Venice.
I am very sensible, that it requires a longer residence at Venice, and
better opportunities than I have had, to enable me to give a character of
the Venetians. But were I to form an idea of them from what I have seen,
I should paint them as a lively ingenious people, extravagantly fond
of public amusements, with an uncommon relish for humour, and yet more
attached to the real enjoyments of life, than to those which depend on
ostentation, and proceed from vanity.
The common people of Venice display some qualities very rarely to be
found in that sphere of life, being remarkably sober, obliging to
strangers, and gentle in their intercourse with each other. The Venetians
in general are tall and well made. Though equally robust, they are not
so corpulent as the Germans. The latter also are of fair complexions,
with light-grey or blue eyes; whereas the Venetians are for the most
part of a ruddy brown colour, with dark eyes. You meet in the streets of
Venice many fine manly countenances, resembling those transmitted to us
by the pencils of Paul Veronese and Titian. The women are of a fine stile
of countenance, with expressive features, and a skin of a rich carnation.
They dress their hair in a fanciful manner, which becomes them very
much. They are of an easy address, and have no aversion to cultivating
an acquaintance with those strangers, who are presented to them by their
relations, or have been properly recommended.
Strangers are under less restraint here, in many particulars, than the
native inhabitants. I have known some, who, after having tried most of
the capitals of Europe, have preferred to live at Venice, on account of
the variety of amusements, the gentle manners of the inhabitants, and the
perfect freedom allowed in every thing, except in blaming the measures
of Government. I have already mentioned in what manner the Venetians
are in danger of being treated who give themselves that liberty. When a
stranger is so imprudent as to declaim against the form or the measures
of Government, he will either receive a message to leave the territories
of the State, or one of the Sbirri will be sent to accompany him to the
Pope’s or the Emperor’s dominions.
The houses are thought inconvenient by many of the English; they are
better calculated, however, for the climate of Italy, than if they were
built according to the London model, which, I suppose, is the plan
those critics approve. The floors are of a kind of red plaister, with
a brilliant glossy surface, much more beautiful than wood, and far
preferable in case of fire, whose progress they are calculated to check.
The principal apartments are on the second floor. The Venetians
seldom inhabit the first, which is often intirely filled with lumber:
perhaps, they prefer the second, because it is farthest removed from
the moisture of the lakes; or perhaps they prefer it, because it is
better lighted, and more cheerful; or they may have some better reason
for this preference than I am acquainted with, or can imagine. Though
the inhabitants of Great Britain make use of the first floors for their
chief apartments, this does not form a complete demonstration that the
Venetians are in the wrong for preferring the second. When an acute
sensible people universally follow one custom, in a mere matter of
conveniency, however absurd that custom may appear in the eyes of a
stranger at first sight, it will generally be found, that there is some
real advantage in it, which compensates all the apparent inconveniencies.
Of this travellers, who do not hurry with too much rapidity through the
countries they visit, are very sensible: for, after having had time to
weigh every circumstance, they often see reason to approve what they had
formerly condemned. I could illustrate this by many examples; but your
own recollection must furnish you with so many, that any more would be
superfluous. Custom and fashion have the greatest influence on our taste
of beauty or excellence of every kind. What, from a variety of causes,
has become the standard in one country, is sometimes just the contrary
in another. The same thing that makes a low-brimmed hat appear genteel
at one time, and ridiculous at another, has made a different species
of versification be accounted the model of perfection in old Rome and
modern Italy, at Paris, or at London. In matters of taste, particularly
in dramatic poetry, the prejudices which each particular nation acquires
in favour of its own is difficult to be removed. People seldom obtain
such a perfect knowledge of a foreign language and foreign manners, as to
understand all the niceties of the one and the allusions to the other: of
consequence, many things are insipid to them, for which a native may have
a high relish.
The dialogues in rhime of the French plays appear unnatural and absurd to
Englishmen when they first attend the French theatre; yet those who have
remained long in France, and acquired a more perfect knowledge of the
language, assure us, that without rhime the dignity of the Tragic Muse
cannot be supported; and that, even in Comedy, they produce an additional
elegance, which overbalances every objection. The French language being
more studied and better understood by the English than our language
is by the French nation, we find many of our countrymen who relish
the beauties, and pay the just tribute of admiration to the genius of
Corneille, while there is scarcely a single Frenchman to be found who has
any idea of the merit of Shakespeare.
Without being justly accused of partiality, I may assert that, in this
instance, the English display a fairness and liberality of sentiment
superior to the French. The irregularities of Shakespeare’s drama are
obvious to every eye, and would, in the present age, be avoided by a poet
not possessed of a hundredth part of his genius. His peculiar beauties,
on the other hand, are of an excellence which has not, perhaps, been
attained by any poet of any age or country; yet the French critics,
from Voltaire down to the poorest scribbler in the literary journals,
all stop at the former, declaim on the barbarous taste of the English
nation, insist on the grotesque absurdity of the poet’s imagination, and
illustrate both by partial extracts of the most exceptionable scenes of
Shakespeare’s plays.
When a whole people, with that degree of judgment which even the enemies
of the British nation allow them to have, unite in the highest admiration
of one man, and continue, for ages, to behold his pieces with unsated
delight, it might occur to those Frenchmen, that there possibly was some
excellence in the works of this poet, though they could not see it; and a
very moderate share of candour might have taught them, that it would be
more becoming to spare their ridicule, till they acquired a little more
knowledge of the author against whom it is pointed.
An incident which occurred since my arrival at Venice, though founded on
a prejudice much more excusable than the conduit of the critics above
mentioned, has brought home to my conviction the rashness of those who
form opinions, without the knowledge requisite to direct their judgment.
I had got, I don’t know how, the most contemptuous opinion of the
Italian drama. I had been told, there was not a tolerable actor at
present in Italy, and I had been long taught to consider their comedy
as the most despicable stuff in the world, which could not amuse, or
even draw a smile from any person of taste, being quite destitute of
true humour, full of ribaldry, and only proper for the meanest of the
vulgar. Impressed with these sentiments, and eager to give his Grace a
full demonstration of their justness, I accompanied the D—— of H—— to the
stage-box of one of the playhouses the very day of our arrival at Venice.
The piece was a comedy, and the most entertaining character in it was
that of a man who stuttered. In this defect, and in the singular grimaces
with which the actor accompanied it, consisted a great part of the
amusement.
Disgusted at such a pitiful substitution for wit and humour, I expressed
a contempt for an audience which could be entertained by such buffoonery,
and who could take pleasure in the exhibition of a natural infirmity.
While we inwardly indulged sentiments of self-approbation, on account
of the refinement and superiority of our own taste, and supported the
dignity of those sentiments by a disdainful gravity of countenance, the
Stutterer was giving a piece of information to Harlequin which greatly
interested him, and to which he listened with every mark of eagerness.
This unfortunate speaker had just arrived at the most important part
of his narrative, which was, to acquaint the impatient listener where
his mistress was concealed, when he unluckily stumbled on a word of
six or seven syllables, which completely obstructed the progress of his
narration. He attempted it again and again, but always without success.
You may have observed that, though many other words would explain his
meaning equally well, you may as soon make a Saint change his religion,
as prevail on a Stutterer to accept of another word in place of that at
which he has stumbled. He adheres to his first word to the last, and
will sooner expire with it in his throat, than give it up for any other
you may offer. Harlequin, on the present occasion, presented his friend
with a dozen; but he rejected them all with disdain, and persisted in
his unsuccessful attempts on that which had first come in his way. At
length, making a desperate effort, when all the spectators were gaping in
expectation of his safe delivery, the cruel word came up with its broad
side foremost, and stuck directly across the unhappy man’s wind-pipe. He
gaped, and panted, and croaked; his face flushed, and his eyes seemed
ready to start from his head. Harlequin unbuttoned the Stutterer’s
waistcoat, and the neck of his shirt; he fanned his face with his cap,
and held a bottle of hartshorn to his nose. At length, fearing his
patient would expire, before he could give the desired intelligence, in a
fit of despair he pitched his head full in the dying man’s stomach, and
the word bolted out of his mouth to the most distant part of the house.
This was performed in a manner so perfectly droll, and the humorous
absurdity of the expedient came so unexpectedly upon me, that I
immediately burst into a most excessive fit of laughter, in which I was
accompanied by the D——, and by your young friend Jack, who was along
with us; and our laughter continued in such loud, violent, and repeated
fits, that the attention of the audience being turned from the stage to
our box, occasioned a renewal of the mirth all over the playhouse with
greater vociferation than at first.
When we returned to the inn, the D—— of H—— asked me, If I were as much
convinced as ever, that a man must be perfectly devoid of taste, who
could condescend to laugh at an Italian comedy?