YALE
UNIVERSITY LIBRARY

IN AND AROUND
VENICE

HORATIO" F." BROWN
author of
'Venice: an historical sketch of the republic"
and "life on the lagoons "

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS

NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
153-157 FIFTH AVENUE
1905

90S"

PREFACE
THIS volume is intended to be a companion tc
Life on the Lagoons.
Several of the chapters appeared originally in the
first edition of that book, but were omitted, for
various reasons, in the second. The public has,
however, been so kind to Life on the Lagoons that I
venture to hope it may care to possess again the
papers which were left out.
I have added some chapters on a few of the less
known places in the neighbourhood which may be of
use to those who wish to see what the mainland is
like. The first chapter appeared in Venetian Studies,
now out of print. It was written in 1887, and in
some cases reference is made to places which no
longer exist. I have let these few passages stand
as records of what once was, but have noted the
changes at the foot of the page.
The rest of the volume has never appeared in
book form.
HORATIO F. BROWN.
Ca' Torreseiaa,
Venice, 1905.

The chapter on the Campanile of Saint Mark was published
in The Architectural Review, the chapter on " Knockers " in
The Magazine of Art. My thanks are due to the proprietors
for leave to reprint them.

INTRODUCTORY

VENICE
SO much has been written, and is being written
daily, about Venice from the picturesque point
of view, that one is tempted to cry " Enough," to
declare that the subject is exhausted for the present.
Such, however, is not the case. For some reasons,
which we will presently try to indicate, the fasci
nation which the sea-girt city exercises over her
devotees is inexhaustible. The lover returns to the
contemplation of his mistress with ardour ever new ;
he resumes the endless task of cataloguing her
charms, only to find that having said all, he has not
said enough. The truth is that we must number
Venice among the " cities of the soul " ; she ranks
with Oxford, Rome, Siena, Prague; she has the fatal
gift ta touch the imagination, to awaken a permanent
desire. Of course I do not mean that every one feels
thus about Venice. I cannot forget, when the floods
of 1882 had destroyed the exits from the city, that
row of discontented Englishmen who lined the hall
B

2 In and Around Venice
of one hotel, cursing the place and glowering at the
porter as though he were responsible for the down
pour on the Alps. For these the language of the
Venice-lover must seem as the crackling of thorns
under the pot, like sheer moon-madness ; but they
are always at liberty to keep away, to read nothing
that bears the name of Venice, not so much as to
have heard whether there be a Venice or no.
Perhaps the aesthetic quality which most emphati
cally belongs to the Venetian landscape, the quality
wherein resides the secret of her charm, is infinite
variety. As a proof of this assertion, I would adduce
the fact that no one is quite satisfied with what others
write or say about the city, is not satisfied with what
he says himself; something is said, but not all — part
of the truth, but not the whole truth. The aspects of
Venice are as various, as manifold as the hues held
in solution upon her waters beneath a scirocco sky.
There is a perpetual miracle of change ; one day is
not like another, one hour varies from the next ;
there is no stable outline, such as one finds among the
mountains, no permanent vista, as in a view across a
plain. The two great constituents of the Venetian
landscape, the sea and the sky, are precisely the two
features in nature which undergo most incessant
change. The cloud-wreaths of this evening's sunset
will never be repeated again ; the bold and buttressed
piles of those cloud-mountains will never be built
again just so for us ; the grain of orange and crim-

Venice 3
son that stains the water before our prow, we cannot
be sure that we shall look upon its like again. The
revolution of the seasons will, no doubt, repeat certain
effects : spring will chill the waters to a cold, hard
green ; summer will spread its breadth of golden
light on palace front and waterway ; autumn will
come with its pearly-grey scirocco days, and sunsets
flaming to a sombre death ; the stars of a cloudless
winter night, the whole vast dome of heaven, will be
reflected in the mirror of the still lagoon. But in
spite of this general order of the seasons, one day is
less like another day in Venice than anywhere else ;
the lagoon wears a different aspect each morning
when you rise, the sky offers a varied composition of
cloud each evening as the sun sets. Words cannot
describe Venice, nor brush portray her ever-fleeting,
ever-varying charm. At most they can give one
mood that Venice creates, one aspect of the light
and colour upon her palace walls and water streets.
Venice is to be felt, not reproduced ; to live there is
to live a poem, to be daily surfeited with a wealth of
beauty enough to madden an artist with despair ;
and hence it may be that Venice has had so few
adequate portrayers among the thousands who
have essayed the task, and not a single poet, if
we except Shelley, — who better than any one else
has, incidentally in "Julian and Maddolo," caught
and expressed the general spirit of the lagoon land
scape — and Mr. Pinkerton, who, in " Adriatica," has

4 In and Around Venice
seized another of the more prominent qualities of
that landscape, the all-pervading, sad, caressing grey,
characteristic of the lagoons in scirocco weather, and
has translated this quality into its corresponding
mood of mind with a touch at once so true and
delicate, that I know not where to look for a more"
faithful portrayal of this emotion.
It is remarkable that the most frequent efforts to
express the feeling of Venice in words, should have
been cast in prose and not in verse, and should be the
work of foreigners, not of Venetians. George Sand,
Ruskin, Theophile Gautier, D'Annunzio, Prince
Hohenlohe, all strangers over whom has been thrown
the spell of the siren ; who, leaving her, have borne
away with them an incurable wound, for which the
only solace has been to dwell again in memory with
the features of the beloved, and to reproduce her linea
ments on the mirror of the mind. The Venetians
love their Venice, but they do not write about her ;
they live with her, and that is enough. With painters,
on the other hand, the case is different ; though here
again we feel that the artists have given us a part of
Venice, not the whole, some quality of light Or of
colour, one aspect of her infinitely various beauty.
Although the great Venetian masters are chiefly con
cerned with the external life of their city, her pomp
and circumstance, incidentally we find them influenced
to the very depths of their art by the aesthetic qualities
of their native place. The dome-like spaces which

Venice 5
Bellini leaves above his throned Madonnas' heads,
recall the infinite sweep of the vast Venetian sky ;
nowhere in painting do we feel, as we feel in Tintoret,
that shimmer of light, that blending of tones which
belong to the waters of the lagoon ; nowhere are the
flaming glories of the sunset sky more vividly repro
duced than in the triumphant splendours of Titian's
easel. Turner perceived the diffusion and blending
of light and colour which we note as a principal
feature in the Venetian landscape, and strove to re
produce it in the radiant morning light of " Returning
from the Ball," and in the marvellous symphony of
colour in sky, sail, and sea, in " The Sun of Venice."
Turner came near to grasping the spirit of Venetian
landscape ; but even he found that there were more
tones in heaven and sea than dwelt upon his palette.
When writing about the charm of Venice, it is diffi
cult for those who feel it to avoid becoming dithy-
rambic. Venice admits no Laodiceans ; hot or cold you
must be. The spell begins the moment the traveller
leaves the dust and roar of the railway station, and
finds himself suddenly, and without warning, on the
borders of the Grand Canal. No one who has once
felt the thrill of delight such a revelation brings is likely
to forget it. And day by day the spell is deepened as
the stranger grows familiar with the city's winding
ways, and with the waters upon which she floats.
Hitherto we have askedwhat is the chief character
istic in this landscape which acts so swiftly and so

6 In and Around Venice
potently, and we have found that, in its widest terms,
the dominant external, aesthetic quality of the lagoons
is vastness and variety ; the vast dome of heaven
above, the vast expanse of water below, the infinite
variety of light and colour in both.
But this wide external setting of sea and sky is
not the only ingredient in the Circe-cup. There is
the city itself and her people. And, coming a little
closer, we may dwell for a while on the singular
geographical position of Venice, and the uniqueness
of her history and life. An old Venetian writer has
styled one of his books, " Venezia, Citta nobilissima e
singolare " ; and singular, indeed, is the position of
this city, lying spread out like a lotus, her palaces
and campanili thrown up from the long level of the
water. Perhaps no piece of water in the world is more
remarkable than this hundred and eighty-four square
miles of Venetian lagoon, shut off from the sea by
the narrow breakwater of sandy islands, called the
Lidi. Whether the lagoons were formed by a subsi
dence of the land and an inroad of the sea, leaving
the Lidi as high points unsubmerged ; or whether
the Lidi were originally bars built by the rivers
Brenta, Sile, and Piave, across their mouths, eventually
causing those streams to flood their deltas, is an open
question. But whatever may be the history of their
formation, the lagoons are an essential feature in the
landscape and the life of Venice. They gave pro-

Venice y
tection to her first founders, when flying from the ruin
wrought by the Huns upon the mainland; and to-day
the health and safety of the city still depend upon the
regular ebb and flow of their waters. The rivers
which helped to make the lagoon have long been
banished from their ancient courses, and now dis
charge their streams direct into the sea. All the
varied movement of this water-system depends upon
the Adriatic for its life and being. The lagoon is
not a lake, still less is it a swamp, nor is it like the
open sea. Its internal economy is a piece of most
singular natural engineering, for the circumference
of these hundred and eighty-four square miles,
which at high tide seems to enclose one unbroken
stretch of water, really contains four distinct water-
systems, with separate watersheds, main arteries, and
confluent streams by which the sea, twice a day, as
from a great heart, comes pulsing in through the four
breaks in the Lido barrier, performing its task of
cleansing and purifying the lagoon, and bearing away
with it, on its outgoing, the refuse of the city. At low
tide these channels and arteries are quite distinctly
marked, as they wind between the oozy banks of mud,
which in spring are green with long trails of sea-grass,
and in autumn are brown and bare, taking the reflec
tion of colour from the sky. But at high tide the
whole surface is flooded, and there lies Venice with
her adjacent islets — San Servolo, San Clemente,
Poveglia — set like gems upon a silver targe. On the

8 In and Around Venice
mainland shore of the lagoon there is a strange
debatable territory called the Laguna Morta, where
the sea and land are in doubt, blending with one
another, and producing a region that is neither sea
nor land. This dead lagoon is the home of wild fowl,
and of pungent, salt sea-plants, tamarisk and sam
phire, and above all, in autumn, wide fields of pale
sea-lavender. Beyond the Laguna Morta the ground
consolidates,, and. the Venetian plain, studded with
villas, poplars, vineyards, and mulberry-groves, trends
upward to the foot of the barrier Alps. ;The lagoon,
the Alps, and Venice, floating upon the one and
guarded and circled by the other, are the noblest
features in the landscape. From the water you can
see the whole vast sweep of mountain ranges, begin
ning, far in the east with the snowy hills' of Camia,
curving round the broad Friulan plain and springing
to exquisite proportions and jewelled shape in Monte
Cavallo, Antelao, and Tofana, finally dying away in
filmy pale-blue crests beyond Verona and the Lago
di Garda. Here again we enjoy a sense of vastness
and of space. These long and immovable lines of
serrated peaks, touched, even in summer, now and
again with snOw, and in winter white and cold and
clear to their very roots — peaks with beloved names
that invite the climbing, spirit, — all are yours to gaze
at and to dream about, lazily rocked in your gondola
on the bosom of the still lagoon.
Such is the general external aspect of Venice. The

Venice , 9
history of the city is no less singular. When those
first refugees from the mainland sought an asylum
on the shoal mud-banks, drove their first piles, and
built their wattled walls, they little thought that they
were founding a community whose history would
flow in unbroken current for more than a thousand
years, that their descendants would be the richest
lords in Europe, that their navies would ride supreme
in all known waters, and pour the wealth and opu
lence of the East through Venice upon the Western
world. In the isolation of their lagoons the Venetians
acquired freedom and learned self-government. The
obscurity of their position permitted them to grow
undisturbed. The first seed, blown by the gust of
invasion from the mainland to the mud islands, had
time to mature in quiet, to strike deep roots into the
soil, and to spring into a lofty and beautiful tree.
The chief feature in the early history of Venice is
that she belonged neither to the East nor to the
West ; neither to the empire of Constantinople, nor
to the kingdoms which sprang up on the ruins of
Rome. She lay between the two, a nest of hardy
islanders, determined and ready to assert her inde
pendence. If the Lombards claimed her, she appealed
to Constantinople ; if the Emperor wished to interfere,
she flung herself on the Western side. She drew
from East and West alike that nourishment which
went to make her what she really was — a nation
by herself, a peculiar people, Venetians of Venice.

10 In and Around Venice
The history of this singular growth falls broadly
into four great periods : these we may distinguish as
the period of consolidation, the period of empire, the
period of entanglement, and the period of decline.
When the early settlers, flying before the Hunnish
terror, first took to the lagoons, they fell upon the
various islands of the Archipelago and upon the long
ridges of sand that guard the lagoon from the sea ;
and each little group of immigrants began a separate
life for itself, retaining as far as possible the customs,
religion, and constitution of their ruined home on the
mainland. The Lidi, as being furthest removed from
the danger of invasion, were the favourite asylum ;
the largest townships sprang up there — Heraclea,
Jesolo, and Malamocco. These townships gradually
drew together into a federation of twelve communes,
each governed by its own tribune, and meeting in
general assembly for the settlement of business which
affected the universal interest of the lagoons. Jealousy
and internecine feuds soon appeared, as one or other
of these townships came to the front and endeavoured
to impose its will upon its neighbours. It is possible
that had this period of internal rivalry continued for
long, the lagoon communities might have frittered
away their strength in private quarrels, and the State
of Venice might never have emerged at all. But ex
ternal pressure came in time to save the confederation
and to compel the lagoon townships to consolidate.
The perils of the mainland sowed the first seeds

Venice 1 1
of Venice ; the peril of the sea was to form and com
plete her. Pipin's attack taught the Venetians for
the first time how impregnable was their sea-girt
home ; and they never forgot the lesson. For long
months the Frankish chivalry was held at bay, defied
by the impenetrable network of small canals and
oozy mud-banks, through which no passage could be
found. Finally the assault was shaken off, and Pipin
retired to Milan. At this moment of their great
victory a fusion between the Venetians and their
home took place ; henceforth each belongs essentially
to the other. It is to this triumph over Pipin that
the Venetians looked back as to their birth-hour :
the story of the victory is haloed in romance, and
cherished as the most sacred record in all Venetian
history. The Hunnish invasion proved the dangers
of the mainland ; Pipin's attack demonstrated the
peril of the sea. The Venetians now effected a com
promise, and chose as the future home of their State
that group of islands, midway between the sea and
the land, then known as Rialto, but henceforth to
bear the proud name of Venice.
The consolidation at Rialto closes the first period
of Venetian history ; the period of deepest interest
for us. Modern Venice, with all her pride of palaces,
wealth of art, variety and picturesqueness of life,
dates from the repulse of the Franks. The people
of Venice in this struggle attained to manhood ; they
learned their power ; their union gave them force.

12 In and Around Venice
They began to create their constitution, that singular
monument of rigidity and durability, which persisted,
with hardly a break in its structure, for the next ten
centuries. The aristocracy of Venice emerged ; her
empire extended, following the lines of her com
merce in the East ; St. Mark was substituted for St.
Theodore as patron ; tlie Crusades were used as a
means to conquer Dalmatia and to . plant the lion
in the Greek Archipelago. Venice clashed with her
rival Genoa, and struggled for this Eastern empire ;
from the shock she emerged victorious. Into her
state coffers and her private banks poured all that
wealth which was presently to issue in the pomp
of art, the pageantry of existence, her palace fronts
along the Grand Canal, her learned academies, her
printing press, her schools of painting, her regal
receptions, the splendour of her state functions, the
sumptuousness of private life ; all, . in short, that
made her what she was — the dazzling pleasure^
garden of Europe, the envied of other States, al
though she had already overpassed her apogee. For
her greatness and her pride were leading her towards
her doom. Not content with her commercial empire
in the East, Venice could not resist the temptation
to put out her hand and to seize the wrecks of the
Visconti dukedom ; to build herself an empire on
the land. She was caught arid entangled in the
mesh of Italian intrigue ; she became a factor in
continental politics, and was brought face to face

THE LION OF ST. MARK. BV CARPACCIO

Venice 15
with the great powers of Europe. Her progress
upon the mainland aroused jealousy ; the other
States of Italy became uneasy for their own safety.
Rome seized the opportunity to form the League
of Cambray, whose object was to annihilate the
Republic. The league failed in its object ; but the
wars it entailed left Venice crippled, and other
disasters poured upon her head. Her commerce
in the East received an irreparable blow by the
discovery of the Cape of Good Hope, which took
the carrying trade out of her hands. She ceased
to be the mart of Europe.1 She was left to battle
alone against the Turk ; slowly expending blood
and money, vainly appealing to indifferent Europe.
Under this weight of misfortunes her strength was
broken ; she declined, and sank. The rigidity of
her constitution held her still together ; there were
flashes of her old brilliancy and power in Morosini's
conquest of the Peloponnese. But her day was past,
and Venice gradually wasted away till she was but a
wreck and hollow show of her former glory ; the last
of her doges yielded the State to Napoleon without
a blow, and, laying the ducal biretta on the table,
called to his servant, " Take it away, I shall not use
it more."
But, though the republic fell, Venice still remains ;
Venice, the place and the people. There are two
1 It is not impossible that the Suez Canal may restore to Venice her
lost position. [It is doing so, fast. 1904.]

1 6 In and Around Venice
ways of seeing Venice intimately; one is by sea,
with help of a gondola ; the other is by land, wan
dering through that curious maze of narrow streets
in which it is a delight to lose one's self. No convey
ance can be more delightful, more easy, more
romantic than the gondola : it is the most beautiful
boat in the world, and the most luxurious carriage;
and, like all things connected with Venice, is essen
tially a child of the place ; its form is adapted to the
needs of the strange city that created it ; the lines of
its structure are governed by the purpose it has to
serve, the passage of the narrow Venetian water
ways. The visitor who is interested in his carriage
cannot do better than pay a visit to the squero, or
building-yard, where his gondola was made. His
gondolier will be proud to take him. The sq'ueri are
picturesque though pitchy places. The long lines of
boats drawn up to be cleaned or mended lie like a
row of stranded whales. At one corner the pitch-pot
stands always ready boiling, sending its thick black
smoke into the air; and the boys rush round the
caldron, grimy as imps, each with a smearing-brush
brandished in his hands. Or, perhaps, the bottom of
some boat has to be dried thoroughly and in-! haste,
before receiving its coating of melted tallow. This is
done by kindling a brisk blaze of reeds under the
hull; the flames leap high into the air; volumes of
pale smoke roll up over the housetops, and are swept
away seaward by the breeze ; the boys dance about!

Venice 17
in front of the flames, like demons officiating at some
sacrifice; there is much shouting and noise; the
whole scene is strange and picturesque.
The art of gondola-building is one which requires
great nicety and exactness. Three qualities are
especially demanded of the boat : that it should draw
little water, that it should turn easily, and that it
should be rowable by one oarsman. To secure these
conditions the hull is built of light thin boards ; only
a very small portion of its flat bottom, thirty-six feet
in length, rests upon the water, and the boat swings
as on a pivot ; and, finally, the boat is riot equally
divided by a line drawn from stern-post to, bow —
there is more bottom on one side than on the other,
in order to counterbalance the weight of the rower
behind. The ornaments of the gondola, the familiar
steel prow or ferro, the sea-horses or dolphins, the
rude carving of some scene from Tasso, all that
makes the vessel the picturesque object we know, are
furnished elsewhere than at the squero. Should any
one be curious about the natural history of these
ornaments', and their gradual development through
the centuries, he cannot do better than consult the
pictures in the Academy by Gentile Bellini and Car-
paccio, and the later works of Guardi and Canaletto.
In the former he will see the Venetian noblemen in
their gondolas, with the bright covering of Eastern
rugs for a tenda ; the ferro not shaped as now, with
its hatchet-head and six teeth, but merely a round
c

1 8 In and Around Venice
club of metal ; the tall rower, graceful then as ever,
in his party-coloured hose and slashed doublet. In
the pictures of Guardi and Canaletto the gondola
has undergone a great change ; it is the modern
gondola that we see : the boat has lost its brilliant
colouring, but, as a compensation, it has certainly
gained in grace.
The gondola is so intimately connected with life
in the sea-city, that, of the pictures and impressions
which one carries away, stored in the portfolio of the
mind, a very large number must be associated with
one's boat. And what can be more delightful than
to start some morning early to spend a day upon the
lagoon ? Venice is never more lovely than on a clear
summer morning ; the air is sweet, the light falls on
palace fronts in broad white flakes, the breeze blows
fresh from the Lido, whither we are bound. As we
row past the green point of the public gardens the
fishing-boats are coming in from their night's toil,
laden with fish for the Rialto market ; some are not
yet come to anchor, and cross and recross one
another as they tack, threading the figures of their
sea sarabande ; others lie, bow by painted bow, their
nets hauled mast-high to be mended and dried in the
sun, and their great coloured sails close together, and
folded like the wings of a butterfly just alighted on a
flower. The sails of Venice are a constant object of
beauty in the landscape ; their deep oranges and reds,
their fantastic designs — here a heart pierced by a

Venice 19
sword, there a rose in bloom, or a star with a flash
of lightning breaking from it — contrast so vividly
with the cool grey of the waters upon which they
float. On the Lido itself, when one has reached the
Adriatic side, one nray wander for miles in either
direction along the shore, where the lizards bask in
the hot sand, where the pale sea-holly, with its deli
cate violet bloom, grows to perfection, mingled with
the faint yellow of the evening primrose. The Adri
atic, the great water avenue to Venice, opens away to
the south-east, while on the furthest horizon you can
just discern the faint blue line of hills above Trieste,
and the top of Monte Maggiore that overhangs Fiume
and the Quarnero. A little way along the shore, and
out of reach of those crowds that flock to the bath
ing establishment, is an unfinished wooden chalet,1
standing in grounds partially enclosed, and planted
with euonymus, a shrub that grows luxuriantly in
Venice. The house was begun for Victor Emmanuel,
but never completed ; and from its upper windows
you command a glorious view of Venice, backed by
her chain of guardian Alps. The city lies like a
flower upon the water ; the rosy front of the ducal
palace, the slender campanili of San Giorgio and
San Francesco, set on either side of St. Mark's more
massive tower ; on the one hand the bright green
woods of the public garden, and far away on the
other the cones of the Euganean Hills, that rise like
1 It is pulled down now, but was there when this paper was written.

20 In and Around Venice
islands above the misty level of the plain : over all,
the vault of the vast Venetian sky, cut by the ser
rated line of silent and eternal snow. It is pleasant,
as the day grows hotter, to leave the glare of the
more open shore of Sant' Elizabetta, and to seek the
woods of the Favorita, where the acacia groves and
catalpas yield some shade, where the whole ground is
carpeted with the white and gemlike star of Bethle
hem ; or, better still, to wander down the English-
looking lane and water-meadows that lead to the fort
of San Nicolo, where the gondola can be sent to meet
us. Inside the fort the grass is greener and the
boskage more profound than anywhere else within
easy reach of Venice. In late spring the perfume
from the acacia blooms is borne far out across the
water, and in the grass sweet violets grow in abund
ance. Behind the acacia grove is a Protestant burial-
ground, now disused, where lie the bones of many an
Englishman who came to Venice for pleasure, and
remained to die: here is the tomb of Sir Francis
Vincent, the last but one of England's diplomatic
agents to the Republic ; of John Murray and of
Consul Smith, and here, too, that distinguished
'Anglo -Venetian, Rawdon Brown, prepared himself
a grave, and daily came to tend the shrubs and
flowers at whose feet he hoped to sleep. The Aus-
trians granted Mr. Brown this exceptional privilege ;
but the present masters of Venice refused to carry
it into effect, and nothing now remains except the

Venice 2 1
thick and rankly growing hedge which surrounds
the empty grave. There is no more beautiful prom
enade in Venice than that around the ramparts of
the San Nicolo; past the little red osteria, the Buon
Pesce, where the blackbirds sing in the ivy-mantled
walls of the old convent garden, out by the Custom
House, and on to the ramparts themselves. In sum
mer the broad earthworks are spread with a carpet
of more than Persian brilliancy ; crimson poppies,
purple salvias, and vivid green grass. Round the
corner of the fort the current sweeps in or out of the
Lido mouth, the ancient water entrance to the city,
and marks the water surface in swirls and varying
tones of silver grey. Far to the east, in the offing,
the sunlight falls upon the congregated sails of the
fishing-boats plying their business by the Piave's
mouth, where fish are most abundant. Everywhere
there is a sense of space in sky and sea, and the
pungent odour of sea-brine upon the air.
In the evening we may return by the island con
vent of San Lazzaro, where the Armenian monks
spend their placid lives in study and the culture of
their garden lands here and on the Lido. The island
is a veritable gem of colour set upon the lagoon ; for
the monks have painted their convent a deep
crimson, and all day long San Lazzaro glows upon
the water like an oleander bloom blown from one
of its own garden bowers. Ungrudging access is
granted to this garden and cloister. The terraced

22 In and Around Venice
walk looks towards Venice, and is planted with alter
nate cypress and oleander trees. Between these ex
quisite settings are framed vignettes of the city ; San
Giorgio and San Marco, San Giovanni and San
Francesco; and the green point of the public gardens.
This terrace is a place on which to bask and dream
the evening through ; watching the crabs sunning
themselves and fighting on the sloping wall-founda
tions, or noting the ripples stirred by some fish upon
the shoal lagoons; watching, too, the sunset flame
itself to death behind the Euganean Hills, while the
heavens slowly change from gold to orange, to crim
son, to purple, to pale transparent azure, till night
comes silently over the Eastern waters, veiling the
brilliant hues of day ; the first stars begin to tremble
in the blue ; it is time to seek the gondola and to
row home towards the long line of piazza lights that
make a broad inviting path for us across the lagoon.
The lagoon offers many expeditions more distant
than the one to which we have just referred. Torcello,
with its ancient basilica and mosaics, its Greek church
of Santa Fosca, its old traditions of early lagoon his
tory, and its present desolation, will always prove
a favourite. The way to Torcello takes us through
six miles of lagoon landscape. After leaving Venice
behind us, our prow is set towards the easternmost
corner of the lagoon, that desolate unexplored tract of
marshland, formerly known as the " Dogado," where
the doge had his preserves of fishing and shooting,

Venice 23
and whence came the wild-duck, which by custom he
was obliged to present to every noble on St. Barbara's
Day. Torcello lies between Venice and the Dogado ;
and to reach it we have to pass Murano, with its
glass furnaces sending their long black streamers of
smoke into the air. Presently we reach Mazzorbo,
once the greater city, the major urbs, now composed
of a few scattered houses, a wine-shop, and a church,
whose campanile is riddled with Austrian shot. The
Alps go with us all the way to Mazzorbo, marching
along, pace for pace ; but at the entrance to the
village we forsake the open lagoon, and pass into
a narrow canal that winds between high garden walls,
over whose coping hangs a mantle of ivy, with here
and there a burning spot "of pomegranate flower.
Spring and autumn are equally delightful at Torcello.
In spring the orchards and the hedges of thorn are in
full bloom ; the delicate sprays of pink or white are
thrown up in relief against the blue sky. In autumn
all the water-meadows are a shimmer of purple-red,
from the feathery plumes of the sea-lavender that
give to the waste spaces the colour and feeling of
a Scotch moor. The island of Torcello is a desolate
place, with a world's-end atmosphere about it. Once
it was populous, but now marshes and malaria render
it almost uninhabitable. There is a little museum of
antiquities that have been found on the spot. But
the custode of the museum, one of the few natives
of Torcello, is more interesting than any of the

24 In and Around Venice
antiquities which he guards. He is a robust and
healthy young fellow, but with a manner so mellow,
so dreamy, so far away, such a sense of ancient half-
remembered things in his blue eyes, that it seems
as though the very spirit of Torcello had passed
into his soul. He will take you round the museum,
laying a light hand here on a torso, there on a
Roman tomb. "A cippus" he will say, in gentle,
lingering tones, " a Roman cippus " ; and then, as you
pass on, he adds lower, as though quite to himself,
and caressing some secret all his own, "a Roman
cippus." The campanile of Torcello is, as usual in
Venice, a solid, square brick tower, rising to a great
height, and the view from it, when you have climbed
the rickety wooden ladders that lead to the bell-
chamber, is most striking. To the east the broken
land — half sea, half land — begins ; and the whole
country is cut by wide ditches which intersect one
another. These are the " Valli," where fish are bred
for the Venice market ; and a very valuable property
the " Valli " are. To the south is the Adriatic, and
the long line of Lidi breakwaters, curving away to
Chioggia; Venice and the Euganean Hills to the
west ; and north, the ever-present Alps, visible from
Torcello as hardly from anywhere else, for there is
absolutely nothing to interrupt the view ; the plain
runs right up to their roots, and the eye may wander
on and on till it finds the eternal snows of Tofana,
Antelao, or Pelmo. The sea and sky, Venice and the

Venice 25
mountains, these are the four chords on which the
music of the Venetian landscape is played.
A sail home from Torcello in the evening is a de
lightful experience ; and some of the gondoliers are
skilful at handling their boats, without keel or rudder,
steering them with an oar behind, like the Vikings of
old. If it be summer or autumn, a storm, sudden and
furious, is not at all improbable, and will make no
bad close to such a day. The great masses of cloud
gather in the east, and sail, slow and stately, towards
us, surely gaining upon us. The van of the storm-
clouds is curved into an arc by the pressure of the
wind behind, though here upon the water there is
only breeze enough to fill the sail. Steadily the
billowy battalions advance until, as we are off
Murano, the colour of the water begins to change
to a pale pea-green, no longer transparent, but thick
as jade. There is a feeling of oppression in the air,
a brooding stillness, then suddenly the wind drops ;
not a breath, not a hush for five minutes, while the
storm-clouds overtake us. Then, far away behind
Murano, one catches a low humming, like the noise
of a threshing-machine ; it is the wind in the city —
you must down sail and make for the nearest post.
The hurricane leaps out from the city, striking the
water, tearing it into foam, and flinging the spray
high into the air. There is fury and confusion in
the sky. The thundery masses are rent and riven ;
through the gaps of dun-coloured vapour you catch

26 In and Around Venice
the steely blue of storm-clouds, boiling as in a cal
dron ; and beyond thern even again, pure blue sky
and sunlight. A rainbow rises high in the air, relieved
against the turbulent heavens, and spans the lagoon.
Then the whole tornado sweeps away south-westward.
The sunset reasserts itself, and dashes the sky with
streamers of crimson and orange ; then darkness,
with lightning and storm slowly dying away into the
west, leaving the heavens serene and the night breeze
fresh and cool. These summer storms are sudden
and almost tropical in their fury, but they are
quickly spent ; and, like tropical cyclones, their path
is a narrow one, confined to one line on the lagoon,
but where they strike they have been known to un
roof houses.
Besides these better known expeditions' to the
Lido, Torcello, and San Lazzaro, there are many
others quite as worthy the attention of any one who
has time and to spare in Venice. A little to the
right of the canal that leads to Torcello, lies the
island of San Francesco in Deserto. In a desert
of water and mud-banks, Saint Francis's island cer
tainly stands. It is easily distinguished and always
remembered by its solitary stone pine, which spreads
its umbrella of sunproof boughs over one angle of
the convent garth. For San Francesco is still a con
vent of the Franciscan order, and the brothers show
the stone coffin in which their founder used to accli
matise himself to death. But the large square of

Venice

27

rich deep grass which the island walls enclose is
by far the most enticing feature of San Francesco.
A noble avenue of cypresses, the finest to be found
near Venice, runs down one side ; and in spring the
air is heavy with the perfume of the narcissus, which
grows here luxuriantly. Some way off to the south
lies Treporti, on the outermost bank of sand that
keeps the Adriatic from invading the lagoon. At
Treporti the scenery is very different from that of
the other places we have visited : long sweeps of
sandy dune, covered with coarse bent grass and
heather, and broken into pools of brackish water
that reflect the sky like a mirror. The ground is
all uncultivated ; the air is filled with pungent aro
matic odours born of the sea and the wild sea-loving
plants. On the shores, which seem to stretch inimi
tably on either hand, the sand is fine and soft and
yellow ; there is no choicer place for a bathe ; the
sea is wide open before you, warm, limpid, pure, and
inviting ; and as you swim far out, the domes and
campanili of Venice rise up in low relief upon the
water-level, and the sound of her bells comes mellowed
and blended across the blue expanse.
Or if the western lagoon is to be explored, no
expedition is more favourable for this purpose than
the one to Fusina. Through Fusina once lay the
main road between Venice and Padua ; but the
Austrian railway bridge has, until lately, diverted the
current of traffic from Fusina to Mestre, and any one

28 In and Around Venice
making the journey to Fusina was almost sure to
have the lagoon to himself, or, at most, to share it
with some sparse and scattered fishermen. Within the
last few years, however, a tramway has been opened
between Fusina and Padua, and a small steamboat
plies from Venice to meet the trams ; but this will
not seriously break the loneliness of the voyage, nor
rob of its inalienable charm that great sweep of
lagoon that opens away from the mouth of the
Giudecca, and stretches on and on to the lagoon's
end at Chioggia and Brondolo. It is well to choose
a grey day for this expedition — one of those pearly
silver-grey days, so subdued, so delicate in suggested
colour, that come every now and then in autumn.
As the gondola leaves the Giudecca canal and makes
for the island of Saint George-among-the-Seaweeds,
the surface of the lagoon has an oily appearance, and
is almost pallid in its grey whiteness. In the offing
you can see the few trees which stand in a group
near the port of Malamocco, and the spars of some
big shipping; nearer still the fort of Sant' Angelo
and the island of Saint George itself. Everything is
mellowed by an all-pervading semi-transparent haze,
which, on the horizon, confounds the limits of the sea
and sky. Upon the surface of this silver-grey mirror
rise the black silhouettes of the fishermen ; each soli
tary figure upright and poised upon the stem of his
narrow boat. The gondola passes under the red
brick wall of San Giorgio, where the Madonna stands

Venice 29
guardian at the corner, and the saint in stone charges
and slays the dragon. The island was once a con
vent belonging to the Benedictine order, and the
home of the Venetian Saint, Lorenzo Giustinian,
first Patriarch of Venice ; but now the church has
lost its campanile, and the church itself, refectory,
and cloisters are converted to the base uses of a
powder magazine. At Fusina the Brenta used to
flow into the lagoon, and a considerable portion of
its waters still discharge here — sufficient to allow the
gondola to proceed up this branch till it joins the
present main stream. This is worth doing ; for in
spring the Brenta is rich in water-lilies, yellow ranun
culus, and flags. From the banks of the Brenta one
looks westward across a curious flat country — so low-
lying that one hardly perceives any difference be
tween its level and that of the lagoon — until the
eye reaches the Euganean Hills, thirty miles away,
whose cones and pyramids form such a beautiful
episode in every Venetian sunset.
The expeditions to be made upon the lagoon are
so numerous and so various that it is impossible to
catalogue them here, nor is it our intention to do
so. Our object is to show how great is the variety
in the Venetian landscape, in Venice as seen from
outside. But it must not be supposed that the
lagoons are always steeped in sunlight. They have
their moods : now black beneath a sudden storm ;
now cold and hard as steel under the piercing

30 In and Around Venice
east wind— the bora that reaches Venice from the
hills above Trieste ; and sometimes in winter
wrapped in an impenetrable blanket of damp
mist, so thick and heavy that one may easily lose
one's course between the Lido and Venice ; and the
steamers, slowly feeling their way in or out, loom for
an instant and then disappear, swallowed up in that
dense wall of vapour, and the sound of their fog
horns dies away down the wind. All the shipping
looks ghostly, tall, and gaunt as one passes it, and the
whole scene is like sea-traffic in the underworld.
Nor is the variety less remarkable or less enchant
ing if we forsake the gondola and take to the land.
Nothing can be more full of charm than a walk
through Venice ; the infinite variety and windings
of the calli, the sudden debouchment upon some open
campiello, the perpetual changes of scene. There is
usually some surprise in store for any one who takes
a walk through the city ; either some piece of archi
tecture, some balcony or doorway that has escaped
notice, or some vivid picture of popular life.
The beauty of the city itself is, of course, more
subject to destruction than the beauty of the lagoon.
It seems impossible that " progress " should ever be
able really to ruin the vast dome of the sky and the
wide expanse of sea-floor ; but inside the town, resto
ration, new streets, iron bridges have entailed a de
cided loss in picturesqueness. Yet even on this point
Venice is more fortunate than many other Italian

Venice 31
cities. It is not long before salt winds and sun begin
their labour upon the newest stone, and insensibly
man's handiwork suffers a sea-change that gradually
brings the most glaring restorations into harmony
with their surroundings. There are two moments
particularly favourable for an artist to take his walks
in Venice. One is after a rain shower, when the old
intonaco upon the walls has every tone brought out,
and is vivid with colour ranging from grey through
pale sea-green to red — the old Venetian red with which
so many houses used to be stained. The other choice
moment for a walk is in the early morning before the
business of the day has begun. The sunlight falls in
such broad cool flakes upon the Istrian stone, the
islands San Clemente and San Servolo look exqui
sitely pure and white upon the water, San Giorgio
Maggiore springs up like a goddess new risen from
her bath. As one wanders about the deserted calli,
the birds sing in the enclosures ; and on the Zattere the
air is-laden with the perfume of honeysuckle and other
creepers that trail over the wall of Princess Dolgo-
rouki's garden. Indeed, the gardens in Venice, like
everything else in the city, have a character all their
own. In the first place, they are greatly prized, for
space is scarce in this city built upon islands won
from the very sea. The soil of Venice, composed of
lagoon mud, is rich and heavy, but so impregnated
with salt that only certain plants will grow freely in
it, and it hardly repays the labour to force reluctant

32 In and Around Venice
flowers towards an imperfect and precarious bloom.
But the variety of plants that thrive and are happy in
Venetian gardens is quite sufficient to furnish forth a
lordly show. Many flowering and aromatic shrubs
take kindly to the soil ; then roses, and above all the
banksia ; most bulbs ; and, freest and happiest of all,
carnations — the garofoli that play so large a part in
Italian love-stories. There were two gardens on the
Giudecca,1 very different in their character, but each
illustrating in its way what a Venetian garden may
be. In the one every resource of wealth and art has
been lavished to produce a succession of brilliant beds.
In the middle of this desert of colour is a green oasis,
a sort of English orchard, where the fruit trees are
gathered together, and fling their laced and flickering
shadows on turf as fine, as velvety, and of as deep a
green as any to be found in England. On either side
the walks meander away among beds of splendid
colour that varies with the varying seasons. There is
an Oriental lavishness about the scene ; the eye is sur
feited, and the scent of flowers almost oppresses the
air. The other garden is not less beautiful ; but it
has been left in the condition given to it by its old
Venetian proprietors. A narrow strip is divided from
the rest of the garden by a thick hedge ; and here are
congregated all the flowers that grow freely in Venice.
The flame-coloured trumpets of the bignonia hang
from the cypress, up which it has climbed ; the walks
1 In 1887 ; one is now destroyed — converted into a cement factory.

Venice 33
are overarched by bowers of roses ; banksias festoon
the wall ; one corner is filled by a Daphne odorifera
that draws to its perfume innumerable butterflies. At
intervals openings in the hedge give access to that
part of the garden which is set apart for profit rather
than for pleasure ; aisle upon aisle of vine-covered
pergolas cross each other ; and down these cool
promenades, where the sun is never too strong, one
can saunter on and on, till the boundary wall is
reached, and before one open out the long reaches of
the lagoon that stretch away to Malamocco and the
fort of Alberoni.
It is in the streets of Venice that one comes to
know the people and the manner of life they lead.
And it will be strange if one does not like them, in
spite of all their faults. There is a gaiety, a laughter
and light-heartedness about these children of the
lagoons that is very winning ; a disengagement and
apparent frankness. of manner that captivate, for all
their indifference to truth, and that fatal desire to find
out what you want them to say and to say it.
I doubt if there was ever much decided costume in
Venice except among the nobles and the gondoliers,
and what there was has disappeared. The women,
however, still wear that most graceful of all garments
— a shawl large enough to cover the head and to fall
below the waist— handkerchiefs, they call them,— and
they have unerring taste in the choice of colours.
These shawls ijire seldom gaudy, their tone is usually
D

34 In and Around Venice
subdued — fawn, pale mauve, sometimes a tawny red ;
the strong colours are reserved for the bodices and
neckcloths. The linen of Venice is famed for its
whiteness, and of this the women make abundant
display on festas and holy days. Nothing can
surpass the grace of these shawl-clad figures, seen
down the long perspective of a narrow street, or
gathered in groups round the carved well-head in
some open campiello.
Although there is not much colour and variety of
costume to be met with in Venice, the streets them
selves are full of picturesque suggestions. Most of
the shops are quite open in front, and the whole
contents may be seen — part, indeed, overflows and
straggles on to the narrow pathway. Here is a
corn-dealer's shop, with open sacks of polenta flour
of every shade of yellow ; there an old-clothes shop,
with dresses of every hue and shade ; and next door
to it is a worker in bronze, whose rows of burnished
pots and plates serve as a red-gold background.
Then, again, up at the Rialto, where the vegetables
are sold, what a wealth of colour in the piles of
tomatoes, vegetable marrows, anrl great pumpkins
cut down the middle, and displaying all their orange
insides. One of the charms of a stroll througii
Venice, of losing one's self, as is easily done, in that
labyrinth of streets, is that one never knows what
surprise may be in store. Now it is some scene of
market or popular life ; again it is a great stone angel

Venice 35
standing guardian at some ca/k-hea.d ; here a coat-of-
arms that sets you blazoning, there a Gothic door
with terra-cotta mouldings : the place seems inex
haustible ; and for ambient to all this variety and
richness of art and life, there is the singularly limpid
air and light of the lagoon.
Few crowds are more cheerful or better ordered
than a Venetian crowd. The people love to congre
gate ; every one is out on the business of pleasure,
and determined to enjoy themselves to the full.
There are flashes of a ready wit in repartee that play
across the throng. Touches of sentiment, too, are
sometimes displayed, the sentiment that finds ex
pression in the quaint villotte or Venetian popular
songs. The struggle between the sea-wind and the
land-wind is regarded as a battle for ever being
waged ; the clouds are the victims of this endless
strife — " They are going to the mountains, but the
mountains will not receive them." The immortal
wanderings of the moon strike the Venetian fancy as
they struck the fancy of Shelley and of Leopardi :
" Povaretta ! viaggia sempre e non riposa mai " ; and
sometimes a profounder note is struck, as in the
remark, " Quando viene il desiderio non c'e mai
troppo." But these are rarer touches, depths that are
seldom stirred. ; as a rule the Venetian popolo is the
lightest and most easy-going in the world, free as
a child from care or doubt about right or wrong.
Indeed, this carelessness, so disturbing to a northern

36 In and Around Venice
temper, apt to take all things seriously, is character
istic not of the Venetian popolo only, but of the race
in general. The writer once had the misfortune to
be summoned as a witness before the Pretore. His
fellow-witness, the only one, was an old woman
dressed in a thick flannel petticoat. After weary
waiting in the ante-room, where every one was
smoking and throwing their matches about, we were
summoned into the crowded court, made to stand up,
and were lectured on the nature of an oath and the
terrible consequences of perjury. While this was
going on, one of the policemen suddenly said to the
old woman, "You're burning," but he never moved ;
and sure enough a thin thread of smoke was rising
from the old lady's petticoat. " Santissima Vergine
Maria ! " she cried in horror, but no one moved.
The judge on the bench put his finger-tips together,
observed the witness for a second, and confirmed the
policeman's remark, " Yes, you are burning " ; and
prosecutor, counsel, and general public confirmed the
judge, and said, " Yes, she's burning." The old lady's
fellow-witness could not let her burn in this way
quite quietly, so he caught her petticoats tight in his
hands, while the judge, still with his finger-tips
together, nodded approval from the bench and said,
" Squeeze her, squeeze her, squeeze her well." The
smouldering flame was soon put out. The judge
smiled, the policemen smiled, the public smiled, and
the case went on.

Venice 37
The Venetians have always been, and still are, a
festa-loving people. In the days of its wealth and
pride the Republic spent lavishly upon its State
entertainments. The natural capacities of the city
for a great spectacle, the winding waterway of the
Grand Canal, opening upon the basin of St. Mark,
with San Giorgio on one side, and the ducal palace,
the Piazzetta, and the Basilica upon the other, the
curve of the Riva closed by the public gardens, all
seem to invite and require the complement of some
scenic display. The pictures of the old Venetian
masters — Bellini, Carpaccio, Veronese — prove how
deeply the Venetians revelled in the pageants of
State. But when the Republic fell the great cere
monies came to an end. Only among the people the
roots of the original passion were kept alive. The
people have lost most of their old sports in which
they delighted : the battle on the bridge between the
rival factions of black and red, the Nicolotti and
Castellani ; the human towers and pyramids, piled
up in many a fanciful shape, called the Forze
d'Ercole; but one sport — the national sport of the
Venetians — the regatta, still lives on ; and lately,
since Venice became a part of United Italy, the
Town Council has done much to revive the splendour
of the show. The regatta is frequently combined
with a serenade on the Grand Canal in the evening,
and the two together form a spectacle which can be
surpassed by no other city in Europe. The race is

38 In and Around Venice
rowed in light gondolas, much smaller than the
gondola in ordinary use. The course is from the
stairs of the public garden up to the station and back
again to the Palazzo Foscari, the traditional winning-
post. The prizes are money and flags for the first
three, and a pig and a flag with a pig upon it for the
last. Long before the race begins the Grand Canal
is crowded with boats of every sort and size : gon
dolas, sandolos, barche, barchette, topos, cavaline, vipere,
bissone— there is no end to the names and kinds of
Venetian craft. The facades of the palaces are all
a-flutter with flags, and from the windows hang
tapestries, carpets, curtains, anything that will add to
the dance of colour. The balconies are filled with
people ; every window has its bevy of heads ; the
very roofs are black with sightseers. Down below on
the water the scene is no less animated and brilliant.
The course is kept by large boats with twelve oars,
called bissone. Each of these is decorated symbolic
ally. One represents the Arctic regions ; its rowers
are clad like walruses, a Polar bear lies on its bows,
and a block of ice serves as a seat for its captain and
steersman. Another represents the tropic regions,
with palms and gorgeous flowers for decoration. A
third is a trophy of the Murano glassworkers' art.
These great boats, crossing and recrossing one
another on the waters of the canal, weave, as it were,
a web of colour. The eye is ever charmed by some
new combination of the water-loom. Presently comes

Venice 39
the boom of a distant cannon. .The race has begun.
A hush falls upon the crowd, only to be broken when
the first boat appears round the curve, and it becomes
certain whether Nicolotto or Castellano leads. The
race sweeps by, and disappears again behind the
Rialto, which swallows it up like a yawning mouth.
There is a perpetual buzz of voices — criticism, com
ment, bets flying about — until the boats come in
sight on their journey home ; a moment of breathless
excitement, then a roar of the victor's name as he
shoots his bow past the winning-post and snatches
up his flag as he passes. The race is finished. All
the while, overhead is the wide, blue, quiet sky, and,
underneath, the water silently, persistently, heedlessly
going its way to the sea.
In the evening the serenade starts from some
point above the Rialto. The singers and orchestra
are placed on a barge which is decorated and lighted
by numbers of little lamps arranged sometimes like a
pyramid, sometimes like a fountain of fire. The object
of every good gondolier is to take his padroni as near
to the music as possible, whether they like it or not.
The result is that the singers' barge soon becomes
wedged in between a solid mass of gondolas, like a
ship in an ice-floe; and it is only with the greatest
difficulty that any progress can be made. The whole
of the solid mass floats slowly down with the tide,
getting more and more closely jammed as the canal
narrows to pass the Rialto bridge. Under that wide

40 In and Around Venice
arch the scene is most fantastic. The electric light
casts its cold white ray down the Grand Canal, falling
now on this palace front and now on that, causing
them to start into sudden and ghastly prominence,
like ghosts unmasked. The smoke of the Bengal
lights streams out from under the arch in dense
coloured masses, and wavers away on the light air.
The figures of the poised and statuesque gondoliers,
each one standing upright on the stern of his boat,
oar in hand and hair blown by the breeze, form a
series of varied and beautiful silhouettes against the
darker background of the houses or the sky. The
serenade is a long affair ; and when one has had
enough of the whole strange and fantastic scene,
escape is easy down one of the innumerable side
canals that lead to the quiet quarters of the town.
Besides these great spectacles of regatta and
serenade, there are many other feste in Venice, chiefly
of a religious character. Each parish church, for
example, honours the feast of its patron saint by a
procession to all the shrines within the parish boun
daries. It is a picturesque sight to see one of these
bright trains of priests and people streaming across
the bridges and along the fondamenta of some small
canal. First come the porters of the church clad in
long blouses of white, red, and blue, bearing the
candles, the pictures, the banners, and images of the
church ; then a band af music, playing the gayest of
operatic airs, and behind the music, the priests sur-

Venice 41
rounding the parocco, who carries the Host under a
canopy of cloth of gold ; more music, a long file of
the devout bearing candles, and boys with crackers
and guns bring up the rear of the procession.* The
day ends with public dancing in the largest campo of
the parish. Venice still records her gratitude for
salvation from plague in two annual ceremonies, the
Madonna delta Salute in November and the Redentore
in July. On both occasions the priests of every parish
in Venice go in procession from St. Mark's to the
respective churches of the Salute and Redentore.
As the festa of the Redentore falls in high summer
the occasion is seized to make its vigil a night-long
water-frolic. As soon as the sun has set, the broad
Giudecca canal begins to swarm with boats, gaily
dressed with boughs and lanterns, forming an arbour
under which a supper-table is spread for a party of
friends. There are fireworks and prizes for the best-
dressed boats ; and towards two o'clock all the crowd
move off to the Lido to salute the rising sun, and
rush into the sea to meet it.
One of the most curious and characteristic of
Venetian popular ceremonies is the way in which
they keep Good Friday.
If a stranger arrived in Venice on Good Friday, he
would certainly take that day for a feast and not for
a fast. The streets are full of people in their Sunday
best. The inevitable sign and signature of a festa
* The reigning Pope has altered all this.

42 In and Around Venice
is present everywhere in the herds of children who
rush, roll, and romp among the passengers, whirling
their rattles to frighten Judas, or turning somersaults
and calling out Carpaccio for the benefit -of aesthetic
foreigners. But, upon this day, the chief delight of
the Venetian children is to fit up a Santo Sepolcro,
and to appeal, on the strength of it, to the crowd for
coppers. In most of the churches there are represen
tations of the Holy Sepulchre; and the children of
Venice follow the lead of their Church, but they are
content with less apparatus. Indeed, almost anything
will do for a Santo Sepolcro. I saw one little creature,
about six or seven, who had constructed her sepulchre
from an old bottle, a sprig of bay, and two candle-ends,
and who appealed most successfully to the passers-by,
winning as much for her pretty face and gentle mien,
as for her idea of the Holy Grave.
It is at night, however, and in the more populous
quarters of the city, little frequented by strangers,
that the most characteristic sight of a Venetian Good
Friday is to be seen. The people of the quarter, the
shopkeepers, wine-sellers, fishermen, agree to sing
the Twenty-four Hours, a long chaunt in twenty-four
verses, following the life of our Lord through His
Passion. The ceremony is a purely popular one ; the
Church has no part in it. The natives of the quarter
subscribe among themselves, in kind or in money, to
bear the expenses of the function ; one gives oil for
the lamps, another the wick, another wine for the

Venice 43
singers, who are usually a company of gondoliers or
porters from the district. At one end of the calle, a
shrine is raised in the shape of a temple ; the pillars
and pediment and all its lines defined by little glass
lamps, whose flames flicker and waver in the evening
breeze. The yellow light of these altar-lamps contrasts
strangely with the stronger and whiter light of the
ordinary gas-jet that projects from the middle of the
shrine ; and this blended light is thrown upon the faces
of the men and women who stand in a dense group
waiting till the singing shall begin. On either side of
the calle the upper windows of the houses are open,
and filled with heads, leaning out, looking down and
chatting to friends below. At the far end of the
street, crowning the angle of a garden wall, stands a
Madonna, carved in stone, with the Infant in her arms,
a lamp and rose-wreaths about. her feet, and behind
her the thick clusters of a wistaria that has climbed
up and falls' in delicate violet showers about her head.
Over all is the long narrow strip of dusky sky that
the house-roofs cut, lit by one large star.
Presently the singing begins. In harsh, but power
ful voice, the leader of the band strikes up the first
of the twenty-four hours, and the rest of his com
pany join in as they catch the note. The tune is a
grave and sombre chaunt, and the whole reminds one
of psalm-singing in a Scotch kirk, with the precentor
leading the way. Each verse takes about three
minutes to sing, and there is a pause of five minutes

44 in and Around Venice
between one verse and the next. The crowd is quiet
during the singing ; but in the interval the women
begin to chatter, the men take a pull at their long Vir
ginias, and the thin blue smoke floats lazily up into
the night ; the boys rush and tumble, until the pre
centor's voice, commencing the next verse, bids silence
fall upon the throng once more.
The ceremony lasts about three hours, and ends,
of course, in the inevitable supper at the nearest wine
shop. As we return to go down the calle they are
singing the fourteenth hour. The light from the altar
falls upon the hair of the women, the bronzed necks
and faces of the men, and the fairer faces of the chil
dren they hold in their arms to see the sight. One
moment, and we turn the corner by the garden wall.
There all is quiet ; not a footfall in the streets, and
above us the silence and the fragrance of the rich
Venetian night.

IN THE CITY
THE CAMPANILE OF SAN MARCO
AND THE LOGGETTA
OF SANSOVINO
THE bell-towers of Venice, of which St. Mark's
was, if not the earliest, certainly the finest
specimen, are not only a characteristic feature in that
city of characteristic architecture, but they display
peculiarities of form which distinguish them both
from the round campanili of Ravenna and from the
Lombard type of campanile prevalent throughout
North Italy. The Lombard campanile — whether
we take St. Satiro in Milan, dating from the ninth
century, or that noblest specimen, the tower of Pom-
posa, near Comacchio, built in 1063 — invariably has
its shaft divided horizontally into sections or zones.
Each zone is usually pierced by one, two, three, or
four apertures, and is adorned at the top by a series
of hanging arches {archetti pensili), sometimes hang
ing free for the whole width of the tower, sometimes
carried on slightly-projecting pilasters. The bell-
chamber is essentially a part of the shaft, and is,
in fact, the last zone into which the shaft is divided.
45

46 In and Around Venice
The Venetian bell-tower, on the other hand, is not
divided into zones. It is a square shaft of brick,
unpierced except for small windows near the angles,
which serve to light the internal stair. It has for
ornament pilasters running up the whole height of
the shaft and connected with one another by arches.
Where you find the hanging arch on a Venetian
campanile, as at Torcello, there has been a deviation
from the pure Venetian type and an admixture of
the Lombard style. The bell-chamber, again, is not
an essential part of the Venetian shaft. It has been
placed as a separate structure on the top of the shaft.
Like so much else in Venetian architecture, the
form of the Venetian campanile may be traced to
the Levant, for the Venetian bell-tower is nothing
but the protection-tower of a monastery such as those
on Mount Athos, with a bell-chamber added. In
Curzon's Monasteries of the Levant there is a drawing
of the Monastery of St. Paul, which shows us two
towers exactly like Venetian campaniles without
the bell-chamber. These towers were " built for the
defence of the monastery, not as belfries " ; and
perhaps a reminiscence of their ancient purpose may
be seen in the fact that the Venetian campanile
usually stands away from the church — is not attached
to it — was, in short, still considered as a place where
the clergy with the holy vessels could take refuge
from plunder or from fire.
Nothing certain is known as to the exact date

The Campanile of San Marco 47
when the Campanile of St. Mark was founded. San-
sovino, without citing authority, but really following
the Cronaca Sivos, declares that the foundations
were laid in the year 888. Gallicciolli gives the year
911, relying on the chronicler Feroldo, who states
that the Republic, which had grown in wealth, began
to coin silver money, and determined to lay the
foundations of the great Campanile ; this date is
supported by Zuliani, who, writing as late as 1692,
says that in the year 911 "the foundations of the
Campanile were laid with spurs (speroni), which,
running out round them like a star and extending in
all directions, held, the central foundation firm."
Romanin is inclined to accept the date 911, but adds
that the building of the actual tower did not begin
till 940. Vasari, in his life of Arnolfo di Lapo,
ascribes the foundation of the Campanile to the
master builder Buono of Bergamo, and assigns the
event to the year 1152; but clearly he is confounding
the beginning of the tower with its completion,
which seems to have taken place in 1148.
The wide discrepancy of the dates, 888 to 1148,
may perhaps be accounted for by the conjecture that
the work of building proceeded slowly, either with
a view to allowing the foundations to consolidate,
or owing to lack of funds, and that the chroniclers
recorded each resumption of work as the beginning
of the work. One point may, perhaps, be fixed. The
Campanile must have been some way above ground

48 In and Around Venice
by the year 997, for the hospital founded by the
sainted Doge, Pietro Orseolo, which is said to have
been attached to the base of the tower, was conse
crated in that year. The Campanile was finished, as
far as the bell-chamber at least, in 1148, under the
Doge Domenico Moresini, whose sarcophagus and
bust surmount the portal of San Nicolo del Lido.
The chroniclers are at variance among themselves
as to the date of the foundation, nor has an examina
tion of the foundations themselves led to any dis
covery which enables us to determine that date ; but
one or two considerations would induce us to discard
the earlier epochs. The foundations must have been
designed to carry a tower of the same breadth, though
possibly not of the same height, as that which has
recently fallen. But in the year 888 had the Vene
tians such a conception of their greatness as to
project a tower far more massive than any which
had been hitherto constructed in Italy? Did they
possess the wealth to justify them in such an enter
prise ? Would they have designed such a tower
to match St. Mark's, which was at that time a small
church with walls of wood? It is more probable
that the construction of the Campanile belongs to
the period of the second church of St. Mark, which
was begun after the fire of 976 and consecrated in
1094. The height of the Campanile at the time of its fall
was 98'6o metres (322 ft.), from the base to the head

The Campanile of San Marco 49
of the angel, though a considerable portion of this
height was not added till 15 10; its width at the base
of the shaft i2-8o metres (35 ft. 2 in.), and one metre
(3 ft. 3 in.) less at the top of the shaft. The weight
has been calculated at about 18,000 tons.
Thanks to excavations at the base of the tower
made by Com. Giacomo Boni, at the request of
Mr. C. H. Blackall, of Boston, U.S., in the year
1885, a report of which was printed in the Archivio
Veneto, torn. xxix. p. 355, we possess some accurate
knowledge about a portion of the foundation upon
which this enormous mass rested.
The subsoil of Venice is composed of layers of
clay, sometimes traversed by layers of peat, over
lying profound strata of watery sand. This clay
is, in places, of a remarkably firm consistency; for
example, in the quarter of the town known as
Dorsoduro or "hard-back," and at the spot where
the Campanile stood. A bore made at that point
brought up a greenish, compact clay mixed with fine
shells. This clay, when dried, offered the resisting
power of half-baked brick. It is the remarkable
firmness of this clay bottom which enabled the
Venetians to raise so lofty and so ponderous a
structure upon so narrow a foundation.
The builders of the Campanile proceeded as
follows. Into this bed of compact clay they first
drove piles of about 9J in. in diameter with a view
to still further consolidating, by pressure, the area

50 In and Around Venice
selected. That area only extends i-25 metre, or
about 4 ft. beyond the spring of the brickwork
shaft of the tower. How deep these piles reach
Boni's report does not state. The piles, at the point
where he laid the foundations bare, were found to be
of white poplar, in remarkably sound condition, re
taining their colour, and presenting a closely twisted
fibre. The clay in which they were embedded has
preserved them almost intact. • The piles extended
for one row only beyond the superimposed structure.
On the top of these piles the builders laid a platform
consisting of two layers of oak beams, crosswise.
The lower layer runs in the line of the Piazza, east
to west, the upper in the line of the Piazzetta, north
to south. Each beam is square and a little over
4 in. thick. This oak platform appears to be in bad
condition ; the timbers are blackened and friable.
While the excavation was in progress sea-water
burst through the interstices, which had to be
plugged. Upon this platform was laid the foundation proper.
This consisted of seven courses of stone of various
sizes and of various kinds — sandstone of two qualities,
limestone from Istria and Verona, probably taken
from older buildings on the mainland, certainly not
fresh-hewn from the quarry. The seventh or lowest
course was the deepest, and was the only one which
escarped, and that but slightly ; the remaining six
courses were intented to be perpendicular. These

The Campanile of San Marco 51
courses varied widely from each other in thickness —
from C31 to 0*90 centimetres. They were composed
of different and ill-assorted stone, and were held
together in places by shallow-biting clamps of iron,
and by a mortar of white Istrian lime, which, not
being hydraulic, and having little affinity for sand,
had become disintegrated. Com. Boni calls atten
tion to the careless structure of this foundation
proper, and maintains that it was designed to carry
a tower of about two-thirds of the actual height
imposed upon it, but not more.
Above the foundations proper came the base.
This consisted of five courses of stone set in step
wise. These courses of the base were all of the same
kind of stone, in fairly regular blocks, and of fairly
uniform thickness. They were all intended to be
seen, and originally rose from the old brick pavement
of the Piazza ; but the gradual subsidence of the soil
— which is calculated as proceeding at the rate of
nearly a metre per 1,000 years — caused two and a
half of these stepped courses to disappear, and only
two and a half emerged from the present pavement.
Thus the structure upon which the brick shaft of
the Campanile rested was composed of (1) the base
of five stepped courses, (2) the foundations of seven
courses almost perpendicular, (3) the platform of oak
beams, and (4) the piles. The height of the founda
tion, including the base, was 5*02 metres, about 16 ft.,
or one-twentieth of the height they carried. Not only

52 In and Around Venice
is this a very small proportion, but it will be further
observed that the tradition of star -shaped supports
{speroni) to the foundations is destroyed, and that they
covered a very restricted area. In fact, the foundations
of the Campanile belonged to the primitive or narrow
kind. The foundations of the Ducal Palace, on the
other hand, belong to the more recent or extended
kind. Those foundations do not rest on piles, but
on a very broad platform of larch beams — much
thicker than the oak beams of the Campanile plat
form — reposing directly on the clay. Upon this
platform, foundations with a distended escarpment
were built to carry the walls, the weight of which
was thus distributed equally over a wide area.
Little of the old foundations of the Campanile
will remain when the work on the new foundations
is completed. The primitive piles and platform are
to stand; but new piles have been driven in all round
the original nucleus, and on them are being laid
large blocks of Istrian stone, which will be so deeply
bonded into the old foundations that hardly more
than a central core of the early work will be left.
Coming now to the shaft of the tower. This
was a massive quadrangular, rectangular, equilateral
structure of brick. The brickwork at each angle
was thickened so as to form a pilaster-buttress, and
on each face were three ribs or pilasters connected
at the summit with each other and with the angle
pilasters by ornamented arches, immediately over

The Campanile of San Marco 53
which came the cornice of the shaft upon which
the flooring of the bell-chamber eventually rested.
These lateral pilasters or ribs are common to the
campanili of Venice, but I remember no instance,
except in the campanile of S. Simeone Profeta,
of more than one pilaster on each face. Inside
this outer or main tower were built eight massive
pilasters, connected by arches ; and the space be
tween what was virtually the outer and the inner
tower was used to carry up, not by steps, but
by an inclined plane, a passage from the ground
to the bell-chamber. Sansovino, speaking of the
shaft, and following the Cronaca Sivos, says that
it was "stabile e soda." Whether he meant by
that to affirm that the walls were solid and not
built " a sacco," that is rubble walls, as was the
case with Chichester tower and with many early
buildings in Venice, it is not easy to say ; but the
fall of the tower has revealed beyond doubt the fact
that the walls of the outer tower were built solid.
No argument in favour of the rubble-wall theory
can be drawn from the vast cloud of dust which,
immediately after the fall, covered the Piazza to the
depth of about 4 in., for mortar of the firmest hold
would pulverise in the process of the collapse, and
it is certain that the stump of the shaft, when laid
bare, required strong pick strokes to disintegrate it.
The condition of the shaft was not entirely unsatis
factory. The mortar employed came from Padua,

,54 In and Around Venice
and, though defective in cohesion, was in far better
condition than the mortar of the foundations. The
bricks, to a considerable number, were magnificent
Roman brick of an admirable texture and grain, re
quiring a saw to divide them, and resembling marble
in their compactness. These Roman bricks presented
various tones of red and yellow ; many of them bore
inscriptions which have been carefully catalogued.
Some showed the imprint of the paws of animals or
of birds who trod upon them when they lay still
fresh and unbaked by the brick-kilns of Aquileia or
Tarvisium, others have the hand-grip dug into them
before they were fired. Some are semi-circular, others
wedge-shaped, made for the building of arches, others,
again, round for the structure of columns. All were
large and of excellent quality. They came from the
abandoned remains of ancient Roman cities on the
mainland — Altinum, Concordia, Opitergium, Aquileia.
It has not, so far, been determined whence came the
contemporary brick employed to build the shaft.
Much of it looks like Trevisan bake, and though
¦ inferior to the Roman brick in size and in con
sistency, it presented, where it came down in un
broken blocks, a fine quality and colour.
The shaft was completed in the reign of Domenico
Moresini ; the bell-chamber seems to have been added
about 1 1 70; it is described as being stumpy and low.
It very likely had a squat pyramid on the top, which
probably was gilded. This may have been the bell-

The Campanile of San Marco 55
chamber and pyramid represented in Breydenbach's
" Peregrinatio " of i486 — if, indeed, any reliance is to
be placed on these early woodcut illustrations. In
the famous design of Venice, dated 1500, and now
attributed to Jacopo de' Barbari, the bell-chamber
appears without a pyramid. This may be accounted
for by the fact that in 1489 the tower was struck by
lightning, and the summit burned, " e una saetta uno
ictu brucio la cima del Campaniel de San Marco,
che era dorata." The government then confided the
restorations to the master builder Bartolomeo Buono
of Bergamo, who began the work about 1510, and
constructed the bell -chamber, attic, pyramid, and
angel, as they practically remained till the fall of
the tower. The work seems to have been completed
by 1513, for Sanudo, in his Diary, makes the following
entry: "1513, 6th July. To-day in the Piazza of
St. Mark the gilded copper angel was hoisted up
to the sound of trumpets and pipes. Wine and milk
were poured upon it in token of rejoicing. Pray God
it has been raised in a happy hour and to the increase
of this Republic." Buono's bell -chamber was an
elegant structure of Istrian stone with angle pilasters
and columns of verd antique and other precious
marbles on each side, corresponding to the three
pilaster ribs of the shaft, and connected, like them,
by arches which bore the cornice, upon which rested
the heavy attic whence sprang the final pyramid.
In the spandrils between the arches were massive

56 In and Around Venice
lions' heads, boldly and impressively hewn in Istrian
stone. The bell-chamber contained four large bells thus
described by the Procurators of St. Mark, the official
custodians of the Campanile: "In the said Campanile
are four bells, all of an excellent sound ; the smallest
is called the Trottiera, the next is known as the Mezza
Terza, the third as the Nona, and the fourth and
largest is called the Marangona!' Sansovina adds
a fifth, a small bell, by name the Ringhiera. The
Marangona was the great bell of the city marking
the main moments of the day ; it rang at sunrise, at
Ave Maria for the cessation of work, and at mid
night. The Trottiera summoned the senate to its
sittings ; the Ringhiera tolled for those about to die
by the hand of justice. The Mezza Terza and the
Nona announced other important hours ; the Nona,
for example, rang midday. All these bells were rung
either by hammer in the bell-chamber or by rope
from the base of the Campanile. The holes through
which the bell-ropes passed were coated with thick
bottle-glass to diminish the wear and tear. In the
fall of the tower the Marangona was but little injured ;
the rest were broken.
Above the bell-chamber came a balustrade, and
inside that the attic. It was built of brick, and bore
upon its western and eastern faces a massive decora
tive figure in Istrian stone. Both represented Justice
— the figure to the west reposed its feet on a cherub's

The Campanile of San Marco 57
head, flanked by two other human heads ; the figure
to the east rested on a dragon. Both were designed,
like the lions of the spandrils, by Mastro Buono.
The pyramid was also of brickwork externally
lined with plates of bronze which had acquired an
exquisite green patina. Inside the pyramid was a
shallow cupola, through the crown of which passed
the pivot on which the angel at the apex of the
pyramid revolved. Surmounting all came the great
angel of gilded lead — it had been renewed several
times, and in various metals — with wings expanded
to catch the impact of every wind that blew.
Such was the tower which the Venetians built for
themselves. It consisted of eight parts: (1) the piles,
(2) the platform, (3) the foundations, (4) the base, (5)
the shaft, (6) the bell-chamber, (7) the attic, (8) the
pyramid ; divisions which are to be found in almost
all the Venetian campanili, whether the attic be
round as in San Giorgio Maggiore, or octagonal
as in San Stefano, or square as in San Francesco
della Vigna, and whether it be surmounted by cone,
pyramid, or cupola. The attic with its cone, pyramid,
or cupola, however, are sometimes wanting altogether,
sometimes are merely rudimentary.
In a peculiar fashion the Campanile of San Marco
summed up the whole life of the city — civil, religious,
commercial, and military — and became the central
point of Venetian sentiment. For the tower served
the double needs of the ecclesiastic and the civic

58 In and Around Venice
sides of the Republic. " His diebus," says Andrea
Dandolo, " excelsa turris condita est usibus ecclesice et
Reipublicae deputata." Its bells marked the canonical
hours ; rang the workman to his work, the merchant
to his desk, the statesman to the Senate ; they pealed
for victory or tolled for the demise of a Doge. The
tower, moreover, during the long course of its con
struction, roughly speaking, from the middle of the
tenth to the opening of the sixteenth centuries, was
contemporary with all that was greatest in Venetian
history ; for the close of the tenth century saw the
conquest of Dalmatia, and the foundations of Vene
tian supremacy in the Adriatic — that water-avenue to
the Levant and the Orient — while by the opening of
the sixteenth the Cape route had been discovered, the
League of Cambray was in sight, and the end at
hand. The tower, too, was a landmark to those at
sea, and when the mariner had the Campanile of San
Nicolo on the Lido covering the Campanile of St.
Mark, he knew he had the route home and could
make the Lido port. The tower was the centre of
popular festivals, such as that of the Svolo on
Giovedi grasso, when an acrobat descended by a rope
from the summit of the Campanile to the feet of the
Doge, who was a spectator from the loggia of the
Ducal Palace. Vasari might say that "this tower, in
truth, has nothing excellent about it in itself, neither
in form nor adornment, nor in anything else that is
laudable " ; but visitors from the North, like Fynes

The Campanile of San Marco 59
Moryson and Coryat, wax eloquent over the Cam
panile and the view from it — the "fairest and the
goodliest prospect that is (I think) in all the worlde,
for therehence may you see the whole modell and
forme of the citie sub uno intuitu, a sight that doth in
my opinion farre surpasse all shewes under the cope
of heaven " ; while for the Venetians the tower was
officially, "famosum et nominatum per totum orbem,"
as the Great Council declared in 1405, and for the
people a personification of enduring strength,'" Gnanca
se cascasse el Campaniel," "Not though the Cam
panile should come down," was their strongest form
of negation.
The Campanile was under the care of the Pro
curator! di San Marco, and they insisted on preserv
ing the prestige of their charge by preventing the
erection of any tower in the city which should sur
pass it in height. Whether they were as careful of
its structure is doubtful, and the tower had many
enemies during the course of its life. From the first
there seem to have been houses attached to its base.
We have seen that the hospital founded by the
sainted Orseolo Doge was possibly connected with
the shaft. We know that Giorgio Valla, the scholar,
kept a school at its foot, that the panataria or bakery
stood on its south side, and that the disfiguring shops
and offices were only cleared away in October, 1878.
Neither the erection nor the removal of these build
ings, with all the tapping at the tower thereby im-

60 In and Around Venice
plied, can have been of advantage to the structure,
and, indeed, it was the meddling with the remaining
building on the fourth side, the Loggetta, which pre
cipitated the disaster of July 14th. But the Cam
panile suffered most from fire, lightning, and earth
quake. The long series of accidents is recorded in
Gallicciolli's Memorie Venete and elsewhere. Here
it will suffice to mention the most important. In
1383 lightning set fire to the wooden pyramid on the
tower, which was promptly grappled with chains and
ropes and hauled, still flaming, down into the Piazza.
In 1405 the illuminations for the capture of Padua
again fired and burned the summit. In 1426 all the
shops round the base of the tower were burned, and
in 1489 the top was once more destroyed by fire, and,
as we have seen, restored in its final form by Mastro
Buono. In 1574 another fire raged at the foot of the
Campanile. Finally, in 1745, a terrible flash of
lightning struck the tower at a spot above the Log
getta, precisely where the final and fatal crack of
July 14th began to show itself. That spot had been
struck before, in 1735, and was struck again in 1761.
The Procuratori then charged the engineer Toaldo
to apply a lightning-conductor, and that was done in
1776. The most serious of the many earthquakes which
shook the tower was that of 1511. The top of the
Campanile, especially at a point where it had already
been struck by lightning, showed serious cracks.

The Campanile of San Marco 61
The great bells rang of themselves, and the use of
them was suspended until they had been fortified by
beams. After this shock the foundations were ex
amined and found to be in excellent order, and
declared capable of bearing a much greater weight.
It will be remembered that this earthquake took
place just at the time when Mastro Buono was con
templating the new bell-chamber, attic, and pyramid.
In order to carry out this work, a portion of the
tower at the north-east angle, looking towards the
Merceria, was taken down and rebuilt. It was pre
cisely at this angle that the final mischief declared
itself, though much lower down, and it is not unlikely
that the fatal weakness of the tower may date from
the earthquake of 15 11 and the restorations entailed
thereby. Other earthquakes followed, but none so damaging
to the Campanile. Yet, in spite of lightning, fire,
earthquake, and the lapse of time, the great tower of
St. Mark showed only the faintest deviation from
the perpendicular, and, at the time of its fall, it
seemed to almost every expert, and certainly to all
the profane, the soundest building in Venice.
Professor Max Ongaro has recently published an
interesting brochure entitled Come e caduta il Cam
panile di San Marco. In estimating the reasons for
the collapse of the tower, Signor Ongaro, along with
all other competent authorities, absolutely excludes
the theory that the foundations were to blame. They

62 In and Around Venice
were narrow, it is true, for the great height and
weight which were eventually laid upon them, and
they were defective in construction and in cohesion,
but the fault does not lie with the foundations.
A serious weakness was created in the upper part
of the tower by the imperfect way in which the new
surface, applied after the earthquake of 15 11 and the
lightning stroke of 1745, was bonded into the older
massif of the tower. The new work remained like
an outer veneer, giving an appearance of solidity,
but as a matter of fact structurally detached from
the main block of the shaft. The same vicious pro
cedure seems to have been adopted in all the re-
facings of the Campanile. But Signor Ongaro is
inclined to attribute the collapse of the monument
more immediately to the modifications made in the
basement to suit the convenience of the custode.
It will be remembered that the inner shell of the
tower was composed of eight pilasters. Two of
these — one at the north-east angle, the other on the
east side, precisely the point where the fatal mischief
manifested itself — were deeply incised to make a
chimney for the kitchen and a wall cupboard. These
cuts seriously weakened the two pilasters, and move
ment was manifested higher up the shaft. Local
remedies were applied, but the root of the mischief
was neither sought nor eradicated. The equilibrium
of the outer and inner shells was destroyed, a down
ward drag was set up, and this, coupled with the

The Campanile of San Marco 63
defective mortar of the tower, led gradually to the
disintegration and collapse' of the north-east angle
and face.
We come now to the dolorous moment of the fall in
July, 1902. Infiltration of water had been observed
in the roof of Sansovino's Loggetta where that roof
joined the shaft of the Campanile. At this point a
thin ledge of stone, let into the wall of the Campanile,
projected over the junction between the leaden roof
of the Loggetta and the shaft of the tower. In order
to remedy the mischief of infiltration it was resolved
to remove and replace this projecting ledge. To do
this a chase was made in the wall of the Campanile,
which, at this point, consisted of a comparatively
modern surface of masonry, placed there to repair
the damage caused by the lightning strokes above
recorded. This chase was cut, not piecemeal, but
continuously. The work was carried out on Mon
day, July 7th. During the process the architect
in charge became alarmed at the condition of
the inner part of the wall laid bare by the cut.
He expressed his fears to his superiors, but ap
parently no examination of the tower was made
till the Thursday following. Even then the immi
nence of the danger does not seem to have been
grasped. On Saturday, the 12th, a crack was ob
served spreading upwards in a sloping direction from
the cut above the roof of the Loggetta towards the
north-east angle of the shaft, then crossing the angle

64 In and Around Venice
and running up almost perpendicularly in the line of
the little windows that gave light to the internal pas
sage from the base to the bell-chamber. This crack
assumed such a threatening aspect, and was making
such visible progress, that the authorities in charge
of the tower felt bound to inform the Prefect, though
the danger was represented as not immediate, and
the worst they expected was the fall of the angle
where the crack had appeared. A complete collapse
of the whole tower was absolutely excluded. As a
precautionary measure the music in the Piazza was
suspended on Saturday evening. On Sunday orders
were issued to endeavour to bind the threatened
angle. But by Monday morning early (July 14th) it
was evident that the catastrophe could not be averted.
Dust began to pour out of the widening crack, and
bricks to fall. A block of Istrian stone crashed
down from the bell-chamber, then a column from the
same site. At 9.47 the ominous fissure opened, the
face of the Campanile towards the church and the
Ducal Palace bulged out, the angel on the top and
the pyramid below it swayed once or twice, and
threatened to crush either the Sansovino's Library or
the Basilica of San Marco in their fall, then the
whole colossus subsided gently, almost noiselessly,
upon itself, as it were in a curtsey, the ruined brick
and mortar spread out in a pyramidal heap, a dense
column of white powder rose from the Piazza, and
the Campanile of San Marco was no more.

LIBRERIA VECCHIA
SHOWING THE DAMAGE DONE BY THE FALL OF THE CAMPANILE, JULY I4TH, 10.02

The Campanile of San Marco 67
It is certainly remarkable, and by the popolo of
Venice it is reckoned as a miracle, that the tower in
its fall did so little harm. Not a single life was lost,
though the crowd in the Piazza was unaware of its
danger till about ten minutes before the catastrophe.
The great angel shot down and stopped just before
the main portal of St. Mark's ; the thick porphyry
column of the Pietra del bando saved, as by a miracle,
the exquisite south-west, or Sta. Sofia, angle of the
church ; the copper plates from the pyramid formed
themselves into a miraculous fence for the first of the
great bronze standard sockets. Only a deep cut into
Sansovino's splendidly built library, and a few chips
on the outer steps of St. Mark's fagade, hint at the
ruin which might have been wrought, and the people,
commenting on these facts, and personifying the
tower they loved so well, say, " Lu xe sempre sta
galantomo, lu ga parla ; lu ga avisa, ' fe largo che
casco ' " — " He's always been a gentleman ; he spoke,
he warned us : ' Away with you, for I'm coming
down ! ' "
The Campanile of St. Mark's is not the first, nor,
I fear, will it be the last of the Venetian towers to
fall. In 1347 the Campanile of Chioggia collapsed,
as an inscription over the door leading into the tower
records. In 1410 a violent gust of wind, " un refolo
grandissimo," brought down the towers of Santa
Fosca and the Corpus Domini. In 1455 the Cam
panile of S. Angelo, which was off plumb, was

68 In and Around Venice
rectified by a Bolognese engineer, but fell the next
day, carrying with it a part of the church and the
Convent of San Stefano. In 1596 the Campanile of
San Leonardo fell. In 1774 the great tower of San
Giorgio Maggiore came down, and the ruin roused
hardly less alarm than was created by the fall of
San Marco. The towers of San Stefano, S. Maria
Zobenigo, and the Greci were examined, and the
tower of .S. Maria was demolished ; the other two
remain to this day, though their deflection is a con
stant source of alarm. The latest to fall was the
Campanile of Sta. Ternita, which collapsed as re
cently as the 13th December, 1880.
The restoration of the Campanile of Saint Mark
will not present difficulties of other than a financial
and structural nature, for the great tower was a simple
monument, impressive by its bulk and venerable from
its associations ; but in its fall it swept away another
building of a very different character — the Loggetta
of Sansovino. This small but exquisite structure de
pended for its effect neither upon its size nor upon its
associations, but upon the delicacy and richness of
its workmanship and ornamentation. Like the little
Gothic church of S. Maria della Spina at Pisa, it
seemed a carefully-wrought jewel in a setting of
larger and more imposing buildings.
The Loggetta was designed and executed about
the year 1 540 by Jacopo Sansovino, who had recently
finished his masterpiece, the Libreria Vecchia. It was

THE MADONNA AND CHILD WITH ST. JOHN
In the Loggetta

The Loggetta of Sansovino 7 1
intended to take the place of an older building which
had been destroyed in 1489 by the famous flash of
lightning that struck and brought down a large part
of the bell-chamber on the Campanile. The more
ancient Loggetta served as a kind of club or
rendez-vous for the patricians of Venice, but on the
completion of the new edifice it was set apart for
the Procuratore di San Marco on duty and his guard,
who kept watch during the sittings of the Maggior
Consiglio. After the fall of the Republic, and down
to the present day, the Loggetta was used for the
drawing of the governmental lottery every Saturday
at three o'clock.
The Loggetta, as designed by Sansovino, consisted
of a terrace or open vestibule, reached by four steps
from the level of the Piazza, and enclosed by a
balustrade. The fine bronze gates, with their rich
and florid modelling, were added much later, in 1750,
by the artist Antonio Gai. From the terrace sprang
the facade of the building. Eight columns of oriental
breccia, "in groups of two, flanked and divided the
three arches of the front, and carried a somewhat
heavy attic. In the four intercolumnar spaces were
four niches with four bronze statues, the work of
Sansovino, representing Pallas, Apollo, Mercury, and
Peace, to which the sculptor's son, Francesco Sanso
vino, gives a fanciful interpretation laudatory of the
Republic. These figures, though damaged, are not

72 In and Around Venice
destroyed, and may take their place again if the
Loggetta is reconstructed. The three main divisions
of the attic, corresponding to the three arches below,
contained bas-reliefs. In the centre Venice, figured
as Justice, sat throned upon her lions, while the
rivers of the mainland poured riches at her feet. On
the right was Venus, the symbol of Cyprus ; on the
left was Jove representing his birthplace Crete, the
two great maritime possessions of the Republic. The
rest of the facade was richly adorned with bas-reliefs
and columns and balustrades, and the whole structure,
with its breccia pillars, its deep green bronze and
Verona marbles of red and white, formed a glowing
and sumptuous base to the austere shaft of the Cam
panile that towered above it.
Inside the Loggetta was the guard-chamber, with
vaulted and coffered ceiling, and a beautiful group,
in terra cotta, of the Madonna and Child with St.
John, by Sansovino, now completely destroyed. It is
much to be regretted that, when the danger to the
Campanile was first observed, no steps were4taken to
place in security at least this terra-cotta group, the
bronze statues, and the gates.
Other work of Sansovino besides the Loggetta has
suffered by the collapse of the Campanile. The
lateral bays of his noble Library have been cut clean
through; yet the angle pilasters with the superim
posed obelisk stand there, almost isolated but not

The Loggetta of Sansovino 73
fallen, a splendid testimony to the sound workman
ship of the great renaissance architect.
The Campanile will be restored, and future genera
tions will, perhaps, hardly distinguish between the
old and the new ; but in the case of the Loggetta,
though much of the original work has escaped entire
destruction, it is doubtful whether a restoration can
ever recapture the touch of the master hand.

THE TWIN COLUMNS
OF THE PIAZZETTA
I. THE COLUMN OF ST. MARK
IN 189 1 the winged Lion of St. Mark, the famous
symbol of the Venetian Republic, which crowns
one of the twin columns in the Piazzetta, was in
urgent need of repair. Intense frosts had called
attention to the dangerous state of the whole monu
ment. Pieces of stonework, stained by iron rust,
had begun to fall from the abacus of the column,
and an examination of the structure was ordered
by the Government. An inspection of the lion,
the capital, and the shaft showed that all three were
seriously damaged by time or by original faults of
construction. The lion was a mass of disconnected
fragments, bound together by iron bands, which had
rusted and wrought havoc ; the abacus and capital
were split and rent in many directions ; and one
serious fissure had spread downwards to the shaft
itself. In describing what was done, it will be as
well to take the lion and the column apart from one
another. The first operation after erecting the scaffolding
74

The Column of St. Mark 75
round the column was to raise the lion and to place
him on transverse beams, so that he reposed quite
detached from the abacus upon which he originally
stood. This operation was necessary for two reasons :
first, the lion itself, if it was to be restored, would
have to be lowered to the ground ; and, secondly, no
restoration of the riven capital was possible while the
lion was in situ.
The lion is made of bronze. There is a tradition
among the Venetian people that its eyes are diamonds;
they are really white agates, faceted. Its mane is
most elaborately wrought, and its retracted, gaping
mouth, with its fierce moustaches — one of them
renewed — gives it an oriental aspect. It is clear
that the whole creature, as it now stands, belongs
to many different epochs, varying from some date
previous to our era down to this century. These
epochs have been roughly indicated by the shaded
portions on the accompanying sketch. The head
except the crown, the mane, the larger part of the
body, and the legs except the paws, are evidently
much older than any other part of the figure. It
is conjectured that the lion may have formed a part
of the decoration of some Assyrian palace before it
became the symbol of the Venetian patron saint.
St. Mark's lion it certainly was not originally, for
it was made to stand level upon the ground, and had
to be raised up in front to allow the Evangel to be
slipped under its fore-paws. The wings, of poor

76

In and Around Venice

workmanship, and the paws, very well modelled, are
of much later date ; while the rump and part of the
tail are restorations executed after the lion had been
sent back from Paris early in last century. The con
dition of the most ancient portion is deplorable.
There are rents and fissures everywhere, and the

whole is held together by iron rivets which have
rusted away. Upon the lion's body are various
initials, presumably those of the artists employed in
its many restorations.
The column has proved no less interesting than
the lion. The shaft is made of one block of grey
granite, and tapers slightly. It is 1.53 centimetres
at the base, and 1.35 at the top. The shaft is
crowned by a capital and abacus upon which the
lion stood. The column was off plumb 36 centimetres

The Column of St. Mark 77
at its extreme deflection ; and the difference between
the centres of the upper and the lower circumferences
was 27! centimetres. But not only was the column
thus seriously out of the perpendicular, it was not
even firm on its base. When the lion was raised and
suspended above the abacus, one of the workmen,
stepping from the scaffolding on to the column, sud
denly drew back again, and said, " Mi par che balla
sta colonna '' (" I declare the column is shaky ").
This proved to be the case. There was a constant
oscillation of the shaft, and the work had to be con
ducted with the greatest care. As a matter of fact,
this shaft was originally placed flush upon its plat
form of stonework without any support whatsoever
— it was not even sunk into the platform ; and it
stood there all those centuries, resisting wind, water,
and earthquake simply by its own weight. But a
serious process of disintegration had been going on
in the platform. It was possible to take a thin stick,
and to pass it, at certain places, between the shaft
and the stonework on which it stood. The shaft no
longer rested equally all over its circumference ; and
no one knew upon how much or how little the whole
structure reposed.
Anyone looking at the capital and abacus would
probably take it for granted that both were of
solid stone throughout. But this is not so. To
begin with the abacus. It is divided into three
courses. The first or uppermost course, on which

78 In and Around Venice
the lion stands, is composed of twenty-eight different
bits of stone, clamped together with iron. The
construction was faulty, for the rain could pene
trate between the joints, and the iron clamps as
they oxidised wrought damage to the stonework,
while the stone itself is of an inferior quality
of Verona. The second course is not even stone
throughout. It consists of an edging of various
fragments of stone, also clamped together with iron ;
but the centre is filled with brick-and-mortar work.
The third and lowest course is composed in the
same way, of blocks of stone surrounding brickwork.
The capital also, though made of one solid block
of stone, was found to have been hollowed out, and
filled in subsequently with the same quality of brick
work as that found in the second and third courses
of the abacus. The rim of stone in the capital is
comparatively thin, it varies between twenty and
seventeen centimetres in thickness. The capital,
before it was raised to its position on the column,
must have looked like one of the familiar well-heads,
so common in Venice. It is not easy to explain why
the capital should have been hollowed out, unless
the architect intended to make it easier to raise to
its resting-place ; but the men who were able to hoist
the column to the perpendicular were hardly likely
to have shrunk before the far lighter weight of the
capital. However that may be, this faulty construc
tion of abacus and capital caused the damage which

The Column of St. Mark 79
rendered the monument insecure. The rain and
damp slowly penetrated through the abacus to the
capital, and rent the latter into fragments.
The condition of the column was as follows. The
plummet line from the top of the shaft, below the
capital, to its base on the pedestal showed an inclina
tion of 27.5 centimetres towards the south-east — that
is, towards the molo and the lagoon. This inclination
had been caused by a subsidence of the pedestal on
the south-eastern side to the extent of three centi
metres, so that the north-western corner of the
pedestal was three centimetres higher than the south
eastern corner. The pedestal upon which the shaft
rests was composed of five parts, which a reference to
the sketch will explain. First, a large square block
of Istrian stone (A), circumscribed by the circum
ference of the shaft. It is upon this block A that
the column really rests. B, C, D, and E are four
blocks of stone extending beyond the circumference
of the shaft, visible to the eye, and carved with rude
figures of animals. These four blocks are indepen
dent of the column, can be, and two have been,
removed without affecting the stability of the shaft.
The Government required that these four blocks,
with their ancient carving, should not be renewed,
but should be preserved as they are. But block A,
the true foundation of the shaft, had suffered corro
sion through time and the filtration of water. It was
no longer perfectly square, nor was its upper surface

8o

In and Around Venice

everywhere in contact with the shaft which it carried.
No doubt it was the fact that a thin stick could
be passed between the column and the basement
block that led Signor Vendrasco, the engineer in
charge, to hit upon his ingenious device for the
w

H

B

— -^,

C

t

jr ' ^sv

¦ VJH
\ I 
1 1

ft
//
/ /
i 1

xl InV N

i \
1 \
i \
\ \

X \
1 /
1 /
; /
1 /

\ \

y
D&
"-- 
'^-—^y^ **
F E
N
THE BASE OF THE SHAFT AND PEDESTAL OF THE LION COLUMN
rectification of the column. The problem was how
to restore this granite column of eighty tons'
weight to the perpendicular previous to replacing
the capital and the lion on its summit. The first
proposal was to grip the upper part of the column,
The Column of St. Mark 81
and to raise it by means of powerful screw-jacks
placed between the upper casing and a strong
scaffolding resting on the ground. But while this
plan was under discussion, it occurred to Signor
Vendrasco that he might pass a copper bar through
the axis of the shaft, between it and block A,
and by thus balancing the whole shaft upon this
rod, he might compel it to return to the perpen
dicular. The suggestion was one of complete
novelty, no little danger, and considerable diffi
culty ; but the attempt was made. The inequalities
in the upper surface of block A allowed Signor
Vendrasco to work and smooth away a level bed
into which he inserted a copper bar (FF) five milli
metres in thickness, and thirty millimetres in width.
But when that was done a serious difficulty still re
mained. The whole pedestal had sunk, as we have
seen, three centimetres at its south-east angle. Be
fore the shaft could be balanced on the rod FF, and
then compelled to resume the perpendicular, it was
necessary to remove at least i£ centimetres of stone
pedestal on the north-western angle. In order to do
this in safety, and to prevent the column coming over
too rapidly, as its north-western support was cut away,
it was necessary to place two large composite blocks
of wood (HH) under the portions of the column
which projected beyond the central stone block A.
These blocks (HH) were driven tight up to block A,
and so wedged under the column that they really
G

82 In and Around Venice
came to support it on that side. At the same time
they were so constructed that the various wedges
which composed them could be gradually withdrawn,
allowing the column to settle gently towards the
north-west as soon as it was balanced upon the
rod FF. When this had been done the operation of
cutting away the north-west surface of the pedestal
was carried out. The thin end of a large copper
wedge (K) was inserted at the south-eastern corner —
the part that had to be raised — and all was ready
for the final operation of causing these eighty tons
of granite to return to their original rectitude.
The operation took three days to carry out. The
first two Signor Vendrasco passed alone, with his
workmen, inside the little enclosure which shut the
sauntering public out from the works, and left them
unconscious that the huge granite monolith was
literally tottering over the pavement which they
trod. Little by little the copper wedge was driven
in between block A and the base of the shaft ; and
little by little the wedges of H and H were with
drawn ; little by little the shaft rose on the one side
and sank on the other, till, of the 27.5 centimetres
of inclination, 15 had been rectified, and Signor
Vendrasco was able to say, " I am master of the
column ; she obeys me as I choose." On the second
day five more centimetres were rectified, and prepara
tions were made for receiving the authorities. On
the third day they came. In less than twenty

The Column of St. Mark 83
minutes the remaining 7.5 centimetres were cor
rected, and the shaft stood perpendicular once
more, resting upon the rod FF in its diameter, and
upon wedges K and HH at its circumference. The
whole operation proved triumphantly successful ; and
Signor Vendrasco has every reason to be proud of
his intuition into what the column required. Nothing
now remained to be done except to fill in the narrow
space between the block A and the base of the shaft
with plates of copper, to restore blocks C and E, to
replace the capital and the lion, and then the column
stood up again, in greater security than ever, as one
of the chief glories of the Piazza.

II. THE THEODORE COLUMN
THE Theodore Column was less seriously off
plumb than its brother of the Lion. But
this advantage was nullified by two facts : first,
the Theodore Column tapers less than the Lion
Column, and therefore the deflection from the per
pendicular was the more serious ; secondly, the
lower portion of the Theodore Column on the
north-west side was broken away to the height of a
metre from the pedestal, and to the depth of seven
centimetres, depriving the column of much of its
stability. Notwithstanding the greater difficulties thus pre
sented, Signor Vendrasco resolved to pursue the
method adopted for the rectification of the Lion
Column, and by wedges on the one side and excision
on the other to cause the column to resume the per
pendicular ; but the rotten condition of the north
west lower portion of the shaft rendered this operation
so dangerous that it was impossible to attempt it with
a free-swinging column as in the case of the twin
pillar ; and before it could be undertaken Signor

The Theodore Column

85

Vendrasco found himself obliged to encase the shaft,
and to support it by great beams, eight in all,
which sloped out from the column with their butt-
N

W

THE EASE OF THE SHAFT AND PEDESTAL
OF THE THEODORE COLUMN
ends resting on solid masonry constructed for the
purpose. When this fortification had been completed the
operations on the statue, the capital, the column, and
the pedestal began. St. Theodore was loosened from

86 In and Around Venice
his stand on the capital, and raised into the air by
pulleys, previous to being lowered down an incline-
plane to the ground.
Then one bright, breezy afternoon, while all the
water between the Molo and San Giorgio was dancing
in sunlight, a large crowd gathered outside the
barricade which kept them at a safe distance from
the unstable column and allowed the men to carry
out their work. Inside the barricade Signor Ven
drasco, his hands behind his back, promenaded up
and down, directing his men by a sign now and then,
but walking as though he saw no one of the curious
faces that divided their gaze between the saint in the
air and the engineer on the earth. Slowly the cords
round the windlass were relaxed, and with odd little
jerks the stone figure slid down the sloping path, a
strange inert and helpless mass relieved against the
brilliant sky. At last amid breathless silence St.
Theodore came within reach of the ground. Signor
Vendrasco walked deliberately up to him, pushed him
gently by the shoulders till he settled down upright
on the trolley ; a sigh of relief went up from the
crowd ; some boys gave a whoop, and the spectators
dispersed about the broad Piazza.
Later on in the afternoon, after a long and laborious
journey across the Molo, the saint made a sort of
triumphal entry into the Ducal Palace by the southern
door ; his Roman head, his cuirass, spear, and shield
stood out in high relief against the background of

The Theodore Column 87
lagoon and sky. There was something stately and
antique in his leisurely progress through the vaulted
passage to the inner courtyard.
On examination it was found that the statue
consisted of many different pieces. The only true
antique is the thorax with its carved cuirass, which
must have belonged to some late Roman portrait
statue. The head and neck are of one block, the
cuirass and body of another ; the stunted ungainly
legs with a bit of the animal on which they stand
are still another ; the arms are a fourth block.
The shield is of Istrian stone, the rest of Greek
marble. The fish — crocodile, or whatever it may
represent — was a mass of separate fragments rudely
clamped together: over fifty pieces in all. These have
now been strung, as it were, upon a bronze bar
passed right through them all.
The abacus and capital of the column are similar
to those of the Lion Column. The capital is hollow.
It is the shaft of red Egyptian granite, however, and
the pedestal on which it stands, that offer the most
interesting points, and prove once again how erro
neous is the statement that "the ancients worked
with greater care than the moderns." The damage
at the north-west base of the shaft, to which reference
has already been made, in all probability existed at
the time when the shaft was raised to the perpen
dicular, late in the twelfth century. At each end of
the shaft is a square hole, whether made by the first

88 In and Around Venice
workers on the column when it was hewn from its
bed of living granite, so as to allow them to turn and
round it more easily, we cannot say ; but the presence
of this hole at the base of the shaft suggested to the
engineer who first raised it to the perpendicular, a
means by which he might counteract the defect at
the butt-end of the column. Into the hole he soldered
a square bar of iron, which projected about fifteen
centimetres beyond the base ; and in the centre of
the pedestal he placed a square block of red Verona
brocatello marble, in which he cut a hole to receive
the projecting portion of the iron bar. But this
block of stone was so thin at the bottom of the hole
— only ten centimetres thick — that when the column
was raised to position and the iron bar went into the
hole, the weight of the shaft crushed the marble to
fragments and left the column resting on the outer
stones of the pedestal and exposed to all the dangers
of instability consequent on its defective north-west
side. Moreover, had the iron bar fitted freely into
the socket without crushing the marble, its penetration
of the shaft and pedestal was too shallow to have
been of any real service. It is little less than a
miracle that the column maintained its equilibrium,
in spite of settlements and shocks of earthquakes,
for so many centuries.
Of course these facts were not discovered till
Signor Vendrasco began to attack the pedestal after
swinging the shaft to the perpendicular. Then, as

The Theodore Column 89
the circumference stones of the pedestal were re
moved, leaving the column suspended in the air and
supported by the great timber balks on all sides of
it, the block of red Verona in the centre was dis
covered. The engineer hoped that no iron plug
existed, and that he would be able to leave the central
block ; but the crowbar soon revealed the existence
of the iron rod and all the disintegrating consequences
of the contact of iron and stone. The problem then
arose — how was this bar, firmly soldered into the
base of the shaft, to be removed. The block of
Verona was carefully chiselled away, and in doing
so various small copper coins came to light. It was
possible to crawl right under the shaft, between its
base and the pedestal. Application was made to the
gas-works for a pipe and gas jet ; but difficulties
arose. Then Signor Vendrasco procured four ben
zine blow-lamps, and at ten o'clock in the morning
the flames were applied to the iron bar. After an
hour and a .half, however, it was clear that these
lamps did not produce sufficient heat to melt the
soldering, though the lead was considerably softened.
Iron hooks were then procured and heated red-hot,
and with these they began to pick out the softened
lead. About one o'clock the iron bar dropped gently
out of its socket.
Nothing more remained to be done save to supply
a new central block and to fit in the four circum
ference stones, which form the real pedestal on which

90 In and Around Venice
the column rests, and to remedy the defeet at the
north-west corner by four metal brackets. When
that was done, the original steps of the pedestal,
with their quaint, debruised groups of figures, were
replaced ; the four brackets were concealed by a piece
of Egyptian marble of the same quality as the shaft.
St. Theodore was hoisted to his loft again, and, in
concert with his brother of the Lion Column, began
a new period of watch and ward over Piazza, Molo,
and lagoon.

SOME VENETIAN KNOCKERS
ONE of the most remarkable features in the
history of Venice is the continuity of its life
as illustrated by its buildings, its sculpture, its
ornamental work, whether in bronze or stone, that
adorns its churches and palaces. Most great cities of
Europe have undergone such changes that, to all in
tents and purposes, they are modern as far as their
exterior is concerned. It is not so with Venice yet,
in spite of the general tendency to modernise and
restore. Thanks to her -isolated position and to the
very gradual process of her decay, Venice still pos
sesses buildings and decorations which belong to
almost every period of her history, from the tenth
century down to the present date. And among
other ornaments of the Venetian palaces, the bronze
knockers on the doors are a proof of this conservative
quality in two ways ; for knockers of very various
dates are still in use, and further, the type of the
knocker form hardly changes at all.
There was, and still is, a large school of bronze-
founders in Venice. The earliest monument of this
school is the large outer gate in the centre of the
91

92 In and Around Venice
facade of St. Mark's, which bears the following in
scription : " MCCC . MAGISTER . BERTUCCIUS . AURI-
fex . VENETUS . ME . FECIT" ; and among the finest
work which this school of bronze-founders produced,
we must reckon the knockers on the palace doors.
Of the great knockers only a few remain in their
original places. Most of them have found their way
to the antiquity shops, and have passed out of Venice.
But about the middleof the eighteenth century, in 1758,
while the Republic was still alive — in outward form,
at least — it occurred to a Venetian nobleman, Pietro
Gradenigo, to collect the most remarkable knockers
then in Venice in a series of water-colour sketches,
executed for him by a German artist. The original
volume of sketches is preserved in the Museo Civico,
and has been reproduced by Sig. Brusa. It bears
the following title-page : " Battaori, Batticoli e Battioli
in Venezia. Jo. Grevembroch del. 1758."
In Venice we may distinguish two parent forms
of knocker, from one or the other of which all the
knockers, the simplest as well as the most elaborate,
are derived. These two forms are the hammer and
the ring. The hammer form consists of a hinge
and a flapper attached to the door, and falling on
a nail-head. A few of these knockers are still to be
found, chiefly on the houses of the poorer classes, and
in the less-frequented quarters of Venice ; and they
are still common at Malamocco. When the Vene
tians, a seafaring people and drawing their life from

Some Venetian Knockers 93
the sea, began to develop and ornament the flapper,
they converted it into a rude image of a dolphin.
The dolphin was sometimes worked out with scales
and fins and head ; sometimes his body was left
almost untouched ; but in every case the tail, which
was attached to the hinge, was well defined and curled
up. In Venice itself this form of the hammer-knocker,
the battaor, as it is called, was hardly ever worked
out into any elaborate decoration.
The second primitive form — the ring knocker, or
campanella, as the Venetians called it — consisted
originally of a ring, fastened in an eye, and falling
upon a nail-head. This is the common form which
the knocker assumed in Venice ; and from this second
parent form came all the elaborate developments of
the knocker which I propose to trace. The ring soon
lost the simplicity of its circle, which was broken first
of all into a horseshoe. A very fine specimen of this
earliest modification of the ring may be seen on the
Ca Foscolo at San Stefano ; and, as a second, I select
the knocker on the Palazzo Priuli at Santa Maria
Nuova, which bears the date 1582. This Priuli
knocker is, decoratively, an advance on that of the
Ca Foscolo. That is perfectly plain except for the
piercings of the nail-holes in the horseshoe ; but
the Priuli knocker is broken by rude foliation, and
the nail-head upon which the knocker fell is supposed
tb have raised a boss on the outside of the knocker
at its base ; and, further, the ends of the horseshoe

94 In and Around Venice
have been produced and curved, and terminate in
rosettes. In the knocker on the cloister of Santa Maria
Nuova we see that the idea of a horseshoe has disap
peared, though its general form has been retained :
the foliation has spread all round the ring, covering
the nail-holes ; the boss has been isolated, and has
acquired a character of its own; and the rosettes have
been developed into rams' heads. The knocker of
the Palazzo Ottobon at San Severo has suffered
a further rupture ; its outer sides have been broken
into two curves instead of one, and the open central
space is filled with the Ottobon coat -of- arms, per
bend, azure and vert, a bend argent, on a chief or,
a double-headed eagle crowned sable, the whole sur
mounted by a papal tiara and keys in memory of
Peter Ottobon, Pope Alexander VIII. Ottobon was
Pope from the year 1689 to 1 69 1, so that the date of
this knocker is determined as not earlier than the close
of the seventeenth century. The story of the Otto
bon family is curious and almost unique in the
history of the Venetian patriciate. They were ad
mitted as nobles of the Great Council in the year
1646, as a reward for the large sums of money they
had advanced to the Treasury. The elevation of
Peter Ottobon to the Papal throne drew many of
the family to Rome; and in the year 1710 one of
the Ottoboni, in spite of admonitions from Venice,
accepted the office of Protector of the Crown of
France at the Papal court, whereupon the name was

PALAZZO ERIZZO

Some Venetian Knockers 97
erased from the Libro d'Oro, and the family degraded
again. Hitherto the main idea of the horseshoe has been
maintained in the knockers that have been cited ; the
horseshoe was foliated in one case and broken into
two curves in another, it is true, but, on the whole,
the original conception has been preserved. In the
following specimens, however, even the outline dis
appears in heavy ornamentation, and little of the
parent design survives, except a suggestion of its
general form. Take, for example, the knocker of
the Palazzo Grimani at San Luca, where the outer
circle is wrought up into dolphins holding a mask
between them. The mask has taken the place of the
boss, which used to mark where the knocker fell. It
was in this Palazzo Grimani that one of the most
celebrated ceremonies of the Republic took place —
the coronation of Morosina Morosini, wife of the
Doge, Marino Grimani. So lavish was the expendi
ture on this occasion, and so magnificent the pro
cession which accompanied the Duchess from her
palace, down the Merceria, round the Piazza, and
up to the high altar of St. Mark's, that the Govern
ment expressed their accustomed jealousy of such
pre-eminence by forbidding the public coronation of
the Dogaressa for the future. That was in the year
1597, and the palace to which this knocker belongs
is hardly older than that date ; it is the work of
Sammichele, and was begun in 1595. If we ascribe
H

98 In and Around Venice
the knocker to the same date as the palace — and that
is a doubtful step — then this Grimani knocker is con
siderably earlier than the Ottobon knocker previously
cited. But whether earlier in date or not, the Grimani
knocker is certainly further down the road of modifi
cation which the original ring pursued, and rightly
follows the Ottobon knocker in any history of the
knocker's development.
Another and a very beautiful instance of the same
modification of the horseshoe into animal and figure
designs is the knocker of the Palazzo Longo at
the Servi. A Hercules fills the central space, and
two lions form the outer circle. The lions refer to
the Longo coat-of-arms, argent, a lion rampant sable.
The original coat of the family was argent, a lion
rampant gules ; over all a fesse azure. When and
why this change of coat was made is not quite clear,
but it probably happened in the year 13 10, after the
suppression of the great conspiracy of Tiepolo, in
which the Longhi took a part. We find the palace
of the Longhi among the list of those that were sold
and stamped with a St. Mark in stone, as a punish
ment for the share their owners had in that rebellion.
The Longhi at that time were a.famiglia cittadinesca ;
seventy years later they were admitted among the
nobility as a recompense for service to the State
during the war against the Genoese, which closed
at Chioggia.
The families who had joined the conspiracy of

Some Venetian Knockers 99
Tiepolo in 13 10, suffered a degradation of their arms.
The coat of the Querini, for instance, was changed
from quarterly, or and gules, to per fesse, azure and
gules, in the chief three stars or. Those cadets of the
house who had not joined the conspiracy were allowed
to blazon the fact that they had remained " buoni e
fedeli " by bearing a B, argent, on the nombril point.
The last specimen of a Venetian knocker that
I shall quote is at once the most beautiful and the
most elaborate, and occurs more frequently than any
other. In Gradenigo's book it is assigned to no less
than eleven palaces, and it may still be seen in situ
upon four of them : the Palazzo Pisani and the
Palazzo Loredan at San Stefano, the Banca di
Napoli at San Benedetto, and the Palazzo Clary
on the Zattere. The author of this beautiful design
is unknown ; but it is quite certain from the number
of times that it was reproduced that it acquired a
great vogue in Venice. Here, as in the Longo
knocker, a mythological subject is introduced : Nep
tune, brandishing his trident, stands upon two sea
horses, whose tails are thrown up behind him in rich
foliation, while they paw the sea-water that is held
in a conch at the base of the knocker. There are
several variations of this design. Sometimes the
horses' tails entwine and support a coat-of-arms ;
sometimes the tails are finished off in simple and
massive flukes. The most famous of the palaces
to which this famous knocker used to be attached

ioo In and Around Venice
was the Palazzo Cornaro at San Polo. This house
was made illustrious by the number of distinguished
owners through whose hands it passed before it
became the property of the Cornaro family. It was
presented by the Government first, in the year 1348,
to Giacomo Carrara, the friend and then the bitter foe
of Venice. Forty years later this same palace formed
part of the gift which rewarded Dal Verme for help
ing Venice to destroy the house of Carrara. Gatta-
melata of Narni, general of the Republic, and Fran
cesco Sforza were subsequent owners, and the latter
exchanged it for a house on the Grand Canal with
Marco Cornaro, father of Caterina, Queen of Cyprus.
It was from the palace at San Polo that Caterina
went in procession to her fatal spousals in St. Mark's.
The last male of the Cornaro family, Giovanni, died
in 1798. It was he who carried out the bizarre idea
of opening two doors on the Campo San Polo, in
order that the dead and the living might never pass
through the same portal.

A GREAT FAMILY
THE GIUSTINIANI
THE Giustiniani are one of the few noble
Venetian houses which still survive. They
belong to the twenty-four original families who ruled
as tribunes over the Venetian islands, and can prove
a progenitor in the middle of the eighth century.
But, not content with this respectable antiquity, they
have sought a mythic pedigree and. trace their descent
through eleven emperors of Constantinople back to
Justinian, from whom they claim their name, and,
further still, to the founders of Athens. This is
certainly ancient enough, and surpasses the descent
of the Gordons, who are said to have come " from
Greece to Gaul and thence into Scotland," or the
pedigree of a famous Sir James Stewart of Kirkfield
{temp. 1600), who claimed to be " fifty- fourth in
descent from Fergus I. of Scotland, contemporary of
Alexander the Great and Darius the Mede." To
have gone much further 'back would have been
dangerous, for it would have brought these noble
families within a measurable distance of Adam.
The consecutive history of the Giustiniani begins
i°3

104 In and Around Venice
in the year 1170, and begins with a story which at
once gives them a distinction, for it has not fallen to
the lot of many noble houses to possess the blood of
a Beato in their veins. The Venetians were at war
with the Emperor Manuel I., and the whole family
of Giustiniani followed their Doge to the Levant
except one lad Nicolo, who was a monk in a
monastery on the Lido. The Venetians took the
island of Chios ; but while wintering there a fierce
plague broke out among the fleet, so that the Doge
returned to Venice the following year with only
sixteen ships out of a hundred and twenty. In this
expedition the whole stock of the Giustiniani had
been killed either by plague or in battle, and the
family seemed doomed to extinction. But the loss
of such a vigorous race was deemed a public calamity ;
the Government therefore petitioned the Pope to
release Nicolo from his vows and to allow him to
marry. The Pope assented. Nicolo was formally
made a layman once more, and married the Doge's
daughter. They had a family of nine sons and three
daughters. After thus, re-establishing his house upon
this solid basis, Nicolo retired again to his cloister,
where he won such a reputation for holiness that
after his death the Church bestowed on him the title
of " Blessed Confessor." His wife founded a nunnery
on one of the islands near Torcello, where she died.
The people gave her the rank of her husband ; she
was afterwards known as the " Blessed Ann."

A Great Family — the. Giustiniani 105
The family thus strangely preserved continued to
flourish, and to such good purpose that in the
sixteenth century there were as many as fifty
different branches of the Giustiniani, and two hundred
nobles of Venice bore that name. They counted
among their illustrious two more Beati and a Saint,
Lorenzo, first Patriarch of Venice. Lorenzo lived in
a palace of his family well known to most visitors to
Venice, for it is now the Albergo Europa ; and here
the Company of " the hose," in the days of its
greatest splendour, gave many celebrated entertain
ments. The Giustiniani were prominent members
of this famous club, called " of the hose " from the
tight-fitting breeches which the companions wore.
The uniform of a certain Francesco Giustiniani is
recorded by the chroniclers ; he wore hose of which
the left leg was crimson and the right divided length
wise in azure and violet, and embroidered with a
cypress bough. The family owned many other
palaces in various quarters of the city ; but the three
most notable are those which stand at the corner of
the Grand Canal where it turns towards the Rialto.
One of them now goes by the name of the Palazzo
Foscari, because it was bought by that unfortunate
Doge ; but it was really built by members of the
Giustiniani house. On the strength of their alleged
descent from Theodora, sister of Justinian, the family
placed their arms on the front of their palace thus :
on an eagle displayed or, a shield — azure, a fesse or ;

106 In and Around Venice
much as the Earls of Denbigh bear their arms, only
the eagle of the Austrian Empire is black, while the
Imperial bird of Constantinople is golden. The
Council of Ten, however, called the family to order,
and forbade any Venetian nobleman for the future to
display either lilies or eagles.
Not the least remarkable point in the history of
the Giustiniani is that which connects them with two
noble English houses, Clifford and Radcliffe, and
makes the Giustiniani-Bandini of Rome holders of
the earldom of Newburgh. This branch of the
family left Venice very early. They are descended
from Piero, grandson of the Blessed Nicolo, the
saviour of his house. Piero was lord of Chios, but
his family were driven out by the Turks, and sought
refuge in Rome. The earldom of Newburgh passed
by a succession of heiresses into the family of
Charles, titular Earl of Derwentwater, and brother
to James, the ill-starred earl who lost his head in
1 716 on Tower Hill — where Charles also shared the
same fate in 1746 — through the families of Clifford
of Chudleigh and Mahony into that of Giustiniani-
Bandini, where it now rests.
The family had its share of soldiers, men of letters,
and doubtful characters ; all of them noted with
equal impartiality in the family tree. They broke
into convents, brawled, stabbed, fought, and wrote ;
they served their country in many capacities, but
only one of them reached the highest dignity in

A Great Family — the Giustiniani 107
the State. Marcantonio was Doge in the year 1687,
when Morosini took the Morea — the last achieve
ment of Venetian arms — and when a Venetian bomb
destroyed the Parthenon, There is a curious and
rare medal of this Doge, struck to commemorate the
alliance of the Emperor, the King of Poland, and the
Venetians against the Turk. On the obverse stand
the three contracting parties holding a chain in a
circle between them. On the reverse the eagle of
Poland is picking out the eyes of a hound while the
lion of St. Mark tears its forequarters ; the Imperial
eagle flutters its wings over the whole. The mean
ing is explained by this legend : —
"Durch diesem Bund
Der Turcken Hund
Mus gehn zu grund."
The seventeenth century proved disastrous to the
Giustiniani ; and out of the fifty branches of this
noble house only four remain. They were character
istically represented in the last act of the Republic
by a hero and a traitor. Angelo Giustiniani with
stood Napoleon to his face at Treviso, and armed the
citizens against him, while his kinsman Leonardo was
urging the Senate to surrender to the conqueror and
to abolish that aristocratic Government of which his
own family had been such famous members.
The Giustinian Recanati branch live in a large
house on the Zattere. The palace is a museum of

io8

In and Around Venice

interesting objects, collected and jealously preserved
for generations. Perhaps their most curious treasure
is the dagger which wounded Fra Paolo Sarpi at the
height of the quarrel between Pope Paul V. and the

THE DAGGER THAT STABBED FRA PAOLO SARPI

Republic. Sarpi was set upon and stabbed late
one evening on the bridge at Santa Fosca, near his
monastery of the Servites. He was carried fainting
into his cell, and when he came to he asked to see
the dagger which Ridolfo Poma, his assailant, had
left buried in the cheekbone ; on their handing to

A Great Family — the Giustiniani 109
him the poniard, he drily remarked, " Agnosco
stylum curiae Romanse." The dagger, which was
at first believed to be poisoned, was hung up by
Fra Paolo as an ex voto in his conventual church ;
on the destruction of that building by Napoleon's
orders, the relic passed to its present owners.

VENETIAN PROVERBS
VENICE has not fallen behind other provinces
of Italy in the publication of her proverbs.
The great collections of Pitre, Proverbi Siciliani, the
Tuscan collections of Giusti, Capponi, and Gotti,
the Lombard proverbs by Samarani, the Genoese by
Staglieno, are well known. Angelo Dalmedico (1867)
and Signor Cristoforo Pasqualigo (1882) have rendered
a like service to the proverbs of the Veneto. Pasqua-
ligo's collection embraces both the lagoon, the plain,
and the hills. In it you find the local saws of Venice
herself, of the Marca Trevigiana, the Padovano,
Vicentino, Veronese, the hills of Brescia, and the
Carniatic and Julian Alps, embracing the high-lying
communes above Bassano and Schio. His work is
thoroughly done, and preserves for us the pith of
popular thought, feeling, wit, condensed in that
common coin of language the proverb.
The value of such collections for the student of
dialects is obvious, for there you find all the minute
variations of idiom which characterise the many
divisions of the Veneto. But it is not to this highly
specialised branch of philology that we would draw
attention here. We would rather note, as far as

Venetian Proverbs 1 1 1
possible, the character, temper, wit of the Venetian
people as displayed in the condensed form of saws
and adages, the literature of the street and of the
field. The majority of these proverbs are, of course,
common in intention to all mankind. If a proverb
is " the offspring of time and experience," and owes
its currency to its veracity, the larger number of
proverbs will be found broadcast over the world.
Variation must be sought in the terseness, pungency,
polish of the form. This applies to proverbs which
bear on human life and conduct as a whole. But
as we shall presently see, there is a section which
depends upon local conditions for its meaning and
its value, the proverbs which refer to history, agri
culture, and neighbouring states.
A city such as Venice, the commercial centre of
medieval and renaissance Europe, a people like
the Venetians, hardy sailors, bold adventurers, busy
merchants, were certain to accumulate early in their
history a fund of saws and apophthegms, condensing
their experience and reducing their observations to
a handy and current form. And, in fact, Venice
does offer us one of the earliest collections of
European proverbs in the famous Died Tavole — ten
broad sheets containing each about one hundred
and fifty sayings, mostly Venetian, though inter
spersed with a few Greek, Tuscan, Lombard, Nea
politan, French, and Spanish saws. They were
printed certainly later than 1509, for the League

112 In and Around Venice
of Cambray is recorded, and were reprinted in
volume form in Rome and Turin in 1535. The
Turin reprint has this title-page : " Incomenciano le
Diece Tavole di Prover | bii, Sententie, Detti, et modi
di parlare | che hoggi di da tutthuomo nel co | mun
parlare d' Italia si usano. | Molti utili e necessa | rii
a tutti quelli gentili spiri | ti che di copiosa et
ornatamente ra | gionare procacciano. tradute et rista
| pate in questa piccola et bella forma." It closes
thus : " Stampate in Turino per Martino Cravoto, et
soi Compagni ala instantia de Jacobino Dolce, alias
Cuni, nel anno MDXXXV a dl 30 de Avosto." The
preface sets forth the reason for reprinting the broad
sides, namely the inconvenience of carrying them
about in that form. Both the title-page and the
preface insist on the importance and value of these
common forms of speech for all gentle spirits who
desire to discourse both fully and politely. Proverbs
were clearly considered part of a traveller's equip
ment. We are reminded of Charles Merbury's Col
lection of Italian Proverbs, in benefit of such as are
studious of that language, printed in London in 1581 ;
and this brings us to the real root of the proverb.
Any one who is familiar with Venice must be
struck when reading Pasqualigo's collection of seven
thousand five hundred saws, by the number of times
he has heard so many of them on the lips of the
people. They are constantly passing from mouth to
mouth every hour of the day. Hardly an event can

Venetian Proverbs 113
take place in the domestic circle but its bearings,
causes, effects are summed up in a proverb. The
reasons for this are plain. In the first place, an
adage saves a lot of trouble ; it must contain a
certain amount of truth or it would not have floated,
" el proverbio no fala" — a proverb is never out. Then
it is short and easy to remember ; then the com
mentary that it contains is probably better, more
to the point, than anything the speaker could supply
on the spur of the moment ; then it has a certain
nip in it which raises the remark above the level
of dulness ; finally, the proverbs which are suitable to
almost every occasion of life are so numerous that
each actor or assistant is probably able to get out
some kind of contribution and so to feel that he,
at all events, has cut a figure. All these reasons
combine to make proverbial conversation a char
acteristic of the primitive and uneducated.
As regards form, the majority of Venetian proverbs
rhyme, some are merely alliterative, some again con
tain a play on words or a paradox ; all four character
istics are intended to fix the saying in the memory
and keep it there ready for use. For example, your
servant will remark when an object is missing —
Quel che man non prende
Canton di casa rende.
(Never fash to hunt in vain,
What has not been stolen will turn up again.;
And it often does.

114 In and Around Venice
Un " si " in triga,
Un " no " disbriga.
" Yes " means a mess,
" No," free you go.
El segreto dele femene no lo sa nessun
Altro che mi e vu e tuto il comun.
(A woman's secret is known to none
Save me and you and all the town.)
Porte averte tende a le case.
(The open door guards the house.)
At least Venetian servants think so, and they add —
Chi vuol ladri in casa sere su.
(Everything under lock and key,
And thieves in your house you will presently see.)
An injunction not to be suspicious of domestics.
No ghe tristo can che no mena la coa.
(The worst dog will wag his tail.)
Dieta mazza '1 medico.
(Diet dishes the doctor.)
" Salvia salva " is an aphorism from the early
medical school at Salerno, "cur moriatur homo cui
salvia crescit in horto." " El tenero rompe el duro,"
a form of " gutta cavat lapidem," with an implica
tion that the suave manner wins in the end.
" Se," "ma," "forse," "pol esser," "chi sa,"
I xe cinque cogion d' Adamo in qua.
(" If," "but," "perhaps," "may be," "who knows,'
Five pretty fools as this world goes.)

Venetian Proverbs 115
" Siamo su 'n ponte," meaning " we're beggared,"
refers to the mendicants — "aliquis de ponte" — as
Juvenal says, who haunt the bridge steps where the
passenger has to slacken his pace, and is thus made
easier prey to importunity.
The proverbs of medicine and hygiene are both
numerous and curious. Here is a prescription for
health, " Zocoli, brocoli capelo e poco cervelo," which
means " sandal-shod, vegetable diet, well-covered head
and nothing to worry it." The common saw that
" gnente xe bon per i oci " (" nothing is good for the
eyes") is not a statement of despair, but a misreading
of the old prescription, " Nickel album '' as " nihil,"
not " nickel," but " nothing."
Many Venetian proverbs are, of course, common
to the rest of Italy, with nothing peculiarly Venetian
about them but their language. " Chi no pol sempre
vol" and its converse "Chi pol non vol" ("Who can't
doth always want,'- and " Who can never will ") finds
expression in the opening lines of Michel Angelo's
sonnet to Pope Julius II. : —
" Signore, se vero e alcun proverbio antico
Questo e ben quel che Chi puo mai non vuole.''
One of the. sayings of the Ten Tables, " Venetia,
Venetia, chi non ti vede non ti pretia," has found its
way just as it stands into Love's Labour's Lost ;
while " Fast bind fast find a proverb never stale in
thrifty mind," seems to be the Merchant of Venice's

1 1 6 In and Around Venice
rendering of " Chi ben liga ben disliga." Some pro
verbs again are reminiscent of older Latin formulas ;
for example, " Baco, tabaco e Venere, Riduse 1' omo in
cenere" is clearly adapted from " Balnea, vina, Venus,
mortalia corpora frangunt, sed vitam faciunt, balnea,
vina, Venus " ; while " A una bona mugier ghe vol
quatro b. Bona, brava, bella, bezzi" is a reflex of
this : " Quam si ducturus teneat P.quinque puella sit
pia, sit prudens, pulcra, pudica, potens"; and "Chi
impresta perde dopio" is a poor condensation of
" si prestatis non habebis ; si habetis non tam cito ;
si tam cito non tam bonus ; si tam bonus perdes
amicum." Connected with Italian cards and card-playing are
certain gnomic phrases consecrated by immemorial
usage. Three of the Italian aces, cups, swords, and
clubs, have mottoes inscribed upon them. Swords
bears — Non ti fidar di me s' el cuor ti manca.
Clubs has — Se ti perdi tuo danno.
Cups has a mysterious motto —
Per un punto Martin perse la cappa,
which has reference to a certain Abbot Martin, who
lost his abbey for a slip in punctuation. Over the
door he wrote, "Porta patens esto nulli, claudetur
honesto," which so enraged a travelling Pontiff that
he deprived the offender.

Venetian Proverbs 1 1 7
Besides these mottoes on the aces, there are certain
phrases connected with the various suits. These are
uttered in the course of the game, as the spirit moves
them, by one or by all of the players. For example,
a player will play denari, and will say, quite sotto
voce — Denari, chi non ha amor non prende.
(The man without income
Love treats like a nincom.)
Or again, he will only get as far as "denari," when all
the players will add, in dreamy voices, '' chi ga spesi
e chi ga ciari " — This is tin ;
Some have it thick and some have it thin.
Or " spade, chi sta in piede non cadde " —
This is a brand ;
You will not fall if you manage to stand.
No one takes any notice of these remarks ; the game
goes on all the same, and no one is obliged to utter
the mystic phrases ; but, murmured in dreamy, far-
off voices by all the players, they give a strange
feeling of mystery and incantation to a game of
briscola or tresette in an Italian osteria.
Some of the observations in physics embedded in
these proverbs are interesting. " Palo fa paluo '' is
profoundly true of the lagoons, where the driving
of piles retards the scour of the water and soon leads
to silting up. " El peso no dorme mai " (" The weight
never sleeps") has a double reference to the weight

118 In and Around Venice
on the mind and the weight in the construction ; in
its later signification it recalls our own architects'
saying, "the arch never sleeps." "Muro d' inverno,
muro eterno," " The winter wall will outlast all," be
cause it is built more slowly, days are shorter, and the
mortar will not dry too quickly. The Ten Tables
give this observation as to the natural movement of
moisture. " In thirty years and months in rain, water
finds its way home again." The mud-banks of the
lagoon give warning, " Ti me fa ti e mi te defazo ti,"
'' If you make me I'll unmake you " by sending
malaria. Galileo quotes the proverb about the tides,
" Sette, otto, nove, 1' aqua no se move ; Venti, ventun
e ventido 1' aqua no va ne su ne zo," as a correct
observation of the neaps.
If there is any quality which we may ascribe as
peculiarly characteristic of Venetian proverbs, it is,
perhaps, the imaginative faculty, which enables the
people to identify themselves with some natural
object or some process of nature, and to speak
through it. As we have seen, it is the lagoon that
warns the city not to let the marsh lands encroach ;
but it is on the mainland and in the field of agricul
ture that this quality comes out in all its liveliness of
fancy. The vine says, " Pianteme sul sasso il tieme
grasso " (" Plant me on rock with dung about my
stock") ; " Lasseme el me fojame e te lasso to luame"
(" Leave my leaves to me, I'll leave thy dung to
thee "). And at pruning time, " Make me poor, I'll

Venetian Proverbs 119
make thee rich" ("Fame me povera e te faro rico") ;
" Neteme ben dai pie e trame come te se " (" Keep me
clean about the roots, and for the rest do what thee
suits "). The maize says, " Tieme largo se te vol che
te cargo" ("Wide apart let me be sown if I'm to
make your granary groan "). The field prays that its
stubble may be left to it : " Don't rob what you can
not give " (" No torme quel che no te pol darme ").
The roof says to the landlord, " Se no te vien suso ti
vegno zo mi " (" If you won't come up to me, why
I'll come down to thee"). These proverbs of the
farm life contain a whole world of rural wisdom as
to tilling, sowing, reaping, hedging, ditching. " Beato
quel campeto che ga siesa col fosseto " (" That field
is rich that hath hedge and ditch ").
Of proverbs that owe their meaning to purely
local circumstances some refer to life in Venice ; for
example, as to the relative healthiness of the various
floors of a house they say, " El primo a nissun, el
secondo al nemigo el terzo a 1' amigo e '1 quarto per ti "
(" Ground floor for none, first floor for foe, second for
friend, third for yourself"). Others, again, refer to
some definite historical event. " El bianco e negro ha
fatto rica Venezia " means the trade in cotton and
pepper ; and it was only a seafaring people who could
have said, and said so truly, " El mar xe '1 fachin de
la terra " (" The sea plays porter to the land "), and
this, " Chi xe paron del mar xe paron de la terra "
(" Who is master of the sea is master of the land "),

120 In and Around Venice
which between them sum up the doctrine of sea-
power, as stated by Fra Paolo Sarpi, " Chi puo
venire per mare non e mai lontano," by Sir Walter
Raleigh, " Whosoever commands the sea commands
the trade ; whosoever commands the trade of the
world commands the riches of the world, and conse
quently the world itself," and by Captain Mahan.
It is not easy to fix the date of the following, though
it most likely belongs to the flourishing period of the
Republic, in spite of the reference to the French
cook : " Todeschi a la stala, Francesi in cusina, Spag-
noli a la camera, Italiani a ogni cosa" ("A German
groom in the stable, a French cook if you're able,
a Spaniard to wait at table, an Italian for everything
imaginable"). Venetian market days are recorded
thus : " Luni luniol ; Marti, a San Griguol ; Mercore,
a San Polo ; Zobia, a Castello ; Venere, a Santa
Croce ; Sabado, in Piazza San Marco ; Domenica,
festa." " Piera bianca, culo nero " is more modern,
and refers to the slippery white marble edges to the
steps on the innumerable bridges of the city. " Pan-
talon paga per tutti " refers to the long wars which
the Republic waged against the Turk in the defence
of Europe at her sole charges and unassisted by
Europe. " Esser in Candia " means to have not a
sous in your pocket, the state of the Venetian
Treasury at the end of the long war in Crete, while
" Prima Veneziani e poi Cristiani " has its origin in
the quarrel between Paul V. and the Republic at the

Venetian Proverbs 121
time of Paolo Sarpi. The oldest historical reference
to be found in current Venetian phrases is probably
" E un Atila," meaning a remorseless, cruel man. It
will be remembered that Napoleon, when he had
made up his mind to end the Republic, declared to
its envoy, " Sard un Atila per la Republica." The
three governments of which Venice had experience
before the Union of Italy are thus summed up : " Co
Venezia comandava se disnava, se cenava ; Co Fran-
cesi, bona zente, se disnava solamente ; Co la Casa di
Lorena ne se disna ne se cena" ("While the Lion of
St. Marco ruled one could both dine and sup ; under
the French, good folk, one only dined ; under the
House of Lorraine we go without dinner and
supper "). The obscure proverb, ': Padova impica 1'
aseno" ("Padua hangs the donkey"), springs from
the legend that the people of Padua wishing to
string up the famous necromancer, Pietro d' Abano,
found that owing to his spells they had hung an ass
instead. But Venetian proverbs are not exhausted even by
Signor Pasqualigo's industry. The popular spirit
loves a saw as dearly as it ever did. The fount is
perennial, and current events of a striking character
give rise to pithy sayings, some of which may catch
on and live, most of which die, just as in the case of
slang, to which the proverb is, indeed, a kind of cousin.
While the Boer War was raging I heard two men
quarrelling in the street, one, it seemed, had made the

122 In and Around Venice
other call again and again for a credit. " Per amor di
Dio," said the creditor, " non mi fa passre la Tugela."
There is still at SS. Apostoli a Calle dei Proverbi
where, until recently, was a house bearing on its
front these two proverbs wrought in stone : " Di de
ti e poi di me dirai," " Speak first of yourself then
you may speak of me '' ; and " Chi semena spine
non vadi descalzo," "Who scatters thorns had best
not walk unshod," with which piece of advice we
may compare the Scottish caution carved over a
door in Dunfermline —
" Sith word is thrall and thought is free,
Keep well thy tongue, I counsel thee."
It is impossible to agree with Signor Pasqualigo that
there are no new proverbs, nor yet with the proverb
itself, " Per far un proverbio ghe vol cent' ani."
Every proverb must have been new once. The sole
test of a proverb is that it should float, that it should
pass into currency, and for that, perhaps, a hundred
years is not too long a probation ; but the proverb-
making spirit is as active as ever among the Venetian
people.

THE ROOTS OF VENICE
PILES AND PILE-DRIVING
IT is characteristic of conservative Venice that,
although the whole city is built on piles, though
piles are required to mark the channels all over the
lagoon, though piles stand before the doors of most
houses on the grand or small canals, though pile-
driving is continually going on in some corner of the
city or in some tract of the lagoon, still, in the year
1904, there is only one steam pile-driver to be had,
and that is a new-comer. The incessant work of
driving piles is still carried on by the primitive
method of weight and pulley worked by hand. This
state of things will not last. Venice is rapidly
changing ; waking from a long torpor she clamours
for modern methods, modern machinery, " progress."
The art of the pile-driver will soon disappear, and
with it the picturesque chaunts that accompany the
toil. The piles of Venice are, for the most part, made
of oak from the forests of Chirignago, near Mestre,
and those that follow the course of the Dezse, be
tween Mestre and San Dona di Piave. Elm is also
123

124 In and Around Venice
employed, and even larch under some of the older
buildings, while, where the work has been scamped,
you may find such soft woods as deal and even
white poplar, as is the case with some of the piles of
the Campanile. All timber seems to do provided the
pile is completely buried. Preserved from the action
of air and water, the wood becomes black and hard.
During the course of alterations at Sant 'Eufemia on
the Giudecca, I saw larch piles, that cannot have
been driven later than 1300, being drawn from their
clay bed. They looked like carbonised logs, but
retained their fibre and resisting power.
Two fates await the pile. It may be intended for
foundation purposes, in which case it is completely
buried, driven, as the pile-driver chaunts, "down to
the tremendous caverns of the sea," where it will
silently, for centuries, bear the weight of church, and
palace, and campanile ; will groan as the high wind
sways the bell-tower, and feel the tremor of earth
quakes that run across the lagoon from the volcanic
focus of the Euganean Hills or the still more distant
Monte Baldo ; or, on the other hand, the pile may be
meant to mark the course of channels in the lagoon,
or to serve and adorn, with its bright heraldic colours,
the facade of some palace on the Grand Canal. If
such be its destiny, then, in about fifteen years' time,
the teredo will have eaten it away at the brief
span between wind and water, where the alternate
rise and fall of the tide give life to the corrosive

Piles and Pile-driving 125
insect, while the black-headed, asparagus-like groups
of the lagoon piles will have suffered a further
damage by the fisher-folk, who find then handy fire
wood for cooking their polenta or their coffee in the
crude winter months.
The bed into which the piles are driven is not, as
might be supposed, a layer of soft mud. It is, on
the contrary, a stratum of remarkably hard clay ;
the labour and difficulty of forcing the pile down is
often recalled in the pile-driver's chaunts ; indeed, so
much pressure is required that in many cases the
fibre of the pile is twisted into a spiral, which
toughens the wood and helps it to resist the cor
rosive action of the elements. This clay bed or
cushion upon which Venice rests is streaked with
layers of peat, the early deposit of rivers that once
discharged into the lagoon. The consistency of the
clay varies at different points of the city. In the
quarter of Dorsoduro, or " hard back," it is, as the
name implies, very firm. At the Frari, on the other
hand, it is softer and saturated with water, supposed
to be filtrations from the rivo alto, or deep stream,
that gave its name to the earliest islands of the city,
and the famous Rialto bridge. This clay cushion is
said to be from twenty to twenty-five feet thick, and
it in its turn rests upon a bed of shifting, watery sand
whose depth has not been probed, though it may,
perhaps, be approximately measured if we take the
angle of incidence presented by the southern Alpine

126 In and Around Venice
slope and the distance between Venice and the
present foot of the Alps. For it is probable that
the Alpine declivity is continued far beyond and
below the present plain, and what lies immediately
beneath Venice is first the roots of the Alps them
selves, then a stratum of boulders and debris such as
we find cropping out near the actual foot of the
mountains, then a deep layer of watery sand, upon
which rests the clay cushion that carries Venice.
And so the city is borne on a more or less elastic
subsoil, and the resistance to the pressure of the
buildings is a hydraulic resistance obtained from
the watery quicksand below the clay. The heavier
the weight the stronger the counter up-thrust. But
it is essential that the clay cushion shall never be
pierced by the piles, otherwise a perfect geyser of
sand and water is at once thrown up, as happened
once at Sant 'Agnese, and the pile loses all its
carrying power.
When the ornamental or signal piles, the half-
submerged piles, have to be drawn in order to make
room for a new one, a large barge with a powerful
winch is brought up at low tide, and the lower part
of the pile is tightly bound round with chains which
are made fast to the barge. As the tide rises the
barge is lifted, and slowly, with jerks and curious
rending noises, the pile is loosened from its bed.
Then the winch is brought into play, and the pile is
finally extracted. When a pile is to be driven, a

PILE-DRIVING

Piles- and Pile-driving 129
barge with two upright balks of timber at her side is
brought to the place. Attached to these balks are
the weight, the pulley, and the main rope. To the
main rope are spliced as many smaller ropes as
there are hands for the operation. The main rope
is sometimes replaced by a chain and a ring, to
which the smaller haul - ropes are fastened. The
defect of the hand - driving system is that the
weight can never be raised higher than the down-
pull of a single man, therefore the force of the blow
remains the same from the beginning to the end
of the operation, but the resistance of the pile in
creases as it is driven further and further into the
clay ; the process is accordingly a very slow one ;
whereas with a machine driver, that raises the weight
each time to its maximum height, the force of the
blow increases steadily as the pile is driven further
and further in, leaving a greater height for the
fall. The head of the pile is firmly bound round
with cord, or hooped with iron, to prevent it from
splitting, and then it is fitted into its place between
the upright balks. Each man seizes one of the
smaller ropes, and the foreman begins the chaunt,
without which no pile is driven in Venice. Every
line ends alternately in a prolonged " e '' or " o." As
the "e" or "o" is finished each man hauls at his
rope; the weight is raised and let go, descending
with a thud that is borne in muffled reverberations
over the surface of the lagoon.
K

130 In and Aro.und Venice
Picturesque groups do they form, these men with
shirts of pale rose, or faded blue or grey, in the
luminous atmosphere of lagoon, sky, and water. To
work the easier they get down to their shirts and their
drawers, and the whole scheme of movement and of
colour will often recall some aerial phantasy of Tie-
polo's delicate designing.
I have tried to save and record here some of their
strange songs — childish, historical, rarely obscene —
just as I got them, dictated by one pile-driver and
written down by his brother, with all their quaint
orthography, and there is added a rough rendering
of what was presentable. Some of these chaunts are,
no doubt, made upon the spur of the moment by
a clever improvisatore ; but many of them are old,
traditionally passed from mouth to mouth among the
pile-drivers. Through their apparent childishness one
catches references to great historical events. The
frequent mention of the Turk would take us back
at least to the War of Candia, 1650, if not to the
Battle of Lepanto, 1571: the announcement of victory
points to the earlier date. Rome and the Turk, and
monks and nuns play a large part, and there is one
grim reference to the punishment of peccant sisters
in the dread formula of " Go in peace." The third
of the chaunts here given is a sort of rund-reise of
the lagoons. We are taken to Fusina, Malamocco,
the Giudecca, Lido, and the orto de ibrei, — "the
garden of the Jews," — as the Israelite burying-place is

Piles and Pile-driving

131

picturesquely styled, the two castles, San Nicolo and
Sammichele's great fort of Sant' Andrea that guard
the Lido entrance, Murano, Burano, and Malghera.
But the most striking passage is that in which the
chaunt rises to a storm of objurgation addressed to
the pile that won't go home.
The long monotonous chorus, each verse punctu
ated by the thud of the driver, must be familiar to
all who love the lagoon of Venice. They may not
be sorry to have some of the words which, in all
probability, another generation will never hear.

Oh ! issa, e . e

e

1

Iseo in alto, 0 .

0

0 !

In alto ben, c .

c

e!

Fin al capelo, l

1 .

u .

. 0!

E Sant' Isepo,

e .

e

. . e!

E veciarelo, 0 ,

0

0!
Che cho 1' assa, c . c . . e !
Piana e martelo, 0 . u . . 0 !
Per fabricare,, e . e . . e !
Un gran vascelo, 0 . o . . o !
Per contrastare, e . e . . e !
El gran Sultano, 0 . u . . o !
El gran Sultano, e . e . . e !
Xe re dei turchi, o . o . . 0 !
E turchi moni, e . e . . e !
Per imposesarse, o . o . . 0 !
Dei suoi tesori, e . e . . e !
Per imposesarse, u . o . . o !
La so baldanza, c . c . . e !
Napuli belo, o . o . . o !
E Roma Santa, e . e . . e !
E drento in Roma, o . u . . o !
La messa i canta, e . c . . e !
Up with it well,
Up to the top. .
Up with it well,
Up to the summit.
Saint Joseph, he
Was an old fellow,
With his adze he,
Plane and hammer he,
Went for to make
A great ship,
All for to. fight
The great Sultano,
The great Sultano,
Him of the Turks,
Those fools of Turks,
All for to get
Hold of his treasure,
All for to seize
All he had pride in,
Naples the fair,
And Rome the holy.
Inside Rome
They sing the Masses.
132

In and Around Venice

E drento in Roma, o . o . . o !
Ghe se el pardon, e . c . . e !
E anca i frati, o . o . . o !
De San Bruson, e . e . . e !
E cole muneghe, o . o . . o !
De Malamoco, e . e . . e !
Che le gha el pelo, u . u . . o !
Su 1' articioco, e . e . . e !
E le se onse, o . o . . o !
Cola mantecha, e . e . . e !
Parche i mosati, o . o . . o !
No ghelo becha, c . c . . e !
E cosi parla, u . u . . o !
La scritura, c . e . . e !
Andando in pase, o . o . . o !
Mazor sventura, e . e . . e !
Senti che bote, o . o . . o !
Come le canta, e . e . . e !
Canta da galo, o . o . . o !
E da galina, c . c . . e !
La galineta, u . u . . o !
Ga fatto el vovo, c . e . . e !
La lo ga fato, o . o . . o !
In sula pagia, e . e . . e !
Ma cosa galo, o . o . . o !
Sto maledeto, e . e . . e !
Digo del palo, o . u . . o !
Ma nol xe un palo, c . c . . e !
Xe una colona, o . u . . o !
La qual sostiene, e . e . . e !
I fondamenti, o . o . . o !
De sto lavoro, e . e . . e !
E cossa galo, o . o . . o !
Che el bate duro, c . e . . e !
El bate duro, u . u . . o !
E po laselo, c . c . . e !
Laselo andare, o . o . . o !
A baso a fondi, e . e . . e !
A fondi del mare, o . o . . o !

Inside Rome
There is the Master.
Also the friars
Of San Bruson,
And eke the nuns,
Nuns of Malamocco,
Nuns with the fine skin
Over the artichoke.
Yes, and they grease them
Well with fine butter,
So that the gadflies
Never can sting them.
Thus in sooth speaks
Our Holy Scripture.
And when they " go in peace "
Worse luck befalls them.
Hark to the deep stroke,
Hark how it rings out
Song of the crowing cock,
Song of the hen, too.
Song of the clacking hen
Just that has laid an egg.
Yes, she has laid it
Right on the straw there.
Now, what is up with it,
This cursed thing here ?
I mean this pile here.
No, no pile it is,
No, it's a column
Made for to keep up
All the foundations
Of this here building.
But what is up with it
That it's so stubborn ;
Aye, is it stubborn.
Yet let it go now,
Aye, let it go now
Down to the deep depths,
Depths of the ocean ;

Piles and Pile-driving

E va a ritrovare, e . e . . e !
I suoi compagni, o . o . . o !
Dele caverne, e . e . . e !
Orende scure, u . o . . o !
Dele caverne, e . e . . e !
Orende grote, o . o . . o !
Ste quatro bote, e . c . . e !
Deghele care, o . o . . o !
Deghele forte, e . e . . e !
Che la se senta, o . u . . o !
Fino ale porte, e . e . . e !
De 1' arsenale, o . o . . o !
Dove vien fora, c . e . . e !
Vasei e nave, o . o . . o !
Dove vien fora, e . e . . e !
Briche e golete, o . o . . o !
E xe direte, c . c . . e !
D' aver da andare, o . o . . o !
A contrastare, e . e . . e !
Contro el gran turcho, o . o . . o !
Contro el gran turcho, c . c . . e!
Che 1' e nemico, o . o . . o !
E po diremo, e . e . . e !
Amico sei vinto, o . o . . o !
E vinto abiamo, c . c . . e !
E poi spieghiamo, o . o . . o !
Bandiera bianca, e . e . . e !
Segno di pace, o . o . . o !
E poi spieghiamo, e . c . . e !
Bandiera rossa, o . o . . o !
Segno di sangue, e . e . . e !
E poi spieghiamo, o . u . . o !
Bandiera nera, e . c . . e !
Segno de morte, o . o . . o !
E segura, e . e . . e !
E cusi sia, o . o . . o !
Santa Maria, e . c . . e !
La xe finia, o . o . . o !
E sia, c . e . . e !

Down till it finds there
All its companions ;
Down in the caverns
Awful and gloomy ;
Down in the caverns
Grots full of horror.
Drive we amain then,
Give it her hot then,
Give it her strong then,
Aye, let them feel it
Up to the very gates,
Gates of the arsenal,
Whence there will come forth
Vessels and ships too,
Whence there will come forth
Brigs and our schooners,
Bound, as we all know,
Bound for the battle,
Bound for to battle
E'en with the great Turk,
Aye, with the great Turk,
Who is our enemy.
Then will we cry aloud,
Friend, you are done for,
Victors indeed are we ;
Then let us fly the flag,
Flag that is all white,
Flag that means peace at last.
Then let us fly the flag,
Flag that is deep red,
Flag that means blood so red.
Then let us fly the flag,
Flag that is all black,
Flag that means death.
For very sure is death,
And so be it then.
Santa Maria,
Here is the end on it.
Amen.

J34.

In and Around Venice

n

Oh isa, c . e . . e !
E che da isa, o . o . . o !
Vien le sardele, e . e . . e !
Ancha a Venezia, u . u . . o !
Gran done bele, e . e . . e !
E che le scoria, o . o . . o !
Le scarsele, e . c . . e !
A sti povari, o . o . . o !
Lavoranti, e . e . . e !
Che dal mondo, o . o . . o !
Noi siamo tanti, e . e . . e !
E che dal mando, u . u . . o !
Noi siamo scriti, c . c . . e !
Prima i grandi, o . o . . o !
E dopo i picoli, e . e . . e !
E cusi sia, o . o . . o !
La xe finia, c . c . . e !

Ill

Questi xe i remi, o . o . . o !
De serti barcharoli, e . e . . e !
Che andando a charagoli, o . o . . o !
I xe restai in seco, c . e . . e !
Questo xe barachecho, u . o . . o !
Che xe chasca in canale, c . c . . e !
Per no saver nuar, o . o . . o !
El sta negao, e . e . . e !
Lo gho ricuparao, o . o . . o !
Lo gho meso qua diento, e . e . . e !
Per darghe spasso al tempo, o . u . . o !
Al Carnovale, c . c . . e !
Noi gha voludo stare, o . o . . o !
El gha voludo'n andare via, e . c . . e !
E sel se perdera, o . o . , o !
Sara so dano, e . e . . e !
Rivederse un altro ano, o . u . . o !
Come questo, c . c . . e !
E po ve diro resto, o . o . . o !
E vado in paxe, e . e . . e !

Up with it, oh !
Up let it go.
Here come the sardines !
Yes, and in Venice
Lots of fine women
Who know how to jingle,
Jingle the pockets
Of us poor fellows,
Hard-working fellows.
Here in the world
We are too many ;
Here in the world
Writ is it for us ;
First come the great ones,
Last come the little.
So be it then,
Plere is an end on it.
These are the oars
Of certain boatmen
Who, fishing winkles,
Stuck in the mud.
This is Uncle Jimmy
Who fell in the water.
As he could not swim,
Why, he was drowned,
But that I saved him
And put him in here
All for to please him
During the Carnival.
He wouldn't stay — not he.
He would be off — would he !
And if he comes to grief,
Why, it's his own fault.
Here's to another year
Much like this one,
And then I'll end my tale
And go in peace.

Piles and Pile-driving

135

Mi gho dele fughase, u . o . . 0 !
De quele da Malghera, e . c . . e !
Gho camina par tera, o . o . . o !
Fin a Fusina, e . e . . e !
E da trasto in sentina, 0 . o . . 0 !
A un sandolin da- sciopo, c. c . . e !
Che andando de galopo, 0 . o . . o !
Fino ala Zueca, e . e . . e !
Gho visto tutta la seca, o . o . . o !
E tutta la pescaria, c . c . . e !
Me ne so andato.via, o . 0 . . o !
Per el siroco, e . e . . e !
Go visto Malamoco, o . o . . o !
E tutto lio, c . e . . e !
Go da la pope indrio, o . o . . o !
Ai do casteli, e . e . . e !
Go visto l'orto di ibrei, o . o . . o !
Con tutte le vignole, c . c . . e !
Dale vignole po, o . u . . o !
Me son ridoto, e . e . . e !
Go camina par tutto, o . 0 . . o !
Go visto un buranello, c . c. . e !
El gaveva un bel sestelo, o . o . . o !
El me 1' a mostrato, e . e . . e !
E po me ne son andato, u . u . . o !
Dove che i fava i goti, c . c . . e !
Sonando la spineta, o . o . . o !
A sti merloti, e . e . . e !
E poi me ne son andato, u . o . . o !
Dove che i fa i bosoni, c . c . . e !
A sonarghe la spineta, o . o . . o !
A sti mincioni, e . e . . e !
E cusi sia la xe finia, 0 . u . . o !

I've got a bun here
Made at Malghera.
And on the land I've trod
Far as Fusina,
From thwart to taffrail
Of a fine ducking boat.
Rowing with all my might
Up to Giudecca,
There did I see the mint,
Also the fish market,
And then was off again ;
Off to the south-east.
There's Malamocco
And all the Lido.
Then right. about went I
To the twin castles.
Next came the Jews' close ;
Then all the vineyards.
Then from the vineyards
Back came I once again.
Everywhere have I been.
One from Burano I met,
Basket of fish had he,
Which he would show me.
But off he went again
And I betook me
To where they tumblers make,
Playing my zither
All for their silly sake.
Then I betook me
To where the jugs are made
To play my zither
All for their silly sake.
So be it then —
Here is an end on it.

VENICE EN FETE
FEW cities are better adapted for a spectacular
fete than Venice is. The wide spaces of the
lagoon offer a splendid field for pageantry; the curve
of the Riva and the campanili of the city form a
beautiful and varied background; the windings of the
Grand Canal and the endless diversity of its palace
fronts lend themselves to decoration of carpets, flags,
and tapestry; while the piazza is unrivalled in Europe.
The Republic, in the days of her meridian splendour,
knew her capabilities in this aspect; and entertained,
with lavish magnificence, the sovereigns and princes
who passed her way. The time is long gone by for
these great masques, nor has Venice the wealth to
spend upon them. Yet even now, when the city
lays herself out to honour some public event, or royal
guest, the inherent excellence of her position makes
itself felt and seen at once. And perhaps the point
which most decidedly, yet most unobtrusively, dis
tinguishes a Venetian /e^, and renders it so enjoyable,
is this, that in Venice alone can one be in a crowd
and not be crushed. Though the whole Grand Canal
be packed with gondolas, wedged as tightly as bottles
136

Venice en Fete 137
in a bin, yet the space in the gondola is ample, and
as much one's own as if the boat were out and away
upon the solitary lagoon. I
The Geographical Congress was holding its sittings
during September of 1882. The King and Queen
and a host of European celebrities were assembled in
Venice, and the city prepared a pageant to do them
honour. This pageant was to consist of three parts :
a regatta, a serenade, and an illumination.
The regatta was fixed for three o'clock ; and the
Grand Canal was a flutter of flags from one end to the
other. The palace fronts were draped with ancient
family tapestries, or rugs and carpets of rich oriental
dyes ; the balconies full of people watching the crowd
of boats on the water below. Most of these were
making towards the Palazzo Foscari, where the win
ning-post was placed and whence the royal party
would see the finish.
The course of these great annual regattas has
been the same ever since regattas were rowed in
Venice. It runs from the stairs at the public gardens,
by the Grand Canal, to the station and back again
to the Palazzo Foscari. The race is rowed in gondolas
much lighter and thinner than the ordinary, and
manned by two rowers. The prizes are four in
number ; the first three consist of purses of money
and flags — red, green, and blue — which the winners

138 In and Around Venice
plant on the prows of their gondolas ; the fourth
prize is a sucking pig and a yellow flag with a pig
embroidered upon it. Some point near the Palazzo
Foscari is the best from which to watch the regatta ;
though, as a matter of fact, the race is virtually over
and the sporting interest dead before the rowers enter
the Grand Canal ; the struggle for the lead takes
place at the very start, and those who win it usually
keep it, unless some accident upset the order.
The principal charm of these regattas is the pro
cession of boats that clear the course, the movement
on the waters of the Grand Canal, and the splendid
spectacle of the canal itself. In the first place there
are the bissone and peote, large boats rowed by ten and
twelve oars respectively. These boats are fitted out
by the commercial houses of Venice, and they and
their crews are dressed to illustrate some appropriate
allegory. On this occasion the dressing of the boats
had a geographical significance, and symbolised some
quarter of the globe. One paid a tribute to the
Arctic regions, and all its crew were costumed as
polar bears ; a walrus lay couched upon the bows,
and behind, on the stern, was a pyramid of ice ;
while frosted silver fringes trailed upon the water
by the gunwale. Another bore upon her bows a
trophy of Venetian glass that dazzled in the sun
light ; from the stern sprang a winged Fame, whose
shoulders let fall a drapery of pale pink gauze that
fluttered down and settled in ripples on the wake.

Venice en Fete 139
There were seven or eight of these great boats, each in
a different livery — blue, pink, silver, crimson and gold,
green, orange and brown, etc. — and, as they swept in
procession up the Grand Canal under the clear blue
sky, the shifting of lights, the combinations of colour,
the magnetic enthusiasm of the crowd, produced a
sensation such as the attack of an orchestra will
sometimes stir, and quickened the nerves to involun
tary tears.
Besides these boats there were others of similar
build, manned by private parties of friends. These
were not draped, but the liveries of the rowers were
more carefully studied and of more costly material,
with silk and velvet arid lace. The crews made dis
play of their skill, and amused the crowd by rowing
at full speed up to the judges' barge, then suddenly
stopping their boat within two inches of the winning
post. The gondolas of the Venetian nobility gave
further life and colour to the scene, flashing about
among the crowd ; each of them had four gondoliers
in the family livery ; many of whom wore slashed
doublets, puffed hose, long silk stockings, and hats
with a plume at the side, in the antique style.
As three o'clock drew on the King and Queen
passed up to the Palazzo Foscari. The crowd
pressed closer and closer ; the gondolas settled down
into a solid mass, as they always do, nuzzling their
bows together. A hush of expectation fell upon the
throng. The breeze blew faintly in from the lagoon,

140 In and Around Venice
and brought with it the boom of the signal gun ; and
all the while the tide stole by, unheeding, silent, and
persistent, down the Grand Canal, and wound its way
towards the sea. II
The serenade was timed for eight o'clock ; and
the great barge that carried the singers and the music
left the station end of the Grand Canal. The chief
point of attraction in a serenade is the Rialto, where
a halt takes place, and much of the singing is done.
Long before eight o'clock the water was alive with
gondolas making for the bridge ; and when the
barge, with its pyramids of gre'en and crimson lamps,
came slowly round the further bend, like a moving
wall of coloured fire, it found the whole waterway
up to the Rialto paved with a compact mass of
boats. It is each gondolier's ambition to take his padroni
as near to the music as possible, and so the very
moment the barge appeared, instead of leaving a way
open for it, every gondolier began to press towards it
as vigorously as he could. The canal is here at its
narrowest, and soon there was an absolute block : the
barge could not come forward nor any gondola move
back. In vain the police, scattered among the crowd,
implored the gondoliers to move on. "Dagavanti,
cari tosi ! " (" Row ahead, dear boys ! "), they cried ;
"Avanti! avanti! giovannotti bravi!" ("Ahead, ahead,

Venice en Fite 141
fine lads !"). The men put their oars in the water, the
blade flat, and made a great pretence at rowing, and
shouted, " Avanti ! avanti ! " after the police ; and all
the walls echoed, " Avanti ! avanti." But not one
would move an inch until his neighbour did ; and so
the whole mass became firmly jammed under the
huge stone span of the Rialto, and the din grew
indescribable. But presently a police commissioner
in the middle of the throng put a speaking-trumpet to
his lips, and above the turmoil these words rang clear,
" Pompa alia sinistra." Immediately from the barge
came a jet of water, thrown well to the left by a
powerful fire-engine ; then a sudden scramble, cries of
rage, a loosening of the crowd, and the barge moved
on a yard or so.
At length, by dint of pumping, the singers reached
the bridge. The Bengal lights were lit, and the
heavy coloured smoke streamed out from under the
arch. The electric light shot its clear shaft right
down the Grand Canal and touched the palace fronts
with a ghostly white. It fell, too, upon the upright
figures of the gondoliers, hundreds of them, in every
conceivable attitude of movement or repose ; fleeting
suggestions that would have made a sculptor's fortune
could he have caught them as they passed. It was
warm weather, and many of the men were in white
linen jerseys and white trousers. These tall and
graceful figures, their heads uncovered and their hair
tossed back, standing erect and poised, the strong

142 In and Around Venice
light falling sharply upon the white of their dress
and marking the curves, the heavy clouds of smoke
curling slowly away, the serene blue night above it
all, — combined to make a picture, confused, yet
strange and beautiful, like something seen in dreams
and not of this actual world.
After the Rialto is passed the interest slackens,
and many boats turn off into the side canals. But
there is a long journey yet before the barge ; and not
till one o'clock and later will it have reached the
Salute and the mouth of the Grand Canal, where the
lights are extinguished, and the weary singers are
allowed to hurry to their homes.
Ill
The evening after the serenade was devoted to the
illumination in the Piazza, a spectacle in its way as
beautiful as any that had preceded it. The Piazza
walls, the old and new Procuratie, and the newer
front of Napoleon's ballroom, were sheets of living
fire. Every curve and volute, every column, archi
trave, cornice, plinth, and pillar, were defined in
myriads of tiny lamps, whose flames wavered to
gether, now this way, now that, in the fitful puffs of
the scirocco. The rippling of this sea of fire dazzled
the eyes, and made them drunk with excess of light.
Over the surface of this golden illumination flashed
sudden jets of pale silver electricity. .The facade of
St. Mark's was wan and clear in the light of the

Venice en Fete 143
electric lamps, whose rays caught the curves of the
cupolas, and hung them, like ghostly domes, high in
the profound blue of the summer night. The doves,
in wild alarm, shot like arrows of frosted argent
across the spars of electricity. The ordinary Piazza
lamps were globed in crimson ; so the colours ran
crimson, gold, silver, and above, the deep blue sky.
The piazzetta had been left dark ; and there the crowd
might saunter when the blaze of the great square be
came too overpowering. Down the darkened vista
one looked across the slumbering lagoon to San
Giorgio, a mass of flames burning along the water
in crimson, blue, and gold.
The illumination was a fitting close to this three
fold fete, so brilliant, so varied, so like a jewel.
Venice had shown what she could do. In splendour
and display, no less than in repose, she must ever be
the " Gemm' atriatica
Sposa del mar."

ON THE LAGOON
THE BRENTA
THOUGH the lagoons were once the outlet for
those rivers which drain the larger part of the
Veneto, there is only one river that may now be
justly called a river of the lagoons. A considerable
part of the Brenta still discharges at Fusina by its
ancient natural mouth ; the larger part finds its way
to the sea by an artificial bed which carries it down
to Brondolo.
The Brenta is intimately connected with Venice,
and always has been so. From the Brenta used to
come the water that supplied a large part of the city
before the modern aqueduct was made ; and the
banks of the Brenta were a favourite site for the
villas of the Venetian gentry, where they passed the
summer and the autumn months. The garden-like
scenery of the river has always had a fascination for
the Venetians. It appealed to that taste which loved
the long, trimmed alley and the quaint-cut yews, and
found the Alps " horrid," repellent, inhuman ; that old
144

The Brenta 145
Italian taste which carried the town into the country
and cared for nature only when subdued and trimmed
by man.
The custom of villeggiatura is almost universal.
When the bathing season closes, every one, who
can afford to do so, leaves Venice. It is and always
has been the fashion, though in many respects it is
not a reasonable one ; for if Venice is hot, the main
land is hotter, and in the city the constant and kindly
scirocco begins every day about noon, and continues
to blow across the water till midnight, cooling and
sweetening the air ; while on the mainland the sun
parches the ground and bakes the houses till they
become like ovens, and it requires the whole night
long to lower their temperature. It is true that
during villeggiatura no one goes to bed till early
morning. People begin their day about five o'clock
in the evening, and carry it on till four the following
morning. They flirt and promenade and play cards
or music through the long declining twilight ; but
during the day the houses are hermetically sealed,
all the green scuri closed, and the place lies dead
and silent under the intolerable sun. They are
fortunate who own villas on the slopes of the Alps
behind Conegliano, or on the banks of the Piave.
The air is cooler there ; the view more exquisite,
looking across the plain or, over the bosky and
undulating country, up to the mountains ; there is
a sense of width and breathing-space that is not to
L

146 In and Around Venice
be found among the villas of the pianura, shut in
between high rows of mulberry and poplar trees.
Villeggiatura used to be a luxury of the rich and
noble ; but with the corruption of manners which
marked the opening of the eighteenth century, the
taste spread to the middle class and became a perfect
passion. The comedy of the day is full of episodes
that centre round villeggiatura — the struggling and
pinching for half a year ; the women clamouring to
be off; the father at his wits' end to find the means ;
the doubtful enjoyment of this pleasure so dearly
bought ; the flimsy gallantries and boneless intrigues ;
the pernicious mimicry of a corrupt society ; the
contessa has her cicisbeo and her abbattino, so madame
must find her zerbinotto ; a life that was good for
no one ;— and the only result of it that remains is
the row of little houses, belonging to the Venetian
middle class, which rise all along the Brenta, with
here and there the palace of some nobleman breaking
the long monotonous line by its more imposing
facade. Most of these little houses are flimsy-looking
structures, a brick and a half thick, stuccoed and
painted in fanciful patterns with colours that scream.
They each have a scrap of garden about the house,
and a shrubbery of pines and laurestinums at one
corner, where the family sit all day in the shade. On
the ground floor is a large entrance hall, off which the
other rooms open ; it is dining-room, drawing-room,
and passage all in one, the piazza of the household

The Brenta 147
where everyone meets. The windows on either side
correspond, so that the air passes freely through the
house ; but this gives to the whole building a singu
larly unsubstantial appearance, as though it were
some doll's-house made of papier-mdche'. Beneath
the summer sunlight and while inhabited, these little
villas look bright and gay enough ; but in winter
they are wretched and dilapidated, the garden paths
all weed-grown, the shrubbery a ruin of damp, decay
ing leaves.
The Brenta has always been popular, and it
deserves its reputation. Where its banks are not
overcrowded with houses the river resembles an
English stream ; it is not unlike the Upper Thames
at Fairford, Lechlade, or Bablockhithe. In May and
June the weeds begin to come up, and with the weeds
the water-lilies, golden-globed or white ; the banks
are fringed with scented flags and fleurs-de-lys. As
one rows up the stream swallows skim and flash over
its quiet surface, just tipping the water with their
wings ; or the wash of the boat disturbs some bright-
plumaged kingfisher, that darts away downstream,
keeping close to the bank. Through vistas of green
vine-leaves one catches fleeting glimpses of the
Alps. It is a populous river, and every now and then
the straggling row of villas that lines its borders
becomes knotted and grouped into a small village,
clustering round its parish church. Among the most

148 In and Around Venice
famous of the greater palaces on the Brenta is the
magnificent villa at Stra, a monument to the splendour
and wealth of a princely Venetian family. The villa
was built by the Pisani at the beginning of the eight
eenth century. It must have required a royal revenue
to maintain this vast Italian palace, with its inner
courts ; its wells covered in wrought iron ; its great
doors opening upon sweeps of lawn bordered with
trees ; its forty acres of garden ; its orangeries and the
inevitable maze winding between close-clipped privet
hedges — all the luxury of a taste that loved saunter
ing. Upstairs the great hall is painted in fresco by
Tiepolo, with the usual scattered allegorical subjects
that this master loves. From this hall, through gates
of massive metal, interminable suites of apartments
open away on either side.
We can people these chambers and gardens with
their eighteenth-century crowd of hooped and bro
caded ladies, and powdered, laced, and lackadaisical
men ; and, with the help of Gozzi, Zanetti, and Goldoni,
we may, in a measure, construct the life they led.
A curious aimless life, whose chief object seemed to
be in killing each day as it was born ; a life devoid
of strong emotions or excitements, fined away to
inanity ; a life that sought its greatest pleasure in
chocolate and gossip.
A contemporary, Longo,1 has left a vivid picture
1 1 am indebted for this reference to Sig. Molmenti's La Storia di
Vcnezia nelta Vita Privata, second edition, p. 475.

The Brenta 149
of this villeggiatura existence. He is describing the
Villa Zola, where the Marquis Albergati is entertain
ing his sixty or seventy guests : " The course of life
which they observed there was purely monastic.
A scrupulous exactness in the preservation of order,
gave greater excellence to the splendour of the host
and the magnificence of his palace. At nine o'clock
in the morning, punctually, a bell rang ; this was the
invitation to rise. There were two rooms where two
servants were always ready, in waiting to comb and
shave the guests. The first to come was the first
served ; woe to him who upset the order even upon
so small a point. From the hairdressing-room the
guests passed to the buffet, or coffee-room, where
a waiter was always in attendance. When breakfast
was finished and ten o'clock had struck, another bell
rang, which was the signal that the host had entered
his coffee-room, where he received in private. Thither
all the guests betook themselves to wish their host
good morning, and to make a second breakfast with
him. At eleven a bell summoned them to Mass; and
preceded by the marquis, all the guests passed into
church. When Mass was finished, it was delightful
to see how many village maids, neatly and fairly
dressed, offered to their lord their posies of flowers,
and were caressed by him and received some gift.
Then back again to the coffee-room, where some
betook themselves to a most moderate game at cards,
while others plied the swing, or played at billiards,

150 In and Around Venice
or, to better purpose, retired to the study. At two
o'clock another bell announced that the cooks had
put the soup to boil; then followed invitations among
the players for each other's company at table, and
presently a few more strokes called them all to
dinner. Many, indeed, were the dishes, and all
delicate ; the hand hesitated which to prefer. Serious
discourse was abandoned during dinner, but not
moderation ; there reigned always gaiety mingled
with good sense and unimpeachable morality. When
the guests rose from table, the season of the year
determined what should be done. In summer some
went to sleep ; others wandered among the alleys of
hornbeam which surrounded the gardens, and waited
for another bell to summon them to the grand
promenade. In autumn the promenade began im
mediately after dinner. Some in carriages, some
in sedans, some on horseback. Sometimes, too, they
made a caravan ; one took the kitchen pot in a sack,
another the spit on his shoulder, another the polenta
meal, another the water, another the wine, another
the bird-net — in short, each one carried something
that was needed to make and eat the polenta out
in the country ; and the food was seasoned with
laughter and extemporary verse. When evening
came they would gather their things together and
return home to their various games. At two o'clock
in the morning the party broke up, and each retired
to his room."

The Brenta 151
Such was the life they led in a great country-
house. An artificial life, where all the heart of
existence seemed to have passed into the frigid
externals that surrounded it ; where freedom would
have been bad manners ; where all the movement of
society was arranged and carried out in company,
methodically, by order ; where every detail was re
duced to rule, as in a game of chess. Their litera
ture was Ovid's Metamorphoses ; and no doubt the
conversation and the mots, for each day's dinner,
were carefully prepared and rehearsed during those
hours when, by courtesy, the guests were supposed
to be reposing or wandering in the wooded glades
of the palace garden. Even their jokes were highly
artificial. In this same Villa Zola, two broad stair
cases led up from the entrance hall, the one con
ducted to the bedrooms ; but if you took the other,
after climbing two hundred steps up to the top of
the house, you found yourself face to face with a
marble statue that grinned at your discomfiture.
It is not easy to sympathise with this last phase
of a decaying society. It is even less easy to believe
that such an existence could have afforded much
pleasure to either host or guest. The host, it is true,
was bound each year to invent some new order of
life, to drill his regiment of guests and servants in
some new manoeuvres, to develop some further
refinement of luxury in the arrangement of his
rooms and of his table. And so these villas became

152 In and Around Venice
the cause of a ruinous expenditure to their owners
— a ruin which bore its fruit in broken fortunes, and
which leaves the great villas of the Brenta deserted
and decaying.

FLOODS ON THE MAINLAND
FOR a week and a half it had been raining
incessantly. Heavy masses of leaden cloud,
driven up from the sea by the scirocco, swept
over Venice towards the mountains, discharging
a continual downpour of water upon the whole
Venetian plain. Then came news of floods and
disasters upon the Adige, the Brenta, and the Piave.
" Quest' e un temporal che fa epoca " (" A storm
that is making an epoch "), said a Venetian ; and
strongly urged a visit to the flooded districts. A
companion was not difficult to find ; for the hotels
were full of storm-stayed Englishmen, who sat in
sullen rows round the entrance halls, occasionally
venting their spleen on the hall porter, and accumu
lating a natural though unjust hatred of Venice, where
they were kept against their will. The companion
found, we determined to take our chance and go as
far as the train would carry us. How 'far that might
be they could not tell us even at the station. It was
a lovely morning, with a fresh wind from the west
ruffling the lagoon and blowing through the railway
carriage as the train crossed the bridge to Mestre.
153

154 In and Around Venice
Before the breeze the sky was clear and sunny, and
flecked with clouds that seemed to have the very
spirit of wind in their fleeces as they sped across the
blue. Three stations beyond Venice, at a small place
called Dolo, the train stopped. The buttresses of the
railway bridge over the Brenta had begun to sink, and
the line was blocked. But there was an abundance
of carriages, and one of these was engaged to take us
towards the Brenta, and show us what was to be seen
of the floods.
The vintage was coming on ; in another week the
grapes would have been ready ; and before the floods
came, every one said that the promise was the finest
they had known for forty years ; the small wine
merchants were selling their wine of last year cheap
to make room for the expected overflow. Now to
rescue any wine at all they had begun to press the
grapes before they were fully ripe. But there were no
signs of ruin to be seen until the road began to near
the banks of Brenta. Everywhere the sunlight fell
in broad flakes upon the rich green country. The
hedgerows and cottage gardens were full of flowers —
zinnias and twining convolvulus and white and purple
altelle. In the middle of the road stood a country
car, the oxen grazing quietly by the wayside, on the
car an oblong vat full of grapes, and in the vat
three men, bare-legged, pressing the red juice out to
a sort of slow dance. The whole scene — the brilliant
sky, the fresh wind, the smiling lads, and the quiet

Floods on the Mainland 155
oxen — looked so peaceful and secure ; it was almost
impossible to believe that these people had only
just escaped from a destroying flood, and that not
two miles away the entire country was in ruin and
desolation. At last the carriage reached the high river bank,
passed up, and stopped. There was the Brenta rolling
in angry brown foam over the ruined piers and
masonry of a broken bridge. In this part of the
country few of the rivers flow in their natural
channels. For many centuries a process of canalisa
tion has been carried on, and the rivers come down
from the Alps in long, ugly reaches, perfectly straight
and penned in between high artificial mounds of
earth. Their beds are above the level of the sur
rounding land, and these earthworks alone prevent
the country from becoming one vast swamp. The
banks are very broad, and, on the waterside, are
planted with rushes and willows to bind them to
gether. When heavy rains or snows fall in the upper
valleys of the Tyrolese Alps the water is forced out
into the plain through the narrow gorges at Verona,
Bassano, or Feltre ; and, should the banks give way
anywhere, the ruin is swift and complete.
During heavy floods, the dykes are patrolled day
and night by relays of watchmen, who build for them
selves rude shelter-huts of matting and a little straw.
These watchmen camp together by threes, and relieve

156 In and Around Venice
one another in turns. Each has a lantern, which he
fastens to an iron rod, and plants outside the hut,
so that at night the river bank is dotted with these
little groups^ of three flames swaying in the wind.
The greatest difficulty and danger in guarding the
bank is that all the mischief is done out of sight.
The river, sweeping along, loosens a tiny piece of
earth far down below the level of its surface. The
water continues to bore at this hole, working deeper
and deeper into the bank, until this is undermined.
But the first notice that the watchers receive will be
the subsidence of the whole upper mass of earth.
Then in a few minutes the waters burst through,
flowing far and wide over the vineyards and maize-
fields, and making the breach broader every moment.
Nothing can be done till the floods go down ; and then
it is the work of many months to repair even one
breach. There is only one way of saving the bank,
supposing the watchmen to have discovered the
mischief in time. The poplars and mulberry trees
which grow in abundance in the meadows must be
cut and carried to the top of the bank, and there laid
in lines along the mound ; deep notches are then
made in their trunks, and, where the bank shows
signs of weakness, a rope is tied to the tree and
firmly pegged down, the boughs are weighted with
stones, and the whole mass is thrown into the water
at the point of danger, forming a dam which thrusts

Floods on the Mainland 157
the current into the middle of the river again. It is
an expensive remedy, but the only one which stands
between the rich meadows and destruction.
On the bank by the broken bridge was a crowd
of peasants. Each seemed anxious that the strangers
should see the best of the sight ; and all were ready
with various views as to where the most horrible
disaster was to be found. Though it ruined them,
this flood was a show, and more or less their property.
Finally, we were directed along the bank for a couple
of miles till we came opposite a breach in the earthen
dyke, yawning and terrible, about two hundred and
fifty yards wide, through which half the brown and
angry flood poured itself out over the fields. There
were houses standing deserted in the middle of the
waste, others half fallen ; only the tops of the mul
berry trees rose above the water, dotting the desolate
expanse and shimmering in the breeze. Further
away the campanili of Campo Lungo and other
flooded villages shot up above the levels. On the
side where we stood the water was lower ; and
peasants were gathering the yellow pods of maize
and heavy purple clusters of grapes in boats. Along
the banks the vines and Indian corn lay piled. The
Euganeans beyond Padua looked near and distinct,
with purple outlines against the windy sky. The
vast heaven of the Venetian plain stretched over all,
fresh and sweet and flecked with a perfect foam of
clouds, mirrored again in the ruinous lake at our

158 In and Around Venice
feet. The whole scene was wonderfully strange and
beautiful ; but the brown flood rolling beside us had
done such mischief as would take two years to repair.
The autumn was coming on, the peasants' crops were
gone, their houses ruined or damp.
These floods are a terrible scourge for the Veneto ;
the one way in which nature seems to take ven
geance on a favoured land, tempering prosperity with
disaster.

FUSINA
THE railway bridge across the lagoon from
Mestre to Venice ruined the traffic of more
places than Mestre itself. Some six miles further
south than Mestre, along the coast lies Lizza Fusina,
once the point at which passengers from Padua to
Venice took boat to finish their journey. The row
to Fusina takes one through a little-frequented part
of the lagoon. The broad water-space that opens
away from the mouth of the Giudecca, apparently
unbounded, is a famous fishing-ground, worked by
a race of men whose solitary lives are varied only
by the battle against winter cold or the sudden
summer storm. One island lies between Venice and
Fusina, San Giorgio in Alega. It was once a monas
tery, but its campanile has been pulled down and its
church is used as a powder magazine. The island
is garrisoned by a weekly relay of four soldiers and
a sergeant. The men say that a week's duty there
is worse than a fortnight's prison in Venice ; and
unless they are enamoured of nature, and care to
record the endless variety of the sunsets, or to note
the changes of sea and sky around them, it may
be well so. The men for the most part look wistfully
'59

160 In and Around Venice
over the wall at the boats that come and go between
Venice and Fusina. But the island is a lovely object
to those who are not compelled to make it their
Patmos : and there a modern St. John might write
a book of the revelations of nature; for from no
other point near Venice do sunsets and sunrises,
night and storm and darkness, the procession of the
stars, offer themselves more freely to the view.
The canal that runs under the high brick wall of
San Giorgio, past the corner where the Madonna
stands with the baby in her arms, where St. George,
in stone, charges and slays the dragon that is never
slain, except in Carpaccio's picture, is used chiefly
by the boats that bring the water of the Brenta into
Venice. When little rain has fallen, and the wells run
dry, the contractors, who are bound to keep four and
a half feet of water in every well, find themselves
obliged to carry the fresh supply from the Brenta,
past Fusina, into the city.1 It is a slow and laborious
operation. The boats — long, hollow hulls, without a
deck — are taken to Moranzana, a mile above Fusina.
At Moranzana there is a lock, dividing the sweet
water from the salt. The boats are moored beneath
a large iron pipe, where the fresh water comes gushing
out into the hull until the boat is full and its gunwale
is sunk almost to the water level. Then the home
ward journey begins. This cargo is so heavy that the
men, unless they get the wind and tide with them,
1 That was before the aqueduct was made.

Fusina 161
have to take to the oars and plod wearily along like
galley slaves, or the upper bench of a trireme's rowers,
their long sweeps toilsomely ploughing through the
water. The boats are so low in the sea that, should
there be even a little wind, the water which reaches
Venice is anything but fresh.
Fusina was once a flourishing village. It owned
a large establishment for the reception of pilgrims.
And here, too, was the famous carro, a machine with
ropes and pulleys and inclined planes for hauling
the heavier vessels from the Brenta into the lagoon ;
for the river, which flows into the sea at this point,
had at one time a bar across its mouth. Next to
Mestre, Fusina was the favourite route for reaching
Venice ; and it was by the way of the Brenta and
Fusina that that charming and quaint old traveller,
Mr. Fynes Moryson, passed froin Padua to Venice
about the year 1599. He thus describes the boat and
the company he found on board : — The fare was one
lira a head, and four soldi for an extra horse " to be
drawn more swiftly. . . . The boat is covered with
arched hatches ; and there is very pleasant company,
so as a man beware to give no offence ; for otherwise
the Lumbards carry shirts of male, and being armed
as if they were in a camp, are apt to revenge upon
shameful advantages. But commonly there is plea-
sent discourse, and the proverb saith the boat shall
be drowned when it carries neither monk, nor student,
nor courtisan. ... I remember a maide in the boat
M

1 62 In and Around Venice
crossed herselfe whensoever an old woman looked
upon her, fearing she should be a witch ; whereat the
passengers smiled, seeing the girle not only cross her
selfe for feare, but thrust her crucifix towards the old
woman's eyes."
It was from Fusina that Henry III. of France took
his last look at the sea-city whose spell he never after
could shake off. And it would have been difficult to
find a better point from which to take a farewell view.
Venice lay before him, backed by the Alps, the sharp
pinnacles of the Dolomites, and, further away, the
long ridges of Friulan snow. The city is just far
enough off to be compassable at a single glance,
gathered together into one flower with its campanili
for stamens, yet not so distant as to be indistinct.
The beauty of the view from Fusina remains ; but
all its houses have disappeared except the Custom
House and one little wine-shop. There is no traffic
now from Padua, and no strangers pass this way.1 In
the garden behind the wine-shop they grow melons of
a kind much prized — sea-green globes with olive-grey
vermiculations on the rind. Fusina stands between
the sea and the land ; it is hard to say to which it
most belongs, for the water runs up into the plain in
marsh, and swamp, and winding canals that catch the
light in silver patches, and break the monotony of
the dusky levels ; while the plain runs down into the
lagoon, thrusting long arms far out in the direction of
1 The tram-line to Padua has changed this.

Fusina 163
Venice. On the one hand lies the "living water,"
a surface of opaline grey ; on the other, the " dead
lagoon," a stretch of purple brown, ending in mist at
the base of the Euganean Hills, those distant cones
that served as landmarks to ships sailing to Padua
from the sea. In autumn the colour of this vast
landward plain, that is not wholly land, is crimson
brown, marked by streaks of purple where the sea-
lavender grows in an abundance. But in spring all
its tones are paler and finer ; faint green of the young
grass that just shimmers over its surface like a veil of
mist, as we may see the cloudy shimmer of blue-bells
spread in many an English wood. Nearer, the colour
is a little stronger, for the banks are covered with
violets, ranunculus, star of Bethlehem, and many
other flowers. Further up the Brenta you will find
fleurs-de-lys fringing the river's edge. The larks
are fond of this place, and sing triumphant songs as
they mount against the sun ; up, and up, and up,
with the ascending notes ; then comes the long
cadenza as they settle down upon their nests.
In serene November weather a row back from
Fusina to Venice is sure to be repaying. As the sun
sinks towards the western horizon, the whole of that
region becomes a golden aureole, in the middle of
which are set the Euganean Hills, a pale, transparent
green in the heart of the glory that surrounds them.
The leafless trees on the shore by Fusina stand solitary
and distinct against the sky, each branch and twig

164 In and Around Venice
relieved in black upon the brilliant background. The
zenith is all a translucent blue — a blue that Fra
Angelico may have seen in visions, but never rivalled,
even when the colours were still fresh from his
palette, so liquid and delicate and radiant is its tone.
To the north are the Alps, hazily blue at their base
but heavily powdered with snow upon their summits
— a barrier of frost and cold. To the south, to seaward,
the massive clouds of the scirocco lie piled, far away,
billow upon billow touched to a rosy glow where
the sunlight catches their edges. The railway bridge
of brick and Istrian stone runs like a line of orange
across the landscape. Nearer, the lagoon on either
side of the canal is bare, and the dying seaweeds and
the banks of mud are warmed to rich browns in the
sunset. As the sun falls faster and faster to the
horizon the water changes from grey to gold, from
gold to orange, from orange to the deepest crimson of
the pomegranate's core. A flash of fire strikes on the
windows of Venice, that lies ahead, a flush of orange
and rose upon its walls. Then in a second the sun is
gone. There is a brief space of doubtful light while
day hangs trembling in the balance. But night, with
its first and solitary star, comes swiftly over the
eastern horizon, and settles down in cold and silvery
grey upon the broad lagoon, while the western skies
still hold the dying daylight suspended in a haze of
saffron, green, and blue.

A GHOST STORY OF THE
LAGOONS
F^OR many centuries the lagoons of Venice have
been divided into districts for the purposes of
fishing. These tracts of water are not distinguished
by any boundaries visible to the eye ; but their limits
are well known to the fishermen who make their living
upon them. In the shallower parts, where the oozy
bed of the lagoon is left bare by each receding tide,
the fishermen mark off" a certain portion, and surround '
it by a palisade of wattled cane, called a grisiola.
Inside this palisade the mud is dug into deep ditches,
so that there shall always be water in them, even when
the tide is low. These enclosures are called valli, and
here the fish are driven in spring to spawn. Each
valle has a little hut belonging to it, built either on
piles or on forced soil, and made of bricks or of
wattled cane, plastered with mud. The hut usually
contains one square room, a door, and two windows.
The fishermen require these cabins, for they sometimes
spend three or four days together in the remote lagoon,
sending their fish to market every morning by one of
i6S

1 66 In and Around Venice
their number, just as the deep-sea fishers of Chioggia
do. In the fifteenth century there were sixty-one of
these valli; but many have now been destroyed ; and
the high tides flow uninterruptedly over the larger
portion of the lagoon surface. Those which still exist
lie, for the most part, in the remote and little-frequented
reaches, and follow closely the line of the mainland,
while towards the lidi hardly any are in work.
The landscape of these distant fishing -grounds
is vast and solitary. The sense of loneliness is
heightened by the isolated hut, rising square from the
water, the only habitation visible. On all sides the
seeming-endless plain stretches away. For though
these valli lie near the mainland, the earth is so low
there that the eye perceives no difference of level, but
passes on until it rests at length upon the faint blue
Euganean Hills; or, on the other side, across the long
grey water levels the sight may range — mile upon
mile of pearly surface trending away — till on the very
offing it finds Venice, a rosy-orange lotus basking on
the water ; or the Armenian convent, a burning crim
son point ; or, further still to the right, some few
solitary trees by the port of Malamocco. In the
sky, too, is the same feeling of vast expanse. Its
tone is usually opaline grey, or filmy blue. But at
sunrise or sunset come flashes of richer colour. Now
flames of burnished bronze shoot suddenly and far
across the levels as the sun's arc gains and surmounts
the horizon ; the bronze mellows into gold, as the sun

A Ghost Story of the Lagoons 167
rises, and fades at length into the paler and clearer
yellow of pure daylight. Or again, as the sun sinks,
the whole heavens will be lit up and glow, an illumi
nated scroll in orange, crimson, and purple ; then that
splendour too dies away and leaves the sky a pale
translucent blue, just melting into green where the
first star trembles.
It is a solitary life these fishermen lead in the
middle of this vast sweep. Ranging the lagoon, you
may meet them either quite alone or in groups of
five or six dotted about at distances of four or five
hundred yards. Their figures look strange as they
stand rigid in the stern of the long, light boat, the
prow tilted up out of the water ; each erect black
silhouette with shoulder bare and fishing-spear poised
motionless in hand ; the shadow still upon the lagoon
below him ; and all around the mellowing grey of air
and sky and sea. Or more strange and fascinating
still when the men are fishing with nets, and the
drumming and booming that they make to frighten
the fish sounds like some weird incantation across
the water.
And the very names of some of these valli have a
suggestion of the uncanny about them — the Val dell'
Inferno, or the Valle dei Sette Morti, for example.
Of the Valle dei Sette Morti there is a story current
among the gondoliers and fishermen.
There were six men fishing once in this " Valle " of
the Seven Dead. They had with them a little boy,

1 68 In and Around Venice
the son of one of their number. The boy did not
go fishing with his father, but stayed behind to take
care of the hut, and to cook the food for the men
when they returned. He spent the nights alone in
the cabin, for most of the fishing was done between
sunset and sunrise. One day, as the dawn was begin
ning across the water, the men stopped their fishing
and began to row home with their load, as usual.
As they rowed along they met the body of a
drowned man going out to sea with the tide. They
picked the body up and laid it on the prow, the
head resting upon the arm, and rowed on slowly to
the hut. The little boy was watching for them, and
went down to the edge of the canal to meet them.
He saw the body of the seventh man lying on the
prow, but thought that he was asleep. So, when the
boat came near, he cried to his father, " Breakfast is
ready ; come along ! " and with that he turned and
went back to the hut. The men followed the boy,
and left the dead man lying on the prow. When
they had sat down the boy looked round and said,
" Where is the other man ? Why don't you bring
him in to breakfast too ? " " Oh ! isn't he here ? "
cried one ; and then added, with a laugh, " You had
better go and call him ; he must be asleep." The boy
went down to the canal, and shouted, " Why don't you
come to breakfast ? it is all ready for you." But the
man on the prow never moved nor answered a word.
So the boy returned to the hut, and said, " What is

A Ghost Story of the Lagoons 169
the matter with the man ? he won't answer." " Oh ! "
said they, " he is a deaf old fool. You must shout
and swear at him." The boy went back again,
and cried, " Come along, you fool ; the others are
waiting for you.'' But the man on the prow never
moved nor answered a word. Then the boy ran
back to the hut, and said, " Come, one of you ; for I
can't wake him up." But they laughed and answered,
" Go out again and shake him by the leg ; tell him
we can't wait till doomsday for him." The boy went
down to the water once more. He got into the boat
and shook the man by the leg. Then the man turned
and sat up on the prow, and said to the boy, " What
do you want?" "Why on earth don't you come?
Are they all to wait till doomsday for you ? " " Go
back and tell them that I am coming." So the boy
went back to the hut and found the men laughing
and joking. " Well ! what did he say ? " they cried.
" It is all right," answered the boy ; " he says he is
coming." The men turned pale and looked at one
another, and sat quite still and laughed no more.
Then outside they heard footsteps coming slowly
up the path. The door was pushed open, and the
dead man came in and sat down in the boy's place,
the seventh at the table. But the eyes of the other
six were fixed upon the seventh, their guest. They
could not move nor speak. Their gaze was fastened
on the dead man's face. The blood flowed chiller
and chiller in their veins till, as the sun arose, there

170 In and Around Venice
were seven dead men sitting round the table in the
room. Such was the story Antonio told one night row
ing home from Chioggia. It has evidently taken a
deep root in the imagination of the people. Nor
can we wonder at this, nor at the weirdness of the
tale, when we remember the solitary lives these fisher
men lead, the limitless spaces around them, vast
enough to fling the spirit back upon itself and set
it creating. The only matter for astonishment is that
there are not more such stories. In the north, out
of similar surroundings, we should have a whole
group of legends, wild, fantastic, or terrible as the
tales which live among the fishers of the Hebrides
or the wreckers and smugglers of the Devon and
Cornish coasts. But a ghost story is rare in Venice ;
and this one would be difficult to match, even else
where in Italy. Possibly the external surroundings,
the aspect of nature, may have something to do with
this. The terrible is rarely found in Italian land
scape, and seldom expressed in Italian art. The
scenery of the lagoons is ample, soft, and caressing,
but terrible, as possessing the austerer and more
vengeful qualities of nature, it is not. These are the
essential elements of the supernatural, and therefore
it is that a genuine Italian ghost story is a rarity.

MALAMOCCO
MALAMOCCO is not often visited by strangers.
Yet there is much beauty in the journey
there, and a certain flavour of old-world interest in
the place itself. The village wears the face of some
gentle grey-haired old man, calm in the wisdom of
years, and looks, one might almost fancy, across six
miles of broad lagoon, at Venice, its younger rival,
full spread and rosy on the water. Malamocco is
indeed an older town than Venice — by which name
we now speak of Rialto. Its origin is lost in ob
scurity. It never invented for itself, as Venice did,
an astrological birth-hour and a mythic horoscope.
Malamocco probably owed its growth to the needs of
a population employed, then as now, in fishing and
in pilotage. The position of Malamocco at the
mouth of the Brenta gave the town its first political
importance. The men of Malamocco held the key to
Paduan sea traffic, and made the Paduan market feel
the changes of their mood. During the ferment of
the eighth century, Malamocco maintained a decided
policy of its own. It became the centre of the
democratic element in the lagoon cities. With the
171

172 In and Around Venice
triumph of the principles it supported, the town
emerged as the capital of the federated sea town
ships. The brief reign of Malamocco burnetJ up to
one bright point, and then went out. When Pipin,
son of Charlemagne, attacked the lagoons and tried
to add them to his kingdom of Italy, it was from the
men of Malamocco that he met with the stoutest
resistance through six long winter months. By them
he was beaten back to die of chagrin in Milan.
Malamocco is the local habitation of all those myths
that the Venetians have gathered about the story of
Pipin's repulse. Round Malamocco and the coast
thereby, the interest of this victory settles — a victory
so important that it forms the starting-point of con
secutive Venetian history.
The Venetian chroniclers have preserved a pictur
esque legend about the coming of the Frankish king to
Malamocco. They say that at that time there lived in
the city an old woman, who, by her astuteness, won for
herself the strange title of " Rex Consilii " (King of
Counsel). She was the only inhabitant whom Pipin
found when he took the town. She had been left
there, for she was kithless and alone ; and it was no
body's business to take her, with the other women
and children, to the safety of Poveglia or Rialto.
Pipin asked her how deep the waters were in those
parts, and how he should best get to Rialto. The
old woman answered that she was poor, but for
money she would show him the way. They struck

Malamocco 1 73
their bargain ; and she told the king that between
Malamocco and Rialto the water was shallow and the
bed firm ; and she advised him to throw a bridge
across. The Franks began their bridge. But the
waters were deep in many places, and the bed oozy.
The wind dashed their boats together ; the men sank
in the muddy shoals. The Venetians swept down in
their light boats, and cut the invaders to pieces, so
that the canal was red with blood. The picture of
this triumph still hangs on the walls of the Sala dello
Scrutinio, in the Ducal Palace. The result of the
victory was the consolidation of federal Venetia, and
a reconciliation after the feuds which had divided the
lagoons. The compromise found outward expression
in the choice of Rialto as the capital. The govern
ment moved there in the year 813, and the reign and
the history of Malamocco were over.
The pleasantest way to go to Malamocco is to
take a sandolo, if you can. A sandolo is a small
boat, lighter and smaller than a gondola, though, like
a gondola, flat-bottomed ; in it there is just enough
room for two rowers. These sandoli have not the
familiar ferro at the prow, but, instead, they run
to a point with a knob of steel at the end, which the
gondoliers spend hours in polishing till it shines like
silver. The sandolo does not swim ; it skims, or
ducks sometimes, should there be a little sea on, like
a fisolo, a shy water-bird of the diver species, that
haunts the less-frequented reaches of the lagoon. As

174 In and Around Venice
the sandolo clears the Giudecca, the broad expanses
of water open away, far as the eye can see, with no
visible horizon ; the lidi are too low for that ; but
the trees that grow upon them seem to stand up out
of the watery plain, solitary as palms in the desert,
or clumped together where some garden lies. The
campanile of Malamocco shows right ahead ; and far
away to westward stand those islanded hills the
Euganeans, into whose very base and between whose
roots the waters seem to run. The breeze is blown
straight down from the summits of these hills, and
ripples the surface of the water, till the whole lagoon
dances and dimples in sunlight. Overhead the vast
Venetian sky is flecked with a soft fleece of clouds.
An expansion of the chest and a deepening of the
lung-draught comes with this fine air and the freedom
of the boundless water space. But wind and tide
are against the light craft as far as Poveglia. The
gondoliers settle down to their work. Venice falls
behind, its campanili rising higher and higher as the
houses sink. You row past the shoal banks, undis-
tinguishable from the canal, where the fishermen are
staking the nets to catch the fish as the tide goes
down, all with their trousers rolled high above their
brown knees, the men and the boys splashing and
floundering about. On the other side is a solitary
crab-gatherer wading alone through the ooze, chant
ing a long, slow song as he trails his basket of net
behind him.

Malamocco 175
Past the madhouse on San Clemente, and then the
sandolo enters the main channel by which the Penin
sular and Oriental steamers and all the larger vessels
used to come to Venice. Here dredging is always
going on, for the wash of these big ships draws the
mud into the canal, and it is a constant labour and ex
pense to keep it open. As the boat passes the dredger
the men are gathered round a smoking bowl of beans.
They laugh their salutation, " Ah ! Signore, you never
eat fagioli ; have some." And all the while the
engines never stop, but bucket after bucket of slime
is emptied with splash and flop into the barges below.
The mud has an evil smell, but it makes the wealth
of the Malamoccan gardens, whence the splendid
white asparagus is sent to Venice in spring. Soon
Poveglia comes in sight — green as an emerald set in
the grey water. The island is now the headquarters
of the sanitary officials ; and the rows of separate
lazaretto huts stand like sentry-boxes, looking across
the northern lagoon.
After passing Poveglia the boat will feel the tide
with her ; and ten minutes more brings one to the
landing-place of Malamocco. Quiet and sleepy and
clean ; the people with a type distinctly their own ;
very gentle and friendly to strangers, but at heart
seeming to say, "We are not Venetians, but Mala-
mocchini." There is a piazza and two long broad
streets. In the piazza a flagstaff, with St. Mark's

176 In and Around Venice
lion in gilt on. the top, as a weathercock, looking
now straight to Venice, with his paw firmly placed
on his evangel. At the foot of the flagstaff is a
quaint old well, with the Pisani superscription and
coat, per fesse, azure and argent, a lion rampant
counterchanged, engraved upon it. Almost all the
house-doors have dolphins for knockers. You can
walk down the main street, where the maize is drying,
a yellow carpet spread on one side ; where the women
sit spinning and not chattering, like the Venetians,
but quiet ; where the dogs bask against the wall
and snap at the flies ; out by the arch over the Ponte
del Borgo, past the gardens made of Venetian mud,
till you reach the shore, and look down the long
water-avenue of the Adriatic. To the far left is
the faintest suggestion of the Istrian coast ; in front,
on the horizon, the orange sail of some Chioggian
fishing-boat ; to the right the long black strip of the
mole that protects the entrance to the Malamoccan
port. The waves break into spray, dash and rumble
and thud below your feet, losing themselves among
the huge blocks of Istrian stone. These boulders
were brought here at great expense to keep the sea
from eating through the island into the lagoon, and
the long thread of creamy stone stretches away on
either side, parting the blue sea from the grassy
glacis of the fort.
If the breeze should hold good nothing is more

Malamocco 177
delightful than a sail back to Venice. After a glass
of wine at the little negozio on the piazza, you go
down to the landing-place once more. The sail is
made, and the sandolo unlashed. Away it springs
beneath the breeze, like a creature instinct with life,
shaking all its plumes, laughing in the wind, plunging
and rising as though it strove to fly. No rowing
now, only lying flat down with the tiller and sheet in
hand, watching the shifting landscape framed and
unframed as the "harbour piles" rush past, or look
ing higher yet at the great chain of boundary
Alps that stand marshalled behind Venice, whitely
powdered with snow on some of the loftier peaks.
But, whatever Shelley may have thought, steering
is not a purely mechanical process, and watching the
Alps one is apt to forget where one is. A hail from
the dazio guard-boat at San Clemente recalls the
steersman. " A bordo ! " borne up fine and shrill
against the wind, a cry of " Orsa ! " from the gondo
lier, and the sandolo's head comes up to the wind, and
she drifts gently against the side of the high guard-
boat. Afinanziere del mare, in his coastguard dress,
broad blue collar and yellow stripe, circles his arm
round the flagstaff on the bow of his ship, and leans
over the tiny craft, his golden brown Venetian hair
blown in the wind, and his thick brown worsted
stockings pulled up outside his trousers. There is
nothing liable to dazio, however, on board our boat,
and it is at once released. " Avanti pure ! " and the
N

178 In and Around Venice
sandolo obeys. Six minutes more and it has sped
down the Canal delle Grazie, passed the red brick
corner by San Giorgio, and sailed into quiet water
and the breezeless spaces of the Grand Canal.

BURANO
BURANO is an island, lying seven miles to the
east of Venice, in that part of the lagoon which
is called the contrade. The islands stand closer
together here, and there is less open space of water
and more oozy marsh than is to be found at the
western end of the lagoon. The Sile and Piave
flowed into the sea at this point, and the earth that
they brought down with them has formed those in
numerable little islets which lie around Burano. On
the left-hand side as one leaves Venice, but far away
across the plain, stand the Dolomitic Alps, Tofana,
Pelmo, and Antelao, above Caprile and Cortina,
sharp and clear-cut peaks or long serrated ridges,
sometimes powdered with snow. From the top of
the campanile of Torcello, that lies hard by Burano,
one sees that the whole surface of the adjacent
marshes is cut into squares by ditches, crossing each
other at right angles. These ditches are breeding-
beds for fish — valli, as they are technically called ;
and into them the fish are driven in spring to spawn.
Here, too, the gentlemen of Venice find excellent
wild-duck shooting in winter. It is usual to make up
179

180 In and Around Venice
a party of three or four guns, and to hire one of the
many little huts which stand by the side of these
valli. The sportsmen have to provision themselves
with food and fur cloaks in abundance, for the winter
nights are bitterly cold on the water ; but the sport is
usually good enough to keep them at it for three or
four days together.
Burano is a populous place. In this respect it has
fared better than its older neighbours, Mazzorbo —
Urbs Major, the greater city — and Torcello. The
town took its name from the Porta Boreana of
Altino, — a city on the mainland, which was ruined
by the Huns under Attila. Some of the people of
Altino fled for refuge to the little town they had
colonised, and left their villas and their pleasant
shore, the Simula Bajanis Altini Iittora villis,
for ever. The Burano they fled to, however, was not
the Burano of to-day, but a place which Constantine
Porphyrogenitos calls Burano-on-the-Sea, somewhat
nearer the: coast than the present town. This name,
Burano-on-the-Sea, indicates the danger to which the
refuge city was exposed. The Buranelli found that
the currents of the Sile and the Piave, combined with
the action of the sea, were likely to eat away the
island they had occupied. They were compelled to
petition Mazzorbo for a piece of land, and there they
built the modern Burano, owning a kind of depend-

Burano 181
ence on their benefactors. Time has reversed this
order. Burano possesses a teeming population of
about nine thousand inhabitants. It has annexed its
older neighbour and lord, Mazzorbo, by a long wooden
bridge, built on piles, and rising gradually in the
middle to let the boats pass through. Seen from the
low seat of a gondola, the bridge stands flat and hard
against the sky, with perhaps a figure or two, abnor
mally large, upon it ; like something out of a Japanese
landscape, or like the bridge in the willow-pattern
plates. Mazzorbo, on the other hand, is an island city
that is gone — a cittd andata — with hardly a house
upon it except the little wine-shop where the men
stop to drink a glass of wine, and moor their boats,
piled high with loads of green sea-grass, before the
door. From the window of the inn you look across
the narrow canal to the red and grey brick wall on
the further side. Over the wall hang pomegranates,
flushing to crimson ripeness in the autumn, contrast
ing their rosy cheeks with the dark green ivy that is
spread like a mantle for them to rest upon. Mazzorbo
is all gardens, and the fruit-boats are laden and sent
into Venice every morning, where their cargoes are
sold under the Palace of the Camerlenghi, close by
the Rialto.
Nothing in Venetia is more remarkable than the
way in which the different islands of the lagoons
preserve their own distinctive types. Burano and

1 82 In and Around Venice
Mazzorbo are joined together now ; yet it is easy to
distinguish the inhabitants of the one from the
inhabitants of the other. The natives of Mazzorbo
are quiet and gentle, with some of that mild Saturnian
sweetness which seems to mingle in the blood of
those who deal closely with the earth. They are also
singularly beautiful, especially the "family at the wine
shop. But four hundred yards away, and you are in
another atmosphere of character. The Buranelli are
quick, brusque, rough; with something of the saltness
and pungency of the sea on which they live. The
streets are noisy and dirty. You will hear plenty of
abuse on all sides. The boys are audacious, persis
tent, and tormenting as flies. The men of Burano
have not a good reputation ; and probably, if a collision
occurs in the small canals of Venice, the gondolier
will tell you that the offenders are Buranei, unless he
chooses to fasten the blame on those other aquatic
scapegoats, the Chiozzotti. This evil repute is hered
itary. The magistrates of the old Republic found
it difficult to preserve order among the women of
Burano, who held their market in Venice, near their
landing-place on the Fondamenta Nuova, and used
to set the quarter by the ears with their quarrels.
Nor are the Buranelli beautiful as are the people of
Mazzorbo, unless it be for a certain sculpturesque
cleanness and firmness of limbs. Meeting them as
they row back from the fishing, only a little more
clothed than when they came out of the water, ten

Burano 1 83
or twelve boatfuls racing together who shall be first
to reach Burano, the sculptor would find many sug
gestions for the moulding of muscles in play. Or,
again, one may see them, a long line of six or seven
men, towing the heavy barges, laden with lagoon mud
that goes to fertilise the fields round Pordenone.
They all bend with a will to the rope ; the sunburned
legs step together, splashing through the shallow
water at the side of the canal. Defined thus, against
the clear and pale blue sky, with a foreground of
slowly moving water and the solitary trees of the lidi
on either side, the figures of these towing men with
the barge behind, sluggishly obeying their pull, recall
some scene in Egypt : the slaves of Pharaoh labouring
on the Nile.
There is something fine and bronze-like about the
men of Burano, and they have, to counterbalance
their evil repute, the fame of doing more work for
less pay than any of the islanders of the lagoons.
The men are chiefly engaged in fishing and in towing;
and the women are not idle, though the noise they
make would lead a stranger to think so. The lace
trade, for which the town was once famous, shows
signs of reviving ; and that industry at present
occupies a considerable number of the families. The
sacristan of San Martino has some fine specimens of
ancient lace to show the stranger who may be curious
on this point ; and the priests' robes are worth a visit,
even by the uninitiated in the mysteries of lace.

184 In and Around Venice
Altogether Burano is a town which obviously takes
care of itself, though the Venetians and other
islanders bear it little goodwill.
The character of the Buranelli is firm-set enough.
But their dialect is softened almost to the melting
point. In their mouths Venetian, the Ionic of the
Italian group of dialects, has been mollified until the
ribs of the language, the consonants, are on the verge
of disappearing altogether. The men of Burano are
worse sinners in this respect than even the natives
of Chioggia. They dwell upon the vowels, redoubling
and prolonging them, so that their words seem to
have no close, but die away in a kind of sigh. For
instance, they call their own town Buraa, instead of
Buran. The effect is not unpleasant, but is rather
too sweet and gripless for our northern ears.
One famous Venetian musician took his name
from the island of Burano — " brave " Galuppi Baldas-
sare, called the Buranello. There is hardly a plea-
santer way of spending a lazy afternoon in Venice
than a row to his birthplace, especially if the Friulan
Alps be clear and should a sunset glorify the waters
on the homeward journey.

THE SILE AND JESOLO
THE many rivers of the Venetian plain fall into
three distinctly marked types. The majority
are mountain streams or torrents, which, starting high
up among the fastnesses of the Dolomites, the Julian
and the Rhsetian Alps, descend upon the lowlands in
ever-growing volume, as they drain the mountain
slopes ; they are genuine rivers all the way from
their earliest foaming streamlets to their slow, mean
dering course across the plain that brings them to
the Adriatic. Such are the larger rivers — the Adige,
the Brenta, the Piave, and the Tagliamento. But
there is another kind of river in the Veneto, which
descends from no "high mountain-cradle" in con
tinuous open-air course, but bursts, a full-grown flood,
from the very base of the limestone crags which so
often rise abruptly out of the levels. Rivers of this
nature are, of course, fed by hidden springs and
drain the mountains internally, leaving their southern
slopes all bare and arid in the parching sun. Such
are the Meschio and the Livenza, the one rising near
Serravalle in a deep, transparent pool, whose waters
are the colour of the tourmaline, the other bursting
out in a triple flood from the crags near Polcenigo,
185

1 86 In and Around Venice
beyond Sacile. There is a legend among the
peasants that the water comes under the mountains
from Belluno, higher up among the Dolomites.
" Oritur liquentia," says Sabellico, writing in the
fifteenth century, " in carnorum finibus haud longe a
Pulcinico tribus uberrimis fontibus qui ex bellunensi
agro subterraneo meatu fluere creduntur." Between
these two well-defined types we find a few streams
such as the Sile, the Zero, the Dese, which neither
come down from the mountains nor spring from their
roots. Their sources are of the nature of artesian
wells forcing up fountains of water from the gravelly
stratum which underlies the Venetian plain. They
rise actually in the plain, in large tracts of swamp
and marsh land, and urge their way through beds
of rushes till they have acquired volume enough to
delve. a sinuous channel down to the sea.
The sources of the Sile lie hear Albaredo, on the
Treviso-Castelfranco line, but by the time it has
reached Quinto the river has grown to a noble body
of translucent water. It looks not so much like
a river as like a flowing lake, for the flood spreads
widely over the level lands and has no well-defined
banks ; paths are carried on artificial mounds between
one part of the stream and another ; the water is ever
brimming and full on either hand, flowing with a deep
persistent lapse of tide,
Inter arundineasque comas, gravidumque papaver,
Et tacitos sine labe lacus sine murnure rivos.

The Sile and Jesolo 187
Quinto is extremely beautiful, either in spring,
when the young green of the plane-trees is reflected
on the silent surface of its waters, or in autumn, when
all is gold and russet-brown that stain them to the
hues of copper and bronze. The mills are the great
feature of the place, and the plash of the mill-wheel
and the dazzling cascade of diamond drops make
a sight and a sound that keep one lingering long upon
the miller's bridge watching the exquisite sinuous
curves of the green water-weed tresses. Quinto is
famous for its eels and fresh-water cray-fish, and the
little osteria on the banks of the flowing lake is quite
able to furnish an excellent lunch before one drives
the five miles back to Treviso.
At Treviso the Sile is joined by another fast-flowing
stream, the Cagnano. The stream is now called the
Botteniga, and considering that Treviso is only thirty-
four feet above the level of the sea and at least
fifteen miles distant from it as the crow flies and
thirty by the water -course, the rush of these two
rivers is very remarkable. From Treviso the Sile
delves its way in innumerable curves past Casier,
Cendon, Casale, San Michele, down to the lagoon
at Portegrandi. The banks are high and grown with
willows, and if you are coming down from Treviso
in a gondola or sandolo, there is not much to be seen
on either hand, save the beautiful curves of the river
itself, its swirl of green water among the willow roots,
and now and then the flash of deep ultramarine blue on

1 88 In and Around Venice
the wing of a kingfisher. At Casale there is a great
tower of splendid thirteenth-century brickwork, built,
no doubt, to command one of the important ferries ;
while from the other ferry, Cendon, a little before
you come to Casale, you can easily reach the great
Giustinian Castle at Roncade, a vast courtyard sur
rounded by mediaeval brick walls with massive gate
and corner towers, and inside it a pure Palladian
villa as dwelling-house.
At Portegrandi the Sile used to enter the lagoon,
and flowing by Monte d'Oro, Torcello, Mazzorbo, and
Burano, found its way to sea at Tre Porti. The early
importance of, these ancient lagoon villages is partly
explained by the fact that the Sile passed through
them and made a water communication between the
mainland round Treviso and the sea. But when
the Venetians determined to divert the larger rivers
from the lagoon, partly to prevent it from silting
up and partly to combat malaria, they dug the great
canal that runs from Portegrandi due east and sends
the waters of the Sile into the old bed of the Piave
at Capo Sile.
As in the greater world so in the lagoon of Venice :
the movement of peoples, of civilisation, of trade has
been gradually from east to west. Long before the
modern town of Venice was more than a few fisher-
huts on the islands of Rialto, there were important
townships in the eastern lagoon far surpassing the
future capital. Earliest among these were the rival

The Sile and Jesolo 191
cities of Heraclea and Jesolo. Of Heraclea nothing
remains but the legend of ruins to be seen beneath the
water. The town was founded in 688, and destroyed
by its neighbour, Jesolo, in 805, about the time that
the concentration of the lagoon townships was taking
place at Rialto. It was rebuilt as Cittanova, but was
damaged by fire, plundered by the Huns in 903, and
malaria and floods came to complete the work of
obliteration. At Fossa Nova, near where Heraclea
must once have stood, there is nothing now but
marshy soil. Jesolo (Equilius) survived its rival and
became a place of some importance ; it was nearer
the sea and commanded the old mouth of the Piave.
The large lagoon of Dragojesolo gave it salt and fish
and waterfowl in abundance. It was erected into a
See as early as 667, but its bishop refused obedience
to his metropolitan at Grado, and was excommuni
cated. Jesolo suffered when its rival was destroyed
by the Huns. The barbarians came down the Piave
in coracles (pelliciis navibus) and burned first Heraclea,
and then Jesolo. The town remained an episcopal
See down to 1476, when the Venetian Pope Barbo,
Paul II., suppressed it, and merged it in the Venetian
Patriarchate. Jesolo must have been a place of
moment, for we hear of thirty-two noble Jesolan
families enrolled in the Venetian nobility, and forty-
two churches in its streets. That is probably an
exaggeration, but the ruins of the one great church
which still remain, point to a wealth and prosperity

192 In and Around Venice
which were considerable. Its decline may be attri
buted to the growing importance of Venice, which
gradually absorbed all the smaller lagoon townships ;
to the silting up of the Piave bed and the consequent
disappearance of the port, and to the ravages of
malaria. Anyway, by 1430, "Where the piazza once
was," says Marco Cornaro, a contemporary, "and in
deed all about, they sow corn"; and Sabellico records
a little later the "ruinae ingentes et grandia edificiorum
vestigia quae a veprium et ederarum complexu per
sese magis suam magnitudinem quam humano auxilio.
adhuc indicant." No doubt both town and church
served as quarry for the growing city of Venice.
The ruins of Jesolo lie close by the modern village
of Cavazuccherina, which takes its name from the
channel cut by the engineer Zucchero, in 1 537, to unite
the old and new beds of the Piave between Jesolo and
Cortellazzo. The best way to get to Jesolo is to take
the little steamer for Cavazuccherina. It starts from
the Fondamente Nuove early in the morning, and the
journey occupies a little over three hours. It is a
pleasant expedition in itself, apart from the interest
ing ruins at the end ; for if the morning is fine you
will have on your left hand all the way the great
barrier peaks of the Alps from Carnia to the moun
tains west of Vicenza. The steamer passes San
Michele, Burano, Mazzorbo, and Torcello, then,
entering the old bed of the Sile, makes for Porte
grandi. High beds of reeds on either side hedge

The Sile and Jesolo 193
in the narrow channel. As the down-draw of the
steamer sucks the stalks inwards to the stream, the
heavy purple-tasselled heads bow and seem to make
obeisance to the passer-by. Torcello's solitary tower
and high-roofed basilica sink gradually away behind
you, and on the right you will see all that is left
of Altino and its " villas that outvied the buildings
of Baiae." It is a lone-looking country — a no man's
land ; so flat is the landscape ahead that it seems
as though one were nearing the edge of the world.
At the lock of Portegrandi you enter the canal
that takes you and the Sile into the Piave, and an
hour more brings you to Cavazuccherina.
The ruins of the great church stand in a field
about ten minutes' walk from the landing - place.
There are farm buildings round about the church,
and farm operations are constantly going on ; hay
being stacked in the nave, or rice being tossed on the
drying-floor ; brown spray of grain flung up against
the clear blue sky from large wooden shovels, the
heavier core falling back in heaps, and the dust blown
lightly away by the wind. The church must have
been nearly as big as St. Mark's. It was dedicated
to the Virgin, and cannot be earlier than the ninth
century. As it was probably sacked by the Huns in
the tenth, its life was a brief one. The transepts and
tribune, with its single apse, are fairly intact. The
transept windows recall those of St. Mark's aisles with
tiers of equal lights. The north wall of the nave is
o

194 In and Around Venice
still standing, and one can trace the foundations of
the narthex and of the campanile. Hardly any decora
tion remains : a portion of an ornamental course, two
columns of Greek marble, a foliated bracket, some
faint traces of fresco in the northern transept — that is
all. The rest has been pillaged for the good of
Venice. Seen from outside, the east end, with its
finely proportioned apse, is a noble piece of brick
work. But now, as when Sabellico wrote at the close of
1400, the whole building is embraced by a luxuriant
growth of bramble and of ivy.
On a hot autumn afternoon, in the stillness of this
extreme eastern lagoon, with the vast sky overhead,
the vast water expanse of Dragojesolo before you,
the music of the bees in ivy bloom, suddenly recalls
the vision of some temple on the Nile, Abydos or
Denderah, where
The hum of bees in the desert silence
Envelopes the fane in a mist of sound.

IN THE COUNTRY
COUNTRY OUTINGS
THE Venetian plain and the mainland that
borders the lagoon, although it does not seize
the traveller and compel a recognition of its beauty
on the moment, yet possesses a character and a beauty
of its own which longer acquaintance will reveal.
There is a certain charm in the way the land rises
by almost imperceptible gradations from the level of
the lagoon. The difference of level is so slight, that
the water seems to hesitate whether it shall let itself
become dry land, while the land is in doubt whether
it shall not slip into the sea. In fact, the beauty of
the Venetian plain is the beauty of various levels,
which the eye feels here as it hardly can anywhere
else ; the long level of the water, the long and gentle
inclination of the land, the sudden upspring of the
Alpine barrier, closing all to the north, in striking
contrast to the far horizon of the south, that intermin
able expanse where sea and sky are mingled and
lost, the one in the other ; while over all hangs the
vast dome of the Venetian heavens, resting upon the
i9S

196 In and Around Venice
Alpine summits on the one hand, on the long sea
level on the other. It is not in the beauty of its
parts that the Venetian plain excels ; its charm is
the charm of large spaces, and the plain should be
seen from some height, whence its entirety may be
grasped, if that charm is to be felt as it deserves to
be. But even in its details the plain has qualities
and a character of its own, though not those qualities
which the Teutonic taste may most enjoy. It lacks
the spontaneity, the naturalness of an English land
scape. Its character is formal and artificial ; its fields
are square, they have no promontories of coppice, no
unexpected bays of grass land stretching into the
heart of the woods. Its roads are straight and rigidly
bordered with poplar trees ; its streams are banked,
and look too like canals. But the ditches which
fringe the long straight roads are rich and brimming
with flowers and water-weeds ; if you stop to look at
them their abundance tangles you. The roads and
their borders remind one of a Renaissance pilaster,
where all the artist's skill has been lavished on the
adornment of a basis that is in itself severe and cold.
On the other hand, there is something structural in
the decorations of an English landscape — the wind
ings of the road, the interrupting brooks, the richness
and variety of the foliage ; these are, in fact, the
landscape, the structure and the adornment both in
one. In short, if we may pursue the simile of the
arts, the landscape of England is Gothic, the land-

Country Outings 197
scape of the Venetian plain is Renaissance in char
acter. The Italians are a town-loving people. But they
have always taken a great delight in making parties
to spend a day or two in the country. These country
expeditions form a sort of conventional setting for
many Italian novels. The Venetian people share the
general taste ; and besides their supper parties, the
other great amusement of the gondoliers and their
friends is a day's expedition into the country. Many
of the Venetians take the keenest delight in the fields
and trees and long expanses of greenery. Green is
the one colour which is rare in their native landscape ;
and its habitual absence renders Venetian eyes pecu
liarly sensitive to its charm ; they take a physical
pleasure in the verdurous richness of the plain. Not
that they explain the matter thus, but they show
their condition plainly enough by their constant ex
clamations of " bei boschi" or " 0 che bel pra." The
other point of interest which they find in these
country voyages is the custom of the towns they
visit. Being themselves rigid observers of the cos
tume Veneziano, they are acutely aware of all the
infinitesimal varieties of habit whereby one Italian
town distinguishes itself from its neighbours, and
assures itself of its own individuality. The Venetian
plain is full of ancient cities, beautiful in them
selves and interesting for their customs, the quality
of their wine or their manner of making bread ;

198 In and Around Venice
and so the choice is a wide one. It may be Este,
Monselice, Vicenza, or even Verona, to the west,
Castelfranco, Bassano Schio, Pordenone, Udine, to
the north and east.
These expeditions are expensive, and the Venetians
spend freely when about them ; their open-handed-
ness limits the number of times that they can afford
a day in the country, which is, at most, twice a year.
The season chosen is spring or autumn ; and the
occasion is either the winding-up of a gondoliers'
bank or else the meeting of one of those clubs called
Marit' e Moglie, a society of friends and their wives,
formed especially for these expeditions. The com
pany chooses a head ; and he arranges the day and
the place, in accordance with the amount of money
at his disposal. They are sure of a welcome wher
ever they go ; for the Venetians make themselves
popular on the mainland ; and their advent, and
noise, and songs are a pleasant break on the mono
tony of many a quiet village of the plain. But even
if their welcome were not a ready one, they would
take care to secure punctual and submissive attention.
They are prompt to stand upon their dignity at a
moment's notice and give themselves abundant airs ;
one would almost suppose that they remembered the
fact that all these cities at one time owned the sway
of Venice. It is a perilous thing for a landlord to
show them less than the greatest attention. I re
member once at Castelfranco a fair was going on in

Country Outings 199
the market-place ; the landlord of the " Spada " let
his best room to a company of Venetian gondoliers,
but let the balcony to another party and forgot to
mention the fact, which only transpired when supper
was on the table. The whole party walked out
of the house and over the way to the rival inn,
leaving the landlord to do what he chose with a
supper for fourteen thrown upon his hands. The
gondoliers have a great capacity for finding out
where the best food and wine is to be got ; and
travelling about among these small villages and out-
of-the-way towns one cannot do better than go where
they go. When the party arrives at their inn, the
capo sends for the landlord, and orders supper, which,
of course, is regulated by costume, manzo, rice and
chicken being the invariable rule. He also tastes
and chooses the wine, seals up a small bottleful, and
puts it in his pocket. This sample bottle is placed
on the table at supper-time, and referred to if -the
landlord is suspected of changing the quality as the
feast goes on.
Too often, it must be confessed, time hangs heavily
on the party, and spirits are apt to run low. But
supper, the climax of the day, comes to pick them
up again ; and after supper songs and a dance ; and
then the scramble to catch the last train, which takes
the party back to Venice somewhere about midnight.

A COUNTRY GENTLEMAN
THE point of most vital importance to a gondo
lier in the establishment of his business is to
find a permanent master. The traghetto is no longer
so fruitful a source of gain as it used to be. The
iron bridges and the steamboats have depreciated its
paying power. The old proverb of the gondoliers,
" II traghetto e un buon padrone, pero bisogna servirlo
bene," no longer applies ; with the very best service
possible, the paron traghetto cannot be calculated to
pay, on an average, more than two and a half to
three lire a day. It is therefore of every importance
to .find a permanent paron, whose wages will be
higher, and not fluctuating. And success or failure
in the profession of gondolier depends upon the
ability or inability to find such a paron.
There are two classes of padroni in the market —
the native and the foreign. The native will be
secured by recommendation and interest ; the foreign
must be fished for at the hotels or on the piazzetta.
Of the two, a gondolier will probably tell you that
he prefers a foreign master, though the reasons which
govern him are not entirely sound. The foreigner, it
200

A Country Gentleman 201
is true, will pay him more for his work ; he will prob
ably not possess a gondola of his own ; and in
making the bargain will very likely agree for the full
tariff of five lire a day. Whereas a native would be
certain to bargain down to three and a half or four
lire, at the most, even supposing that he does not
possess his own gondola, which he is nearly certain
to do ; and in that case the gondolier could not look
for more than two or two and a half lire a day for
his service. With a foreign master the gondolier will
very likely get more of his own way, will be in a
position of greater confidence, for he knows the town,
while his master does not ; and this, of course, leaves
a large amount of patronage in his hands, which his
neighbours are not slow to bid for, thereby increasing
his social importance. Whereas, in the house of a
native master, the work will be much harder, later
hours at night, larger entrance halls to clean, more
boats to look after, and all the internal economy of
the house quite beyond his reach, in the hands of a
major-domo. But the native master is more per
manent than the foreigner, and infinitely more power
ful in Venice. If he chooses he can do much for the
interest of his servants.
The foreigner has the repute of spoiling his
servants for native service. However that may be,
the foreigner need not spoil them for himself. He
will probably find them admirable for his purpose,
saving him an infinity of small trouble, and repaying

202 In and Around Venice
confidence with honesty. They appreciate thoroughly,
and generally without abusing it, the freedom and
carelessness with which foreigners are apt to live in
Venice ; induced to do so by the lazy charm of the
place itself, and partly, also, because they find them
selves in holiday humour, having thrown aside the
trammels and boredom of their own households at
home. The gondolier will probably know too much
about his native master, who is living in his native
place, with all his relations close about him, his busi
ness to do, and his position to maintain. There is a
very bitter proverb, " Pompa di servitu miseria in-
segna," which sums up the price both servant and
master have to pay for supporting that outward
pomp, which is no obligation upon a stranger in a
strange land, but which most of the Italian nobility
consider as incumbent upon their position.
If the gondolier does fall to a native padrone, he
greatly prefers a Venetian nobleman for his master.
It is remarkable how well these men are acquainted
with the relative antiquity of their noble houses.
They respond deep down in their consciousness to
the historic names of Zustinian, Morosini, Contarini,
Gradenigo, Grimani, Memmo, or Soranzo; and are
fully alive to the parvenu nobility of others. But
though a large number of the ancient houses are still
represented, far many more than is generally sup
posed, yet their glory has departed, and it is possible
to count on one's fingers the great families that still

A Country Gentleman 203
survive with any semblance of their ancient splen
dour. The earliest nobility of Venice were the twenty-
four families who, before the year 697, ruled as tri
bunes over the twelve islands that formed the Con
federation of the Venetian lagoons. These twenty-
four families constituted the basis and origin of
Venetian nobility. Some of these ancient houses
are still represented. But it was not till the close
of the thirteenth century, in the year 1296, that the
Venetian aristocracy took the rigid and definite form
under which it is best known. At that date many
families which were not noble had acquired import
ance in the commonwealth through their riches, and
had won for themselves a chief place in the manage
ment of the State. These determined to close the
doors of office against all new-comers, and to estab
lish themselves as sole and permanent rulers of
Venice. This they did by a decree which provided
that those who then sat in the Great Council, or who
could prove that a paternal ancestor had at one time
sat, should alone be eligible in future as members of
that Council. As all the principal offices of state
were filled from among the councillors, this act
created a close oligarchy and gave the new and self-
ennobled aristocracy a monopoly of government.
The Great Council thus became the basis of the
Venetian nobility ; the only title of a Venetian
grandee was " Nobile del nostro Maggior Consiglio."

204 In and Around Venice
But, although they were forced to bend before the
new aristocracy, the twenty-four ancient and noble
families still maintained the distinction of their
ancestry. They called themselves the " Old Houses,"
to mark the difference between them and the more
recent nobility; they formed, as it were, a caste
inside the aristocracy.
The moment the noble order was thus closed,
admission to its ranks became an object of desire to
those who were left outside. When the State was in
difficulties, the government could hold out no stronger
bribe to induce the citizens to make an effort than
the promise to ennoble those families which should
be most distinguished by their zeal. But such addi
tions to the patriciate were of rare occurrence, and
only happened thrice, in any great numbers. For
the most part, admission to the order of Venetian
nobility was reserved as a compliment to be bestowed
on foreign princes or distinguished generals.
The Venetian aristocracy guarded their privilege
most jealously. And, to secure the perfect purity
and legitimacy of their blood, they established a
register in which the nobles were bound to inscribe
the names of all their sons born in wedlock. This
register, the origin of the Libro d' Oro, was placed
under the charge of three officials, the "Advocates of
State," who thus became a kind of Heralds' College.
As may well be imagined, some noble families which
had sunk in the world, either through poverty or

A Country Gentleman 205
other causes, failed to comply with this regulation.
Their descendants frequently found it a matter of
difficulty to establish their nobility, and their title to
a seat in the Great Council. The most ready way
of doing so, was to prove direct descent in the male
line from someone whose name appeared on the
rolls as a member of the Council. But, failing this,
two other methods of proving nobility were allowed.
A law of the Republic, dating from the beginning of
the fourteenth century, required all nobles to keep
weapons, both of offence and defence, ready in their
houses, either attached to the doors or hung upon the
walls of the entrance hall. A visitation of these
arms was made once a year. The people were
strictly forbidden to possess weapons ; therefore any
one who could prove that an ancestor had main
tained arms in his house was held to have established
his nobility. The second method was by demon
strating that an ancestor had paid all the special
government taxes levied upon that noble house
whose name the petitioner claimed.
The Advocates of State seem to have grown care
less in the discharge of their duties, and, in the year
1506, the Council of Ten issued an order setting
forth the necessity for purifying the noble blood.
For this purpose a new arrangement of the registers
was commenced, and here begins the Libro d' Oro
which at the present moment exists in the archives
of Venice. It contains no reference to the origin

206 In and Around Venice
of families, no pedigrees, no blazons, and it is not of
a very early date. It consists solely of two series
of certificates — those of the legitimate births, and
those of the marriages which took place in every
noble Venetian house. The certificates bear the
attestations of the three Advocates of State; they
are written chiefly on parchment and bound in a
number of volumes. These volumes run from the
beginning of the sixteenth century down to the fall of
the Republic ; and for that period they are complete
and authoritative. But there is nothing antique nor
splendid about the books themselves, nor do they
contain any references to remote antiquity. Such
references were not necessary at the period when this
series of documents was begun, because the more
ancient registers, titles, and pedigrees were then in
existence. They have all disappeared now ; and it is
conjectured that they were burned, at the foot of the
Tree of Liberty, on the Piazza of St. Mark in the
year 1797, just before the Napoleonic storm burst
over Venice. It is not to the Libro d' Oro of to-day
that we must look for the early history or traditions
of the Venetian nobility. The principal sources to
which we are obliged to turn are the genealogical
works compiled before 1797, and based, we may hope,
upon the State papers which were then destroyed.
Among these, the names of three authorities stand
out with special lustre — Marco Barbaro, the author of
The Origin and Descent of the Patrician Families,

A Country Gentleman 207
Girolamo Priuli, and Alessandro Capellari, compiler
of The Venetian Capitol, wherein you have the A rms,
the Origin, the series of Illustrious Gentlemen, Native
and Foreign. The works of these writers might
with justice be called the Libri d' Oro of Venetian
nobility. The noble families which still survive the ruin of
the last century have, many of them, and the best of
them, come to regard Venice as a place for a few
months' sojourn. They go there for the amusements
of society ; but their heart and their business is no
longer there. They have, in many cases, adopted
a country life, owning property on the mainland, and
devoting all their great and hereditary capacity for
commerce, to the rearing of cattle, the growth of
crops, the making of wine. They are interested
in experiments in silk growing, or ensilage ; and
spend their money freely on model farmsteads. The
Government encourages the movement by offering
agricultural prizes ; and the economy of these Vene
tian farms is admirable. But Venice itself suffers
somewhat. The nobles no longer centre there ; they
shrink from supporting commercial ventures; and the
wealth and traffic of the city are passing into the
hands of Jews.
The best of the Venetian noblemen have carried
the strong sense and activity of their race into the
country. It is a pleasure to see them there. The
portrait of the ideal nobleman of to-day is a finer

208 In and Around Venice
picture than those of his senatorial ancestors in
crimson robes, that look at you with heavy, sensuous
faces out of Titian's and Tintoretto's canvases. There
is the same haughtiness, it is true, arid boundless self-
esteem ; the same practical power, and hardness of
wit; the same unbending, masterful temper; the
softness and geniality of life are absent in both ; but
the habit and character of the modern is healthier,
sounder, more charged with open air, than the habit
and character of his elder ancestor.
The count of our fancy, let us say, is a tall man
with grizzled hair and keen eyes and a rapid manner.
For choice he uses the pure Venetian dialect, and
affects a rough exterior. He is married to a lady of
very ancient nobility, and has no children. He owns
a palace on the Grand Canal ; a large house built
round a courtyard, kept scrupulously clean. The
various floors are let to other families; the count
himself reserves the top story, and lives there when
he comes to Venice. That is seldom, for he hates
the town, and all his heart is in his country-place
among the spurs of the Alps. His Venetian palace
is chiefly interesting to him for the constant repairs,
alterations, and improvements of which it is suscepti
ble ; here a drain, there a window ; here a fresh coat
of plaster, or there a new magazine. He is always
doing something to it, inside or out. It is a testi
mony to the excellent architecture of the Venetian
houses that the whole palace has not come down with

A Country Gentleman 209
a run. The count comes to Venice for two months
in the winter, chiefly per pacificare la contessa. He
gives one or two large, entertainments, and, on the
slightest pretext, escapes again to the country. When
he is away the contessa lives in the back rooms ;
to the front, overlooking the canal, all the outside
shutters are closed, and the solitary little lamp, that
ought to light the vast entrance, is never lit, for the
contessa is not supposed to go out ; she may bargain
for fish inside her own courtyard e po basta. The
whole place looks silent and dead. The count's loud
voice was the only thing that gave it life, as he
tramped through the court on his way to early Mass,
wrapped in his huge rough mantle.
Should business, however — say the purchase of
wine — take one to the count's country-place, the
matter is very different. A smart carriage and pair of
iron-grey ponies are at the station, with an alert and
friendly coachman, bred on the place — the count
rears everything himself. The ponies are excellent
goers, and consume the long white road that leads
from the station on the plain to the first undulations
of the hills. All the way the coachman points out
the palazzo of Count this, or the castle of Marchese
that. For this man, the count, his padrone, his deeds
and his belongings, serve as a measuring-rod by
which he judges the world. That large white, half-
castellated building on the hill, belongs to an ancient
feudal family, and on their dining-room wall are traced,
p

210 In and Around Venice
in ominous red, the words, " Hostium cruore." As
the road reaches the hills, the oak and acacia woods
close round. The whole country is broken into dells
and dingles, full of flowers, with here and there a
clearing for a vineyard. The wine of the colli
is famous; but the cost of reclaiming and planting
the hillside raises the price somewhat above the
ordinary. The count's country palace is a large square block
of building, plain and white, standing in the middle
of a small village, near the Municipio, near the market
place, near the mill upon the torrent. A large arched
carriage-way, closed by great doors at the further
end, leads into the courtyard of the house. Round
this archway all the loafers of the town are gathered,
lazily watching the haggling for yards of cotton, for
gay handkerchiefs, for figs and melons, that is going
on at the market stalls. The countess watches the
same from her window on the third floor. Inside
the courtyard, which is long and narrow, is a detached
building, from which comes a buzz and a whirring
of wheels, and a horrible heavy smell. This is the
count's filanda, or silk-mill, where the thread is wound
off the cocoons. The count's achievement, a coat
noble in Venetian history, is painted above the
door. Presently the big gates fly open again ; in rattles
the count, with his strong country carriage and stout
cob. He has been out and about his farms since five

A Country Gentleman 2 1 1
o'clock in the morning. " Ciao ! bon di," he cries, as he
drives right up to the stable door. Then he shouts for
his servants ; out runs the groom, down comes his
man with a pair of shoes in his hand. The count
pulls off one heavy topboot, his valet the other ; and
all the while the groom is taking the horse out of the
shafts ; and if the boot-changing is not finished in
time the count and his boots and his valet will all
be wheeled away to the place where the carriage is
washed ; for everyone is in a hurry here, and the count
grudges a moment's time. His servants are as quick
as himself, and the groom is buzzing and hissing
round the carriage wheels before his master has
reached the door of his back stair, which he uses
by preference. There is a grand staircase, but it is all
dark, the doors fastened, the shutters closed. There
are many swinging doors on the back stair, and each
one has a bell, so that no one can come in unan
nounced. Most of the rooms in the palace are locked,
and the count keeps the master-key. His own study
is locked, but he opens the door and shows one into
the room where all his business is done, and where
he plunges into terms for the wine without a moment's
delay. It is a bare room, with a plain wooden table,
three plain chairs, and a sofa-bed, a map of the Black
Sea, and two birds in cages. He is a true Venetian
— birds are his only pets. Behind the table are rows
of ledgers, silk accounts, wine accounts/farm accounts;
There are many windows to the room, and the owner

212 In and Around Venice
can observe all that goes on in the market-place or
in his own courtyard.
Nothing pleases the count more than to take a
visitor round his yard. Down in the cellar you will
see the wine being pressed, and may drink the pure
juice as it runs out fresh and sweet from the bottom
of the vat ; or may watch the last drops of liquid
wrung from the vine stalks and skins — the vinaccio,
as it is called — which remain when the wine has been
drawn off, arid from which they manufacture spirits.
Above the cellars are the corn-lofts, carpeted with
yellow maize, and next door the joiner's shop ; then
come the ox stable, the horse stable, the byres and
the filanda. " A useful charity," the count calls this
latter, as he walks his guest down the long rows
of women, sitting each in front of her trough of hot
water, in which the golden silk cocoons are dancing
about. The count will delight to take you round his
farms, and show off the steading for which he won
the government prize, or the vines that make the
wine you have bought. There is a small hill, or rising
ground, about two miles off, beautifully wooded, with
natural oak coppice and rock breaking out now and
again. This is the apple of the count's eye. It is
about one hundred and fifty acres in extent, and he
has enclosed it all within a stone wall, built gates
that are always carefully locked and chained, and
driven roads through it in all directions. Part of

A Country Gentleman 213
the rough hillside he has taken into his vineyard ;
part he has left in its natural wild beauty.
Up at the contadino's house, on the brow of the
hill, the view is superb ; the Alps on one side, the
great Venetian plain upon the other. You may
wonder why the count does not live up here ; but he
will tell you that the noise and bustle of the little
market-place are essential to him ; here he would
die. Meantime, the groom has been sent to fetch
the contadino, who is to catch it for leaving a gate
unlocked. By the time he arrives, the count is ready
to start ; and away he goes, trotting down hill, the
peasant with bare feet and bare-headed trotting
alongside, trying in vain to defend himself from the
torrent that is falling on his head. You imagine the
count in a rage, so quick and fierce is his manner and
tone ; but in the eye nearest his guest there lurks
a twinkle, and he lays his hand on your knee to show
that his bark is worse than his bite. The row goes
on till the contadino drops behind in sheer breathless-
ness, and the last we see of him is standing in the
middle of the road, three quarters laughing and one
quarter in tears.
The count whisks back to his palace. Off come
the boots once more. The carriage is washed for
the third time that day. Up into the study ; down
with the ledgers ; in come the secretary and fattore ;
and they are all deep in addition, the count running
two fingers up the column, and talking incessantly to

214 In and Around Venice
himself. If the secretary ventures a word, " Tasi ! "
cries the count. Then with a loud " Finito ! " the
ledger is shut-to and thrust into its place. The
secretary retires with a half-amused look, and the
count leans back in his chair. If one wishes to
flatter him, one says, " Un po d' affare," and he replies,
" Oh ! per carita. ! cosa vuole, caro signore ? pazienza ;
qualche piccola cosa."
The count dines at twelve o'clock. As the hour
approaches he shouts to his man, "In tavola?" and
the answer comes back, " Siorsi." Up jumps the
count and into the dining-room, a huge gaunt room,
cold and bare. He walks to the table and begins
ladling out the minestra. There is a scrabbling noise
upon the upper floor, a rush and roar upon the
stairs, loud voices and laughter, and in tumble the
countess and her niece. They give one the feeling
of having been locked up all the morning, and only
let out to feed. The ladies do all the talking, till the
count's birds begin to sing in his study, when they
are pulled up short by a brief " Tasi, cara ! " from
the count, and they have to sit still and listen.

CASTELFRANCO
CASTELFRANCO, as its name implies, was
a castle before it. became a town. It lies in
the middle of the Venetian plain, about twelve miles
west of Treviso, and fifteen miles north of Padua.
The castle was built in the year 1199, by the Trevi-
sans, as an outpost against their neighbours of Padua,
and also as a curb upon the powerful family of Cam-
posampiero. The castle is a large square, with high
brick walls and four towers at the four corners, and
three gateways, battlemented and grooved for port
cullises. The colony of Trevisans who first settled
there lived entirely inside the castle, and pledged
themselves to maintain two hundred horse for the
defence of the frontier. In return for this service
they were exempt from certain taxes, and therefore
called their dwelling Free Castle. The fighting days
of Castelfranco came to an end in 1329, when the
city passed into the possession of Venice ; and its
peace remained unbroken till the wars of the League
of Cambray, when the Emperor Maximilian ordered
the destruction of the town. Castelfranco was saved
from this doom by the eloquence of one of its citizens.
215

216 In and Around Venice
Modern Castelfranco has burst through its ancient
walls ; they are fallen and ruinous in many places.
The old city stands like a square fortalice in the
middle of a large piazza which surrounds it. Inside
the walls the city is dead and silent ; it seems as if
none but ghosts inhabit there. Outside, in the
square, there is all the bustle and rattle of a market
place ; farmers whisking about in their light country
carts ; heavy cattle plodding stupidly along and
thrusting their big bodies under the horses' heads ;
hawkers crying their wares. The castle is separated
from the market-place by a moat, and on the further
side green banks, planted with fir trees, slope up from
the water to the walls. On the still surface of the
moat, the white crests of the distant Alps are re
flected ; their outline unbroken by a single ripple.
Almost all the houses of the newer town have once
been frescoed ; and the crumbling plaster still retains
some patches of brilliant colour ; here a wreath of
fruit and.flowers, there the muscular form of Hercules
raising Antaeus from the earth.
To escape from the noise and bustle of the market
place, one has only to pass under the old gateway,
where St. Mark's lion still keeps guard, and Pietro
Gradenigo's inscription testifies to Venetian rule.
Inside, all is quiet, as in some Oxford college garden.
The walls are hung with a deep mantle of ivy, and
terraced vineyards and banks of grass run up to
the foundations of the corner towers. At one ano-]e

Castelfranco 2 1 7
a large stone pine shows its rounded head, dark green
against the dull red brick. The old town is so small
that from one gate you can look through the other
out to the vista of country beyond.
Castelfranco possesses one famous citizen. It
claims to be the birthplace of Giorgione. And
whether that great painter was born there, or at
Vedelago hard by, it is certain that he called himself
" Zorzon del Castelfranco." The town has raised a
statue to his honour. It stands outside the walls, at
an angle of the moat ; a handsome lad, in doublet
and hose, with collar thrown open and masses of hair
falling over his shoulders ; he holds a pencil in one
hand, and a sketching-block in the other. At his feet
is the quiet water, and, for a background, the green
banks and broken wall. It seems fitting that this
florid youth should have been the earliest master of
the gorgeous epoch in the history of Venetian art ;
and Castelfranco is justly proud of him. Though
critical investigation has steadily reduced the number
of genuine pictures by Giorgione, yet one undoubted
work by him still hangs in the cathedral of his native
town — a beautiful picture in spite of the retouchings
from which it has suffered. It is a votive piece, and
was ordered by a certain Tuzio Costanzi, whose arms
appear on the canvas, in memory of his son Matteo,
a young condottiere who died at Ravenna ; and the
saint in armour, San Liberale, who stands at the foot
of the Madonna's throne, refers to the profession of

218 In and Around Venice
arms which Matteo followed. It is not improbable
that the model for this splendid young warrior was
Giorgione himself, and beyond all doubt the little
study in the National Gallery is a sketch made for
this picture. There are the same large brown hands ;
the same elaborate armour and undercoat of mail,
painted link by link. But the landscape which
appears over the crimson-draped wall and behind the
Madonna's throne, is as lovely as anything in the
picture. Trees, hills, lawns, and lake lie peaceful in
the dewy air ; the atmosphere has the softness,
freshness, and lucidity of a spring morning on the
Lombard plains. One almost hears the birds begin
ning their song. There is nothing of Venice in the
scene, nor anything of the Venetian manner in the
work ; no shimmering of light and colour as in
Tintoretto's pictures ; all the landscape and the
figures are solid and clear, yet wonderfully airy. The
whole comes nearer to the manner of Boccaccino da
Cremona than to that of any Venetian painter. It
is the picture of the dayspring on the plain of Italy,
painted with the passion of a man who loved the
country. If this be Giorgione's work, it is hard to
believe that the same hand painted " The Concert "
in the Pitti Palace at Florence. There is no trace of
spiritual commotion in this picture; it is calm and
happy, the work of a young man whose art and
whose love as yet go hand in hand, whose mistresses
have not yet demanded a choice. The beautiful

Castelfranco 2 1 9
Madonna is the portrait of that Cecilia whose name
he scribbled on the back of the canvas by way of
signature — " Cara Cecilia
Vieni, t'affretta !
II tuo t'aspetta, Giorgio."
After the Giorgione and the old walls there is not
much else to see in Castelfranco. It was a cold, still,
frosty evening as we drove to Bassano. Every
branch and twig upon the trees stood out in sharp
relief, etched in black upon the after-light of a winter
sunset. The ditches by the roadside were frozen,
hard, and the children were tobogganing upon them
as best they could without the help of a hill. The
pale yellow glow lingered on into the night, and the
cold wind blew keener as we drew near the moun
tains. At the crossing of two roads, far away from
any house, a girl was hanging a lamp before a
wayside shrine.

BASSANO
BASSANO lies at the mouth of one of the great
gates of Italy, where the gorge of Valsugana
opens upon the plain, and leaves a space between the
torrent and its rocky walls just wide enough to
admit the carriage road which leads to Trent and the
Tyrol. Bassano was once an important place, thanks
to its position on this main route between Italy and
Germany ; but now the railway takes the traveller
round by Verona to Bozen, and there are few who
make the beautiful journey from Bassano by Valsu
gana to Trent. Bassano is a lovely place, rich in
the features of the Italian Alps. The mountains
rise close behind the town ; wooded at their base,
but clothed in sweeps of pasture on their upper
heights, where the cloud shadows float, seeming to
lose themselves in the gullies for a while, then
streaming out again along the green hillside. These
pastures are traversed by mountain paths that lead
to small white houses, dotted like pilgrimage chapels
among the Alps. From these highland paths there
is an endless view over the Venetian plain, vast and

Bassano 221
hazy and silent, reaching on and on to Venice and
the sea. The town of Bassano stands upon rising
ground, and the Brenta flows through the middle of
the town ; on either side are houses, perched high
above the river, with gardens and balconies that
overhang the water. Acacia trees sweep their
showery sprays towards the torrent; and roses, in
trails and tangles, droop from every wall — roses of
every hue, deep red, dusky crimson, pale pink, or
creamy white. Bassano is a perfect gulistan, a
garden of roses whose perfume is scattered abroad
by the current of air the foaming Brenta makes.
The name of Bassano recalls two famous families
— the Ezzelini da Romano, cruel and terrible tyrants,
whose bloodstained career was run and ended in the
thirteenth century ; and the family of Daponte, better
known by their name of Bassano, painters every one
of them for a whole century, father, son, four grand
sons, nephews, and brothers-in-law. The Ezzelini
were feudal lords of Romano, a small village about
four miles north-east of Bassano. The site of their
castle is marked by a tower, which is visible from
Bassano and far across the plain. In face of the
castle is a dark and gloomy ravine, worn by a torrent
in the bare mountain-side, and filled with debris; a
fitting nest for such a brood. The Ezzelini soon
made themselves masters of neighbouring Bassano ;
and on the highest point of the town, nearest to the
Alps, stands their keep, built to overawe the citizens.

222 In and Around Venice
The fortress, with its two red-brick towers, bastions,
and flanking walls, is falling into ruin now ; and only
a small corner of it still serves as the episcopal
palace. Time has clothed its sternness and its
strength in a clinging mantle of ivy, rich and
luxuriantly deep, that curves and sways in every
breath of wind. From this high burgh, or castle,
walls sweep away, enclosing the town all round.
Below, the country lies spread out in teeming cultiva
tion ; fruit trees, olive groves, and vineyards ; white
oxen ploughing the orchards ; the whole land rolling
higher and higher up towards the Alps.
The Ezzelini have left their impress on the
structure of Bassano, and the Daponte family their
mark upon its walls. Many of the house fronts are
covered with crumbling frescoes — scriptural subjects,
or flowers and fruit — rich and warm in colour ; bright
patches of red or yellow, and then blank spaces sadly
showing the brick. In a few years more these
frescoed fronts will have ceased to be, and half the
colour will have gone out of Bassano. As far as one
can judge them now in their mouldering condition,
they never could have been of fine workmanship.
The Dapontes and their pupils were accustomed to
work rapidly, receiving orders for pictures and frescoes
much in the same way as a modern furnisher receives
orders for chairs and wall papers. Their scenes from
country life, homely pastorals, or Bassanese interiors,
glowing with pitchers of polished bronze, used to

Bassano

223

fill the stalls at many a country fair. As for easel
pictures, the whole company contented itself with
reproducing the work of its most famous member,
Jacopo Bassano ; but the larger part of their goods
were made to suit a peasant market; and some of
their pictures may yet be found in contadini's or
priests' houses on the North Venetian plain.
The country round Bassano is agricultural ; and
the contadini, here as everywhere, are deeply super
stitious. Every festa of the Church is religiously
observed, and the whole population of the district is
to be met with on such occasions ; some strolling
idly on the long white roads, others playing ball in
the square places before the churches. The girls
have their hair rolled back, bright-coloured handker
chiefs on their heads, and most beautiful pear-shaped
earrings of gold filigree work in their ears. These
earrings are a speciality of Bassano and its neigh
bourhood ; the shops are full of them, and a girl will
be sure to get a pair from the peasant lad who is
courting her. Side by side with the obvious respect
for the Catholic Calendar, there exists the remnant of
an older pagan worship, quite recognisable under its
modern Roman guise. In many trees, and especially
at the corners of the roads, little wooden shrjnes, with
the image of a saint or the Madonna, are nailed among
the branches ; and every festa fresh flowers are placed
in a tumbler before the shrine, and ribbons are twined
about it. The custom is a survival of tree-worship,

224 In and Around Venice
but it has lost all its ominous significance of human
sacrifice ; there is nothing now but what is sweet and
innocent in these tree shrines ; the ribbons are no
longer sacrificial fillets ; and the odour of flowers has
taken the place of blood.

MAROSTICA AND SCHIO
FROM Bassano to Schio there is a charming
walk of about fifteen miles, along the foot of
the Alps. The road leaves the town to the east, and
crosses the Brenta by the quaint old wooden bridge,
roofed and buttressed like the old bridge at Reich'enau
in Switzerland; it then skirts the mountains, winding
its way among the last spurs and undulations that
subside into the plain ; dipping here into a valley
with a torrent that makes all the air musical; there
climbing a slight ascent where the vines grow best,
turning their clusters to the sun. The road passes
several villages occupied by a peasant population —
a people who look as if they had been so long and
intimately acquainted with the earth that they had
absorbed some of its acquiescence and had accepted
the justice of its seasons ; the young men strong
and free, the elders calm and cheerful.
Among these villages there is one, Marostica, a
perfect gem, beautiful and complete. It stands now,
just as it has stood for the last five centuries ; a relic
of that period when the small feudal lords en
deavoured to master their neighbouring communes,
Q 225

226 In and Around Venice
and when each little township sought to be inde
pendent and self-sustaining. One comes upon
Marostica rather by surprise, round a bend of the
road. It lies nestled into a fold of the hills; all its
walls and battlements are perfect ; its gates and
towers untouched. The place is built in a square,
like Castelfranco and other walled villages of the
Venetian plain. From its northern end walls are
flung out, and run up the steep hillside against
which Marostica leans. They pass along the upper
crest of the hill and enclose a large space of garden
land, which was intended to supply the town in case
of siege, while these outlying walls rendered it
impregnable from above. There is not a single
house beyond the gates ; for Marostica has not
broken through its ancient walls, as is the case with
Castelfranco, but is as completely fortified as ever it
was five hundred years ago.
Passing under the archway, with its portcullis
slide, the street leads presently to the piazza. At
one end stands an old castle surrounded by a moat,
dry and filled with grass-grown earth. This castle,
or Palazzo Publico, is not unlike the great feudal
keep of Ferrara, in miniature. St. Mark's lion is
carved grimly gardant above the entrance ; and in
front on the piazza are the inevitable stone sockets
for the Venetian masts, which are found in every city
that has known Venetian rule. The colour of the
castle fills the eye, and gives point to the piazza ; it

THE WALLS OF MAROSTICA

Marostica and Schio 229
is the most striking thing about Marostica. The
whole square mass is painted in the key of red, but
red of four or five different hues, toning away from
crimson to purple where the paint and plaster are
most ancient and weather-stained. Indeed, both for
structure and for colour, the castle of Marostica is
one of the most surprising buildings to be found in
Venetian territory. But Marostica has yet another
attraction besides its native beauty and its Palazzo
Publico : it possesses an excellent wine. The vintage
of the hill-slopes is the best to be found in the
Veneto, and that of Marostica, at the moderate price
of fifty centesimi a litre, has a piquant flavour that is
all its own.
After leaving Marostica the road continues for ten
miles along the hillside till it reaches Thiene with its
castle, now belonging to the Counts Colleoni. Thence
the road turns due north, and makes towards Schio
through a valley that narrows slowly as it nears the
Alps. Schio is a lovely place, lying embraced by the
mountains, just where two gorges open upon the
plain, and the road from Roveredo enters on Italy.
The twin-peaked Monte Summano divides the gorges
from one another. The base of the mountains is
wooded with chestnut, but, above, they spring up into
bare dolomite-looking peaks, cold and grey like the
rocks behind Mentone. The air is fresh and pure,
and there is abundance of water everywhere bursting
out of the limestone strata. Schio possesses a double

230 In and Around Venice
interest ; one historical and antiquarian, the other
social and modern. The town claims to have been
the original fief of the great family of Scaligers, who
were lords of Verona and all the eastern plain
between 1282 and 1338, till the rising power of
Venice checked and broke their might. This claim
is more than doubtful ; but there can be no doubt
that from this little mountain village came the blessed
John of Schio, a thirteenth-century Savonarola whose
influence was supreme, for a while, in Padua, Vicenza,
and their districts. His end was hardly more for
tunate than that of the more famous Florentine.
His followers deserted him ; he was crushed by the
Ezzelini of Romano, and compelled to fly before
their tyranny. Modern Schio remembers neither the
Beato nor the Scaligers, nor shows a trace of either.
It is now the seat of the largest woollen factories in
the kingdom, the first enterprise of their kind under
taken in United Italy. Schio is given over to wool.
The mills, the houses of the mill hands, and the
palaces of the proprietors occupy the whole place.
This great industry was founded by the Rossi
family. As other mills sprang up and entered into
competition, the various proprietors believed it to
their advantage to unite. They formed one large
company, of which the Senator Rossi was the director
and the moving spirit. The people lead a quasi-
communistic life, and the business is conducted on
advanced principles. One cannot help being struck

Marostica and Schio 231
by the comfort and content of the population, their
cheerful looks, their esprit de corps, their pride in
Schio, and their evident sense of being properly based
in the world. The mills themselves stand in large
garden-like grounds, with plenty of space on all sides,
and are kept in perfect order and cleanliness. The
mills employ about five thousand hands ; and any
one who enters the business is made to feel that he
is an integral part of the concern, and, indirectly,
he shares in the profits. A baby born of two mill
hands is taken away almost at once to the nursing-
house, a large building standing in a garden by itself,
where a supply of nurses is always ready, as well
as a doctor and other appliances for rearing children.
The baby stays in the nursery till it is four or five
years old, while the mother returns to her work.
From the age of five till seven, the child plays in the
creche; and from seven until it is old enough to
enter the mills, it goes to the mill school, where, in
addition to the government curriculum, it learns the
craft of weaving. Besides being thus relieved of the
burden of a family, there are other advantages which
the hands enjoy. There are a pensioners' fund and
houses for those who are past work ; baths, a band
of music trained from among the hands, a theatre,
a company of actors, dancing-rooms and gardens,
all maintained by the director out of the profits of
the business.
The company have laid out a town of new houses,

232 In and Around Venice
each with a plot of land attached, large in proportion
to the size of the house. These houses vary in price
from eighty to four hundred pounds ; and any hand
may become the actual proprietor of one by paying
the value and an interest of four per cent, in annual
instalments, which run from ten to fifteen years, or
such term as may be agreed upon. This yearly
sum is deducted from the workman's wages. The
system is evidently popular, for every house is
occupied and the director is ready to build more.
The name of Rossi is of magical power in Schio ;
and not only in Schio but elsewhere in Italy. The
senator was the founder of a group of economists who
hold pronounced views on the labour question and
the workman's right to a share of the profits. At
Schio he was " the lord and owner '' of the place.
He restored the cathedral ; altered the piazza and
the main street ; built a new church ; raised a statue
of the ideal weaver in the middle of the new town ;
left little of ancient Schio remaining. But a visit to
the village is full of interest, partly for the sake of
its natural beauty, and partly because of the social
experiment which is in operation there.

SAN GIORGIO IN VALPOLICELLA
ABOUT ten miles north-west of Verona lies the
Ix. famous Valpolicella, famous to all lovers of the
Veneto as the home of its finest wine. You can reach
the district by carriage or by train from Verona.
Valpolicella is a conch of low hills curving away from
the Adige at Parona, and touching it again at Sant'
Ambrogio. The exposure is south-west, and the
country is sheltered from all northern or eastern winds
by the higher crests of Monte Lessini and Monte
Baldo. A veritable sun-trap, with sun-warmed soil
and gently-drained declivities, the little hills are rich
in vines and olive and orchard. The thriving villages,
Negrar, Fumane, St. Pietro Incariano, and Sant' Am
brogio, are named in the guide-books, and may be
found on most maps. But the real glory of Valpoli
cella, the gem in the coronet set above the banks of
the Adige, San Giorgio in Valpolicella, you will find
in neither guide nor map, unless it be the military
survey. San Giorgio sits perched on a high hill-slope ;
it is the highest of the villages in Valpolicella, and you
can see it from the train just by Somma Campagna,
on the Verona-Milan line. It lies so high, yet looks
233

234 In- and Around Venice
so near, that it has received the nickname of " inganna
poltron," or " dish the dawdler," and, indeed, from the
station of Gargagnago, on the Verona-Caprino tram
line, there is a considerable pull uphill till you reach
San Giorgio. But it is well worth the toil. The
carriage road winds in gentle curves round the south
west side of the hill, but there is a footpath leading up
a little valley by the side of a stream, which takes you
there quicker. As you rise the plain opens out below
you, the Adige cutting the rich loam land as it issues
from its narrow gorge by Rivoli, and the distant
towers of Custozza and Solferino, sharply defined
against the western sky, marking those famous battle
fields. The village is a village of stone-cutters, and
as you near it you catch the tinkling chip, chip, chip
of iron chisels on the resonant marble. This sound,
indeed, is the dominant sound in the village ; you
hear it wherever you go. From the little town itself
you command a network of intricate ravines running
up into the roots of Monte Lessini ; to the west are
the rapid slopes of Monte Baldo, then the stretch of
Garda, from Salo round by Desenzano, to the island
promontory of Sirmione ; further south the vast plain
of Lombardy and, on a clear day, the faintest sugges
tion of the Apennines. A dominant view and deli
cious air, for the mists of the plain seldom rise to San
Giorgio, and this, in part, accounts for the excellence
of the wine. The soil all round is a rich red ; it is
made from the detritus of the famous Verona marble,

San Giorgio in Valpolicella 235
brocatello di Verona, a breccia which varies in hue
from peach-pink to apricot, and is one of the dominant
factors in the decoration of church and palace through
out the Veneto. The marble quarries are hard by, a
gash of deeper red on the hillside across the ravine,
an easy walk from San Giorgio, and there you may
see the two kinds this mountain-side can yield — the
pale creamy marble, not unlike Istrian stone, and the
richer and more varied brocatello. Wine and marble
are the two great products of Valpolicella, and it is
remarkable how often one meets fine stone and
fine wine in excellent conjunction ; to match the
reciotto and brocatello of Valpolicella, we have the
refosco and Istrian stone of Orsera, the great quarries
of Marino and the wine of the Castelli Romani.
Reciotto is made from the pick of the gathering, the
small bunches with the finest berries. These are
carefully and separately laid out for ten or fifteen
days on straw matting, and turned now and again so
that the berries shall not be bruised by the weight of
the cluster. The wine pressed from these grapes, in
the first stage of becoming raisins, is, of course, sweet
and full-bodied. Its colour is splendid, a dark ruby,
with a touch of blue ; there is a nutty after-flavour
when the sweetness has passed from the palate. The
wine effervesces naturally, and throws up a beautiful
pink foam. Not everyone appreciates it, but it is a
vin sincero, unschuldig, and highly esteemed in its
native land, where it had best be drunk. Of course,

236 In and Around Venice
there is plenty of other wine made in Valpolicella, all
with the same excellent aromatic quality of flavour,
drier, lighter, less luscious than reciotto. The wine is
made in autumn, but the great selling time is about
the beginning of the year. Then the village is all
agog with the business. The flow of the crimson
flood from the great bins is a glorious feast of colour
— the crimson of a Titian or a Tintoret — while if, as
well may happen, snow be lying on the ground, the
blood-red splashes on the dazzling white make a con
trast that is almost blatant. At Epiphany a strange
and beautiful spectacle may be watched from San
Giorgio's height. About half-past six in the evening,
looking out across the lower valleys and the plain, you
will see here and there, on the crests of the hills and
in the hollows between them, little fires flaming
suddenly up into the misty air, then dying down
again as suddenly as they came, leaving behind them
only a dull red glow on the surrounding haze. On a
clear night they say you may count two hundred fires.
One village vies with another as to who shall make
the " brawest bleeze." A beautiful sight, though it
lasts but a short time.
But San Giorgio has another claim on the attention
— the church of St. George, the earliest existing
Lombard church in Italy, a monument of the highest
importance in the history of architecture. Among
the few remaining churches of what Rivoira calls the
pre-Lombard period, the period of their great King

SAN GIORGIO IN VALPOLICELLA

San Giorgio in Valpolicella 239
Luitprand, in the first half of the eighth century, San
Giorgio is the sole example to which we can ascribe
a certain date. Santa Maria delle Caccie at Pavia,
San Salvadore at Brescia,- Santa Teuteria at Verona,
San Pietro at Toscanella, Santa Maria in Valle at
Cividale, and the parish church of Arliano, near
Lucca, though their dates may be approximately
guessed, give us no certain ground for fixing them.
But in the museum at Verona we have two little
columns which formed part of the ciborium of San
Giorgio and bear a rudely-cut inscription. The
essential part of the inscription declares that this
ciborium was made by Master Ursus and his pupils,
Juvinterius and Juvianus, when Luitprand was reign
ing and the venerable Father Dominic was bishop.
Luitprand came to the throne in the year of Bishop
Dominic's death, which establishes the date as 712.
The ciborium was made for the church of St.
George, and certainly not before the church was
built; and thus we get 712 as the latest possible
date for the building, and establish the seniority of
San Giorgio among all the Lombard churches of
Italy. The church, as it at present stands, is about
one hundred feet long. Its eastern end has three
apses, and the nave and aisles are divided, first by
five pilasters, and then, towards the presbytery, by
three columns. The peculiarity of the west end is
that it has a single apse through which the main
door is pierced. This striking feature led Signor

240 In and Around Venice
Cattaneo to conjecture that the church as it stands
belongs to two periods — the eighth and the tenth
centuries. We have a fixed date for the original
church — 712. The triple -apsed east end is never
found in churches of that date, therefore Cattaneo
concludes that the apse of the west end was the choir
apse of the original church, built at a time when the
Lombards were still Arian, and adopted the western,
not the eastern, position for their altar. The present
east end, with its three apses and the nave as far as
the columns extend, form a later addition. The
beautiful campanile belongs to the twelfth century ;
so, too, the exquisite little cloister, a gem of later
Lombard style, with alternate single and double
columns at its eastern angle. The carving is rude
on the capitals, figures of beasts and of birds; but
the grouping of the columns, seen from any angle of
the cortile, is most effective. In the cloister near the
door leading into the church stands the rest of the
ciborium that fixes the date. The rough decoration
of crosses and patera has been cut by a blunt
triangle-chisel. As the church and cloister are now
a national monument, it may be hoped that some
day the horrible modern vaulting will be cleared out
of the church and the ciborium put together again
and restored to its proper place upon the high altar.

THE EUGANEAN HILLS
NEXT to the Alps, and perhaps even more
striking than they, the most important feature
in the distant view from the lagoons is that singular
group of cones that stand up towards the west beyond
Padua, the Euganean Hills. They are about thirty
miles away from the lagoon shore, yet on a still day
from the level of the water, by some trick of mirage,
it looks as though the lagoon ran right up into their
roots. In summer the dark cones make a sharp
silhouette against the golden light of sunset, and in
winter the sun goes down just in a nick in the hills.
A strange, attractive land, inviting one to explore, yet
seldom visited. The great main roads skirt the
group to east and west ; and the train from Padua to
Bologna just skims its eastern edge at the stations of
Monte Grotto, Battaglia, Monselice.
The Euganeans are an isolated group of volcanic
cones, thrust through the alluvial soil of the plain by
some portentous upheaval. The hills are of no great
height — Venda, the highest, is only one thousand eight
hundred feet above the sea ; nor does the group cover
a large tract of ground. But their sharp slope, their
R 241

242 In and Around Venice
abrupt upspringing from the plain, the intricate net
work of valleys, the smoking springs of Abano (hot
enough to boil an egg !), the macquis on their shoulders,
and the varied flora, all combine to make them sin
gularly attractive. The Euganean group has always
been a land of strange happenings : the rumour of
their volcanic origin lives on in the myth of Phaeton
hurled into the Po hard by, the tears of his sisters,
the Heliades, turned to amber, and they themselves to
poplars by the river bank ; Geryon, the oracular, dwelt
here at Monte Grotto ; the original race that peopled
the hills and valleys, the Euganei, are still a crux to
ethnographers ; that great magician of the Middle
Ages, Pietro d' Abano, was born at their feet; and it
was only the middle of the last century that saw brig
andage stamped out by the drum-head justice of the
military governor. Even now in some of the cottages
you may see, leaning in a kitchen corner, an enor
mous heavy flint-lock gun, with a huge trumpet-
shaped mouth — the trombetta, without which no
brigand took to the hills.
But now the country is quiet enough, and excellent
roads lead into it ; the little villages are favourite jaunt
ing places for the people from Padua. A splendid
avenue, lined with fine plane trees, leaves the Porta
San Giovanni, and brings you, after about nine miles,
to the first of the isolated cones that form the out
works of the Euganean group, Monte Rosso. Between
this hill and Monte Lonzina lies the great Benedictine

The Euganean Hills 243
monastery of Praglia. As you turn out of the main
road sharp to the left, in front of you rises a vast
grey building, completely blocking the way. The
church is on the left, and is reached by a broad flight
of steps. It was designed by Tullio Lombardo,
though the incorrect facade might raise a doubt.
Inside, however, such doubts vanish. It is a noble
building, harmonious in proportions, quiet, almost
severe, in the authentic manner of the great master.
Little now remains of its ancient adornments; most
has been pillaged, swept away to the museum at
Padua, or the antiquity shops of Venice ; two pictures
by Varottari, a master who felt what Mr. Berenson
aptly calls " the tonic value of the nude," is all that
survives. In one of them is a glowing head of a
young saint that makes one long to take him out of
that cold place ; and I daresay it might be done for
some few lire. The monastery buildings are very
fine : spacious cloisters, a hanging cortile, surrounded
by a double ambulatory, outside for summer, inside for
winter, vast refectory and library, lavabos in Istrian
stone, with a handsome pattern of intarsia work in
lead. But all has been desecrated, devastated by
regiment after regiment of soldiery, who used the
place as barracks. A small part has now been restored
to the monks, who are making pathetically inadequate
efforts to clean the cells, to obliterate grafitti, to refit
the windows, to wrestle with the rude destruction
wrought by the military. The hill-slopes above the

244 1° and Around Venice
abbey still bear signs of the careful cultivation by
the monks, and in the deserted gardens are the re
mains of the great fish stews. But the air is chilly-
damp round Praglia ; the grey walls are stained with
mildew; decay has laid a clammy hand upon the
place ; it is doomed never to rise again.
Soon after leaving Praglia the road begins to rise,
and instantly comes relief. The air grows dry and
soft; the slopes of the hillside up which one winds are
richly cultivated in vines, that russet-golden grape
that makes the wine for which these hills are famous.
On the left you have the slopes of Venda across an
intervening valley, and straight in front of you the
basalt cliffs of Pendice, crags at least five hundred
feet in height and crowned by the ruins of a castle.
Teolo, bright sunny Teolo, lies on the top of the
crest that marks the main ridge of the Euganeans ;
you can look westward over the Mantovano, or east
ward over the Paduan plain ; while towering above
you are the rocks of Pendice, famous for the story
of la Speronella, that has taken a firm root in the
neighbourhood. When the Emperor, Frederic I.,
was reigning, about the year 1 1 50, Count Pagano
was his Vicar in Padua. He saw and loved the
beautiful Speronella Dalcomanino, wife of Giacobino
da Carrara, and being Imperial Vicar and a haughty
man, he carried her off to his rock-perched fortress
at Pendice. Whether the lady minded or not is
doubtful : her subsequent conduct would lead us to

The Euganean Hills 245
think she did not. But the nobles of the Padovano
could not brook the insult. They rose against
Pagano, who fled for shelter to Pendice, where he
was beseiged and eventually surrendered both the
rock and his mistress. To celebrate their triumph,
the Paduans established a festival in the middle of
June, when all the people, decked with flowers and
fruit, went singing down to the river banks. (" Cum
floribus et prelegiis ad flumina cantantes incedunt.")
The Speronella, however, did not choose to remain
husbandless ; she first of all married Messer Traver-
sario, who was quickly followed by Messer Pietro
da Zaussano, to whom succeeded Ezzelin the Second,
Lord of Romano. He one day left his grim fortress
of Romano, hard by Bassano, to visit the handsome
young Olderico da Fontana, at the pleasant town
of Monselice, in the Euganean Hills. He was
royally treated, and, among other diversions, host
and guest had a bathe together in the hot springs of
Battaglia. Ezzelin was much impressed by what
he saw, and on his return home incautiously enlarged
on Olderico's charms in the presence of the inflam
mable Speronella, who soon made up her mind.
She wrote to Olderico, made an appointment with
him, left Romano and met and married Olderico,
her sixth husband. They are still proud of her at
Teolo, though they also want to claim Livy as one
of them, declaring that Teolo is, in fact, Titus Livius
condensed.

246 In and Around Venice
From Teolo you can reach Rovolon, either over
the shoulder of the Monte Grande, or by skirting
the conical Madonna del Monte, the most northern
of the Euganean group. Rovolon lies high up on
the hillside ; behind it the Madonna del Monte is
all a dense green mantle of close-growing, stunted
beech, used for charcoal. To the north you look
across the plain, past that curious isolated clump
of mounds at Montegalda, to the Monte Berici which
hide Vicenza, and the great line of the Alps cut
by the gorge that lets the Brenta through at Bassano.
Rovolon recalls the memory of a famous English
man, Cardinal Pole, who spent some pleasant days
in " our paradise, as I may truly call this place, both
because of its charming situation amid these deli
cious hills, and also and much more because of the
friends whose society I enjoy here."
The best way to explore the southern part of the
Euganeans is to take the train to Battaglia and a
carriage thence into the hills. Venda, the highest
point, may be reached from Galzignano and the
Camaldolese monastery of Rua, which stands upon
its eastern shoulder. Like the Madonna del Monte,
Venda is covered with a thick undergrowth of dwarf
beech, through which the narrow path winds up to
the crest. As you emerge from the thicket the
splendour and interest of the Euganeans' position
is borne in upon you. On all sides you dominate the
vast Lombardo -Venetian plain; there are no hills

The Euganean Hills 247
nearer than the Alps. Far away to the east, if it be
a fine day, you may catch a glint of sunshine on the
lagoon, and smoke on the extreme horizon marks
where Venice lies. Shelley thought he could see
her — " Column, tower and dome and spire
Shine like obelisks of fire."

That was merely his poetic vision, though Venice
was there in spirit and dominates the plain. It
was on Venda's crest, however, that he wrote those
beautiful " lines among the Euganean Hills," which
have caught the sweep of that majestic view from
" olive sandalled Apennine '' in the south to " the
Alps whose snows are spread high between the clouds
and sun," and rendered the sense of silence, solitude,
and brooding that envelops one on a hot autumn
afternoon. On the very summit of Venda are the ruins
of a monastery that once belonged to the Olivetan
Order of Benedictines, doubtless Shelley's "hoary
tower, in the windless air" — a place for long mid
summer dreamings.
From Venda a rough path leads due south along
the top of the ridge to Val San Zibio. The richness
of the Euganean flora may be tested here ; among the
commoner and more obvious flowers you will find
cyclamen and dog-tooth violet, and above all the
bastard dittany, the fraxinella of the fragrant leaves
and phosphorescent glow at night-time — a plant

248 In and Around Venice
whose perfume most will relish now, though Gerard,
in his Herball, says " it stinketh."
Val San Zibio, with its beautiful garden, lies nuzzled
in a fold of the hills. As you descend upon it from the
ridge first comes rough coppice, then ordered avenues
of cypress trees and, when the little valley opens out,
the formal garden with its pleached alleys of horn
beam, its stairs and terraces and fountains, its artificial
pond with thick banks of St. John's wort, and a little
rabbit-warren on an island in the middle. The villa
itself is nothing, if the present house is all there was.
It belonged first to the Barbarigos, and their coat
is displayed on the handsome gateway leading to
the garden ; from Barbarigos it passed to Mar-
tinengos, and is now owned by Dona dalle Rose.
But if the villa is of no account, the garden is a perfect
joy, so richly and graciously set into the folding lap of
the Euganean Hills. The village is a mere pretence.
A few straggling cottages and one rough inn with
a large courtyard, where the Paduans and Venetians
come for their outings, to romp through the garden
and get themselves drenched by the surprise jets of
water that are thrown up at bench, and terrace, and
stair ; then to lunch at length under the courtyard
pergola, and finish all with a game of bowls. I slept
there once, and could not sleep for the noise of silk
worms munching the mulberry leaves on the wooden
shelves with which bedroom, corridor, and passages
were filled. And when garden, wine, and boccie are

PETRARCH'S TOMB

The Euganean Hills 251
over you may take your way by a woodland drive to
the true shrine of these Euganean Hills, Arqua —
Arqua di Petrarca.
" They keep his bones in Arqua where he died."
In a veritable sun-trap lies the little town of Arqua.
The hills all round are red and sunbaked, even where
the carefully-terraced vineyards go. There is an
upper and a lower town. In the upper is Petrarch's
House, a quiet little hermitage, looking south-west
over the plain ; well preserved ; a national monu
ment. A large kitchen down below ; five or six
rooms on the upper floor rudely frescoed ; Petrarch's
cat, mummied, in a case above the door that leads
to his study where he died ; an avenue of laurel
bushes in the garden. Down in the lower town is
his tomb ; a fine though plain sarcophagus put up
for him by his son-in-law and heir, Francesco da
Brossano. He died in 1374, in July, when the great
summer sun must have been pouring his ocean of
heat over the hills. They bore him down from the
house on the hill-top, by the steeply-winding path,
under vine and fig tree. Francesco Carrara, the great
Lord of Padua, was present, with the bishop and
clergy, and all the University. Sixteen doctors carried
the coffin, covered by a pall of doth-of-gold, under a
baldachino lined with ermine. The body lay in a
chapel built by the poet himself till his heir erected
the quiet and stately tomb that stands now by the

252 In and Around Venice
northern door of the church under the shadow of a
cypress tree. The return from Arqua is easy. A
short drive brings you to Monselice with its hill and
its castle and flanking walls rapidly disappearing
before the inroads of the quarry works ; and there
you are on the main line from Venice to Bologna.

SAN MARTINO DI CASTROZZA
I DO not know whether many of the Venetian
people have penetrated as far as San Martino
di Castrozza, nor what impression such a mountain
glen would leave upon their sea-accustomed minds.
But some have thought of such a journey and made
inquiries about it; and, by the help of the new road, it
is possible that they may one day surprise the silence
with their presence and their song. And in visiting
San Martino and its valley, they would be visiting
a place which once belonged to their native city;
for the quaint old Gothic palace of the Captain at
Primiero still shows upon its crumbling walls the
arms of Dolfin, Capello, and other Venetian noble
men, sent there to govern the district in the name of
the Republic.
San Martino lies at the upper end of the valley of
Primiero, in the heart of a grand Dolomite region.
It may be reached from Feltre on the Italian side,
for the new road ^between Primiero and Fonzaso is
now finished. San Martino is not a village. It
consists of an old hospice, the priest's house, and the
modern inn, all joined together and forming two sides
253

254 l.n and Around Venice
of a square. I am told that the place has changed
considerably, and there are now several hotels. The
inn looks due south, right down the valley towards
Primiero and the long and delicate line of Monte
Pavione which shuts out Feltre and the Venetian
plain ; so there is breathing-space in front and a
quiet horizon line to rest the eye upon. Immediately
behind this cluster of buildings stands the tiny
church, with its campanile and long sloping roof
turned to the north and the snowy quarter; around
the entrance is a faded fresco of St. Martin divid
ing his cloak among beggars. The whole forms a
picturesque group of houses in the middle of a wide
green slope of meadow land. Indeed, most points of
view about San Martino are well composed. There
are pictures, ready made to the painter's brush, at
every turn and in endless variety. Here, through a
vista of pines, a Dolomite peak rises erect into the
blue, "bold, beautiful, and buoyant." Or here again,
with a sudden surprise, at some turn in the valley,
one comes upon a grassy hollow bordered with
pines and an undergrowth of alder, bilberry, heath,
and Alpine rose. The wind never reaches here,
for the pine stems are tall and straight, and the
branches feather down from the tree-tops in perfect
pyramidal order. A stream runs through the middle
of the glade, fresh and clear, and settling into pools
as though it had time to enjoy life, not fouled
with snow and hurried in headlong course like so

San Martino di Castrozza 255
many Swiss rivers. The great mountains are shut
out of sight, and one is carried away to some High
land burn, or to an English park in Derbyshire.
The head of the Primiero valley is broken up into
many smaller valleys, full of wood, of water, and of
birds. The cuckoo, even, has found his way to this
surprising height of 4,600 feet, and sings his spring
song at the end of June. The vegetation has all the
richness and the perfume of the south, together with
the brilliant colour of the Alps. The meadows around
the inn are a mass of flame-coloured lilies and white
liliago ; pale blue clematis winds up the branches of
the young fir trees ; Alpine rose and gentians, saxifrage
and daphne, columbine and the golden-globed king
cup grow side by side. There are endless mossy nooks
for sitting in, sheltered from wind and sun ; and end
less walks in the pine forests, where the warm air is
heavy with the perfume of fir needles and the pyrola.
One lights upon woodcutters' cabins and the shanties
of charcoal burners ; and from high up the mountain
side comes the stroke of the axe and the crash of the
falling pines. The great logs lie scattered through
the forest, stripped of their bark and gleaming whitely
in the twilight of greenery ; through an opening in
the trees there is a glimpse of the opposite crags, and
an eagle poised upon their face ; motionless, with out
spread wings, he hovers for a moment in the air, then
swoops and is lost among the pines of the ravine
below him. The natives of these forests, the herds

256 In and Around Venice
and woodmen, are a kindly people, and strangers are
rare enough as yet to awaken a certain curiosity and
interest. " Where do you come from ? " asks one.
" From England." " And which direction is that ? "
" To the north there." " A long journey, is it not ?
and do you go uphill all the way ? "
In the afternoon the clouds rise slowly over the
range that shuts out Italy, and steal across the sky.
They cling and wreathe themselves around the peaks
and precipices that flank the eastern side of the valley.
Now they part for an instant to disclose a rocky
needle shooting up into the air at a height where one
would never have dreamed of looking for it ; then
again, as suddenly, comes a puff of wind, and the
needle seems to withdraw into its sheath of billowy
cloud. These rocks and precipices and pinnacles and
buttresses are as fine as the more familiar Aiguilles
at Chamonix. The snowy splendours of Mont Blanc
are wanting here ; but this row of giants, each with
its own strong character, does not yield to the Dru or
the Charmoz seen from the Monton Vert. The pro
cession of peaks begins with the twin-crested Saas
Maor (pronounced Mawr, as though it were in Wales) ;
then comes the Cima di Ball, named after that dis
tinguished member of the Alpine Club ; then the
Pala di San Martino, a cone of rosy rock rising from
a glacier bed, the most beautiful of them all ; then
the Rosetta, whose pyramid point hangs right over
the inn ; and last, to crown the whole, the great

San Martino di Castrozza 257
Cimon delle Palle, highest and most stupendous
pinnacle of the range. Each of these airy promon
tories looks tempting to the climber ; yet at first sight
it would seem that no one could scale those cliffs.
One of them, however, the Rosetta, is quite easy; a
short three hours' climb from the inn. The way up
the peak, leads first through pine woods; then by
pastures dotted with rude cowsheds, called in the
dialect of the country malghe, milking-houses where
one may find cream and cheese ; then -up a rocky
funnel arid into the very roots of these Dolomites,
where they spring from a plateau of snow and ice.
The Rosetta is well worth the trouble of climbing,
both for the sake of the scenery on the way and for
the view from the top ; on the one side to the moun
tains of the Ampezzo Thai, Tofana, Pelmo, Cristallo,
Antelao, Sorapiz, and on the other to the Ortler
group ; and the mountain seen from San Martino
pays one the flattering compliment of always present
ing its impossible front, its tremendous crags and
impending crest. The one guide of the place, Michele
by name, is a capital fellow, not a man though, but a
chamois ; with the wild eye and springing step of
that mountain animal. He is a first-rate cragsman,
and describes himself as sicurissimo ; one hopes sin
cerely that he is so as one watches him leaping from
rock to rock, or clinging to perilous ledges of cliff.
To the south, beyond Primiero hangs the long
ridge of the Vette di Feltre, ending in its highest
s

258 In and Around Venice
point the pyramid of Monte Pavione, that looks on
Italy and the Venetian plain. The top of Pavione,
though quite an easy climb, is a long way from
Primiero, and necessitates a start at midnight. This
implies going early to bed. But sleep is no such
easy matter in Primiero ; the town itself is quiet
enough, but every half-hour the silence is broken by
a most weird and ghostly noise — " Urrr-r-r dieci ore,
niente di nuovo" ("Ten o'clock, and nothing new"),
" Urrr-r-r dieci e mezo, and nothing new." It is the
watchman, or Salvador, of Primiero, going his rounds,
and calling the hours in a voice so strange and un
canny, that it reminds one of Hamlet's father on his
ghostly beat at Elsinore.
The clock was striking twelve as Michele and I
left Primiero. We passed the Salvador, in his long
grey cloak, standing at the village end — a solitary
figure on the solitary road — and stepped away into
the night. As long as we kept to the high-road we
had the moon to light us — setting, it is true, yet loth
to set, and gliding gently down the shoulder of
Pavione ; till, as we dipped deeper into the valley,
the moon, too, dipped and disappeared, leaving at first
a pale silver glow upon the hillside and then com
plete obscurity. The way led through two villages,
Imer and Mezzano. At Mezzano all was absolutely
silent ; not a sound save our own footfalls. There
had been a festival the day before, and the village
streets were hung with flags and full of triumphal

San Martino di Castrozza 259
arches that stood out grim and black in the night,
and looked as though they were waiting for some
ghostly band of revellers who would never come. At
Imer the path to Pavione strikes across the torrent
Cismone, and enters a forest of pine ; and a deeper
gloom, with here and there a glimmer of pale light
through the pine stems, falls round us. Under this
dim, mysterious twilight we toiled up the forest path.
Now and then a bird, startled by our steps, would
burst out of its roosting-place, and with heavy sleepy
flight settle itself again in some more distant tree.
Then the path surmounted the wood, and wound
along the face of lofty limestone cliffs, supported
occasionally upon galleries of pine logs driven into
the sheer face of the rock. The cliffs gleamed high
and ghostly white above ; below the gulf looked
black and ominously profound ; the night wind blew
fitfully, and the roar of the torrent beneath us rose
and fell on the varying breeze. It is singular how
the night destroys instinctive measurement of time —
hours pass like minutes, minutes are expanded into
hours, the feet perform their function mechanically,
and the brain runs riot through the jungle of its own
fancies. So we plodded on in silence up the cliffs,
past a cataract whose jet of broken water looked like
a stationary pillar of white in the obscurity. Then
through long meadows that seemed interminably grey
and long ; — how cold and wan the flowers look at
early morning on a mountain-side before the day-

260 In and Around Venice
light endows them with colour ! — and above us shim
mered the far white summit of Pavione, hung pale in
the heaven. Then, after another forest belt, came the
Malga d' Agnerola, where we were to wait till dawn
should show us where to attack the last cliffs of the
cone. These malghe are solitary cowsheds and milking-
huts with a cabin for the herds, perched high up on
the loftiest mountain pastures ; desolate stations,
isolated from the world and the valley life that lies so
far below them. As we approached this one all was
silent ; not a cattle-bell from the long byre, not a
sound from the adjoining cabin. We pushed open
the gate, and entered a sort of passage open at both
ends. On one wall, high above the ground, hung a
wooden bunk. The voice of the herd challenged us ;
what did we want at that hour ? Had he any eggs ?
" No." " Might we light a fire ? " " Yes ; there was
wood in the corner " ; and the man turned to his
sleep again. We went into the churning-room, a
rough place with a hearth in the middle, two benches
by the hearth, a huge churn in one corner. All the
planks gaped ; the wind blew freely through the
room. We lit the fire, and the damp wood hissed,
the cabin was soon full of smoke, the man in the bunk
moved uneasily. Presently the door opened, and a
tall gaunt man came silently in, peered round, and
sat down by the fire. " Where were we going ? " he
asked ; an Englishman, explained Michele, going up

San Martino di Castrozza 261
Pavione. "I am going round the malghe with a
barrel of brandy ; I came up here yesterday." His
manner was abstracted and melancholy ; he stretched
his gaunt hands out to the flame; the deep lines
about his mouth moved curiously ; his eyes were
bent on the fire. The wind blew through the open
rafters, sending the smoke about in swirls.
Presently, apropos of nothing, without raising his
eyes, " A shepherd told me once," he began, " that
a herd who worked on this malga left some of his
things here when he went down for the winter. He
came up for, them later on, and as he was going
home again in the middle of that forest among the
snow he met a. most lovely girl with long yellow hair
He fell in love with her, and asked her to marry him,
and she said 'Yes,' on one condition, that he should
never stroke her hair. He agreed, and they were
married, and had two children. But one day he
could not resist, and while she was asleep he stroked
her long and beautiful hair. He did not keep his
promise, you see," said the man with the brandy-
barrel, and he drew his hand along as if he were
stroking the hair. "Well, he went out to his work,
but when he came back his wife was gone, and he
never saw her again. Every day for a year, when he
returned home he found the house tidied, the children
dressed, and his dinner ready ; but after a year that
stopped, too, and his wife never came again, for she
was a fay, you see." With that the gaunt man sighed

262 In and Around Venice
heavily, stretched his lean hands nearer to the flame,
and the lines about the mouth seemed to deepen.
But now the dawn and wind together came
stealing through the rafters. It was time to start
again. We left the man with the barrel of brandy,
sitting silent and bowed before the fire, and passed
out into the keen morning wind. The few stars
looked large and pale ; and over the eastern peaks
the light of the coming sun spread luminous.
There can hardly be a lovelier view than that
from Pavione. To the north there shoot into the
sky all the innumerable spires, turrets, buttresses,
and pinnacles of the Dolomites ; each mountain cut
and faceted like a gem. Beyond these again, the
snows of Adamello, Ortler, and the Wild Spitze hang
like a huge ice wall upon the horizon. But it is not
these, beautiful as they are, that give distinction to
the view from Pavione ; that lies in the wonderful
contrast between north and south. Southward, over
Feltre and its soft green hills, stretches the boundless
plain of Italy, so vast and solemn, where the spirit
of silence seems to spread its wings and brood. It
lies mapped out below you ; the Piave cutting the
centre of the scene with its white ghiarra bed ; a
long and glittering snake that winds towards the
sea ; the Apennines from Piacenza to Bologna ; the
Styrian hills behind Trieste; the hills of Padua and
Vicenza ; while straight before you, clear yet far
away, the Adriatic and the Adriatic's queen, Venice

San Martino di Castrozza 263
asleep on her lagoon. The sweep of vision is so free,
so unconfined the sense of space, that some feeling
of awe and the spirit of silence steals up to one from
that silent plain. As one lies and looks at it from
the mountain crest, there is something indescribably
fascinating and dominating in the stillness of this
vast land ocean and the hills that circle it. What
was it that the demon lover sang to his bride in the
ballad ? " ' O haud your tongue, my sprightly flower ;
Let a' your moaning be ;
I'll show you how the lilies grow
On the banks of Italy.'
' What hills are yon, yon pleasant hills
The sun shines sweetly on ?'
' O yon are the hills of heaven,' he said,
' Where you will never win.' "
The memory of such a view as this can hardly
fade, and Pavione will always be, in some especial
sense, in the beauty of contrast and completeness, in
the glamour of the vision from its summit, a poet's
mountain, the hill of the lover of Venice. For from
its pyramid peak you grasp the sweep of lands that
Venice owned once, and the beginning of that water
way which led her to a vaster empire still ; you
dominate and seize the essential features of the
Venetian landscape with all its width and delicate
diversity of lines, the mountain-slope, the plain and
the far sea, that sends its calling voice to you, through
the haze and over the distance, summoning you to
return.

IN ISTRIA

I. THE BEPPI

ON a clear day in March the faint blue outline of
the Istrian coast, rather suggested than dis
cerned from the campanile of Saint Mark, looked
tempting enough to waken the spirit of spring wan
dering. Venice has always been intimately connected
with the Istrian peninsula ; it was one of her earliest
conquests. And though the custom-house now ex
cludes the famous Istrian wine, Venice owes no small
debt to Istria for the famous stone her artists used
so well. The question was how to get there. The
Austrian-Lloyd steamer, that lay off the point of the
Dogana, did not look tempting; and besides, that
would take one to Trieste and not to the Istrian
coast proper. A sailing-boat was clearly the right
carriage. While revolving this point, an old friend
of my friend Antonio, Paron Piero, the captain of the
Beppi, offered us a berth— or, rather, half a berth
apiece — on board his boat, that trades between Venice
and the Istrian coast. We were to sail that same
night at two o'clock with the ebbing tide.
Paron Piero was as tough and hearty an old salt as
264

In Istria 265
you could meet with on the coast of Argyle.. A
Pelestrinotto by birth ; for hardly a single Venetian
is engaged in this coasting trade, and the masters and
crews all hail from Burano, Pelestrina, or Chioggia.
Piero had served under Austria, and loved the name
of emperor ; he insisted on announcing the birthday
of the King of Italy, which we kept at sea, as "la
nascita del nostro Imperador.'' He had fought, been
wounded, smuggled, and finally settled down to this
trade of carrying wood. A man with a quick temper,
a warm heart, and a flow of things to say that left
him often high and dry for words, so that most of his
sentences ended in " diavolo," a compendious symbol
for whatever might be wanting. The Beppi had cost
him twenty-five thousand lire, and he had owned her
fifteen years, though she confessed to a greater age
with a tell-tale " 1 849," half worn out, upon her bows.
The Beppi was a boat of that build which, in these
waters, is called a trabaccolo — very similar to a Dutch
galliot, with round, blunt bows, round ribs, and a flat
bottom. She was about forty tons burthen ; and
carried two square sails on her main and mizzen, and
a jib. Her bulging prow had the two inevitable eyes
cut and painted on either side of her nose ; for in
Venice, as in China, they ask you, how can a vessel
see where she is going if she has no eyes? Inside,
the Beppi contained a large hold in the centre for her
cargo of firewood, and there an occasional cask of
wine might be hidden from custom-house inquisitive-

266 In and Around Venice
ness. In the bows was a cabin for the crew ; and in
the stern another for the paron and his son, which we
were to share. The cabin of the Beppi was at most
six feet square and five feet high. All round it was
panelled in walnut-wood, roughly carved into arches
and pilasters. At one side, close to the ladder of the
hatchway, hung hams and smoked quarters of mutton,
called casiradina, and dried fish. Under these, three
tubs, the one containing yellow maize-flour for polenta,
another " paste," and the third peas and dried beans
for soup. This, with a string of biscuits, formed the
provision for the voyage. Next the hams came an
array of hats and coats of all ages, to suit all weathers ;
then a little table and a stool; over the table the
" Madonna della Seggiola." The opposite wall was
entirely occupied by a large recess ; in the middle of
this hung an engraving of a very Correggiesque
Madonna, the patroness of the boat, surrounded with
a wreath of olive branches, maize, and oranges.
Before the picture a lamp in a glass globe was kept
constantly burning. The rest of this recess served as
a store for ship's lamps, oil cans, one bottle of rum,
and a small keg of wine. The two remaining sides
of the cabin held two bunks, broad enough for two
people to lie heads and tails. It did not take long to
make one fond of the little cabin, in spite of its
strange variety of smells.
The weather was fine when we went on board
about ten o'clock, hoping to get some sleep before

In Istria 267
starting. But March is the very month for the
stormy lord of Hadria to play some trick ; and we
felt, as an old Italian poet had sung, that " di doman'
non c'e certezza." II. TWO IDLE DAYS
Next morning the rain was dripping steadily on
the deck. " That son of a dog, the scirocco," as the
paron called it, had played us the trick we dreaded,
and the weather was fairly broken. The regular
patter of the reefs against the sails showed that the
Beppi was anchored off Fort Alberoni, just at the
mouth of the Malamocco port, only nine miles from
Venice ; that was all the way we had made. And
it seemed probable that we should have to remain
where we were throughout the day, for the Adriatic
was thundering on the sea walls that keep the lagoon
and Venice itself from being swept away. From the
deck nothing could be seen, nothing but dense banks
of sea fog, through which the roar of the sea sounded
strange and unreal, for inside the shelter of the walls
all the lagoon was grey and still. After breakfast
was despatched, there was nothing to be done but to
set about cooking the dinner. Our kitchen was a
portable stove lashed to the bulwarks ; with two
holes for the fire and places for two pots. The paron
was proud of his iron kitchen ; hitherto he had
carried a wooden one only ; and it was always taking
fire. Fourteen times had it set his cargo of wood in

268 In and Around Venice
a blaze ; " but," he added contentedly, " I never lost
it all." " Polenta, castradina," said Antonio, announcing
our bill of fare ; and he was to cook it, for among
his other accomplishments he numbered a skilled
hand at polenta. The castradina (smoked mutton
ham) was brought up and chopped into huge hunks ;
these were set to boil for two hours in the larger pot,
to flavour the water. Then they were taken out and
set aside to keep warm, while the yellow maize-flour
and the salt were poured, slowly by handfuls, into
the boiling water, and stirred round and round, as we
make porridge. When the polenta had reached the
proper consistency, the whole yellow mass was turned
out on to a slab of wood, and the paron came with a
piece of string and sliced it into the proper portions.
Then the crew were summoned to dinner, from their
cabin in the bows, to the cry of " Polenta ! polenta !
figlioli ; polenta ! cari tosi." And up scrambled the
" dear boys '' through their hatchway and settled
around the polenta board — four wrinkled, weather-
stained old men, all of them natives of Pelestrina.
They had spent their whole lives in making voyages
up and down the Adriatic, and knew every corner of
the intricate Dalmatian coast. One of them, the
oldest, Doro by name, was a character, and a con
stant source of amusement to the others. His face
was like nothing human, so full was it of wrinkles ;
and an irresistibly humorous twinkle lurked in the

In Istria 269
corners of his old eyes. He was seventy years of
age, and had married three wives, a Chiozzotta, a
Pelestrinotta, and a Veneziana; he was meditating
a fourth, a Buranella, but had been advised that she
was likely to make an end of him. And in this
advice the others agreed at large. Doro possessed
a wonderful repertory of adjurations ; but his
favourite was certainly "corpo di Diana di Dio."
The crew were a little curious as to the presence of
a stranger ; after some discussion, however, he was
summed up and settled to everybody's satisfaction,
as " uno di quei che vanno contemplando il mondo "
("one of those who go about contemplating the
world ").
These Pelestrinotti are passionately fond of their
home; and the mere sight of it, when they cannot
reach it, is enough to send them into a frenzy. Yet
here lay the Beppi, idle and in sight of Pelestrina.
"A ca, a ca ! " (" Home, home ! ") they kept on gru mbling
and muttering between their mouthfuls of polenta.
And Paron Piero saw that he would have to let
them go. Yet when they do get home they have no
occupation. They lie in Homeric idleness before the
fire, drinking coffee and smoking, while each one
rambles along upon the lines of his own endless
yarn, to which none of the others pays the smallest
heed. " A ca, a ca ! " they all shouted when dinner
was done ; and home they went, and left us to look
after the Beppi by ourselves. On board, the afternoon

270 In and Around Venice
went lazily by. Antonio squatted in front of the fire
that was cooking our supper, blew at it through a
long cane pipe, like an Indian charming snakes.
Then towards evening the wind changed. The
scirocco still thundered on the outside walls. The
breeze freshened ; the" mists lifted and drove away
from the sunset, leaving the Euganean Hills purple
and distinct across the green expanses of the windy
lagoon. To seaward the heavy clouds lay piled, and
warmed to rose in the sunset ; while, far away, Venice
sprang up clear and coldly grey upon the water.
Our sailors came on board again at midnight, and
by dawn we were under way. The great blunt prows
of the Beppi began to surge through the swell. Though
the wind was fair there was still a considerable sea ;
and the fog had settled down over everything once
more ; so that two minutes after passing the end of
the mole there was nothing to be seen, from the moist
decks of the trabaccolo, but a hand's-breadth of cold
grey rolling sea. A feeling of desolation began to lay
its hand on one ; a sense of having bidden adieu to
everything. And now, out of the grey cloud in front
of us came the first note of a fog-horn ; melancholy
and weird it sounded, and seemed to pervade the
mist, nor was the ear sure of the quarter whence it
came. Then another ; and this time clearly on our
weather bow. We answer from an old tin trumpet
There is a pause. Then suddenly, and with awful
rapidity, a huge black mass looms out of the mist and

In Istria

271

seems to tower towards us, the prow of a steamer
lost in the fog and seeking the port. There is an
instant of confusion and contradictory shouts, and,
above all, the paron 's louder and authoritative voice ;
then the huge mass fades silently away, blotted out
as rapidly as it emerged, and the mournful note of its
steam siren dies slowly down the wind. A faint
gleam of watery sunshine glitters for an instant on
the oily rollers ; then the gloom and the mist settle
over us once more. Even the breeze fails, and the
Beppi begins to sway uneasily from side to side. We
commend ourselves to the powers of patience, while
the sailors begin a long expostulation with the wind.
" Supia, boja ! " (" Blow, you hangman ") says one,
addressing the fog, throwing his words languidly over
board. " Fiol d'un can ! " cries another. " Xe porca
xe sta bava " (" It's a pig is this breeze "), cries the
steersman, with a curious air of conviction ; and all
the others answer in ghostly chorus from the bows,
"Si, xe porca." This commination service being
ended, with no good results, one old sailor suggests
that they have been on the wrong tack ; and natur
ally the wind does not like being sworn at. So he
begins, " Ah ! he is a noble is the maestro " (the wind
they wanted) ; " he is a count and very noble indeed,
if it would only please him to come ; and he will
come if you give him time." And when once started
blessings flow as readily as curses. "Dai, dai cara
bava, cara, cara" (" Blow, blow, dear breeze, you dear,

272 In and Around Venice
you dear "). But as little came' of the one as of the
other. The winds were deaf, and all day long there
was nothing to be heard or seen but the roll and swell
of the scirocco, the desolate chorus of the sailors, and
the ceaseless patter of the reefs upon the empty sails.

III. THE ISTRIAN COAST
Midnight brought a breeze, and by sunrise the
Istrian coast was in sight. The fog had cleared away ;
the Beppi ploughed a noble furrow in the sea, dipping
almost to the eyes in the sapphire flood. To the
north the Alps were clear, from Antelao past Monte
Cavallo to the peaks of Carniola beyond Trieste ; rosy
snow against a pale blue sky ; a splendid close to the
great water avenue of the Adriatic. In front lay the
Istrian shore ; cloven by the small gulf of Quieto,
whither we were making. The whole coast was visible,
from the point of Salvore, with its lighthouse column,
to Rovigno ; line upon line of hills, each rising a little
higher till they climbed to the crest of Monte Mag-
giore in the far background above Fiume. The scene
recalled the coast of Greece. There was the same
beauty of long-drawn lines and delicate- declensions,
unobtrusive in curve, yet delicious to the eye that
follows them. The prevailing tones along the coast
were the grey-green of the olive groves ; the colder
grey of the limestone rock ; russet of the oak brakes
that had not shed their last year's leaves ; and every

In Istria 273
now and then a flood of clearer colour from a cluster
of fruit trees that were coming into bloom. As the
Beppi drew nearer, the little villages that cap each
height grew more and more distinct, began to take
shape, and their campanili shot up from their midst.
Highest and clearest of all stood Buje ; called " the
spy of Istria," for it overlooks the whole land.
At Quieto the Beppi was to lie four days, to ship
her cargo of faggots ; and this was the time at our
disposal for seeing the Istrian coast. So, after packing
a knapsack and to a chorus of " Buon divertimentos "
from the crew, we set out to " contemplate the world."
Parenzo is the nearest town to Quieto. And the walk
there was most delicious in the spring. The way lies
over rolling downs covered with brushwood almost
as thick and as odoriferous as the Corsican macquis.
A guide is absolutely necessary to avoid being lost
in the bush. The whole of this limestone country was
breathing after a bounteous rain. The flowers seemed
to burst their buds as we looked at them — violet,
crocus, hellebore, aromatic shrubs, and fruit-tree
blossom, all the chorus of a southern spring. The
air was laden with intoxicating perfume : the lizards
rustled through the undergrowth. The olive trees,
hoary and arrowy as always, waved and shimmered
across a glittering sea. The climate of Istria is much
warmer than that of the corresponding shores of Italy:
and Cassiodorus made no mistake when he praised
its voluptuous and delicious airs, and compared it to
T

274 In and Around Venice
Baiae with no Avernus near at hand. The laughing
sea, the olives, the lentisk, and the limestone down,
recalled the setting of some Theocritean idyll. And
most fittingly, the ancient ensign of Istria is the goat.
The country is Greek in character, but the towns
remember another and more recent master. At the
entrance to Parenzo, St. Mark's Lion meets you
face to face ; grimly regardant from a round Venetian
tower. And the narrow streets of the town are full
of Venetian balconies and windows. The splendid
basilica of Bishop Eufrasius is a monument of an
earlier period still, the time of the Byzantine dominion ;
while the ruins of the great temple to Neptune and
Mars remind us that Parenzo was at one time the
Roman " Municipium " Parentium, chief city in the
colony Julia. This temple as it once stood, in all
the perfection of its columned portico, crowning the
promontory that overhangs the northern of the two
bays on which the city is built, must have made a
noble landmark for sailors out at sea. Nothing re
mains of the temple now but the stylobate and a
ruined capital or two.
The buildings of Parenzo recall the history of
the city step by step. And the history of Parenzo
is that of most of the Istrian coast towns. They
were Roman colonies first; then governed by
the Emperors of the East. After the disturbances
wrought by the Franks, Istria passed under the
authority of elective governors, who soon made

In Istria 275
themselves hereditary marquises. From the mar
quises it came to the hands of the Patriarch of
Aquileia, and finally fell to the possession of Venice.

IV. POLA
Pola, at the extreme end of the peninsula, has
always been the chief town of Istria. Its position
confers this pre-eminence; it lies in the recess of
a deep gulf, a land-locked sea, secure from storms ;
while behind, the country is barren and broken into
gorges with abrupt sides, cloven through the limestone
rock. Tradition says that in this bay the people of
the Colchian king found a resting-place after their
wanderings, when the pursuit of Jason and his stolen
fleece had grown a hopeless quest. But the real
history of Pola begins when it became a Roman
colony in B.C. 181 ; and its connection with Rome is
the feature most clearly stamped upon the town even
to this day, in spite of Austrian barracks and arsenal
and " Franz Josef" in gold letters everywhere.
Augustus dismantled the town as its punishment for
taking the republican side in the wars that followed
on the death of Julius Caesar. But he rebuilt it again
under the name of Pietas Julia ; and dedicated the
exquisite little temple to Rome and to Augustus,
which still stands perfect upon the piazza.
The most curious fact in Polan history is that this
place witnessed the close of so many tragedies. Here

276 In and Around Venice
Constantine the Great ordered the execution of his
own son Crispus, that "chaste, too chaste Bellerophon"
of Roman story, on the false accusation of the Empress
Fausta. And here, too, Gallus, the brother of Julian,
died at the bidding of Constantius. Under Justinian,
Pola was the capital of Istria and the seat of the
governor, the master of the soldiery ; and Belisarius
used its harbour as a roadstead for his fleet. Later
still, in A.D. 932, when Istria made a temporary sub
mission to Venice, the Bishop of Pola signed the
treaty after the Marquis of Istria, proving that Pola
still ranked highest among Istrian sees. This early
treaty was a warning of the fate which lay in store
for Pola. Her great rival on the other side of the
Adriatic awakened her jealousy ; and in the wars
between Genoa and Venice, Pola sided with the
Genoese. This brought upon her the vengeance of
the Venetians, and she passed into their power in
1331- Few approaches are finer than the sea approach
to Pola. The mouth of the bay is hidden by a
promontory, crowned, as are all the neighbouring
heights, by Austrian forts ; and it is only as the vessel
rounds the point that the bay opens up, with Pola
lying at its further end. The attention is instantly
caught by the great amphitheatre which stands at
one side of the town ; its arches, tier upon tier, spring
up in perfect symmetry from the level of the shore.
No monument of ancient Rome, not the aqueducts

In Istria 277
of the Campagna, nor the baths of Caracalla, conveys
a more impressive sense of the solid splendour of
Roman architecture than does this arena at Pola ;
beside it the amphitheatre of Verona seems a dwarf,
while the Colosseum is broken and ruined ; but here
the whole outer circle is complete ; and the Istrian
stone looks as clean as the day it was cut. Inside,
it is true, the galleries have disappeared. But one
does not feel their absence on first seeing the arena
from the water. With the evening sunlight glowing
over the creamy whiteness of the stone, the whole
pile looked like the work of some magician, not
fashioned by the hand of man ; and it is easy to
sympathise with the pride which the people of Pola
feel in their treasure, and with their legend that it
was built by the fairies in a single night. The
Venetians at one time proposed to remove the
amphitheatre bodily to the Lido at Venice. But
the undertaking proved too costly, and both Pola
and the Lido were spared the misfortune.
Pola is rich in Roman remains. But after the
Temple of Augustus and the arena, only one other
is especially worthy of being named. That is the
little arch, miscalled the Porta Aurata. It was raised
by the great Polan family of the Sergii in A.D. 99,
and is an exquisite piece, of Roman work, with delicate
traceries finely cut and keen, thanks to the qualities
of the Istrian stone. Indeed, at Pola the traveller
finds the two things in which the country excels—

278 In and Around Venice
the creamy Istrian stone and the ruby Istrian wine.
Francesco Redi sent his Bacchus wandering through
Tuscany. But had he been a Venetian and not a
Tuscan, he might have changed the scene to the
Istrian coast; and there, rioting along the olive-
shaded shores of some Istrian bay, the god of wine
might well have found another Ariadne to translate
to heaven.
After dinner and a due tribute to the Istrian wine,
it is pleasant to stroll along the quay and look down
the long and winding estuary, ruffled into tiny waves
by the land breeze. The Austrian navy lies drawn
up in one long line of ships, their sterns close against
the quay. There were troopships coming and going ;
and the song of the soldiers, borne over the water,
sent us to sleep that night.
V. POLA TO TRIESTE
In Istria nothing is worse than the railway, the
solitary railway which it possesses. It was built for
the convenience of the arsenal at Pola ; and some
doubt hangs over the hour at which a train will start,
while no one knows at what hour it may arrive.
One fact alone is certain, that the journey from Pola
to Trieste by rail will not take less than thirteen
hours. The traveller will probably choose to give
up the railway for the little steamer which performs
the journey to Trieste in eight hours. And the coast

In Istria

279

is so interesting that he will not regret his choice.
Each of the little Istrian towns has a character of
its own ; and a history, if one cares to study it.
But one feature they all have in common : they
are built upon promontories, boldly looking out to
sea; their campanili serve as landmarks for miles
around. Immediately after leaving the harbour of Pola the
steamer passes the Brionian Islands, where Genoa
defeated Venice at the opening of the war of Chioggia.
Then on to Rovigno, a flourishing and active little
place, with a tobacco factory and a good trade in
wine. It sends both cigars and wine to Manchester,
where they find a ready market ; but, we may be
sure, under other names than that of Rovigno. After
Rovigno comes the little hill city of Orsera with its
square castle, once the palace of the Bishop of Parenzo,
in the days when he rivalled his brother of Pola in
power. Then Citta Nova stands out on its head
land, a picturesque town with its old Venetian battle
ments and ivy-draped walls. The women of Citta
Nova wear a striking costume ; quantities of pure
white linen are wrapped about the bust and throat,
and the same is thrown over the head ; but there
it is starched and stands out stiff like an exaggerated
Normandy cap. For the antiquarian there are the
Roman inscriptions built into the walls of the Basilica
of Citta Nova, and for the architect there is the
basilica itself.

280 In and Around Venice
After Citta Nova the coast is flatter; and there
are only two small villages, Daila and Umago, to be
seen. But in the spring the monotony of line and
of colour is relieved by perfect fountains of living
pink and white, thrown up by the orchard trees.
When once the headland of Salvore and the waters
where Venice achieved one of her most memorable
victories by defeating Otho, son of Frederick Bar-
barossa, have been reached, the prow turns towards
Trieste, and the character of the coast changes. The
bays become deeper and wider ; the shores more
precipitous ; the hills behind rise higher and more
abruptly. There is Pirano, with its ancient walls,
perched high above the sea upon a tongue of land
so thin that it must some day be eaten away by the
waves that wash it on either side. Then comes Capo
d'Istria, once Justinopolis, the see of Peter Paul
Vergerius, the Italian martyr for Protestantism ; and
also the earliest home of the great Venetian family of
Giustiniani. Then Trieste itself; its houses climbing
high up the steep hillside. And further to the left
the white and solitary castle of Miramar ; a paradise
of gardens, but saddened always by the memory of
its unhappy owner, Maximilian of Mexico. Further.
away still, and high over all, the towering pinnacles
of the Dolomitic Alps.

In Istria 281
VI. HOME AGAIN
Our leave of absence was up, and we had to seek
om paron once more in the harbour of Quieto. The
Beppi lay deep in the water, with as much of her
cargo above decks as below. The bundles of wood
were all stowed with wonderful neatness, and reached
a quarter of the way up the masts. They were
planked over the top, forming what is called a camito,
a sort of raised deck on which one could walk, and
from which the business of the ship was conducted.
With such a camito as we had on board — fifty
thousand faggots of oak — a reef had to be taken in
either sail. The breeze would not serve till evening,
and there was nothing to be done but to turn into
the little wine-shop overlooking the harbour and to
drink through a series of parting glasses. The room
was full of men who had been working at the loading
of the Beppi ; for this traffic in wood is the principal
occupation of the natives of Quieto — wild and hand
some-looking fellows playing and quarrelling over
" Mora." The ethnography of the Istrians is so mixed and
obscure, so many strains have had a share in making
them, that it would be rash to say to what race these
men belonged. They spoke Italian, for the most
part, reverting to Sclavonic only when they took
to their ferocious-looking knives, which each one
carried in his belt. " Brutta gente, popolo selvatico,"

282 In and Around Venice
Paron Piero called them. But whether savage in
nature or no, they certainly possessed the savages'
picturesqueness of gesture and speech. " Long life
to you ; and I hope to see you again ; but that may
hardly be," said one, raising a glass of wine. " And
why not ? " " No, no ! the mountains stay, but man
must pass," he answered, with an indescribable move
ment that embraced the distant hills and the parting
strangers. But we were not to get off without doing justice to
the rival inn and to each variety of wine which the
place possessed. This little wine-shop stood some
thing very like a sack at the hands of its guests ; and
how the padrone kept an account is a miracle. Eggs
were seized and set to roast in their shells among the
logs upon the square and open hearth-stone ; a barrel
of sardines was forced and half emptied in a trice ;
everything that came to hand was devoured. Then
came the bill and, at last, " Addio."
We walked along the shore while the Beppi was
towed silently and slowly out to sea. By the water
side some women were working late, binding faggots
with withs of green ginestra : the clever ones can finish
as many as a thousand in a day. At the furthest
point of the shore we had to wait for the Beppi. Out
to sea the wide surface was all pure and liquid grey,
while the moonlight made a broad and silvery path
that seemed to lead to Venice, on the other shore.
The Beppi stole stealthily nearer and nearer ; her sails

In Istria 283
and masts loomed black and large as she came abreast
of us ; the paron' s voice hailed us from the bows and
a boat was sent to take us on board. Late into the
balmy night we stood upon the poop, looking back
to the Istrian shore, while the coast-line faded slowly
away into the darkness.

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