Wintering in the Riviera / With Notes of Travel in Italy and France, and Practical Hints to Travellers

by William James Miller

So numerous are the palaces, that I see eighty-nine are mentioned in a small but useful guide-book, called A Week in Venice,[41] the churches being about as many in number. The grand palace of all, however, is the Doge’s. This is a magnificent building both inside and out. The admission is by ticket, costing a franc each for the palace itself, with extra tickets for the Bridge of Sighs and the Museum, a small collection. The palace is a square or oblong building, with a large court-yard in the centre, and both externally and on the walls of the court is highly decorated; but there is a heaviness in the upper part of the west and south exterior façades, and a dumpiness about the windows with which these parts are pierced, which could never reconcile me to them. Even the lower part in its arcading wants relief. Thirty-four Gothic arches in a row, and all monotonously alike in size and figure, however beautiful individually, without a break loses in effect. The entrance from the Piazzetta is by a beautiful Gothic doorway closely adjoining St. Mark’s, richly sculptured. After examining and passing through it, we find ourselves at the foot of the Giant’s Staircase; but the large central square court round which the palace extends arrests the eye, and we enter it to admire the interior façades, particularly those on the east and north. The north side is short and broken, and more diversified than the others, not merely by statues and a peculiar rich ornamentation, but by the domes of St. Mark, which tower over it and claim to be a portion of the structure. But after lingering about this handsome court, and taking a look at the carved bronze wells which are placed in it, and from which water is obtained, ascent is made by the Giant’s Staircase to the first floor, where admission is gained to the portions of the building shown to the public. The arrangement of the rooms is somewhat perplexing to the visitor, requiring a plan which is not anywhere given to guide him through. But we find our way through some immense halls, all decorated by huge pictures principally representing scenes in the history of Venice—real ‘gallery pictures’ in point of extent of canvas, but highly suitable to the noble proportions of the rooms. One picture, not by any means a pleasing one, is the largest in the world, and occupies the whole breadth of an immense room—’Paradise,’ by Tintoretto, who seemed fond of enormous canvases; his chef-d’œuvre, the Crucifixion, in the Scola di S. Rocco, being also huge. The ceilings of the rooms in the palace, some of them lofty, are also, according to Italian practice, embellished with paintings and massive gilding; but labour and expense seem greatly thrown away, it is such a strain to look up to them. In one large room, just below the ceiling, in a running row, portraits are seen of all the Doges, 120 in number, commencing in the year 697 and ending 1797, a period of exactly 1100 years. One of them, however, as a traitor to Venice, is painted under veil. These portraits in all likelihood are, at least among the earlier Doges, as reliable as are those of the early kings of Scotland in the gallery of Holyrood Palace, or of those of the earlier popes in certain churches in Rome. The rooms, however, of greatest interest are those in which the Doge and his council assembled in conclave; and one cannot help, when in such rooms, endeavouring to conjure up old scenes happening there, and thinking how the glory of Venice has departed.

When in the library we were asked to go into a small room off it, where we were shown some old MSS., and a fine old unique breviary, with most beautiful illuminated illustrations. It has been or is being photographed, and I presume copies will be for sale.

The dungeons, which are seen by crossing the Bridge of Sighs, are, so far as shown, small, but sufficiently repellent.

The Doge’s Palace abuts upon the church of St. Mark, which we rarely passed without entering. On Whitsunday (20th May 1877) a grand service was held in the church. The singing was performed by about from twelve to twenty choristers in the organ gallery, with a leader. The voices were splendid, and the music very fine. On another occasion we walked round the gallery of the church under guidance of an attendant, and examined the mosaics, of which one thus gets a nearer view. They are imposing, but unfortunately are giving way in many places. At a west window we were taken outside to see the four fine bronze horses over the portal, which form a feature in the ornamentation of the façade. The horses are, however, in size small, and apparently not sufficiently gigantic for the situation.

In the Piazza di San Marco immense flocks of pigeons are always to be seen; they are kept under the protection of the city, the law being that to kill or ill-treat them is a punishable offence. Every day at two o’clock they are regularly fed with grain, and they are said to know the time so exactly as to arrive for their dinner from all quarters at the precise hour. It is certainly remarkable to see how tame they are, being quite devoid of the fear and dread of man, perching all over any stranger who will feed them, with as much confidence as if they were with Adam or Eve in the Garden of Eden.

After we had seen a good deal of Venice we ascended the campanile of St. Mark. This is a wide square tower, and by a commodious sloping internal ascent the belfry is attained, where we get among the bells. The hours are struck by a man stationed to pull the ropes and watch for fires, which, when he discovers, he notifies to the proper quarter—a useful, but, I fear, a rare species of precaution against this species of calamity. The view from this tower (which is 322 feet high to the hair of the angel’s head, an altitude which I need scarcely say we did not attempt) is commanding, ranging over the city and lagunes, looking, however, as I have already said, a little too directly down upon the roofs of the houses below. However, one gets a pretty clear idea of the map of Venice, with its multifarious canals, islands, and narrow streets. As stated by Bædeker, the ‘15,000 houses and palaces of Venice (population, 128,901) are situated on 3 large and 114 small islands, formed by 147 canals, connected by 378 bridges (most of them stone), and altogether about 7 miles in circumference.’ I occasionally endeavoured to thread my way through the narrow streets of Venice, and considered it rather an achievement the first time I managed to pioneer through all the intricacies of the passage from the Piazza San Marco to the Ponte Rialto and back again. This famous bridge is a graceful marble arch, of one span of 74 feet, across the Grand Canal. An elegant marble balustrade protects each side, the space on the bridge being divided into three footways by two covered arched or arcaded buildings used as shabby little shops, which one would gladly see abolished, being so little in keeping with the handsome character of the bridge. Here at the Rialto there are also markets on either side of the canal, for the sale of fruit and other things.

Situated on the Grand Canal, but nearer to the railway station, is the Museo Correr, in which we found a collection of pictures, armour, and curiosities, of no great extent, but said to be valuable. The Palazzo Marcello (proprietor, Richetti) contains a quantity of ‘antiquities,’ curiosities, bronzes, and other things manufactured for sale, some of them curiously designed.

Nearer to the principal part of the town the Academia delle Belle Arti lies—a very extensive collection of paintings in twenty large halls, besides smaller rooms, the pictures numbering in all 679. These are all, with the exception of a few of the Dutch school, if I am not mistaken, the works of Italian artists, most of them by the great masters, and many on a large scale. Among others is what is considered Titian’s masterpiece—’The Assumption of the Virgin,’ a clear and brilliant, a glorious work in point of drawing and colour. In fact, the colour is perhaps rather too strong in reds and blues. One great canvas, a grand picture by Paul Veronese of the banquet in Levi’s house, occupies the entire breadth of the largest hall. The banquet is represented as held under a remarkably Venetian-looking light colonnade, open to the outer air, and peopled by characters evidently clothed in Venetian attire of the painter’s era. But it scarcely does to scan such works of art with too much regard to accessories. What appears to be the favourite picture is another Veronese—a Virgin with a young, naked, little St. John the Baptist standing on a pedestal, with legs to appearance (it may be merely the effect of shade) of unequal lengths. There were half a dozen painters when we were there, engaged in copying the chubby St. John. Copies of it may be seen in many of the shops of Venice. They are, I fancy, favourites with the ladies. We paid only one visit to the Academy, but it would take several visits to do its galleries justice.

The arsenal of Venice, dating back to the year 1104, is well worthy of a visit for the sake of its museum, an interesting collection of arms and models of ships, particularly of the grand state gondolas; nothing but the museum is apparently shown to the ordinary visitor. The arsenal is not so extensive as it once was. Admission is had by simply entering one’s name in the visitors’ book, and, as usual at all these show places where admission is not by payment, giving a small fee to the custodes, one being stationed in each hall.