Venice

by Clara Erskine Clement Waters

Panorama from the Campanile of St. Mark.

From the Ponte della Paglia, at the end of the Molo, we have the best possible view of the Bridge of Sighs, which Howells calls a "pathetic swindle," and not without reason. It was not built until the end of the sixteenth century, since which there has been but one victim of political imprisonment. But there it hangs, high in air, "a palace and a prison on each hand." Looking up from the Paglia it is most effective, although vulgar prisoners only have passed over it to their death. No doomed Foscari or Carmagnola ever saw it; and perhaps its greatest interest is from that much-worn line of Byron's, "I stood in Venice on the Bridge of Sighs."

Passing the Paglia, we are on the Riva degli Schiavoni, in front of the Carceri, or public prison. As the apartments of the Signori di Notte (heads of police) were on this side, it was not made to look like a prison. Below are rustic arches, above which Doric columns, on pedestals, support a fine cornice with consoles in the frieze. The upper rooms are now used for convicts and the windows are grated. One can but wonder how it would seem to be there, shut off from the world, and gaze out on the beautiful Church of San Giorgio Maggiore and the lagoon beyond, with the ever-changing aspect of the divinely colored waters; to watch the multitudes of steamers, gondolas, and other boats passing and re-passing; to listen to the sound of steps and voices on the Riva, and to all the different songs and cries from the boats. It must be maddening. Was it the effect of the restless waves that Saint John watched from Patmos, in his exile, that made him say, "And I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away; and there was no more sea"?

Passing another bridge, we turn into a curious vaulted passage at the left which leads to the beautiful Church of San Zaccaria; it is three centuries and a quarter old, and the third which has been erected on this spot. Architects lavish praises on it; Fergusson says: "One of the finest of the early façades of Italy is that of San Zaccaria at Venice."

In 854 Pope Benedict III. visited Venice, and the Abbess of San Zaccaria succeeded in obtaining from his Holiness the gift of the bodies of Santa Sabina and San Pancrazio and other sacred relics. After these treasures had been received, the Doge Tradenigo paid a visit of devotion to this favored shrine, and the abbess presented to him the splendid Ducal Beretta. It was studded with rare gems, having in the centre a large diamond surrounded by twenty-four pear-shaped pearls; above the diamond was a ruby of dazzling brilliancy, and in the front a cross was woven which contained twenty-three emeralds and other precious stones. The Doge made a solemn promise that each year he, and his successors after him, would visit San Zaccaria at Easter, in solemn procession, and wearing the precious Beretta.

The nuns of this sisterhood also gave a part of their garden to enlarge the Piazza of San Marco, and proved themselves as generous and public-spirited as they were opulent.

From the ninth to the twelfth century the Doges were buried in San Zaccaria; and the same Tradenigo who received the Beretta was assassinated in front of the church, where the column now stands. Its architecture is semi-Byzantine, except in the choir, which is Gothic. The pentagonal tribune is beautiful, with its circular arches below and its pointed arches above, which are exquisite in proportion and effect.

Near the door of the sacristy is the monument of the "Michelangelo of Venice," Alessandro Vittoria. He began this funeral monument thirteen years before he died! The bust is by his own hand, and the whole work is very interesting.

But that which holds us longest in San Zaccaria is the picture of the Virgin and Child, with four saints, by the adorable Giovanni Bellini. It is not one of his best, but it is a glorious picture. In 1797 it made the sad and disgraceful journey to Paris, and the restorers have not improved it; but in spite of all, we love it, and before we go away must also see the same master's small picture of the Circumcision, in a chapel of the choir, which is very much admired.

As we return to the Riva and pass on to the Ponte del Sepolcro, a very different sort of interest is aroused by the sight of the inscription upon the house which now replaces the Casa del Petrarca. The Palazzo delle due Torri was given to the poet in 1362 by the Republic, in return for a portion of his library. This frank statement of a perfectly creditable business transaction is somewhat of a shock to those who have thought of Petrarch as a disinterested benefactor of Venice. But we must remember that he was now nearly threescore years of age; he had exhausted the romance of his life long before; he had attempted to make peace between the Italian powers in vain; he abominated the manner in which wars had come to be made, by employing the mercenaries who brought with them pestilence and death; and he longed for a peaceful home for his old age more than for anything else.