And now we must return to the Goldoni statue to resume that other itinerary over the Rialto bridge, which is as much the centre of Venice by day as S. Mark’s Square is by night.  In another chapter I speak of the bridge as seen from the Grand Canal, which it so nobly leaps.  More attractive is the Grand Canal as seen from it; and the visitor to Venice should spend much time leaning upon the parapet of one side and the other at the highest point.  He will have it for the most part to himself, for the Venetians prefer the middle way between the shops.  These shops are, however, very dull—­principally cheap clothiers and inferior jewellers—­and the two outer tracks are better.  From here may best be seen the facade of the central Post Office, once the Fondaco dei Tedeschi splendid with the frescoes of Giorgione and Titian.  The frescoes have gone and it is now re-faced with stucco.  From here, too, the beautiful palace of the Camerlenghi at the edge of the Erberia is most easily studied.  The Rialto bridge itself exerts no spell.  It does not compare in interest or charm with the Ponte Vecchio of Florence.

The busiest and noisiest part of Venice begins at the further foot of the bridge, for here are the markets, crowded by housewives with their bags or baskets, and a thousand busy wayfarers.

The little church of the market-place—­the oldest in Venice—­is S. Giacomo di Rialto, but I have never been able to find it open.  Commerce now washes up to its walls and practically engulfs it.  A garden is on its roof, and its clock has stopped permanently at four.

It was in this campo that the merchants anciently met:  here, in the district of the Rialto, and not on the bridge itself, as many readers suppose, did Antonio transact his business with one Shylock a Jew.  There are plenty of Jews left in Venice; in fact, I have been told that they are gradually getting possession of the city, and judging by their ability in that direction elsewhere, I can readily believe it; but I saw none in the least like the Shylock of the English stage, although I spent some time both in the New Ghetto and the Old by the Cannaregio.  All unwilling I once had the company of a small Jewish boy in a gaberdine for the whole way from the New Ghetto to the steamboat station of S. Toma, his object in life being to acquire for nothing a coin similar to one which I had given to another boy who had been really useful.  If he avowed once that he was a starving Jewish boy and I was a millionaire, he said it fifty times.  Every now and then he paused for an anxious second to throw a somersault.  But I was obdurate, and embarking on the steamer, left the two falsehoods to fight it out.

The two Ghettos, by the way, are not interesting; no traveller, missing them, need feel that he has been in Venice in vain.

At the other end of the Rialto campo, opposite the church, is the famous hunchback, the Gobbo of the Rialto, who supports a rostrum from which the laws of the Republic were read to the people, after they had been read, for a wider audience, from the porphyry block at the corner of S. Mark’s.