Chamberss Edinburgh Journal, No. 425 | Page 5

be committed, was not
forgotten. After dwelling a due time upon the rooms, and the numerous
pictures and other works of art presented in them, we descended into
the dungeons or _pozzi_--narrow stone-chambers destitute of light,
where Venetian justice formerly kept its victims--a terrific specimen of
the reckless inhumanity of past times. Finally, we passed to the Bridge
of Sighs, which is detected to be an afterthought structure, designed to
connect the palace with the more modern prison in the rear, a canal
intervening. I suspect, after all, that many of the stories told about the
pozzi and the bridge are mere myths, the reflection of ideas which the
appearance of the places suggests.
The church of San Marco, adjoining the palace, and forming one side
of the Piazza or square, is like no other building I ever saw--decidedly
Oriental in style--indeed such a building as Aladin might have evoked
by his lamp; which reminds me, by the way, that there is a prevalent
tinge of the East all over Venice, seen in the architecture particularly.
The vaulting and arching of this church are all described as Byzantine
in style, and are therefore round; but it has been a custom in Venice to

fix up on such a building as this any reliques of antique sculpture which
have been taken in the countries with which the Republic was at war:
accordingly, the front of San Marco bristles all over with curious pillars
and carvings, including, above all, the four celebrated bronze horses
which Napoleon took to Paris, and which were restored after his
downfall. Walking through one of the low-browed doors, we pass
across a vestibule, where a stone is pointed out in the pavement as the
spot on which the emperor Barbarossa laid his head beneath the foot of
Pope Alexander III. Then proceeding into the interior, you find the
dusky atmosphere dimly blazing with a peculiar glitter from the walls
and ceilings, the whole being one mass of gold mosaic, on which
scripture subjects are inserted in a darker colouring. Think of a huge
church, the interior facing of which is composed of pieces of gilt stone,
each no bigger than the point of your finger would cover! But this is
not all. The wide-extending pavement is seen to be composed in like
manner of small pieces of marble and precious stones, set so as to form
regular figures, all most exact, and still wonderfully entire, though it
has endured the feet of daily thousands for several centuries.
Unfortunately, from some infirmity in the vaulting below, this singular
floor is thrown into undulations, in some places so great as to require
care in walking over them. I spent hours in wandering about and
examining the many curious things which are to be seen in this church,
including those of its famous treasury. It is truly surprising that, after so
many revolutions, so many of these valuables have been preserved. The
fidelity of the priesthood to their charge is surely deserving of some
admiration, considering how many opportunities there must have been
of making away with precious articles, after which no inquiry would
probably have ever been made.
A campanile, or bell-tower, has been erected in the square near the
church, and is one of the most conspicuous objects in Venice; rising, as
it does, above every other building. It seems slender; but I was
surprised to find, on a rough measurement, that the sides are not less
than fifty feet wide. A paved way, instead of a staircase, conducts to an
open loggia near the top, whence you can have a complete view of the
city. I remarked that the tops of many of the houses are of use in the
same way as gardens and summer-houses are in other countries. People

go there to smoke, or to take their coffee--the chimneys being a very
slight obstruction to such enjoyments in a country where little fire is
used. We here also had a good view of the celebrated orologio of
Venice; a tower containing an ancient clock of peculiar elaborateness
of construction. On the top stand two metal giants, armed with
ponderous hammers, with which to strike the hours and quarters on a
huge bell, placed between them. There is something terrible in these
automata; and the feeling is not allayed when you hear that one of them
once committed a murder, having with his hammer knocked an
incautious workman over the battlements! The campanile was begun in
902; and I felt interested in tracing its resemblance, both in architecture
and relative situation, to the square tower of St Andrews, which is
supposed to be of nearly the same age.
My limits leave me no room to dilate upon our visit to the Accademia.
Indeed, in the visit itself, we