latter was very stupid, and I was very much pleased to find the Italians
can go to sleep at it, as well as the English. The comedy is a good
school of language. You pay about sevenpence for entrance into the
house, but if you wish to obtain a seat in a box, you must pay for the
whole box. At Venice, at one theatre you pay sixty-six centimes for
admittance. At another the price is fifty centimes, but you are to give
fifteen more for a seat. The opera here (at the Mosè) is sixty-six
centimes for admittance, and ten, or sometimes twenty more, for a seat.
At the Mosè I found a notice posted up at the door, forbidding all
expression of disapprobation. It seems that a favourite actress of the
governor did something to displease the public, and in consequence was
so hissed that she could not be heard: an order was issued to prohibit
hissing, but stamping with the feet was found to answer the purpose just
as well. Then appeared the order, which still remains, and as the
audience could no longer disapprove, they had recourse to applauses, and
at last fairly got the victory, and drove her off the stage. In most of
the Italian theatres the seats in the pit are divided, so that you are
certain of not being crowded; and in many of them they are numbered
also, and you sit according to the number; and as in France, there are
always soldiers placed to preserve order. At Milan, the pit is flat, not
rising as it recedes from the stage; but on the other hand, in some
theatres, the centre boxes are higher than those on the sides. One of
the pieces I have seen represents Harlequin in Paris and in London. I
suppose we borrowed Harlequin from Italy, but he has been strangely
transformed on the passage. The original has indeed the checkered dress
and the wooden sword, but every thing else is different. He is a poor
simple clown, generally the gull of some cheat, continually making
blunders, but mixing with his blunders and simplicity a sort of
cross-purpose wit. He borders upon the pot-bellied, has no activity, no
transformations, no magical powers, and his clumsy wooden sword is
entirely without flexibility. Columbine is also a country lass. In the
piece which I have just mentioned, it is not Harlequin which interests
us, but the Italian notion of the character and manners of the French
and English. At Paris, encouraged by the freedom of manners in the
females, he attempts to be very gallant, and makes love to various
ladies. At last one of them gives him a very good lesson, and tells him,
that because they are free, they are supposed to be vicious, but that it
is unfair to judge of the morals of one country by the comparison of
their manners with those of another nation, and that he will find as
much virtue and constancy at Paris as elsewhere. An Englishman is
introduced at Paris, dressed in a sort of great coat, with the ends of
his neckcloth hanging down to his waist. I fancy this is some old
standard of the Italian stage, for the other Englishmen are much more
correct. Afterwards we find ourselves in an English coffee-house, and
this to be sure is a magnificent room. One Englishman comes in after
another, each calling out in one word for what he wants, and this is
mostly _birra_. In many parts of Italy, bottled beer is very much drunk
in the coffee-houses, and as England is famous for beer, they naturally
suppose that we do the same in a much higher degree. This is not half so
ridiculous as a scene in one of Goldoni’s plays, where he introduces an
Englishman paying attentions to an agreeable Italian lady, till a silent
countrywoman of his own appears. Nothing will induce her to speak a
single word; but she merely expresses by signs her assent and dissent.
The Englishman is quite enchanted, and as it is morning, is anxious to
get something for her breakfast; will she have beer? No; tea? No; punch?
The lady nods assent. But once more to our Harlequin, who soon makes his
appearance in this English coffee-house, and attempts to converse first
with one, and then with another, but is answered by frowns and threats;
the latter consisting of pointing alternately to a stick and to his
back, for not a word is uttered except by Harlequin himself. Some ladies
enter; every body rises in silence to offer them the best seats; and
Harlequin, attempting to get acquainted with them, gets actually beaten
by the gentlemen. In spite of the gross mistakes and caricatures, there
was enough of truth to make the representation very amusing.
The old Italian comedy had four masks; Harlequin, who was originally of
Bergamo, but who now speaks Venetian; Brigella, more knave than fool; a
blustering Bolognese doctor; and a Neapolitan. The outline of the story
was given them, what they had to do was written down, not what they were
to say. This seems quite gone by, and though the masks are very
frequently introduced, and something is left to the wit and ingenuity of
the actors, yet I believe the dialogue is now always prepared for them.
By arriving in the dark, I lost the distant view of Venice, but I am
informed by my companions here, that it presents merely one line of
building, without any prominent object, and consequently is not fine. I
shall not pretend to carry you in detail through all the architecture of
this singular place; and as for paintings, it is a subject on which I
dare not venture. A great many bad engravings of bad views in Venice are
to be met with all over Europe, which to me, now that I have seen the
objects, speak an intelligible language, but from which otherwise, I
could form no idea of the beauty of the churches and palaces, of the
whimsical architecture frequently displayed in them, or of the
magnificent effect of the whole. I will endeavour to analyze a few of
the leading objects. The morning after my arrival I repaired to the
Place of St. Mark, which I entered by a sudden turn under some arcades,
and on the first burst, it appeared to me the most magnificent thing I
had ever seen. Had I been suddenly transported there from some distant
place, I should have known at once where I was, from the views I had
seen of it. The strange looking church, and the great ugly Campanile
could not be mistaken; but although I had an idea of the architecture, I
had none of the effect. The Place of St. Mark is a well proportioned
avenue to a great building, which is of sufficient consequence, both by
its size, and the richness of its decoration, to merit such an avenue.
This seems to me the great outline of the composition, and that to which
it very much owes its impressive character. Round three sides of this
place are deep arcades. The faces of the houses above the arches, are
all of stone, and enriched with a good deal of ornament; nothing looks
poor or neglected. The architecture of these parts is rich, but not
correct; and bears perhaps the stamp of riches and power, more than that
of good taste; yet that of one side is very handsome, even considered
alone. Each side is uniform in itself, though not similar to the other,
and each is continued in one unbroken line: had they been composed of a
centre and wings, they would have distracted the attention by forming
each a separate composition; as it is, they unite with the objects at
the end to form one whole.
The objects are three, the Orologio, the Campanile, and the church of
St. Mark, to which the two former seem appendages. There is also another
great building, the Ducal Palace, but this hardly comes into the view;
and there are three tall red poles looking like masts of ships,
supported on handsome bases of bronze, or perhaps more like long red
tapers, fixed into very large, but low candlesticks, if you can but
magnify your images sufficiently. They are emblematical of the three
kingdoms of Cyprus, Candia, and the Morea, once subject to Venice; and
on feast days support large flags. Singly, they are certainly not
beautiful, but I think they add to the general splendour of the scene.
The Orologio, or clock-tower, forms the termination of the left hand
side, and rises above it, but not above the church. It is not good in
itself, and I think contributes nothing to the whole effect. I do not
say this of the Campanile, though it is merely a great square tower,
above 300 feet high, terminated by a pyramid, and having no intrinsic
beauty. Its power of pleasing is owing to the strong contrast it
affords, running up so high upon a narrow base, to the long continued
horizontal lines of the Place, and to the lumpy forms of the cathedral.
The exterior of this church surprises you by its extreme ugliness, more
than by any thing else. It is of two perfectly distinct styles. The
lower belongs to that degraded Roman which we call Norman, adorned with
numerous little columns, and abounding in ornament; but the ornaments
are merely such; neither forming, nor interrupting the lines of the
architecture, but entirely subordinate to them. On the contrary, the
finishings of the upper parts are of the Italian Gothic of the fifteenth
century, much resembling in form our own ornamental architecture in the
early part of that period, but without its lightness; and the
enrichments are excessively heavy and overcharged, so that the
architecture seems made for them, rather than they for the building. A
number of figures start up among the terminating pinnacles. Still then
the magnificence is produced by the exhibition of riches and power, and
not by just proportion in the different parts; and this sentiment is
increased upon a nearer approach, when we contemplate the multitude of
columns of porphyry, verd antique, and other precious materials, the
profusely ornamented capitals, and the rich mosaics on a gold ground,
which decorate even the external arches.
This building was founded in 977, under the direction of architects from
Constantinople. There is a story that the principal architect was
directed to make the most beautiful church possible, and was put to
death afterwards, on boasting that he could have made one more perfect;
but this tale is told of several buildings. The naked construction,
which it seems is of brick, was finished in 1071, but some walls and
columns of an old church founded in 831, were left standing. A public
order was given, that every ship coming from the Levant should transport
the most beautiful marble to be found in those parts, in order to
embellish the building, without any regard to the expense. In 1072, the
doge, Domenico Selvo, incrusted it with marble, and probably began the
pavement, but the edifice was not consecrated till 1111. In 1455, the
council authorized the procurators of St. Mark to make use of the stones
and columns of the ruined church of St. Andrea de Aimanis; this
indicates that considerable works were then going on at St. Mark, and
probably points out the time of the upper finishings; for it is
remarkable, that though a great deal has been published on the subject,
no direct notice is taken of these additions. There are many other
edifices in Venice which exhibit precisely the same style of
architecture, and were built about that period. The bronze horses and
_other precious ornaments_, were brought from Constantinople in 1204.
The front is 170 English feet wide, and 72 high, without the figures.
The nave is 245 feet long; the transept 201; the middle dome internally
90 feet high, the others 80.
I now return to my description of the outside. In the lower part of the
front are five recessed doorways, each adorned with two stories of
little columns, which are mostly gouty and ill made. Some of these
columns are of their original length, and exhibit the ancient necking
and fillet at the base; others have been shortened. A most curious work
might be formed by an analysis of the various fragments of which this
church is composed; but it would take months to unravel all its
intricacies. The capitals are almost all different, all in bad taste,
and disproportioned to the columns; varying not so much in height as in
diameter, some being too large, and others as much too little. As the
columns were the spoils of Constantinople and the Levant, and perhaps in
great measure also of Aquileia and Altino, one might imagine the
capitals also to have belonged to ancient edifices at the same places;
did not a certain rudeness both of design and execution, which prevails
in all of them, shew them to be productions of the middle ages, or at
least of the lower empire. I was disappointed in finding no good ones
among all this number, and all this variety. It is true they are not
equally bad, and some are doubtless the spoils of older buildings; yet
if we reject all which have this appearance, and only compare those,
which from a certain similarity of design, appear to have been made for
the present edifice; we shall find the extreme of disproportion both
ways remaining as strongly marked as ever. Many peculiarities of what
has been called (improperly enough) the Lombard style of architecture,
which is twin-sister with our Norman, might be traced to this building,
and probably through it to Constantinople; yet this is only in some of
the subordinate parts. The general style and character of the
architecture is, and always must have been, perfectly distinct from the
Lombard, which was formed certainly before the completion, and in part
before the commencement of the present edifice; nor does the erection of
this church appear to have produced any impression upon the taste of the
country; for the Lombard pointed style, which began probably early in
the twelfth century, is more widely different from the architecture of
this building, than the fashion with semicircular arches, which preceded
it. The front, and indeed the whole atrium, or external gallery in
front, and on the side of the nave, is supposed to be of a design
somewhat later than the body of the building; yet we cannot place them
later than 1072, when they began to encrust the whole with marble. In
some parts of this gallery, and in the sacristy, we meet with obtusely
pointed arches; and what is more remarkable, there are compound arches
with the reversed curve over three of the front doorways; and from the
appearance of the workmanship, from the character of the parts connected
with it, and from the sculpture with which they are ornamented, I am
almost induced to believe, that they are component parts of the original
structure.
[Illustration:
Hawksworth, Sculp.
WINDOW OF THE CATHEDRAL OF S^T. MARK AT VENICE.
_London. Published by J&A Arch. Cornhill. March 1^{st}. 1828_]
Over these five front recesses is a gallery, in the centre of which are
now replaced the famous bronze horses of Lysippus. Just behind them is a
great circular window, which was once highly decorated, but all the
ornament has been taken out, in order, I suppose, to throw more light
into the church, for the ornamented windows still remaining give very
little. I send you a sketch of one of the side ones, where the original
disposition is sufficiently clear, and great part of it perfect. It is
rather against my theory, that the lower part of this is filled up, but
the window is in a position from which a strong light could not in any
case, be cast into the church. The two small square divisions within the
arch, which are now entirely open, appear to have been originally filled
up with basket-work like the rest. In the upright parts of the recess,
there is at present no opening; but slabs of marble, between small
mouldings, fill them up entirely; I rather suspect, however, that these
have been added to the original design. The capitals of the little
columns dividing the window, are as varied and as whimsical as those of
the doorways below, some of them are completely baskets in stone, while
some of the bases have the character and mouldings of capitals reversed.
[Illustration: Illustration of column capital]
Can I let you enter without saying one word of those enormous, ugly
ill-shaped domes, which crown the building? Such as they are, beauty,
not use is their object; for there is a wide space between them and the
internal domes. They are covered with lead, and entirely without
ornament; surmounted by little lanterns with lead-covered cupolas
contracted at the base, and brought out to a point at the summit.
On passing the bronze doors, we find first, a spacious portal occupying
the whole width of the front, and returning on each side like the
portico of a peripteral temple, as far as the transept. It is vaulted
with obtusely pointed arches, seemingly composed of two circular curves,
the centres of which are little distant from each other, and the point
of which is cut off by the key-stone; but as the whole vault is covered
with mosaics, the exact form is not distinguishable with certainty. The
ground of all these mosaics is formed of pieces of gilt glass; the
figures are of coloured glass and composition, and some of them, which
are executed from the designs of Titian, and Paolo Veronese, are really
very beautiful; the sober reflected light which they receive, not
permitting the splendid ground to be glaring. This vaulting on the side
next the church, rests on columns, whose capitals offer some singular
imitations of the Ionic order. The portal is also adorned with eight
columns of oriental black and white marble, which have capitals of
Istrian stone, (a sort of imperfect marble, or hard limestone) with a
whimsical composition of birds and arabesques, and support nothing.
These are said to have been part of Solomon’s temple, and the
singularity of the capitals is appealed to by the Venetians as a proof
of the truth of the tradition; not reflecting, that the nature of the
material decidedly contradicts it. The shafts, like so many others, were
probably brought from the Levant, possibly from Jerusalem, and that is
the utmost extent of rational belief.
On entering the body of the church, the display of riches is still more
striking; the vaulting and great part of the walls are covered with
mosaic, and the rest with rich marbles; the columns of porphyry, verd
antique, and Oriental and African marbles; the pavement of minute
pieces, of white and coloured marbles, jasper, agate, lapis lazuli, &c.
variously and for the most part beautifully disposed; the inlaid
ornaments and gilded capitals, produce a degree of astonishment and
admiration in the mind of the spectator. The gilding on a fine day is
rather glaring, but this is owing to the alteration which has been made
in the ancient windows, in order to obtain more light. The change is
certainly injurious to the general effect, though some parts of the
building are still abundantly gloomy. The plan is a Greek cross, with a
dome over each of the five parts, and a circular recess at the end. Two
of these domes (those of the nave and intersection) are larger than the
other three, but each part seems intended in itself to present the idea
of a Greek cross, the lateral parts being rather the arms of these
secondary crosses, than continued side aisles. Neither are they kept
subordinate in height to the principal avenue which connects the domes,
but are merely separated from it by a screen of columns sustaining
arches, with an open gallery above them. These columns have capitals of
different forms, but all approaching to the Corinthian, and with at
least one row of leaves, and all have a double abacus. The capital,
including the lower abacus, is gilt, while the upper abacus has a
painted or mosaic ornament. The lower parts shew themselves to be of
white marble; a sort of warm brown coating attributed to the dampness of
the situation, which elsewhere covers that material, being here rubbed
off. The columns against the wall have in general a sort of capital
which may be traced perhaps to the Ionic, but with an immense clumsy
abacus. Those which support the
[Illustration: Illustration of capital]
canopy over the altar, are of white marble or alabaster. They were
divided in height into nine bands; the circumference of each band
exhibits nine arches, supported on Corinthian columns, and a figure of
rude workmanship under each arch. There are multitudes of other little
particulars in this church, which are interesting to an observer on the
spot, but would hardly be so to you who have never seen the edifice.
If, on entering the Place of St. Mark, under the arcades, where once
stood the church of St. Geminiani, you keep to the left, and walk under
the arcade on the northern side, you gradually obtain a view of the
Ducal Palace. Another great edifice thus opening upon you, stimulates
the imagination and enhances the beauty of this square. Still farther,
you catch a view of the great harbour, and some of the fine buildings
around it, which still increases the variety of the scene, without
destroying its unity; and strengthens the sentiment. The Ducal Palace is
even more ugly than any thing I have previously mentioned; it offers a
double range of comparatively small arches, supporting a great wall with
a few large windows in it. Considered in detail, I can imagine no
alteration to make it tolerable, but if this lofty wall had been set
back behind the two stories of little arches, instead of standing upon
them, it would have been a very noble production. To recapitulate then,
the leading points of my observations on this famous Place, its effect
is produced by the impression of power and riches everywhere displayed,
and by a certain justness of proportion (the result of accident, not of
design) in the great masses, and this greatly heightened by the variety
of scenery it displays. Take away the appearance of riches and power,
and nothing remains; take away the justness of proportion, and you would
have nothing that pleases. The union of the two is necessary to produce
the impression which every body feels, and nobody can tell why. Some
persons are of opinion that irregularity is a necessary part of its
excellence. I am decidedly of a contrary sentiment, and am convinced
that a regular design of the same sort would be far superior. Let an
oblong of good architecture, but not very showy, conduct to a fine
cathedral which should appear between two lofty towers, and have two
obelisks in front; and on each side of the cathedral, let other squares
partially open into the first, and one of these extend down to a
harbour, or the sea-shore, and you would have a scene which might
challenge any thing in existence. I would not carry my symmetry so far
as to make these two subsidiary squares alike; they never come into one
view, and for the sake of variety it is better that they should be
different.
After St. Mark’s Place, and in some respects even superior to it, the
scenery which most demands admiration is that of the harbour, and of the
canal of the Giudecca, which is a continuation of it. This affords a
succession of great objects, and of some individually very fine ones; as
the Zecca, the Prigione, the church of St. George, and that of the
Redentore. Other buildings not so good in themselves, yet by their mass
and character, have an importance which adds greatly to the magnificence
of the Place. Such are the Ducal Palace, and the church of Sta. Maria di
Salute. In what does this character consist? I should answer that it
arose from the expression of unity of design, combined with considerable
size. The Ducal Palace, with all its defects, has not that of being
frittered into a number of small parts, into wings, pavillions, and
corps de logis. It is evidently one great public building; and a large
church, especially a church with a dome, must be very badly managed not
to have that appearance. The irregular winding of the canal of the
Giudecca presents these objects in different points of view, while it
always offers in itself, a fine expanse of water. In a straight street
or canal, when the parts are large and well disposed, a more magnificent
effect is produced, than it is perhaps possible to obtain by curved
lines; but if the artist fail in this one point, nothing remains. Among
the numerous combinations arising from irregular forms, it is hardly
possible that there should not be some good ones, and perhaps the
variety and succession of scenery thus displayed, is well worth the
happiest effort of magnificence produced by straight lines, and may
even, by the reiterated impression, produce upon the whole a sentiment
of still greater sublimity. After the canal of the Giudecca, comes the
great canal, which however is comparatively very small, though large in
relation to the little _Rios_ which divide Venice into a thousand
islets. It winds like an S, and may vary from about 100 to 160 or 180
feet in width, and the number of fine houses which come successively
into view, and the combinations they display with the smaller buildings,
form a continued source of interest and pleasure. Few of these palaces
are of good architecture, some of very bad; others are whimsical, but
present among their strange forms many happy ideas. One very prevailing
taste, has been to put several windows very near together in the centre,
while those of the sides are wide apart. Sir J. E. Smith complains that
it cuts the building into two, and it does so when adopted in every
story, but in the best examples this arrangement is only followed in the
principal, or at most in the two principal floors, leaving greater
repose and plainness to the basement and upper story, and the effect is
then very pleasing. In the earlier examples of this sort, the windows
are Gothic-headed, and frequently trefoiled. The architects immediately
before Sansovino made them round-headed, and introduced a little more of
Roman architecture in the details, without altering the general
disposition; and Sansovino himself frequently exhibits traces of this
taste. The fashion seems to have prevailed all through the Venetian
states, and in its earlier forms, Verona exhibits better specimens than
Venice itself. The architects of that period did not confine themselves
to one disposition, but endeavoured sometimes to produce the appearance
of a centre, by other arrangements of the windows, but still without
making any break in the wall. Whatever the architecture of these
Venetian palaces may be, their size and number produce a great show of
magnificence. Venice appears the residence of princes. It must be
confessed that in their present state, they seem to be the dwellings of
poor princes, but perhaps the ideas of wealth and power which no longer
exist, are not less interesting than those of present prosperity. They
are indeed of a very different sort, but they harmonize better with the
fallen state of Venice; fallen probably to rise no more; for the
Austrian government bestows its favour on other ports; and amidst the
political revolutions with which Europe is still menaced, one can hardly
imagine one which would restore her power and consequence to Venice.
[Illustration: SKETCH OF A HOUSE AT VERONA.]
LETTER XIX.
VENICE.
_Venice, 28th Nov. 1816._
I HAD heard so much of the canals and gondolas of Venice, that I was
rather surprised to find that I could go by land to any part of the
city, except the Giudecca. It is indeed sometimes round about, and the
alleys, for there are no streets, are narrow, crooked, and intricate.
Yet in this cold weather I generally prefer encountering all their
difficulties, to being half frozen in a gondola. These gondolas, at
least the smaller ones, consist of a wherry with a little black box,
into which you must enter backwards, because it would be exceedingly
difficult to turn round. They are rowed by one man, who places his oar,
not behind, but at the side; and it is surprising with what dexterity he
will direct his boat, by means so apparently insufficient. The larger
boats have of course two rowers, but in all cases they stand to row,
looking forward, and throwing the whole weight of their body on the oar.
The alleys sometimes open into little yards, (they cannot be denominated
squares,) the Venetian name of which is Campi; but enough of wandering
about the streets; I will now return to the buildings.