Stone's Fall

The Lido has changed greatly since then; now the hotels I once imagined in my mind's eye have sprung up along its length. Then it was all but deserted; the main road was little more than a track that led out of the tiny settlement on the city side of the strip; within a few hundred yards all habitation ceased, and there were instead only cows and a few sheep occupying an island near fifteen miles long and a mile wide.

At the time I was somewhat disappointed; I had anticipated a voyage in the inner lagoon, seeing the sights I thought every visitor should see – Murano, Torcello and all of those. I had not yet seen much even of the main city, let alone its outlying regions, so coming to a place which was virtually deserted, and which had no features of note was not what I desired at all.

'Why have you brought me here?' I asked, somewhat petulantly.

'Wait and see,' she said. 'I love this place. It is the only place where you can be alone. Come.'

She directed the gondolier to pick up the hamper of food and carry it over the island to the other side. She later told me she had discovered this spot many weeks before, and had kept it secret from everyone, treasuring it as a place she alone in the world knew about. To show it to me was the greatest compliment.

The other side was not far; although a mile or more wide at its tip, the Lido narrows down along its length until it is only a few hundred yards across. It is not one island; rather it is a whole string of them, artificially joined over the centuries to form a barrier protecting the city from the Adriatic. It was all but deserted, offering nothing to the population except uncertain weather in winter and a place to walk in summer.

And to swim; I had learned to swim as a boy when I stayed for the summers at the house of a relative in Hampshire. This family possessed a large garden with a fine pond, surrounded by reeds. Once you waded through them, you had the finest swimming place imaginable, with clear fresh water that warmed pleasantly in the sun. There my cousins had taught me to swim and, although I was not expert, I had learned also to love the feel of water. To see the rolling waves of the Adriatic basking in the sunshine of late summer gave me one thought only, which was to wade into the water as quickly as possible.

Again, the thought occurred to me; I had been sent to school at a boarding establishment in Brighton until I was thirteen, and had seen the bathing houses and the women ponderously wading into the icy water – for their health, I imagine, as it is difficult to see how it could have been for their pleasure – dressed in voluminous costumes so heavy they could not possibly have swum without sinking. I remembered also the habitually leaden skies, and the chill that hit you as you emerged from the water dripping wet, only to be frozen by the frigid winds of an English summer.

And here was something close to paradise on earth. Men now go to the South Seas to search for such an unspoilt landscape; back in 1867 it could be found much closer to home, only a short boat ride from San Marco.

'It's beautiful,' I said as we walked down a little path that led to a copse of trees.

She smiled. 'Listen,' she said, pausing for a moment and holding up a finger. I listened.

'What?'

'Nothing,' she replied. 'Nothing at all. There is only the sound of the sea and the birds. That is why I like it.'

We had arrived at her special place, a clearing inside the copse surrounded on three sides by thick foliage that prevented any passer-by from seeing us, and open on the other to the sea, like the most glorious theatre set in the world. It was dark and cool in the shade, and I spread out our blanket on the ground, while Louise opened the hamper and took out the simple food she had prepared – a cold chicken, some bread, and a bottle of water.

'How do you like the architecture of Palladio?' she asked coyly as we finished our meal – which, for all its simplicity, was delicious.

'I like it very much. Or would do, no doubt, if I had seen any. Why?'

'Because that is what you are admiring at the moment.'

'Really?'

'Yes. Mr Cort gave me permission to spend the day showing you the city. I believe he felt that it was improper for me to be alone with you otherwise. In the middle of Venice there could be little scandal.'

'And you disobeyed his orders.'

She nodded. 'Are you shocked?'

'Dreadfully.'