ON FOOT. I: FROM THE PIAZZA TO S. STEFANO
The Ridotto--The Fenice Theatre--The Goldoni Theatre--_Amleto_--A star
part--S. Zobenigo--S. Stefano--Cloisters--Francesco Morosini--A great
soldier--Nicolò Tommaseo--The Campo Morosini--Red hair.
Leaving the Piazza at the corner diagonally opposite the Merceria clock,
we come at once into the busy Salizzada S. Moïse, where the shops for
the more expensive tourists are to be found. A little way on the right
is the beginning of the Frezzeria, a Venetian shopping centre second
only to the Merceria. A little way on the left is the Calle del Ridotto
where, divided now into a cinema theatre, auction rooms, a restaurant,
and the Grand Canal Hotel, is the once famous Ridotto of which Casanova
has much to tell. Here were held masquerades; here were gambling tables;
hither Venice resorted to forget that she had ever been great and to
make sure that she should be great no longer. The Austrians suppressed
it.
The church of S. Moïse, with its very florid façade of statuary, has
little of interest in it. Keeping with the stream and passing the
Bauer-Grünwald restaurant on the left, we come in a few minutes to a
bridge--the Ponte delle Ostreghe (or Oysters)--over a rio at the end of
which, looking to the right, we see the great Venetian theatre, the
Fenice.
The Fenice is, I suppose, the most romantic theatre in the world, for
the simple reason that the audience, at any rate those who occupy the
boxes, all arrive in boats. Before it is a basin for the convenience of
navigation, but even with that the confusion on a gala night must be
excessive, and a vast space of time must divide the first comers from
the last, if the last are to be punctual. And when one translates our
own difficulties over cars and cabs at the end of a performance into the
terms of gondolas and canals, one can imagine how long it must be before
the theatre is emptied.
The Fenice is also remarkable among the world's theatres for its size,
holding, as it does, three thousand persons. It is peculiar furthermore
in being open only for a few weeks in the spring.
I have not been to the Fenice, but I once attended a performance of
_Amleto_ by "G. Shakespeare" in the Goldoni. It is the gayest of
theatres, and the most intimate, for all save the floor and a trifling
space under the flat ceiling is boxes; one hundred and twenty-three
little ones and eight big ones, each packed with Venetians who really do
enjoy a play while it is in progress, and really do enjoy every minute
of the interval while it is not. When the lights are up they eat and
chatter and scrutinize the other boxes; when the lights are down they
follow the drama breathlessly and hiss if any one dares to whisper a
word to a neighbour.
As for the melancholy Prince of Danimarca, he was not my conception of
the part, but he was certainly the Venetians'. Either from a national
love of rhetoric, or a personal fancy of the chief actor for the centre
of the stage, or from economical reasons, the version of "G.
Shakespeare's" meritorious tragedy which was placed before us was almost
wholly monologue. Thinking about it now, I can scarcely recall any
action on the part of the few other characters, whereas Amleto's
millions of rapid words still rain uncomprehended on my ears, and I
still see his myriad grimaces and gestures. It was like _Hamlet_ very
unintelligently arranged for a very noisy cinema, and watching it I was
conscious of what a vast improvement might be effected in many plays if
the cinema producer as well as the author attended the rehearsals. But
to the Venetians this was as impressive and entertaining a Hamlet as
could be wished, and four jolly Jack-tars from one of the men-of-war in
the lagoon nearly fell out of their private box in their delight, and
after each of the six atti Amleto was called several times through the
little door in the curtain. Nor did he fail to respond.
About the staging of the play there was a right Shakespearian parsimony.
If all the scenery and costumes cost twenty-five pounds, I am surprised.
No attempt was made to invest "lo spettro del padre del Amleto" with
supernatural graces. He merely walked on sideways, a burly, very living
Italian, and with a nervous quick glance, to see if he was clearing the
wing (which he sometimes did not), off again. So far as the Goldoni is
concerned, Sir Henry Irving, Sir Herbert Beerbohm Tree, Sir Augustus
Harris, and Herr Reinhardt have toiled in vain. Amleto's principle, "The
play's the thing," was refined down to "Amleto's the thing". Yet no
English theatre was ever in better spirits.
[Illustration: THE ASSUMPTION OF THE VIRGIN
FROM THE PAINTING BY TITIAN
_In the Accademia_]
Continuing from the Bridge of the Oysters, we come shortly to S.
Zobenigo, or S. Maria del Giglio (of the lily), of which the guide-books
take very little account, but it is a friendly, cheerful church with a
sweet little dark panelled chapel at the side, all black and gold with
rich tints in its scriptural frieze. The church is not famous for any
picture, but it has a quaint relief of S. Jerome in his cell, with his
lion and his books about him, in the entrance hall, and the first
altar-piece on the left seemed to me a pleasant soft thing, and over the
door are four female saints freely done. On the façade are stone maps of
Zara, Candia, Padua, Rome, Corfu, and Spalata, which originally were
probably coloured and must then have been very gay, and above are stone
representations of five naval engagements.
All that remains of S. Zobenigo's campanile is the isolated structure in
the Piazza. It did not fall but was taken down in time.
Still following the stream and maintaining as direct a line as the calli
permit, we come, by way of two more bridges, a church (S. Maurizio), and
another bridge, to the great Campo Morosoni where S. Stefano is
situated.
For sheer comfort and pleasure I think that S. Stefano is the first
church in Venice. It is spacious and cheerful, with a charming rosetted
ceiling and carved and coloured beams across the nave, and a bland light
illumines all. It is remarkable also as being one of the very few
Venetian churches with cloisters. Here one may fancy oneself in Florence
if one has the mind. The frescoes are by Pordenone, but they have almost
perished. By some visitors to Venice, S. Stefano may be esteemed
furthermore as offering a harbour of refuge from pictures, for it has
nothing that need be too conscientiously scrutinized.
The fine floor tomb with brass ornaments is that of Francesco Morosoni,
the heroic defender of Candia against the Turks until, in 1669, further
resistance was found to be useless and he made an honourable retreat.
Later he was commander of the forces in a new war against the Turks, and
in 1686 he was present at the sack of Athens and did what he could
(being a lover of the arts as well as a soldier) to check the destroying
zeal of his army. It was there that he at last fulfilled his dreams of
conquering the Morea. It was while he was conducting this campaign that
the Doge Marcantonio Giustinian died, and Morosoni being elected in his
place was crowned on his battleship at Porto Porro in Cephalonia. The
carousals of the army and navy lasted for three days, at the new Doge's
cost, the resources of the fleet having no difficulty in running to
every kind of pageantry and pyrotechny. Returning to Venice, after the
somewhat inglorious end of his campaign, Morosoni was again crowned.
Although a sick man when a year or so later a strong hand was again
needed in the Morea, the Doge once more volunteered and sailed from the
Lido with the fleet. But he was too old and too infirm, and he died in
Nauplia in 1694. Venice was proud of him, and with reason; for he won
back territory for her (although she was not able to keep it), and he
loved her with a pure flame. But he was behind his time: he was an iron
ruler, and iron rule was out of date. The new way was compromise and
pleasure.
The marble lions that now guard the gate of the Arsenal were saved and
brought home by Morosoni, as his great fighting ducal predecessor Enrico
Dandolo had in his day of triumph brought trophies from Constantinople.
The careers of the two men are not dissimilar; but Morosoni was a child
beside Dandolo, for at his death he was but seventy-six.
The campo in front of S. Stefano bears Morosoni's name, but the statue
in the midst is not that of General Booth, as the English visitor might
think, but of Niccolò Tommaseo (1802-1874), patriot and author and the
ally of Daniele Manin. This was once a popular arena for bull-fights,
but there has not been one in Venice for more than a hundred years.
Morosoni's palace, once famous for its pictures, is the palace on the
left (No. 2802) as we leave the church for the Accademia bridge.
Opposite is another ancient palace, now a scholastic establishment with
a fine Neptune knocker. Farther down on the left is a tiny campo, across
which is the vast Palazzo Pisani, a very good example of the decay of
Venice, for it is now a thousand offices and a conservatory of music.
Outside S. Vitale I met, in the space of one minute, two red-haired
girls, after seeking the type in vain for days; and again I lost it. But
certain artists, when painting in Venice, seem to see little else.
And now, being close to the iron bridge which leads to the door of the
Accademia, let us see some pictures.