Leaving San Salvatore by the same door and turning to the right, we come to Goldoni himself, in bronze, in the midst of the Campo S.Bartolommeo: the little brisk observant satirist upon whom Browning wrote the admirably critical sonnet which I quote earlier in this book.
The comedies of Carlo Goldoni (1707-1793) still hold the Italian stage, but so far as translations can tell me they are very far from justifying any comparison between himself and Moliere.

Goldoni's _Autobiography_ is not a very entertaining work, but it is told with the engaging minuteness which seems to have been a Venetian trait.
The church of S.Bartolommeo contains altar pieces by Giorgione's pupil, Sebastian del Piombo, but there is no light by which to see them.
It was in this campo that Mr.Howells had rooms before he married and blossomed out on the Grand Canal, and his description of the life here is still so good and so true, although fifty years have passed, that I make bold to quote it, not only to enrich my own pages, but in the hope that the tastes of the urbane American book which I give now and then may send readers to it.

The campo has changed little except that the conquering Austrians have gone and Goldoni's statue is now here.

Mr.
Howells thus describes it: "Before the winter passed, I had changed my habitation from rooms near the Piazza to quarters on the Campo San Bartolommeo, through which the busiest street in Venice passes, from S.
Mark's to the Rialto Bridge.

It is one of the smallest squares of the city, and the very noisiest, and here the spring came with intolerable uproar.