Montecuculi. Those who have a kindness for Venetian gossip like
to remember that it was once for a few months the property of
Robert Browning, who, however, never lived in it, and who died in
the splendid Rezzonico, the residence of his son and a wonderful
cosmopolite "document," which, as it presents itself, in an
admirable position, but a short way farther down the Canal, we
can almost see, in spite of the curve, from the window at which
we stand. This great seventeenth century pile, throwing itself
upon the water with a peculiar florid assurance, a certain upward
toss of its cornice which gives it the air of a rearing sea-
horse, decorates immensely--and within, as well as without--the
wide angle that it commands.

There is a more formal greatness in the high square Gothic
Foscari, just below it, one of the noblest creations of the
fifteenth century, a masterpiece of symmetry and majesty.
Dedicated to-day to official uses--it is the property of the
State--it looks conscious of the consideration it enjoys, and is
one of the few great houses within our range whose old age
strikes us as robust and painless. It is visibly "kept up";
perhaps it is kept up too much; perhaps I am wrong in thinking so
well of it. These doubts and fears course rapidly through my
mind--I am easily their victim when it is a question of
architecture--as they are apt to do to-day, in Italy, almost
anywhere, in the presence of the beautiful, of the desecrated or
the neglected. We feel at such moments as if the eye of Mr.
Ruskin were upon us; we grow nervous and lose our confidence.
This makes me inevitably, in talking of Venice, seek a
pusillanimous safety in the trivial and the obvious. I am on firm
ground in rejoicing in the little garden directly opposite our