I've been today remembering my weekend in Venice, which, although I haven't checked must be nearly a year ago now. I know I blogged something about it at the time.
Strange how a city can be so 'in' you when, in reality you hardly know it as a place at all.
Frederick Rolfe lived the last years of his life in Venice, and died there. His grave is on the cemetery island - one of the few parts of the 'Rolfe Pilgrimage' I successfully completed on my visit. It was, of course, from there that he wrote his notorious Venice Letters.
Horatio F. Brown. An historian of Venice, the friend and biographer of John Addington Symonds lived a large part of his life in Venice and I've just started very preliminary work on his biography. A long project but I think worth doing since he was one of those people who seems to be the connecting point between just about every literary Victorian you can think of. In part but not in whole this was through his open-house evenings in Venice. More I'm sure on Brown in future on this blog.
The most beautiful statue I have even seen is in Venice. The only one every likely to tempt me to pygmalionism. The left hand statue as you look at the church of San Georgio.
The history, beauty and eroticism of Venice is a powerful mixture, which has culled greater hearts than mine in the past.