Church of St. Mark.--The Piazza.--Magnificent festivals formerly
celebrated there.--Stately architecture of Sansovino.--The
Campanile.--The Loggetta.--The Ducal Palace.--Colossal
Statues.--Giants’ Stairs.--Fit of enthusiasm.--Evening-scene in the
great Square.--Venetian intrigue.--Confusion of languages.--Madame
de Rosenberg.--Character of the Venetians.
The rustling of the pines had the same effect as the murmurs of other
old story-tellers, and I dozed undisturbed till the people without, in
the boat, (who wondered not a little, I dare say, what was become of me
within,) began a sort of chorus in parts, full of such plaintive
modulation, that I still thought myself under the influence of a dream,
and, half in this world and half in the other, believed, like the heroes
of Fingal, that I had caught the music of the spirits of the hill.
When I was thoroughly convinced of the reality of these sounds, I moved
towards the shore whence they proceeded: a glassy sea lay before me; no
gale ruffled the expanse; every breath had subsided, and I beheld the
sun go down in all its sacred calm. You have experienced the sensations
this moment inspires; imagine what they must have been in such a scene,
and accompanied with a melody so simple and pathetic. I stepped into my
boat, and now instead of encouraging the speed of the gondoliers, begged
them to abate their ardour, and row me lazily home. They complied, and
we were near an hour reaching the platform in front of the ducal palace,
thronged as usual with a variety of nations. I mixed a moment with the
crowd; then directed my steps to the great mosque, I ought to say the
church of St. Mark; but really its cupolas, slender pinnacles, and
semicircular arches, have so oriental an appearance, as to excuse this
appellation. I looked a moment at the four stately coursers of bronze
and gold that adorn the chief portal, and then took in, at one glance,
the whole extent of the piazza, with its towers and standards. A more
noble assemblage was never exhibited by architecture. I envied the good
fortune of Petrarch, who describes, in one of his letters, a tournament
held in this princely opening.
Many are the festivals which have been here celebrated. When Henry the
Third left Poland to mount the throne of France, he passed through
Venice, and found the Senate waiting to receive him in their famous
square, which by means of an awning stretched from the balustrades of
opposite palaces, was metamorphosed into a vast saloon, sparkling with
artificial stars, and spread with the richest carpets of the East. What
a magnificent idea! The ancient Romans, in the zenith of power and
luxury, never conceived a greater. It is to them, however, the Venetians
are indebted for the hint, since we read of the Coliseo and Pompey’s
theatre being sometimes covered with transparent canvas, to defend the
spectators from the heat or sudden rain, and to tint the scene with soft
agreeable colours.
Having enjoyed the general perspective of the piazza, I began to enter
into particulars, and examine the bronze pedestals of the three
standards before the great church, designed by Sansovino in the true
spirit of the antique, and covered with relievos, at once bold and
elegant. It is also to this celebrated architect we are indebted for the
stately façade of the _Procuratie nuove_, which forms one side of the
square, and presents an uninterrupted series of arcades and marble
columns exquisitely wrought. Opposite this magnificent range appears
another line of palaces, whose architecture, though far removed from the
Grecian elegance of Sansovino, impresses veneration, and completes the
pomp of the view.
There is something strange and singular in the Tower or Campanile, which
rises distinct from the smooth pavement of the square, a little to the
left as you stand before the chief entrance of St. Mark’s. The design is
barbarous, and terminates in uncouth and heavy pyramids; yet in spite of
these defects it struck me with awe. A beautiful building called the
Loggetta, and which serves as a guard-house during the convocation of
the Grand Council, decorates its base. Nothing can be more enriched,
more finished than this structure; which, though far from diminutive, is
in a manner lost at the foot of the Campanile. This enormous fabric
seems to promise a long duration, and will probably exhibit Saint Mark
and his Lion to the latest posterity. Both appear in great state towards
its summit, and have nothing superior, but an archangel perched on the
topmost pinnacle, and pointing to the skies. The dusk prevented my
remarking the various sculptures with which the Loggetta is crowded.
Crossing the ample space between this graceful edifice and the ducal
palace, I passed through a labyrinth of pillars and entered the
principal court, of which nothing but the great outline was visible at
so late an hour. Two reservoirs of bronze richly sculptured diversify
the area. In front a magnificent flight of steps presents itself, by
which the senators ascend through vast and solemn corridors, which lead
to the interior of the edifice. The colossal statues of Mars and Neptune
guard the entrance, and have given the appellation of _scala dei
giganti_ to the steps below, which I mounted not without respect; and,
leaning against the balustrades, formed like the rest of the building of
the rarest marbles, contemplated the tutelary divinities.
My admiration was shortly interrupted by one of the sbirri, or officers
of police, who take their stands after sunset before the avenues of the
palace, and who told me the gates were upon the point of being closed.
So, hurrying down the steps, I left a million of delicate sculptures
unexplored; for every pilaster, every frieze, every entablature, is
encrusted with porphyry, verde antique, or some other precious marble,
carved into as many grotesque wreaths of foliage as we admire in the
loggie of Raphael. The various portals, the strange projections; in
short, the striking irregularity of these stately piles, delighted me
beyond idea; and I was sorry to be forced to abandon them so soon,
especially as the twilight, which bats and owls love not better than I
do, enlarged every portico, lengthened every colonnade, and increased
the dimensions of the whole, just as imagination desired. This faculty
would have had full scope had I but remained an hour longer. The moon
would then have gleamed upon the gigantic forms of Mars and Neptune, and
discovered the statues of ancient heroes emerging from the gloom of
their niches.
Such an interesting combination of objects, such regal scenery, with the
reflection that many of their ornaments once contributed to the
decoration of Athens, transported me beyond myself. The sbirri thought
me distracted. True enough, I was stalking proudly about like an actor
in an ancient Grecian tragedy, lifting up his hands to the consecrated
fanes and images around, expecting the reply of his attendant chorus,
and declaiming the first verses of Œdipus Tyrannus.
This fit of enthusiasm was hardly subsided, when I passed the gates of
the palace into the great square, which received a faint gleam from its
casinos and palaces, just beginning to be lighted up, and to become the
resort of pleasure and dissipation. Numbers were walking in parties upon
the pavement; some sought the convenient gloom of the porticoes with
their favourites; others were earnestly engaged in conversation, and
filled the gay illuminated apartments, where they resorted to drink
coffee and sorbet, with laughter and merriment. A thoughtless giddy
transport prevailed; for, at this hour, anything like restraint seems
perfectly out of the question; and however solemn a magistrate or
senator may appear in the day, at night he lays up wig and robe and
gravity to sleep together, runs intriguing about in his gondola, takes
the reigning sultana under his arm, and so rambles half over the town,
which grows gayer and gayer as the day declines.
Many of the noble Venetians have a little suite of apartments in some
out-of-the-way corner, near the grand piazza, of which their families
are totally ignorant. To these they skulk in the dusk, and revel
undisturbed with the companions of their pleasures. Jealousy itself
cannot discover the alleys, the winding passages, the unsuspected doors,
by which these retreats are accessible. Many an unhappy lover, whose
mistress disappears on a sudden with some fortunate rival, has searched
for her haunts in vain. The gondoliers themselves, though the prime
managers of intrigue, are often unacquainted with these interior
cabinets. When a gallant has a mind to pursue his adventures with
mystery, he rows to the piazza, orders his bark to wait, meets his
goddess in the crowd, and vanishes from all beholders. Surely, Venice is
the city in the universe best calculated for giving scope to the
observations of a devil upon two sticks. What a variety of
lurking-places would one stroke of his crutch uncover!
Whilst the higher ranks were solacing themselves in their casinos, the
rabble were gathered in knots round the strollers and mountebanks,
singing and scaramouching in the middle of the square. I observed a
great number of Orientals amongst the crowd, and heard Turkish and
Arabic muttering in every corner. Here the Sclavonian dialect
predominated; there some Grecian jargon, almost unintelligible. Had
Saint Mark’s church been the wondrous tower, and its piazza the chief
square, of the city of Babylon, there could scarcely have been a greater
confusion of languages.
The novelty of the scene afforded me no small share of amusement, and I
wandered about from group to group, and from one strange exotic to
another, asking and being asked innumerable ridiculous questions, and
settling the politics of London and Constantinople, almost in the same
breath. This instant I found myself in a circle of grave Armenian
priests and jewellers; the next amongst Greeks and Dalmatians, who
accosted me with the smoothest compliments, and gave proof that their
reputation for pliability and address was not ill-founded.
I was entering into a grand harum-scarum discourse with some Russian
counts or princes, or whatever you please, just landed with dwarfs, and
footmen, and governors, and staring like me, about them, when Madame de
Rosenberg arrived, to whom I had the happiness of being recommended. She
presented me to some of the most distinguished of the Venetian families
at their great casino, which looks into the piazza, and consists of five
or six rooms, fitted up in a gay flimsy taste, neither rich nor elegant,
where were a great many lights, and a great many ladies negligently
dressed, their hair falling very freely about them, and innumerable
adventures written in their eyes. The gentlemen were lolling upon the
sofas, or lounging about the apartments.
The whole assembly seemed upon the verge of gaping, till coffee was
carried round. This magic beverage diffused a temporary animation; and,
for a moment or two, conversation moved on with a degree of pleasing
extravagance; but the flash was soon dissipated, and nothing remained
save cards and stupidity.
In the intervals of shuffling and dealing, some talked over the affairs
of the grand council with less reserve than I expected; and two or three
of them asked some feeble questions about the late tumults in London. It
was one o’clock before all the company were assembled, and I left them
at three, still dreaming over their coffee and card-tables. Trieze is
their favourite game: _uno_, _due_, _tre_, _quatro_, _cinque_, _fante_,
_cavallo re_, are eternally repeated; the apartments echoed no other
sound.
I wonder a lively people can endure such monotony, for I have been told
the Venetians are remarkably spirited; and so eager in the pursuit of
amusement as hardly to allow themselves any sleep. Some, for instance,
after declaiming in the Senate, walking an hour in the square, and
fidgeting about from one casino to another till morning dawns, will get
into a gondola, row across the Lagunes, take the post to Mestre or
Fusina, and jumble over craggy pavements to Treviso, breakfast in haste,
and rattle back again as if the Devil were charioteer: by eleven the
party is restored to Venice, resumes robe and periwig, and goes to
council.
This may be very true, and yet I will never cite the Venetians as
examples of vivacity. Their nerves unstrung by early debaucheries, allow
no natural flow of lively spirits, and at best but a few moments of a
false and feverish activity. The approaches of sleep, forced back by an
immoderate use of coffee, render them weak and listless, and the
facility of being wafted from place to place in a gondola, adds not a
little to their indolence. In short, I can scarcely regard their Eastern
neighbours in a more lazy light; who, thanks to their opium and their
harems, pass their lives in one perpetual doze.