Wearisome calm of Venice.—The Canals and Port the chief resort for
recreation.—Garden planted by Napoleon.—Misconception respecting the
Rialto.—The Bridge of Sighs.—Palaces.—The canals without footways on
their margin.—Intercourse by land.—The Grand Canal.—The Lido.—The
Islands.
Although Venice was so attractive at first, in the absence of
acquaintances it soon became monotonous and wearying. A town in which
the sounds of hoof and wheel are never known, in which the stillness of
the narrow ravine-like canals, is seldom broken, unless by the fall of
an oar, or the call of the gondolier,—fatigues by its unceasing calm;
and although the large canals, the square, and the port offer livelier
scenes, one soon gets to feel a longing for further varieties. If I do
not remember to have been so much struck with any other place on
entering it, I do not recollect ever to have been so soon tired of a
residence in a capital. It is true, we knew no one, nor did any one know
us; and an exclamation of pleasure escaped me on suddenly meeting the
_Grognon_, in the Piazzetta; a pleasure which, I regret to say, did not
seem reciprocal. But he had just arrived.
We took boat daily for the last week of our residence, living on the
water, and among the palaces and churches. I was surprised to find that
the Adriatic has a tide; for banks over which we have rowed at one hour,
were bare a few hours later. In all this place, there are but two or
three areas in which the population can seek the air, except by
resorting to the canals and the port. Napoleon caused a garden to be
planted, however, near the northern extremity of the town, which will
eventually be a charming spot. It is larger than one might suppose from
the circumstances; and here only can a Venetian enjoy the pleasures of
verdure and shade.
You will be surprised to hear, that by the Rialto of Shakspeare, one is
not to understand the _bridge_ of that name. This bridge is divided into
three passages, by two rows of low shops, which are occupied by butchers
and jewellers (a droll conjunction,) and the height has rendered broad
steps necessary to make the ascents and descents easy. Some travellers
describe a small platform on the summit of the bridge as the Exchange,
or the place where Shylock extorted gold. I believe this is altogether a
misconception. The Rialto is the name of the island at one end of the
bridge, and on this island the merchants resorted for the purposes of
business; and “meeting me _on_ the Rialto,” did not mean, on the
_bridge_, but on the _island_, after which island the bridge, in fact,
is named. Mr. Carter, among others, seems to have fallen into this
error.
“I stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs,”
&c. &c. &c.
is pure poetry. This bridge is thrown across the narrow dark canal that
separates the Ducal Palace from the Prison, and is, in fact, a covered
gallery. The description of
“A palace and a prison on each hand,”
though bad grammar, is sufficiently literal. It is bad grammar, because
there are _not_ a palace and a prison on _each_ hand, but a palace on
one side and a prison on the other. As poetry, the verse is well enough;
but you are not to trust too implicitly to either Shakspeare or Byron,
if you desire accuracy. The remainder of the description is not to be
taken as at all faithful, though so very beautiful. It is morally, but
not physically true. The Bridge of Sighs, if open, would be one of the
worst places in all Venice to obtain the view described. I mention this,
not as criticism, for as such it would be hypercriticism, but simply
that you may understand the truth.
“Her palaces are crumbling to the shore,”
is also exaggerated. One or two buildings have been destroyed for the
materials, I am told; and one palace remains half demolished, the
government having interfered to save it. At least, such is the account
of my gondolier. But, beyond this, there is little apparent decay in
Venice, except that which is visible in the general inactivity of the
business of the port and town.
The accounts that there are passages for foot-passengers along the
margin of the canals is also untrue. Such may be the fact in particular
spots, but it is by no means true as the common mode of communication by
land. I have seen places on the Grand Canal where one may walk some
distance in this manner; but it is on planks raised against and secured
to the houses for the purpose, and not by any permanent footways. The
intercourse by land is in the centre of the different islands, access
being had to all the principal buildings both by land and by water, as I
have told you before. On the side of the canals, the boats touch the
door-steps, while in the rear narrow alleys serve as outlets. Most of
these alleys are only four or five feet in width. These, again,
communicate with the streets, which are usually very narrow. Perhaps
half the buildings do not touch a canal at all, especially the smaller
shops and dwellings.
You may imagine the effect of the celebrated regattas of Venice by
considering the situation of the Grand Canal. This is a small river in
appearance, a little winding to relieve the monotony; and it is
literally lined with the large buildings that in Italy are called
palaces. Every window has its balcony. The terms ‘canals’ and ‘lagoons’
are, however, misapplied as respects the bay and channels of Venice. You
know, of course, there are no gates, which we are apt to associate with
the idea of a canal, though improperly; but it is the land that is
artificial here, and not the water. The Grand Canal is not unlike the
letter S in its direction, and it widens sensibly near the port, which
is a broad estuary between the islands of the town and the Lido.
This Lido is the bank that protects the Lagoon from the Adriatic. It is
long, low, and narrow, and is not entirely without vegetation. There are
a few houses on it, and in one or two places something like villages.
Most of the islands, of which there are many that do not properly belong
to the town, are occupied; one containing a convent with its
accessories, another a church, and a third a hamlet of the fishermen.
The effect of all this is as pleasing as it is novel; and one rows about
this place, catching new views of its beauties, as one rows round and
through a noble fleet, examining ships. Still, Venice must be left, the
warm weather admonishing us to retire; and I am now actually occupied in
the preparations necessary to a departure.