Italian Hours

Henry James

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pubOne.info thank you for your continued support and wish to present you this new edition. The chapters of which this volume is composed have with few exceptions already been collected, and were then associated with others commemorative of other impressions of (no very extensive) excursions and wanderings. The notes on various visits to Italy are here for the first time exclusively placed together, and as they largely refer to quite other days than these - the date affixed to each paper sufficiently indicating this - I have introduced a few passages that speak for a later and in some cases a frequently repeated vision of the places and scenes in question. I have not hesitated to amend my text, expressively, wherever it seemed urgently to ask for this, though I have not pretended to add the element of information or the weight of curious and critical insistence to a brief record of light inquiries and conclusions. The fond appeal of the observer concerned is all to aspects and appearances - above all to the interesting face of things as it mainly used to be.

Informations

• Publié par: Pub One Info
• Date de parution: 23 octobre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9782819918813
• Langue: English

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PREFACE
The chapters of which this volume is composed havewith few exceptions already been collected, and were thenassociated with others commemorative of other impressions of (novery extensive) excursions and wanderings. The notes on variousvisits to Italy are here for the first time exclusively placedtogether, and as they largely refer to quite other days than these- the date affixed to each paper sufficiently indicating this - Ihave introduced a few passages that speak for a later and in somecases a frequently repeated vision of the places and scenes inquestion. I have not hesitated to amend my text, expressively,wherever it seemed urgently to ask for this, though I have notpretended to add the element of information or the weight ofcurious and critical insistence to a brief record of lightinquiries and conclusions. The fond appeal of the observerconcerned is all to aspects and appearances - above all to theinteresting face of things as it mainly used to be.
H. J.
CONTENTS
VENICE THE GRAND CANAL VENICE: AN EARLY IMPRESSIONTWO OLD HOUSES AND THREE YOUNG WOMEN CASA AL VISI FROM CHAMBÉRY TOMILAN THE OLD SAINT-GOTHARD ITALY REVISITED A ROMAN HOLIDAY ROMANRIDES ROMAN NEIGHBOURHOODS THE AFTER-SEASON IN ROME FROM A ROMANNOTE-BOOK A FEW OTHER ROMAN NEIGHBOURHOODS A CHAIN OF CITIES SIENAEARLY AND LATE THE AUTUMN IN FLORENCE FLORENTINE NOTES TUSCANCITIES OTHER TUSCAN CITIES RAVENNA THE SAINT'S AFTERNOON ANDOTHERS
VENICE
It is a great pleasure to write the word; but I amnot sure there is not a certain impudence in pretending to addanything to it. Venice has been painted and described manythousands of times, and of all the cities of the world is theeasiest to visit without going there. Open the first book and youwill find a rhapsody about it; step into the first picture-dealer'sand you will find three or four high-coloured "views" of it. Thereis notoriously nothing more to be said on the subject. Every onehas been there, and every one has brought back a collection ofphotographs. There is as little mystery about the Grand Canal asabout our local thoroughfare, and the name of St. Mark is asfamiliar as the postman's ring. It is not forbidden, however, tospeak of familiar things, and I hold that for the true Venice-lover Venice is always in order. There is nothing new to be saidabout her certainly, but the old is better than any novelty. Itwould be a sad day indeed when there should be something new tosay. I write these lines with the full consciousness of having noinformation whatever to offer. I do not pretend to enlighten thereader; I pretend only to give a fillip to his memory; and I holdany writer sufficiently justified who is himself in love with histheme.
I
Mr. Ruskin has given it up, that is very true; butonly after extracting half a lifetime of pleasure and animmeasurable quantity of fame from it. We all may do the same,after it has served our turn, which it probably will not cease todo for many a year to come. Meantime it is Mr. Ruskin who beyondanyone helps us to enjoy. He has indeed lately produced severalaids to depression in the shape of certain little humorous -ill-humorous - pamphlets (the series of St. Mark's Rest )which embody his latest reflections on the subject of our city anddescribe the latest atrocities perpetrated there. These latter arenumerous and deeply to be deplored; but to admit that they havespoiled Venice would be to admit that Venice may be spoiled - anadmission pregnant, as it seems to us, with disloyalty. Fortunatelyone reacts against the Ruskinian contagion, and one hour of thelagoon is worth a hundred pages of demoralised prose. This queerlate-coming prose of Mr. Ruskin (including the revised andcondensed issue of the Stones of Venice , only one littlevolume of which has been published, or perhaps ever will be) is allto be read, though much of it appears addressed to children oftender age. It is pitched in the nursery-key, and might be supposedto emanate from an angry governess. It is, however, all suggestive,and much of it is delightfully just. There is an inconceivable wantof form in it, though the author has spent his life in laying downthe principles of form and scolding people for departing from them;but it throbs and flashes with the love of his subject - a lovedisconcerted and abjured, but which has still much of the force ofinspiration. Among the many strange things that have befallenVenice, she has had the good fortune to become the object of apassion to a man of splendid genius, who has made her his own andin doing so has made her the world's. There is no better reading atVenice therefore, as I say, than Ruskin, for every trueVenice-lover can separate the wheat from the chaff. The narrowtheological spirit, the moralism à tout propos , the queerprovincialities and pruderies, are mere wild weeds in a mountain offlowers. One may doubtless be very happy in Venice without readingat all - without criticising or analysing or thinking a strenuousthought. It is a city in which, I suspect, there is very littlestrenuous thinking, and yet it is a city in which there must bealmost as much happiness as misery. The misery of Venice standsthere for all the world to see; it is part of the spectacle - athoroughgoing devotee of local colour might consistently say it ispart of the pleasure. The Venetian people have little to call theirown - little more than the bare privilege of leading their lives inthe most beautiful of towns. Their habitations are decayed; theirtaxes heavy; their pockets light; their opportunities few. Onereceives an impression, however, that life presents itself to themwith attractions not accounted for in this meagre train ofadvantages, and that they are on better terms with it than manypeople who have made a better bargain. They lie in the sunshine;they dabble in the sea; they wear bright rags; they fall intoattitudes and harmonies; they assist at an eternal conversazione . It is not easy to say that one would havethem other than they are, and it certainly would make an immensedifference should they be better fed. The number of persons inVenice who evidently never have enough to eat is painfully large;but it would be more painful if we did not equally perceive thatthe rich Venetian temperament may bloom upon a dog's allowance.Nature has been kind to it, and sunshine and leisure andconversation and beautiful views form the greater part of itssustenance. It takes a great deal to make a successful American,but to make a happy Venetian takes only a handful of quicksensibility. The Italian people have at once the good and the evilfortune to be conscious of few wants; so that if the civilisationof a society is measured by the number of its needs, as seems to bethe common opinion to-day, it is to be feared that the children ofthe lagoon would make but a poor figure in a set of comparativetables. Not their misery, doubtless, but the way they elude theirmisery, is what pleases the sentimental tourist, who is gratifiedby the sight of a beautiful race that lives by the aid of itsimagination. The way to enjoy Venice is to follow the example ofthese people and make the most of simple pleasures. Almost all thepleasures of the place are simple; this may be maintained evenunder the imputation of ingenious paradox. There is no simplerpleasure than looking at a fine Titian, unless it be looking at afine Tintoret or strolling into St. Mark's, - abominable the wayone falls into the habit, - and resting one's light-wearied eyesupon the windowless gloom; or than floating in a gondola or thanhanging over a balcony or than taking one's coffee at Florian's. Itis of such superficial pastimes that a Venetian day is composed,and the pleasure of the matter is in the emotions to which theyminister. These are fortunately of the finest - otherwise Venicewould be insufferably dull. Reading Ruskin is good; reading the oldrecords is perhaps better; but the best thing of all is simplystaying on. The only way to care for Venice as she deserves it isto give her a chance to touch you often - to linger and remain andreturn.
II
The danger is that you will not linger enough - adanger of which the author of these lines had known something. Itis possible to dislike Venice, and to entertain the sentiment in aresponsible and intelligent manner. There are travellers who thinkthe place odious, and those who are not of this opinion often findthemselves wishing that the others were only more numerous. Thesentimental tourist's sole quarrel with his Venice is that he hastoo many competitors there. He likes to be alone; to be original;to have (to himself, at least) the air of making discoveries. TheVenice of to-day is a vast museum where the little wicket thatadmits you is perpetually turning and creaking, and you marchthrough the institution with a herd of fellow-gazers. There isnothing left to discover or describe, and originality of attitudeis completely impossible. This is often very annoying; you can onlyturn your back on your impertinent playfellow and curse his want ofdelicacy. But this is not the fault of Venice; it is the fault ofthe rest of the world. The fault of Venice is that, though she iseasy to admire, she is not so easy to live with as you count livingin other places. After you have stayed a week and the bloom ofnovelty has rubbed off you wonder if you can accommodate yourselfto the peculiar conditions. Your old habits become impracticableand you find yourself obliged to form new ones of an undesirableand unprofitable character. You are tired of your gondola (or youthink you are) and you have seen all the principal pictures andheard the names of the palaces announced a dozen times by yourgondolier, who brings them out almost as impressively as if he werean English butler bawling titles into a drawing-room. You havewalked several hundred times round the Piazza and bought severalbushels of photographs. You have visited the antiquity mongerswhose horrible sign-boards dishonour some of the gra