The following morning, the three went to see the Royal Academy of Arts, where were collected a great number of the most extraordinary pictures and statues, as large and as natural as life. The Accademia had been moved to its present location by Buonaparte, and the pictures seemed to be an unrelated jumble attached to the walls of the old Scuola. As everywhere in Italy, the works of the great masters-Veronese, Tintoretto, Titian, Tiepolo, Bassano—suffered evidence of unarrested decay, some to a disgraceful degree. In some places, the roof had failed its office; in others, the soot and general city soil rendered the figures in the paintings indistinguishable from one another; in yet others, the painted-in repairs seemed to be at variance with their object. Mr. Darcy supposed that the Venetians must be blinded by the surfeit of art around themselves, unable to see the state of decay. Elizabeth was heartily glad not to be a connoisseur, as a true proficient in the arts must be dismayed beyond recovery by the shocking condition of the statuary, paintings, and even the buildings that housed them. Georgiana wandered about without appearing entirely aware of her surroundings, and when called upon for an opinion by her brother or sister, would start, and either ask for a repetition of the question, or beg their indulgence, as she had not been quite attending. Upon leaving the Accademia, the weather that had been exceedingly fine since the morning, underwent a remarkable change; the rain descended in torrents. The three hastened to the hôtel, preventing their further commentary as connoisseurs for the remainder of the day.

That evening, they attended a comedy by the Venetian Goldoni, The Mistress of the Inn, which was highly diverting, and all the more enjoyable as the libretto in the soft dialect of the Venetians was able to be heard by all in attendance. Considering the modest number of its inhabitants, Venice boasted an extraordinary quantity of playhouses, there being above eight, including the opera-houses. Admittance to these productions cost so little, that those filling the rear of the pit included footmen, labourers, and gondoliers, all in the cloathing they had worn during the day. The interiors of the houses were very plain and dark, especially compared to the brilliancy of those of London or Paris. They Darcys learnt that the boxes were purposefully kept dark, so that the inhabitants could not be distinguished—the very reverse of Paris! The performance on the stage, however, was so well illuminated, that every eye could see the acting in every corner thereupon with ease. The theatre curtain never rose earlier than 10 o’clock and, as it soon became apparent to the family, people of rank never appeared before midnight. That rule applied particularly to ladies, unless the performance were a première, when punctuality was demanded.