A Golden Book of Venice

Lawrence Turnbull

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• Publié par: umki
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 42
• Langue: English

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Project Gutenberg's A Golden Book of Venice, by
Mrs. Lawrence Turnbull
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Title: A Golden Book of Venice
Author: Mrs. Lawrence Turnbull
Release Date: December 14, 2003 [EBook #10455]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG
EBOOK A GOLDEN BOOK OF VENICE ***
Produced by Ted Garwin, Annika and PG
Distributed ProofreadersTHE GOLDEN BOOK OF
VENICE
A Historical Romance of the 16th Century
By
MRS. LAWRENCE TURNBULL
'This noble citie doth in a manner chalenge this
at my hands, that I should describe her … the
fairest Lady, yet the richest Paragon, and
Queene of Christendome.'
1900
AS A TRIBUTE TO HIS GIFT OF VIVID HISTORIC
NARRATION WHICH WAS THE DELIGHT OF MY
CHILDHOOD, I INSCRIBE THIS ROMANCE TO
THE MEMORY OF MY DEAR FATHER.
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
I desire gratefully to acknowledge my indebtedness
to many faithful, loving and able students of
Venetian lore, without whose books my own
presentation of Venice in the sixteenth centurywould have been impossible. Mr. Ruskin's name
must always come first among the prophets of this
City of the Sea, but among others from whom I
have gathered side-lights I have found quite
indispensable Mr. Horatio F. Brown's "Venice; An
Historical Sketch of the Republic," "Venetian
Studies," and "Life on the Lagoons"; Mr. Hare's
suggestive little volume of "Venice"; M. Léon
Galibert's "Histoire de la République de Venise";
and Mr. Charles Yriarte's "Venice" and his work
studied from the State papers in the Frari, entitled
"La vie d'un Patricien de Venise."
Mr. Robertson's life of Fra Paolo Sarpi gave me
the first hint of this great personality, but my own
portrait has been carefully studied from the
volumes of his collected works which later
responded to my search; these were collected and
preserved for the Venetian government under the
title of "Opere di Fra Paolo Sarpi, Servita, Teologo
e Consultore della Serenissima Repubblica di
Venezia" and included his life, letters and
"opinions," and all others of his writings which
escaped destruction in the fire of the Servite
Convent, as well as many important extracts from
the original manuscripts so destroyed and which
had been transcribed by order of the Doge, Marco
Foscarini, a few years before.
FRANCESE LITCHFIELD TURNBULL.
La-Paix, June, 1900.PRELUDE
Venice, with her life and glory but a memory, is still
the citta nobilissima,—a city of moods,—all
beautiful to the beauty-lover, all mystic to the
dreamer; between the wonderful blue of the water
and the sky she floats like a mirage—visionary—
unreal—and under the spell of her fascination we
are not critics, but lovers. We see the pathos, not
the scars of her desolation, and the splendor of her
past is too much a part of her to be forgotten,
though the gold is dim upon her palace-fronts, and
the sheen of her precious marbles has lost its
bloom, and the colors of the laughing Giorgione
have faded like his smile.
But the very soul of Venetia is always hovering
near, ready to be invoked by those who confess
her charm. When, under the glamor of her radiant
skies the faded hues flash forth once more, there
is no ruin nor decay, nor touch of conquering hand
of man nor time, only a splendid city of dreams,
waiting in silence—as all visions wait—until that
invisible, haunting spirit has turned the legends of
her power into actual activities.THE GOLDEN BOOK
OF VENICE
I
Sea and sky were one glory of warmth and color
this sunny November morning in 1565, and there
were signs of unusual activity in the Campo San
Rocco before the great church of Santa Maria
Gloriosa dei Frari, which, if only brick without, was
all glorious within, "in raiment of needlework" and
"wrought gold." And outside, the delicate tracery of
the cornice was like a border of embroidery upon
the sombre surface; the sculptured marble
doorway was of surpassing richness, and the airy
grace of the campanile detached itself against the
entrancing blue of the sky, as one of those points
of beauty for which Venice is memorable.
Usually this small square, remote from the centres
of traffic as from the homes of the nobility, seemed
scarcely more than a landing-place for the
gondolas which were constantly bringing visitors
and worshippers thither, as to a shrine; for this
church was a sort of memorial abbey to the
illustrious dead of Venice,—her Doges, her
generals, her artists, her heads of noble families,—
and the monuments were in keeping with all its
sumptuous decorations, for the Frati Minori of theconvent to which it belonged—just across the
narrow lane at the side of the church—were both
rich and generous, and many of its gifts and
furnishings reflected the highest art to which
modern Venice had attained. Between the
wonderful, mystic, Eastern glory of San Marco, all
shadows and symbolisms and harmonies, and the
positive, realistic assertions, aesthetic and spiritual,
of the Frari, lay the entire reach of the art and
religion of the Most Serene Republic.
The church was ancient enough to be a treasure-
house for the historian, and it had been restored,
with much magnificence, less than a century
before,—which was modern for Venice,—while
innumerable gifts had brought its treasures down
to the days of Titian and Tintoret.
To-day the people were coming in throngs, as to a
festa, on foot from under the Portico di Zen, across
the little marble bridge which spanned the narrow
canal; on foot also from the network of narrow
paved lanes, or calle, which led off into a densely
populated quarter; for to-day the people had free
right of entrance, equally with those others who
came in gondolas, liveried and otherwise, from
more distant and aristocratic neighborhoods. This
pleasant possibility of entrance sufficed for the
crowd at large, who were not learned, and who
preferred the attractions of the outside show to the
philosophical debate which was the cause of all this
agreeable excitement, and which was presently to
take place in the great church before a vast
assembly of nobles and clergy and representativesfrom the Universities of Padua, Mantua, and
Bologna; and outside, in the glowing sunshine, with
the strangers and the confusion, the shifting
sounds and lights, the ceaseless unlading of
gondolas and massing and changing of colors,
every minute was a realization of the people's ideal
of happiness.
Brown, bare-legged boys flocked from San
Pantaleone and the people's quarters on the
smaller canals, remitting, for the nonce, their
absorbing pastimes of crabbing and petty
gambling, and ragged and radiant, stretched
themselves luxuriously along the edge of the little
quay, faces downward, emphasizing their
humorous running commentaries with excited
movements of the bare, upturned feet; while the
gondoliers landed their passengers to a lively
refrain of "Stali!" their curses and appeals to the
Madonna blending not discordantly with the general
babel of sound which gives such a sense of
companionship in Venice—human voices calling in
ceaseless interchange from shore to shore,
resonant in the brilliant atmosphere, quarrels
softened to melodies across the water, cries of the
gondoliers telling of ceaseless motion, the constant
lap and plash of the wavelets and the drip of the
oars making a soothing undertone of content.
From time to time staccato notes of delight added
a distinct jubilant quality to this symphony,
heralding the arrival of some group of Church
dignitaries from one or other of the seven principal
parishes of Venice, gorgeous in robes of highfestival and displaying the choicest of treasures
from sacristies munificently endowed, as was meet
for an ecclesiastical body to whom belonged one
half of the area of Venice, with wealth
proportionate.
Frequent delegations from the lively crowd of the
populace—flashing with repartee, seemly or
unseemly, as they gathered close to the door just
under the marble slab with its solemn appeal to
reverence, "Rispettati la Casa di Dio"—penetrated
into the Frari to see where the more pleasure could
be gotten, as also to claim their right to be there;
for this pageant was for the people also, which
they did not forget, and their good-humored ripple
of comment was tolerant, even when most critical.
But outside one could have all of the festa that was
worth seeing, with the sunshine added,—the
glorious sunshine of this November day, cold
enough to fill the air with sparkle,—and the boys, at
least, were sure to return to the free enjoyment
impossible within.
A group of young nobles, in silken hose and velvet
mantles, were met with ecstatic approval and
sallies deftly personal.