The light of Venice is as important as its space and form. The light on the water casts illumination upwards and outwards.

And the evenings! My God! One might almost die of the strangeness of it. One goes in a gondola … warmth, stillness, stars…. There are no horses in Venice, and so there is a silence here as in the open country. Gondolas flit to and fro, … then a gondola glides by, hung with lanterns. In it are a double-bass, violins, a guitar, a mandolin and cornet, two or three ladies, several men, and one hears singing and music. They sing from operas. What voices! One goes on a little further and again meets a boat with singers, and then again, and the air is full, till midnight, of the mingled strains of violins and tenor voices, and all sorts of heart-stirring sounds.