them in the sunne, as one may see them at their windows. In their tire they set silk flowers and sparkling stones, their peticoates coming from their very arme-pits, so that they are neere three-quarters and an half apron; their sleeves are made exceedingly wide ... and commonly tucked up to the shoulder, showing their naked armes, thro’ false sleeves of tiffany, girt with a bracelet or two, with knots of points richly tagged about their shoulders and other places of their body, which they usually cover with a kind of yellow vaile of lawn very transparent. Thus attir’d they set their hands on the heads of two matron-like servants or old women, to support them, who are mumbling their beades. ’Tis ridiculous to see how these ladys crawle in and out of their _gondolas_ by reason of their _choppines_, and what dwarfs they appeare when taken downe from their wooden scaffolds; of these I saw nearly thirty together, stalking half as high again as the rest of the world, for courtezans or the citizens may not weare _choppines_, but cover their bodies and faces with a vaile of a certaine glittering taffeta or lustreè, out of which they now and then dart a glaunce of their eye, the whole face being otherwise entirely hid with it; nor may the common misses take this habit, but go abroad bare-fac’d. To the corners of these virgin-vailes hang broad but flat tossells of curious Point de Venize; the married women go in black vailes. The nobility weare the same colour, but of fine cloth lin’d with taffeta in summer, and fur of the bellies of squirrels in the winter, which all put on at a certaine day girt with a girdle emboss’d with silver; the vest not much different from what our Bachelors of Arts weare in Oxford, and a hood of cloth made like a sack, cast over their left shoulder, and a round cloth black cap fring’d with wool which is not so comely; they also weare their collar open to shew the diamond buttons of the stock of their shirt. I have never seene pearles for colour and bignesse comparable to what the lady’s wear, most of the noble families being very rich in jewells, especially pearles.

JOHN EVELYN.

THE VENICE OF CARLO GOLDONI

A PRINCE AMONG WRITERS OF COMEDY

I was born at Venice, in the year 1707, in a large and beautiful house between the bridges of _Nomboli_ and _Donna Onesta_, at the corner of the street _Cà cent’anni_, in the parish of St. Thomas. Julius Goldoni, my father, was born in the same city; but all his family were of Modena.

Venice is so extraordinary a city, that it is impossible to form a correct idea of it without seeing it. Maps, plans, models, and descriptions, are insufficient; it must be seen. All other cities bear more or less resemblance to one another, but Venice resembles none; and every time I have seen it after a long absence, it has been a new subject of astonishment and surprise for me. As I advanced in years, and my knowledge increased and furnished me with more numerous objects of comparison, I ever discovered new singularities and new beauties in it.

But I then saw it as a youth of fifteen, who could not be supposed to be struck with what in reality was the most remarkable, and who could only compare it with the small towns which he had lived in. What I was most astonished at was the surprising view which it presents on a first approach. On seeing the extent of small islands so close together and so admirably connected by bridges, we imagine we behold a continent elevated on a plain, and washed on every side by an immense sea which surrounds it.

This is not the sea, but a very extensive marsh more or less covered with water, at the mouth of several ports, with deep canals which admit large and small vessels into the town and its environs. If you enter by the quarter of St. Mark through a prodigious quantity of vessels of every description, ships of war, merchantmen, frigates, galleys, barks, boats, and gondolas, you land at the Piazzetta where in one direction you see the palace and the ducal church, which announce the magnificence of the republic, and in another, the place or square of St. Mark, surrounded with porticos from designs by Palladio and Sansovino.

In going through the streets where haberdashery goods are sold, you tread on flags of Istrian marble, carefully roughened by the chisel to prevent them being slippery. The whole quarter is a perpetual fair till you arrive at the bridge of a single arch, ninety feet in breadth, over the great canal, which, from its elevation, allows the passage of barques and boats in the highest tides, which offer three different roads to passengers, and which upholds twenty-four ships with lodgings, the roofs of which are covered with lead....

In Italy, their places of public amusement are called theatres. There are seven in Venice, each bearing the name of the titular church of its parish. The theatre of St. John Chrysostom was then the first in the town, where the grand operas were represented, where Metastasio opened his dramatical, and Farinello, Faustine, and Cozzoni their musical career. At present, the theatre of St. Benedict is highest in rank. The five other are St. Samuel, St. Luke, St. Angelo, St. Cassian, and St. Moses. Of these seven, two generally are dedicated to grand operas, two to comic operas, and three to plays.... There are none of them which have not had works of mine, and which have not contributed both to my honour and profit.

CARLO GOLDONI (1707-1793).

THE ROMANCE OF VENICE

If Cupid have not spent all his quiver in Venice. SHAKESPEARE.

AT VENICE

So now she stands by Glory’s great sea-grave And has the first fair vision of that shrine Where it lies sainted with its smile divine, Rubied in sunset, em’ralded in wave; Where the stones whisper of the masques they gave Of argosy and pageant, line on line; Till we are drunk with splendour as with wine In that broad street which molten beryls pave.

I wonder if she thinks of me at whiles, Or only of the dim Byzantine gold And time-stained fronts, and seaweed-covered piles? And if a corner of her heart doth hold Something besides a dream of the crowned isles That ruled the sunrise and its waves of old?

EUGENE LEE-HAMILTON.

THE GOLDEN BOOK OF VENICE

The Golden Book[5] Is now unwritten in, and stands unmoved, Save when the curious traveller takes down A random volume, from the dusty shelf, To trace the progress of a bruited name; The Bucentaur Is shattered, and of its resplendent form There is no remnant, but some splintered morsel, Which in his cabin, as a talisman Mournfully hangs the pious gondolier; The Adrian sea Will never have a Doge to marry more,-- The meagre favours of a foreign lord Can hardly lead some score of humble craft With vilest merchandise into the port That whilom held the wealth of half a world. Thy palaces Are bartered to the careful Israelite,-- Or left to perish, stone by stone, worn down In desolation, solemn skeletons, Whose nakedness some tufts of pitying grass, Or green boughs trembling o’er the tumbling wall, Adorn but hide not. And are these things true. Miraculous Venice? Is the charm then past Away from thee? Is all thy work fulfilled Of power and beauty? Art thou gathered To the dead cities? Is thy ministry Made up, and folded in the hand of Thought? Ask him who knows the meaning and the truth Of all existence;--ask the poet’s heart: The Book has no dead tome for him,--for him Within St. Mark’s emblazoned porticoes Thy old nobility are walking still; The lowliest gondola upon thy waters Is worth to him thy decorated galley; He never looks upon the Adrian sea But as thy lawful tho’ too faithless spouse; And when, in the sad lustre of the moon, Thy palaces seem beautifully wan, He blesses God that there is left on earth So marvellous, so full an antidote, For all the racks and toils of mortal life, As thy sweet countenance to gaze upon.

RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES.

[5] Il Libro d’Oro, the Venetian Peerage.

TO AN OLD VENETIAN WINEGLASS

ROSE-COLOURED AT THE BRIM

Daughter of Venice, fairer than the moon! From thy dark casement leaning, half divine, And to the lutes of love that low repine Across the midnight of the hushed lagoon, Listening with languor in a dreamful swoon-- On such a night as this thou didst entwine Thy lily fingers round this glass of wine,-- Didst clasp thy climbing lover--none too soon! Thy lover left, but ere he left thy room From this he drank, his warm lips at the brim; Thou kissed it as he vanished in the gloom, That kiss, because of thy true love for him-- Long, long ago when thou wast in thy bloom-- Hath left it ever rosy round the rim!

LLOYD MIFFLIN.

DANTE AT THE ARSENAL AT VENICE

From bridge to bridge thus, speaking other things Of which my Comedy cares not to sing, We came along, and held the summit, when We halted to behold another fissure Of Malebolge and other vain laments; And I beheld it marvellously dark.

As in the Arsenal of the Venetians Boils in the winter the tenacious pitch To smear their unsound vessels o’er again, For sail they cannot; and instead thereof One makes his vessel new, and one recaulks The ribs of that which many a voyage has made;

One hammers at the prow, one at the stern, This one makes oars, and that one cordage twists, Another mends the mainsail and the mizzen; Thus, not by fire, but by the art divine, Was boiling down below there a dense pitch Which upon every side the bank belimed.

I saw it, but I did not see within it Aught but the bubbles that the boiling raised, And all swell up and resubside compressed. The while below there fixedly I gazed, My Leader, crying out: ‘Beware, beware!’ Drew me unto himself from where I stood.

Then I turned round, as one who is impatient To see what it behoves him to escape, And whom a sudden terror doth unman, Who, while he looks, delays not his departure; And I beheld behind us a black devil, Running along upon the crag, approach.

Ah, how ferocious was he in his aspect! And how he seemed to me in action ruthless, With open wings and light upon his feet! His shoulders, which sharp-pointed were and high, A sinner did encumber with both haunches, And he held clutched the sinews of the feet.

_‘INFERNO’ (LONGFELLOW’S TRANSLATION)._

MENDELSSOHN AT VENICE

VENICE, _October 10, 1830_.

Italy at last! and what I have all my life looked forward to as the greatest possible felicity is now begun, and I am basking in it. The day has been so fruitful in enjoyment that I must, now that it is evening, endeavour to collect my thoughts a little to write to you, my dear parents, and to thank you for having bestowed such happiness on me.... I shall, however, become quite bewildered, if things are to go on as they have done on this first day, when every hour brought with it so much never to be forgotten, that I do not know where to find senses sufficient to comprehend it all properly. I saw the ‘Assumption,’ then a whole gallery of paintings in the Manfrini Palace; then a festival in the church where hangs Titian’s ‘St. Peter’; afterwards St. Mark’s, and in the afternoon I had a row on the Adriatic, and visited the public gardens, where the people lie on the grass and eat. I then returned to the Piazza of St. Mark, where in the twilight there is always an immense crowd and crush of people; and all this I was obliged to see to-day, because there is so much that is novel and interesting to be seen to-morrow.

But I must now relate methodically how I came hither by water.... In Treviso there was an illumination, paper lanterns suspended in every part of the great square, and a large gaudy transparency in the centre. Some most lovely girls were walking about, in their long white veils and scarlet petticoats. It was quite dark when we arrived at Mestre last night, when we got into a boat, and in a dead calm gently rowed across to Venice. On our passage thither, where nothing but water is to be seen, and distant lights, we saw a small rock which stands in the midst of the sea; on this a lamp was burning; all the sailors took off their hats as we passed, and one of them said, this was the ‘Madonna of Tempests,’ which are often most dangerous and violent here. We then glided quietly into the great city, under innumerable bridges, without sound of post-horns, or rattling of wheels, or tollkeepers; the passage now became more thronged, and numbers of ships lying near; past the theatre, where gondolas in long rows lie waiting for their masters, just as our own carriages do at home, then into the great canal, past the church of St. Mark, the Lions, the palace of the Doges, and the Bridge of Sighs. The obscurity of night only enhanced my delight on hearing the familiar names and seeing the dark outlines.

And so I am actually in Venice! Only think: to-day I have gazed upon the finest pictures in the world, and have at last personally made the acquaintance of a very admirable man, whom hitherto I only knew by name--I allude to a certain Signor Giorgione, a splendid fellow--and also to Pardenone, who displays the most noble pictures, and portrays both himself and many of his simple scholars, in such a devout, faithful, and pious spirit, that you seem to converse with and grow fond of him. Who would not have been confused by all this? But if I am to speak of Titian, I must do so in a more reverent mood. Till now, I never knew that he was the felicitous artist I have this day seen him to be. That he thoroughly enjoyed life, in all its beauty and fulness, the picture in Paris proves; but he has fathomed the depths of human sorrow, as well as the joys of Heaven. His glorious ‘Entombment,’ and also the ‘Assumption,’ fully evince this. How Mary floats on the cloud, while an actual _air_ seems to pervade the whole picture; how you see at a glance her very breathing, her awe, her devotion, and in short a thousand feelings,--all words seem poor and commonplace in comparison. The three heads of angels too, on the right of the picture, are of the highest order of beauty,--pure, serene loveliness, so unconscious, so bright and so seraphic. But no more of this! or I must perforce become poetical, if I be not so already, and that is a mood which does not at all suit me. I shall certainly see that picture every day.... What a man that Titian was! Everyone must be edified by his works, as I shall try to be, and I rejoice that I am in Italy. At this moment the gondoliers are shouting to each other, and the lights are reflected in the depths of the waters; one man is playing a guitar, and singing to it. It is a charming night. Farewell! and think of me in every happy hour as I do of you.--FELIX.

FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.

SHELLEY IN VENICE

WRITTEN TO MARY SHELLEY

We shall travel hence within a few hours, with the speed of the post.... We have now got a comfortable carriage, and two mules, and, thanks to Paolo, have made a very decent bargain, comprising everything to Padua. I should say we had delightful fruit for breakfast, figs, very fine, and peaches, unfortunately gathered before they were ripe, whose smell was like what one fancies of the wakening of Paradise flowers.... I came from Padua [to Venice] in a gondola, and the gondolier, among other things, without any hint on my part, began talking of Lord Byron. He said he was a _giovinotto Inglese_, with a _nome stravagante_, who lived very luxuriously, and spent great sums of money. This man, it seems, was one of Lord B.’s gondoliers.... These gondolas are the most beautiful and convenient boats in the world. They are finely carpeted and furnished with black, and painted black. The couches on which you lean are extraordinarily soft, and are so disposed as to be the most comfortable to those who lean or sit. The windows have at will either Venetian plate-glass flowered, or Venetian blinds, or blinds of black cloth to shut out the light.... I called on Lord Byron: he was delighted to see me. He took me in his gondola across the lagoon to a long sandy island, which defends Venice from the Adriatic. When we disembarked, we found his horses waiting for us, and we rode along the sands of the sea, talking. Our conversation consisted in histories of his wounded feelings, and questions as to my affairs, and great professions of friendship and regard for me.

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

THE VENETIAN SERENADE

When along the light ripple the far serenade Has accosted the ear of each passionate maid, She may open the window that looks on the stream,-- She may smile on her pillow and blend it in dream; Half in words, half in music, it pierces the gloom, ‘I am coming--Stalì--but you know not for whom, Stalì--not for whom!’

Now the tones become clearer,--you hear more and more How the waters divided return on the oar,-- Does the prow of the gondola strike on the stair? Do the voices and instruments pause and prepare? Oh! they faint on the ear as the lamp on the view, ‘I am passing--Premì--but I stay not for you! Premì--not for you!’

Then return to your couch, you who stifle a tear,-- Then awake not, fair sleeper--believe he is here; For the young and the loving no sorrow endures, If to-day be another’s, to-morrow is yours;-- May, the next time you listen, your fancy be true, ‘I am coming--Sciàr--and for you and to you! Sciàr--and to you!’

RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES.

FAREWELL TO VENICE

If I had been an unconnected man, I, from this moment, should have formed some plan Never to leave sweet Venice: for to me It was delight to ride by the lone sea: And then the town is silent--one may write, Or read in gondolas by day or night, Having the little brazen lamp alight, Unseen, uninterrupted:--books are there, Pictures, and casts from all those statues fair Which were twin-born with poetry;--and all We seek in towns, with little to recall Regret for the green country.... But I had friends in London too.... --The following morning, urged by my affairs, I left bright Venice.

PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.

INDEX OF AUTHORS

Albini, Enrico, 341

Aldersey, Laurence, 353

Andersen, Hans, 17, 67, 237, 266

Anon., 135

Ashley, J., 362

Beaconsfield, Lord, 99, 131, 235, 305

Beckford, William, 72, 214, 228

Bell, Mackenzie, 224

Bowles, Fred. G., 339

Braddon, M. E., 2, 262

Brooke, Stopford A., 90, 186, 197, 309, 311

Brown, Horatio F., 76, 108

Browning, Robert, 121, 136, 190

Byron, Lord, 19, 108, 119, 145, 232, 260, 313

Carpenter, J. E., 29

Casola, Canon Pietro, 348

Clough, Arthur Hugh, 148, 304, 315

Coryat, Thomas, 23, 62, 171, 263, 291

Crawford, Francis Marion, 3, 304, 341

D’Annunzio, Gabriele, 134, 333, 344

Dante, 375

Dickens, Charles, 239

D’Israeli, Isaac, 162

Duclaux, Madame, 315

Eden, F., 233

Eliot, George, 57

Evelyn, John, 232, 296, 367

Goethe, 134, 149, 206, 364

Goldoni, Carlo, 368

Gray, David, 14

Harrington, John, 66

Hemans, Mrs., 35, 38, 153

Henderson, May Sturge, 108, 109, 111

Houghton, Lord (Richard Monckton Milnes), 5, 52, 134, 146, 212, 220, 290, 373, 380

Howell, James, 39, 62, 177, 185

Howells, W. D., 96, 221, 325

Hunt, Leigh, 234

James, Henry, 322

Jameson, Mrs., 299

Johnson, R. U., 55

Landor, Walter Savage, 2

Lee, Vernon, 256, 301, 340

Lee-Hamilton, Eugene, 373

Lewkenor, Sir Lewes, 355

Lindsay, Lady, 108, 110, 337

Longfellow, H. W., 9, 375

Lowell, James Russell, 255

Machiavelli, Niccolo, 345

Mackay, Charles, 344

Mendelssohn, 376

Meredith, Owen, 113

Mifflin, Lloyd, 53, 237, 284, 375

Milnes, Richard Monckton. See _Houghton, Lord_

Molmenti, Pompeo, 279

Montagu, Lady M. W., 271

Moore, Thomas, 211, 224

Morandi, Cesare, 131

Moryson, Fynes, 357

Moulton, Louise Chandler, 2, 10, 276

Musset, Alfred de, 46, 209

Negri, Antonio, 116

Newett, B.A., Margaret, 348

Oliphant, Mrs., 7

Ouida, 2, 188, 338

Pinkerton, Percy, 198, 208, 284, 310, 331

Piozzi, Mrs., 37, 165

Radcliffe, Mrs., 103

Reade, Charles, 48

Ritchie, Lady (Thackeray, Anne), 120, 226

Robinson, A. Mary F., 315

Rogers, Samuel, 30, 151

Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, 280

Ruskin, John, 77, 78, 128, 154, 172, 180, 209, 226, 281, 288, 330, 344

Sand, George, 33, 66, 158, 159, 166, 270, 278, 304, 323, 326

Sandys, George, 363

Schiller, 170

Sélincourt, Beryl de, 108, 109, 111

Shakespeare, 2, 372

Shelley, P. B., 69, 91, 379, 381

Spencer, Edw., 66, 357

Sullivan, Alan, 56

Swift, Baroness, 116

Symons, Arthur, 114, 126, 134, 316, 317, 320

Symonds, John Addington, 2, 74, 144, 193, 198, 202, 247, 278, 318

Thackeray, Anne. See _Ritchie, Lady_

Trollope, T. Adolphus, 249

Vacaresco, Hélène, 339

Vasari, 285

Wordsworth, William, 363, 366

Yriarte, Charles, 66, 116, 123, 129, 134, 227, 306

TABLE OF CONTENTS

TITLE SOURCE OF EXTRACT AUTHOR PAGE

Addressed to Venice ‘Sonnets’ _J. Ashley_ 362

A Dream in a Gondola ‘Memorials of a _Richard Monckton Residence on Milnes_ (_Lord the Continent’ Houghton_) 146

A First Impression in Venice ‘The Improvisatore’ _Hans Andersen_ 237

A Gondolier of Chioggia ‘La Denière Aldini’ _George Sand_ 166

À la Zuecca ‘Poems’ _Alfred de Musset_ 209

All Souls’ Day at Venice ‘The Enchanted Woods’ _Vernon Lee_ 340

An Improvisatore ‘The Improvisatore’ _Hans Andersen_ 266

An Island Visit ‘Italy’ _William Beckford_ 214

A Peerless City ‘The Cloister and the Hearth’ _Charles Reade_ 48

A Pilgrim’s Description of Venice ‘A Pilgrimage to _Canon Pietro Casola_ Jerusalem in (_translated by the Year 1494’ Margaret M. Newett, B.A._) 348

April in Venice ‘Lettres d’un Voyageur’ _George Sand_ 326

A Reverie in Venice ‘Childe Harold’ _Lord Byron_ 19

A Rialto Scene ‘Venise’ _Charles Yriarte_ 227

A Sea-View ‘Poems’ _Antonio Negri_ 116

A Toccata of Galuppi’s ‘Poems’ _Robert Browning_ 190