I went out and surveyed the city from many points of view, and as it was Sunday, I was struck by the great want of cleanliness in the streets, which forced me to make some reflections. There seems to be a sort of policy in this matter, for the people scrape the sweepings into the corners, and I see large ships going backwards and forwards, which at several points He to, and take off the accumulation. They belong to the people of the surrounding islands, who are in want of manure. But, however, there is neither consistency nor strictness in this method, and the want of cleanliness in the city is the more unpardonable, as in it, as much provision has been made for cleaning it, as in any Dutch town.
All the streets are paved—even those in the remotest quarters, with bricks at least, which are laid down lengthwise, with the edges slightly canting: the middle of the street where necessary is raised a little, while channels are formed on each side to receive the water, and convey it into covered drains. There are other architectural arrangements in the original well-considered plan, which prove the intention of the excellent architects to make Venice the most cleanly, as well as the most singular of cities. As I walked along I could not refrain from sketching a body of regulations on the subject, anticipating in thought some superintendent of police, who might act in earnest. Thus one always feels an inclination to sweep one's neighbour's door.
Oct. 2, 1786.
Before all things I hastened to the Carità. I had found in Palladio's works that he had planned a monastic building here, in which he intended to represent a private residence of the rich and hospitable ancients. The plan, which was excellently drawn, both as a whole and in detail, gave me infinite delight, and I hoped to find a marvel. Alas! scarcely a tenth part of the edifice is finished. However, even this part is worthy of that heavenly genius. There is a completeness in the plan, and an accuracy in the execution, which I had never before witnessed. One ought to pass whole years in the contemplation of such a work. It seems to me that I have seen nothing grander, nothing more perfect, and I fancy that I am not mistaken. Only imagine the admirable artist, born with an inner feeling for the grand and the pleasing, now, for the first time, forming himself by the ancients, with incredible labour, that he may be the means of reviving them. He finds an opportunity to carry out a favorite thought in building a convent, which is destined as a dwelling for so many monks, and a shelter for so many strangers, in the form of an antique private residence.
The church was already standing and led to an atrium of Corinthian columns. Here one feels delighted, and forgets all priestcraft. At one end, the sacristy, at another, a chapter-room is found, while there is the finest winding stair-case in the world, with a wide well, and the stone-steps built into the wall, and so laid, that one supports another. One is never tired of going up and down this stair-case, and we may judge of its success, from the fact that Palladio himself declares that he has succeeded. The fore-court leads to the large inner-court. Unfortunately, nothing is finished of the building which was to surround this, except the left side. Here there are three rows of columns, one over the other; on the ground-floor are the halls, on the first story is an archway in front of the cells, and the upper story consists of a plain wall with windows. However, this description should be illustrated by a reference to the sketches. I will just add a word about the execution.
Venice.
Only the capitals and bases of the columns, and the key-stones of the arches, are of hewn stone; all the rest is—I will not say of brick, but-of burned clay. This description of tile I never saw before. The frieze and cornice are of the same material, as well as the parts of the arch. All is but half burnt, and lastly the building is put together with a very little lime. As it stands it looks as if it had been produced at one cast. If the whole had been finished, and it had been properly rubbed up and coloured, it would have been a charming sight.
However, as so often happens with buildings of a modern time, the plan was too large. The artist had pre-supposed not only that the existing convent would be pulled down, but also that the adjoining houses would be bought, and here money and inclination probably began to fail. Kind Destiny, thou who hast formed and perpetuated so much stupidity, why didst thou not allow this work to be completed!