CHAPTER XXII.
THE “PORTA ROSSA”—JOURNEY TO BOLOGNA—THE BELLI ARTI—ARCADES—CERTOSA—OUR FELLOW-TRAVELLERS—THE PARROT—AUSTRIAN DOUANE—FERRARA—PADUA—CAFFE PEDROCCHI—VENICE—THE CASA RAFFAELLI—GONDOLAS—LUISH’S PROFESSIONAL PURSUITS—MY FRIEND D. AGAIN—TITIAN—MILITARY SALUTE—THE PASSEGGIATA.
THE “PORTA ROSSA”—JOURNEY TO BOLOGNA—THE BELLI ARTI—ARCADES—CERTOSA—OUR FELLOW-TRAVELLERS—THE PARROT—AUSTRIAN DOUANE—FERRARA—PADUA—CAFFE PEDROCCHI—VENICE—THE CASA RAFFAELLI—GONDOLAS—LUISH’S PROFESSIONAL PURSUITS—MY FRIEND D. AGAIN—TITIAN—MILITARY SALUTE—THE PASSEGGIATA.
Arrived at “Firenze la bella,” we drove to an inn calledLa Porta Rossa, which had been recommended to us by a Roman acquaintance. Here I met my friends Bellamy and Dickson, who were on their way northward, and in an adjoining house, I discovered Vetch, of water-colour celebrity, who kindly undertook to introduce me toDr.P——, an English physician, resident in Florence. This gentleman advised my proceeding without delay to Venice, to take mud-baths, and gave me an introductory letter to the Herr T——g, a German doctor of extensive practice. Luish, although loth to quit Florence with only a single day’s loitering in its wonderful galleries, was too kind to let me start off alone, and we accordingly booked two places in the Orchesi diligence to Bologna. It was late in the afternoon,when we quitted theLung’ Arno, as the quay along the south bank of the river is denominated. As the evening closed in, we were accompanied by a swarm of fire-flies, which flew in and out of the open windows of the coupé, and were exceedingly brilliant. Luish caught one as we walked up a hill, and having kept it until it was quite dark, we found that it gave out sufficient light to enable us to see the time. We gradually lost sight of them as we approached the more lofty ground of the chain of Appenines, and it soon became so cold, that we were glad to use all the clothing we could muster.
At Bologna we staid one day, being anxious to see its Accademia. The Bolognese school of painting numbers among its disciples some of the highest professors of the art. The four Caracci, and their followers Domenichino and Guercino, as well as Guido and Albani, with whose death the art of painting declined in Italy, were of this school, and all natives of Bologna.
In the Accademia, are some beautiful pictures. TheSt.Agnesof Domenichino, theMadonna della Pietà, by Guido, and Raffaelle’sSt.Cecilia, are wonderful. ThePere Eternel, by Guercino, said to have been commenced and finished in one night, although to my thinking, a subject noneshould dare to attempt, is an extraordinary production. Guido’sMassacre of the Innocentsis also a beautiful composition.
The arcades which line both sides of nearly every street in Bologna, although very convenient in wet weather, render the town dark and gloomy, and having peeped into its finest churches, and clambered with much labour to the summit of the leaning tower of Asinelli, I spent with Luish a great part of the afternoon, in the interesting Certosa, or Campo Santo, formed by Napoleon, about a mile out of the city, from a destroyed convent of Carthusians. Its aisles and corridors are now filled with tombs and monuments, and the resting-places of the dead are interspersed with shrubs and flowers, forming an instructive, if not to all tastes, an agreeable promenade. The Bolognese are so fond of arcades, that they have constructed one three miles in length, a continuous covered portico, from the city to the summit of a hill calledLa Guardia, where there is a temple dedicated to the Madonna of that name. Luish would not be satisfied until he had explored the whole of it. I managed a portion of the distance, but finding it very up-hill and fatiguing work, returned to the carriage at the foot of the arcade, and waited for him.
At a caffé in the evening we were accosted by a smart-looking Vetturino, who offered us seats for Padua, to start at one the next afternoon, staying a night at Ferrara. He had already arranged with two other travellers, and finding his terms sufficiently moderate, we closed with his offer. The next morning was spent in the Accademia, and punctual to his appointment, Gioachino picked us up at the “Pension Suisse.” We found our travelling companions to be two of our own countrymen; one of them a Captain ——, returning from India, who was bringing home, among other curiosities, a valuable parrot, whose talking-qualifications caused us considerable amusement. We found Ferrara so crowded with travellers, that one room at the hotel was all our Vetturino could procure for us, and the honest fellow seemed quite mortified at the want of accommodation. The landlord, however, did all he could to serve us, and as we were disposed to make the best of everything, we did ample justice to his cheer, and drawing lots to see who should get the beds, and who the shake-downs, passed an undisturbed night, and were called by the parrot in the morning.
Soon after leaving Ferrara, we crossed the river Po on a flying bridge, propelled from side to side by the current,and entering the Lombardo-Venetian kingdom, were pulled up at the Emperor’s dogana, by the fierce whiskerando on duty. It was still early in the morning, and the head officer was in no very good humour at being knocked up at so unconstitutional an hour, and kept us a long time kicking our heels under the covereddouane. We tried hard to conceal the parrot, which was a contraband article, and, enclosed as it was in a small cage, covered with a handkerchief, and on the top of the vehicle, I think it possible it might have escaped detection, had it not, on hearing its master’s voice, croaked out lustily in sound English, a desire for some hot brandy and water, bestowing at the same time some hearty curses upon an imaginary waiter.Weexploded with laughter, whilst thechef de douane, who was ignorant from whence the strange voice proceeded, glanced around from under his shaggy eye-brows, and soon detected the hitherto unnoticed package. To hand it down was but the work of a moment, but the officer who untied the wrapper, received a bite that he would long remember. Poll’s vocal powers expanded with the restoration of daylight, and no sooner did she see her master, than she treated us with a variation from “Merrily danced,” in so shrill and amusing akey, that good humour was restored on all hands saving that of the bitten searcher. Captain —— having paid the necessary tax, and reconsigned his loquacious bird to the roof, we again resumed our journey, reaching Padua at five in the afternoon. We drove to the “Principe Carlo,” a hotel overlooking the Prato della Valle, where the accommodation is excellent. It is, however, at rather an inconvenient distance from the omnibus station, and busy portion of the city, for alas! the learned repose of “Fair Padua, nursery of Arts,” is now disturbed by the shriek of the locomotive, and the rumbling of railway traffic.
By the time our dinner was over it was quite dark, and we could therefore see little of this venerable city. We walked to the Caffé Pedrocchi, unquestionably the finest in Europe: no expense seems to have been spared in its decorations, which are of a style more suited to a regal dwelling than a place of public resort. It is one glare of mirrors, gilding, and polished marbles. Many are the stories current respecting the origin of the wealth which enabled the Signor Pedrocchi to raise so gorgeous a palace. Certain it is, that from a state of comparative poverty, he all at once leapt into possession of a large sum of money,and commenced the erection of the new Caffé, paying his workmen in good old Venetian sequins, a fact which led his friends to infer, that in demolishing the old establishment, he had stumbled upon one of those fabulous monsters, a crock of real gold. This is possibly the fact, but it is to be regretted that he placed this monument of his good luck in so mean a situation, where its architectural merits, (if it possess any!) are very much in the shade.
We took the first train the next morning to Maestre, from whence we embarked in a gondola-omnibus for the Venetian custom-house. The transition from the main land to the marshy Lagune, is almost imperceptible, and in the space of a few short months we shall be fizzed all the way into Venice, and this most beautiful of cities, this “Sea Cybele” will then have lost half its romance. It is to be hoped that this useful, but unpicturesque innovation will never be suffered to encroach beyond the outermost limits of the city, and that Venice may lose none of its originality by the somewhat unnecessary extension of the railway across the lagune. After passing through the Dogana, and bidding “a rividerci,” to our companions of the vettura, my friend and I hired a gondola to convey us tothe “Leone Bianco,” a hotel at which I had passed a few pleasant days some eight years before.
In the evening we walked to the Piazza di San Marco, as the surest spot to meet with such of our acquaintance as might have arrived from Rome. It was unnecessary to make an elaborate search,—a white hat, whose capacious leaf might have roused envy in the breast of a West India planter, shone out conspicuously from among the thickly occupied benches of the “Florian,” and revealed to us the presence of our friend Mack, who had quitted Rome some weeks before us, on a summer-tour. This gentleman informed us where we should at once find apartments, and introduced us to his landlord, the Signor Raffaelli, living in a commodious house, at the Campo San Vio, about a stone’s-throw from the Accademia, on the Grand Canal. We rowed thither the next day, and taking possession of our rooms, had time to look about us. Not only is Venice unlike any other city in the world, in respect of its peculiar position; but every thing Venetian seems to possess a distinct and particular charm, that indefinablenon so che, belonging toitonly, even to the most ordinary common-places of life. No description could arouse in the mind of one who has not visited Venice, anyadequate idea of the feelings of delight and enthusiasm excited by all around. These feelings are increased rather than diminished by a lengthened stay. Moore must have viewed Venice through a pair of very dull spectacles indeed when he wrote about—
“—— her true, real, dismal state,Her mansions closed and desolate,Her foul canals, exhaling wideSuch fetid airs as— * ** * * * *Seem like a city where the pestIs holding her last visitation.”
An occasional bad odour may certainly be detected in some of the more obscure canals during hot weather, but there can be no reason for supposing that this was not always the case, even in the palmiest days of the Republic.[37]If we pitch poetry aside, and come to plain matter of fact, we shall find, that whatever Venice may once have been, it is still a port of very considerable importance. Merchant vessels from all parts of the world are to be found at the quays of San Giorgio and the Giudecca, whilst a brisk trade is kept up between itand the other ports of the Mediterranean. Nor are its manufactures to be forgotten; the busy furnaces of Murano supply the whole world with glass beads and dolls’ eyes; the region of the Rialto furnishes half Italy with jewellery, and the glittering Merceria dazzles the eye with its costly wares, and reeks with all the varied odours of extravagant perfumery.
It was on the second-floor of the Casa Raffaelli, that Luish and I were domiciled. A large saloon with a spacious balcony overhanging the Grand Canal, into which room all the other apartments opened, served as thesala communefor ourselves and the family of our landlord. This, as well as our bed-rooms, was paved with a plum-pudding-like scaliguola, which ensured a far cooler and cleaner floor than the dusty carpets of Rome, which usually have an underlayer of straw or hay to preserve them from wear against the hard brick or concrete. The room which fell to my lot, had a side view over the Campo or Square of San Vio, and the window commanded a good stretch of the Grand Canal, in the direction of the Rialto. My first care was to inquire for Herr T——g, the doctor to whom I had a letter of introduction, and I was agreeably surprised to find that he lived exactly opposite to us, onthe other side the Canal, and that there was atraghettoor ferry, between the two houses. I paid him an early visit during a paroxysm of rheumatic pain, and though he did not recommend me to have recourse to mud-baths, he gave me some hope of relief.
The next preliminary was the procuring of acarta di sicurezza, without which the stranger in an Italian town would soon find himself in difficulty. It serves as a local passport, (the original document remaining in the care of the police authorities,) and requires a renewal every month. In order to obtain this, it was necessary that Luish and myself should possess a recommendation from some resident in the city, an obligation which was very kindly rendered byMr.H., the American Consul.
As the Herr T——g’s treatment prohibited the use of more exercise than was necessary, I hired a gondola andbarcaruolo, paying a Napoleon a-week for the boat and the man’s time. I was fortunate in my selection, inasmuch as I found Antonio steady, honest and skilful, and his gondola one of the very best description. It is only those who have tried it that can imagine the luxury of skimming the smooth water in a well-managed gondola. No other species of locomotion is to be compared to it. Ialmost lived in one, and during the course of my stay in Venice, there were very few of its canals that I did not thoroughly explore. Securely moored to one or other of the quaint-looking posts, which form so prominent a feature in the foregrounds of Prout and Canaletti, I passed the mornings in sketching. And what spot can furnish more beautiful and diversified subjects than Venice, where every turn reveals some fresh scene, and every canal abounds with palaces and churches, or picturesque masses of building. The chimney-pots alone are a study, and the genius of John of Bologna is apparent, even in the knockers and scrapers at the street doors. The former were the peculiar delight of my companion Luish, who passed all his mornings on the roofs of the Venetian palaces, perched astride on the leads, or half concealed in an eave-gutter from his fellow-mortals, himself exposed to all the fierceness of a vertical sun. The “piombi” of Silvio Pellico were nothing to the voluntary martyrdom of my friend, who daguerreotyped all the chimney-pots in “New Tyre,” and took portraits of all such knockers as had escaped the wrench of his countrymen, for, in shame be it spoken, the mania for midnight fooleries has extended even to the shores of the Adriatic.
I was returning one morning from sketching, when I was surprised, and almost alarmed by the apparition of our facetious friend D., who had just arrived from the South. He had already got into apartments on the Grand Canal, with two brother artists who had accompanied him, and seemed as fully bent as ever on the perpetration of new jokes. Stepping into his gondola, which was a peculiarly neat one, and manned by two red-scarfed Gondolieri in livery, we rowed off to the Accademia, where we hoped to fall in with Mack and others. This collection contains the finest specimens of the Venetian school of painting, famous more particularly for its perfection of colour. Of this school, Titian is the chief ornament. At the commencement of the sixteenth century, and before his extraordinary talent was much known, this great painter held an office under the Ducal government, and painted the portraits of several successive doges. One of Barberigo, a Venetian noble, is said to have first established Titian’s fame, and this at the early age of eighteen, but it was not until he had secured the patronage of Alfonso, Duke of Ferrara, that he began to derive any pecuniary benefit from his works, and even this was so limited that he was always poor. It remained for Charles the Fifth, whohonoured Titian with his personal friendship to establish thoroughly the renown of the great painter, and at the court of that monarch, he passed many years of his life, returning in his old age to his native land, where he was cut off by the plague which visited Venice in 1576.
The “Accademia dei belli arti,” contains Titian’s most celebrated picture—the Assumption of the Virgin. This is unquestionably one of the finest productions in the world, perhaps second only to the “Transfiguration” of Raffaelle in the Vatican. Many artists were engaged in making copies of this painting at the time of our visit. Most of these were very faithful imitations of the great original, but we were more particularly struck with one by an American artist, whose picture when finished, was to serve as an altar-piece in his native town of Cincinnati. The accuracy of the drawing was extreme, while the colouring of such portions as were finished was the admiration of all, and K—— had seldom the satisfaction of pursuing his art in peace and quiet. The facilities afforded to young artists at Venice, in the way of copying, are very great, and might be advantageously adopted by the authorities of some other and larger galleries in the north of Italy.
Besides the works of Titian, there are pictures by Paul Veronese, and Giorgione, Pordenone and Tintoretto, and a host of other painters of this particular school, which it is needless to describe. There are also many private galleries in Venice, all of which possess more or less attraction for the lovers of the art, and are easily accessible.
Having devoted an hour or two to theBelli Arti, I followed D. to his gondola, and was not a little surprised as we passed the soldiers on duty there, to see them formally present arms. Never before had the “cinque cento” beaver, and black velvet paletot produced so great a sensation. I had remarked a similar proceeding as we ascended the steps leading to the Accademia, but concluded that some great man had passed up unnoticed by us. The salute was now undoubtedly intended for ourselves, but what could possibly induce it. D. declared he had been treated in a similar way at the Police-office, and some other places, and thought the fellows were trying to make a fool of him. The cause was soon explained. The gondola which he had hired, at the recommendation of the waiter at his hotel, belonged to the Principessa G——, who had quitted Venice a few weeks previously on a journey, and the plate-glass windows were blazoned with the arms of her family. Themistake never occurred when the windows were not drawn out. It appears that when a family leaves the city, their gondolas, instead of being locked up in the boat-house, are let out on hire by their retainers: this is sometimes done with the consent of the owner, as in the present instance, but it more frequently happens that the servants turn the practice to their own account.
ThePasseggiata, or promenade, is an interesting sight, and one may there witness the perfection of gondola management. These occur usually twice in the week, the spot chosen being either the clear portion of the Giudecca, opposite the Riva delle Zattere, or under the public gardens, in the Canal ofSt.Marc. The surface of the water is then covered with the noiseless and graceful vehicles of Venice, whose sombre-looking coverings have been removed, that the fair occupants may the more readily be seen and admired. Here also is the openbarca, with its striped canopy of red and white, contrasting pleasantly with the sable hue of the old regime, whose colour no one has yet been sufficiently bold to depart from. All the boats are rowed by two men, as none would appear at thepasseggiatawith a single gondolier. Speed is a great desideratum, and all is rushing and gliding—thebarcaruoliseem in their ownproper element, and vie with each other in parading their skill, cutting and cleaving with their sharp prows, or dashing along in one mass, like a vast floating raft of gondolas. The forward rower having no room to ply his oar, quietly unships it, and leaves to the other the task of keeping up the motion, and now the forced propinquity to the fair occupants of other gondolas is agreeably perplexing, and a severe tax is imposed upon the watchfulness of maiden aunts, and sharp-sighted duennas, (who can detect in a moment the faintestocchiata,) for the hook of a walking-cane, if used as a grapnel, will keep you firmly alongside, and within whispering distance, of the fairest belle of Venice. At the turning point, all is confusion, as each gondolier is striving to tack as short as possible, and get the lead. The spray raised by the hundreds of busy oars, glistens in the rays of the declining sun, and splashes unceremoniously into the faces of thepromeneurs. The strains of Mercadante and Verdi mingle with the salt breeze of the lagune, which may here be enjoyed in all its purity. It is untainted even by the presence of a solitary cigar. No one smokes at thepasseggiata; it is notthe thing. And then we all get fixed again into a mass, but on looking round, we find we have lost the fair facewhich had so charmed us during the lastcourse. Our next-door neighbours are, on one side, the great French lady, who takes four daily breakfasts at the Florian, and on the other, a boat-load of Austrian officers, who are enjoying a forced reprieve from their pipes. The walking-cane is at a discount, so giving a wink to Antonio, and a sly push to the gondolas of the officers and fat lady, we hasten to take up a more advantageous position.
FOOTNOTES:[37]For many months I had rooms in a court opening out of the Frezzaria, one of the most thickly populated thoroughfares of Venice, and although my bed-room looked out over a canal of most questionable appearance, I cannot recollect having ever remarked any unpleasant exhalation.
[37]For many months I had rooms in a court opening out of the Frezzaria, one of the most thickly populated thoroughfares of Venice, and although my bed-room looked out over a canal of most questionable appearance, I cannot recollect having ever remarked any unpleasant exhalation.
[37]For many months I had rooms in a court opening out of the Frezzaria, one of the most thickly populated thoroughfares of Venice, and although my bed-room looked out over a canal of most questionable appearance, I cannot recollect having ever remarked any unpleasant exhalation.