THE TREASURES OF THE PIAZZA.
There is a world of interest in the bronzes, mosaics, and marbles of
Venice, many of which are in and about the Piazza of San Marco.
Perhaps something should first be said about this spot, already so
frequently mentioned, and in which the whole history of Venice seems
to centre; but when I think of writing it the words of the double of
the Rev. Frederic Ingham occur to me with great force: "There has
been so much said, and, on the whole, so well said, that I will not
occupy the time."
To quote some of these "well-said" things seems far the wisest
course. Mr. Howells says:--
"The Place of St. Mark is the heart of Venice, and from this beats
new life in every direction, through an intricate system of streets
and canals, that bring it back again to the same centre.... Of all
the open spaces in the city, that before the Church of St. Mark alone
bears the name of Piazza, and the rest are called merely _campi_, or
fields. But if the company of the noblest architecture can give
honor, the Piazza S. Marco merits its distinction, not in Venice
only, but in the whole world. I never, during three years, passed
through it in my daily walks, without feeling as freshly as at first
the greatness of its beauty.
"The church, which the mighty bell-tower and the lofty height of the
palace lines make to look low, is in no wise humbled by the contrast,
but is like a queen enthroned amid upright reverence. The religious
sentiment is deeply appealed to, I think, in the interior of St.
Mark's; but if its interior is heaven's, its exterior, like a good
man's daily life, is earth's; and it is this {260} winning loveliness
of earth that first attracts you to it, and when you emerge from its
portals, you emerge upon spaces of such sunny length and breadth, set
round with such exquisite architecture, that it makes you glad to be
living in this world.
"Whatever could please, the Venetian seems to have brought within and
made a part of his Piazza, that it might remain forever the city's
supreme grace; and so, though there are public gardens and several
pleasant walks in the city, the great resort in summer and winter, by
day and by night, is the Piazza S. Marco."
In his delightful "Italy," Taine, after declaring Venice to be the
pearl of that country, not equalled by anything he has seen, says:--
"The admirable Piazza, bordered with porticos and palaces, extends
rectangularly its forests of columns, its Corinthian capitals, its
statues, its noble and varied arrangement of classic forms. At its
extremity, half Gothic, half Byzantine, rises the Basilica, under
bulbous domes and tapering belfries, its arcades festooned with
figures, its porches laced with light columns, its arches wainscoted
with mosaics, its pavements incrusted with colored marbles, and its
cupolas scintillating with gold; a strange mysterious sanctuary, a
sort of Christian mosque in which cascades of light vacillate in
ruddy shadows like the wings of genii within the purple, metallic
walls of subterranean abodes. All this teems with sparks and
radiance. A few paces off, bare and erect like a ship's mast, the
gigantic Campanile towers in the air, and announces to distant
mariners the time-honored royalty of Venice. At its base, closely
pressed to it, the delicate _loggetta_ of Sansovino seems like a
flower, so many statues, bas-reliefs, bronzes, and marbles, whatever
is rich and imaginative of living and elegant art, crowd around it to
adorn it...
"Like a magnificent diamond in a brilliant setting, the Ducal Palace
effaces the rest.... Never has the like architecture been seen; all
here is novel. You feel yourself drawn out of the conventional: you
realize that outside of classic or Gothic {261} forms, which we
repeat and impose on ourselves, there is an entire world; that human
invention is illimitable; that, like Nature, it may break all the
rules, and produce a perfect work after a model opposed to that to
which we are told to conform."
Ruskin's words rush out, and seem to tumble one over the other in
their haste to express his seething thought:--
"A multitude of pillars and white domes, clustered into a long low
pyramid of colored light; a treasure-heap, it seems, partly of gold
and partly of opal and mother-of-pearl, hollowed beneath into fine
great vaulted porches, ceiled with fair mosaic, and beset with
sculpture of alabaster, clear as amber and delicate as
ivory,--sculpture fantastic and involved, of palm-leaves and lilies
and grapes and pomegranates, and birds clinging and fluttering among
the branches, all twined together into an endless network of buds and
plumes; and in the midst of it the solemn forms of angels, sceptred,
and robed to the feet, and leaning to each other across the gates,
their figures indistinct among the gleaming of the golden ground
through the leaves beside them, interrupted and dim, like the morning
light as it faded back among the branches of Eden, when first its
gates were angel-guarded long ago.
"And round the walls of the porches there are set pillars of
variegated stones, jasper and porphyry, and deep-green serpentine
spotted with flakes of snow, and marbles that half refuse and half
yield to the sunshine, Cleopatra-like, 'their bluest veins to
kiss,'--the shadow, as it steals back from them, revealing line after
line of azure undulation, as a receding tide leaves the waved sand;
their capitals rich with interwoven tracery, rooted knots of herbage,
and drifting leaves of acanthus and vine, and mystical signs, all
beginning and ending in the cross; and above them, in the broad
archivolts, a continuous chain of language and of life,--angels, and
the signs of heaven, and the labors of men, each in its appointed
season upon the earth ... until at last, as if in ecstasy, the crests
of the arches break into a marble foam, and toss themselves far into
the blue {262} sky in flashes and wreaths of sculptured spray, as if
the breakers on the Lido shore had been frost-bound before they fell,
and the sea-nymphs had inlaid them with coral and amethyst."
In comparison with the above, how curiously commonplace was Goethe,
with his very practical queries, when first he saw the Horses of St.
Mark: "A glorious team of horses,--I should like to hear the opinion
of a good judge of horse flesh. What seemed strange to me was that,
closely viewed, they appear heavy, while from the piazza below they
look light as deer." To me the mystery in which they are veiled is
their chief attraction. We know that the brave old Dandolo sent them
from Constantinople to be one of his most striking monuments.
In this temple porch,
Old as he was, so near his hundredth year,
And blind,--his eyes put out,--did Dandolo
Stand forth, displaying on his crown the cross.
There did he stand, erect, invincible,
Though wan his cheeks, and wet with many tears,
For in his prayers he had been weeping much;
And now the pilgrim and the people wept
With admiration, saying in their hearts,
"Surely those aged limbs have need of rest!"
There did he stand, with his old armor on,
Ere, gonfalon in hand, that streamed aloft,
As conscious of its glorious destiny,
So soon to float o'er mosque and minaret,
He sailed away, five hundred gallant ships,
Their lofty sides hung with emblazoned shields,
Following his track to fame. He went to die;
But of his trophies four arrived erelong,
Snatched from destruction,--the four steeds divine,
That strike the ground, resounding with their feet,
And from their nostrils snort ethereal flame
Over that very porch,
SAMUEL ROGERS.
We know that one of these horses was transported on the galley of
Domenico Morosini, and that by some accident a piece was broken off
of one of its hind legs, which {263} fragment the Senate allowed the
valiant admiral to keep as a souvenir of his experiences. He placed
it on a console of the façade of his house at St. Augustine, where
Sanuto saw it, as he tells us in his chronicles. We know of their
journey to Paris in 1797, and of their return in 1815. We know that
they weigh but a few pounds less than a ton each; but who made them,
and where and when? We know that it is said that they were treasures
of Alexandria, and were carried to Rome by Augustus after he defeated
Mark Antony, 30 B.C. But who can tell what Cleopatra thought of
them? We know that it is said that five Roman emperors placed them
on as many triumphal arches in the Eternal City, and then Constantino
took them off to the New Rome to grace his Hippodrome. But when all
these sayings are said, who knows?
[Illustration: _Horses of St. Mark._]
Above them is the winged Lion of St Mark, that had such a curiously
opposite effect on the minds of the Venetians and those of their
enemies, imparting his traditional boldness to the former, and
dissipating whatever of that quality existed in the latter. This
lion is ubiquitous in Venice, and can be found of almost any age
required; but this one is very modern. He is brave in his coat of
gold, and the field of azure sown with golden stars which makes his
background is very becoming. He rests one paw on the open book to
emphasize the words "Pax tibi Marce Evagelista meus." Above him
towers the statue of that saint whose symbol he is, the lion-hearted
Mark,--the saint whose crumbling bones below, in the great Basilica,
seem by some subtle spell to have made invincible the hearts and arms
of those who look to him as their protecting guardian.
Rising from the pavement below, and towering far above the Bronze
Horses, are the three cedar _pili_ (flag-staffs), from which in the
old days floated the banners of Cyprus, Candia, and the Morea, ever
recalling to the {264} Venetians the glorious victories they had
gained. On Sundays and festivals the Italian colors are now seen on
these masts, rising from the same magnificent bronze pedestals which
have held them almost four hundred years, and which, according to
ancient pictures, must have replaced still older ones. These were
given by Paolo Barbo in 1501 and by the Doge Leonardo Loredano in
1505, and were all the work of Alessandro Leopardo. If the graceful
tritons and sirens chiselled there could speak, how many questions we
should like to ask them!
But alas! the only bronzes of the Piazza that give any sign of life
are the two Moors on the top of the Torre dell' Orologio, and they
only to strike the bell which each time reminds us that we have one
hour less in Venice. There is a story that one of these Moors is a
murderer, but not with malice aforethought. A poor workman,
unconscious of the hour, was within the swing of the Moor's hammer,
and so was thrown to his death below.
The azure and gold dial on this tower gives much information. The
Italian hours, one to twenty-four, the quarters of the moon, and the
twelve signs of the zodiac are there. On the upper story, above the
dial, is a gigantic lion, with the starry background which he seems
to affect, and beneath him is a gilded statue of the Virgin Mary.
During the month of May, at certain hours, a door near her opens, and
the Magi appear, pass before her, salute her with their crowns, and
disappear by another door.
When all this happens at a quiet midnight hour, when the weird
moonlight leaves much in shadow, bringing out only the most prominent
objects, as the Moors and the Magi come to life, one involuntarily
looks around, expecting to see the lion between the Clock Tower and
the church shake his mane and come down from his block, to hear the
horses neigh, and to behold a long line of saints {265} and angels
who have left their dizzy heights to walk around the square in grand
procession.
There are few objects in all Venice which have a greater variety of
interesting associations than the Campanile, which so dominates the
city and the surrounding sea that from its summit the fleets that
have sailed away for war and for the pursuits of peace have been
watched for many centuries, and followed by prayers and blessings
until lost in the dim distance.
From this same height, what anxious eyes have been strained to catch
the first glimpse of victorious, home-coming galleys! Or, in times
of need, as during the Chioggian War, it was from the Campanile that
the welcome aid-bearing vessels were first seen; and in all times of
great events, for joy or sorrow, it was the tocsin of the Campanile
that called the people to the Piazza to hear the news and take
counsel for action. Nine hundred and ninety-two years has it
performed these offices; and could a diary have been written of all
its experiences, what book would be more wonderful?
Until 1518 there hung, from a projecting beam half-way up the tower,
a wooden cage, grated with iron bars, in which some criminals were
placed to endure the changes of the weather, as well as hunger and
thirst, so long as life should last; for but meagre supplies of bread
and water were let down to the cage from the top of the tower.
Perhaps it was the influence of the golden angel which crowns the
Campanile, and is kind enough to turn with every wind that blows,
that wrought the merciful reform; for the cage was banished within a
few months after he assumed the most commanding position in the
Republic.
We are told that in the old days there were four bells rung from the
tower for different purposes. _La marangola_ sounded at dawn to call
the laboring-classes to their {266} work; _la sestamezzana_ announced
the opening of the official bureaux; _la trottera_ called the
councillors to their duties; and the bell _del malefizio_ was the
knell that tolled during executions. About 1670 a fifth great bell
was brought from Candia, which was heard only on Ascension Day, when
the Doge espoused the Adriatic.
All lovers of Venice can sympathize with Arthur Hugh Clough, and will
remember with delight the view from the Campanile, when for the first
time the intricacies of this charming labyrinth can be unravelled,--
"My mind is in her rest; my heart at home
In all around; my soul secure in place,
And the vext needle perfect to her poles.
Aimless and hopeless in my life, I seemed
To thread the winding byways of the town
Bewildered, baffled, hurried hence and thence,
All at cross purpose ever with myself,
Unknowing whence or whither. Then, at once,
At a step, I crown the Campanile's top,
And view all mapped below; islands, lagoon,
An hundred steeples, and a myriad roofs,
The fruitful champaign, and the cloud-capt Alps,
And the broad Adriatic."
During the Crusades, in the cities of the East where the Christians
were in power, it was customary to assign to each nation that had
aided in the conquest a quarter in which they could live and worship
in their own church. But at St. Jean d'Acre it happened that the
Venetians and Genoese, enemies as they were, used the Church of St.
Sabbas in common. As might have been foreseen, quarrels arose, and
both claimed the building as exclusively their own. So fierce did
the troubles become that at length the Genoese burned the church,
with other buildings of the Venetian quarter. Such an insult could
not be borne, and under Lorenzo Tiepolo the Venetians completely
defeated the Genoese. In proof of the complete triumph of the
Republic, two richly sculptured pillars, a {267} part of the gateway
of St. Sabbas, and a low column of red porphyry were sent to Venice.
Naturally these were placed in the beloved Piazza; and the Senate
decreed that the pillars should stand between the church and the
Ducal Palace, at the inner entrance to the Piazzetta. The short
column near by, at the southwest corner of San Marco, was put to good
use, and called the "Pietra del Bando." From it the laws of the
Republic, the sentences of banishment, and other important decrees
were promulgated.
[Illustration: _Campanile of St. Mark._]
But the most interesting columns stand at the opposite end of the
Piazzetta, at the entrance from the lagoon. So typical were they of
the spirit of Venice that they were duplicated in other cities under
her sway. On one is a statue of that young Syrian warrior who stood
the early Venetians in good stead as their patron saint, and still
stands there upon the crocodile, at the chief entrance to the city,
crowned by a nimbus, holding a shield on his right arm, and a sword
in his left hand.
Opposite St Theodore, on the second column, is one of the many lions
of St. Mark, with the open book. This one, alas! was desecrated by
the French, and the gospel words replaced by the legend "Droits de
l'Homme et du Citoyen," which caused a witty gondolier to say that
"Saint Mark had turned over a new leaf." This lion made a part of
the brazen menagerie that went to Paris in 1797, and returned to
Venice in 1815. During his stay there he was appropriately lodged in
the Invalides, no doubt suffering keenly the pains of dislocation.
We must not forget that the Columns themselves have an interesting
history. They form a sort of open door to the Piazzetta from the
Molo, and are the first objects to attract the attention of the
stranger who enters Venice from the sea. These two and another were
brought from the islands of the Archipelago in 1127. One sank
entirely out of sight, {268} and has never been found, and these two
lay on the shore a half-century before any one succeeded in raising
them. But when the Doge Sebastiano Ziani promised any _grazia
onesta_ that might be asked by any man who could erect them on the
Piazzetta, Niccolò il Barattiere (Nick the Blackleg) placed them on
their pedestals, and demanded that gambling, which was forbidden
elsewhere in Venice, might be carried on between the pillars. For
some time this privilege brought wealth to the family Barattiere, and
ruin to so many others that the Senate resorted to a cunning device
to render the promise of the Doge of no effect. It was decreed that
all public executions should occur "between the Columns," which made
the place of such ill omen that no one could be enticed to come there
for any "chance" that could be offered.
As the criminals mounted the scaffold, they were accustomed to turn
and look at a Byzantine Madonna, high on the wall of San Marco, and
repeat the _Salve Regina_. A lamp burns before this Madonna at night
to commemorate the remorse of the Ten for having unjustly executed
Giovanni Grassi in 1611. Ten years later the truth was known; a
pardon was published, and this Madonna set up in remembrance of
Grassi, and as a warning against hasty and unjust judgments.
The Piazzetta has well been called the antechamber of the Piazza. It
is the chief resort of the gondoliers; and at all hours of the day
there is a procession of men, women, and children, carrying water
from the Ducal Palace,--the best water in all Venice. The two
splendid bronze cisterns from which the water is taken are more than
three centuries old; and besides the debt due them for good water, an
almost equal one is owing them as the centre of the picturesqueness
by which they are daily surrounded.
Entering by the splendid Porta della Carta, one sees {269} these
cisterns in the midst of the great inner court, the four façades of
which are covered with reliefs and figures that symbolize
Christianity and mythology with apparently equal approbation. Mars
and Neptune seem quite at ease in the society of Adam and Eve; and
such a wilderness of boughs and plants, of blossoms and vines, and
such numbers of griffins, fawns, and goats as can rarely be seen with
a _coup d'œil_ make a bewildering whole which may well be studied
in detail. But great powers of concentration are needed if much of
this is not forgotten while observing the moving, living actors in
the scene around these wells.
The water-bearers come and go, carrying vessels of all sizes, forms,
and colors. Some who are strong and seem to be in haste quickly fill
their cans and jars, and go away. Others, more at leisure, put down
their burdens and stay to tell and hear the gossip of the day. The
variety of faces, young and old, of dress and manners, and especially
of gestures, is most remarkable. The two distinctive charms of this
court, the artistic past and the picturesque present, make it always
fascinating, no matter how often seen; and if one would here study
Rizzo and Sansovino, it is sometimes necessary to shut the eyes and
think of what is to be done, or the human nature of to-day will prove
itself far more absorbing than the sculpture of the past.
But the treasure-house of rare and precious antiques in Venice is the
Basilica of San Marco. On the exterior, besides the Bronze Horses,
there are numerous fragments from more ancient edifices which bear
witness to the good taste and the acquisitiveness of the old
Venetians. Within and without are more than five hundred pillars of
rare marbles, mostly Oriental. During the building of the Basilica
all Venetian vessels that sailed to the East were obliged to bring
back a contribution to San Marco. Many {270} of the pillars in the
façade have Armenian and Syriac inscriptions, having once adorned
older edifices; and tablets with ancient sculptures, of which no
history can be given, are inserted in the walls. Of the three doors
which open from the vestibule into the church, that on the right is
believed to have been taken from St. Sophia, in 1203; and the eight
marble columns on each side this entrance came from the same temple.
An ancient Greek altar, with bas-reliefs of dolphins and children,
supports the basin for holy water; and within the baptistery the mass
of granite which forms the altar is said to be the stone on which
Christ stood when he preached to the people of Tyre, or, as another
tradition says, upon which he rested by the gate of Tyre, whence it
was brought to Venice in 1126 by the Doge Domenico Michieli.
The Pala d' Oro is a remarkable specimen of Byzantine art. It is
only seen on high festival days, when the candles are lighted in
front of the high altar, in the splendid candelabra given by the Doge
Cristoforo Moro in the middle of the fifteenth century.
This altar screen was originally intended to decorate the front of
the altar. It was ordered to be made in Constantinople by the Doge
Pietro Orseolo in 976, and was not brought to Venice until 1105, when
it was enlarged and enriched by Venetian artists, and this process
repeated in 1209 and 1345. Naturally the splendor it has gained
detracts from its original value. It was Byzantine; it is now also
Gothic and Venetian. The inscriptions are both in Greek and Latin;
and, on the whole, it is inferior in workmanship to other specimens
of European gold and enamel work of the Middle Ages. That portion
which was made in Constantinople consists of a picture in enamel or
gold, enriched with chasing, pearls, cameos, and precious stones.
This Pala is a fitting symbol of the Basilica, which is as composite
in its architecture {271} and as incongruous in its detail as it is
splendid and imposing as a whole.
The canopy above the altar of the Holy Sacrament is supported by four
spiral fluted pillars, said to have been brought from the Temple of
Solomon. The bronzes by the Italian masters, here and there all over
the Basilica, are of great interest. They date from the twelfth
century, two of the doors from the vestibule into the church having
been executed between 1100 and 1112. The five outer doors, made by
the Venetian goldsmith Bertuccio, were finished in 1300. The bronze
tomb of Cardinal Zeno is a magnificent specimen of the art of
Lombardo and Leopardo (1505-15). It was decreed by the Republic to
be placed in the chapel which the Cardinal had built. The statue of
the Cardinal, surrounded by figures symbolic of his virtues, the
lovely Madonna della Scarpa (golden shoe), with Saints Peter and John
the Baptist, the two lions in colored marbles, and the mosaics of the
twelfth century, make this chapel a wonderful treasure-house, and a
worthy tribute to one who loved his Venice with supreme affection.
The Treasury of St. Mark once contained the finest collection of
Byzantine jewelry in the world; and despite the demands made on it by
the Republic in its emergencies, and the ravages of the robbers of
1797, it is still rich. It contains interesting reliquaries,
chalices, cups, and similar objects in crystal, Oriental agate, gold,
and silver, ornamented with enamels and precious stones. The
reliquary containing a portion of the True Cross was given to St.
Sophia, in 1120, by the Empress Irene. Among the other remarkable
relics, all of which are in rich and costly reliquaries, are said to
be a morsel of the skull of Saint John the Baptist and a bone from
the arm of Saint George.
The altar of the Virgin Mary is continually surrounded {272} by
worshippers. A picture of the Virgin, believed to have been painted
by Saint Luke, is there. It is usually veiled; but on certain
festival days it is taken into the Piazza, also on occasions of
plagues or other public afflictions, and there the people flock to
make their prayers and vows.
But the most distinctive and interesting study in this Basilica is
that of its mosaics. So numerous are they that much devoted
attention must be given by one who would fully comprehend their order
and meaning. Nothing less than Mr. Ruskin's exhaustive treatise on
them is worthy to be offered to an intelligent student of symbolism
in art; and although one derives great pleasure from the more
superficial knowledge of these works, Mr. Ruskin speaks truly when he
says that an understanding of the mosaics changes the whole
impression and atmosphere of the Basilica. Having shown that the
mosaics give an historical epitome of Christ's teaching, he says:--
"And this thought may dispose the reader to look with some change of
temper upon the gorgeous building and wild blazonry of that shrine of
S. Mark's. He now perceives that it was in the hearts of the old
Venetian people far more than a place of worship. It was at once a
type of the Redeemed Church of God and a scroll for the written word
of God. It was to them both an image of the Bride, all glorious
within, her clothing of wrought gold, and the actual Table of the Law
and the Testimony, written within and without. And whether honored
as the Church or as the Bible, was it not fitting that neither the
gold nor the crystal should be spared in the adornment of it; that,
as the symbol of the Bride, the building of the wall thereof should
be of jasper, and the foundations of it garnished with all manner of
precious stones; and that, as the channel of the Word, the triumphant
utterance of the Psalmist should be true of it, 'I have rejoiced in
the way of thy testimonies, as much as in all riches'?"
[Illustration: _Torre dell' Orologio; Clock Tower._]
{273}
In spite of the lavishness of gold, of red, and all the varied tones
of marbles, bronzes, and mosaics with which San Marco abounds, there
are few churches so severe and profoundly impressive. The mystical
half-light which pervades it converts what might be a tawdry blaze
into harmonious poesy of color, full of the sentiment of impassioned
religion. All of spiritual emotion and aspiration is here expressed.
One forgets the detail and remembers the whole, loses the actual in
the ideal, and thanks God that in this modern, bustling,
materialistic nineteenth century there still exist "an assemblage of
saints, an infinite history, an entire legendary Paradise," like
those of San Marco.
Again in the Piazza, and in the midst of its present life. If it be
early morning, it is almost deserted, save for the softly cooing and
carefully stepping pigeons. At ten or eleven o'clock it is full of
practical life. The shops are brilliant with jewels, glassware,
beads, laces, and innumerable objects of use and uselessness. There
are many sellers and buyers of all sorts of ambulating
merchandise,--from turtles and other shell fish, vegetables and
fruits, hardware and matches, to the lovely nosegays and toothsome
caramel. Gentlemen are persecuted by persistent shoeblacks and men
who mysteriously whisper of Havana cigars, while the tourists, with
red guide-books in hand, impatiently wave off both these intruders,
and the guides who offer their services, and rush on to the Basilica
or Palace, as if they feared that these wonders would disappear
before their eyes. Oh, this wearisome hurry! At noon the energy of
the venders is somewhat subdued, and they are glad to seek the shade
of the arcades; and in the early afternoon, when all the world is
taking its luncheon or its siesta, when the pavement is burning
beneath the sun, the Piazza is again almost deserted.
{274}
But with the evening, from all parts of the city, come those who wish
to see the world, to hear the music of the military bands, to dine at
the _cafés_, and meet the friends they are likely to find there. And
soon the Piazza is like an immense salon, brilliantly lighted, full
of guests of many sorts, from the elegantly dressed ladies with their
attendant cavaliers, to the plainly dressed traveller and the
unobtrusive Venetians, who come to gaze at all who throng their dear
Piazza. The flower-girls, in pretty costumes, offer their nosegays
with a deprecating air, which is irresistible. When the band stops
playing, strolling musicians sing, or play the violin and harp. The
brilliant cafés are thronged, and hundreds of men and women, who
surround the little tables in the square, leisurely enjoy their
_sorbets_, sip the delicious coffee, and smoke the Oriental tobacco.
It will be midnight, perhaps some hours after that, when the Piazza
is again silent, "when a bright sleep is on each storied pile," when
the only sounds are the soft lapping of the water at the end of the
Piazzetta and the distant music of some belated gondolier who sings,
as ever,--
"Venite all' agile, Barchetta mia,
Santa Lucia, Santa Lucia!"
{275}