VENICE,
March 25, 1891.
Bewitching blue-eyed Venice sends her greetings to all of you. Oh, signori
and signorine, what an exquisite town this Venice is! Imagine a town
consisting of houses and churches such as you have never seen; an
intoxicating architecture, everything as graceful and light as the birdlike
gondola. Such houses and churches can only be built by people possessed of
immense artistic and musical taste and endowed with a lion-like
temperament. Now imagine in the streets and alleys, instead of pavement,
water; imagine that there is not one horse in the town; that instead of
cabmen you see gondoliers on their wonderful boats, light, delicate
long-beaked birds which scarcely seem to touch the water and tremble at the
tiniest wave. And all from earth to sky bathed in sunshine.
There are streets as broad as the Nevsky, and others in which you can bar
the way by stretching out your arms. The centre of the town is St. Mark’s
Square with the celebrated cathedral of the same name. The cathedral is
magnificent, especially on the outside. Beside it is the Palace of the
Doges where Othello made his confession before the senators.
In short, there is not a spot that does not call up memories and touch the
heart. For instance, the little house where Desdemona lived makes an
impression that is difficult to shake off. The very best time in Venice is
the evening. First the stars; secondly, the long canals in which the lights
and stars are reflected; thirdly, gondolas, gondolas, and gondolas; when it
is dark they seem to be alive. Fourthly, one wants to cry because on all
sides one hears music and superb singing. A gondola glides up hung with
many-coloured lanterns; there is light enough for one to distinguish a
double-bass, a guitar, a mandolin, a violin.... Then another gondola like
it.... Men and women sing, and how they sing! It’s quite an opera.
Fifthly, it’s warm.
In short, the man’s a fool who does not go to Venice. Living is cheap here.
Board and lodging costs eighteen francs a week--that is, six roubles each
or twenty-five roubles a month. A gondolier asks a franc for an hour-that
is, thirty kopecks. Admission to the academies, museums, and so on, is
free. The Crimea is ten times as expensive, and the Crimea beside Venice is
a cuttle-fish beside a whale.
I am afraid Father is angry with me for not having said good-bye to him. I
ask his forgiveness.
What glass there is here! what mirrors! Why am I not a millionaire! ...
Next year let us all take a summer cottage in Venice.
The air is full of the vibration of church bells: my dear Tunguses, let us
all embrace Catholicism. If only you knew how lovely the organs are in the
churches, what sculptures there are here, what Italian women on their knees
with prayer-books!
Keep well and don’t forget me, a sinner.
A picturesque railway line, of which I have been told a great deal, runs
from Vienna to Venice. But I was disappointed in the journey. The
mountains, the precipices, and the snowy crests I have seen in the Caucasus
and Ceylon are far more impressive than here. _Addio_.
VENICE,
March 26, 1891.
It is pelting cats and dogs. _Venetia bella_ has ceased to be _bella_.
The water excites a feeling of dejected dreariness, and one longs to hasten
somewhere where there is sun.
The rain has reminded me of my raincoat (the leather one); I believe the
rats have gnawed it a little. If they have, send it to be mended as soon as
you can....
How is Signor Mongoose? I am afraid every day of hearing that he is dead.
In describing the cheapness of Venetian life yesterday, I overdid it a bit.
It is Madame Merezhkovsky’s fault; she told me that she and her husband
paid only six francs per week each. But instead of per week, read per day.
Anyway, it is cheap. The franc here goes as far as a rouble.
We are going to Florence.
May the Holy Mother bless you.
I have seen Titian’s Madonna. It’s very fine. But it is a pity that here
fine works are mixed up side by side with worthless things, that have been
preserved and not flung away simply from the spirit of conservatism
all-present in such creatures of habit as _messieurs les hommes_. There are
many pictures the long life of which is quite incomprehensible.
The house where Desdemona used to live is to let.
BOLOGNA,
March 28, 1891.
I am in Bologna, a town remarkable for its arcades, slanting towers, and
Raphael’s pictures of “Cecilia.” We are going on to-day to Florence.
FLORENCE,
March 29, 1891.
I am in Florence. I am worn out with racing about to museums and churches.
I have seen the Venus of Medici, and I think that if she were dressed in
modern clothes she would be hideous, especially about the waist.
The sky is overcast, and Italy without sun is like a face in a mask.
P. S.--Dante’s monument is fine.
FLORENCE,
March 30, 1891.
I am in Florence. To-morrow we are going to Rome. It’s cold. We have the
spleen. You can’t take a step in Florence without coming to a picture-shop
or a statue-shop.
P. S.--Send my watch to be mended.