Old Coryat’s enthusiasm for the Loggetta is very hearty.  “There is,” he says, “adjoyned unto this tower [the campanile] a most glorious little roome that is very worthy to be spoken of, namely the Logetto, which is a place where some of the Procurators of Saint Markes doe use to sit in judgement, and discusse matters of controversies.  This place is indeed but little, yet of that singular and incomparable beauty, being made all of Corinthian worke, that I never saw the like before for the quantity thereof.”

Where the Piazzetta especially gains over the Piazza is in its lagoon view.  From its shore you look directly over the water to the church and island of S. Giorgio Maggiore, which are beautiful from every point and at every hour, so happily do dome and white facade, red campanile and green roof, windowed houses and little white towers, compose.  But then, in Venice everything composes:  an artist has but to paint what he sees.  From the Piazzetta’s shore you look diagonally to the right to the Dogana and the vast Salute and all the masts in the Giudecca canal; diagonally to the left is the Lido with a mile of dancing water between us and it.

The shore of the Piazzetta, or more correctly the Molo, is of course the spot where the gondolas most do congregate, apparently inextricably wedged between the twisted trees of this marine forest, although when the time comes—­that is, when the gondolier is at last secured—­easily enough detached.  For there is a bewildering rule which seems to prevent the gondolier who hails you from being your oarsman, and if you think that the gondolier whom you hail is the one who is going to row you, you are greatly mistaken.  It is always another.  The wise traveller in Venice having chanced upon a good gondolier takes his name and number and makes further arrangements with him.  This being done, on arriving at the Molo he asks if his man is there, and the name—­let us say Alessandro Grossi, No. 91 (for he is a capital old fellow, powerful and cheerful, with a useful supply of French)—­is passed up and down like a bucket at a fire.  If Alessandro chances to be there and available, all is well; but if not, to acquire a substitute even among so many obviously disengaged mariners, is no joke.

Old Grossi is getting on in years, although still powerful.  A younger Herculean fellow whom I can recommend is Ferdinando, No. 88.  Ferdinando is immense and untiring, with a stentorian voice in which to announce his approach around the corners of canals; and his acquaintanceship with every soul in Venice makes a voyage with him an amusing experience.  And he often sings and is always good-humoured.

All gondoliers are not so.  A gondolier with a grudge can be a most dismal companion, for he talks to himself.  What he says, you cannot comprehend, for it is muttered and acutely foreign, but there is no doubt whatever that it is criticism detrimental to you, to some other equally objectionable person, or to the world at large.