What a family they were, descended from Tribunes of the Rialto in the time of Theodoric the Goth; and to what good purpose they swayed the Ivory Sceptre during seventy-four years. It was Badoer II. who erected the first chapel in the Ducal Palace for the body of Saint Mark, which came to Venice during his reign. A daughter of Badoer IV. was an abbess of San Zaccaria, and many of the sons of these Doges entered the Church; but theirs was a proud, brave, just, and patriotic race, better suited to governing the Republic than to the offices of Holy Church. In their day the Doges were absolute monarchs, and the Badoeri gave almost constant domestic tranquillity to Venice, and won the hearts of the Venetians. {209} And now we are in the broadest street of Venice, the Via Garibaldi. It leads to the Giardini Pubblici, which is a park rather than a garden, and was made by Napoleon in 1807. The space was gained by the destruction of four churches, as many monasteries, and a hundred houses, none of which are now missed. It is a pleasant place to take luncheon, with a lovely panorama before us, to which the boats and their ever-fascinating sails give life and cheerfulness. Beyond the canal of the Giudecca rises the dome of the Redentore; the square tower of the Dogana and the cupolas of the Salute make a striking effect against the cloudless sky; well round to the right we see the top of the Campanile behind the Ducal Palace, and before us, the island of San Giorgio Maggiore, with its picturesque church and fine clock-tower, seems very near. Undoubtedly, all this is best at sunset with the golden west for a background; indeed, few points are so favorable for watching the glorious death of day, especially if one lingers while the fires die out and even the more delicate tints fade away. Then a mysterious indistinctness steals over all the distant objects, but now so clearly cut against the flaming sky. There was a reality and emphasis about these towers and spires, the canals, and all the moving objects that made them a part of a work-a-day, practical world, but in the dusky twilight the outlines run together; we see and do not see the true forms of the various parts of Santa Maria della Salute, but a beautiful whole remains; even the nearer San Giorgio becomes mysterious; the smaller features disappear, while the whole is profoundly impressive and grand, seeming to clothe itself with the night, as if retiring into its own world of peaceful and solemn repose.