1816: the Grandest Tour

Italy: Chapter 9

Armed with fresh walking canes and rested feet, the tourists set off in 'full devout courage' through the busy lanes. It was all they could do to keep Gaetano in sight, his step was so sprightly and assured. Their guide never lost them, though, and here and there he would slow down to tell them which streets they were passing through. Besides the varied buildings and facades, the many bridges over canals, and all the unnumbered stimuli for every sense around them, what caught the lads' attention most were the people. London and Paris were cosmopolitan places of course, but they were nothing to Venice. Here faces from every quarter of the world could be seen: merchants and sailors, street hawkers and performers, travelers bound for the Holy Land, and wealthy tourists like themselves.

As for the latter, George and Tobias did their best to keep their distance. It was always easy to pick a visiting Englishman out in a crowd – chiefly by his loud voice – and the two friends were frankly embarrassed by their countrymen's lack of decorum. Outside of the most-frequented spots they could by and large be avoided, and this was a blessing indeed.

If either of the Grand Tourists had thought to ask Isaac his impressions, by contrast, they would have found him in a very different frame of mind. To Isaac the sight of African faces and features like his were not awkward, but a profound relief. This town was no German one, that was certain. Here the valet felt no suspicious eyes on the back of his head, no strangers prodding his skin or tousling his hair to see if they were real. He was no longer an alien to be gawped at – in Venice, at last, he was a man like any other.

Gaetano led them due south for several minutes, then at the sight of a large clock-tower gate they turned right. Here they walked east with a long, grand gallery of arches to their left, above which George could see a magnificently tall and expansive bell-tower. He thought to ask their guide what the building was, but then surmised the question might soon be answered.

Upon reaching the end of the gallery they made a sharp left, then found themselves standing in front of a grand entryway.

"Why, it's St. Mark's Square!" said Tobias in wonderment.

"Mon cher monsieur, s'il vous plait," said Gaetano with a patient supplication of the hands, "La Piazza San Marco!"

"La Piazza San Marco," Tobias repeated slowly, nodding his head in good humor.

And what other humor could he be in? For here they stood before one of the most famous and exquisite sites on the Continent. Napoleon may or may not have called it "the drawing room of Europe," and this may or may not have meant anything at all, yet somehow as they looked out on the expanse of flagstones and illustrious buildings it seemed as fitting a name as any.

Ahead loomed the very same tower George had seen from the outside, which Gaetano named as the Campanile di San Marco. The massive, square bell-tower was easily the tallest in Venice, standing over three hundred feet high. It could be seen from every corner of the islands, a beacon from the city's heart with its mighty bell tolling out the Masses of its mother building: the incomparable St. Mark's Basilica. This church, or the Basilica Arcicattedrale Patriarcale di San Marco, as Gaetano introduced it (for he was a thorough sort of guide), was like nothing George and the others had ever seen. Its four domes rose above the square like some enchanted palace from Atlantis on the ocean's floor. They walked towards it as if drawn by an inexorable force, mesmerized by its panoply of decorations both Gothic and Byzantine.

"I should almost think," said Tobias in a reverent voice, "that we were looking on some great monument of the East, a world away from Christendom."