Over the Ocean Part 36

CHAPTER XIII.

We found ourselves early in the morning, after an all-night ride, running over a flat, marshy, sea-sh.o.r.e-looking country, approaching Venice. Venice! There was something magical in the sound of that name, as conjuring up memories of school-boy dreams and youthful imagination, equal in effect to the sonorous boom of the word London, that fills the fancy like the tone of a great cathedral bell, when we felt we were actually to set foot in that great city, which historian, poet, and novelist had made us hunger to see for so many years.

Venice, the scene of so much of Byron's poetry; Venice, that Rogers sang of; Venice, with its Doges, its Council of Ten, its terrible dungeons; Venice, the Merchant of Venice--we should see the very bridge that old Shylock met Antonio upon; Venice, with its great state barges and the Doge marrying the Adriatic; Venice, with its ca.n.a.ls, having those water parties in gondolas that we see in engravings representing ladies and gentlemen in silk and velvet attire, with fruit, wine, and musical instruments before them, and broad, embroidered table clothing dragging from the boatside into the water.

The Venice of Shakespeare and Byron, and Rogers and Cooper,--

"Beautiful Venice, the Bride of the Sea."

We rolled in on our train over the great railroad bridge, of two miles in length, which spans the lagoon, and enters Venice on the Island of St. Lucia. This bridge is fourteen feet wide, and upheld by two hundred and twenty-two arches, and its foundation is, of course, built upon piles driven into the muddy bed of the lagoon.

We halt in a great railway station, a conductor pokes his head into the railway carriage, and e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.es, "_Ven-neat-sear_," and we are at Venice.

Following the advice of an old tourist, we had telegraphed to the Hotel Danieli that we were coming, and to have a conveyance ready at the station. We were, therefore, prepared, by our former experience in Vienna, for the gentlemanly personage who addressed us in English, on alighting, to the effect that he had a gondola in waiting to convey us to the hotel. Our luggage was soon obtained, and safely stowed in the bottom of the long, black craft, with its two oarsmen, one at each end; and in another moment, propelled by their measured and powerful strokes, we were gliding over the great ca.n.a.ls of Venice, and having our first ride in a gondola.

The novel sight of tall marble buildings, rising directly from out the water; the numerous gondolas gliding hither and thither; the great reaches of ca.n.a.ls, or alleys of water, stretching up between marble buildings; the light iron lattice-work bridges; painted gondola posts; the slowly crumbling and time-defaced fronts of many an ancient palace; the stalwart gondoliers, and their warning shouts at the ca.n.a.l corners,--were all novelties on this our first gondola ride, till we arrived at the hotel, once the palace of the Danieli family, and which we found fronted on the grand ca.n.a.l, and but a short distance from the Square and Church of St. Mark, Doge's Palace, &c.

Every traveller and letter-writer tells about the gondolas and the gondoliers, and some sentimental scribblers do draw the long-bow terribly about them. The long, low water craft, with their easy, comfortable, morroco cus.h.i.+ons, upon which you might sit or recline at full length, and be either hidden or exposed to view, as suits the taste, with their gentle, almost imperceptible motion, I found to be the most luxurious and lazy mode of travel I ever experienced. But let not the reader understand that the ca.n.a.ls, these water alleys that slash the city in every direction, are its only highways; one may walk all over Venice on foot, although, of course, in pa.s.sing from certain points to others, he may have to go a more roundabout way in order to cross the bridges than he would have to take in the gondola.

The tall, graceful gondoliers are quite a study, and the marvellous skill with which they manage their long crafts a wonder. The scientific whirl of an oar-blade, a mere twist of the hand, or a sort of geometric figure cut in the water, will wind their narrow craft in and out a crowd of others, or avoid collisions that seem inevitable. The shout of warning of the gondolier as he approaches a corner, or to others approaching, is musically Italian, and much of the charm undoubtedly comes from the athletic forms, the dark Italian faces, deep black eyes, and graceful movements of the rowers, and the swift pa.s.sage of their mysterious craft past tall palaces, flights of marble steps sloping down to the s.h.i.+ning waters, and graceful bridges. Yet one wants to be on the larger or broadest ca.n.a.ls to get up anything like poetic fervor in Venice, and then in sunlight, or, as was my good fortune, beneath the gorgeous gilding of the full moon.

When your gondola takes you on a business trip, and you turn off from any of the great ca.n.a.ls upon a narrow one for a short cut, in fact, leave the main street for a back or side one, you become aware that there is something besides poetry in the ca.n.a.ls of Venice. The water, which was bright and s.h.i.+ning in the sunlight, becomes, when shut up between tall buildings, like a great puddle in a cellar, or the dark pool in an abandoned mine; foul greenness and slime stick to the walls of old buildings and decaying palaces, fragments of seaweed and other debris float here and there, the perfume is not of "Araby the Blest,"

and the general watery flavor of everything causes one to appreciate the Western American's criticism as to what sort of a place he found Venice, who replied, "Damp, sir; very damp."

Dreamily floating upon the Grand Ca.n.a.l, however, beneath the full moon of autumn, with the ducal palace and its pointed arches and columns, making a beautiful picture of light and shade; the tall pillars, bearing St. Theodore and the Winged Lion, shooting up to the deep-blue sky, their summits tipped with silver in the beam; the tall obelisk of the Campanile rising in the background like a sentinel; the ca.n.a.l between the palace and the prison, like a stream of light, revealing the well-known Bridge of Sighs, spanning the gap; and withal the ca.n.a.l itself, a sheet of molten silver, which, disturbed by the gondolier's oar-blade, flashes like a shattered mirror,--and you realize something of what the poet has sung and the novelist written. Then comes the tinkle of a guitar faintly across the water; long, dark gondolas glide silently past your own like magical monsters, guided by dark genii, whose scarcely perceptible motion of a dark wand in the silver sea sends them on with hardly a ripple; the very shout of these fellows heard coming across the water at night has a melody in it, and the tremulous light from tall marble palaces reflected upon the water, with the flitting hither and thither of gondolier lanterns seen upon some of the narrower ebon currents, scarce reached by the moon between the lofty buildings, make the whole scene seem like a fairy panorama, that will vanish entirely before the light of day.

The Grand Ca.n.a.l, the main artery of the city, which varies from one hundred to about two hundred feet wide, seems to wind round through the city, past all the most noted churches and palaces. Over one hundred and fifty other aqueous highways lead out and in to it, and more than three hundred bridges cross them, linking the seventy-two islands of Venice together like the octagon braces of a spider's web.

The flood of memories of what one has read of the ancient glories of Venice, Queen of the Adriatic, its great commercial power, its government and doges, its magnificent palaces, its proud n.o.bles, its wealth, luxury, and art, and, above all, the investment of every monument and palace with historic interest and poetic charm, is apt to cause the tourist to expend his epistolary labor in recalling and rehearsing historic facts and figures relating to the wonderful City of the Sea; for, in these modern days, one can hardly realize, looking at her now, that, in the early part of the fifteenth century, her merchants had ten millions of golden ducats in circulation; that three thousand war s.h.i.+ps and forty-five galleys, besides over three thousand merchant s.h.i.+ps, flew her proud flag; that fifty-two thousand sailors, over a hundred great naval captains, a thousand n.o.bles, besides judges, lawyers, merchants, and artisans were hers.

"Once she did hold the gorgeous East in fee, And was the safeguard of the West,"

but now is but an exhibition of the traces of ancient grandeur, power, and magnificence combined with the too evident indications of modern poverty and decay.

The Doge's Palace, Piazetta, Ducal Palace, and the two tall pillars bearing the Winged Lion and the statue of St. Theodore, seen from the water, are such familiar objects from the numerous paintings,--no art collection is complete without one or two,--engravings, and scenic representations, that they seem to be old acquaintances, and at first to lack the charm of novelty. Around the base of the two pillars, when the shade of the buildings falls that way, lay lazzaroni at full length on the flat pavement, while at the edge of the broad platform of stone, that ran out to the water of the ca.n.a.l, were moored groups of gondolas, the gondoliers on the alert for strangers who might wish to visit the Lido, Dogana del Mare, or Rialto.

Rialto! Yes; that is the first place we will visit.

"Many a time and oft upon the Rialto."

"Hey, there, gondolier! _Ponte di Rialto._"

The gondolier certainly understood English, for he said something about "_see_, signore," and prepared the cus.h.i.+ons of his gondola for us, upon which we straightway reclined, and in a few moments' time were corks.c.r.e.w.i.n.g our way through a crowd of market-boats, gondolas, and 'long-sh.o.r.e-men's craft, near the landing at one end of the celebrated Merchants' Exchange of Shylock's time.

After various remarkable curves, twists, and wonderful windings among the water craft, enlivened with shouts, exclamations, a sparkling of black eyes, and play of swarthy features on the part of the gondoliers, we were brought to the dirty landing, and ascended from it, and stood upon the bridge--the Rialto. Much of the poetry of the Rialto bridge is destroyed by some of the guide-books, which state that the _land_ on the left of the ca.n.a.l pa.s.sing up was called the Rialto, and was considered the city, and distinguished as such from the _state_ of Venice; and upon this Rialto, _not_ the bridge, were the custom-house, various warehouses, and other establishments connected with trade and commerce; that the real "on 'change," where Antonio and Shylock met, was in the square opposite the Church of San Jacope, which, in olden time, was crowded with merchants, who there transacted their business of weight and consequence.

However, when I was a boy, I always, in my mind, made the rendezvous of the merchant and the Jew on the bridge; but it must have been sadly changed since the time Shakespeare wrote of, unless Shylock came to buy some old clothes, and Antonio to obtain grapes, figs, or onions for dinner. This we thought while standing on the bridge. The view of it from the water, where its single arch of ninety-one feet span, twenty-five feet from the current, lifts up the six arches on each side, rising to the open or central arcade at the top, with the rail and swelled bal.u.s.ters at their base, is so familiar, that, as we looked at it from the gondola, it seemed as if some old scene at the theatre had just been slid together at the sound of the prompter's whistle, or that we were looking at an old engraving through a magnifying-gla.s.s.

The romantic imagination of him who fancies that he shall pace over this old structure, and muse on Shylock, Antonio, and Oth.e.l.lo undisturbed upon its broad platform, is dispelled when he finds that its seventy-two feet of breadth is divided into three or four pa.s.sages or streets, and two rows of shops, devoted to the sale of every conceivable thing in the way of provisions, fruit, vegetables, macaroni, clothing, cheap ornaments, beads, dry goods, and china, absolutely crowded with hucksters of every description, giving an amusing panorama of the Venetian retail business in its various departments.

Hard by our hotel was the Doge's Palace, another familiar edifice; and, as we stood within its great court-yard, we could realize something of the luxury and art of Venice in former days.

The marble front of the palace, looking into this enclosure, was a wilderness of elegant carving, armorial bearings, statues, wreaths, elaborate cornices, elegant columns, wrought bal.u.s.trades, graceful arches, and beautiful ba.s.s-reliefs. Here, in the centre of the marble pavement, are the great bronze openings of cisterns, nearly breast high, richly wrought, and five or six feet in diameter. Standing upon this pavement, we look up at the celebrated Giant's Staircase--a superb ascent, and architecturally simple and grand. At its top stand two colossal statues of Mars and Neptune on either side; and it was here, upon this upper step between the two colossi, that the doges were crowned; and here Byron locates the last scene of Marino Faliero, where, when the citizens rush in,

"The gory head rolls down the Giant's Stairs."

The panelling of this grand staircase is of the most elegantly wrought and polished marble, of various hues, artistically arranged. Everywhere the prodigality of rich and costly marbles in panellings, pillars, arcades, arches, colonnades, and luxurious decoration is lavished with an unsparing hand. Opposite the Giant's Stairs are elegant statues of Adam and Eve, while others of great Venetians, or allegorical subjects, appear in various niches. We stood in the Hall of the Great Council, a splendid apartment of over one hundred and seventy-five feet long and eighty-five in width, the walls covered with magnificent paintings--Tintoretto's huge picture of Paradise, eighty-four feet wide and thirty-four high; the Discovery of Pope Alexander, painted by the sons of Paul Veronese; a splendid battle-piece, representing a contest between the Turks and Venetians and Crusaders; the Return of a Doge after a Victory over the Genoese; Paul Veronese's allegorical picture of Venice, and many pictures ill.u.s.trating the history of Venice, among them one of a great naval battle, full of figures, and quite a spirited composition; others portrayed various scenes ill.u.s.trating the doges'

reception of the pope, and the performance of various acts acknowledging his power.

All around the upper part of the walls ran the noted series of portraits, seventy-two in number, of the Doges of Venice, and, of course, our eyes first sought that of Marino Faliero, or, rather, the place where it should have been. Directly opposite the throne--probably that other doges might take warning--hung the frame, like the others, but in place of the aged face and whitening hairs, crowned with the doge's cap, was the black curtain, on which was painted,--

"_Hic est locus Marini Faletro decapiti pro criminibus._"

This inscription does more to perpetuate the doge's name to posterity than his portrait, or anything else, even had Byron never written his tragedy. Here, among these portraits, are those whose names are famed in Venetian history. Francisco Foscari, who reigned for over thirty-five years; "blind old Dandolo," who, when elected doge, in 1192, was eighty-five years of age, and led the attack on Constantinople in person at ninety-seven. Foscari's tragic story is told by Byron; and there are others whose deeds, and almost very names, are forgotten.

History tells us that of the first fifty doges, five abdicated, five were banished with their eyes put out, five were ma.s.sacred, nine deposed, and two fell in battle long before the reign of Marino Faliero, who was beheaded. Andrea Dondolo died of vexation. Foscari, after his long and glorious term of service to his country, was rewarded by that circle of demons, the Council of Ten, by fiendishly torturing his son, in the vain hope of extorting a confession, failing in which they deposed the father, who, when the great bell of St. Mark sounded, announcing the election of his successor, fell dead from a rupture of a blood-vessel.

An historical apartment is this Hall of the Great Council, with the painted battles of the once proud republic lining the walls, and the faces of its seventy-two doges looking silently down upon these mimic scenes of their glory and triumph. Here, upon the very platform where I stood, was once the doge's throne. Here he spoke to the council; so would I.

"Most potent, grave, and reverend seigniors;"

and Oth.e.l.lo's address never had more quiet listeners than the seventy-two red-robed, bell-capped old n.o.bles in the picture frames as my voice echoed in this grand old hall, where theirs had, nearly five centuries ago, been listened to upon affairs of state with rapt attention. A wealth of art in the collection of splendid creations of great artists pervades this ancient home of the doges, which greet the visitor at every turn as he goes from room to room; collections of bronzes, curious carvings, and rich ornamental work are profuse, and in one apartment is an exceedingly curious collection of ancient maps, made in the sixteenth century, and a rare and interesting collection of ma.n.u.scripts, autographic letters, &c.

But, after having stood upon the doges' throne in the Council Hall, and stepped out on the balcony where the doges were wont to show themselves to the people below, we must see the "Lion's Mouth."

Upon inquiry, we found we had pa.s.sed it; and no wonder, for not far from the staircase was pointed out to us a narrow slit in the wall, very much like that at a country post-office for the reception of letters, through which the secret denunciations were slipped for the inspection of the terrible Council of Ten.

"But where is the Lion's Mouth?"

"Here is where it _was_," said the guide: and he further told us that government was having a bronze head made to supply the place of the old one, that was long since removed--for travellers would not be satisfied, unless they saw here the real bronze head of a lion, with a fierce mouth, emblematical of the cruel grip of the terrible inquisitorial council, that denunciations which sent a man to the tortures of the rack and the block itself could ever have been thrust through so contemptible a slit in the wall.

Next we sat down in the Hall of the Council of Ten itself--a room with its ceiling richly ornamented with paintings by Paul Veronese, and beautiful paintings by other artists upon its walls. Then we visited the doges' audience chamber, rich in pictures by Paul Veronese; but the best picture we saw here, from this artist's pencil, was the Rape of Europa, in which the soft beauty and rich coloring of the landscape contended with the loveliness of the female figure in exciting the spectator's admiration. This picture is in an ante-room, said to have once been a guard-room, upon the walls of which are also four of Tintoretto's best pictures--Venus crowning Ariadne, Mercury and the Graces, Vulcan at his Forge, and Pallas and Mars.

But it is useless to _enumerate_ paintings in these grand old palaces, as such enumeration becomes but little better than a catalogue. As we have said before, these glorious creations of the great artists waken enthusiasm in the dullest breast. We have nothing at home with which to compare them; they are sights and wonders in foreign lands that are a large portion of the charm of foreign travel. To the lover of, or enthusiast in art, they are a luxurious feast and a joy forever; and the ordinary sight-seer soon ceases, after travelling abroad, to regard what he has before deemed undue praise or admiration of the old masters, as affectation on the part of many of those who utter it. We stand "in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs," and wonder if any modern tourist ever does so without repeating Byron's couplet; slowly we pa.s.s over it, glance out at the window at the water flas.h.i.+ng beneath, think how many sad hearts have crossed this little span, and follow our guide down into the prison vaults below, down through intricate pa.s.sages, terrible dungeons in the solid masonry, and dimly lighted from the loopholes of the pa.s.sage.

"But will signore go down and see the others?"

"Others! Great heavens! can it be that there are any worse than these?"

The guide answers with a significant shrug, and we follow him to a still lower depth.

Here, down below the level of the surface of the ca.n.a.l, are a tier of holes in the solid masonry--one can hardly call these relics of tyranny anything else. A narrow gallery leads past them, from one end of which the only light and air obtained by the inmates were received. These dungeons are about twelve feet long by six in width, and seven feet high, and were formerly lined with wood, with a little wooden platform raised a foot from the floor, upon which the prisoner rested on his straw. We went into one of these hideous dungeons, where some of the wood-work still remained, upon which, by the aid of a candle, we saw some half-obliterated cuttings and inscriptions in Italian, said to be the mementos of unhappy prisoners who had pined in these terrible places. It makes one almost shudder to stand, even now, in one of these fearful prisons, although their grated doors were long since wrenched from their hinges by the French; but the light of day cannot even now reach them, respiration is difficult, and the visitor feels, while standing in them, a nameless horror, or a sensation akin to dread, lest some forgotten door should clap to and fasten him down forever: so we hurry forth, glad to see once more the blue sky above, and chase dull fancies from the brain by an invigorating draught of heaven's pure air.

Across the broad pave, in front of the Doge's Palace, and we come to the two granite pillars, each hewn from a single block, one bearing St.

Theodore, and the other the Winged Lion, which, upon their pedestals, must be over sixty feet in height; they form a sort of state entrance, or indicators, as it were, to the grand Square of St. Mark. The end colonnade of the Ducal Palace, towards these towers, at the landing, or mole, ranged along the edge of the ca.n.a.l, forms part of the piazetta, continuation, or grand state opening of the square out to the water side.

We pa.s.s between these columns and over the place that has been so often reddened by blood at public executions, and glance up before entering the square, at the elegant architecture of the palace on our left.

First, a row of Corinthian pillars upholds a richly-ornamented frieze, and within the pillars Gothic arches form the covered pa.s.sage for pedestrians; above, the Gothic pillars are repeated, the bend of the inner arches having elegantly sculptured marble figures, in half-reclining positions, and carved heads over the key-stones; above this second tier comes an elegant frieze, ornamented with Cupids holding beautifully-sculptured hanging garlands, and sheltered by an elaborate projecting cornice; above this, the marble carved rail and bal.u.s.ters, with each post surmounted with a full-length marble statue.