30. Saint Mark’s Square, looking South, c. 1723.

Oil on canvas, 73.5 x 94.5 cm.

Private Collection.

 

 

Goldoni informs us[9] that people also found delight in music during long trips. When he returned from Pavia to Venice with some friends, he rented a boat decorated with painted, carved ornaments. They made slow progress, with nothing regular but their pleasure and the nightly stop. Every one of them was a musician: one played the violoncello, three others the violin, another played the guitar and another a hunting horn. Goldoni compiled even the most minor incidents along the route in a journal he wrote in verse. And every evening, after their meal, he recited his poetry. Then, the improvised orchestra set up on the deck and residents applauded as the boat passed by. In Cremona, they gave them a great ovation and offered a banquet to this joyous band. Thus celebrated, the artists recommenced their concert with the help of other performers, and dancing went on until morning.

 

This example, chosen from about a thousand, shows how avidly joyous these people were, how they were induced to take life as it came, as pleasantly as they could, how they knew to enjoy every pleasure and exercise their intelligence by bringing such occasions to life. This passion for pleasure would cover over any other impressions for a while. When on certain days one saw a bustling and decked out Venice, why would anyone have suspected that it was in decline? Nevertheless, its irremediable downfall was accentuated even more during the second half of the eighteenth century, until it became absolute. The splendour of the ancient apotheoses made the contrast between the strengths of the past and the misery of the later time more obvious. Venice no longer resembled the triumphant queen that Veronese had painted under those imposing structures, being crowned by spirits and receiving acclamations from blossoming young women and splendid gentlemen. Wasn’t this city instead as Musset described it, “the poor old woman from the Lido”?

 

All of its energy seemed to have burned itself out. A kind of languor paralysed any effort. The silent palaces seemed to be abandoned and were deteriorating. Beggars made up a third of the population. Instead of harbouring flags from every country as in times past, the Giudecca Canal was almost empty, waiting for fleets that were never going to return. However, in the poor neighbourhoods, one could still find façades decorated with columns and picturesque corners that would tempt any painter. The Venice that had fallen from its supreme position, with all its memories, was still an appealing city. The evenings were so enchanting, with strings of lights lit up under the Procuratie arches, and conducive to thinking about all one had seen during the day. The flower vendors would approach, silently offering flowers without disturbing your daydream. Little by little, the crowds would grow thicker and strolling musicians would sing the arias of Bellini and Verdi or play a harp and violin concert. And down there, against a sky filled with twinkling stars, the dark mass of Saint Mark’s would be silhouetted while the dark arches over its entrances, barely lit up by some flames swaying to and fro, were dimly outlined.