Flying away from him whose boast it was[1]
That the grass grew not where his horse had trod,
Gave birth to Venice. Like the water-fowl,
They built their nests among the ocean-waves;
And where the sands were shifting, as the wind
Blew from the north or south--where they that came
Had to make sure the ground they stood upon,
Rose, like an exhalation from the deep,
A vast Metropolis, with glistering spires,
With theatres, basilicas adorned;
A scene of light and glory, a dominion,
That has endured the longest among men.
And whence the talisman, whereby she rose,
Towering? ’Twas found there in the barren sea.
What led to Enterprise; and, far or near,
Who met not the Venetian?--now among
The Ægean Isles, steering from port to port,
Landing and bartering; now, no stranger there,
In Cairo, or without the eastern gate
Ere yet the cafila came, listening to hear
Its bells approaching from the Red Sea coast;
Then on the Euxine, and that smaller Sea
Of Azoph, in close converse with the Russ
And Tartar; on his lowly deck receiving
Pearls from the Persian Gulf, gems from Golconde;
Eyes brighter yet, that shed the light of love,
From Georgia, from Circassia. Wandering round,
When in the rich bazaar he saw, displayed,
Treasures from climes unknown, he asked and learnt,
And, travelling slowly upward, drew ere long
From the well-head, supplying all below;
Making the Imperial City of the East,
Herself, his tributary.--If we turn
To those black forests, where, through many an age,
Night without day, no axe the silence broke,
Or seldom, save where Rhine or Danube rolled;
Where o’er the narrow glen a castle hangs,
And, like the wolf that hungered at his door,
The baron lived by rapine--there we meet,
In warlike guise, the caravan from Venice;
When on its march, now lost and now beheld,
A glittering file (the trumpet heard, the scout
Sent and recalled), but at a city-gate
All gaiety, and looked for ere it comes;
Winning regard with all that can attract,
Caegs, whence every wild cry of the desert,
Jugglers, stage-dancers. Well might Charlemain
And his brave peers, each with his visor up,
On their long lances lean and gaze awhile,
When the Venetian to their eyes disclosed
The wonders of the East! Well might they then
Sigh for new conquests!
Thus did VENICE rise.
Thus flourish.
SAMUEL ROGERS.
[1] Attila.
THE FAIRY DAYS OF VENICE
The absence of horses and carriages and the resonance of the canal make
Venice the most delightful city for unceasing songs and serenading.
One must be an enthusiast indeed to fancy that the gondolier choruses
are better than those of the opera at Paris, as I have heard asserted
by some individuals of a particularly happy temperament, but it is
quite certain that one of those choruses, heard from afar under the
arcades of these Moorish palaces, looking so white in the moon’s rays,
gives more pleasure even than better music executed under a colonnade
formed of painted canvas. These rough uncultivated dilettanti shout in
tune and time; and the calm marble echoes prolong these rude and grave
harmonies, like the winds over the sea. The magic of acoustic effect,
and the desire to hear some sort of harmony in the silence of these
enchanted nights, make one listen with indulgence, and almost I may say
with gratitude, to the humblest melody which floats by, and is lost in
the distance.... Fairy days of Venice.... No one has ever said enough
of the beauty of the heavens, and the delights of the night at Venice.
The lagoon is so calm, that in fine evenings, the stars do not even
tremble on its surface. When you are in the midst, it is so blue, so
quiet that the outline of the horizon cannot be distinguished, and the
waves and the heavens form an azure veil, where reverie loses itself
and sleeps. The atmosphere is so transparent, so pure that thousands
more stars may be seen, than in our North of France. I have seen here,
nights, when the silvery lustre of the stars occupied more space in the
firmament than the blue of the atmosphere. It was a galaxy of diamonds
giving almost as good a light as the moon at Paris.... Here Nature,
more powerful in her influence, perhaps, imposes too much silence on
the mind; she sends all thought to sleep, but agitates the heart, and
dominates the senses. One must not even dream, unless one is a man of
genius, of writing poems during these voluptuous nights: one must love
or sleep.
As for sleeping, there is a most delicious spot: the platform of white
marble which descends from the Viceroy’s gardens to the canal. When the
ornamented gate is shut on the garden-side, one can go in a gondola to
these steps, still warm from the rays of the setting sun, and remain
without being interrupted by any inopportune stroller, unless he be
endowed with the faith so much needed by St. Peter. Many hours have I
passed there alone, thinking of nothing, whilst Catullo and his gondola
slumbered in the midst of the waters, within call.
When the breath of midnight passes over the linden-trees, and scatters
their blossoms over the waters, when the perfume of wallflowers and
geraniums rises in gusts, as though the earth gave forth her sighs
of fragrance to the moon; when the cupolas of St. Mary raise towards
heaven their alabaster hemispheres and their turban-crowned minarets;
when all is white, the water, the sky, the marble, the three elements
of Venice, and when from the tower of St. Mark a giant sound hovers
over my head, then I begin to feel life through every pore, and evil be
to him who should then come to make an appeal to my soul! I vegetate,
I repose, I forget. Who would not do the same in my place?... I defy
anyone, no matter who, to prevent me from sleeping happily when I
see Venice, so impoverished, so oppressed, so miserable, still so
beautiful, so calm, in spite of men and of time. Behold her, round
me, admiring herself in the lagoons with the air of a sultana; and
this populace of fishermen, sleeping on the pavement, winter as well
as summer, with no other pillow than one of granite, no other mattress
than a tattered cloak; is not such a populace a great example of
philosophy? When it has no longer wherewithal to purchase a pound of
rice, it sings a chorus to drive away the pangs of hunger; thus braving
masters and misery, as it used to brave cold, heat, and the sudden
tempest. It would require many years of slavery to imbrute entirely
this careless frivolous character, so accustomed for many years to be
nourished with _fêtes_ and diversions. Existence is still so easy at
Venice!
GEORGE SAND.
VENICE THE PROUD
Venice exult! and o’er thy moonlight seas,
Swell with gay strains each Adriatic breeze!
What though long fled those years of martial fame,
That shed romantic lustre o’er thy name:
Though to the winds thy streamers idly play,
And the wild waves another Queen obey;
Though quenched the spirit of thine ancient race,
And power and freedom scarce have left a trace;
Yet still shall Art her splendours round thee cast,
And gild the wreck of years for ever past.
Again thy fanes may boast a Titian’s dyes,
Whose clear soft brilliance emulates thy skies,
And scenes that glow in colouring’s richest bloom,
With life’s warm flush Palladian halls illume,
From thy rich dome again th’ unrivalled steed
Starts to existence, rushes into speed,
Still for Lysippus claims the wreath of fame,
Panting with ardour, vivified with flame.
Proud Racers of the Sun! to fancy’s thought,
Burning with spirit, from his essence caught,
No mortal birth ye seem--but formed to bear
Heaven’s car of triumph through the realms of air;
To range uncurbed the pathless fields of space,
The winds your rivals in the glorious race;
Traverse empyreal spheres with buoyant feet,
Free as the zephyr, as the shot-star fleet;
And waft through worlds unknown the vital ray,
The flame that wakes creations into day.
Creatures of fire and ether! winged with light,
To track the regions of the Infinite!
From purer elements whose light was drawn,
Sprung from the sunbeam, offspring of the dawn,
What years on years, in silence gliding by,
Have spared those forms of perfect symmetry!
Moulded by Art to dignify alone,
Her own bright deity’s resplendent throne,
Since first her skill their fiery grace bestowed,
Meet for such lofty fate, such high abode,
How many a race, whose tales of glory seem
An echo’s voice--the music of a dream,
Whose records feebly from oblivion save,
A few bright traces of the wise and brave:
How many a state, whose pillared strength sublime,
Defied the storms of war, the waves of time,
Towering o’er earth majestic and alone,
Fortress of power--has flourished and is gone!
And they, from clime to clime by conquest borne,
Each fleeting triumph destined to adorn,
They, that of powers and kingdoms lost and won,
Have seen the noontide and the setting sun,
Consummate still in every grace remain,
As o’er _their_ heads had ages rolled in vain!
Ages, victorious in their ceaseless flight,
O’er countless monuments of earthly might!
While she, from fair Byzantium’s lost domain,
Who bore those treasures to her ocean-reign,
’Midst the blue deep, who reared her island-throne,
And called th’ infinitude of waves her own;
Venice the proud, the Regent of the sea,
Welcomes in chains the trophies of the Free!
MRS. HEMANS.
THIS LOVELY VENICE!
St. Mark’s Place, after all I had read and all I had heard of
it, exceeded expectation; such a cluster of excellence, such a
constellation of artificial beauties, my mind had never ventured to
excite the idea of within herself.... Whoever sees St. Mark’s Place
lighted up of an evening, adorned with every excellence of human art
and pleasure, expressed by intelligent countenances sparkling with
every grace of nature; the sea washing its walls, the moonbeams dancing
on its subjugated waves, sport and laughter resounding from the cafés,
girls with guitars skipping about the square, masks and merry-makers
singing as they pass you, unless a barge with a band of music is heard
at some distance upon the water, and calls attention to sounds made
sweeter by the element over which they are brought--whoever is led
suddenly, I say, to this scene of seemingly perennial gaiety, will be
apt to cry out of Venice, ...
‘With thee conversing, I forget all time,
All seasons and their change--all please alike.’
For it is sure there are in this town many astonishing privations of
all that are used to make other places delightful; and as poor Omai,
the savage, said, when about to return to Otaheite: ‘No horse there,
no ass, no cow, no golden pippins, no dish of tea.... I am always so
content there, though.’ It is really just so one lives at this lovely
Venice. One has heard of a horse being exhibited there, and yesterday
I watched the poor people paying a penny a-piece for the sight of a
stuffed one.... The view of Venice from the Zuecca would invite one
never more to stray from it, farther, at least, than to St. George’s
Church, on another little opposite island, whence the prospect is
surely wonderful.... On Saturday next I am to forsake--but I hope not
for ever--this gay, this gallant city, so often described, so certainly
admired--seen with rapture, quitted with regret. Seat of enchantment!
head-quarters of pleasure, farewell!
MRS. PIOZZI (1785).
TO VENICE
‘Questi palazzi, e queste logge or colte.’
These marble domes, by wealth and genius graced,
With sculptured forms, bright hues, and Parian stone,
Were once rude cabins ’midst a lonely waste,
Wild shores of solitude, and isles unknown.
Pure from each vice, ’twas here a venturous train
Fearless in fragile barks explored the sea;
Not theirs a wish to conquer or to reign,
They sought these island-precincts--to be free.
Ne’er in their souls ambition’s flame arose,
No dream of avarice broke their calm repose;
Fraud, more than death, abhorred each artless breast;
Oh! now, since Fortune gilds their brightening day,
Let not those virtues languish and decay,
O’erwhelmed by luxury, and by wealth opprest!
MRS. HEMANS.
_From the Italian of ‘Della Casa.’_
VENICE: THAT RARE CITY
I have now a good while since taken footing in Venice, this admired
maiden city, so called because she was never deflowered by any enemy
since she had a being, nor since her Rialto was first erected, which is
now above twelve ages ago.
I protest unto you at my first landing I was for some days ravished
with the high beauty of this maid, with her lovely countenance. I
admired her magnificent buildings, her marvellous situation, her dainty
smooth neat streets, whereon you may walk most days in the year in a
silk stocking and satin slippers, without soiling them, nor can the
streets of Paris be so foul, as these are fair....
Give me leave to salute you first in these sapphics.
‘Insulam tendens iter ad Britannam
Charta, de paucis volo, siste gressum,
Verba Mansello, bene noscis illum,
Talia perfer.
‘Finibus longe patriis Hoellus
Dimorans, quantis Venetum superba
Civitas leucis Doroberniensi
Distat ab urbe;
‘Plurimum mentis tibi vult salutem,
Plurimum cordis tibi vult vigorem,
Plurimum sortis tibi vult favorem
Regis et Aulæ.’
These wishes come to you from Venice, a place where there is nothing
wanting that heart can wish; renowned Venice, the admiredst city
in the world, a city that all Europe is bound unto, for she is her
greatest rampart against that huge eastern tyrant the Turk by sea,
else I believe he had overrun all Christendom by this time. Against
him this city hath performed notable exploits, and not only against
him, but divers other. She hath restored emperors to their throne,
and popes to their chairs, and with her galleys often preserved Saint
Peter’s barque from sinking: for which, by way of reward, one of his
successors espoused her to the sea, which marriage is solemnly renewed
every year in solemn profession by the Doge and all the Clarissimos,
and a gold ring cast into the sea out of the great galleasse, called
the _Bucentoro_, wherein the first ceremony was performed by the Pope
himself, above three hundred years since, and they say it is the
self-same vessel still, though often put upon the careen and trimmed.
This made me think on that famous ship at Athens; nay, I fell upon an
abstracted notion in philosophy, and a speculation touching the body
of man, which being in perpetual flux, and a kind of succession of
decays, and consequently requiring ever and anon a restoration of what
it loseth of the virtue of the former ailment, and what was converted
after the third concoction into blood and fleshly substance, which, as
in all other sublunary bodies that have internal principles of heart,
uses to transpire, breathe out, and waste away through invisible pores
by exercise, motion, and sleep to make room still for a supply of new
nourriture. I fell, I say, to consider whether our bodies may be said
to be of like condition with this _Bucentoro_, which, though it be
reputed still the same vessel, yet I believe there’s not a foot of
that timber remaining which it had upon the first dock, having been,
as they tell me, so often planked and ribbed, caulked and pierced.
In like manner our bodies may be said to be daily repaired by new
sustenance, which begets new blood, and consequently new spirits, new
humours, and I may say new flesh, the old by continual deperdition
and insensible transpirations evaporating still out of us, and giving
way to stress; so that I make a question, whether by reason of these
perpetual preparations and accretions the body of man may be said to
be the same numerical body in his old age that he had in his manhood,
or the same in his manhood that he had in his youth, the same in his
youth that he carried about him in his childhood, or the same in his
childhood which he wore first in the womb. I make a doubt whether I
had the same identical individually numerical body when I carried a
calf-leather satchel to school in Hereford, as when I wore a lambskin
hood in Oxford, or whether I have the same mass of blood in my veins,
and the same flesh now in Venice which I carried about me three years
since up and down London streets, having in lieu of beer and ale drunk
wine all this while, and fed upon different viands; now the stomach is
like a crucible, for it hath a chemical kind of virtue to transmute
one body into another, to transubstantiate fish and fruits into flesh
within, and about us; but though it be questionable whether I wear the
same flesh which is fluxible, I am sure my hair is not the same, for
you may remember I went flaxen-haired out of England, but you shall
find me returned with a very dark brown, which I impute not only to
the heat and air of those hot countries I have ate my bread in, but
to the quality and difference of food; but you will say that hair is
but an excrementitious thing, and makes not to this purpose; moreover,
methinks I hear you say that this may be true, only in the blood and
spirits, or such fluid parts, not in the solid and heterogeneal parts;
but I will press no further at this time this philosophical notion
which the sight of _Bucentoro_ infused into me, for it hath already
made me exceed the bounds of a letter, and I fear me to trespass too
much upon your patience. I leave the further disquisition of this point
to your own contemplations, who are a far riper philosopher than I, and
have waded deeper into, and drunk more of Aristotle’s Well; but ...
though it be doubtful whether I carry about me the same body or no, in
all points that I had in England, I am well assured I bear still the
same mind, and therein I verify the old verse--
‘Cœlum non animam mutant qui trans mare currunt.’
‘The air but not the mind they change,
Who in outlandish countries range.’ ...
She [Venice] was built of the ruins of Aquileia and Padua, for when
those swarms of tough northern people overran Italy under the conduct
of that scourge of heaven Attila, with others, and that this soft
voluptuous nation, after so long a desuetude from arms, could not repel
their fury, many of the ancient nobility and gentry fled into these
lakes and little islands, amongst the fishermen for their security,
and finding the air good and commodious for habitation, they began to
build upon those small islands, whereof there are in all three-score;
and in tract of time, they conjoined and leagued them together by
bridges, whereof there are now above eight hundred, and this makes
up the city of Venice, who is now above twelve ages old, and was
contemporary with the monarchy of France; but the signiory glorieth
in one thing above the monarchy, that she was born a Christian, but
the monarchy not. Though this city be thus hemmed in with the sea, yet
she spreads her wings far wide upon the shore; she hath in Lombardy
six considerable towns--Padua, Verona, Vicenza, Brescia, Crema, and
Bergamo; she hath in the Marquisat, Bassan and Castlefranco; she
hath all Friuli and Istria; she commands the shores of Dalmatia and
Slavonia; she keeps under the power of Saint Mark, the islands of Corfu
(anciently Corcyria), Cephalonia, Zant, Cerigo, Lucerigo, and Candy
(Jove’s Cradle); she had a long time the kingdom of Cyprus, but it was
quite rent from her by the Turk, which made that high-spirited Bassa,
being taken prisoner at the Battle of Lepanto, where the grand signior
lost above 200 galleys, to say, ‘That that defeat to his great master
was but like the shaving of his beard or the paring of his nails; but
the taking of Cyprus was like the cutting off of a limb, which will
never grow again.’ This mighty potentate being so near a neighbour to
her, she is forced to comply with him and give him an annual present
in gold: she hath about thirty galleys most part of the year in course
to scour and secure the gulf; she entertains by land in Lombardy and
other parts 25,000 foot, besides some of the cantons of Suisses whom
she gives pay unto; she hath also in constant pay 600 men of arms, and
every one of these must keep two horses a-piece, for which they are
allowed 120 ducats a year, and they are for the most part gentlemen of
Lombardy. When they have any great expedition to make, they have always
a stranger for their general, but he is supervised by two proveditors,
without whom he cannot attempt anything.
Her great Council consists of above 2,000 gentlemen, and some of them
meet every Sunday and holiday to choose officers and magistrates, and
every gentleman being past twenty-five years of age is capable to sit
in this Council. The Doge or Duke (their sovereign magistrate) is
chosen by lots, which would be too tedious here to demonstrate, and
commonly he is an aged man who is created, like that course they hold
in the popedom. When he is dead there be inquisitors that examine his
actions, and his misdemeanours are punishable in his heirs. There is a
superintendent council of ten, and six of them may dispatch business
without the Doge, but the Doge never without some of them, not as much
as open a letter from any foreign state, though addressed to himself,
which makes him to be called by other princes, _Testa di legno_, a head
of wood.
The wealth of this republic hath been at a stand, or rather declining,
since the Portugal found a road to the East Indies by the Cape of Good
Hope; for this city was used to fetch all those spices and other Indian
commodities from the grand Cairo down the Nile, being formerly carried
to Cairo from the Red Sea upon camels’ and dromedaries’ backs, three
score days’ journey; and so Venice used to dispense those commodities
through all Christendom, which not only the Portugal, but the English
and Hollander, now transport, and are masters of the trade. Yet there
is no outward appearance at all of poverty, or any decay in this city,
but she is still gay, flourishing, and fresh, and flowing with all kind
of bravery and delight, which may be had at cheap rates....
I have now enough of the maiden city, and this week I am to go further
into Italy; for though I have been a good while in Venice, yet I cannot
say I have been hitherto upon the continent of Italy: for this city
is nought else but a knot of islands in the Adriatic Sea, joined in
one body by bridges, and a good way distant from the firm land. I have
lighted upon very choice company, your cousin Brown and Master Web,
and we all take the road of Lombardy, but we made an order amongst
ourselves that our discourse be always in the language of the country,
under penalty of a forfeiture, which is to be indispensably paid.
Randal Symns made us a curious feast lately, where in a cup of the
richest Greek we had your health, and I could not tell whether the wine
or the remembrance of you was sweeter; for it was naturally a kind of
aromatic wine, which left a fragrant perfuming kind of farewell behind
it. I have sent you a runlet of it in the ship _Lion_, and if it come
safe, and unpricked, I pray bestow some bottles upon the lady (you
know) with my humble service.... Before I conclude I will acquaint you
with a common saying that is used of this dainty city of Venice:
‘Venetia, Venetia, chi non te vede non te pregia,
Ma chi t’ha troppo veduto te dispreggia.’
Englished and rhymed thus (though I know you need no translation, you
understand so much of Italian):
‘Venice, Venice, none thee unseen can prize,
Who hath seen too much will thee despise.’
I will conclude with that famous hexastic which Sannazaro made of this
rare city, which pleaseth me much better:
‘Viderat Hadriacis Venetam Neptunus in undis
Stare urbem, et toti ponere jura Mari;
Nunc mihi Tarpeias quantum vis, Jupiter, Arces
Objice, et illa tui mænia Martis ait,
Sic Pelago Tibrim præfers, urbem aspice utramque,
Illam homines dices, hanc posuisse Deos.’
‘When Neptune saw in Adrian surges stand
Venice, and gave the sea laws of command:
Now Jove, said he, object thy Capitol,
And Mars’ proud walls: this were for to extol
Tyber beyond the main; both towns behold;
Rome, men thou’lt say, Venice the Gods did mould.’
Sannazaro had given him by Saint Mark a hundred zecchins, for every one
of these verses, which amounts to about 300 pounds. It would be long
before the city of London would do the like. Witness that cold reward,
or rather those cold drops of water which were cast upon my countryman,
Sir Hugh Middleton, for bringing Ware River through her streets, the
most serviceable and wholesomest benefit that ever she received.
JAMES HOWELL (1621).
VENISE
Dans Venise la rouge,
Pas un bateau qui bouge,
Pas un pêcheur dans l’eau,
Pas un falot.
Seul, assis à la grève,
Le grand lion soulève,
Sur l’horizon serein,
Son pied d’airain.
Autour de lui, par groupes,
Navires et chaloupes,
Pareils à des hérons
Couchés en ronds,
Dorment sur l’eau qui fume,
Et croisent dans la brume,
En légers tourbillons
Leurs pavillons.