During my sojourn in Venice, I made, with others of my friends, many excursions to the neighbouring islands. We visited Murano and its wonderful glass works, and the more interesting San Lazzaro, with its Armenian convent and happy brotherhood. It was here that Lord Byron spent a considerable portion of his time in the study of the Armenian language, and the brethren still speak of him in terms of much enthusiasm. We saw the library and printing office, and walked through the flower gardens, enjoying the delicious breeze, and the views which greeted us on all sides, of the bright islands of the lagune. An expedition which we made to Chioggia, a town so famous in the earlier annals of the Republic, and whose unintelligible patois, Goldoni has placed in the mouths of some of his characters, was a more formidable affair, as we had to make up a party, and charter a sailing barque with four gondolieri. Quitting the piazzetta at six, we soon passed the island of Malamocco, and coasted along under the extraordinary breakwater reaching from that island to Chioggia, a lasting monument of the spirit of enterprise possessed by the early Venetians. The voyage of eighteen miles occupied about five hours, and at eleven we landed at the grass-covered quay of the old town, now the abode of fishermen and a few little shopkeepers. Had our party been a show of wild beasts, we could scarcely have excited greater wonder among the Chioggians, of whom a posse accompanied us in our ramble through the town, watching our every movement as though we had suddenly dropped in among them from some other sphere. Nor were they to us less objects of curiosity; their quaint dresses and primitive appearance were very striking, and our friend Harlen found in the market-place some excellent subjects for his pencil. We searched in vain for an osteria where we might get something by way of lunch, but entering a house where a dry bush was hanging over the door-way, we found a good fire, and there fried some fish which we had purchased in the market. Whilst making preparations for our departure, we were greatly amused with the dexterity displayed by some little urchins, who dived for centesimi or halfpence, and staid so long under water, that they seemed amphibious. We had a crowd of a score or more, many of whom took to the water without waiting to throw off their clothing. He who was fortunate enough to find a copper, was compelled to swim away to a distance to hide his treasure, pursued by a shoal of his companions, who pressed after him like dogs in an otter hunt.
We had a brisk and favourable breeze on our return homewards, which filled our large sail, and bore us merrily along. The water looked so blue and tempting, that a dip was decided on, and as most of our party were good swimmers, they unhesitatingly plunged in from the roof of the covered cabin, having previously ascertained that the depth was sufficient for diving. Captain Rovére, who remained in somewhat longer than the rest, was unfortunately seized with cramp, and disappeared before he could call out for aid. He was at once rescued from his dangerous situation, by Flake, who had been watching him, and who, half-dressed, jumped in again to his assistance. We reached Venice about dusk.
FOOTNOTES:
[38] “Two Zwanzigers the lot.”
[39] A drink made of cherries, capillaire and iced water.
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE DUCAL PALACE—BRIDGE OF SIGHS—THE POZZI—CAMPANILE—VIEW FROM THE SUMMIT—SWIFTS—THE PIGEONS OF ST. MARKS—DEPARTURE FROM VENICE—THE ANCONA STEAMER—THE ADRIATIC—VICISSITUDES OF A SEA-VOYAGE—THE UNFORTUNATE FRIAR—POLA—ITS ANTIQUITIES—THE HOTEL—ANCONA—THE CUSTOM-HOUSE—DISAPPOINTMENT—A VILLAGE IN THE APPENINES—FULIGNO—ASSISI—THE BOARDING-HOUSE—SAN FRANCESCO—MUSICAL SHOEMAKERS—SPOLETO—MY COUNTRYWOMAN—TERNI—ROME.
I shall not describe the Ducal Palace with its pozzi and piombi, its magnificent staircase and the Lion’s mouth, and the once gloomy chambers of the Inquisition. All these have been too well handled by professed tourists, to require any further observation on my part, and I doubt not there are many living within five miles of St. Paul’s, who possess a much clearer idea of the interior of San Marco, with its apostle screen, gilt mosaics, and uneven pavement, than of the noble monument to their own Sir Christopher. Suffice it to say, that in company of some relatives whom I met in Venice, whose curiosity was proof against difficulties that would altogether have taken me aback, I succeeded not merely in peeping through the key-hole of the fatal door, but in standing on the Bridge of Sighs. To effect this negatively desirable object, we were compelled to penetrate to the bureau of some functionary, holding a situation in the prison on the other side, and having secured an old man with the key, we retraced our steps to the Palace, and passed through the portal.
The Ponte dei Sospiri consists of two distinct passages: by one the accused was led before the Inquisitors, from whose presence he was either conducted through the other to be strangled, or consigned by the brutal and cowardly policy of that dark tribunal, to the perpetual damps of the Pozzi, or subaqueous dungeons of the Ducal Palace. The number of those who left the inquisition to be restored to the light of day, was limited indeed: mercy or pardon were not among the attributes of the so called, “Justice of St. Mark,” and the miserable accused never experienced the benefit of a doubt. We shuddered in the state dungeons, and crept through the damp and tortuous passages, gazing with feelings of awe and horror at the iron grating, where so many innocent victims had gasped the last unavailing appeal for mercy, at the hands of their fellow-men.
It is well worth a little trouble to ascend the Campanile of St. Mark’s, from whose summit the view is unique, and should you happen to be upon the platform at the hour of sunset, you will allow it to be so to a very striking degree. The noise of the monstrous bells is indeed almost deafening. Although Venice is intersected with small canals, in every possible direction, it is extraordinary that but one is visible from the summit of the bell-tower, a fact only accounted for by the close proximity of the houses. Of the Grand Canal there are many glimpses, while the various islands of the Lagune are seen from hence to great advantage. All day and night there are watchmen at the top of the Campanile, whose duty it is to give the alarm, in case of fire, and from their great elevation, they are able at once to judge of its precise locality. These worthies employ their leisure time in letting fly small pieces of white paper, in order to observe the gambols of the swifts, which are certainly most amusing. No sooner is a piece let off, than it is pursued by a lot of these little birds, who appear to scuffle and fight for its possession most lustily. Occasionally it is impaled by the sharp beak of one of them, and thus forms a frill around its neck, which leads to its destruction. Its efforts to disengage itself are unavailing. No sooner has it donned its fatal necklace, than a crowd of its fellows enter on the pursuit, and the poor bird is then either pecked to death, or drops from sheer exhaustion on one of the neighbouring roofs.