THE CAFFES OF VENICE--THE “FLORIAN”--THE “IMPERATORE
D’AUSTRIA”--PIAZZA--VENETIAN HAWKERS--MUSICIANS--MERCHANTS
OF CAROMEL--THE SCHIAVONI--ITALIAN CARDS--THE BIRRARIE--SAN
MOISE--AN ACCORDEON PLAYER--QUINTAVALLE--QUEER
FISH--DINING-ROOMS--SERENADES--NIGHT ON THE GRAND CANAL--THE
RIALTO--SAN LAZZARO--MALAMOCCO--CHIOGGIA--CAPTAIN ROVERE IN DANGER.
As I have devoted some few pages to the _trattorie_ and coffee-houses
of Rome, it would hardly be fair to leave those of Venice unnoticed.
Every one knows the peculiar appearance of the Piazza di San Marco,
with its oriental-looking church and lofty bell-tower, and its rows of
glittering arcades. Under one of these porticoes, whose massive columns
support the building called the _Procuratie Nuove_, is the Caffé
Florian, a house which has been but once closed for the night, during
the last hundred years. It has indeed no doors, unless a few glass
frames, to keep out the cold winds of winter, can be so denominated.
This is the quietest and most fashionable of the Venetian Caffés, and
being also the most expensive, is much patronized by the English,
and others who visit the city. There are others on each side of the
Florian, and in other parts of the square, but none of equal repute.
Near the south-west corner of the Piazza, is a modest-looking little
house, with the imposing title of the “Imperatore d’Austria.” I tried
almost all the caffés in the square before I could make up my mind
which was the most eligible, and decided at last upon taking my morning
meal at the quarters of the great Ferdinando, where I generally fell in
with some one or other of my acquaintance.
The Piazza di San Marco, is the most agreeable of breakfast parlours:
turn which way you will, something amusing is sure to present itself.
Itinerant vendors of odd wares wait upon you every two or three
minutes, and no sooner are you fairly seated, and commencing the
perusal of some article in the day’s journal, than a dirty-looking
fellow flings at your feet a large wooden box, and keeps a steady eye
on your boots. This is your Venetian shoeblack. Then a handsome woman
with a wide Leghorn hat, presents you with three pinks and a daisy,
tied up with white thread, and retires with a low curtsey. This is
your purveyor of flowers during the period of your stay, and clever
indeed will you be if you can escape from Venice without paying a
heavy flower-rate. Next comes a tray-full of shells and seaweed,
with an announcement of “_Doe Zwanziger tooto_,”[38] on the part of
a half-drunken old sailor, who will never cease to dunn and bore you
until you have either purchased or capsized his trumpery. Do not
think for a moment that you will be allowed to swallow that coffee in
peace,--the short lady who has just turned the corner is the Jewess
Carolina, and you instinctively feel that you are victimized to the
extent of a cotton shirt and two or three handkerchiefs. This is your
hosier and draper, “by appointment.” A cigar is next thrust close to
your face, with a confidential whisper of “_Contrabbando Signore!_”
This is your cigar merchant, who grows, manufactures, and brands his
own _tobaccos (!)_ in the neighbouring island of the Giudecca.
In the evening you will find that most of the hawkers have disappeared,
although their places are usurped by others, whose _mestieri_ are to
some, quite as annoying. The new comers are for the most part musical,
and fill up the interludes between the performances of the Kinski band,
though there is one young lady, who presumes upon the strength of a
shrill, false voice, and tinny-sounding guitar, to introduce a Venetian
canzonetta into one ear, whilst “I Lombardi,” or “Nabuco,” are poured
into the other. No sooner have the band finished the last piece on the
programme, than a flute and two fiddles enter upon the scene. One of
the latter, the violino primo, is exceedingly clever, and plays all
over the instrument, and behind his back, and _looks_, and I have no
doubt fancies that he _is_, a second Paganini. At all events, he is an
admirable violinist, and if his harmony is correct, his marvellous ways
of producing it are hardly to be censured. His companion is a young
girl, who is also a clever performer, though to my mind, the violin
seems out of place when in the hands of a female.
I must not omit to mention the vendors of _Caromel_, who glide about
the caffés in the evening, with large dishes of this really eatable
commodity. It consists of various sorts of ripe fruits, coated with
a transparent covering of sugar, and that your finger-ends may not
come in contact with the candy, the merchant presents you with a large
tooth-pick of lance-wood, with which you impale a peach, plum, or bunch
of grapes, as the case may be, paying about one halfpenny _per pezzo_.
The scene in the Piazza about the hour of twilight, is very unique and
striking,--the centre of the square and the arcades which surround it
on three sides, serve as a promenade, the latter being brilliantly
lighted with gas, both from the shops and caffés, and from lamps hung
at the centre of each arch. At the “Florian,” and the “Militaire,”
immediately opposite, there are chairs provided for such as prefer
listening to the regimental music, and cooling themselves with _acqua
marena_.[39] Nearer the Piazzetta is a small caffé frequented almost
exclusively by Greeks and Smyrniotes, whose outrè costume contrasts
strangely with the less showy dress of the Italians. These get away as
far as they can from the music, which hath but little charms for them.
Cherrystick pipes, and the rattle of dominoes are far more to their
taste, and in these do they indulge, until the approach of midnight
recalls them to their vessels.
Let us now wander from the Piazzetta, to the neighbouring _Riva dei
Schiavoni_, where as soon as we have passed the Hotel Danielli, we
shall come upon a scene quite as original and no less amusing than that
of San Marco. Here is a whole host of coffee-shops of a second-rate
character, frequented by mariners, and the lower order of Venetians.
Forms are arranged under awnings of canvas, which serve as a shelter
both from the fierce sun, and the cold sea wind. Here also may be seen
the _caromel_ merchant, but his appearance is less scrupulously clean
than that of old Gigi of the Piazza, whose jean jacket and white apron
are upon a par with the quality of his fruit. On the Schiavoni there
are little open-air theatres and peep-shows, and Cassandro goes through
his performance many times every evening, to amuse a laughing crowd
of old women and boys. At the open doors of the marine store dealers,
whole families play at cards, and squabble over greasy effigies of
swords and spoons, instead of spades and diamonds, totally heedless of
the crowd of persons who pass by them in a continued stream, between
San Marco and the busy neighbourhood of Castello and the docks.
In connexion with other places of public resort, I may mention the
_Birrarie_ or supper-gardens, so much frequented by the middle class
of Venetians. Of these, perhaps the most patronized is that of the
Campo San Moisè, where, on a fine evening, the beer-shop of the Saint
is filled with respectable citizens, and their wives and daughters.
Venice is famed for its good beer, which, by the way, is a commodity
very different from that brewed by us, being there a wholesome and
refreshing beverage and used only as such. The Birraria of San Moisè,
is a little plot of ground entirely hemmed in by surrounding houses,
and ornamented with trellis-work and creepers. The walls are painted
in the quaint style of fresco, peculiar to the gardens of Italy,
representing lakes and mountains, and fierce bandits peeping over
rocks, with delightful villas and terraces, and gigantic vases of
aloes. At the far end is a Roman scene, painted by Signor Caffi, which
is very cleverly executed, and throws into the shade the fabulous
monstrosities of the side walls. Here one may meet with the _bistecca
Inglese_, intended, as its name implies, to represent the genuine
beef-steak, and is invariably the first item mentioned by the waiter,
to every customer in a straw hat and a blouse. It ranks in the same
class with the French “biftek,” and is served in molten butter. The
musicians I have already mentioned, as well as a host of singers and
improvisatori, make the round of the Birrarie, when they have finished
with the Piazza, and I noticed for many weeks among other retailers of
sweet sounds, an accordéon player who had arrived as near to perfection
as the powers of his instrument would allow. I had the curiosity one
evening to question him, and discovered to my astonishment, that he
had manufactured it entirely himself. He had been bound apprentice
to a barber in Padua, and had taken as a bad debt from some brother
chin-scraper, an imperfect and damaged accordeon, one of the earliest
that had found its way across the Alps from Germany. Thenceforward his
whole time was devoted to the study of his new instrument. Having a
quick ear and ready hand, he soon managed to repair it, and running
away from his master, who was in truth quite tired of his perpetual
grinding, he played about in the streets till he had earned enough to
buy some tools, and then came to Venice, where he shortly manufactured
a perfect instrument. I visited him at his house in the Castello, and
found him busy at work, and to judge from the neatness of his rooms,
and the appearance of his wife and children, I should say he blows his
bellows at the various Birrarie to very good purpose.
The Blackwall of Venice is a spot called Quintavalle, where, at a
dirty little house, close to the shore, the lovers of fish may find
it in great variety. Sardelli will be found an excellent substitute
for white-bait, and require neither punch, nor brown bread and butter,
while the _Calamajo_ is a delicacy which may be had here in perfection.
This curious fish is caught in great quantity in the lagunes, and at
the Lido. I have seen whole acres of them hung up to dry in the sun,
while the ground has been stained black with their liquid seppia.
We generally repaired to Quintavalle, after any little squall or
interval of bad weather, at which times fish were plentiful, and not
unfrequently would the landlord astonish us with the sight of some
extraordinary monster of the deep, which had been driven into the
shallows, and found its way into the nets with the smaller fry. The old
man is a collector of these odd fish, which he preserves in spirits, to
adorn his rooms.
No one would willingly leave his hotel to dine in a Venetian trattoria,
saving for the sake of curiosity, as their appearance is, for the most
part, anything but inviting. But with those that betake themselves
to furnished apartments, and have neither kitchen nor cook, the
case is different, and we on the far side of the Grand Canal, were
necessitated either to get our meal at the cook-shop, or go without
it. We tried, I believe, nearly all the eating-houses in Venice, and
carried our researches to an extent, that in such a cause, would have
been perfectly absurd, had we not, during these voyages of discovery,
very thoroughly explored the city. We got, indeed, little other benefit
by our trouble, as no restaurant proved so clean and comfortable, as
that of the Caffé Haus, in a little square just out of St. Marc’s, and
exactly opposite the house once occupied by Canova.
Shortly after my arrival in Venice, I was present at a grand
passeggiata, got up by the Italian artists, in honour of Prince
Frederic, and the Due de Modene. These nocturnal serenades occur only
in the season, when Venice is full of visitors, and on this occasion,
the display was more than usually grand, on account of the exalted
rank of the strangers who were to assist. A large barge, suitably
fitted up with seats, and having on board the necessary accommodation
for a portion of the Kinski band, was towed from the Piazzetta at
about ten o’clock, into the Grand Canal, surrounded by some hundred
of gondolas. The night was literally as dark as pitch, but we had no
sooner passed the Dogana, than a light was exhibited from the prow of
the barge, which would almost have shamed the “Bude.” At the same time
arose a burst of music, which re-echoed from the palaces on either
side, attracting their inmates to the balconies. The noble Church of
the “_Salute_” was illumined from the water’s edge to the figure of
Charity surmounting the cupola, the more prominent portions of its
architectural features, standing out in bright relief from the black
shadows. But the effect was of short duration: in another minute we
were again enveloped in the darkness, relieved at intervals by a blaze
of light from the palace windows.
As we passed up the canal, our already large fleet of gondolas was
increased by the accession of others, which put off from all quarters
to join us. Vocal serenades were performed under particular windows,
by a chorus of well-accorded voices, and the famous _cantatrice_ La
Frezzolina Poggi, was favoured with one of particular brilliancy, as
well as a display of various coloured lights, which created a beautiful
effect upon the surrounding objects. Continuing our course, we paused
under the Rialto, illuminating its spacious arch with a blaze of
fireworks, and causing it to resound with so formidable and doubly
encored a _barcarole_, that I fear some of the more quietly disposed
of that region, must have thrust their heads under the clothes, and
grumbled “_Seccatura!_” even if they did not go so far as to wish us
all consigned to the same watery depth as the fastidious Count in
“Beppo.” Having made the _giro_ of the Grand Canal, and back again to
the Piazzetta, those on the barge adjourned to their supper, and Luish
and I to our beds.
Venice is certainly the very spot of all others for serenades, and a
summer night seldom passes, but the twanging of guitars and mandolins
may be heard in her quiet canals. If the echoes of Tasso are no longer
extant, the gondoliers of the present day are equally familiar with
“_Com’e gentil!_” and “_Or’ che in cielo_,” one or other of which
generally “meets the ear” of any one dwelling upon the Grand Canal, in
the course of an evening. No matter how poor the voice, or wretched
the melody, the Venetian lady never fails to acknowledge with courtesy
the compliment thus intended, unless indeed, as sometimes happens, the
serenade emanates from a pair of lungs too palpably coarse and plebeian
to arouse any feeling of pleasure or obligation, in which case the
nocturnal disturber either exhausts himself before bare walls and dark
balconies, or is unhesitatingly told to _move on_.
During my sojourn in Venice, I made, with others of my friends, many
excursions to the neighbouring islands. We visited Murano and its
wonderful glass works, and the more interesting San Lazzaro, with
its Armenian convent and happy brotherhood. It was here that Lord
Byron spent a considerable portion of his time in the study of the
Armenian language, and the brethren still speak of him in terms of much
enthusiasm. We saw the library and printing office, and walked through
the flower gardens, enjoying the delicious breeze, and the views
which greeted us on all sides, of the bright islands of the lagune. An
expedition which we made to Chioggia, a town so famous in the earlier
annals of the Republic, and whose unintelligible patois, Goldoni has
placed in the mouths of some of his characters, was a more formidable
affair, as we had to make up a party, and charter a sailing barque
with four gondolieri. Quitting the piazzetta at six, we soon passed
the island of Malamocco, and coasted along under the extraordinary
breakwater reaching from that island to Chioggia, a lasting monument of
the spirit of enterprise possessed by the early Venetians. The voyage
of eighteen miles occupied about five hours, and at eleven we landed
at the grass-covered quay of the old town, now the abode of fishermen
and a few little shopkeepers. Had our party been a show of wild beasts,
we could scarcely have excited greater wonder among the Chioggians, of
whom a posse accompanied us in our ramble through the town, watching
our every movement as though we had suddenly dropped in among them
from some other sphere. Nor were they to us less objects of curiosity;
their quaint dresses and primitive appearance were very striking, and
our friend Harlen found in the market-place some excellent subjects
for his pencil. We searched in vain for an osteria where we might get
something by way of lunch, but entering a house where a dry bush was
hanging over the door-way, we found a good fire, and there fried some
fish which we had purchased in the market. Whilst making preparations
for our departure, we were greatly amused with the dexterity displayed
by some little urchins, who dived for _centesimi_ or halfpence, and
staid so long under water, that they seemed amphibious. We had a crowd
of a score or more, many of whom took to the water without waiting to
throw off their clothing. He who was fortunate enough to find a copper,
was compelled to swim away to a distance to hide his treasure, pursued
by a shoal of his companions, who pressed after him like dogs in an
otter hunt.
We had a brisk and favourable breeze on our return homewards, which
filled our large sail, and bore us merrily along. The water looked so
blue and tempting, that a dip was decided on, and as most of our party
were good swimmers, they unhesitatingly plunged in from the roof of
the covered cabin, having previously ascertained that the depth was
sufficient for diving. Captain Rovére, who remained in somewhat longer
than the rest, was unfortunately seized with cramp, and disappeared
before he could call out for aid. He was at once rescued from his
dangerous situation, by Flake, who had been watching him, and who,
half-dressed, jumped in again to his assistance. We reached Venice
about dusk.
FOOTNOTES:
[38] “Two Zwanzigers the lot.”
[39] A drink made of cherries, capillaire and iced water.