yeare was now kept, every body at liberty and jollie. The noblemen
stalking with their ladys on _choppines_; these are high-heel’d shoes,
particularly affected by these proude dames, or, as some may say,
invented to keepe them at home, it being very difficult to walke with
them; whence one being asked how he liked the Venetian dames, replied
that they were _mezzo carne, mezzo ligno_, half flesh, half wood, and
he would have none of them. The truth is, their garb is very odd, as
seeming allwayes in masquerade; their other habits are also totally
different from all nations. They weare long crisped haire, of severall
strakes and colours, which they make so by a wash, dishevelling it
on the brims of a broade hat that has no head, but an hole to put
out their heads by; they drie them in the sunne, as one may see them
at their windows. In their tire they set silk flowers and sparkling
stones, their peticoates coming from their very arme-pits, so that
they are neere three-quarters and an half apron; their sleeves are
made exceedingly wide ... and commonly tucked up to the shoulder,
showing their naked armes, thro’ false sleeves of tiffany, girt with
a bracelet or two, with knots of points richly tagged about their
shoulders and other places of their body, which they usually cover with
a kind of yellow vaile of lawn very transparent. Thus attir’d they set
their hands on the heads of two matron-like servants or old women, to
support them, who are mumbling their beades. ’Tis ridiculous to see
how these ladys crawle in and out of their _gondolas_ by reason of
their _choppines_, and what dwarfs they appeare when taken downe from
their wooden scaffolds; of these I saw nearly thirty together, stalking
half as high again as the rest of the world, for courtezans or the
citizens may not weare _choppines_, but cover their bodies and faces
with a vaile of a certaine glittering taffeta or lustreè, out of which
they now and then dart a glaunce of their eye, the whole face being
otherwise entirely hid with it; nor may the common misses take this
habit, but go abroad bare-fac’d. To the corners of these virgin-vailes
hang broad but flat tossells of curious Point de Venize; the married
women go in black vailes. The nobility weare the same colour, but of
fine cloth lin’d with taffeta in summer, and fur of the bellies of
squirrels in the winter, which all put on at a certaine day girt with
a girdle emboss’d with silver; the vest not much different from what
our Bachelors of Arts weare in Oxford, and a hood of cloth made like
a sack, cast over their left shoulder, and a round cloth black cap
fring’d with wool which is not so comely; they also weare their collar
open to shew the diamond buttons of the stock of their shirt. I have
never seene pearles for colour and bignesse comparable to what the
lady’s wear, most of the noble families being very rich in jewells,
especially pearles.
JOHN EVELYN.
THE VENICE OF CARLO GOLDONI
A PRINCE AMONG WRITERS OF COMEDY
I was born at Venice, in the year 1707, in a large and beautiful house
between the bridges of _Nomboli_ and _Donna Onesta_, at the corner of
the street _Cà cent’anni_, in the parish of St. Thomas. Julius Goldoni,
my father, was born in the same city; but all his family were of
Modena.
Venice is so extraordinary a city, that it is impossible to form
a correct idea of it without seeing it. Maps, plans, models, and
descriptions, are insufficient; it must be seen. All other cities bear
more or less resemblance to one another, but Venice resembles none;
and every time I have seen it after a long absence, it has been a new
subject of astonishment and surprise for me. As I advanced in years,
and my knowledge increased and furnished me with more numerous objects
of comparison, I ever discovered new singularities and new beauties in
it.
But I then saw it as a youth of fifteen, who could not be supposed to
be struck with what in reality was the most remarkable, and who could
only compare it with the small towns which he had lived in. What I was
most astonished at was the surprising view which it presents on a first
approach. On seeing the extent of small islands so close together and
so admirably connected by bridges, we imagine we behold a continent
elevated on a plain, and washed on every side by an immense sea which
surrounds it.
This is not the sea, but a very extensive marsh more or less covered
with water, at the mouth of several ports, with deep canals which admit
large and small vessels into the town and its environs. If you enter
by the quarter of St. Mark through a prodigious quantity of vessels
of every description, ships of war, merchantmen, frigates, galleys,
barks, boats, and gondolas, you land at the Piazzetta where in one
direction you see the palace and the ducal church, which announce the
magnificence of the republic, and in another, the place or square
of St. Mark, surrounded with porticos from designs by Palladio and
Sansovino.
In going through the streets where haberdashery goods are sold, you
tread on flags of Istrian marble, carefully roughened by the chisel
to prevent them being slippery. The whole quarter is a perpetual fair
till you arrive at the bridge of a single arch, ninety feet in breadth,
over the great canal, which, from its elevation, allows the passage of
barques and boats in the highest tides, which offer three different
roads to passengers, and which upholds twenty-four ships with lodgings,
the roofs of which are covered with lead....
In Italy, their places of public amusement are called theatres. There
are seven in Venice, each bearing the name of the titular church of its
parish. The theatre of St. John Chrysostom was then the first in the
town, where the grand operas were represented, where Metastasio opened
his dramatical, and Farinello, Faustine, and Cozzoni their musical
career. At present, the theatre of St. Benedict is highest in rank. The
five other are St. Samuel, St. Luke, St. Angelo, St. Cassian, and St.
Moses. Of these seven, two generally are dedicated to grand operas, two
to comic operas, and three to plays.... There are none of them which
have not had works of mine, and which have not contributed both to my
honour and profit.
CARLO GOLDONI (1707-1793).
THE ROMANCE OF VENICE
If Cupid have not spent all his quiver in Venice.
SHAKESPEARE.
AT VENICE
So now she stands by Glory’s great sea-grave
And has the first fair vision of that shrine
Where it lies sainted with its smile divine,
Rubied in sunset, em’ralded in wave;
Where the stones whisper of the masques they gave
Of argosy and pageant, line on line;
Till we are drunk with splendour as with wine
In that broad street which molten beryls pave.
I wonder if she thinks of me at whiles,
Or only of the dim Byzantine gold
And time-stained fronts, and seaweed-covered piles?
And if a corner of her heart doth hold
Something besides a dream of the crowned isles
That ruled the sunrise and its waves of old?
EUGENE LEE-HAMILTON.
THE GOLDEN BOOK OF VENICE
The Golden Book[5]
Is now unwritten in, and stands unmoved,
Save when the curious traveller takes down
A random volume, from the dusty shelf,
To trace the progress of a bruited name;
The Bucentaur
Is shattered, and of its resplendent form
There is no remnant, but some splintered morsel,
Which in his cabin, as a talisman
Mournfully hangs the pious gondolier;
The Adrian sea
Will never have a Doge to marry more,--
The meagre favours of a foreign lord
Can hardly lead some score of humble craft
With vilest merchandise into the port
That whilom held the wealth of half a world.
Thy palaces
Are bartered to the careful Israelite,--
Or left to perish, stone by stone, worn down
In desolation, solemn skeletons,
Whose nakedness some tufts of pitying grass,
Or green boughs trembling o’er the tumbling wall,
Adorn but hide not.
And are these things true.
Miraculous Venice? Is the charm then past
Away from thee? Is all thy work fulfilled
Of power and beauty? Art thou gathered
To the dead cities? Is thy ministry
Made up, and folded in the hand of Thought?
Ask him who knows the meaning and the truth
Of all existence;--ask the poet’s heart:
The Book has no dead tome for him,--for him
Within St. Mark’s emblazoned porticoes
Thy old nobility are walking still;
The lowliest gondola upon thy waters
Is worth to him thy decorated galley;
He never looks upon the Adrian sea
But as thy lawful tho’ too faithless spouse;
And when, in the sad lustre of the moon,
Thy palaces seem beautifully wan,
He blesses God that there is left on earth
So marvellous, so full an antidote,
For all the racks and toils of mortal life,
As thy sweet countenance to gaze upon.
RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES.
[5] Il Libro d’Oro, the Venetian Peerage.
TO AN OLD VENETIAN WINEGLASS
ROSE-COLOURED AT THE BRIM
Daughter of Venice, fairer than the moon!
From thy dark casement leaning, half divine,
And to the lutes of love that low repine
Across the midnight of the hushed lagoon,
Listening with languor in a dreamful swoon--
On such a night as this thou didst entwine
Thy lily fingers round this glass of wine,--
Didst clasp thy climbing lover--none too soon!
Thy lover left, but ere he left thy room
From this he drank, his warm lips at the brim;
Thou kissed it as he vanished in the gloom,
That kiss, because of thy true love for him--
Long, long ago when thou wast in thy bloom--
Hath left it ever rosy round the rim!
LLOYD MIFFLIN.
DANTE AT THE ARSENAL AT VENICE
From bridge to bridge thus, speaking other things
Of which my Comedy cares not to sing,
We came along, and held the summit, when
We halted to behold another fissure
Of Malebolge and other vain laments;
And I beheld it marvellously dark.
As in the Arsenal of the Venetians
Boils in the winter the tenacious pitch
To smear their unsound vessels o’er again,
For sail they cannot; and instead thereof
One makes his vessel new, and one recaulks
The ribs of that which many a voyage has made;
One hammers at the prow, one at the stern,
This one makes oars, and that one cordage twists,
Another mends the mainsail and the mizzen;
Thus, not by fire, but by the art divine,
Was boiling down below there a dense pitch
Which upon every side the bank belimed.
I saw it, but I did not see within it
Aught but the bubbles that the boiling raised,
And all swell up and resubside compressed.
The while below there fixedly I gazed,
My Leader, crying out: ‘Beware, beware!’
Drew me unto himself from where I stood.
Then I turned round, as one who is impatient
To see what it behoves him to escape,
And whom a sudden terror doth unman,
Who, while he looks, delays not his departure;
And I beheld behind us a black devil,
Running along upon the crag, approach.
Ah, how ferocious was he in his aspect!
And how he seemed to me in action ruthless,
With open wings and light upon his feet!
His shoulders, which sharp-pointed were and high,
A sinner did encumber with both haunches,
And he held clutched the sinews of the feet.
_‘INFERNO’ (LONGFELLOW’S TRANSLATION)._
MENDELSSOHN AT VENICE
VENICE, _October 10, 1830_.
Italy at last! and what I have all my life looked forward to as the
greatest possible felicity is now begun, and I am basking in it. The
day has been so fruitful in enjoyment that I must, now that it is
evening, endeavour to collect my thoughts a little to write to you, my
dear parents, and to thank you for having bestowed such happiness on
me.... I shall, however, become quite bewildered, if things are to go
on as they have done on this first day, when every hour brought with it
so much never to be forgotten, that I do not know where to find senses
sufficient to comprehend it all properly. I saw the ‘Assumption,’ then
a whole gallery of paintings in the Manfrini Palace; then a festival in
the church where hangs Titian’s ‘St. Peter’; afterwards St. Mark’s, and
in the afternoon I had a row on the Adriatic, and visited the public
gardens, where the people lie on the grass and eat. I then returned
to the Piazza of St. Mark, where in the twilight there is always an
immense crowd and crush of people; and all this I was obliged to see
to-day, because there is so much that is novel and interesting to be
seen to-morrow.
But I must now relate methodically how I came hither by water.... In
Treviso there was an illumination, paper lanterns suspended in every
part of the great square, and a large gaudy transparency in the centre.
Some most lovely girls were walking about, in their long white veils
and scarlet petticoats. It was quite dark when we arrived at Mestre
last night, when we got into a boat, and in a dead calm gently rowed
across to Venice. On our passage thither, where nothing but water is to
be seen, and distant lights, we saw a small rock which stands in the
midst of the sea; on this a lamp was burning; all the sailors took off
their hats as we passed, and one of them said, this was the ‘Madonna
of Tempests,’ which are often most dangerous and violent here. We then
glided quietly into the great city, under innumerable bridges, without
sound of post-horns, or rattling of wheels, or tollkeepers; the
passage now became more thronged, and numbers of ships lying near; past
the theatre, where gondolas in long rows lie waiting for their masters,
just as our own carriages do at home, then into the great canal, past
the church of St. Mark, the Lions, the palace of the Doges, and the
Bridge of Sighs. The obscurity of night only enhanced my delight on
hearing the familiar names and seeing the dark outlines.
And so I am actually in Venice! Only think: to-day I have gazed upon
the finest pictures in the world, and have at last personally made the
acquaintance of a very admirable man, whom hitherto I only knew by
name--I allude to a certain Signor Giorgione, a splendid fellow--and
also to Pardenone, who displays the most noble pictures, and portrays
both himself and many of his simple scholars, in such a devout,
faithful, and pious spirit, that you seem to converse with and grow
fond of him. Who would not have been confused by all this? But if I am
to speak of Titian, I must do so in a more reverent mood. Till now, I
never knew that he was the felicitous artist I have this day seen him
to be. That he thoroughly enjoyed life, in all its beauty and fulness,
the picture in Paris proves; but he has fathomed the depths of human
sorrow, as well as the joys of Heaven. His glorious ‘Entombment,’ and
also the ‘Assumption,’ fully evince this. How Mary floats on the cloud,
while an actual _air_ seems to pervade the whole picture; how you see
at a glance her very breathing, her awe, her devotion, and in short a
thousand feelings,--all words seem poor and commonplace in comparison.
The three heads of angels too, on the right of the picture, are of the
highest order of beauty,--pure, serene loveliness, so unconscious, so
bright and so seraphic. But no more of this! or I must perforce become
poetical, if I be not so already, and that is a mood which does not
at all suit me. I shall certainly see that picture every day.... What
a man that Titian was! Everyone must be edified by his works, as I
shall try to be, and I rejoice that I am in Italy. At this moment the
gondoliers are shouting to each other, and the lights are reflected in
the depths of the waters; one man is playing a guitar, and singing to
it. It is a charming night. Farewell! and think of me in every happy
hour as I do of you.--FELIX.
FELIX MENDELSSOHN BARTHOLDY.
SHELLEY IN VENICE
WRITTEN TO MARY SHELLEY
We shall travel hence within a few hours, with the speed of the
post.... We have now got a comfortable carriage, and two mules, and,
thanks to Paolo, have made a very decent bargain, comprising everything
to Padua. I should say we had delightful fruit for breakfast, figs,
very fine, and peaches, unfortunately gathered before they were ripe,
whose smell was like what one fancies of the wakening of Paradise
flowers.... I came from Padua [to Venice] in a gondola, and the
gondolier, among other things, without any hint on my part, began
talking of Lord Byron. He said he was a _giovinotto Inglese_, with a
_nome stravagante_, who lived very luxuriously, and spent great sums of
money. This man, it seems, was one of Lord B.’s gondoliers.... These
gondolas are the most beautiful and convenient boats in the world. They
are finely carpeted and furnished with black, and painted black. The
couches on which you lean are extraordinarily soft, and are so disposed
as to be the most comfortable to those who lean or sit. The windows
have at will either Venetian plate-glass flowered, or Venetian blinds,
or blinds of black cloth to shut out the light.... I called on Lord
Byron: he was delighted to see me. He took me in his gondola across the
lagoon to a long sandy island, which defends Venice from the Adriatic.
When we disembarked, we found his horses waiting for us, and we rode
along the sands of the sea, talking. Our conversation consisted in
histories of his wounded feelings, and questions as to my affairs, and
great professions of friendship and regard for me.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.
THE VENETIAN SERENADE
When along the light ripple the far serenade
Has accosted the ear of each passionate maid,
She may open the window that looks on the stream,--
She may smile on her pillow and blend it in dream;
Half in words, half in music, it pierces the gloom,
‘I am coming--Stalì--but you know not for whom,
Stalì--not for whom!’
Now the tones become clearer,--you hear more and more
How the waters divided return on the oar,--
Does the prow of the gondola strike on the stair?
Do the voices and instruments pause and prepare?
Oh! they faint on the ear as the lamp on the view,
‘I am passing--Premì--but I stay not for you!
Premì--not for you!’
Then return to your couch, you who stifle a tear,--
Then awake not, fair sleeper--believe he is here;
For the young and the loving no sorrow endures,
If to-day be another’s, to-morrow is yours;--
May, the next time you listen, your fancy be true,
‘I am coming--Sciàr--and for you and to you!
Sciàr--and to you!’
RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES.
FAREWELL TO VENICE
If I had been an unconnected man,
I, from this moment, should have formed some plan
Never to leave sweet Venice: for to me
It was delight to ride by the lone sea:
And then the town is silent--one may write,
Or read in gondolas by day or night,
Having the little brazen lamp alight,
Unseen, uninterrupted:--books are there,
Pictures, and casts from all those statues fair
Which were twin-born with poetry;--and all
We seek in towns, with little to recall
Regret for the green country....
But I had friends in London too....
--The following morning, urged by my affairs,
I left bright Venice.
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY.
INDEX OF AUTHORS
Albini, Enrico, 341
Aldersey, Laurence, 353
Andersen, Hans, 17, 67, 237, 266
Anon., 135
Ashley, J., 362
Beaconsfield, Lord, 99, 131, 235, 305
Beckford, William, 72, 214, 228
Bell, Mackenzie, 224
Bowles, Fred. G., 339
Braddon, M. E., 2, 262
Brooke, Stopford A., 90, 186, 197, 309, 311
Brown, Horatio F., 76, 108
Browning, Robert, 121, 136, 190
Byron, Lord, 19, 108, 119, 145, 232, 260, 313
Carpenter, J. E., 29
Casola, Canon Pietro, 348
Clough, Arthur Hugh, 148, 304, 315
Coryat, Thomas, 23, 62, 171, 263, 291
Crawford, Francis Marion, 3, 304, 341
D’Annunzio, Gabriele, 134, 333, 344
Dante, 375
Dickens, Charles, 239
D’Israeli, Isaac, 162
Duclaux, Madame, 315
Eden, F., 233
Eliot, George, 57
Evelyn, John, 232, 296, 367
Goethe, 134, 149, 206, 364
Goldoni, Carlo, 368
Gray, David, 14
Harrington, John, 66
Hemans, Mrs., 35, 38, 153
Henderson, May Sturge, 108, 109, 111
Houghton, Lord (Richard Monckton Milnes), 5, 52, 134, 146, 212, 220,
290, 373, 380
Howell, James, 39, 62, 177, 185
Howells, W. D., 96, 221, 325
Hunt, Leigh, 234
James, Henry, 322
Jameson, Mrs., 299
Johnson, R. U., 55
Landor, Walter Savage, 2
Lee, Vernon, 256, 301, 340
Lee-Hamilton, Eugene, 373
Lewkenor, Sir Lewes, 355
Lindsay, Lady, 108, 110, 337
Longfellow, H. W., 9, 375
Lowell, James Russell, 255
Machiavelli, Niccolo, 345
Mackay, Charles, 344
Mendelssohn, 376
Meredith, Owen, 113
Mifflin, Lloyd, 53, 237, 284, 375
Milnes, Richard Monckton. See _Houghton, Lord_
Molmenti, Pompeo, 279
Montagu, Lady M. W., 271
Moore, Thomas, 211, 224
Morandi, Cesare, 131
Moryson, Fynes, 357
Moulton, Louise Chandler, 2, 10, 276
Musset, Alfred de, 46, 209
Negri, Antonio, 116
Newett, B.A., Margaret, 348
Oliphant, Mrs., 7
Ouida, 2, 188, 338
Pinkerton, Percy, 198, 208, 284, 310, 331
Piozzi, Mrs., 37, 165
Radcliffe, Mrs., 103
Reade, Charles, 48
Ritchie, Lady (Thackeray, Anne), 120, 226
Robinson, A. Mary F., 315
Rogers, Samuel, 30, 151
Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, 280
Ruskin, John, 77, 78, 128, 154, 172, 180, 209, 226, 281, 288, 330,
344
Sand, George, 33, 66, 158, 159, 166, 270, 278, 304, 323, 326
Sandys, George, 363
Schiller, 170
Sélincourt, Beryl de, 108, 109, 111
Shakespeare, 2, 372
Shelley, P. B., 69, 91, 379, 381
Spencer, Edw., 66, 357
Sullivan, Alan, 56
Swift, Baroness, 116
Symons, Arthur, 114, 126, 134, 316, 317, 320
Symonds, John Addington, 2, 74, 144, 193, 198, 202, 247, 278, 318
Thackeray, Anne. See _Ritchie, Lady_
Trollope, T. Adolphus, 249
Vacaresco, Hélène, 339
Vasari, 285
Wordsworth, William, 363, 366
Yriarte, Charles, 66, 116, 123, 129, 134, 227, 306
TABLE OF CONTENTS
TITLE SOURCE OF EXTRACT AUTHOR PAGE
Addressed to Venice ‘Sonnets’ _J. Ashley_ 362
A Dream in a Gondola ‘Memorials of a _Richard Monckton
Residence on Milnes_ (_Lord
the Continent’ Houghton_) 146
A First Impression in
Venice ‘The Improvisatore’ _Hans Andersen_ 237
A Gondolier of Chioggia ‘La Denière Aldini’ _George Sand_ 166
À la Zuecca ‘Poems’ _Alfred de Musset_ 209
All Souls’ Day at Venice ‘The Enchanted
Woods’ _Vernon Lee_ 340
An Improvisatore ‘The Improvisatore’ _Hans Andersen_ 266
An Island Visit ‘Italy’ _William Beckford_ 214
A Peerless City ‘The Cloister and
the Hearth’ _Charles Reade_ 48
A Pilgrim’s Description
of Venice ‘A Pilgrimage to _Canon Pietro Casola_
Jerusalem in (_translated by
the Year 1494’ Margaret M.
Newett, B.A._) 348
April in Venice ‘Lettres d’un
Voyageur’ _George Sand_ 326
A Reverie in Venice ‘Childe Harold’ _Lord Byron_ 19
A Rialto Scene ‘Venise’ _Charles Yriarte_ 227
A Sea-View ‘Poems’ _Antonio Negri_ 116
A Toccata of Galuppi’s ‘Poems’ _Robert Browning_ 190
A Tour round Venice with
Goldoni ‘Studies of the
Eighteenth
Century in
Italy’ _Vernon Lee_ 256
At Sunset ‘Adriatica’ _Percy Pinkerton_ 310
At the Dogana ‘Poems’ _Arthur Symons_ 320
At the Lido ‘A Venetian _John Addington
Medley’ Symonds_ 202
At Venice ‘Forest Notes’ _Eugene Lee-
Hamilton_ 373
Autumn and Venice ‘The Flame of
Life’ _Gabriele
d’Annunzio_ 333
Autumn in Venice ‘Santa Barbara’ _Ouida_ 338
A Venetian Carnival ‘The Venetians’ _M. E. Braddon_ 262
A Venetian Dream ‘Pictures of
Italy’ _Charles Dickens_ 239
A Venetian Market ‘Miss Angel’ _Lady Ritchie_ 226
A Venetian Night ‘Marino Faliero’ _Lord Byron_ 313
A Venetian Pastoral ‘Poems for _Dante Gabriel
Pictures’ Rossetti_ 280
A Venetian Restaurant ‘A Venetian _John
Medley’ Addington Symonds_ 247
A Vision of Venice ‘Poems’ _David Gray_ 14
Beautiful Venice ‘Songs’ _J. E. Carpenter_ 29
Before ‘A Survey of the
City of Venice’ ‘Poems’ _James Howell_ 62
Below the Rialto: Morning ‘Modern
Painters’ _John Ruskin_ 225
Boats and Voices ‘Miss Angel’ _Lady Ritchie_ 120
Browning’s Funeral ‘Collected Poems’ _Mackenzie Bell_ 224
Browning’s Venice Quoted in ‘The _Robert Underwood
World Beautiful’ Johnson_ 55
Byron on the Grand Canal ‘Letters and
Journals of
Lord Byron’ _Thomas Moore_ 224
Dante at the Arsenal at
Venice ‘Inferno’
xxi. 1-36 _Dante_ 375
Entering Venice at
Twilight ‘The Mysteries of
Udolpho’ _Mrs. Radcliffe_ 103
‘Fabrics of Enchantment
piled to Heaven’ ‘Julian and
Maddalo’ _Percy B. Shelley_ 69
Farewell to Venice ‘Julian and
Maddalo’ _Percy B. Shelley_ 381
Fayre Venice ‘Sonnets’ _Edw. Spencer_ 357
Feeding the ‘At the Gates of
Pigeons--Venice Song’ _Lloyd Mifflin_ 237
First Impressions of
Venice ‘A Venetian _John
Medley’ Addington Symonds_ 74
From a Palace-step at
Venice ‘Sordello’ _Robert Browning_ 121
From a Venetian Balcony ‘From a Venetian
Balcony’ _Lady Lindsay_ 337
George Eliot’s Impression ‘George Eliot’s _Edited by
of Venice Life’ J. W. Cross_ 57
Giorgione’s Home ‘Modern
Painters’ _John Ruskin_ 281
Gondoliers ‘Lettres d’un
Voyageur’ _George Sand_ 158
Gondoliers and their ‘A Journey
Songs through Italy’ _Mrs. Piozzi_ 165
Gondoliers’ Music ‘Lettres d’un
Voyageur’ _George Sand_ 159
How Spring comes to
Venice ‘Lettres d’un
Voyageur’ _George Sand_ 323
In a Gondola ‘Poems’ _Robert Browning_ 136
In Praise of Venice Coryat’s
‘Crudities’ _Thomas Coryat_ 23
In Venice ‘Contarini Fleming’ _Lord Beaconsfield_ 99
In Venice Once ‘At the Wind’s _Louise Chandler_
Will’ _Moulton_ 276
Lagoon Message ‘Adriatica’ _Percy Pinkerton_ 198
La Madonna dell’ Acqua Heath’s ‘Book of
Beauty’ _John Ruskin_ 209
Lord Byron on the Lido ‘Letters and
Journals of
Lord Byron’ _Thomas Moore_ 211
May in Venice ‘Modern
Painters’ _John Ruskin_ 330
Mendelssohn at Venice ‘Letters’ _Translated by Lady_
_Wallace_ 376
Murano ‘The Stones of
Venice’ _John Ruskin_ 172
Night in the Piazza ‘Poems’ _Arthur Hugh Clough_ 315
Night in Venice ‘Venetia’ _Lord Beaconsfield_ 131
Night in Venice ‘A Venetian _John
Medley’ Addington Symonds 318
On being asked for an _James Russell
Autograph in Venice ‘Poems’ Lowell_ 255
On the Extinction of the
Venetian Republic ‘Poems’ _William Wordsworth_ 366