o at the Noah corner of
the Doges' Palace. Next to the Rialto, this is the busiest bridge in the
city. Beautiful in itself, it commands great beauty too, for on the
north side you see the Bridge of Sighs and on the south the lagoon. On
its lagoon facade is a relief of a primitive gondola and the Madonna and
Child, but I have never seen a gondolier recognizing the existence of
this symbol of celestial interest in his calling.

The stern building at the corner of this bridge is the prison, with
accommodation for over two hundred prisoners. Leaning one day over the
Ponte di Paglia I saw one being brought in, in a barca with a green
box--as we should say, a Black and Green Maria. I cannot resist quoting
Coryat's lyrical passage in praise of what to most of us is as sinister
a building as could be imagined. "There is near unto the Dukes Palace a
very faire prison, the fairest absolutely that ever I saw, being divided
from the Palace by a little channell of water, and againe joyned unto it
by a merveilous faire little gallery that is inserted aloft into the
middest of the Palace wall East-ward. [He means the Bridge of Sighs.] I
thinke there is not a fairer prison in all Christendome: it is built
with very faire white ashler stone, having a little walke without the
roomes of the prison which is forty paces long and seven broad.... It is
altogether impossible for the prisoners to get forth."

The next important building is the famous hotel known as Danieli's, once
a palace, which has its place in literature as having afforded a shelter
to those feverish and capricious lovers, George Sand and Alfred de
Musset. Every one else has stayed there too, but these are the classic
guests. If you want to see what Danieli's was like before it became a
hotel you have only to look at No. 940 in the National Gallery by
Canaletto. This picture tells us also that the arches of the Doges'
Palace on the canal side were used by stall-holders. To-day they are
merely a shelter from sun or rain and a resting-place, and often you may
see a gondolier eating his lunch there. In this picture of Canaletto's,
by the way, the loafers have gathered at the foot of the Lion's column
exactly as now they do, while the balcony of the great south window of
the palace has just such a little knot of people enjoying the prospect;
but whether they were there naturally or at the invitation of a
custodian eager for a tip (as now) we shall not know.

The first calle af