Chapter 1 - Page 2

and brilliant with the flare of torch and
lamp, the noble range of edifices called the Procuratories, the massive
pile of the Ducal Palace, the most ancient Christian church, the granite
columns of the piazzetta, the triumphal masts of the great square, and
the giddy tower of the campanile, were slumbering in the more mellow
glow of the moon.

Facing the wide area of the great square stood the quaint and venerable
cathedral of San Marco. A temple of trophies, and one equally
proclaiming the prowess and the piety of its founders, this remarkable
structure presided over the other fixtures of the place, like a monument
of the republic's antiquity and greatness. Its Saracenic architecture,
the rows of precious but useless little columns that load its front, the
low Asiatic domes which rest upon its walls in the repose of a thousand
years, the rude and gaudy mosaics, and above all the captured horses of
Corinth which start from out the sombre mass in the glory of Grecian
art, received from the solemn and appropriate light, a character of
melancholy and mystery, that well comported with the thick recollections
which crowd the mind as the eye gazes at this rare relic of the past.

As fit companions to this edifice, the other peculiar ornaments of the
place stood at hand. The base of the campanile lay in shadow, but a
hundred feet of its grey summit received the full rays of the moon along
its eastern face. The masts destined to bear the conquered ensigns of
Candia, Constantinople, and the Morea, cut the air by its side, in dark
and fairy lines; while at the extremity of the smaller square, and near
the margin of the sea, the forms of the winged lion and the patron saint
of the city, each on his column of African granite, were distinctly
traced against the back-ground of the azure sky.

It was near the base of the former of these massive blocks of stone,
that one stood who seemed to gaze at the animated and striking scene,
with the listlessness and indifference of satiety. A multitude, some in
masques and others careless of being known, had poured along the quay
into the piazzetta, on their way to the principal square, while this
individual had scarce turned a glance aside, or changed a limb in
weariness. His attitude was that of patient, practised, and obedient
waiting on another's pleasure. With folded arms, a body poised on one
leg, and a vacant though good-humored eye, he appeared to attend some
beck of authority ere he quitted the spot. A silken jacket, in whose
tissue flowers of the gayest colors were interwoven, the falling collar
of scarlet, the bright velvet cap with armorial bearings embroidered on
its front, proclaimed him to be a gondolier in private service.

Wearied at length with the