At Monselise the scenery improves, and we saw some very picturesque castle ruins, conical-shaped hills lying round; and on approaching Padua we again obtained a fine view of the snow-clad Alps, with the huge mound of hills at their base. We did not stop at Padua, having decided to do so on our return. It is only an hour's journey from Venice, which we were now rapidly nearing, and we eagerly scanned the horizon ever and anon to catch the first glimpse of the wonderful city—the "eldest child of liberty." We had the sea on our right, from whence blew a most refreshing breeze; but soon it spread ahead and to the left, and then we caught sight of little glittering minarets in the midst of the waters, and then Venice, fairy-like disclosed herself to our admiring eyes, rising slowly from the sea, and strangely bringing to mind Tennyson's description of the magic city of Camelot:
"Fairy Queens have built the city,
They came from out a sacred mountain-cleft
Toward the sunrise, each with harp in hand;
And built it to the music of their harps."
Gradually the marble city took form, the slim towers and great domes forming a lovely outline against the clear and cloudless beauty of the evening sky.
CHAPTER XIX.[ToC]
Arrival in Venice—The Water City—Gondola traffic—Past glories—Danieli's Royal Hotel—St. Mark's Piazza—The Sacred Pigeons—St. Mark's—Mosaics—The Holy Columns—Treasures—- The Chian Steeds—The modern Goth.
Arriving at the station, our luggage was quickly carried to the canal-side, where there were numbers of gondoliers awaiting us with their hearse-like gondolas, which, as Byron describes in one of his letters, "glide along the water, looking blackly just like a coffin clapt in a canoe, where none can make out what you say or do." (There is no name in either past or present times more sadly and inextricably associated with Venice than that of George Gordon, Lord Byron.) It was indeed a change from the usual noise and confusion at the end of a railway journey, and it seemed strange not to see the usual array of omnibuses. "The means of arrival in Venice, indeed, are commonplace enough, but, lo! in a moment you step out of the commonplace railway station into the lucid stillness of the water city—into poetry and wonderland." The gondoliers are quite as clamorous as the liveried omnibus legion. However, we soon found a representative of the Hotel Danieli with a handsome gondola waiting to receive us. We stepped in quickly, though most carefully—nay, even solemnly, and were soon gliding over the silent water. There was a momentary tremor and hesitation at first entering the long, slender, black craft with its funeral-like hood or canopy; but the inside was luxuriously easy, and the black cushions and drapery so comfortable that we speedily dismissed our gloomy ideas, and began to enter into the busy moving scene around us with the greatest delight and interest.
The gondolas were originally put into black by the order of the State, as a rebuke to the lavish magnificence of the Venetians: they look now as though they were in mourning for the past glories of the city. The dress of the gondoliers was fortunately not included in the statute; and the fine, stalwart fellow, who was quite winning our admiration by his graceful movements in propelling our gondola, was attired like a Venetian sailor, with a blue scarf round his waist, trimmed with silver lace. These gondoliers, for the most part, are a light-hearted and obliging race. They certainly hand you to your seat with a very solemn politeness, giving you somewhat the impression of being handed into your grave; but such thoughts are but for a moment, and soon disappear as a smile flits over the bronzed, sailor-like countenance, and as the boat glides rapidly between rows of great houses and marble palaces, which rise out of the water on your right and left, "Giacomo" obligingly pointing out the objects of interest as you pass along.