We found a great many masons and workmen employed, both inside and outside St. Mark's, on the restoration and repairs. Fragments of the beautiful mosaic were scattered about in heaps, which it seemed almost desecration to tread upon. I swept them carefully together, and called the attention of the workmen to the neglect of such precious bits of antique workmanship. I believe these restorations are greatly exciting the anger of lovers of art in England, by the imputed Vandalism of the committee who are employed in directing the work. As this outcry is principally raised by many eminent artists, who look on St. Mark's as a perfect gem of antiquity, there must be some good reason for this righteous anger, which, however, I much fear will be ineffectual to stay the hand of the Goth.
I must confess, though with secret misgiving as to how such heresy will be received, that as a whole, and apart from its antiquity and interesting historical associations, and the exquisite mosaics, so rich in colouring and design, I was rather disappointed in St. Mark's. Certainly the exterior is beyond praise in its beautiful curving outlines; but the interior is so exceedingly dark and heavy, that the radiant beauty of the mosaics can only succeed in very partially relieving the deep gloom. As a perfect specimen of the dark ages, commend me rather to that little ancient Mosque beside the new Cathedral modelled from it at Marseilles, with its low-arched domes and roofs, and "dim, religious light."
CHAPTER XX.[ToC]
A water-excursion—The Bridge of Sighs—Doge's Palace—Archæological Museum—The Rialto—The streets of Venice—Aids to disease—Venetian Immorality—The Arsenal—Nautical Museum—Trip to Lido—Glass works—Venetian evenings—The great Piazza—Scene on the Piazzetta—Farewell to Venice.
Stepping into a gondola one sunny day, we glided past the marble palaces, at the landing-stages of which Venetian "water-carriages" were moored. We sped down the Grand Canal, passing under the great Rialto with a thought of the early Venetians who had settled there nearly two thousand years ago; then round by the narrower and more shaded canals of the silent city, and presently in one of the narrowest parts we passed beneath a covered marble arch—the fateful Bridge of Sighs, with a sympathetic shudder of pitying remembrance. We breathed more freely as we emerged from these shadowed water lanes, and caught a glimpse of the bright blue sea fronting us.
On another day we visited the Bridge of Sighs in more orthodox fashion, so that we might quote with due veracity Byron's ever recurring lines—
"I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs,
A palace and a prison on each hand;"