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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 19:54:25 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 19:54:25 -0700 |
| commit | 43716f4106edb2f65f50945a46b0543d6ec9a245 (patch) | |
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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: The Stones of Venice, Volume II (of 3), </p> +<p>Author: John Ruskin</p> +<p>Release Date: December 31, 2009 [eBook #30755]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STONES OF VENICE, VOLUME II (OF 3), ***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Marius Masi, Juliet Sutherland,<br /> + and the<br /> + Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +</div> +<p> </p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="10" style="background-color: #ddddee; color: #000000; " summary="Transcriber's note"> +<tr> +<td style="width:25%; vertical-align:top"> +Transcriber's note:</td> +<td>A few typographical errors have been corrected. They +appear in the text <span class="correction" title="explanation will pop up">like this</span>, and the +explanation will appear when the mouse pointer is moved over the marked +passage. <br /> +</td></tr> + +<tr><td style="width:25%; vertical-align:top"> +Linked volumes +</td> +<td class="norm"> +The index of this three-volume work is in Volume III, with links to +all three volumes; and some footnotes are linked between volumes. +These links are designed to work when the book is read on line. For +information on the downloading of all three interlinked volumes so +that the links work on your own computer, see the +<a name="tn" id="tn"></a><a href="#tntag">Transcriber's Note</a> +at the end of this book. +</td> </tr> +</table> + +<h3>Links to</h3> +<h3><a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm">Volume I</a></h3> +<h3><a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30756/30756-h/30756-h.htm">Volume III</a></h3> + + +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> + +<div style="padding-top: 3em; "> </div> +<table class="allbctr" style="width: 60%; " summary="Front page"> +<tr> <td class="pd" style="border-bottom: black 1px solid; " colspan="2"><h5>Library Edition</h5> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td style="padding-top: 3em; " colspan="2"><h3>THE COMPLETE WORKS</h3> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td colspan="2"><h6>OF</h6> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td style="padding-bottom: 5em; " colspan="2"><h2>JOHN RUSKIN</h2> </td> </tr> + + +<tr> <td style="padding-bottom: 5em; " colspan="2"><h5>STONES OF VENICE<br /> +<span class="sc">Volumes I-II</span><br /></h5> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td style="border-top: black 1px solid; padding-top: 1.5em; " colspan="2"><h3>NATIONAL LIBRARY ASSOCIATION</h3> </td> </tr> +<tr> <td><h3 style="text-align: left; padding-left: 3em; ">NEW YORK</h3></td> + <td><h3 style="text-align: right; padding-right: 3em; ">CHICAGO</h3></td> </tr> +</table> + + +<div style="padding-top: 3em; "> </div> +<h3>THE COMPLETE WORKS</h3> + +<h5>OF</h5> + +<h3>JOHN RUSKIN</h3> + +<h4>VOLUME VIII</h4> +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>STONES OF VENICE</h4> + +<h4>VOLUME II</h4> + + + +<div style="padding-top: 3em; "> </div> +<h2>THE</h2> +<h2>STONES OF VENICE</h2> + +<h3>VOLUME II.</h3> + +<h3>THE SEA STORIES</h3> + + + +<div style="padding-top: 3em; "> </div> +<h3>ADVERTISEMENT.</h3> +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>It was originally intended that this Work should consist of +two volumes only; the subject has extended to three. The +second volume, however, will conclude the account of the +ancient architecture of Venice. The third will embrace the +Early, the Roman, and the Grotesque Renaissance; and an +Index, which, as it gives, in alphabetical order, a brief account +of all the buildings in Venice, or references to the places +where they are mentioned in the text, will be found a convenient +guide for the traveller. In order to make it more serviceable, +I have introduced some notices of the pictures which I +think most interesting in the various churches, and in the +Scuola di San Rocco.</p> + + + +<hr class="art" /> +<h3>CONTENTS.</h3> +<hr class="short" /> + +<h5>FIRST, OR BYZANTINE, PERIOD.</h5> + +<table class="nobctr" width="90%" summary="Contents"> + +<tr> <td class="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER I. </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td> </td> + <td class="rsp"><span class="sc">page</span> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="lsp">The Throne, </td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page001">1</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER II. </td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="lsp">Torcello, </td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page011">11</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER III. </td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="lsp">Murano, </td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page027">27</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER IV. </td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="lsp">St. Mark’s, </td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page057">57</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER V. </td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="lsp">Byzantine Palaces, </td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page118">118</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="center" colspan="2"><h5>SECOND, OR GOTHIC, PERIOD.</h5> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER VI. </td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="lsp">The Nature of Gothic, </td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page151">151</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER VII. </td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="lsp">Gothic Palaces, </td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page231">231</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER VIII. </td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="lsp">The Ducal Palace, </td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page281">281</a> </td> </tr> + +</table> + +<h5>APPENDIX.</h5> + +<table class="nobctr" width="90%" summary="Contents"> + +<tr> <td class="tc2" style="width: 1.5em; ">1.</td> + <td class="tc3">The Gondolier’s Cry, </td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page375">375</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">2.</td> + <td class="tc3">Our Lady of Salvation, </td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page378">378</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">3.</td> + <td class="tc3">Tides of Venice and Measures at Torcello, </td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page378">378</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">4.</td> + <td class="tc3">Date of the Duomo of Torcello,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page380">380</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">5.</td> + <td class="tc3">Modern Pulpits,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page380">380</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">6.</td> + <td class="tc3">Apse of Murano,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page382">382</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">7.</td> + <td class="tc3">Early Venetian Dress,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page383">383</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">8.</td> + <td class="tc3">Inscriptions at Murano,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page384">384</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">9.</td> + <td class="tc3">Shafts of St. Mark’s,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page384">384</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">10.</td> + <td class="tc3">Proper Sense of the Word Idolatry,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page388">388</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">11.</td> + <td class="tc3">Situations of Byzantine Palaces,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page391">391</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">12.</td> + <td class="tc3">Modern Paintings on Glass,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page394">394</a> </td> </tr> + +</table> + +<div style="padding-top: 3em; "> </div> +<h3>LIST OF PLATES.</h3> +<hr class="short" /> + +<table class="nobctr" width="90%" summary="Contents"> + +<tr> <td class="tc1" style="width: 3em; "> </td> + <td class="tc2" style="width: 1em; "> </td> + <td class="tc3"> </td> + <td class="tc4"><span style="font-size: 75%; ">Facing Page</span></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">Plate</td> + <td class="tc2">1.</td> + <td class="tc3">Plans of Torcello and Murano,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page014">14</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">2.</td> + <td class="tc3">The Acanthus of Torcello,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page015">15</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">3.</td> + <td class="tc3">Inlaid Bands of Murano,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page040">40</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">4.</td> + <td class="tc3">Sculptures of Murano,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page042">42</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">5.</td> + <td class="tc3">Archivolt in the Duomo of Murano,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page045">45</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">6.</td> + <td class="tc3">The Vine, Free and in Service,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page096">96</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">7.</td> + <td class="tc3">Byzantine Capitals—Convex Group,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page131">131</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">8.</td> + <td class="tc3">Byzantine Capitals—Concave Group,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page132">132</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">9.</td> + <td class="tc3">Lily Capital of St. Mark’s,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page136">136</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">10.</td> + <td class="tc3">The Four Venetian Flower Order,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page137">137</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">11.</td> + <td class="tc3">Byzantine Sculptures,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page138">138</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">12.</td> + <td class="tc3">Linear and Surface Gothic,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page224">224</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">13.</td> + <td class="tc3">Balconies,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page247">247</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">14.</td> + <td class="tc3">The Orders of Venetian Arches,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page248">248</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">15.</td> + <td class="tc3">Windows of the Second Order,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page254">254</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">16.</td> + <td class="tc3">Windows of the Fourth Order,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page257">257</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">17.</td> + <td class="tc3">Windows of the Early Gothic Palaces,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page259">259</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">18.</td> + <td class="tc3">Windows of the Fifth Order,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page266">266</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">19.</td> + <td class="tc3">Leafage of the Vine Angle,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page308">308</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">20.</td> + <td class="tc3">Leafage of the Venetian Capitals,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page368">368</a></td> </tr> + +</table> + + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page001"></a>1</span></p> + +<h4>THE</h4> + +<h2>STONES OF VENICE.</h2> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h3>FIRST, OR BYZANTINE, PERIOD.</h3> +<hr class="short" /> + + + +<h3><a name="chap_1"></a>CHAPTER I.</h3> + +<h5>THE THRONE.</h5> + + +<p>§ <span class="scs">I.</span> In the olden days of travelling, now to return no more, +in which distance could not be vanquished without toil, but in +which that toil was rewarded, partly by the power of deliberate +survey of the countries through which the journey lay, and +partly by the happiness of the evening hours, when, from the +top of the last hill he had surmounted, the traveller beheld the +quiet village where he was to rest, scattered among the meadows +beside its valley stream; or, from the long-hoped-for turn +in the dusty perspective of the causeway, saw, for the first time, +the towers of some famed city, faint in the rays of sunset—hours +of peaceful and thoughtful pleasure, for which the rush +of the arrival in the railway station is perhaps not always, or to +all men, an equivalent,—in those days, I say, when there was +something more to be anticipated and remembered in the first +aspect of each successive halting-place, than a new arrangement +of glass roofing and iron girder, there were few moments of +which the recollection was more fondly cherished by the +traveller than that which, as I endeavored to describe in the +close of the last chapter, brought him within sight of Venice, +as his gondola shot into the open lagoon from the canal of +Mestre. Not but that the aspect of the city itself was generally +the source of some slight disappointment, for, seen in this +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page002"></a>2</span> +direction, its buildings are far less characteristic than those of +the other great towns of Italy; but this inferiority was partly +disguised by distance, and more than atoned for by the strange +rising of its walls and towers out of the midst, as it seemed, of +the deep sea, for it was impossible that the mind or the eye +could at once comprehend the shallowness of the vast sheet of +water which stretched away in leagues of rippling lustre to the +north and south, or trace the narrow line of islets bounding it +to the east. The salt breeze, the white moaning sea-birds, the +masses of black weed separating and disappearing gradually, in +knots of heaving shoal, under the advance of the steady tide, +all proclaimed it to be indeed the ocean on whose bosom the +great city rested so calmly; not such blue, soft, lake-like ocean +as bathes the Neapolitan promontories, or sleeps beneath the +marble rocks of Genoa, but a sea with the bleak power of our +own northern waves, yet subdued into a strange spacious rest, +and changed from its angry pallor into a field of burnished +gold, as the sun declined behind the belfry tower of the lonely +island church, fitly named “St. George of the Seaweed.” As +the boat drew nearer to the city, the coast which the traveller +had just left sank behind him into one long, low, sad-colored +line, tufted irregularly with brushwood and willows: but, at +what seemed its northern extremity, the hills of Arqua rose in +a dark cluster of purple pyramids, balanced on the bright mirage +of the lagoon; two or three smooth surges of inferior hill extended +themselves about their roots, and beyond these, beginning +with the craggy peaks above Vicenza, the chain of the +Alps girded the whole horizon to the north—a wall of jagged +blue, here and there showing through its clefts a wilderness of +misty precipices, fading far back into the recesses of Cadore, +and itself rising and breaking away eastward, where the sun +struck opposite upon its snow, into mighty fragments of +peaked light, standing up behind the barred clouds of evening, +one after another, countless, the crown of the Adrian Sea, until +the eye turned back from pursuing them, to rest upon the +nearer burning of the campaniles of Murano, and on the great +city, where it magnified itself along the waves, as the quick +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page003"></a>3</span> +silent pacing of the gondola drew nearer and nearer. And at +last, when its walls were reached, and the outmost of its untrodden +streets was entered, not through towered gate or +guarded rampart, but as a deep inlet between two rocks of +coral in the Indian sea; when first upon the traveller’s sight +opened the long ranges of columned palaces,—each with its +black boat moored at the portal,—each with its image cast +down, beneath its feet, upon that green pavement which every +breeze broke into new fantasies of rich tessellation; when first, +at the extremity of the bright vista, the shadowy Rialto threw +its colossal curve slowly forth from behind the palace of the +Camerlenghi; that strange curve, so delicate, so adamantine, +strong as a mountain cavern, graceful as a bow just bent; +when first, before its moonlike circumference was all risen, the +gondolier’s cry, “Ah! Stalí,”<a name="FnAnchor_1" href="#Footnote_1"><span class="sp">1</span></a> struck sharp upon the ear, and +the prow turned aside under the mighty cornices that half met +over the narrow canal, where the plash of the water followed +close and loud, ringing along the marble by the boat’s side; +and when at last that boat darted forth upon the breadth of +silver sea, across which the front of the Ducal palace, flushed +with its sanguine veins, looks to the snowy dome of Our Lady +of Salvation,<a name="FnAnchor_2" href="#Footnote_2"><span class="sp">2</span></a> it was no marvel that the mind should be so +deeply entranced by the visionary charm of a scene so beautiful +and so strange, as to forget the darker truths of its history +and its being. Well might it seem that such a city had owed +her existence rather to the rod of the enchanter, than the fear +of the fugitive; that the waters which encircled her had been +chosen for the mirror of her state, rather than the shelter of +her nakedness; and that all which in nature was wild or merciless,—Time +and Decay, as well as the waves and tempests,—had +been won to adorn her instead of to destroy, and might +still spare, for ages to come, that beauty which seemed to have +fixed for its throne the sands of the hour-glass as well as of the +sea.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">II.</span> And although the last few eventful years, fraught with +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page004"></a>4</span> +change to the face of the whole earth, have been more fatal in +their influence on Venice than the five hundred that preceded +them; though the noble landscape of approach to her can now +be seen no more, or seen only by a glance, as the engine slackens +its rushing on the iron line; and though many of her palaces +are for ever defaced, and many in desecrated ruins, there is +still so much of magic in her aspect, that the hurried traveller, +who must leave her before the wonder of that first aspect has +been worn away, may still be led to forget the humility of her +origin, and to shut his eyes to the depth of her desolation. +They, at least, are little to be envied, in whose hearts the great +charities of the imagination lie dead, and for whom the fancy +has no power to repress the importunity of painful impressions, +or to raise what is ignoble, and disguise what is discordant, in a +scene so rich in its remembrances, so surpassing in its beauty. +But for this work of the imagination there must be no permission +during the task which is before us. The impotent feelings +of romance, so singularly characteristic of this century, +may indeed gild, but never save the remains of those mightier +ages to which they are attached like climbing flowers; and +they must be torn away from the magnificent fragments, if we +would see them as they stood in their own strength. Those +feelings, always as fruitless as they are fond, are in Venice not +only incapable of protecting, but even of discerning, the objects +to which they ought to have been attached. The Venice of +modern fiction and drama is a thing of yesterday, a mere efflorescence +of decay, a stage dream which the first ray of daylight +must dissipate into dust. No prisoner, whose name is worth +remembering, or whose sorrow deserved sympathy, ever crossed +that “Bridge of Sighs,” which is the centre of the Byronic +ideal of Venice; no great merchant of Venice ever saw that +Rialto under which the traveller now passes with breathless +interest: the statue which Byron makes Faliero address as of +one of his great ancestors was erected to a soldier of fortune a +hundred and fifty years after Faliero’s death; and the most +conspicuous parts of the city have been so entirely altered in +the course of the last three centuries, that if Henry Dandolo or +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page005"></a>5</span> +Francis Foscari could be summoned from their tombs, and +stood each on the deck of his galley at the entrance of the +Grand Canal, that renowned entrance, the painter’s favorite +subject, the novelist’s favorite scene, where the water first narrows +by the steps of the Church of La Salute,—the mighty +Doges would not know in what spot of the world they stood, +would literally not recognize one stone of the great city, for +whose sake, and by whose ingratitude, their grey hairs had +been brought down with bitterness to the grave. The remains +of <i>their</i> Venice lie hidden behind the cumbrous masses which +were the delight of the nation in its dotage; hidden in many a +grass-grown court, and silent pathway, and lightless canal, where +the slow waves have sapped their foundations for five hundred +years, and must soon prevail over them for ever. It must be +our task to glean and gather them forth, and restore out of +them some faint image of the lost city, more gorgeous a thousand-fold +than that which now exists, yet not created in the +day-dream of the prince, nor by the ostentation of the noble, +but built by iron hands and patient hearts, contending against +the adversity of nature and the fury of man, so that its wonderfulness +cannot be grasped by the indolence of imagination, but +only after frank inquiry into the true nature of that wild and +solitary scene, whose restless tides and trembling sands did indeed +shelter the birth of the city, but long denied her dominion.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">III.</span> When the eye falls casually on a map of Europe, there +is no feature by which it is more likely to be arrested than the +strange sweeping loop formed by the junction of the Alps and +Apennines, and enclosing the great basin of Lombardy. This +return of the mountain chain upon itself causes a vast difference +in the character of the distribution of its débris on its opposite +sides. The rock fragments and sediment which the torrents on +the north side of the Alps bear into the plains are distributed +over a vast extent of country, and, though here and there +lodged in beds of enormous thickness, soon permit the firm +substrata to appear from underneath them; but all the torrents +which descend from the southern side of the High Alps, and +from the northern slope of the Apennines, meet concentrically +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page006"></a>6</span> +in the recess or mountain bay which the two ridges enclose; +every fragment which thunder breaks out of their battlements, +and every grain of dust which the summer rain washes from +their pastures, is at last laid at rest in the blue sweep of the +Lombardic plain; and that plain must have risen within its +rocky barriers as a cup fills with wine, but for two contrary influences +which continually depress, or disperse from its surface, +the accumulation of the ruins of ages.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">IV.</span> I will not tax the reader’s faith in modern science by +insisting on the singular depression of the surface of Lombardy, +which appears for many centuries to have taken place steadily +and continually; the main fact with which we have to do is +the gradual transport, by the Po and its great collateral rivers, +of vast masses of the finer sediment to the sea. The character +of the Lombardic plains is most strikingly expressed by the +ancient walls of its cities, composed for the most part of large +rounded Alpine pebbles alternating with narrow courses of +brick; and was curiously illustrated in 1848, by the ramparts +of these same pebbles thrown up four or five feet high round +every field, to check the Austrian cavalry in the battle under +the walls of Verona. The finer dust among which these pebbles +are dispersed is taken up by the rivers, fed into continual +strength by the Alpine snow, so that, however pure their waters +may be when they issue from the lakes at the foot of the great +chain, they become of the color and opacity of clay before they +reach the Adriatic; the sediment which they bear is at once +thrown down as they enter the sea, forming a vast belt of low +land along the eastern coast of Italy. The powerful stream of +the Po of course builds forward the fastest; on each side of it, +north and south, there is a tract of marsh, fed by more feeble +streams, and less liable to rapid change than the delta of the +central river. In one of these tracts is built <span class="sc">Ravenna</span>, and in +the other <span class="sc">Venice</span>.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">V.</span> What circumstances directed the peculiar arrangement +of this great belt of sediment in the earliest times, it is not here +the place to inquire. It is enough for us to know that from +the mouths of the Adige to those of the Piave there stretches, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page007"></a>7</span> +at a variable distance of from three to five miles from the +actual shore, a bank of sand, divided into long islands by narrow +channels of sea. The space between this bank and the true +shore consists of the sedimentary deposits from these and other +rivers, a great plain of calcareous mud, covered, in the neighborhood +of Venice, by the sea at high water, to the depth in +most places of a foot or a foot and a half, and nearly everywhere +exposed at low tide, but divided by an intricate network of +narrow and winding channels, from which the sea never retires. +In some places, according to the run of the currents, the land +has risen into marshy islets, consolidated, some by art, and some +by time, into ground firm enough to be built upon, or fruitful +enough to be cultivated: in others, on the contrary, it has not +reached the sea-level; so that, at the average low water, shallow +lakelets glitter among its irregularly exposed fields of seaweed. +In the midst of the largest of these, increased in importance by +the confluence of several large river channels towards one of +the openings in the sea bank, the city of Venice itself is built, +on a crowded cluster of islands; the various plots of higher +ground which appear to the north and south of this central +cluster, have at different periods been also thickly inhabited, +and now bear, according to their size, the remains of cities, villages, +or isolated convents and churches, scattered among spaces +of open ground, partly waste and encumbered by ruins, partly +under cultivation for the supply of the metropolis.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VI</span>. The average rise and fall of the tide is about three +feet (varying considerably with the seasons<a name="FnAnchor_3" href="#Footnote_3"><span class="sp">3</span></a>); but this fall, on +so flat a shore, is enough to cause continual movement in the +waters, and in the main canals to produce a reflux which frequently +runs like a mill stream. At high water no land is +visible for many miles to the north or south of Venice, except +in the form of small islands crowned with towers or gleaming +with villages: there is a channel, some three miles wide, between +the city and the mainland, and some mile and a half +wide between it and the sandy breakwater called the Lido, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page008"></a>8</span> +which divides the lagoon from the Adriatic, but which is so +low as hardly to disturb the impression of the city’s having been +built in the midst of the ocean, although the secret of its true +position is partly, yet not painfully, betrayed by the clusters of +piles set to mark the deep-water channels, which undulate far +away in spotty chains like the studded backs of huge sea-snakes, +and by the quick glittering of the crisped and crowded waves +that flicker and dance before the strong winds upon the unlifted +level of the shallow sea. But the scene is widely different at +low tide. A fall of eighteen or twenty inches is enough to +show ground over the greater part of the lagoon; and at the +complete ebb the city is seen standing in the midst of a dark +plain of seaweed, of gloomy green, except only where the +larger branches of the Brenta and its associated streams converge +towards the port of the Lido. Through this salt and sombre +plain the gondola and the fishing-boat advance by tortuous +channels, seldom more than four or five feet deep, and often so +choked with slime that the heavier keels furrow the bottom +till their crossing tracks are seen through the clear sea water +like the ruts upon a wintry road, and the oar leaves blue gashes +upon the ground at every stroke, or is entangled among the +thick weed that fringes the banks with the weight of its sullen +waves, leaning to and fro upon the uncertain sway of the exhausted +tide. The scene is often profoundly oppressive, even +at this day, when every plot of higher ground bears some fragment +of fair building: but, in order to know what it was once, +let the traveller follow in his boat at evening the windings of +some unfrequented channel far into the midst of the melancholy +plain; let him remove, in his imagination, the brightness +of the great city that still extends itself in the distance, and the +walls and towers from the islands that are near; and so wait, +until the bright investiture and sweet warmth of the sunset +are withdrawn from the waters, and the black desert of their +shore lies in its nakedness beneath the night, pathless, comfortless, +infirm, lost in dark languor and fearful silence, except +where the salt runlets plash into the tideless pools, or the sea-birds +flit from their margins with a questioning cry; and he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page009"></a>9</span> +will be enabled to enter in some sort into the horror of heart +with which this solitude was anciently chosen by man for his +habitation. They little thought, who first drove the stakes into +the sand, and strewed the ocean reeds for their rest, that their +children were to be the princes of that ocean, and their palaces +its pride; and yet, in the great natural laws that rule that sorrowful +wilderness, let it be remembered what strange preparation +had been made for the things which no human imagination +could have foretold, and how the whole existence and fortune +of the Venetian nation were anticipated or compelled, by +the setting of those bars and doors to the rivers and the sea. +Had deeper currents divided their islands, hostile navies would +again and again have reduced the rising city into servitude; +had stronger surges beaten their shores, all the richness and refinement +of the Venetian architecture must have been exchanged +for the walls and bulwarks of an ordinary sea-port. +Had there been no tide, as in other parts of the Mediterranean, +the narrow canals of the city would have become noisome, and +the marsh in which it was built pestiferous. Had the tide +been only a foot or eighteen inches higher in its rise, the water-access +to the doors of the palaces would have been impossible: +even as it is, there is sometimes a little difficulty, at the ebb, in +landing without setting foot upon the lower and slippery steps: +and the highest tides sometimes enter the courtyards, and overflow +the entrance halls. Eighteen inches more of difference +between the level of the flood and ebb would have rendered +the doorsteps of every palace, at low water, a treacherous mass +of weeds and limpets, and the entire system of water-carriage +for the higher classes, in their easy and daily intercourse, must +have been done away with. The streets of the city would have +been widened, its network of canals filled up, and all the peculiar +character of the place and the people destroyed.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VII</span>. The reader may perhaps have felt some pain in the +contrast between this faithful view of the site of the Venetian +Throne, and the romantic conception of it which we ordinarily +form; but this pain, if he have felt it, ought to be more than +counterbalanced by the value of the instance thus afforded to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page010"></a>10</span> +us at once of the inscrutableness and the wisdom of the ways of +God. If, two thousand years ago, we had been permitted to +watch the slow settling of the slime of those turbid rivers into +the polluted sea, and the gaining upon its deep and fresh waters +of the lifeless, impassable, unvoyageable plain, how little could +we have understood the purpose with which those islands were +shaped out of the void, and the torpid waters enclosed with +their desolate walls of sand! How little could we have known, +any more than of what now seems to us most distressful, dark, +and objectless, the glorious aim which was then in the mind of +Him in whose hand are all the corners of the earth! how little +imagined that in the laws which were stretching forth the +gloomy margins of those fruitless banks, and feeding the bitter +grass among their shallows, there was indeed a preparation, and +<i>the only preparation possible</i>, for the founding of a city which +was to be set like a golden clasp on the girdle of the earth, to +write her history on the white scrolls of the sea-surges, and to +word it in their thunder, and to gather and give forth, in worldwide +pulsation, the glory of the West and of the East, from the +burning heart of her Fortitude and Splendor.</p> + + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_1" href="#FnAnchor_1"><span class="fn">1</span></a> <a href="#app_1">Appendix 1</a>, “The Gondolier’s Cry.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_2" href="#FnAnchor_2"><span class="fn">2</span></a> <a href="#app_2">Appendix 2</a>, “Our Lady of Salvation.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_3" href="#FnAnchor_3"><span class="fn">3</span></a> <a href="#app_3">Appendix 3</a>, “Tides of Venice.”</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page011"></a>11</span></p> + +<h3><a name="chap_2"></a>CHAPTER II.</h3> + +<h5>TORCELLO.</h5> + + +<p>§ <span class="scs">I</span>. Seven miles to the north of Venice, the banks of sand, +which near the city rise little above low-water mark, attain by +degrees a higher level, and knit themselves at last into fields of +salt morass, raised here and there into shapeless mounds, and intercepted +by narrow creeks of sea. One of the feeblest of these +inlets, after winding for some time among buried fragments of +masonry, and knots of sunburnt weeds whitened with webs of +fucus, stays itself in an utterly stagnant pool beside a plot of +greener grass covered with ground ivy and violets. On this +mound is built a rude brick campanile, of the commonest Lombardic +type, which if we ascend towards evening (and there are +none to hinder us, the door of its ruinous staircase swinging +idly on its hinges), we may command from it one of the most +notable scenes in this wide world of ours. Far as the eye can +reach, a waste of wild sea moor, of a lurid ashen grey; not like +our northern moors with their jet-black pools and purple +heath, but lifeless, the color of sackcloth, with the corrupted +sea-water soaking through the roots of its acrid weeds, and +gleaming hither and thither through its snaky channels. No +gathering of fantastic mists, nor coursing of clouds across it; +but melancholy clearness of space in the warm sunset, oppressive, +reaching to the horizon of its level gloom. To the very +horizon, on the north-east; but, to the north and west, there is +a blue line of higher land along the border of it, and above this, +but farther back, a misty band of mountains, touched with +snow. To the east, the paleness and roar of the Adriatic, +louder at momentary intervals as the surf breaks on the bars of +sand; to the south, the widening branches of the calm lagoon, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page012"></a>12</span> +alternately purple and pale green, as they reflect the evening +clouds or twilight sky; and almost beneath our feet, on the +same field which sustains the tower we gaze from, a group +of four buildings, two of them little larger than cottages +(though built of stone, and one adorned by a quaint belfry), +the third an octagonal chapel, of which we can see but little +more than the flat red roof with its rayed tiling, the fourth, a +considerable church with nave and aisles, but of which, in like +manner, we can see little but the long central ridge and lateral +slopes of roof, which the sunlight separates in one glowing mass +from the green field beneath and grey moor beyond. There +are no living creatures near the buildings, nor any vestige of +village or city round about them. They lie like a little company +of ships becalmed on a far-away sea.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">II</span>. Then look farther to the south. Beyond the widening +branches of the lagoon, and rising out of the bright lake into +which they gather, there are a multitude of towers, dark, and +scattered among square-set shapes of clustered palaces, a long +and irregular line fretting the southern sky.</p> + +<p>Mother and daughter, you behold them both in their +widowhood,—<span class="sc">Torcello</span> and <span class="sc">Venice</span>.</p> + +<p>Thirteen hundred years ago, the grey moorland looked as it +does this day, and the purple mountains stood as radiantly in +the deep distances of evening; but on the line of the horizon, +there were strange fires mixed with the light of sunset, and the +lament of many human voices mixed with the fretting of the +waves on their ridges of sand. The flames rose from the ruins +of Altinum; the lament from the multitude of its people, seeking, +like Israel of old, a refuge from the sword in the paths of +the sea.</p> + +<p>The cattle are feeding and resting upon the site of the city +that they left; the mower’s scythe swept this day at dawn over +the chief street of the city that they built, and the swathes of +soft grass are now sending up their scent into the night air, the +only incense that fills the temple of their ancient worship. +Let us go down into that little space of meadow land.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">III</span>. The inlet which runs nearest to the base of the campanile +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page013"></a>13</span> +is not that by which Torcello is commonly approached. +Another, somewhat broader, and overhung by alder copse, +winds out of the main channel of the lagoon up to the very +edge of the little meadow which was once the Piazza of the +city, and there, stayed by a few grey stones which present some +semblance of a quay, forms its boundary at one extremity. +Hardly larger than an ordinary English farmyard, and roughly +enclosed on each side by broken palings and hedges of honeysuckle +and briar, the narrow field retires from the water’s +edge, traversed by a scarcely traceable footpath, for some forty +or fifty paces, and then expanding into the form of a small +square, with buildings on three sides of it, the fourth being +that which opens to the water. Two of these, that on our left +and that in front of us as we approach from the canal, are so +small that they might well be taken for the out-houses of the +farm, though the first is a conventual building, and the other +aspires to the title of the “Palazzo publico,” both dating as far +back as the beginning of the fourteenth century; the third, the +octagonal church of Santa Fosca, is far more ancient than +either, yet hardly on a larger scale. Though the pillars of the +portico which surrounds it are of pure Greek marble, and their +capitals are enriched with delicate sculpture, they, and the +arches they sustain, together only raise the roof to the height +of a cattle-shed; and the first strong impression which the +spectator receives from the whole scene is, that whatever sin it +may have been which has on this spot been visited with so +utter a desolation, it could not at least have been ambition. +Nor will this impression be diminished as we approach, or +enter, the larger church to which the whole group of building +is subordinate. It has evidently been built by men in flight +and distress,<a name="FnAnchor_4" href="#Footnote_4"><span class="sp">4</span></a> who sought in the hurried erection of their island +church such a shelter for their earnest and sorrowful worship +as, on the one hand, could not attract the eyes of their enemies +by its splendor, and yet, on the other, might not awaken too +bitter feelings by its contrast with the churches which they had +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page014"></a>14</span> +seen destroyed. There is visible everywhere a simple and tender +effort to recover some of the form of the temples which +they had loved, and to do honor to God by that which they +were erecting, while distress and humiliation prevented the +desire, and prudence precluded the admission, either of luxury +of ornament or magnificence of plan. The exterior is absolutely +devoid of decoration, with the exception only of the western +entrance and the lateral door, of which the former has +carved sideposts and architrave, and the latter, crosses of rich +sculpture; while the massy stone shutters of the windows, +turning on huge rings of stone, which answer the double purpose +of stanchions and brackets, cause the whole building +rather to resemble a refuge from Alpine storm than the cathedral +of a populous city; and, internally, the two solemn mosaics +of the eastern and western extremities,—one representing +the Last Judgment, the other the Madonna, her tears falling +as her hands are raised to bless,—and the noble range of pillars +which enclose the space between, terminated by the high +throne for the pastor and the semicircular raised seats for the +superior clergy, are expressive at once of the deep sorrow and +the sacred courage of men who had no home left them upon +earth, but who looked for one to come, of men “persecuted but +not forsaken, cast down but not destroyed.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">IV</span>. I am not aware of any other early church in Italy +which has this peculiar expression in so marked a degree; and +it is so consistent with all that Christian architecture ought to +express in every age (for the actual condition of the exiles who +built the cathedral of Torcello is exactly typical of the spiritual +condition which every Christian ought to recognize in himself, +a state of homelessness on earth, except so far as he can make +the Most High his habitation), that I would rather fix the mind +of the reader on this general character than on the separate details, +however interesting, of the architecture itself. I shall +therefore examine these only so far as is necessary to give a +clear idea of the means by which the peculiar expression of the +building is attained.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">I.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter"> + <a name="plate_1"><img src="images/img014.jpg" width="393" height="650" alt="PLANS OF TORCELLO AND MURANO." title="PLANS OF TORCELLO AND MURANO." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">PLANS OF TORCELLO AND MURANO.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">V</span>. On the opposite page, the uppermost figure, 1, is a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page015"></a>15</span> +rude plan of the church. I do not answer for the thickness and +external disposition of the walls, which are not to our present +purpose, and which I have not carefully examined; but the +interior arrangement is given with sufficient accuracy. The +church is built on the usual plan of the Basilica<a name="FnAnchor_5" href="#Footnote_5"><span class="sp">5</span></a> that is to say, +its body divided into a nave and aisles by two rows of massive +shafts, the roof of the nave being raised high above the aisles +by walls sustained on two ranks of pillars, and pierced with +small arched windows. At Torcello the aisles are also lighted +in the same manner, and the nave is nearly twice their breadth.<a name="FnAnchor_6" href="#Footnote_6"><span class="sp">6</span></a></p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">II.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter"> + <a name="plate_2"><img src="images/img015.jpg" width="414" height="650" alt="THE ACANTHUS OF TORCELLO." title="THE ACANTHUS OF TORCELLO." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">THE ACANTHUS OF TORCELLO.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>The capitals of all the great shafts are of white marble, and +are among the best I have ever seen, as examples of perfectly +calculated effect from every touch of the chisel. Mr. Hope +calls them “indifferently imitated from the Corinthian:”<a name="FnAnchor_7" href="#Footnote_7"><span class="sp">7</span></a> but +the expression is as inaccurate as it is unjust; every one of +them is different in design, and their variations are as graceful +as they are fanciful. I could not, except by an elaborate drawing, +give any idea of the sharp, dark, deep penetrations of the +chisel into their snowy marble, but a single example is given +in the opposite plate, fig. 1, of the nature of the changes effected +in them from the Corinthian type. In this capital, although +a kind of acanthus (only with rounded lobes) is indeed used for +the upper range of leaves, the lower range is not acanthus at +all, but a kind of vine, or at least that species of plant which +stands for vine in all early Lombardic and Byzantine work +(vide Vol. I. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#app_8">Appendix 8</a>); the leaves are trefoiled, and the +stalks cut clear so that they might be grasped with the hand, +and cast sharp dark shadows, perpetually changing, across the +bell of the capital behind them. I have drawn one of these +vine plants larger in fig. 2, that the reader may see how little +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page016"></a>16</span> +imitation of the Corinthian there is in them, and how boldly +the stems of the leaves are detached from the ground. But +there is another circumstance in this ornament still more noticeable. +The band which encircles the shaft beneath the spring +of the leaves is copied from the common classical wreathed or +braided fillet, of which the reader may see +examples on almost every building of any +pretensions in modern London. But the +medićval builders could not be content with +the dead and meaningless scroll: the Gothic energy and love +of life, mingled with the early Christian religious symbolism, +were struggling daily into more vigorous expression, and they +turned the wreathed band into a serpent of three times the +length necessary to undulate round the shaft, which, knotting +itself into a triple chain, shows at one side of the shaft its tail +and head, as if perpetually gliding round it beneath the stalks +of the vines. The vine, as is well known, was one of the early +symbols of Christ, and the serpent is here typical either of the +eternity of his dominion, or of the Satanic power subdued.</p> + +<table style="float: left; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="figleft1"> + <a name="fig_1"><img src="images/img016.jpg" width="130" height="49" alt="Fig. 1." title="Fig. 1." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption"><span class="sc">Fig. 1.</span></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VI.</span> Nor even when the builder confines himself to the +acanthus leaf (or to that representation of it, hereafter to be +more particularly examined, constant in Romanesque work) can +his imagination allow him to rest content with its accustomed +position. In a common Corinthian capital the leaves nod forward +only, thrown out on every side from the bell which they +surround: but at the base of one of the capitals on the opposite +side of the nave from this of the vines,<a name="FnAnchor_8" href="#Footnote_8"><span class="sp">8</span></a> two leaves are introduced +set with their sides outwards, forming spirals by curling +back, half-closed, in the position shown in fig. 4 in <a href="#plate_2">Plate +II.</a>, there represented as in a real acanthus leaf; for it will assist +our future inquiries into the ornamentation of capitals that +the reader should be acquainted with the form of the acanthus +leaf itself. I have drawn it, therefore, in the two positions, +figs. 3 and 4 in <a href="#plate_2">Plate II.</a>; while fig. 5 is the translation of the +latter form into marble by the sculptor of Torcello. It is not +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page017"></a>17</span> +very like the acanthus, but much liker than any Greek work; +though still entirely conventional in its cinquefoiled lobes. +But these are disposed with the most graceful freedom of line, +separated at the roots by deep drill holes, which tell upon the +eye far away like beads of jet; and changed, before they become +too crowded to be effective, into a vigorous and simple +zigzagged edge, which saves the designer some embarrassment +in the perspective of the terminating spiral. But his feeling +of nature was greater than his knowledge of perspective; and +it is delightful to see how he has rooted the whole leaf in the +strong rounded under-stem, the indication of its closing with +its face inwards, and has thus given organization and elasticity +to the lovely group of spiral lines; a group of which, even in +the lifeless sea-shell, we are never weary, but which becomes +yet more delightful when the ideas of elasticity and growth +are joined to the sweet succession of its involution.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VII.</span> It is not, however, to be expected that either the +mute language of early Christianity (however important a part +of the expression of the building at the time of its erection), or +the delicate fancies of the Gothic leafage springing into new +life, should be read, or perceived, by the passing traveller who +has never been taught to expect anything in architecture except +five orders: yet he can hardly fail to be struck by the +simplicity and dignity of the great shafts themselves; by the +frank diffusion of light, which prevents their severity from +becoming oppressive; by the delicate forms and lovely carving +of the pulpit and chancel screen; and, above all, by the peculiar +aspect of the eastern extremity of the church, which, instead +of being withdrawn, as in later cathedrals, into a chapel +dedicated to the Virgin, or contributing by the brilliancy of +its windows to the splendor of the altar, and theatrical effect of +the ceremonies performed there, is a simple and stern semicircular +recess, filled beneath by three ranks of seats, raised one +above the other, for the bishop and presbyters, that they might +watch as well as guide the devotions of the people, and discharge +literally in the daily service the functions of bishops or +<i>overseers</i> of the flock of God.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page018"></a>18</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VIII.</span> Let us consider a little each of these characters in +succession; and first (for of the shafts enough has been said +already), what is very peculiar to this church, its luminousness. +This perhaps strikes the traveller more from its contrast with +the excessive gloom of the Church of St. Mark’s; but it is +remarkable when we compare the Cathedral of Torcello with +any of the contemporary basilicas in South Italy or Lombardic +churches in the North. St. Ambrogio at Milan, St. Michele +at Pavia, St. Zeno at Verona, St. Frediano at Lucca, St. Miniato +at Florence, are all like sepulchral caverns compared with Torcello, +where the slightest details of the sculptures and mosaics +are visible, even when twilight is deepening. And there is +something especially touching in our finding the sunshine thus +freely admitted into a church built by men in sorrow. They +did not need the darkness; they could not perhaps bear it. +There was fear and depression upon them enough, without a +material gloom. They sought for comfort in their religion, for +tangible hopes and promises, not for threatenings or mysteries; +and though the subjects chosen for the mosaics on the walls +are of the most solemn character, there are no artificial shadows +cast upon them, nor dark colors used in them: all is fair and +bright, and intended evidently to be regarded in hopefulness, +and not with terror.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">IX.</span> For observe this choice of subjects. It is indeed possible +that the walls of the nave and aisles, which are now +whitewashed, may have been covered with fresco or mosaic, +and thus have supplied a series of subjects, on the choice of +which we cannot speculate. I do not, however, find record of +the destruction of any such works; and I am rather inclined +to believe that at any rate the central division of the building +was originally decorated, as it is now, simply by mosaics representing +Christ, the Virgin, and the apostles, at one extremity, +and Christ coming to judgment at the other. And if so, I repeat, +observe the significance of this choice. Most other early +churches are covered with imagery sufficiently suggestive of +the vivid interest of the builders in the history and occupations +of the world. Symbols or representations of political +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page019"></a>19</span> +events, portraits of living persons, and sculptures of satirical, +grotesque, or trivial subjects are of constant occurrence, mingled +with the more strictly appointed representations of scriptural +or ecclesiastical history; but at Torcello even these +usual, and one should have thought almost necessary, successions +of Bible events do not appear. The mind of the worshipper +was fixed entirely upon two great facts, to him the +most precious of all facts,—the present mercy of Christ to His +Church, and His future coming to judge the world. That +Christ’s mercy was, at this period, supposed chiefly to be attainable +through the pleading of the Virgin, and that therefore +beneath the figure of the Redeemer is seen that of the +weeping Madonna in the act of intercession, may indeed be +matter of sorrow to the Protestant beholder, but ought not to +blind him to the earnestness and singleness of the faith with +which these men sought their sea-solitudes; not in hope of +founding new dynasties, or entering upon new epochs of prosperity, +but only to humble themselves before God, and to pray +that in His infinite mercy He would hasten the time when the +sea should give up the dead which were in it, and Death and +Hell give up the dead which were in them, and when they +might enter into the better kingdom, “where the wicked cease +from troubling and the weary are at rest.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">X.</span> Nor were the strength and elasticity of their minds, +even in the least matters, diminished by thus looking forward +to the close of all things. On the contrary, nothing is more +remarkable than the finish and beauty of all the portions of +the building, which seem to have been actually executed for +the place they occupy in the present structure. The rudest +are those which they brought with them from the mainland; +the best and most beautiful, those which appear to have been +carved for their island church: of these, the new capitals already +noticed, and the exquisite panel ornaments of the chancel +screen, are the most conspicuous; the latter form a low +wall across the church between the six small shafts whose +places are seen in the plan, and serve to enclose a space raised +two steps above the level of the nave, destined for the singers, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page020"></a>20</span> +and indicated also in the plan by an open line <i>a b c d</i>. The +bas-reliefs on this low screen are groups of peacocks and lions, +two face to face on each panel, rich and fantastic beyond description, +though not expressive of very accurate knowledge +either of leonine or pavonine forms. And it is not until we +pass to the back of the stair of the pulpit, which is connected +with the northern extremity of this screen, that we find evidence +of the haste with which the church was constructed.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XI.</span> The pulpit, however, is not among the least noticeable +of its features. It is sustained on the four small detached +shafts marked at <i>p</i> in the plan, between the two pillars at the +north side of the screen; both pillars and pulpit studiously +plain, while the staircase which ascends to it is a compact mass +of masonry (shaded in the plan), faced by carved slabs of marble; +the parapet of the staircase being also formed of solid +blocks like paving-stones, lightened by rich, but not deep, exterior +carving. Now these blocks, or at least those which +adorn the staircase towards the aisle, have been brought from +the mainland; and, being of size and shape not easily to be +adjusted to the proportions of the stair, the architect has cut +out of them pieces of the size he needed, utterly regardless of +the subject or symmetry of the original design. The pulpit is +not the only place where this rough procedure has been permitted: +at the lateral door of the church are two crosses, cut +out of slabs of marble, formerly covered with rich sculpture +over their whole surfaces, of which portions are left on the surface +of the crosses; the lines of the original design being, of +course, just as arbitrarily cut by the incisions between the +arms, as the patterns upon a piece of silk which has been +shaped anew. The fact is, that in all early Romanesque work, +large surfaces are covered with sculpture for the sake of enrichment +only; sculpture which indeed had always meaning, +because it was easier for the sculptor to work with some chain +of thought to guide his chisel, than without any; but it was +not always intended, or at least not always hoped, that this +chain of thought might be traced by the spectator. All that +was proposed appears to have been the enrichment of surface, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page021"></a>21</span> +so as to make it delightful to the eye; and this being once +understood, a decorated piece of marble became to the architect +just what a piece of lace or embroidery is to a dressmaker, who +takes of it such portions as she may require, with little regard +to the places where the patterns are divided. And though it +may appear, at first sight, that the procedure is indicative of +bluntness and rudeness of feeling, we may perceive, upon reflection, +that it may also indicate the redundance of power +which sets little price upon its own exertion. When a barbarous +nation builds its fortress-walls out of fragments of the +refined architecture it has overthrown, we can read nothing +but its savageness in the vestiges of art which may thus chance +to have been preserved; but when the new work is equal, if +not superior, in execution, to the pieces of the older art which +are associated with it, we may justly conclude that the rough +treatment to which the latter have been subjected is rather a +sign of the hope of doing better things, than of want of feeling +for those already accomplished. And, in general, this careless +fitting of ornament is, in very truth, an evidence of life in the +school of builders, and of their making a due distinction between +work which is to be used for architectural effect, and +work which is to possess an abstract perfection; and it commonly +shows also that the exertion of design is so easy to +them, and their fertility so inexhaustible, that they feel no remorse +in using somewhat injuriously what they can replace +with so slight an effort.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XII.</span> It appears however questionable in the present instance, +whether, if the marbles had not been carved to his hand, +the architect would have taken the trouble to enrich them. For +the execution of the rest of the pulpit is studiously simple, and +it is in this respect that its design possesses, it seems to me, +an interest to the religious spectator greater than he will take +in any other portion of the building. It is supported, as I said, +on a group of four slender shafts; itself of a slightly oval form, +extending nearly from one pillar of the nave to the next, so as +to give the preacher free room for the action of the entire +person, which always gives an unaffected impressiveness to the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page022"></a>22</span> +eloquence of the southern nations. In the centre of its curved +front, a small bracket and detached shaft sustain the projection +of a narrow marble desk (occupying the place of a cushion in a +modern pulpit), which is hollowed out into a shallow curve on +the upper surface, leaving a ledge at the bottom of the slab, so +that a book laid upon it, or rather into it, settles itself there, +opening as if by instinct, but without the least chance of slipping +to the side, or in any way moving beneath the preacher’s +hands.<a name="FnAnchor_9" href="#Footnote_9"><span class="sp">9</span></a> Six balls, or rather almonds, of purple marble veined +with white are set round the edge of the pulpit, and form its +only decoration. Perfectly graceful, but severe and almost cold +in its simplicity, built for permanence and service, so that no +single member, no stone of it, could be spared, and yet all are +firm and uninjured as when they were first set together, it +stands in venerable contrast both with the fantastic pulpits of +medićval cathedrals and with the rich furniture of those of our +modern churches. It is worth while pausing for a moment to +consider how far the manner of decorating a pulpit may have +influence on the efficiency of its service, and whether our modern +treatment of this, to us all-important, feature of a church be the +best possible.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIII.</span> When the sermon is good we need not much concern +ourselves about the form of the pulpit. But sermons cannot +always be good; and I believe that the temper in which the +congregation set themselves to listen may be in some degree +modified by their perception of fitness or unfitness, impressiveness +or vulgarity, in the disposition of the place appointed for +the speaker,—not to the same degree, but somewhat in the +same way, that they may be influenced by his own gestures or +expression, irrespective of the sense of what he says. I believe, +therefore, in the first place, that pulpits ought never to be +highly decorated; the speaker is apt to look mean or diminutive +if the pulpit is either on a very large scale or covered with +splendid ornament, and if the interest of the sermon should +flag the mind is instantly tempted to wander. I have observed +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page023"></a>23</span> +that in almost all cathedrals, when the pulpits are peculiarly +magnificent, sermons are not often preached from them; but +rather, and especially if for any important purpose, from some +temporary erection in other parts of the building: and though +this may often be done because the architect has consulted the +effect upon the eye more than the convenience of the ear in the +placing of his larger pulpit, I think it also proceeds in some +measure from a natural dislike in the preacher to match himself +with the magnificence of the rostrum, lest the sermon +should not be thought worthy of the place. Yet this will +rather hold of the colossal sculptures, and pyramids of fantastic +tracery which encumber the pulpits of Flemish and German +churches, than of the delicate mosaics and ivory-like carving of +the Romanesque basilicas, for when the form is kept simple, +much loveliness of color and costliness of work may be introduced, +and yet the speaker not be thrown into the shade by +them.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIV.</span> But, in the second place, whatever ornaments we admit +ought clearly to be of a chaste, grave, and noble kind; and +what furniture we employ, evidently more for the honoring of +God’s word than for the ease of the preacher. For there are +two ways of regarding a sermon, either as a human composition, +or a Divine message. If we look upon it entirely as the first, +and require our clergymen to finish it with their utmost care +and learning, for our better delight whether of ear or intellect, +we shall necessarily be led to expect much formality and stateliness +in its delivery, and to think that all is not well if the +pulpit have not a golden fringe round it, and a goodly cushion +in front of it, and if the sermon be not fairly written in a +black book, to be smoothed upon the cushion in a majestic +manner before beginning; all this we shall duly come to expect: +but we shall at the same time consider the treatise thus +prepared as something to which it is our duty to listen without +restlessness for half an hour or three quarters, but which, when +that duty has been decorously performed, we may dismiss from +our minds in happy confidence of being provided with another +when next it shall be necessary. But if once we begin to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page024"></a>24</span> +regard the preacher, whatever his faults, as a man sent with a +message to us, which it is a matter of life or death whether we +hear or refuse; if we look upon him as set in charge over +many spirits in danger of ruin, and having allowed to him but +an hour or two in the seven days to speak to them; if we make +some endeavor to conceive how precious these hours ought to +be to him, a small vantage on the side of God after his flock +have been exposed for six days together to the full weight of +the world’s temptation, and he has been forced to watch the +thorn and the thistle springing in their hearts, and to see +what wheat had been scattered there snatched from the wayside +by this wild bird and the other, and at last, when breathless +and weary with the week’s labor they give him this interval of +imperfect and languid hearing, he has but thirty minutes to get +at the separate hearts of a thousand men, to convince them of +all their weaknesses, to shame them for all their sins, to warn +them of all their dangers, to try by this way and that to stir the +hard fastenings of those doors where the Master himself has +stood and knocked yet none opened, and to call at the openings +of those dark streets where Wisdom herself hath stretched forth +her hands and no man regarded,—thirty minutes to raise the +dead in,—let us but once understand and feel this, and we shall +look with changed eyes upon that frippery of gay furniture +about the place from which the message of judgment must be +delivered, which either breathes upon the dry bones that they +may live, or, if ineffectual, remains recorded in condemnation, +perhaps against the utterer and listener alike, but assuredly +against one of them. We shall not so easily bear with the silk +and gold upon the seat of judgment, nor with ornament of oratory +in the mouth of the messenger: we shall wish that his +words may be simple, even when they are sweetest, and the +place from which he speaks like a marble rock in the desert, +about which the people have gathered in their thirst.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XV.</span> But the severity which is so marked in the pulpit at +Torcello is still more striking in the raised seats and episcopal +throne which occupy the curve of the apse. The arrangement +at first somewhat recalls to the mind that of the Roman amphitheatres; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page025"></a>25</span> +the flight of steps which lead up to the central throne +divides the curve of the continuous steps or seats (it appears in +the first three ranges questionable which were intended, for +they seem too high for the one, and too low and close for the +other), exactly as in an amphitheatre the stairs for access intersect +the sweeping ranges of seats. But in the very rudeness of +this arrangement, and especially in the want of all appliances +of comfort (for the whole is of marble, and the arms of the +central throne are not for convenience, but for distinction, and +to separate it more conspicuously from the undivided seats), +there is a dignity which no furniture of stalls nor carving of +canopies ever could attain, and well worth the contemplation +of the Protestant, both as sternly significative of an episcopal +authority which in the early days of the Church was never disputed, +and as dependent for all its impressiveness on the utter +absence of any expression either of pride or self-indulgence.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVI.</span> But there is one more circumstance which we ought +to remember as giving peculiar significance to the position +which the episcopal throne occupies in this island church, +namely, that in the minds of all early Christians the Church +itself was most frequently symbolized under the image of a +ship, of which the bishop was the pilot. Consider the force +which this symbol would assume in the imaginations of men +to whom the spiritual Church had become an ark of refuge in +the midst of a destruction hardly less terrible than that from +which the eight souls were saved of old, a destruction in which +the wrath of man had become as broad as the earth and as +merciless as the sea, and who saw the actual and literal edifice +of the Church raised up, itself like an ark in the midst of the +waters. No marvel if with the surf of the Adriatic rolling between +them and the shores of their birth, from which they +were separated for ever, they should have looked upon each +other as the disciples did when the storm came down on the +Tiberias Lake, and have yielded ready and loving obedience to +those who ruled them in His name, who had there rebuked the +winds and commanded stillness to the sea. And if the stranger +would yet learn in what spirit it was that the dominion of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page026"></a>26</span> +Venice was begun, and in what strength she went forth conquering +and to conquer, let him not seek to estimate the +wealth of her arsenals or number of her armies, nor look upon +the pageantry of her palaces, nor enter into the secrets of her +councils; but let him ascend the highest tier of the stern +ledges that sweep round the altar of Torcello, and then, looking +as the pilot did of old along the marble ribs of the goodly +temple ship, let him repeople its veined deck with the shadows +of its dead mariners, and strive to feel in himself the strength +of heart that was kindled within them, when first, after the +pillars of it had settled in the sand, and the roof of it had been +closed against the angry sky that was still reddened by the +fires of their homesteads,—first, within the shelter of its knitted +walls, amidst the murmur of the waste of waves and the +beating of the wings of the sea-birds round the rock that was +strange to them,—rose that ancient hymn, in the power of their +gathered voices:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poem sc"> +<p>The sea is His, and He made it:</p> +<p>And His hands prepared the dry land.</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_4" href="#FnAnchor_4"><span class="fn">4</span></a> <a href="#app_4">Appendix 4</a>, “Date of the Duomo of Torcello.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_5" href="#FnAnchor_5"><span class="fn">5</span></a> For a full account of the form and symbolical meaning of the Basilica, +see Lord Lindsay’s “Christian Art,” vol. i. p. 12. It is much to be regretted +that the Chevalier Bunsen’s work on the Basilicas of Rome is not translated +into English.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_6" href="#FnAnchor_6"><span class="fn">6</span></a> The measures are given in <a href="#app_3">Appendix 3</a>.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_7" href="#FnAnchor_7"><span class="fn">7</span></a> Hope’s “Historical Essay on Architecture” (third edition, 1840), chap. +ix. p. 95. In other respects Mr. Hope has done justice to this building, and +to the style of the early Christian churches in general.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_8" href="#FnAnchor_8"><span class="fn">8</span></a> A sketch has been given of this capital in my folio work.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_9" href="#FnAnchor_9"><span class="fn">9</span></a> <a href="#app_5">Appendix 5</a>, “Modern Pulpits.”</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page027"></a>27</span></p> + +<h3><a name="chap_3"></a>CHAPTER III.</h3> + +<h5>MURANO.</h5> + + +<p>§ <span class="scs">I.</span> The decay of the city of Venice is, in many respects, +like that of an outwearied and aged human frame; the cause +of its decrepitude is indeed at the heart, but the outward +appearances of it are first at the extremities. In the centre of +the city there are still places where some evidence of vitality +remains, and where, with kind closing of the eyes to signs, too +manifest even there, of distress and declining fortune, the +stranger may succeed in imagining, for a little while, what +must have been the aspect of Venice in her prime. But this +lingering pulsation has not force enough any more to penetrate +into the suburbs and outskirts of the city; the frost of death +has there seized upon it irrevocably, and the grasp of mortal +disease is marked daily by the increasing breadth of its belt of +ruin. Nowhere is this seen more grievously than along the +great north-eastern boundary, once occupied by the smaller +palaces of the Venetians, built for pleasure or repose; the +nobler piles along the grand canal being reserved for the pomp +and business of daily life. To such smaller palaces some +garden ground was commonly attached, opening to the water-side; +and, in front of these villas and gardens, the lagoon was +wont to be covered in the evening by gondolas: the space of +it between this part of the city and the island group of Murano +being to Venice, in her time of power, what its parks are to +London; only gondolas were used instead of carriages, and the +crowd of the population did not come out till towards sunset, +and prolonged their pleasures far into the night, company +answering to company with alternate singing.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">II.</span> If, knowing this custom of the Venetians, and with a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page028"></a>28</span> +vision in his mind of summer palaces lining the shore, and +myrtle gardens sloping to the sea, the traveller now seeks this +suburb of Venice, he will be strangely and sadly surprised to +find a new but perfectly desolate quay, about a mile in length, +extending from the arsenal to the Sacca della Misericordia, in +front of a line of miserable houses built in the course of the +last sixty or eighty years, yet already tottering to their ruin; +and not less to find that the principal object in the view which +these houses (built partly in front and partly on the ruins of +the ancient palaces) now command is a dead brick wall, about +a quarter of a mile across the water, interrupted only by a kind +of white lodge, the cheerfulness of which prospect is not enhanced +by his finding that this wall encloses the principal +public cemetery of Venice. He may, perhaps, marvel for a +few moments at the singular taste of the old Venetians in taking +their pleasure under a churchyard wall: but, on further +inquiry, he will find that the building on the island, like those +on the shore, is recent, that it stands on the ruins of the +Church of St. Cristoforo della Pace; and that with a singular, +because unintended, moral, the modern Venetians have replaced +the Peace of the Christ-bearer by the Peace of Death, +and where they once went, as the sun set daily, to their pleasure, +now go, as the sun sets to each of them for ever, to their +graves.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">III.</span> Yet the power of Nature cannot be shortened by the +folly, nor her beauty altogether saddened by the misery, of +man. The broad tides still ebb and flow brightly about the +island of the dead, and the linked conclave of the Alps know +no decline from their old pre-eminence, nor stoop from their +golden thrones in the circle of the horizon. So lovely is the +scene still, in spite of all its injuries, that we shall find ourselves +drawn there again and again at evening out of the narrow +canals and streets of the city, to watch the wreaths of the +sea-mists weaving themselves like mourning veils around the +mountains far away, and listen to the green waves as they fret +and sigh along the cemetery shore.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">IV.</span> But it is morning now: we have a hard day’s work to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page029"></a>29</span> +do at Murano, and our boat shoots swiftly from beneath the +last bridge of Venice, and brings us out into the open sea and +sky.</p> + +<p>The pure cumuli of cloud lie crowded and leaning against +one another, rank beyond rank, far over the shining water, each +cut away at its foundation by a level line, trenchant and clear, +till they sink to the horizon like a flight of marble steps, except +where the mountains meet them, and are lost in them, barred +across by the grey terraces of those cloud foundations, and +reduced into one crestless bank of blue, spotted here and +there with strange flakes of wan, aerial, greenish light, strewed +upon them like snow. And underneath is the long dark line +of the mainland, fringed with low trees; and then the wide-waving +surface of the burnished lagoon trembling slowly, and +shaking out into forked bands of lengthening light the images +of the towers of cloud above. To the north, there is first the +great cemetery wall, then the long stray buildings of Murano, +and the island villages beyond, glittering in intense crystalline +vermilion, like so much jewellery scattered on a mirror, their +towers poised apparently in the air a little above the horizon, +and their reflections, as sharp and vivid and substantial as +themselves, thrown on the vacancy between them and the sea. +And thus the villages seem standing on the air; and, to the +east, there is a cluster of ships that seem sailing on the land; +for the sandy line of the Lido stretches itself between us and +them, and we can see the tall white sails moving beyond it, +but not the sea, only there is a sense of the great sea being +indeed there, and a solemn strength of gleaming light in sky +above.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">V.</span> The most discordant feature in the whole scene is the +cloud which hovers above the glass furnaces of Murano; but +this we may not regret, as it is one of the last signs left of +human exertion among the ruinous villages which surround us. +The silent gliding of the gondola brings it nearer to us every +moment; we pass the cemetery, and a deep sea-channel which +separates it from Murano, and finally enter a narrow water-street, +with a paved footpath on each side, raised three or four +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page030"></a>30</span> +feet above the canal, and forming a kind of quay between the +water and the doors of the houses. These latter are, for the +most part, low, but built with massy doors and windows of +marble or Istrian stone, square-set and barred with iron; buildings +evidently once of no mean order, though now inhabited +only by the poor. Here and there an ogee window of the +fourteenth century, or a doorway deeply enriched with cable +mouldings, shows itself in the midst of more ordinary features; +and several houses, consisting of one story only carried on +square pillars, forming a short arcade along the quay, have +windows sustained on shafts of red Verona marble, of singular +grace and delicacy. All now in vain: little care is there for +their delicacy or grace among the rough fishermen sauntering +on the quay with their jackets hanging loose from their shoulders, +jacket and cap and hair all of the same dark-greenish sea-grey. +But there is some life in the scene, more than is usual +in Venice: the women are sitting at their doors knitting busily, +and various workmen of the glass-houses sifting glass dust upon +the pavement, and strange cries coming from one side of the +canal to the other, and ringing far along the crowded water, +from venders of figs and grapes, and gourds and shell-fish; +cries partly descriptive of the eatables in question, but interspersed +with others of a character unintelligible in proportion +to their violence, and fortunately so if we may judge by a sentence +which is stencilled in black, within a garland, on the +whitewashed walls of nearly every other house in the street, +but which, how often soever written, no one seems to regard: +“Bestemme non piů. Lodate Gesů.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VI.</span> We push our way on between large barges laden with +fresh water from Fusina, in round white tubs seven feet across, +and complicated boats full of all manner of nets that look as if +they could never be disentangled, hanging from their masts +and over their sides; and presently pass under a bridge with +the lion of St. Mark on its archivolt, and another on a pillar +at the end of the parapet, a small red lion with much of the +puppy in his face, looking vacantly up into the air (in passing +we may note that, instead of feathers, his wings are covered +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page031"></a>31</span> +with hair, and in several other points the manner of his sculpture +is not uninteresting). Presently the canal turns a little to +the left, and thereupon becomes more quiet, the main bustle of +the water-street being usually confined to the first straight +reach of it, some quarter of a mile long, the Cheapside of +Murano. We pass a considerable church on the left, St. Pietro, +and a little square opposite to it with a few acacia trees, and +then find our boat suddenly seized by a strong green eddy, and +whirled into the tide-way of one of the main channels of the +lagoon, which divides the town of Murano into two parts by a +deep stream some fifty yards over, crossed only by one wooden +bridge. We let ourselves drift some way down the current, +looking at the low line of cottages on the other side of it, +hardly knowing if there be more cheerfulness or melancholy +in the way the sunshine glows on their ruinous but whitewashed +walls, and sparkles on the rushing of the green water +by the grass-grown quay. It needs a strong stroke of the oar +to bring us into the mouth of another quiet canal on the farther +side of the tide-way, and we are still somewhat giddy when we +run the head of the gondola into the sand on the left-hand side +of this more sluggish stream, and land under the east end of +the Church of San Donato, the “Matrice” or “Mother” Church +of Murano.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VII.</span> It stands, it and the heavy campanile detached from +it a few yards, in a small triangular field of somewhat fresher +grass than is usual near Venice, traversed by a paved walk +with green mosaic of short grass between the rude squares of +its stones, bounded on one side by ruinous garden walls, on +another by a line of low cottages, on the third, the base of the +triangle, by the shallow canal from which we have just landed. +Near the point of the triangular space is a simple well, bearing +date 1502; in its widest part, between the canal and campanile, +is a four-square hollow pillar, each side formed by a +separate slab of stone, to which the iron hasps are still attached +that once secured the Venetian standard.</p> + +<p>The cathedral itself occupies the northern angle of the +field, encumbered with modern buildings, small outhouse-like +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page032"></a>32</span> +chapels, and wastes of white wall with blank square windows, +and itself utterly defaced in the whole body of it, nothing +but the apse having been spared; the original plan is only +discoverable by careful examination, and even then but partially. +The whole impression and effect of the building are +irretrievably lost, but the fragments of it are still most precious.</p> + +<p>We must first briefly state what is known of its history.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VIII.</span> The legends of the Romish Church, though generally +more insipid and less varied than those of Paganism, deserve +audience from us on this ground, if on no other, that +they have once been sincerely believed by good men, and have +had no ineffective agency in the foundation of the existent +European mind. The reader must not therefore accuse me of +trifling, when I record for him the first piece of information I +have been able to collect respecting the cathedral of Murano: +namely, that the emperor Otho the Great, being overtaken by +a storm on the Adriatic, vowed, if he were preserved, to build +and dedicate a church to the Virgin, in whatever place might +be most pleasing to her; that the storm thereupon abated; and +the Virgin appearing to Otho in a dream showed him, covered +with red lilies, that very triangular field on which we were but +now standing, amidst the ragged weeds and shattered pavement. +The emperor obeyed the vision; and the church was consecrated +on the 15th of August, 957.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">IX.</span> Whatever degree of credence we may feel disposed +to attach to this piece of history, there is no question that a +church was built on this spot before the close of the tenth +century: since in the year 999 we find the incumbent of the +Basilica (note this word, it is of some importance) di Santa +Maria Plebania di Murano taking an oath of obedience to the +Bishop of the Altinat church, and engaging at the same time +to give the said bishop his dinner on the Domenica in Albis, +when the prelate held a confirmation in the mother church, as +it was then commonly called, of Murano. From this period, +for more than a century, I can find no records of any alterations +made in the fabric of the church, but there exist very +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page033"></a>33</span> +full details of the quarrels which arose between its incumbents +and those of San Stefano, San Cipriano, San Salvatore, and +the other churches of Murano, touching the due obedience +which their less numerous or less ancient brotherhoods owed +to St. Mary’s.</p> + +<p>These differences seem to have been renewed at the election +of every new abbot by each of the fraternities, and must +have been growing serious when the patriarch of Grado, Henry +Dandolo, interfered in 1102, and, in order to seal a peace between +the two principal opponents, ordered that the abbot of +St. Stephen’s should be present at the service in St. Mary’s on +the night of the Epiphany, and that the abbot of St. Mary’s +should visit him of St. Stephen’s on St. Stephen’s day; and +that then the two abbots “should eat apples and drink good +wine together, in peace and charity.”<a name="FnAnchor_10" href="#Footnote_10"><span class="sp">10</span></a></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">X.</span> But even this kindly effort seems to have been without +result: the irritated pride of the antagonists remained unsoothed +by the love-feast of St. Stephen’s day; and the breach +continued to widen until the abbot of St. Mary’s obtained a +timely accession to his authority in the year 1125. The Doge +Domenico Michele, having in the second crusade secured such +substantial advantages for the Venetians as might well counterbalance +the loss of part of their trade with the East, +crowned his successes by obtaining possession in Cephalonia +of the body of St. Donato, bishop of Eurœa; which treasure +he having presented on his return to the Murano basilica, that +church was thenceforward called the church of Sts. Mary and +Donato. Nor was the body of the saint its only acquisition: +St. Donato’s principal achievement had been the destruction of +a terrible dragon in Epirus; Michele brought home the bones +of the dragon as well as of the saint; the latter were put in a +marble sarcophagus, and the former hung up over the high altar.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page034"></a>34</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XI.</span> But the clergy of St. Stefano were indomitable. At +the very moment when their adversaries had received this formidable +accession of strength, they had the audacity “ad onta +de’ replicati giuramenti, e dell’inveterata consuetudine,”<a name="FnAnchor_11" href="#Footnote_11"><span class="sp">11</span></a> to +refuse to continue in the obedience which they had vowed to +their mother church. The matter was tried in a provincial +council; the votaries of St. Stephen were condemned, and remained +quiet for about twenty years, in wholesome dread of +the authority conferred on the abbot of St. Donate, by the +Pope’s legate, to suspend any o the clergy of the island from +their office if they refused submission. In 1172, however, they +appealed to Pope Alexander III, and were condemned again: +and we find the struggle renewed at every promising opportunity, +during the course of the 12th and 13th centuries; until +at last, finding St. Donate and the dragon together too +strong for him, the abbot of St. Stefano “discovered” in his +church the bodies of two hundred martyrs at once!—a discovery, +it is to be remembered, in some sort equivalent in those +days to that of California in ours. The inscription, however, +on the façade of the church, recorded it with quiet dignity:— +“<span class="scs">MCCCLXXIV.</span> a di <span class="scs">XIV.</span> di Aprile. Furono trovati nella presente +chiesa del protomartire San Stefano, duecento e piů corpi de’ +Santi Martiri, dal Ven. Prete Matteo Fradello, piovano della +chiesa.”<a name="FnAnchor_12" href="#Footnote_12"><span class="sp">12</span></a> Corner, who gives this inscription, which no longer +exists, goes on to explain with infinite gravity, that the bodies +in question, “being of infantile form and stature, are reported +by tradition to have belonged to those fortunate innocents who +suffered martyrdom under King Herod; but that when, or by +whom, the church was enriched with so vast a treasure, is not +manifested by any document.”<a name="FnAnchor_13" href="#Footnote_13"><span class="sp">13</span></a></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page035"></a>35</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XII.</span> The issue of the struggle is not to our present purpose. +We have already arrived at the fourteenth century +without finding record of any effort made by the clergy of St. +Mary’s to maintain their influence by restoring or beautifying +their basilica; which is the only point at present of importance +to us. That great alterations were made in it at the time +of the acquisition of the body of St. Donato is however highly +probable, the mosaic pavement of the interior, which bears its +date inscribed, 1140, being probably the last of the additions. +I believe that no part of the ancient church can be shown to +be of more recent date than this; and I shall not occupy the +reader’s time by any inquiry respecting the epochs or authors +of the destructive modern restorations; the wreck of the old +fabric, breaking out beneath them here and there, is generally +distinguishable from them at a glance; and it is enough for +the reader to know that none of these truly ancient fragments +can be assigned to a more recent date than 1140, and that some +of them may with probability be looked upon as remains of +the shell of the first church, erected in the course of the latter +half of the tenth century. We shall perhaps obtain some further +reason for this belief as we examine these remains themselves.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIII.</span> Of the body of the church, unhappily, they are few +and obscure; but the general form and extent of the building, +as shown in the plan, <a href="#plate_1">Plate I.</a> fig. 2, are determined, first, by +the breadth of the uninjured east end D E; secondly, by some +remains of the original brickwork of the clerestory, and in all +probability of the side walls also, though these have been refaced; +and finally by the series of nave shafts, which are still +perfect. The doors A and B may or may not be in their original +positions; there must of course have been always, as now, +a principal entrance at the west end. The ground plan is composed, +like that of Torcello, of nave and aisles only, but the +clerestory has transepts extending as far as the outer wall of +the aisles. The semicircular apse, thrown out in the centre of +the east end, is now the chief feature of interest in the church, +though the nave shafts and the eastern extremities of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page036"></a>36</span> +aisles, outside, are also portions of the original building; the +latter having been modernized in the interior, it cannot now +be ascertained whether, as is probable, the aisles had once round +ends as well as the choir. The spaces F G form small chapels, +of which G has a straight terminal wall behind its altar, and F +a curved one, marked by the dotted line; the partitions which +divide these chapels from the presbytery are also indicated by +dotted lines, being modern work.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIV.</span> The plan is drawn carefully to scale, but the relation +in which its proportions are disposed can hardly be appreciated +by the eye. The width of the nave from shaft to opposite +shaft is 32 feet 8 inches: of the aisles, from the shaft to the +wall, 16 feet 2 inches, or allowing 2 inches for the thickness of +the modern wainscot, 16 feet 4 inches, half the breadth of the +nave exactly. The intervals between the shafts are exactly +one fourth of the width of the nave, or 8 feet 2 inches, and +the distance between the great piers which form the pseudo-transept +is 24 feet 6 inches, exactly three times the interval of +the shafts. So the four distances are accurately in arithmetical +proportion; i.e.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" width="60%" summary="Table of distances."> + +<tr><td> </td> + <td class="tc2" style="font-size: 80%; ">Ft.</td> + <td class="tc2" style="font-size: 80%; width: 2em; ">In.</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3">Interval of shafts</td> + <td class="tc2">8</td> + <td class="tc2">2</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3">Width of aisle</td> + <td class="tc2">16</td> + <td class="tc2">4</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3">Width of transept</td> + <td class="tc2">24</td> + <td class="tc2">6</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3">Width of nave</td> + <td class="tc2">32</td> + <td class="tc2">8</td> </tr> +</table> + +<p>The shafts average 5 feet 4 inches in circumference, as near +the base as they can be got at, being covered with wood; and +the broadest sides of the main piers are 4 feet 7 inches wide, +their narrowest sides 3 feet 6 inches. The distance <i>a c</i> from +the outmost angle of these piers to the beginning of the curve +of the apse is 25 feet, and from that point the apse is nearly +semicircular, but it is so encumbered with renaissance fittings +that its form cannot be ascertained with perfect accuracy. It +is roofed by a concha, or semi-dome; and the external arrangement +of its walls provides for the security of this dome by +what is, in fact, a system of buttresses as effective and definite +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page037"></a>37</span> +as that of any of the northern churches, although the buttresses +are obtained entirely by adaptations of the Roman shaft and +arch, the lower story being formed by a thick mass of wall +lightened by ordinary semicircular round-headed niches, like +those used so extensively afterwards in renaissance architecture, +each niche flanked by a pair of shafts standing clear of +the wall, and bearing deeply moulded arches thrown over the +niche. The wall with its pillars thus forms a series of massy +buttresses (as seen in the ground plan), on the top of which is +an open gallery, backed by a thinner wall, and roofed by arches +whose shafts are set above the pairs of shafts below. On the +heads of these arches rests the roof. We have, therefore, externally +a heptagonal apse, chiefly of rough and common brick, +only with marble shafts and a few marble ornaments; but for +that very reason all the more interesting, because it shows us +what may be done, and what was done, with materials such as +are now at our own command; and because in its proportions, +and in the use of the few ornaments it possesses, it displays a +delicacy of feeling rendered doubly notable by the roughness +of the work in which laws so subtle are observed, and with +which so thoughtful ornamentation is associated.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XV.</span> First, for its proportions: I shall have occasion in +Chapter V. to dwell at some length on the peculiar subtlety of +the early Venetian perception for ratios of magnitude; the +relations of the sides of this heptagonal apse supply one of the +first and most curious instances of it. The proportions above +given of the nave and aisles might have been dictated by a +mere love of mathematical precision; but those of the apse +could only have resulted from a true love of harmony.</p> + +<p>In fig. 6, <a href="#plate_1">Plate I.</a> the plan of this part of the church is +given on a large scale, showing that its seven external sides are +arranged on a line less than a semicircle, so that if the figure +were completed, it would have sixteen sides; and it will be +observed also, that the seven sides are arranged in four magnitudes, +the widest being the central one. The brickwork is +so much worn away, that the measures of the arches are not +easily ascertainable, but those of the plinth on which they +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page038"></a>38</span> +stand, which is nearly uninjured, may be obtained accurately. +This plinth is indicated by the open line in the ground plan, +and its sides measure respectively:</p> + +<table class="nobctr" width="60%" summary="Table of distances."> + +<tr><td class="tc5" style="width: 2em; "> </td> <td> </td> + <td class="tc2" style="font-size: 80%; ">Ft.</td> + <td class="tc2" style="font-size: 80%; width: 2em; ">In.</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5">1st.</td> + <td class="tc5"><i>a b</i> in plan</td> + <td class="tc2">6</td> + <td class="tc2">7</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5">2nd.</td> + <td class="tc5"><i>b c</i></td> + <td class="tc2">7</td> + <td class="tc2">7</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5">3rd.</td> + <td class="tc5"><i>c d</i></td> + <td class="tc2">7</td> + <td class="tc2">5</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5">4th.</td> + <td class="tc5"><i>d e</i> (central)</td> + <td class="tc2">7</td> + <td class="tc2">10</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5">5th.</td> + <td class="tc5"><i>e f</i></td> + <td class="tc2">7</td> + <td class="tc2">5</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5">6th</td> + <td class="tc5"><i>f g</i></td> + <td class="tc2">7</td> + <td class="tc2">8</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5">7th.</td> + <td class="tc5"><i>g h</i></td> + <td class="tc2">6</td> + <td class="tc2">10</td> </tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVI.</span> Now observe what subtle feeling is indicated by this +delicacy of proportion. How fine must the perceptions of +grace have been in those builders who could not be content +without <i>some</i> change between the second and third, the fifth +and sixth terms of proportion, such as should oppose the general +direction of its cadence, and yet <i>were</i> content with a diminution +of two inches on a breadth of seven feet and a half! +For I do not suppose that the reader will think the curious +lessening of the third and fifth arch a matter of accident, and +even if he did so, I shall be able to prove to him hereafter that +it was not, but that the early builders were always desirous of +obtaining some alternate proportion of this kind. The relations +of the numbers are not easily comprehended in the form +of feet and inches, but if we reduce the first four of them into +inches, and then subtract some constant number, suppose 75, +from them all, the remainders 4, 16, 14, 19, will exhibit the +ratio of proportion in a clearer, though exaggerated form.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVII.</span> The pairs of circular spots at <i>b</i>, <i>c</i>, <i>d</i>, etc., on the +ground plan fig. 6, represent the bearing shafts, which are all +of solid marble as well as their capitals. Their measures and +various other particulars respecting them are given in <a href="#app_6">Appendix +6</a>. “Apse of Murano;” here I only wish the reader to +note the coloring of their capitals. Those of the two single +shafts in the angles (<i>a</i>, <i>h</i>) are both of deep purple marble; the +two next pairs, <i>b</i> and <i>g</i>, are of white marble; the pairs <i>c</i> and <i>f</i> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page039"></a>39</span> +are of purple, and <i>d</i> and <i>e</i> are of white: thus alternating with +each other on each side; two white meeting in the centre. +Now observe, <i>the purple capitals are all left plain; the white +are all sculptured</i>. For the old builders knew that by carving +the purple capitals they would have injured them in two ways: +first, they would have mixed a certain quantity of grey shadow +with the surface hue, and so adulterated the purity of the +color; secondly, they would have drawn away the thoughts +from the color, and prevented the mind from fixing upon it +or enjoying it, by the degree of attention which the sculpture +would have required. So they left their purple capitals full +broad masses of color; and sculptured the white ones, which +would otherwise have been devoid of interest.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVIII.</span> But the feature which is most to be noted in this +apse is a band of ornament, which runs round it like a silver +girdle, composed of sharp wedges of marble, preciously inlaid, +and set like jewels into the brickwork; above it there is another +band of triangular recesses in the bricks, of nearly similar +shape, and it seems equally strange that all the marbles should +have fallen from it, or that it should have been originally +destitute of them. The reader may choose his hypothesis; +but there is quite enough left to interest us in the lower band, +which is fortunately left in its original state, as is sufficiently +proved by the curious niceties in the arrangement of its +colors, which are assuredly to be attributed to the care of the +first builder. A word or two, in the first place, respecting the +means of color at his disposal.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIX.</span> I stated that the building was, for the most part, +composed of yellow brick. This yellow is very nearly pure, +much more positive and somewhat darker than that of our +English light brick, and the material of the brick is very good +and hard, looking, in places, almost vitrified, and so compact +as to resemble stone. Together with this brick occurs another +of a deep full red, and more porous substance, which is used +for decoration chiefly, while all the parts requiring strength +are composed of the yellow brick. Both these materials are +<i>cast into any shape and size</i> the builder required, either into +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page040"></a>40</span> +curved pieces for the arches, or flat tiles for filling the triangles; +and, what is still more curious, the thickness of the +yellow bricks used for the walls varies considerably, from two +inches to four; and their length also, some of the larger pieces +used in important positions being a foot and a half long.</p> + +<p>With these two kinds of brick, the builder employed five +or six kinds of marble: pure white, and white veined with purple; +a brecciated marble of white and black; a brecciated +marble of white and deep green; another, deep red, or nearly +of the color of Egyptian porphyry; and a grey and black +marble, in fine layers.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XX.</span> The method of employing these materials will be +understood at once by a reference to the opposite plate (<a href="#plate_3">Plate +III.</a>), which represents two portions of the lower band. I +could not succeed in expressing the variation and chequering +of color in marble, by real tints in the print; and have been +content, therefore, to give them in line engraving. The different +triangles are, altogether, of ten kinds:</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p>a. Pure white marble with sculptured surface (as the third and fifth +in the upper series of <a href="#plate_3">Plate III.</a>).</p> + +<p>b. Cast triangle of red brick with a sculptured round-headed piece of +white marble inlaid (as the first and seventh of the upper series, +<a href="#plate_3">Plate III.</a>).</p> + +<p>c. A plain triangle of greenish black marble, now perhaps considerably +paler in color than when first employed (as the second +and sixth of the upper series of <a href="#plate_3">Plate III.</a>).</p> + +<p>d. Cast red brick triangle, with a diamond inlaid of the above-mentioned +black marble (as the fourth in the upper series of +<a href="#plate_3">Plate III.</a>).</p> + +<p>e. Cast white brick, with an inlaid round-headed piece of marble, +variegated with black and yellow, or white and violet (not seen +in the plate).</p> + +<p>f. Occurs only once, a green-veined marble, forming the upper part +of the triangle, with a white piece below.</p> + +<p>g. Occurs only once. A brecciated marble of intense black and pure +white, the centre of the lower range in <a href="#plate_3">Plate III.</a></p> + +<p>h. Sculptured white marble with a triangle of veined purple marble +inserted (as the first, third, fifth, and seventh of the lower range +in <a href="#plate_3">Plate III.</a>).</p> + +<p>i. Yellow or white marble veined with purple (as the second and +sixth of the lower range in <a href="#plate_3">Plate III.</a>).</p> + +<p>k. Pure purple marble, not seen in this plate.</p> +</div> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">III.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter"> + <a name="plate_3"><img src="images/img040.jpg" width="645" height="395" alt="Inlaid Bands of Murano." title="Inlaid Bands of Murano." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption"><span class="sc">Inlaid Bands of Murano.</span></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page041"></a>41</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXI.</span> The band, then, composed of these triangles, set +close to each other in varied but not irregular relations, is +thrown, like a necklace of precious stones, round the apse and +along the ends of the aisles; each side of the apse taking, of +course, as many triangles as its width permits. If the reader +will look back to the measures of the sides of the apse, given +before, <a href="#page042">p. 42</a>, he will see that the first and seventh of the +series, being much narrower than the rest, cannot take so +many triangles in their band. Accordingly, they have only +six each, while the other five sides have seven. Of these +groups of seven triangles each, that used for the third and +fifth sides of the apse is the uppermost in <a href="#plate_3">Plate III.</a>; and that +used for the centre of the apse, and of the whole series, is the +lowermost in the same plate; <i>the piece of black and white +marble being used to emphasize the centre of the chain</i>, exactly +as a painter would use a dark touch for a similar purpose.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXII.</span> And now, with a little trouble, we can set before the +reader, at a glance, the arrangement of the groups along the +entire extremity of the church.</p> + +<p>There are thirteen recesses, indicative of thirteen arches, +seen in the ground plan, fig. 2, <a href="#plate_1">Plate I.</a> Of these, the second +and twelfth arches rise higher than the rest; so high as to +break the decorated band; and the groups of triangles we +have to enumerate are, therefore, only eleven in number; one +above each of the eleven low arches. And of these eleven, +the first and second, tenth and eleventh, are at the ends of the +aisles; while the third to the ninth, inclusive, go round the +apse. Thus, in the following table, the numerals indicate the +place of each entire group (counting from the south to the +north side of the church, or from left to right), and the letters +indicate the species of triangle of which it is composed, as +described in the list given above.</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<p> +<span style="padding-left: 7em; ">6. h. i. h. g. h. i. h.</span> <br /> +<span style="padding-left: 3em; ">5. b. c. a. d. a. c. b.</span><span style="padding-left: 2em; ">7. b. c. a. d. a. c. b.</span> <br /> +<span style="padding-left: 2em; ">4. b. a. b. c. a. e. a.</span><span style="padding-left: 4em; ">8. a. e. a. c. b. a. b.</span> <br /> +<span style="padding-left: 1em; ">3. b. a. b. e. b. a.</span><span style="padding-left: 8em; ">9. a. b. e. b. a. b.</span> <br /> +2. a. b. c.<span style="padding-left: 13em; ">10. a. b. c. b.</span> <br /> +1. a. b. c. b. a.<span style="padding-left: 11em; ">11. b. a. c. f. a. a.</span> +</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page042"></a>42</span></p> + +<p>The central group is put first, that it may be seen how the +series on the two sides of the apse answer each other. It was +a very curious freak to insert the triangle e, in the outermost +place <i>but one</i> of both the fourth and eighth sides of the apse, +and in the outermost <i>but two</i> in the third and ninth; in neither +case having any balance to it in its own group, and the real +balance being only effected on the other side of the apse, which +it is impossible that any one should see at the same time. +This is one of the curious pieces of system which so often +occur in medićval work, of which the key is now lost. The +groups at the ends of the transepts correspond neither in number +nor arrangement; we shall presently see why, but must +first examine more closely the treatment of the triangles themselves, +and the nature of the floral sculpture employed upon +them.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">IV.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter"> + <a name="plate_4"><img src="images/img042.jpg" width="407" height="650" alt="SCULPTURES OF MURANO." title="SCULPTURES OF MURANO." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">SCULPTURES OF MURANO.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIII.</span> As the scale of <a href="#plate_3">Plate III.</a> is necessarily small, I +have given three of the sculptured triangles on a larger scale +in <a href="#plate_4">Plate IV.</a> opposite. Fig. 3 is one of the four in the lower +series of <a href="#plate_4">Plate IV.</a>, and figs. 4 and 5 from another group. +The forms of the trefoils are here seen more clearly; they, and +all the other portions of the design, are thrown out in low and +flat relief, the intermediate spaces being cut out to the depth +of about a quarter of an inch. I believe these vacant spaces +were originally filled with a black composition, which is used +in similar sculptures at St. Mark’s, and of which I found some +remains in an archivolt moulding here, though not in the triangles. +The surface of the whole would then be perfectly +smooth, and the ornamental form relieved by a ground of dark +grey; but, even though this ground is lost, the simplicity of +the method insures the visibility of all its parts at the necessary +distance (17 or 18 feet), and the quaint trefoils have a +crispness and freshness of effect which I found it almost impossible +to render in a drawing. Nor let us fail to note in +passing how strangely delightful to the human mind the trefoil +always is. We have it here repeated five or six hundred +times in the space of a few yards, and yet are never weary of +it. In fact, there are two mystical feelings at the root of our +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page043"></a>43</span> +enjoyment of this decoration: the one is the love of trinity in +unity, the other that of the sense of fulness with order; of +every place being instantly filled, and yet filled with propriety +and ease; the leaves do not push each other, nor put themselves +out of their own way, and yet whenever there is a +vacant space, a leaf is always ready to step in and occupy it.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIV.</span> I said the trefoil was five or six hundred times +repeated. It is so, but observe, it is hardly ever twice of the +same size; and this law is studiously and resolutely observed. +In the carvings <i>a</i> and <i>b</i> of the upper series, <a href="#plate_3">Plate III.</a>, the +diminution of the leaves might indeed seem merely representative +of the growth of the plant. But look at the lower: the +triangles of inlaid purple marble are made much more nearly +equilateral than those of white marble, into whose centres they +are set, so that the leaves may continually diminish in size as +the ornament descends at the sides. The reader may perhaps +doubt the accuracy of the drawing on the smaller scale, but in +that given larger, fig. 3, <a href="#plate_4">Plate IV.</a>, the angles are all measured, +and the <i>purposeful</i> variation of width in the border therefore +admits of no dispute.<a name="FnAnchor_14" href="#Footnote_14"><span class="sp">14</span></a> Remember how absolutely this principle +is that of nature; the same leaf continually repeated, +but never twice of the same size. Look at the clover under +your feet, and then you will see what this Murano builder +meant, and that he was not altogether a barbarian.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXV.</span> Another point I wish the reader to observe is, the +importance attached to <i>color</i> in the mind of the designer. +Note especially—for it is of the highest importance to see how +the great principles of art are carried out through the whole +building—that, as only the white capitals are sculptured below, +only the white triangles are sculptured above. No colored +triangle is touched with sculpture; note also, that in the two +principal groups of the apse, given in <a href="#plate_3">Plate III.</a>, the centre of +the group is color, not sculpture, and the eye is evidently +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page044"></a>44</span> +intended to be drawn as much to the chequers of the stone, as +to the intricacies of the chiselling. It will be noticed also +how much more precious the lower series, which is central in +the apse, is rendered, than the one above it in the plate, which +flanks it: there is no brick in the lower one, and three kinds +of variegated marble are used in it, whereas the upper is composed +of brick, with black and white marble only; and lastly—for +this is especially delightful—see how the workman made +his chiselling finer where it was to go with the variegated +marbles, and used a bolder pattern with the coarser brick and +dark stone. The subtlety and perfection of artistical feeling +in all this are so redundant, that in the building itself the eye +can rest upon this colored chain with the same kind of delight +that it has in a piece of the embroidery of Paul Veronese.</p> + +<table style="float: left; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. II.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figleft1"> + <a name="fig_2"><img src="images/img044.jpg" width="250" height="216" alt="Fig. II." title="Fig. II." /></a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVI.</span> Such being the construction of the lower band, +that of the upper is remarkable only for the curious change in +its proportions. The two are separated, +as seen in the little woodcut +here at the side, by a string-course +composed of two layers of red bricks, +of which the uppermost projects as a +cornice, and is sustained by an intermediate +course of irregular brackets, +obtained by setting the thick yellow +bricks edgeways, in the manner common +to this day. But the wall above is carried up perpendicularly +from this projection, so that the whole upper band is +advanced to the thickness of a brick over the lower one. The +result of this is, of course, that each side of the apse is four +or five inches broader above than below; so that the same +number of triangles which filled a whole side of the lower +band, leave an inch or two blank at each angle in the upper. +This would have looked awkward, if there had been the least +appearance of its being an accidental error; so that, in order +to draw the eye to it, and show that it is done on purpose, the +upper triangles are made about two inches higher than the +lower ones, so as to be much more acute in proportion and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page045"></a>45</span> +effect, and actually to look considerably narrower, though of +the same width at the base. By this means they are made +lighter in effect, and subordinated to the richly decorated series +of the lower band, and the two courses, instead of repeating, +unite with each other, and become a harmonious whole.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">V.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter"> + <a name="plate_5"><img src="images/img045.jpg" width="650" height="418" alt="Archivolt in the Duomo of Murano." title="Archivolt in the Duomo of Murano." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">Archivolt in the Duomo of Murano.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>In order, however, to make still more sure that this difference +in the height of the triangles should not escape the eye, +another course of plain bricks is added above their points, +increasing the width of the band by another two inches. +There are five courses of bricks in the lower band, and it +measures 1 ft. 6 in. in height: there are seven courses in the +upper (of which six fall between the triangles), and it measures +1 ft. 10 in. in height, except at the extremity of the +northern aisle, where for some mysterious reason the intermediate +cornice is sloped upwards so as to reduce the upper +triangles to the same height as those below. And here, finally, +observe how determined the builder was that the one series +should not be a mere imitation of the other; he could not now +make them acute by additional height—so he here, and here +only, <i>narrowed their bases</i>, and we have seven of them above, +to six below.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVII.</span> We come now to the most interesting portion of +the whole east end, the archivolt at the end of the northern +aisle.</p> + +<p>It was above stated, that the band of triangles was broken +by two higher arches at the ends of the aisles. That, however, +on the northern side of the apse does not entirely interrupt, +but lifts it, and thus forms a beautiful and curious archivolt, +drawn opposite, in <a href="#plate_5">Plate V.</a> The upper band of triangles +cannot rise together with the lower, as it would otherwise +break the cornice prepared to receive the second story; and +the curious zigzag with which its triangles die away against the +sides of the arch, exactly as waves break upon the sand, is one +of the most curious features in the structure.</p> + +<p>It will be also seen that there is a new feature in the treatment +of the band itself when it turns the arch. Instead of +leaving the bricks projecting between the sculptured or colored +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page046"></a>46</span> +stones, reversed triangles of marble are used, inlaid to an equal +depth with the others in the brickwork, but projecting beyond +them so as to produce a sharp dark line of zigzag at their +junctions. Three of these supplementary stones have unhappily +fallen out, so that it is now impossible to determine the +full harmony of color in which they were originally arranged. +The central one, corresponding to the keystone in a common +arch, is, however, most fortunately left, with two lateral ones +on the right hand, and one on the left.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVIII.</span> The keystone, if it may be so called, is of white +marble, the lateral voussoirs of purple; and these are the only +colored stones in the whole building which are sculptured; +but they are sculptured in a way which, more satisfactorily +proves that the principle above stated was understood by the +builders, than if they had been left blank. The object, observe, +was to make the archivolt as rich as possible; eight of +the white sculptured marbles were used upon it in juxtaposition. +Had the purple marbles been left altogether plain, they +would have been out of harmony with the elaboration of the +rest. It became necessary to touch them with sculpture as a +mere sign of carefulness and finish, but at the same time destroying +their colored surface as little as possible. <i>The ornament +is merely outlined upon them with a fine incision</i>, as if +it had been etched out on their surface preparatory to being +carved. In two of them it is composed merely of three concentric +lines, parallel with the sides of the triangle; in the third, +it is a wreath of beautiful design, which I have drawn of +larger size in fig. 2, <a href="#plate_5">Plate V.</a>, that the reader may see how +completely the surface is left undestroyed by the delicate incisions +of the chisel, and may compare the method of working +with that employed on the white stones, two of which are +given in that plate, figs. 4 and 5. The keystone, of which we +have not yet spoken, is the only white stone worked with the +light incision; its design not being capable of the kind of +workmanship given to the floral ornaments, and requiring +either to be carved in complete relief, or left as we see it. It +is given at fig. 1 of <a href="#plate_4">Plate IV.</a> The sun and moon on each +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page047"></a>47</span> +side of the cross are, as we shall see in the fifth Chapter, constantly +employed on the keystones of Byzantine arches.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIX.</span> We must not pass without notice the grey and +green pieces of marble inserted at the flanks of the arch. +For, observe, there was a difficulty in getting the forms of the +triangle into anything like reconciliation at this point, and a +medićval artist always delights in a difficulty: instead of concealing +it, he boasts of it; and just as we saw above that he +directed the eye to the difficulty of filling the expanded sides +of the upper band by elongating his triangles, so here, having +to put in a piece of stone of awkward shape, he makes that +very stone the most conspicuous in the whole arch, on both +sides, by using in one case a dark, cold grey; in the other a +vigorous green, opposed to the warm red and purple and white +of the stones above and beside it. The green and white piece +on the right is of a marble, as far as I know, exceedingly rare. +I at first thought the white fragments were inlaid, so sharply +are they defined upon their ground. They are indeed inlaid, +but I believe it is by nature; and that the stone is a calcareous +breccia of great mineralogical interest. The white spots are +of singular value in giving piquancy to the whole range of +more delicate transitional hues above. The effect of the whole +is, however, generally injured by the loss of the three large +triangles above. I have no doubt they were purple, like those +which remain, and that the whole arch was thus one zone of +white, relieved on a purple ground, encircled by the scarlet +cornices of brick, and the whole chord of color contrasted +by the two precious fragments of grey and green at either +side.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXX.</span> The two pieces of carved stone inserted at each side +of the arch, as seen at the bottom of <a href="#plate_5">Plate V.</a>, are of different +workmanship from the rest; they do not match each other, and +form part of the evidence which proves that portions of the +church had been brought from the mainland. One bears an +inscription, which, as its antiquity is confirmed by the shapelessness +of its letters, I was much gratified by not being able +to read; but M. Lazari, the intelligent author of the latest +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page048"></a>48</span> +and best Venetian guide, with better skill, has given as much +of it as remains, thus:</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter1"> + <a name="fig_048"><img src="images/img048.jpg" width="700" height="72" alt="Inscription." title="Inscription." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>I have printed the letters as they are placed in the inscription, +in order that the reader may form some idea of the difficulty +of reading such legends when the letters, thus thrown +into one heap, are themselves of strange forms, and half worn +away; any gaps which at all occur between them coming in +the wrong places. There is no doubt, however, as to the reading +of this fragment:—“T ... Sancte Marie Domini +Genetricis et beati Estefani martiri ego indignus et peccator +Domenicus T.” On these two initial and final T’s, expanding +one into Templum, the other into Torcellanus, M. Lazari +founds an ingenious conjecture that the inscription records the +elevation of the church under a certain bishop Dominic of +Torcello (named in the Altinat Chronicle), who flourished in +the middle of the ninth century. If this were so, as the +inscription occurs broken off on a fragment inserted scornfully +in the present edifice, this edifice must be of the twelfth century, +worked with fragments taken from the ruins of that +built in the ninth. The two T’s are, however, hardly a foundation +large enough to build the church upon, a hundred years +before the date assigned to it both by history and tradition +(see above, § <span class="scs">VIII</span>.): and the reader has yet to be made aware +of the principal fact bearing on the question.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXI.</span> Above the first story of the apse runs, as he knows +already, a gallery under open arches, protected by a light +balustrade. This balustrade is worked on the <i>outside</i> with +mouldings, of which I shall only say at present that they are +of exactly the same school as the greater part of the work of +the existing church. But the great horizontal pieces of stone +which form the top of this balustrade are fragments of an +older building turned inside out. They are covered with +sculptures on the back, only to be seen by mounting into the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page049"></a>49</span> +gallery. They have once had an arcade of low wide arches +traced on their surface, the spandrils filled with leafage, and +archivolts enriched with studded chainwork and with crosses +in their centres. These pieces have been used as waste marble +by the architect of the existing apse. The small arches of the +present balustrade are cut mercilessly through the old work, +and the profile of the balustrade is cut out of what was once +the back of the stone; only some respect is shown for the +crosses in the old design, the blocks are cut so that these +shall be not only left uninjured, but come in the centre of the +balustrades.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXII.</span> Now let the reader observe carefully that this +balustrade of Murano is a fence of other things than the low +gallery round the deserted apse. It is a barrier between two +great schools of early architecture. On one side it was cut by +Romanesque workmen of the early Christian ages, and furnishes +us with a distinct type of a kind of ornament which, +as we meet with other examples of it, we shall be able to describe +in generic terms, and to throw back behind this balustrade, +out of our way. The <i>front</i> of the balustrade presents +us with a totally different condition of design, less rich, more +graceful, and here shown in its simplest possible form. From +the outside of this bar of marble we shall commence our progress +in the study of existing Venetian architecture. The +only question is, do we begin from the tenth or from the +twelfth century?</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIII.</span> I was in great hopes once of being able to determine +this positively; but the alterations in all the early buildings +of Venice are so numerous, and the foreign fragments +introduced so innumerable, that I was obliged to leave the +question doubtful. But one circumstance must be noted, +bearing upon it closely.</p> + +<p>In the woodcut on <a href="#page050">page 50</a>, <a href="#fig_3">Fig. III.</a>, <i>b</i> is an archivolt of +Murano, <i>a</i> one of St. Mark’s; the latter acknowledged by all +historians and all investigators to be of the twelfth century.</p> + +<p><i>All</i> the twelfth century archivolts in Venice, without exception, +are on the model of <i>a</i>, differing only in their decorations +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page050"></a>50</span> +and sculpture. There is not one which resembles that of +Murano.</p> + +<p>But the deep mouldings of Murano are almost exactly similar +to those of St. Michele of Pavia, and other Lombard +churches built, some as early as the seventh, others in the +eighth, ninth, and tenth centuries.</p> + +<p>On this ground it seems to me probable that the existing +apse of Murano is part of the original earliest church, and that +the inscribed fragments used in it have been brought from the +mainland. The balustrade, however, may still be later than +the rest; it will be examined, hereafter, more carefully.<a name="FnAnchor_15" href="#Footnote_15"><span class="sp">15</span></a></p> + +<p>I have not space to give any farther account of the exterior +of the building, though one half of what is remarkable in it +remains untold. We must now see what is left of interest +within the walls.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. III.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter2"> + <a name="fig_3"><img src="images/img050.jpg" width="600" height="233" alt="Fig. III." title="Fig. III." /></a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIV.</span> All hope is taken away by our first glance; for it +falls on a range of shafts whose bases are concealed by wooden +panelling, and which sustain arches decorated in the most +approved style of Renaissance upholstery, with stucco roses in +squares under the soffits, and egg and arrow mouldings on the +architraves, gilded, on a ground of spotty black and green, with +a small pink-faced and black-eyed cherub on every keystone; +the rest of the church being for the most part concealed either +by dirty hangings, or dirtier whitewash, or dim pictures on +warped and wasting canvas; all vulgar, vain, and foul. Yet +let us not turn back, for in the shadow of the apse our more +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page051"></a>51</span> +careful glance shows us a Greek Madonna, pictured on a field +of gold; and we feel giddy at the first step we make on the +pavement, for it, also, is of Greek mosaic waved like the sea, +and dyed like a dove’s neck.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXV.</span> Nor are the original features of the rest of the +edifice altogether indecipherable; the entire series of shafts +marked in the ground plan on each side of the nave, from the +western entrance to the apse, are nearly uninjured; and I +believe the stilted arches they sustain are those of the original +fabric, though the masonry is covered by the Renaissance +stucco mouldings. Their capitals, for a wonder, are left bare, +and appear to have sustained no farther injury than has resulted +from the insertion of a large brass chandelier into each of their +abaci, each chandelier carrying a sublime wax candle two inches +thick, fastened with wire to the wall above. The due arrangement +of these appendages, previous to festal days, can only be +effected from a ladder set against the angle of the abacus; and +ten minutes before I wrote this sentence, I had the privilege +of watching the candlelighter at his work, knocking his ladder +about the heads of the capitals as if they had given him personal +offence. He at last succeeded in breaking away one of +the lamps altogether, with a bit of the marble of the abacus; +the whole falling in ruin to the pavement, and causing much +consultation and clamor among a tribe of beggars who were +assisting the sacristan with their wisdom respecting the festal +arrangements.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVI.</span> It is fortunate that the capitals themselves, being +somewhat rudely cut, can bear this kind of treatment better +than most of those in Venice. They are all founded on the +Corinthian type, but the leaves are in every one different: +those of the easternmost capital of the southern range are the +best, and very beautiful, but presenting no feature of much +interest, their workmanship being inferior to most of the imitations +of Corinthian common at the period; much more to +the rich fantasies which we have seen at Torcello. The apse +itself, to-day (12th September, 1851), is not to be described; +for just in front of it, behind the altar, is a magnificent curtain +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page052"></a>52</span> +of new red velvet with a gilt edge and two golden tassels, +held up in a dainty manner by two angels in the upholsterer’s +service; and above all, for concentration of effect, a star or +sun, some five feet broad, the spikes of which conceal the +whole of the figure of the Madonna except the head and +hands.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVII.</span> The pavement is however still left open, and it is +of infinite interest, although grievously distorted and defaced. +For whenever a new chapel has been built, or a new altar +erected, the pavement has been broken up and readjusted so +as to surround the newly inserted steps or stones with some +appearance of symmetry; portions of it either covered or +carried away, others mercilessly shattered or replaced by +modern imitations, and those of very different periods, with +pieces of the old floor left here and there in the midst of them, +and worked round so as to deceive the eye into acceptance +of the whole as ancient. The portion, however, which occupies +the western extremity of the nave, and the parts immediately +adjoining it in the aisles, are, I believe, in their original +positions, and very little injured: they are composed chiefly of +groups of peacocks, lions, stags, and griffins,—two of each in +a group, drinking out of the same vase, or shaking claws +together,—enclosed by interlacing bands, and alternating with +chequer or star patterns, and here and there an attempt at +representation of architecture, all worked in marble mosaic. +The floors of Torcello and of St. Mark’s are executed in the +same manner; but what remains at Murano is finer than either, +in the extraordinary play of color obtained by the use of variegated +marbles. At St. Mark’s the patterns are more intricate, +and the pieces far more skilfully set together; but each piece +is there commonly of one color: at Murano every fragment is +itself variegated, and all are arranged with a skill and feeling +not to be caught, and to be observed with deep reverence, for +that pavement is not dateless, like the rest of the church; it +bears its date on one of its central circles, 1140, and is, in my +mind, one of the most precious monuments in Italy, showing +thus early, and in those rude chequers which the bared knee of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page053"></a>53</span> +the Murano fisher wears in its daily bending, the beginning of +that mighty spirit of Venetian color, which was to be consummated +in Titian.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVIII.</span> But we must quit the church for the present, for +its garnishings are completed; the candles are all upright in +their sockets, and the curtains drawn into festoons, and a paste-board +crescent, gay with artificial flowers, has been attached to +the capital of every pillar, in order, together with the gilt +angels, to make the place look as much like Paradise as possible. +If we return to-morrow, we shall find it filled with woful +groups of aged men and women, wasted and fever-struck, fixed +in paralytic supplication, half-kneeling, half-couched upon the +pavement; bowed down, partly in feebleness, partly in a fearful +devotion, with their grey clothes cast far over their faces, +ghastly and settled into a gloomy animal misery, all but the +glittering eyes and muttering lips.</p> + +<p>Fit inhabitants, these, for what was once the Garden of +Venice, “a terrestrial paradise,—a place of nymphs and demi-gods!”<a name="FnAnchor_16" href="#Footnote_16"><span class="sp">16</span></a></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIX.</span> We return, yet once again, on the following day. +Worshippers and objects of worship, the sickly crowd and +gilded angels, all are gone; and there, far in the apse, is seen +the sad Madonna standing in her folded robe, lifting her hands +in vanity of blessing. There is little else to draw away our +thoughts from the solitary image. An old wooden tablet, +carved into a rude effigy of San Donato, which occupies the +central niche in the lower part of the tribune, has an interest +of its own, but is unconnected with the history of the older +church. The faded frescoes of saints, which cover the upper +tier of the wall of the apse, are also of comparatively recent +date, much more the piece of Renaissance workmanship, shaft +and entablature, above the altar, which has been thrust into +the midst of all, and has cut away part of the feet of the +Madonna. Nothing remains of the original structure but the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page054"></a>54</span> +semi-dome itself, the cornice whence it springs, which is the +same as that used on the exterior of the church, and the border +and face-arch which surround it. The ground of the dome +is of gold, unbroken except by the upright Madonna, and +usual inscription, M R Θ V. The figure wears a robe of +blue, deeply fringed with gold, which seems to be gathered on +the head and thrown back on the shoulders, crossing the breast, +and falling in many folds to the ground. The under robe, +shown beneath it where it opens at the breast, is of the same +color; the whole, except the deep gold fringe, being simply +the dress of the women of the time. “Le donne, anco elle del +1100, vestivano <i>di turchino con manti in spalla</i>, che le coprivano +dinanzi e di dietro.”<a name="FnAnchor_17" href="#Footnote_17"><span class="sp">17</span></a></p> + +<p>Round the dome there is a colored mosaic border; and on +the edge of its arch, legible by the whole congregation, this +inscription:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr sc"> +<p class="ind03">“quos Eva contrivit, pia virgo Maria redemit;</p> +<p>hanc cuncti laudent, qui Cristi munere gaudent.”<a name="FnAnchor_18" href="#Footnote_18"><span class="sp">18</span></a></p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>The whole edifice is, therefore, simply a temple to the +Virgin: to her is ascribed the fact of Redemption, and to her +its praise.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XL.</span> “And is this,” it will be asked of me, “the time, is +this the worship, to which you would have us look back with +reverence and regret?” Inasmuch as redemption is ascribed to +the Virgin, No. Inasmuch as redemption is a thing desired, +believed, rejoiced in, Yes,—and Yes a thousand times. As +far as the Virgin is worshipped in place of God, No; but as +far as there is the evidence of worship itself, and of the sense +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page055"></a>55</span> +of a Divine presence, Yes. For there is a wider division of +men than that into Christian and Pagan: before we ask what a +man worships, we have to ask whether he worships at all. +Observe Christ’s own words on this head: “God is a spirit; +and they that worship Him must worship Him in spirit, <i>and</i> +in truth.” The worshipping in spirit comes first, and it does +not necessarily imply the worshipping in truth. Therefore, +there is first the broad division of men into Spirit worshippers +and Flesh worshippers; and then, of the Spirit worshippers, +the farther division into Christian and Pagan,—worshippers in +Falsehood or in Truth. I therefore, for the moment, omit all +inquiry how far the Mariolatry of the early church did indeed +eclipse Christ, or what measure of deeper reverence for the +Son of God was still felt through all the grosser forms of Madonna +worship. Let that worship be taken at its worst; let +the goddess of this dome of Murano be looked upon as just in +the same sense an idol as the Athene of the Acropolis, or the +Syrian Queen of Heaven; and then, on this darkest assumption, +balance well the difference between those who worship +and those who worship not;—that difference which there is in +the sight of God, in all ages, between the calculating, smiling, +self-sustained, self-governed man, and the believing, weeping, +wondering, struggling, Heaven-governed man;—between the +men who say in their hearts “there is no God,” and those who +acknowledge a God at every step, “if haply they might feel +after Him and find Him.” For that is indeed the difference +which we shall find, in the end, between the builders of this +day and the builders on that sand island long ago. They <i>did</i> +honor something out of themselves; they did believe in +spiritual presence judging, animating, redeeming them; they +built to its honor and for its habitation; and were content to +pass away in nameless multitudes, so only that the labor of +their hands might fix in the sea-wilderness a throne for their +guardian angel. In this was their strength, and there was +indeed a Spirit walking with them on the waters, though they +could not discern the form thereof, though the Masters voice +came not to them, “It is I.” What their error cost them, we +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page056"></a>56</span> +shall see hereafter; for it remained when the majesty and the +sincerity of their worship had departed, and remains to this +day. Mariolatry is no special characteristic of the twelfth century; +on the outside of that very tribune of San Donato, in +its central recess, is an image of the Virgin which receives the +reverence once paid to the blue vision upon the inner dome. +With rouged cheeks and painted brows, the frightful doll +stands in wretchedness of rags, blackened with the smoke of +the votive lamps at its feet; and if we would know what has +been lost or gained by Italy in the six hundred years that have +worn the marbles of Murano, let us consider how far the +priests who set up this to worship, the populace who have this +to adore, may be nobler than the men who conceived that +lonely figure standing on the golden field, or than those to +whom it seemed to receive their prayer at evening, far away, +where they only saw the blue clouds rising out of the burning +sea.</p> + + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_10" href="#FnAnchor_10"><span class="fn">10</span></a> “Mela, e buon vino, con pace e caritŕ,” Memorie Storiche de’ Veneti +Primi e Secondi, di Jacopo Filiasi (Padua, 1811), tom. iii. cap. 23. Perhaps, +in the choice of the abbot’s cheer, there was some occult reference +to the verse of Solomon’s Song: “Stay me with flagons, comfort me with +apples.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_11" href="#FnAnchor_11"><span class="fn">11</span></a> Notizie Storiche delle Chiese di Venezia, illustrate da Flaminio Corner +(Padua, 1758), p. 615.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_12" href="#FnAnchor_12"><span class="fn">12</span></a> “On the 14th day of April, 1374, there were found, in this church +of the first martyr St. Stefano, two hundred and more bodies of holy +martyrs, by the venerable priest, Matthew Fradello, incumbent of the +church.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_13" href="#FnAnchor_13"><span class="fn">13</span></a> Notizie Storiche, p. 620.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_14" href="#FnAnchor_14"><span class="fn">14</span></a> The intention is farther confirmed by the singular variation in the +breadth of the small fillet which encompasses the inner marble. It is +much narrower at the bottom than at the sides, so as to recover the original +breadth in the lower border.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_15" href="#FnAnchor_15"><span class="fn">15</span></a> Its elevation is given to scale in fig. 4, <a href="#plate_13">Plate XIII.</a>, below.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_16" href="#FnAnchor_16"><span class="fn">16</span></a> “Luogo de’ ninfe e de’ semidei.”—<i>M. Andrea Calmo</i>, quoted by Mutinelli, +Annali Urbani di Venezia (Venice, 1841), p. 362.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_17" href="#FnAnchor_17"><span class="fn">17</span></a> “The women, even as far back as 1100, wore dresses of blue, with +mantles on the shoulder, which clothed them before and behind.”—<i>Sansorino</i>.</p> + +<p>It would be difficult to imagine a dress more modest and beautiful. See +<a href="#app_7">Appendix 7</a>.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_18" href="#FnAnchor_18"><span class="fn">18</span></a></p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="ind05">“Whom Eve destroyed, the pious Virgin Mary redeemed;</p> +<p>All praise her, who rejoice in the Grace of Christ.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>Vide <a href="#app_8">Appendix 8</a>.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page057"></a>57</span></p> + +<h3><a name="chap_4"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h3> + +<h5>ST. MARK’S.</h5> + + +<p>§ <span class="scs">I.</span> “And so Barnabas took Mark, and sailed unto Cyprus.” +If as the shores of Asia lessened upon his sight, the spirit of +prophecy had entered into the heart of the weak disciple who +had turned back when his hand was on the plough, and who +had been judged, by the chiefest of Christ’s captains, unworthy +thenceforward to go forth with him to the work,<a name="FnAnchor_19" href="#Footnote_19"><span class="sp">19</span></a> how +wonderful would he have thought it, that by the lion symbol +in future ages he was to be represented among men! how +woful, that the war-cry of his name should so often reanimate +the rage of the soldier, on those very plains where he himself +had failed in the courage of the Christian, and so often dye +with fruitless blood that very Cypriot Sea, over whose waves, +in repentance and shame, he was following the Son of Consolation!</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">II.</span> That the Venetians possessed themselves of his body +in the ninth century, there appears no sufficient reason to +doubt, nor that it was principally in consequence of their having +done so, that they chose him for their patron saint. There +exists, however, a tradition that before he went into Egypt he +had founded the Church at Aquileia, and was thus, in some +sort, the first bishop of the Venetian isles and people. I believe +that this tradition stands on nearly as good grounds as +that of St. Peter having been the first bishop of Rome;<a name="FnAnchor_20" href="#Footnote_20"><span class="sp">20</span></a> +but, as usual, it is enriched by various later additions and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page058"></a>58</span> +embellishments, much resembling the stories told respecting +the church of Murano. Thus we find it recorded by the +Santo Padre who compiled the “Vite de’ Santi spettanti alle +Chiese di Venezia,”<a name="FnAnchor_21" href="#Footnote_21"><span class="sp">21</span></a> that “St. Mark having seen the people +of Aquileia well grounded in religion, and being called to +Rome by St. Peter, before setting off took with him the holy +bishop Hermagoras, and went in a small boat to the marshes +of Venice. There were at that period some houses built upon +a certain high bank called Rialto, and the boat being driven +by the wind was anchored in a marshy place, when St. Mark, +snatched into ecstasy, heard the voice of an angel saying to +him: ‘Peace be to thee, Mark; here shall thy body rest.’” +The angel goes on to foretell the building of “una stupenda, +ne piů veduta Cittŕ;” but the fable is hardly ingenious +enough to deserve farther relation.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">III.</span> But whether St. Mark was first bishop of Aquileia or +not, St. Theodore was the first patron of the city; nor can +he yet be considered as having entirely abdicated his early +right, as his statue, standing on a crocodile, still companions +the winged lion on the opposing pillar of the piazzetta. A +church erected to this Saint is said to have occupied, before +the ninth century, the site of St. Mark’s; and the traveller, +dazzled by the brilliancy of the great square, ought not to +leave it without endeavoring to imagine its <span class="correction" title="aspeet in the original">aspect</span> in that +early time, when it was a green field cloister-like and quiet,<a name="FnAnchor_22" href="#Footnote_22"><span class="sp">22</span></a> +divided by a small canal, with a line of trees on each side; +and extending between the two churches of St. Theodore and +St. Geminian, as the little piazza of Torcello lies between its +“palazzo” and cathedral.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">IV.</span> But in the year 813, when the seat of government +was finally removed to the Rialto, a Ducal Palace, built on +the spot where the present one stands, with a Ducal Chapel +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page059"></a>59</span> +beside it,<a name="FnAnchor_23" href="#Footnote_23"><span class="sp">23</span></a> gave a very different character to the Square of +St. Mark; and fifteen years later, the acquisition of the body +of the Saint, and its deposition in the Ducal Chapel, perhaps +not yet completed, occasioned the investiture of that chapel +with all possible splendor. St. Theodore was deposed from +his patronship, and his church destroyed, to make room for +the aggrandizement of the one attached to the Ducal Palace, +and thenceforward known as “St. Mark’s.”<a name="FnAnchor_24" href="#Footnote_24"><span class="sp">24</span></a></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">V.</span> This first church was however destroyed by fire, when +the Ducal Palace was burned in the revolt against Candiano, +in 976. It was partly rebuilt by his successor, Pietro Orseolo, +on a larger scale; and, with the assistance of Byzantine +architects, the fabric was carried on under successive Doges +for nearly a hundred years; the main building being completed +in 1071, but its incrustation with marble not till considerably +later. It was consecrated on the 8th of October, +1085,<a name="FnAnchor_25" href="#Footnote_25"><span class="sp">25</span></a> according to Sansovino and the author of the “Chiesa +Ducale di S. Marco,” in 1094 according to Lazari, but certainly +between 1084 and 1096, those years being the limits of the +reign of Vital Falier; I incline to the supposition that it was +soon after his accession to the throne in 1085, though Sansovino +writes, by mistake, Ordelafo instead of Vital Falier. +But, at all events, before the close of the eleventh century the +great consecration of the church took place. It was again +injured by fire in 1106, but repaired; and from that time to +the fall of Venice there was probably no Doge who did not +in some slight degree embellish or alter the fabric, so that few +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page060"></a>60</span> +parts of it can be pronounced boldly to be of any given date. +Two periods of interference are, however, notable above the +rest: the first, that in which the Gothic school, had superseded +the Byzantine towards the close of the fourteenth century, +when the pinnacles, upper archivolts, and window traceries +were added to the exterior, and the great screen, with various +chapels and tabernacle-work, to the interior; the second, when +the Renaissance school superseded the Gothic, and the pupils +of Titian and Tintoret substituted, over one half of the +church, their own compositions for the Greek mosaics with +which it was originally decorated;<a name="FnAnchor_26" href="#Footnote_26"><span class="sp">26</span></a> happily, though with no +good will, having left enough to enable us to imagine and +lament what they destroyed. Of this irreparable loss we shall +have more to say hereafter; meantime, I wish only to fix in +the reader’s mind the succession of periods of alteration as +firmly and simply as possible.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VI.</span> We have seen that the main body of the church may +be broadly stated to be of the eleventh century, the Gothic +additions of the fourteenth, and the restored mosaics of the +seventeenth. There is no difficulty in distinguishing at a +glance the Gothic portions from the Byzantine; but there is +considerable difficulty in ascertaining how long, during the +course of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, additions were +made to the Byzantine church, which cannot be easily distinguished +from the work of the eleventh century, being purposely +executed in the same manner. Two of the most important +pieces of evidence on this point are, a mosaic in the +south transept, and another over the northern door of the +façade; the first representing the interior, the second the exterior, +of the ancient church.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VII.</span> It has just been stated that the existing building was +consecrated by the Doge Vital Falier. A peculiar solemnity +was given to that act of consecration, in the minds of the Venetian +people, by what appears to have been one of the best +arranged and most successful impostures ever attempted by +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page061"></a>61</span> +the clergy of the Romish church. The body of St. Mark had, +without doubt, perished in the conflagration of 976; but the +revenues of the church depended too much upon the devotion +excited by these relics to permit the confession of their loss. +The following is the account given by Corner, and believed to +this day by the Venetians, of the pretended miracle by which +it was concealed.</p> + +<p>“After the repairs undertaken by the Doge Orseolo, the +place in which the body of the holy Evangelist rested had +been altogether forgotten; so that the Doge Vital Falier was +entirely ignorant of the place of the venerable deposit. This +was no light affliction, not only to the pious Doge, but to all +the citizens and people; so that at last, moved by confidence +in the Divine mercy, they determined to implore, with prayer +and fasting, the manifestation of so great a treasure, which +did not now depend upon any human effort. A general fast +being therefore proclaimed, and a solemn procession appointed +for the 25th day of June, while the people assembled in the +church interceded with God in fervent prayers for the desired +boon, they beheld, with as much amazement as joy, a slight +shaking in the marbles of a pillar (near the place where the +altar of the Cross is now), which, presently falling to the +earth, exposed to the view of the rejoicing people the chest of +bronze in which the body of the Evangelist was laid.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VIII.</span> Of the main facts of this tale there is no doubt. +They were embellished afterwards, as usual, by many fanciful +traditions; as, for instance, that, when the sarcophagus was +discovered, St. Mark extended his hand out of it, with a gold +ring on one of the fingers, which he permitted a noble of +the Dolfin family to remove; and a quaint and delightful +story was further invented of this ring, which I shall not +repeat here, as it is now as well known as any tale of the +Arabian Nights. But the fast and the discovery of the +coffin, by whatever means effected, are facts; and they are +recorded in one of the best-preserved mosaics of the north +transept, executed very certainly not long after the event had +taken place, closely resembling in its treatment that of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page062"></a>62</span> +Bayeux tapestry, and showing, in a conventional manner, the +interior of the church, as it then was, filled by the people, first +in prayer, then in thanksgiving, the pillar standing open before +them, and the Doge, in the midst of them, distinguished +by his crimson bonnet embroidered with gold, but more unmistakably +by the inscription “Dux” over his head, as uniformly +is the case in the Bayeux tapestry, and most other pictorial +works of the period. The church is, of course, rudely +represented, and the two upper stories of it reduced to a small +scale in order to form a background to the figures; one of +those bold pieces of picture history which we in our pride of +perspective, and a thousand things besides, never dare attempt. +We should have put in a column or two of the real or perspective +size, and subdued it into a vague background: the old +workman crushed the church together that he might get it all +in, up to the cupolas; and has, therefore, left us some useful +notes of its ancient form, though any one who is familiar with +the method of drawing employed at the period will not push +the evidence too far. The two pulpits are there, however, as +they are at this day, and the fringe of mosaic flower-work +which then encompassed the whole church, but which modern +restorers have destroyed, all but one fragment still left in the +south aisle. There is no attempt to represent the other +mosaics on the roof, the scale being too small to admit of their +being represented with any success; but some at least of those +mosaics had been executed at that period, and their absence in +the representation of the entire church is especially to be observed, +in order to show that we must not trust to any negative +evidence in such works. M. Lazari has rashly concluded +that the central archivolt of St. Mark’s <i>must</i> be posterior to +the year 1205, because it does not appear in the representation +of the exterior of the church over the northern door;<a name="FnAnchor_27" href="#Footnote_27"><span class="sp">27</span></a> but he +justly observes that this mosaic (which is the other piece +of evidence we possess respecting the ancient form of the +building) cannot itself be earlier than 1205, since it represents +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page063"></a>63</span> +the bronze horses which were brought from Constantinople +in that year. And this one fact renders it very +difficult to speak with confidence respecting the date of any +part of the exterior of St. Mark’s; for we have above seen +that it was consecrated in the eleventh century, and yet here +is one of its most important exterior decorations assuredly retouched, +if not entirely added, in the thirteenth, although its +style would have led us to suppose it had been an original part +of the fabric. However, for all our purposes, it will be enough +for the reader to remember that the earliest parts of the building +belong to the eleventh, twelfth, and first part of the thirteenth +century; the Gothic portions to the fourteenth; some +of the altars and embellishments to the fifteenth and sixteenth; +and the modern portion of the mosaics to the seventeenth.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">IX.</span> This, however, I only wish him to recollect in order +that I may speak generally of the Byzantine architecture of +St. Mark’s, without leading him to suppose the whole church +to have been built and decorated by Greek artists. Its later +portions, with the single exception of the seventeenth century +mosaics, have been so dexterously accommodated to the original +fabric that the general effect is still that of a Byzantine +building; and I shall not, except when it is absolutely necessary, +direct attention to the discordant points, or weary the +reader with anatomical criticism. Whatever in St. Mark’s arrests +the eye, or affects the feelings, is either Byzantine, or has +been modified by Byzantine influence; and our inquiry into +its architectural merits need not therefore be disturbed by the +anxieties of antiquarianism, or arrested by the obscurities of +chronology.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">X.</span> And now I wish that the reader, before I bring him +into St. Mark’s Place, would imagine himself for a little time +in a quiet English cathedral town, and walk with me to the +west front of its cathedral. Let us go together up the more +retired street, at the end of which we can see the pinnacles of +one of the towers, and then through the low grey gateway, +with its battlemented top and small latticed window in the +centre, into the inner private-looking road or close, where +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page064"></a>64</span> +nothing goes in but the carts of the tradesmen who supply the +bishop and the chapter, and where there are little shaven grass-plots, +fenced in by neat rails, before old-fashioned groups of +somewhat diminutive and excessively trim houses, with little +oriel and bay windows jutting out here and there, and deep +wooden cornices and eaves painted cream color and white, and +small porches to their doors in the shape of cockle-shells, or +little, crooked, thick, indescribable wooden gables warped a +little on one side; and so forward till we come to larger +houses, also old-fashioned, but of red brick, and with gardens +behind them, and fruit walls, which show here and there, +among the nectarines, the vestiges of an old cloister arch or +shaft, and looking in front on the cathedral square itself, laid +out in rigid divisions of smooth grass and gravel walk, yet not +uncheerful, especially on the sunny side where the canons’ +children are walking with their nurserymaids. And so, taking +care not to tread on the grass, we will go along the straight +walk to the west front, and there stand for a time, looking up +at its deep-pointed porches and the dark places between their +pillars where there were statues once, and where the fragments, +here and there, of a stately figure are still left, which +has in it the likeness of a king, perhaps indeed a king on +earth, perhaps a saintly king long ago in heaven; and so higher +and higher up to the great mouldering wall of rugged sculpture +and confused arcades, shattered, and grey, and grisly with +heads of dragons and mocking fiends, worn by the rain and +swirling winds into yet unseemlier shape, and colored on their +stony scales by the deep russet-orange lichen, melancholy +gold; and so, higher still, to the bleak towers, so far above +that the eye loses itself among the bosses of their traceries, +though they are rude and strong, and only sees like a drift of +eddying black points, now closing, now scattering, and now +settling suddenly into invisible places among the bosses and +flowers, the crowed of restless birds that fill the whole square +with that strange clangor of theirs, so harsh and yet so soothing, +like the cries of birds on a solitary coast between the cliffs +and sea.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page065"></a>65</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XI.</span> Think for a little while of that scene, and the meaning +of all its small formalisms, mixed with its serene sublimity. +Estimate its secluded, continuous, drowsy felicities, +and its evidence of the sense and steady performance of such +kind of duties as can be regulated by the cathedral clock; and +weigh the influence of those dark towers on all who have +passed through the lonely square at their feet for centuries, +and on all who have seen them rising far away over the wooded +plain, or catching on their square masses the last rays of the +sunset, when the city at their feet was indicated only by the +mist at the bend of the river. And then let us quickly recollect +that we are in Venice, and land at the extremity of the +Calle Lunga San Moisč, which may be considered as there +answering to the secluded street that led us to our English +cathedral gateway.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XII.</span> We find ourselves in a paved alley, some seven feet +wide where it is widest, full of people, and resonant with cries +of itinerant salesmen,—a shriek in their beginning, and dying +away into a kind of brazen ringing, all the worse for its confinement +between the high houses of the passage along which +we have to make our way. Over-head an inextricable confusion +of rugged shutters, and iron balconies and chimney +flues pushed out on brackets to save room, and arched windows +with projecting sills of Istrian stone, and gleams of green +leaves here and there where a fig-tree branch escapes over a +lower wall from some inner cortile, leading the eye up to the +narrow stream of blue sky high over all. On each side, a row +of shops, as densely set as may be, occupying, in fact, intervals +between the square stone shafts, about eight feet high, which +carry the first floors: intervals of which one is narrow and +serves as a door; the other is, in the more respectable shops, +wainscoted to the height of the counter and glazed above, but +in those of the poorer tradesmen left open to the ground, and +the wares laid on benches and tables in the open air, the light +in all cases entering at the front only, and fading away in a +few feet from the threshold into a gloom which the eye from +without cannot penetrate, but which is generally broken by a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page066"></a>66</span> +ray or two from a feeble lamp at the back of the shop, suspended +before a print of the Virgin. The less pious shop-keeper +sometimes leaves his lamp unlighted, and is contented +with a penny print; the more religious one has his print +colored and set in a little shrine with a gilded or figured +fringe, with perhaps a faded flower or two on each side, and +his lamp burning brilliantly. Here at the fruiterer’s, where +the dark-green water-melons are heaped upon the counter like +cannon balls, the Madonna has a tabernacle of fresh laurel +leaves; but the pewterer next door has let his lamp out, and +there is nothing to be seen in his shop but the dull gleam of +the studded patterns on the copper pans, hanging from his +roof in the darkness. Next comes a “Vendita Frittole e +Liquori,” where the Virgin, enthroned in a very humble manner +beside a tallow candle on a back shelf, presides over certain +ambrosial morsels of a nature too ambiguous to be defined +or enumerated. But a few steps farther on, at the regular +wine-shop of the calle, where we are offered “Vino Nostrani +a Soldi 28·32,” the Madonna is in great glory, enthroned above +ten or a dozen large red casks of three-year-old vintage, and +flanked by goodly ranks of bottles of Maraschino, and two +crimson lamps; and for the evening, when the gondoliers will +come to drink out, under her auspices, the money they have +gained during the day, she will have a whole chandelier.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIII.</span> A yard or two farther, we pass the hostelry of the +Black Eagle, and, glancing as we pass through the square door +of marble, deeply moulded, in the outer wall, we see the shadows +of its pergola of vines resting on an ancient well, with a +pointed shield carved on its side; and so presently emerge on +the bridge and Campo San Moisč, whence to the entrance into +St. Mark’s Place, called the Bocca di Piazza (mouth of the +square), the Venetian character is nearly destroyed, first by the +frightful façade of San Moisč, which we will pause at another +time to examine, and then by the modernizing of the shops as +they near the piazza, and the mingling with the lower Venetian +populace of lounging groups of English and Austrians. +We will push fast through them into the shadow of the pillars +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page067"></a>67</span> +at the end of the “Bocca di Piazza,” and then we forget them +all; for between those pillars there opens a great light, and, in +the midst of it, as we advance slowly, the vast tower of St. +Mark seems to lift itself visibly forth from the level field of +chequered stones; and, on each side, the countless arches prolong +themselves into ranged symmetry, as if the rugged and +irregular houses that pressed together above us in the dark +alley had been struck back into sudden obedience and lovely +order, and all their rude casements and broken walls had been +transformed into arches charged with goodly sculpture, and +fluted shafts of delicate stone.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIV.</span> And well may they fall back, for beyond those +troops of ordered arches there rises a vision out of the earth, +and all the great square seems to have opened from it in a +kind of awe, that we may see it far away;—a multitude of +pillars and white domes, clustered into a long low pyramid of +colored light; a treasure-heap, it seems, partly of gold, and +partly of opal and mother-of-pearl, hollowed beneath into five +great vaulted porches, ceiled with fair mosaic, and beset with +sculpture of alabaster, clear as amber and delicate as ivory,—sculpture +fantastic and involved, of palm leaves and lilies, and +grapes and pomegranates, and birds clinging and fluttering +among the branches, all twined together into an endless network +of buds and plumes; and, in the midst of it, the solemn +forms of angels, sceptred, and robed to the feet, and leaning +to each other across the gates, their figures indistinct among +the gleaming of the golden ground through the leaves beside +them, interrupted and dim, like the morning light as it faded +back among the branches of Eden, when first its gates were +angel-guarded long ago. And round the walls of the porches +there are set pillars of variegated stones, jasper and porphyry, +and deep-green serpentine spotted with flakes of snow, and +marbles, that half refuse and half yield to the sunshine, Cleopatra-like, +“their bluest veins to kiss”—the shadow, as it steals +back from them, revealing line after line of azure undulation, +as a receding tide leaves the waved sand; their capitals rich +with interwoven tracery, rooted knots of herbage, and drifting +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page068"></a>68</span> +leaves of acanthus and vine, and mystical signs, all beginning +and ending in the Cross; and above them, in the broad archivolts, +a continuous chain of language and of life—angels, and +the signs of heaven, and the labors of men, each in its appointed +season upon the earth; and above these, another range +of glittering pinnacles, mixed with white arches edged with +scarlet flowers,—a confusion of delight, amidst which the +breasts of the Greek horses are seen blazing in their breadth of +golden strength, and the St. Mark’s Lion, lifted on a blue field +covered with stars, until at last, as if in ecstasy, the crests of +the arches break into a marble foam, and toss themselves far +into the blue sky in flashes and wreaths of sculptured spray, +as if the breakers on the Lido shore had been frost-bound before +they fell, and the sea-nymphs had inlaid them with coral +and amethyst.</p> + +<p>Between that grim cathedral of England and this, what an +interval! There is a type of it in the very birds that haunt +them; for, instead of the restless crowd, hoarse-voiced and +sable-winged, drifting on the bleak upper air, the St. Mark’s +porches are full of doves, that nestle among the marble foliage, +and mingle the soft iridescence of their living plumes, changing +at every motion, with the tints, hardly less lovely, that +have stood unchanged for seven hundred years.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XV.</span> And what effect has this splendor on those who pass +beneath it? You may walk from sunrise to sunset, to and fro, +before the gateway of St. Mark’s, and you will not see an eye +lifted to it, nor a countenance brightened by it. Priest and +layman, soldier and civilian, rich and poor, pass by it alike +regardlessly. Up to the very recesses of the porches, the +meanest tradesmen of the city push their counters; nay, the +foundations of its pillars are themselves the seats—not “of +them that sell doves” for sacrifice, but of the vendors of toys +and caricatures. Round the whole square in front of the +church there is almost a continuous line of cafés, where the +idle Venetians of the middle classes lounge, and read empty +journals; in its centre the Austrian bands play during the +time of vespers, their martial music jarring with the organ +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page069"></a>69</span> +notes,—the march drowning the miserere, and the sullen +crowd thickening round them,—a crowd, which, if it had its +will, would stiletto every soldier that pipes to it. And in the +recesses of the porches, all day long, knots of men of the lowest +classes, unemployed and listless, lie basking in the sun like +lizards; and unregarded children,—every heavy glance of +their young eyes full of desperation and stony depravity, and +their throats hoarse with cursing,—gamble, and fight, and +snarl, and sleep, hour after hour, clashing their bruised centesimi +upon the marble ledges of the church porch. And the +images of Christ and His angels look down upon it continually.</p> + +<p>That we may not enter the church out of the midst of the +horror of this, let us turn aside under the portico which looks +towards the sea, and passing round within the two massive +pillars brought from St. Jean d’Acre, we shall find the gate of +the Baptistery; let us enter there. The heavy door closes +behind us instantly, and the light, and the turbulence of the +Piazzetta, are together shut out by it.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVI.</span> We are in a low vaulted room; vaulted, not with +arches, but with small cupolas starred with gold, and chequered +with gloomy figures: in the centre is a bronze font charged +with rich bas-reliefs, a small figure of the Baptist standing above +it in a single ray of light that glances across the narrow room, +dying as it falls from a window high in the wall, and the first +thing that it strikes, and the only thing that it strikes brightly, +is a tomb. We hardly know if it be a tomb indeed; for it is +like a narrow couch set beside the window, low-roofed and +curtained, so that it might seem, but that it has some height +above the pavement, to have been drawn towards the window, +that the sleeper might be wakened early;—only there are +two angels who have drawn the curtain back, and are looking +down upon him. Let us look also, and thank that gentle +light that rests upon his forehead for ever, and dies away upon +his breast.</p> + +<p>The face is of a man in middle life, but there are two deep +furrows right across the forehead, dividing it like the foundations +of a tower: the height of it above is bound by the fillet +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page070"></a>70</span> +of the ducal cap. The rest of the features are singularly +small and delicate, the lips sharp, perhaps the sharpness of +death being added to that of the natural lines; but there is a +sweet smile upon them, and a deep serenity upon the whole +countenance. The roof of the canopy above has been blue, +filled with stars; beneath, in the centre of the tomb on which +the figure rests, is a seated figure of the Virgin, and the border +of it all around is of flowers and soft leaves, growing rich and +deep, as if in a field in summer.</p> + +<p>It is the Doge Andrea Dandolo, a man early great among +the great of Venice; and early lost. She chose him for her +king in his 36th year; he died ten years later, leaving behind +him that history to which we owe half of what we know of her +former fortunes.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVII.</span> Look round at the room in which he lies. The floor +of it is of rich mosaic, encompassed by a low seat of red marble, +and its walls are of alabaster, but worn and shattered, +and darkly stained with age, almost a ruin,—in places the slabs +of marble have fallen away altogether, and the rugged brickwork +is seen through the rents, but all beautiful; the ravaging +fissures fretting their way among the islands and channelled +zones of the alabaster, and the time-stains on its translucent +masses darkened into fields of rich golden brown, like the color +of seaweed when the sun strikes on it through deep sea. The +light fades away into the recess of the chamber towards the +altar, and the eye can hardly trace the lines of the bas-relief +behind it of the baptism of Christ: but on the vaulting of the +roof the figures are distinct, and there are seen upon it two +great circles, one surrounded by the “Principalities and +powers in heavenly places,” of which Milton has expressed +the ancient division in the single massy line,</p> + +<p class="pquote">“Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers,”</p> + +<p class="noind">and around the other, the Apostles; Christ the centre of both; +and upon the walls, again and again repeated, the gaunt figure +of the Baptist, in every circumstance of his life and death; +and the streams of the Jordan running down between their +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page071"></a>71</span> +cloven rocks; the axe laid to the root of a fruitless tree that +springs upon their shore. “Every tree that bringeth not forth +good fruit shall be hewn down, and cast into the fire.” Yes, +verily: to be baptized with fire, or to be cast therein; it is the +choice set before all men. The march-notes still murmur +through the grated window, and mingle with the sounding in +our ears of the sentence of judgment, which the old Greek +has written on that Baptistery wall. Venice has made her +choice.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVIII.</span> He who lies under that stony canopy would have +taught her another choice, in his day, if she would have +listened to him; but he and his counsels have long been forgotten +by her, and the dust lies upon his lips.</p> + +<p>Through the heavy door whose bronze network closes the +place of his rest, let us enter the church itself. It is lost in +still deeper twilight, to which the eye must be accustomed for +some moments before the form of the building can be traced; +and then there opens before us a vast cave, hewn out into the +form of a Cross, and divided into shadowy aisles by many +pillars. Round the domes of its roof the light enters only +through narrow apertures like large stars; and here and there +a ray or two from some far away casement wanders into the +darkness, and casts a narrow phosphoric stream upon the waves +of marble that heave and fall in a thousand colors along the +floor. What else there is of light is from torches, or silver +lamps, burning ceaselessly in the recesses of the chapels; +the roof sheeted with gold, and the polished walls covered +with alabaster, give back at every curve and angle some +feeble gleaming to the flames; and the glories round the +heads of the sculptured saints flash out upon us as we pass +them, and sink again into the gloom. Under foot and over +head, a continual succession of crowded imagery, one picture +passing into another, as in a dream; forms beautiful and +terrible mixed together; dragons and serpents, and ravening +beasts of prey, and graceful birds that in the midst of them +drink from running fountains and feed from vases of crystal; +the passions and the pleasures of human life symbolized +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page072"></a>72</span> +together, and the mystery of its redemption; for the mazes +of interwoven lines and changeful pictures lead always at last +to the Cross, lifted and carved in every place and upon every +stone; sometimes with the serpent of eternity wrapt round it, +sometimes with doves beneath its arms, and sweet herbage +growing forth from its feet; but conspicuous most of all on +the great rood that crosses the church before the altar, raised in +bright blazonry against the shadow of the apse. And although +in the recesses of the aisles and chapels, when the mist of the +incense hangs heavily, we may see continually a figure traced +in faint lines upon their marble, a woman standing with her +eyes raised to heaven, and the inscription above her, “Mother +of God,” she is not here the presiding deity. It is the Cross +that is first seen, and always, burning in the centre of the +temple; and every dome and hollow of its roof has the figure +of Christ in the utmost height of it, raised in power, or returning +in judgment.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIX.</span> Nor is this interior without effect on the minds of +the people. At every hour of the day there are groups +collected before the various shrines, and solitary worshippers +scattered through the darker places of the church, evidently +in prayer both deep and reverent, and, for the most part, +profoundly sorrowful. The devotees at the greater number +of the renowned shrines of Romanism may be seen murmuring +their appointed prayers with wandering eyes and +unengaged gestures; but the step of the stranger does not +disturb those who kneel on the pavement of St. Mark’s; and +hardly a moment passes, from early morning to sunset, in +which we may not see some half-veiled figure enter beneath +the Arabian porch, cast itself into long abasement on the floor +of the temple, and then rising slowly with more confirmed +step, and with a passionate kiss and clasp of the arms given to +the feet of the crucifix, by which the lamps burn always in the +northern aisle, leave the church, as if comforted.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XX.</span> But we must not hastily conclude from this that the +nobler characters of the building have at present any influence +in fostering a devotional spirit. There is distress enough in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page073"></a>73</span> +Venice to bring many to their knees, without excitement +from external imagery; and whatever there may be in the +temper of the worship offered in St. Mark’s more than can be +accounted for by reference to the unhappy circumstances of +the city, is assuredly not owing either to the beauty of its +architecture or to the impressiveness of the Scripture histories +embodied in its mosaics. That it has a peculiar effect, however +slight, on the popular mind, may perhaps be safely conjectured +from the number of worshippers which it attracts, +while the churches of St. Paul and the Frari, larger in size and +more central in position, are left comparatively empty.<a name="FnAnchor_28" href="#Footnote_28"><span class="sp">28</span></a> But +this effect is altogether to be ascribed to its richer assemblage +of those sources of influence which address themselves to the +commonest instincts of the human mind, and which, in all +ages and countries, have been more or less employed in the +support of superstition. Darkness and mystery; confused +recesses of building; artificial light employed in small quantity, +but maintained with a constancy which seems to give it +a kind of sacredness; preciousness of material easily comprehended +by the vulgar eye; close air loaded with a sweet and +peculiar odor associated only with religious services, solemn +music, and tangible idols or images having popular legends +attached to them,—these, the stage properties of superstition, +which have been from the beginning of the world, and must +be to the end of it, employed by all nations, whether openly +savage or nominally civilized, to produce a false awe in minds +incapable of apprehending the true nature of the Deity, are +assembled in St. Mark’s to a degree, as far as I know, unexampled +in any other European church. The arts of the Magus +and the Brahmin are exhausted in the animation of a paralyzed +Christianity; and the popular sentiment which these arts excite +is to be regarded by us with no more respect than we should +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page074"></a>74</span> +have considered ourselves justified in rendering to the devotion +of the worshippers at Eleusis, Ellora, or Edfou.<a name="FnAnchor_29" href="#Footnote_29"><span class="sp">29</span></a></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXI.</span> Indeed, these inferior means of exciting religious +emotion were employed in the ancient Church as they are at +this day, but not employed alone. Torchlight there was, as +there is now; but the torchlight illumined Scripture histories +on the walls, which every eye traced and every heart comprehended, +but which, during my whole residence in Venice, I +never saw one Venetian regard for an instant. I never heard +from any one the most languid expression of interest in any +feature of the church, or perceived the slightest evidence of +their understanding the meaning of its architecture; and while, +therefore, the English cathedral, though no longer dedicated +to the kind of services for which it was intended by its builders, +and much at variance in many of its characters with the +temper of the people by whom it is now surrounded, retains +yet so much of its religious influence that no prominent feature +of its architecture can be said to exist altogether in vain, +we have in St. Mark’s a building apparently still employed in +the ceremonies for which it was designed, and yet of which the +impressive attributes have altogether ceased to be comprehended +by its votaries. The beauty which it possesses is +unfelt, the language it uses is forgotten; and in the midst of +the city to whose service it has so long been consecrated, and +still filled by crowds of the descendants of those to whom it +owes its magnificence, it stands, in reality, more desolate than +the ruins through which the sheep-walk passes unbroken in our +English valleys; and the writing on its marble walls is less +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page075"></a>75</span> +regarded and less powerful for the teaching of men, than the +letters which the shepherd follows with his finger, where the +moss is lightest on the tombs in the desecrated cloister.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXII.</span> It must therefore be altogether without reference to +its present usefulness, that we pursue our inquiry into the +merits and meaning of the architecture of this marvellous +building; and it can only be after we have terminated that +inquiry, conducting it carefully on abstract grounds, that we +can pronounce with any certainty how far the present neglect +of St. Mark’s is significative of the decline of the Venetian +character, or how far this church is to be considered as the +relic of a barbarous age, incapable of attracting the admiration, +or influencing the feelings of a civilized community.</p> + +<p>The inquiry before us is twofold. Throughout the first +volume, I carefully kept the study of <i>expression</i> distinct from +that of abstract architectural perfection; telling the reader that +in every building we should afterwards examine, he would +have first to form a judgment of its construction and decorative +merit, considering it merely as a work of art; and then to +examine farther, in what degree it fulfilled its expressional +purposes. Accordingly, we have first to judge of St. Mark’s +merely as a piece of architecture, not as a church; secondly, +to estimate its fitness for its special duty as a place of worship, +and the relation in which it stands, as such, to those +northern cathedrals that still retain so much of the power over +the human heart, which the Byzantine domes appear to have +lost for ever.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIII.</span> In the two succeeding sections of this work, devoted +respectively to the examination of the Gothic and Renaissance +buildings in Venice, I have endeavored to analyze and +state, as briefly as possible, the true nature of each school,—first +in Spirit, then in Form. I wished to have given a similar +analysis, in this section, of the nature of Byzantine architecture; +but could not make my statements general, because I +have never seen this kind of building on its native soil. +Nevertheless, in the following sketch of the principles exemplified +in St. Mark’s, I believe that most of the leading features +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page076"></a>76</span> +and motives of the style will be found clearly enough distinguished +to enable the reader to judge of it with tolerable +fairness, as compared with the better known systems of European +architecture in the middle ages.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIV.</span> Now the first broad characteristic of the building, +and the root nearly of every other important peculiarity in it, +is its confessed <i>incrustation</i>. It is the purest example in Italy +of the great school of architecture in which the ruling principle +is the incrustation of brick with more precious materials; +and it is necessary before we proceed to criticise any one of +its arrangements, that the reader should carefully consider the +principles which are likely to have influenced, or might legitimately +influence, the architects of such a school, as distinguished +from those whose designs are to be executed in massive +materials.</p> + +<p>It is true, that among different nations, and at different +times, we may find examples of every sort and degree of incrustation, +from the mere setting of the larger and more compact +stones by preference at the outside of the wall, to the +miserable construction of that modern brick cornice, with its +coating of cement, which, but the other day, in London, killed +its unhappy workmen in its fall.<a name="FnAnchor_30" href="#Footnote_30"><span class="sp">30</span></a> But just as it is perfectly +possible to have a clear idea of the opposing characteristics of +two different species of plants or animals, though between the +two there are varieties which it is difficult to assign either to +the one or the other, so the reader may fix decisively in his +mind the legitimate characteristics of the incrusted and the +massive styles, though between the two there are varieties +which confessedly unite the attributes of both. For instance, +in many Roman remains, built of blocks of tufa and incrusted +with marble, we have a style, which, though truly solid, +possesses some of the attributes of incrustation; and in the +Cathedral of Florence, built of brick and coated with marble, +the marble facing is so firmly and exquisitely set, that the +building, though in reality incrusted, assumes the attributes of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page077"></a>77</span> +solidity. But these intermediate examples need not in the +least confuse our generally distinct ideas of the two families of +buildings: the one in which the substance is alike throughout, +and the forms and conditions of the ornament assume or prove +that it is so, as in the best Greek buildings, and for the most +part in our early Norman and Gothic; and the other, in which +the substance is of two kinds, one internal, the other external, +and the system of decoration is founded on this duplicity, as +pre-eminently in St. Mark’s.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXV.</span> I have used the word duplicity in no depreciatory +sense. In chapter ii. of the “Seven Lamps,” § 18, I especially +guarded this incrusted school from the imputation of insincerity, +and I must do so now at greater length. It appears insincere +at first to a Northern builder, because, accustomed to build +with solid blocks of freestone, he is in the habit of supposing +the external superficies of a piece of masonry to be some criterion +of its thickness. But, as soon as he gets acquainted with +the incrusted style, he will find that the Southern builders had +no intention to deceive him. He will see that every slab of +facial marble is fastened to the next by a confessed <i>rivet</i>, and +that the joints of the armor are so visibly and openly accommodated +to the contours of the substance within, that he has no +more right to complain of treachery than a savage would have, +who, for the first time in his life seeing a man in armor, had +supposed him to be made of solid steel. Acquaint him with +the customs of chivalry, and with the uses of the coat of mail, +and he ceases to accuse of dishonesty either the panoply or the +knight.</p> + +<p>These laws and customs of the St. Mark’s architectural +chivalry it must be our business to develope.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVI.</span> First, consider the natural circumstances which give +rise to such a style. Suppose a nation of builders, placed far +from any quarries of available stone, and having precarious access +to the mainland where they exist; compelled therefore +either to build entirely with brick, or to import whatever stone +they use from great distances, in ships of small tonnage, and +for the most part dependent for speed on the oar rather than +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page078"></a>78</span> +the sail. The labor and cost of carriage are just as great, +whether they import common or precious stone, and therefore +the natural tendency would always be to make each shipload as +valuable as possible. But in proportion to the preciousness of +the stone, is the limitation of its possible supply; limitation +not determined merely by cost, but by the physical conditions +of the material, for of many marbles, pieces above a certain +size are not to be had for money. There would also be a tendency +in such circumstances to import as much stone as possible +ready sculptured, in order to save weight; and therefore, +if the traffic of their merchants led them to places where there +were ruins of ancient edifices, to ship the available fragments +of them home. Out of this supply of marble, partly composed +of pieces of so precious a quality that only a few tons of them +could be on any terms obtained, and partly of shafts, capitals, +and other portions of foreign buildings, the island architect has +to fashion, as best he may, the anatomy of his edifice. It is at +his choice either to lodge his few blocks of precious marble +here and there among his masses of brick, and to cut out of the +sculptured fragments such new forms as may be necessary for +the observance of fixed proportions in the new building; or +else to cut the colored stones into thin pieces, of extent sufficient +to face the whole surface of the walls, and to adopt a +method of construction irregular enough to admit the insertion +of fragmentary sculptures; rather with a view of displaying +their intrinsic beauty, than of setting them to any regular service +in the support of the building.</p> + +<p>An architect who cared only to display his own skill, and +had no respect for the works of others, would assuredly have +chosen the former alternative, and would have sawn the old +marbles into fragments in order to prevent all interference +with his own designs. But an architect who cared for the preservation +of noble work, whether his own or others’, and more +regarded the beauty of his building than his own fame, would +have done what those old builders of St. Mark’s did for us, +and saved every relic with which he was entrusted.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVII.</span> But these were not the only motives which influenced +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page079"></a>79</span> +the Venetians in the adoption of their method of architecture. +It might, under all the circumstances above stated, +have been a question with other builders, whether to import +one shipload of costly jaspers, or twenty of chalk flints; and +whether to build a small church faced with porphyry and paved +with agate, or to raise a vast cathedral in freestone. But with +the Venetians it could not be a question for an instant; they +were exiles from ancient and beautiful cities, and had been accustomed +to build with their ruins, not less in affection than in +admiration: they had thus not only grown familiar with the +practice of inserting older fragments in modern buildings, but +they owed to that practice a great part of the splendor of their +city, and whatever charm of association might aid its change +from a Refuge into a Home. The practice which began in the +affections of a fugitive nation, was prolonged in the pride of a +conquering one; and beside the memorials of departed happiness, +were elevated the trophies of returning victory. The +ship of war brought home more marble in triumph than the +merchant vessel in speculation; and the front of St. Mark’s +became rather a shrine at which to dedicate the splendor of +miscellaneous spoil, than the organized expression of any fixed +architectural law, or religious emotion.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVIII.</span> Thus far, however, the justification of the style of +this church depends on circumstances peculiar to the time of +its erection, and to the spot where it arose. The merit of its +method, considered in the abstract, rests on far broader grounds.</p> + +<p>In the fifth chapter of the “Seven Lamps,” § 14, the reader +will find the opinion of a modern architect of some reputation, +Mr. Wood, that the chief thing remarkable in this church “is +its extreme ugliness;” and he will find this opinion associated +with another, namely, that the works of the Caracci are far +preferable to those of the Venetian painters. This second +statement of feeling reveals to us one of the principal causes of +the first; namely, that Mr. Wood had not any perception of +color, or delight in it. The perception of color is a gift just as +definitely granted to one person, and denied to another, as an +ear for music; and the very first requisite for true judgment +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page080"></a>80</span> +of St. Mark’s, is the perfection of that color-faculty which few +people ever set themselves seriously to find out whether they +possess or not. For it is on its value as a piece of perfect and +unchangeable coloring, that the claims of this edifice to our respect +are finally rested; and a deaf man might as well pretend +to pronounce judgment on the merits of a full orchestra, as an +architect trained in the composition of form only, to discern +the beauty of St. Mark’s. It possesses the charm of color in +common with the greater part of the architecture, as well as +of the manufactures, of the East; but the Venetians deserve +especial note as the only European people who appear to have +sympathized to the full with the great instinct of the Eastern +races. They indeed were compelled to bring artists from Constantinople +to design the mosaics of the vaults of St. Mark’s, +and to group the colors of its porches; but they rapidly took +up and developed, under more masculine conditions, the system +of which the Greeks had shown them the example: while +the burghers and barons of the North were building their dark +streets and grisly castles of oak and sandstone, the merchants +of Venice were covering their palaces with porphyry and gold; +and at last, when her mighty painters had created for her a +color more priceless than gold or porphyry, even this, the richest +of her treasures, she lavished upon walls whose foundations +were beaten by the sea; and the strong tide, as it runs beneath +the Rialto, is reddened to this day by the reflection of the frescoes +of Giorgione.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIX.</span> If, therefore, the reader does not care for color, +I must protest against his endeavor to form any judgment +whatever of this church of St. Mark’s. But, if he both +cares for and loves it, let him remember that the school of +incrusted architecture is <i>the only one in which perfect and +permanent chromatic decoration is possible</i>; and let him +look upon every piece of jasper and alabaster given to the +architect as a cake of very hard color, of which a certain +portion is to be ground down or cut off, to paint the walls +with. Once understand this thoroughly, and accept the condition +that the body and availing strength of the edifice are +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page081"></a>81</span> +to be in brick, and that this under muscular power of brickwork +is to be clothed with the defence and the brightness +of the marble, as the body of an animal is protected and +adorned by its scales or its skin, and all the consequent fitnesses +and laws of the structure will be easily discernible: +These I shall state in their natural order.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXX.</span> <span class="sc">Law I.</span> <i>That the plinths and cornices used for +binding the armor are to be light and delicate.</i> A certain +thickness, at least two or three inches, must be required in the +covering pieces (even when composed of the strongest stone, +and set on the least exposed parts), in order to prevent the +chance of fracture, and to allow for the wear of time. And +the weight of this armor must not be trusted to cement; the +pieces must not be merely glued to the rough brick surface, +but connected with the mass which they protect by binding +cornices and string courses; and with each other, so as to secure +mutual support, aided by the rivetings, but by no means +dependent upon them. And, for the full honesty and straight-forwardness +of the work, it is necessary that these string +courses and binding plinths should not be of such proportions +as would fit them for taking any important part in the hard +work of the inner structure, or render them liable to be mistaken +for the great cornices and plinths already explained as +essential parts of the best solid building. They must be delicate, +slight, and visibly incapable of severer work than that assigned +to them.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXI.</span> <span class="sc">Law II.</span> <i>Science of inner structure is to be abandoned.</i> +As the body of the structure is confessedly of inferior, +and comparatively incoherent materials, it would be absurd to +attempt in it any expression of the higher refinements of construction. +It will be enough that by its mass we are assured +of its sufficiency and strength; and there is the less reason for +endeavoring to diminish the extent of its surface by delicacy of +adjustment, because on the breadth of that surface we are to +depend for the better display of the color, which is to be the +chief source of our pleasure in the building. The main body +of the work, therefore, will be composed of solid walls and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page082"></a>82</span> +massive piers; and whatever expression of finer structural +science we may require, will be thrown either into subordinate +portions of it, or entirely directed to the support of the external +mail, where in arches or vaults it might otherwise appear +dangerously independent of the material within.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXII.</span> <span class="sc">Law III.</span> <i>All shafts are to be solid.</i> Wherever, by +the smallness of the parts, we may be driven to abandon the incrusted +structure at all, it must be abandoned altogether. The +eye must never be left in the least doubt as to what is solid +and what is coated. Whatever appears <i>probably</i> solid, must be +<i>assuredly</i> so, and therefore it becomes an inviolable law that +no shaft shall ever be incrusted. Not only does the whole virtue +of a shaft depend on its consolidation, but the labor of cutting +and adjusting an incrusted coat to it would be greater than +the saving of material is worth. Therefore the shaft, of whatever +size, is always to be solid; and because the incrusted character +of the rest of the building renders it more difficult for +the shafts to clear themselves from suspicion, they must not, +in this incrusted style, be in any place jointed. No shaft must +ever be used but of one block; and this the more, because the +permission given to the builder to have his walls and piers as +ponderous as he likes, renders it quite unnecessary for him to +use shafts of any fixed size. In our Norman and Gothic, +where definite support is required at a definite point, it becomes +lawful to build up a tower of small stones in the shape +of a shaft. But the Byzantine is allowed to have as much support +as he wants from the walls in every direction, and he has +no right to ask for further license in the structure of his shafts. +Let him, by generosity in the substance of his pillars, repay us +for the permission we have given him to be superficial in his +walls. The builder in the chalk valleys of France and England +may be blameless in kneading his clumsy pier out of +broken flint and calcined lime; but the Venetian, who has +access to the riches of Asia and the quarries of Egypt, must +frame at least his shafts out of flawless stone.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIII.</span> And this for another reason yet. Although, as +we have said, it is impossible to cover the walls of a large +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page083"></a>83</span> +building with color, except on the condition of dividing the +stone into plates, there is always a certain appearance of meanness +and niggardliness in the procedure. It is necessary that +the builder should justify himself from this suspicion; and +prove that it is not in mere economy or poverty, but in the +real impossibility of doing otherwise, that he has sheeted his +walls so thinly with the precious film. Now the shaft is exactly +the portion of the edifice in which it is fittest to recover +his honor in this respect. For if blocks of jasper or porphyry +be inserted in the walls, the spectator cannot tell their thickness, +and cannot judge of the costliness of the sacrifice. But +the shaft he can measure with his eye in an instant, and estimate +the quantity of treasure both in the mass of its existing +substance, and in that which has been hewn away to bring it +into its perfect and symmetrical form. And thus the shafts of +all buildings of this kind are justly regarded as an expression +of their wealth, and a form of treasure, just as much as the +jewels or gold in the sacred vessels; they are, in fact, nothing +else than large jewels,<a name="FnAnchor_31" href="#Footnote_31"><span class="sp">31</span></a> the block of precious serpentine or +jasper being valued according to its size and brilliancy of +color, like a large emerald or ruby; only the bulk required to +bestow value on the one is to be measured in feet and tons, +and on the other in lines and carats. The shafts must therefore +be, without exception, of one block in all buildings of +this kind; for the attempt in any place to incrust or joint +them would be a deception like that of introducing a false +stone among jewellery (for a number of joints of any precious +stone are of course not equal in value to a single piece of equal +weight), and would put an end at once to the spectator’s confidence +in the expression of wealth in any portion of the structure, +or of the spirit of sacrifice in those who raised it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page084"></a>84</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIV.</span> <span class="sc">Law IV.</span> <i>The shafts may sometimes be independent +of the construction.</i> Exactly in proportion to the importance +which the shaft assumes as a large jewel, is the diminution +of its importance as a sustaining member; for the delight +which we receive in its abstract bulk, and beauty of +color, is altogether independent of any perception of its adaptation +to mechanical necessities. Like other beautiful things +in this world, its end is to <i>be</i> beautiful; and, in proportion to +its beauty, it receives permission to be otherwise useless. We +do not blame emeralds and rubies because we cannot make +them into heads of hammers. Nay, so far from our admiration +of the jewel shaft being dependent on its doing work for +us, it is very possible that a chief part of its preciousness may +consist in a delicacy, fragility, and tenderness of material, +which must render it utterly unfit for hard work; and therefore +that we shall admire it the more, because we perceive that +if we were to put much weight upon it, it would be crushed. +But, at all events, it is very clear that the primal object in the +placing of such shafts must be the display of their beauty to +the best advantage, and that therefore all imbedding of them +in walls, or crowding of them into groups, in any position in +which either their real size or any portion of their surface +would be concealed, is either inadmissible altogether, or <span class="correction" title="objecjectionable in the original">objectionable</span> +in proportion to their value; that no symmetrical +or scientific arrangements of pillars are therefore ever to be +expected in buildings of this kind, and that all such are even +to be looked upon as positive errors and misapplications of materials: +but that, on the contrary, we must be constantly prepared +to see, and to see with admiration, shafts of great size +and importance set in places where their real service is little +more than nominal, and where the chief end of their existence +is to catch the sunshine upon their polished sides, and lead the +eye into delighted wandering among the mazes of their azure +veins.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXV.</span> <span class="sc">Law V.</span> <i>The shafts may be of variable size.</i> Since +the value of each shaft depends upon its bulk, and diminishes +with the diminution of its mass, in a greater ratio than the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page085"></a>85</span> +size itself diminishes, as in the case of all other jewellery, it is +evident that we must not in general expect perfect symmetry +and equality among the series of shafts, any more than definiteness +of application; but that, on the contrary, an accurately +observed symmetry ought to give us a kind of pain, as proving +that considerable and useless loss has been sustained by some of +the shafts, in being cut down to match with the rest. It is +true that symmetry is generally sought for in works of smaller +jewellery; but, even there, not a perfect symmetry, and obtained +under circumstances quite different from those which +affect the placing of shafts in architecture. First: the symmetry +is usually imperfect. The stones that seem to match each +other in a ring or necklace, appear to do so only because they +are so small that their differences are not easily measured by +the eye; but there is almost always such difference between +them as would be strikingly apparent if it existed in the same +proportion between two shafts nine or ten feet in height. +Secondly: the quantity of stones which pass through a jeweller’s +hands, and the facility of exchange of such small objects, +enable the tradesman to select any number of stones of approximate +size; a selection, however, often requiring so much +time, that perfect symmetry in a group of very fine stones adds +enormously to their value. But the architect has neither the +time nor the facilities of exchange. He cannot lay aside one +column in a corner of his church till, in the course of traffic, +he obtain another that will match it; he has not hundreds of +shafts fastened up in bundles, out of which he can match sizes +at his ease; he cannot send to a brother-tradesman and exchange +the useless stones for available ones, to the convenience +of both. His blocks of stone, or his ready hewn shafts, have +been brought to him in limited number, from immense distances; +no others are to be had; and for those which he does +not bring into use, there is no demand elsewhere. His only +means of obtaining symmetry will therefore be, in cutting +down the finer masses to equality with the inferior ones; and +this we ought not to desire him often to do. And therefore, +while sometimes in a Baldacchino, or an important chapel or +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page086"></a>86</span> +shrine, this costly symmetry may be necessary, and admirable +in proportion to its probable cost, in the general fabric we +must expect to see shafts introduced of size and proportion +continually varying, and such symmetry as may be obtained +among them never altogether perfect, and dependent for its +charm frequently on strange complexities and unexpected rising +and falling of weight and accent in its marble syllables; +bearing the same relation to a rigidly chiselled and proportioned +architecture that the wild lyric rhythm of Ćschylus or +Pindar bears to the finished measures of Pope.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVI.</span> The application of the principles of jewellery to the +smaller as well as the larger blocks, will suggest to us another +reason for the method of incrustation adopted in the walls. It +often happens that the beauty of the veining in some varieties +of alabaster is so great, that it becomes desirable to exhibit it +by dividing the stone, not merely to economize its substance, +but to display the changes in the disposition of its fantastic +lines. By reversing one of two thin plates successively taken +from the stone, and placing their corresponding edges in contact, +a perfectly symmetrical figure may be obtained, which +will enable the eye to comprehend more thoroughly the position +of the veins. And this is actually the method in which, +for the most part, the alabasters of St. Mark are employed; +thus accomplishing a double good,—directing the spectator, in +the first place, to close observation of the nature of the stone +employed, and in the second, giving him a farther proof of +the honesty of intention in the builder: for wherever similar +veining is discovered in two pieces, the fact is declared that +they have been cut from the same stone. It would have been +easy to disguise the similarity by using them in different parts +of the building; but on the contrary they are set edge to edge, +so that the whole system of the architecture may be discovered +at a glance by any one acquainted with the nature of the stones +employed. Nay, but, it is perhaps answered me, not by an +ordinary observer; a person ignorant of the nature of alabaster +might perhaps fancy all these symmetrical patterns to have +been found in the stone itself, and thus be doubly deceived, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page087"></a>87</span> +supposing blocks to be solid and symmetrical which were in +reality subdivided and irregular. I grant it; but be it remembered, +that in all things, ignorance is liable to be deceived, and +has no right to accuse anything but itself as the source of the +deception. The style and the words are dishonest, not which +are liable to be misunderstood if subjected to no inquiry, but +which are deliberately calculated to lead inquiry astray. There +are perhaps no great or noble truths, from those of religion +downwards, which present no mistakeable aspect to casual or +ignorant contemplation. Both the truth and the lie agree in +hiding themselves at first, but the lie continues to hide itself +with effort, as we approach to examine it; and leads us, if undiscovered, +into deeper lies; the truth reveals itself in proportion +to our patience and knowledge, discovers itself kindly to +our pleading, and leads us, as it is discovered, into deeper +truths.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVII.</span> <span class="sc">Law VI.</span> <i>The decoration must be shallow in cutting.</i> +The method of construction being thus systematized, it +is evident that a certain style of decoration must arise out of +it, based on the primal condition that over the greater part of +the edifice there can be <i>no deep cutting</i>. The thin sheets of +covering stones do not admit of it; we must not cut them +through to the bricks; and whatever ornaments we engrave +upon them cannot, therefore, be more than an inch deep at the +utmost. Consider for an instant the enormous differences +which this single condition compels between the sculptural +decoration of the incrusted style, and that of the solid stones +of the North, which may be hacked and hewn into whatever +cavernous hollows and black recesses we choose; struck into +grim darknesses and grotesque projections, and rugged ploughings +up of sinuous furrows, in which any form or thought may +be wrought out on any scale,—mighty statues with robes of +rock and crowned foreheads burning in the sun, or venomous +goblins and stealthy dragons shrunk into lurking-places of untraceable +shade: think of this, and of the play and freedom +given to the sculptor’s hand and temper, to smite out and in, +hither and thither, as he will; and then consider what must +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page088"></a>88</span> +be the different spirit of the design which is to be wrought on +the smooth surface of a film of marble, where every line and +shadow must be drawn with the most tender pencilling and +cautious reserve of resource,—where even the chisel must not +strike hard, lest it break through the delicate stone, nor the +mind be permitted in any impetuosity of conception inconsistent +with the fine discipline of the hand. Consider that whatever +animal or human form is to be suggested, must be projected on +a flat surface; that all the features of the countenance, the +folds of the drapery, the involutions of the limbs, must be so +reduced and subdued that the whole work becomes rather a +piece of fine drawing than of sculpture; and then follow out, +until you begin to perceive their endlessness, the resulting +differences of character which will be necessitated in every +part of the ornamental designs of these incrusted churches, as +compared with that of the Northern schools. I shall endeavor +to trace a few of them only.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVIII.</span> The first would of course be a diminution of the +builder’s dependence upon human form as a source of ornament: +since exactly in proportion to the dignity of the form +itself is the loss which it must sustain in being reduced to a shallow +and linear bas-relief, as well as the difficulty of expressing +it at all under such conditions. Wherever sculpture can be +solid, the nobler characters of the human form at once lead +the artist to aim at its representation, rather than at that of +inferior organisms; but when all is to be reduced to outline, the +forms of flowers and lower animals are always more intelligible, +and are felt to approach much more to a satisfactory rendering +of the objects intended, than the outlines of the human +body. This inducement to seek for resources of ornament in +the lower fields of creation was powerless in the minds of the +great Pagan nations, Ninevite, Greek, or Egyptian: first, because +their thoughts were so concentrated on their own capacities +and fates, that they preferred the rudest suggestion of +human form to the best of an inferior organism; secondly, +because their constant practice in solid sculpture, often colossal, +enabled them to bring a vast amount of science into the treatment +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page089"></a>89</span> +of the lines, whether of the low relief, the monochrome +vase, or shallow hieroglyphic.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIX.</span> But when various ideas adverse to the representation +of animal, and especially of human, form, originating +with the Arabs and iconoclast Greeks, had begun at any rate +to direct the builders’ minds to seek for decorative materials in +inferior types, and when diminished practice in solid sculpture +had rendered it more difficult to find artists capable of satisfactorily +reducing the high organisms to their elementary outlines, +the choice of subject for surface sculpture would be +more and more uninterruptedly directed to floral organisms, +and human and animal form would become diminished in size, +frequency, and general importance. So that, while in the +Northern solid architecture we constantly find the effect of its +noblest features dependent on ranges of statues, often colossal, +and full of abstract interest, independent of their architectural +service, in the Southern incrusted style we must expect to find +the human form for the most part subordinate and diminutive, +and involved among designs of foliage and flowers, in +the manner of which endless examples had been furnished by +the fantastic ornamentation of the Romans, from which the +incrusted style had been directly derived.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XL.</span> Farther. In proportion to the degree in which his +subject must be reduced to abstract outline will be the tendency +in the sculptor to abandon naturalism of representation, +and subordinate every form to architectural service. Where +the flower or animal can be hewn into bold relief, there will +always be a temptation to render the representation of it more +complete than is necessary, or even to introduce details and +intricacies inconsistent with simplicity of distant effect. Very +often a worse fault than this is committed; and in the endeavor +to give vitality to the stone, the original ornamental +purpose of the design is sacrificed or forgotten. But when +nothing of this kind can be attempted, and a slight outline is +all that the sculptor can command, we may anticipate that this +outline will be composed with exquisite grace; and that the +richness of its ornamental arrangement will atone for the feebleness +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page090"></a>90</span> +of its power of portraiture. On the porch of a Northern +cathedral we may seek for the images of the flowers that +grow in the neighboring fields, and as we watch with wonder +the grey stones that fret themselves into thorns, and soften +into blossoms, we may care little that these knots of ornament, +as we retire from them to contemplate the whole building, appear +unconsidered or confused. On the incrusted building we +must expect no such deception of the eye or thoughts. It may +sometimes be difficult to determine, from the involutions of its +linear sculpture, what were the natural forms which originally +suggested them: but we may confidently expect that the grace +of their arrangement will always be complete; that there will +not be a line in them which could be taken away without +injury, nor one wanting which could be added with advantage.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLI.</span> Farther. While the sculptures of the incrusted +school will thus be generally distinguished by care and purity +rather than force, and will be, for the most part, utterly +wanting in depth of shadow, there will be one means of obtaining +darkness peculiarly simple and obvious, and often in +the sculptor’s power. Wherever he can, without danger, +leave a hollow behind his covering slabs, or use them, like +glass, to fill an aperture in the wall, he can, by piercing +them with holes, obtain points or spaces of intense blackness +to contrast with the light tracing of the rest of his design. And +we may expect to find this artifice used the more extensively, +because, while it will be an effective means of ornamentation +on the exterior of the building, it will be also the safest +way of admitting light to the interior, still totally excluding +both rain and wind. And it will naturally follow that the +architect, thus familiarized with the effect of black and sudden +points of shadow, will often seek to carry the same principle +into other portions of his ornamentation, and by deep +drill-holes, or perhaps inlaid portions of black color, to refresh +the eye where it may be wearied by the lightness of +the general handling.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLII.</span> Farther. Exactly in proportion to the degree in +which the force of sculpture is subdued, will be the importance +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page091"></a>91</span> +attached to color as a means of effect or constituent +of beauty. I have above stated that the incrusted style was +the only one in which perfect or permanent color decoration +was <i>possible</i>. It is also the only one in which a true system +of color decoration was ever likely to be invented. In order +to understand this, the reader must permit me to review with +some care the nature of the principles of coloring adopted +by the Northern and Southern nations.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLIII.</span> I believe that from the beginning of the world +there has never been a true or fine school of art in which +color was despised. It has often been imperfectly attained +and injudiciously applied, but I believe it to be one of the +essential signs of life in a school of art, that it loves color; +and I know it to be one of the first signs of death in the +Renaissance schools, that they despised color.</p> + +<p>Observe, it is not now the question whether our Northern +cathedrals are better with color or without. Perhaps the great +monotone grey of Nature and of Time is a better color than +any that the human hand can give; but that is nothing to +our present business. The simple fact is, that the builders of +those cathedrals laid upon them the brightest colors they +could obtain, and that there is not, as far as I am aware, in +Europe, any monument of a truly noble school which has +not been either painted all over, or vigorously touched with +paint, mosaic, and gilding in its prominent parts. Thus far +Egyptians, Greeks, Goths, Arabs, and medićval Christians all +agree: none of them, when in their right senses, ever think +of doing without paint; and, therefore, when I said above that +the Venetians were the only people who had thoroughly sympathized +with the Arabs in this respect, I referred, first, to +their intense love of color, which led them to lavish the +most expensive decorations on ordinary dwelling-houses; and, +secondly, to that perfection of the color-instinct in them, which +enabled them to render whatever they did, in this kind, as just +in principle as it was gorgeous in appliance. It is this principle +of theirs, as distinguished from that of the Northern +builders, which we have finally to examine.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page092"></a>92</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLIV.</span> In the second chapter of the first volume, it +was noticed that the architect of Bourges Cathedral liked +hawthorn, and that the porch of his cathedral was therefore +decorated with a rich wreath of it; but another of the predilections +of that architect was there unnoticed, namely, that +he did not at all like <i>grey</i> hawthorn, but preferred it green, +and he painted it green accordingly, as bright as he could. The +color is still left in every sheltered interstice of the foliage. He +had, in fact, hardly the choice of any other color; he might +have gilded the thorns, by way of allegorizing human life, but +if they were to be painted at all, they could hardly be painted +any tiling but green, and green all over. People would have +been apt to object to any pursuit of abstract harmonies of +color, which might have induced him to paint his hawthorn +blue.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLV.</span> In the same way, whenever the subject of the +sculpture was definite, its color was of necessity definite also; +and, in the hands of the Northern builders, it often became, +in consequence, rather the means of explaining and animating +the stories of their stone-work, than a matter of abstract decorative +science. Flowers were painted red, trees green, and +faces flesh-color; the result of the whole being often far more +entertaining than beautiful. And also, though in the lines of +the mouldings and the decorations of shafts or vaults, a richer +and more abstract method of coloring was adopted (aided by +the rapid development of the best principles of color in early +glass-painting), the vigorous depths of shadow in the Northern +sculpture confused the architect’s eye, compelling him to use +violent colors in the recesses, if these were to be seen as color +at all, and thus injured his perception of more delicate color +harmonies; so that in innumerable instances it becomes very +disputable whether monuments even of the best times were +improved by the color bestowed upon them, or the contrary. +But, in the South, the flatness and comparatively vague forms +of the sculpture, while they appeared to call for color in order +to enhance their interest, presented exactly the conditions +which would set it off to the greatest advantage; breadth of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page093"></a>93</span> +surface displaying even the most delicate tints in the lights, +and faintness of shadow joining with the most delicate and +pearly greys of color harmony; while the subject of the design +being in nearly all cases reduced to mere intricacy of ornamental +line, might be colored in any way the architect chose without +any loss of rationality. Where oak-leaves and roses were +carved into fresh relief and perfect bloom, it was necessary to +paint the one green and the other red; but in portions of +ornamentation where there was nothing which could be definitely +construed into either an oak-leaf or a rose, but a mere +labyrinth of beautiful lines, becoming here something like a +leaf, and there something like a flower, the whole tracery of +the sculpture might be left white, and grounded with gold or +blue, or treated in any other manner best harmonizing with the +colors around it. And as the necessarily feeble character of +the sculpture called for and was ready to display the best arrangements +of color, so the precious marbles in the architect’s +hands give him at once the best examples and the best means +of color. The best examples, for the tints of all natural stones +are as exquisite in quality as endless in change; and the best +means, for they are all permanent.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLVI.</span> Every motive thus concurred in urging him to the +study of chromatic decoration, and every advantage was given +him in the pursuit of it; and this at the very moment when, +as presently to be noticed, the <i>naďveté</i> of barbaric Christianity +could only be forcibly appealed to by the help of colored pictures: +so that, both externally and internally, the architectural +construction became partly merged in pictorial effect; and the +whole edifice is to be regarded less as a temple wherein to +pray, than as itself a Book of Common Prayer, a vast illuminated +missal, bound with alabaster instead of parchment, +studded with porphyry pillars instead of jewels, and written +within and without in letters of enamel and gold.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLVII.</span> <span class="sc">Law VII.</span> <i>That the impression of the architecture +is not to be dependent on size.</i> And now there is but one final +consequence to be deduced. The reader understands, I trust, +by this time, that the claims of these several parts of the building +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page094"></a>94</span> +upon his attention will depend upon their delicacy of design, +their perfection of color, their preciousness of material, +and their legendary interest. All these qualities are independent +of size, and partly even inconsistent with it. Neither delicacy +of surface sculpture, nor subtle gradations of color, can +be appreciated by the eye at a distance; and since we have +seen that our sculpture is generally to be only an inch or two +in depth, and that our coloring is in great part to be produced +with the soft tints and veins of natural stones, it will follow +necessarily that none of the parts of the building can be removed +far from the eye, and therefore that the whole mass of +it cannot be large. It is not even desirable that it should be +so; for the temper in which the mind addresses itself to contemplate +minute and beautiful details is altogether different +from that in which it submits itself to vague impressions of +space and size. And therefore we must not be disappointed, +but grateful, when we find all the best work of the building +concentrated within a space comparatively small; and that, for +the great cliff-like buttresses and mighty piers of the North, +shooting up into indiscernible height, we have here low walls +spread before us like the pages of a book, and shafts whose +capitals we may touch with our hand.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLVIII.</span> The due consideration of the principles above +stated will enable the traveller to judge with more candor and +justice of the architecture of St. Mark’s than usually it would +have been possible for him to do while under the influence of +the prejudices necessitated by familiarity with the very different +schools of Northern art. I wish it were in my power to lay also +before the general reader some exemplification of the manner in +which these strange principles are developed in the lovely building. +But exactly in proportion to the nobility of any work, +is the difficulty of conveying a just impression of it; and +wherever I have occasion to bestow high praise, there it is exactly +most dangerous for me to endeavor to illustrate my meaning, +except by reference to the work itself. And, in fact, the +principal reason why architectural criticism is at this day so far +behind all other, is the impossibility of illustrating the best +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page095"></a>95</span> +architecture faithfully. Of the various schools of painting, +examples are accessible to every one, and reference to the +works themselves is found sufficient for all purposes of criticism; +but there is nothing like St. Mark’s or the Ducal Palace +to be referred to in the National Gallery, and no faithful +illustration of them is possible on the scale of such a volume +as this. And it is exceedingly difficult on any scale. Nothing +is so rare in art, as far as my own experience goes, as a fair +illustration of architecture; <i>perfect</i> illustration of it does not +exist. For all good architecture depends upon the adaptation +of its chiselling to the effect at a certain distance from the eye; +and to render the peculiar confusion in the midst of order, and +uncertainty in the midst of decision, and mystery in the midst +of trenchant lines, which are the result of distance, together +with perfect expression of the peculiarities of the design, requires +the skill of the most admirable artist, devoted to the +work with the most severe conscientiousness, neither the skill +nor the determination having as yet been given to the subject. +And in the illustration of details, every building of any pretensions +to high architectural rank would require a volume of +plates, and those finished with extraordinary care. With respect +to the two buildings which are the principal subjects of +the present volume, St. Mark’s and the Ducal Palace, I have +found it quite impossible to do them the slightest justice by +any kind of portraiture; and I abandoned the endeavor in the +case of the latter with less regret, because in the new Crystal +Palace (as the poetical public insist upon calling it, though it +is neither a palace, nor of crystal) there will be placed, I believe, +a noble cast of one of its angles. As for St. Mark’s, the +effort was hopeless from the beginning. For its effect depends +not only upon the most delicate sculpture in every part, but, +as we have just stated, eminently on its color also, and that the +most subtle, variable, inexpressible color in the world,—the +color of glass, of transparent alabaster, of polished marble, and +lustrous gold. It would be easier to illustrate a crest of Scottish +mountain, with its purple heather and pale harebells at +their fullest and fairest, or a glade of Jura forest, with its floor +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page096"></a>96</span> +of anemone and moss, than a single portico of St. Mark’s. The +fragment of one of its archivolts, given at the bottom of the +opposite Plate, is not to illustrate the thing itself, but to illustrate +the impossibility of illustration.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLIX.</span> It is left a fragment, in order to get it on a larger +scale; and yet even on this scale it is too small to show the +sharp folds and points of the marble vine-leaves with sufficient +clearness. The ground of it is gold, the sculpture in the spandrils +is not more than an inch and a half deep, rarely so much. +It is in fact nothing more than an exquisite sketching of outlines +in marble, to about the same depth as in the Elgin frieze; +the draperies, however, being filled with close folds, in the +manner of the Byzantine pictures, folds especially necessary +here, as large masses could not be expressed in the shallow +sculpture without becoming insipid; but the disposition of +these folds is always most beautiful, and often opposed by +broad and simple spaces, like that obtained by the scroll in the +hand of the prophet, seen in the plate.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">VI.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter"> + <a name="plate_6"><img src="images/img096.jpg" width="393" height="650" alt="THE VINE TREE, AND IN SERVICE." title="THE VINE TREE, AND IN SERVICE." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">THE VINE TREE, AND IN SERVICE.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>The balls in the archivolt project considerably, and the interstices +between their interwoven bands of marble are filled +with colors like the illuminations of a manuscript; violet, crimson, +blue, gold, and green alternately: but no green is ever used +without an intermixture of blue pieces in the mosaic, nor any +blue without a little centre of pale green; sometimes only a +single piece of glass a quarter of an inch square, so subtle was +the feeling for color which was thus to be satisfied.<a name="FnAnchor_32" href="#Footnote_32"><span class="sp">32</span></a> The intermediate +circles have golden stars set on an azure ground, +varied in the same manner; and the small crosses seen in the +intervals are alternately blue and subdued scarlet, with two +small circles of white set in the golden ground above and beneath +them, each only about half an inch across (this work, remember, +being on the outside of the building, and twenty feet +above the eye), while the blue crosses have each a pale green +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page097"></a>97</span> +centre. Of all this exquisitely mingled hue, no plate, however +large or expensive, could give any adequate conception; but, +if the reader will supply in imagination to the engraving what +he supplies to a common woodcut of a group of flowers, the +decision of the respective merits of modern and of Byzantine +architecture may be allowed to rest on this fragment of St. +Mark’s alone.</p> + +<p>From the vine-leaves of that archivolt, though there is no +direct imitation of nature in them, but on the contrary a studious +subjection to architectural purpose more particularly to be +noticed hereafter, we may yet receive the same kind of pleasure +which we have in seeing true vine-leaves and wreathed +branches traced upon golden light; its stars upon their azure +ground ought to make us remember, as its builder remembered, +the stars that ascend and fall in the great arch of the sky: and +I believe that stars, and boughs, and leaves, and bright colors +are everlastingly lovely, and to be by all men beloved; and, +moreover, that church walls grimly seared with squared lines, +are not better nor nobler things than these. I believe the +man who designed and the men who delighted in that archivolt +to have been wise, happy, and holy. Let the reader look +back to the archivolt I have already given out of the streets of +London (<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#plate_13">Plate XIII.</a> Vol. I.), and see what there is in it to +make us any of the three. Let him remember that the men +who design such work as that call St. Mark’s a barbaric monstrosity, +and let him judge between us.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">L.</span> Some farther details of the St. Mark’s architecture, and +especially a general account of Byzantine capitals, and of the +principal ones at the angles of the church, will be found in the +following chapter.<a name="FnAnchor_33" href="#Footnote_33"><span class="sp">33</span></a> Here I must pass on to the second part of +our immediate subject, namely, the inquiry how far the exquisite +and varied ornament of St. Mark’s fits it, as a Temple, +for its sacred purpose, and would be applicable in the churches +of modern times. We have here evidently two questions: the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page098"></a>98</span> +first, that wide and continually agitated one, whether richness +of ornament be right in churches at all; the second, whether +the ornament of St. Mark’s be of a truly ecclesiastical and +Christian character.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LI.</span> In the first chapter of the “Seven Lamps of Architecture” +I endeavored to lay before the reader some reasons +why churches ought to be richly adorned, as being the only +places in which the desire of offering a portion of all precious +things to God could be legitimately expressed. But I left +wholly untouched the question: whether the church, as such, +stood in need of adornment, or would be better fitted for its +purposes by possessing it. This question I would now ask the +reader to deal with briefly and candidly.</p> + +<p>The chief difficulty in deciding it has arisen from its being +always presented to us in an unfair form. It is asked of us, or +we ask of ourselves, whether the sensation which we now feel +in passing from our own modern dwelling-house, through a +newly built street, into a cathedral of the thirteenth century, be +safe or desirable as a preparation for public worship. But we +never ask whether that sensation was at all calculated upon by +the builders of the cathedral.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LII.</span> Now I do not say that the contrast of the ancient +with the modern building, and the strangeness with which the +earlier architectural forms fall upon the eye, are at this day disadvantageous. +But I do say, that their effect, whatever it may +be, was entirely uncalculated upon by the old builder. He endeavored +to make his work beautiful, but never expected it to +be strange. And we incapacitate ourselves altogether from fair +judgment of its intention, if we forget that, when it was built, +it rose in the midst of other work fanciful and beautiful as itself; +that every dwelling-house in the middle ages was rich with +the same ornaments and quaint with the same grotesques which +fretted the porches or animated the gargoyles of the cathedral; +that what we now regard with doubt and wonder, as well as +with delight, was then the natural continuation, into the principal +edifice of the city, of a style which was familiar to every +eye throughout all its lanes and streets; and that the architect +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page099"></a>99</span> +had often no more idea of producing a peculiarly devotional +impression by the richest color and the most elaborate carving, +than the builder of a modern meeting-house has by his +whitewashed walls and square-cut casements.<a name="FnAnchor_34" href="#Footnote_34"><span class="sp">34</span></a></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LIII.</span> Let the reader fix this great fact well in his mind, +and then follow out its important corollaries. We attach, in +modern days, a kind of sacredness to the pointed arch and the +groined roof, because, while we look habitually out of square +windows and live under flat ceilings, we meet with the more +beautiful forms in the ruins of our abbeys. But when those +abbeys were built, the pointed arch was used for every shop +door, as well as for that of the cloister, and the feudal baron +and freebooter feasted, as the monk sang, under vaulted roofs; +not because the vaulting was thought especially appropriate to +either the revel or psalm, but because it was then the form in +which a strong roof was easiest built. We have destroyed the +goodly architecture of our cities; we have substituted one +wholly devoid of beauty or meaning; and then we reason respecting +the strange effect upon our minds of the fragments +which, fortunately, we have left in our churches, as if those +churches had always been designed to stand out in strong relief +from all the buildings around them, and Gothic architecture +had always been, what it is now, a religious language, like +Monkish Latin. Most readers know, if they would arouse their +knowledge, that this was not so; but they take no pains to reason +the matter out: they abandon themselves drowsily to the +impression that Gothic is a peculiarly ecclesiastical style; and +sometimes, even, that richness in church ornament is a condition +or furtherance of the Romish religion. Undoubtedly it +has become so in modern times: for there being no beauty in +our recent architecture, and much in the remains of the past, +and these remains being almost exclusively ecclesiastical, the +High Church and Romanist parties have not been slow in +availing themselves of the natural instincts which were deprived +of all food except from this source; and have willingly +promulgated the theory, that because all the good architecture +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page100"></a>100</span> +that is now left is expressive of High Church or Romanist +doctrines, all good architecture ever has been and must be so,—a +piece of absurdity from which, though here and there a +country clergyman may innocently believe it, I hope the common +sense of the nation will soon manfully quit itself. It +needs but little inquiry into the spirit of the past, to ascertain +what, once for all, I would desire here clearly and forcibly to +assert, that wherever Christian church architecture has been +good and lovely, it has been merely the perfect development +of the common dwelling-house architecture of the period; +that when the pointed arch was used in the street, it was used +in the church; when the round arch was used in the street, it +was used in the church; when the pinnacle was set over the +garret window, it was set over the belfry tower; when the flat +roof was used for the drawing-room, it was used for the nave. +There is no sacredness in round arches, nor in pointed; none +in pinnacles, nor in buttresses; none in pillars, nor in traceries. +Churches were larger than most other buildings, because they +had to hold more people; they were more adorned than most +other buildings, because they were safer from violence, and +were the fitting subjects of devotional offering: but they were +never built in any separate, mystical, and religious style; they +were built in the manner that was common and familiar to +everybody at the time. The flamboyant traceries that adorn +the façade of Rouen Cathedral had once their fellows in every +window of every house in the market-place; the sculptures +that adorn the porches of St. Mark’s had once their match on +the walls of every palace on the Grand Canal; and the only +difference between the church and the dwelling-house was, that +there existed a symbolical meaning in the distribution of the +parts of all buildings meant for worship, and that the painting +or sculpture was, in the one case, less frequently of profane +subject than in the other. A more severe distinction cannot +be drawn: for secular history was constantly introduced into +church architecture; and sacred history or allusion generally +formed at least one half of the ornament of the dwelling-house.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LIV.</span> This fact is so important, and so little considered, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page101"></a>101</span> +that I must be pardoned for dwelling upon it at some length, +and accurately marking the limits of the assertion I have +made. I do not mean that every dwelling-house of medićval +cities was as richly adorned and as exquisite in composition as +the fronts of their cathedrals, but that they presented features +of the same kind, often in parts quite as beautiful; and that +the churches were not separated by any change of style from +the buildings round them, as they are now, but were merely +more finished and full examples of a universal style, rising out +of the confused streets of the city as an oak tree does out of +an oak copse, not differing in leafage, but in size and symmetry. +Of course the quainter and smaller forms of turret +and window necessary for domestic service, the inferior materials, +often wood instead of stone, and the fancy of the inhabitants, +which had free play in the design, introduced oddnesses, +vulgarities, and variations into house architecture, which +were prevented by the traditions, the wealth, and the skill of +the monks and freemasons; while, on the other hand, conditions +of vaulting, buttressing, and arch and tower building, +were necessitated by the mere size of the cathedral, of which it +would be difficult to find examples elsewhere. But there was +nothing more in these features than the adaptation of mechanical +skill to vaster requirements; there was nothing intended +to be, or felt to be, especially ecclesiastical in any of the +forms so developed; and the inhabitants of every village and +city, when they furnished funds for the decoration of their +church, desired merely to adorn the house of God as they +adorned their own, only a little more richly, and with a somewhat +graver temper in the subjects of the carving. Even this +last difference is not always clearly discernible: all manner of +ribaldry occurs in the details of the ecclesiastical buildings of +the North, and at the time when the best of them were built, +every man’s house was a kind of temple; a figure of the Madonna, +or of Christ, almost always occupied a niche over the +principal door, and the Old Testament histories were curiously +interpolated amidst the grotesques of the brackets and the +gables.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page102"></a>102</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LV.</span> And the reader will now perceive that the question +respecting fitness of church decoration rests in reality on +totally different grounds from those commonly made foundations +of argument. So long as our streets are walled with barren +brick, and our eyes rest continually, in our daily life, on +objects utterly ugly, or of inconsistent and meaningless design, +it may be a doubtful question whether the faculties of eye and +mind which are capable of perceiving beauty, having been left +without food during the whole of our active life, should be +suddenly feasted upon entering a place of worship; and color, +and music, and sculpture should delight the senses, and stir the +curiosity of men unaccustomed to such appeal, at the moment +when they are required to compose themselves for acts of devotion;—this, +I say, may be a doubtful question: but it cannot +be a question at all, that if once familiarized with beautiful +form and color, and accustomed to see in whatever human +hands have executed for us, even for the lowest services, evidence +of noble thought and admirable skill, we shall desire to +see this evidence also in whatever is built or labored for the +house of prayer; that the absence of the accustomed loveliness +would disturb instead of assisting devotion; and that we should +feel it as vain to ask whether, with our own house full of +goodly craftsmanship, we should worship God in a house destitute +of it, as to ask whether a pilgrim whose day’s journey had +led him through fair woods and by sweet waters, must at evening +turn aside into some barren place to pray.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LVI.</span> Then the second question submitted to us, whether +the ornament of St. Mark’s be truly ecclesiastical and Christian, +is evidently determined together with the first; for, if +not only the permission of ornament at all, but the beautiful +execution of it, be dependent on our being familiar with it in +daily life, it will follow that no style of noble architecture <i>can</i> +be exclusively ecclesiastical. It must be practised in the dwelling +before it be perfected in the church, and it is the test of a +noble style that it shall be applicable to both; for if essentially +false and ignoble, it may be made to fit the dwelling-house, but +never can be made to fit the church: and just as there are +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page103"></a>103</span> +many principles which will bear the light of the world’s opinion, +yet will not bear the light of God’s word, while all principles +which will bear the test of Scripture will also bear that of +practice, so in architecture there are many forms which expediency +and convenience may apparently justify, or at least +render endurable, in daily use, which will yet be found offensive +the moment they are used for church service; but there +are none good for church service, which cannot bear daily use. +Thus the Renaissance manner of building is a convenient style +for dwelling-houses, but the natural sense of all religious men +causes them to turn from it with pain when it has been used in +churches; and this has given rise to the popular idea that the +Roman style is good for houses and the Gothic for churches. +This is not so; the Roman style is essentially base, and we can +bear with it only so long as it gives us convenient windows and +spacious rooms; the moment the question of convenience is set +aside, and the expression or beauty of the style is tried by its +being used in a church, we find it fail. But because the +Gothic and Byzantine styles are fit for churches they are not +therefore less fit for dwellings. They are in the highest sense +fit and good for both, nor were they ever brought to perfection +except where they were used for both.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LVII.</span> But there is one character of Byzantine work which, +according to the time at which it was employed, may be considered +as either fitting or unfitting it for distinctly ecclesiastical +purposes; I mean the essentially pictorial character of its +decoration. We have already seen what large surfaces it +leaves void of bold architectural features, to be rendered interesting +merely by surface ornament or sculpture. In this respect +Byzantine work differs essentially from pure Gothic +styles, which are capable of filling every vacant space by features +purely architectural, and may be rendered, if we please, +altogether independent of pictorial aid. A Gothic church may +be rendered impressive by mere successions of arches, accumulations +of niches, and entanglements of tracery. But a Byzantine +church requires expression and interesting decoration over +vast plane surfaces,—decoration which becomes noble only by +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page104"></a>104</span> +becoming pictorial; that is to say, by representing natural objects,—men, +animals, or flowers. And, therefore, the question +whether the Byzantine style be fit for church service in +modern days, becomes involved in the inquiry, what effect +upon religion has been or may yet be produced by pictorial art, +and especially by the art of the mosaicist?</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LVIII.</span> The more I have examined the subject the more +dangerous I have found it to dogmatize respecting the character +of the art which is likely, at a given period, to be most useful +to the cause of religion. One great fact first meets me. I +cannot answer for the experience of others, but I never yet met +with a Christian whose heart was thoroughly set upon the +world to come, and, so far as human judgment could pronounce, +perfect and right before God, who cared about art at +all. I have known several very noble Christian men who loved +it intensely, but in them there was always traceable some entanglement +of the thoughts with the matters of this world, +causing them to fall into strange distresses and doubts, and +often leading them into what they themselves would confess to +be errors in understanding, or even failures in duty. I do not +say that these men may not, many of them, be in very deed +nobler than those whose conduct is more consistent; they may +be more tender in the tone of all their feelings, and farther-sighted +in soul, and for that very reason exposed to greater +trials and fears, than those whose hardier frame and naturally +narrower vision enable them with less effort to give their hands +to God and walk with Him. But still, the general fact is indeed +so, that I have never known a man who seemed altogether +right and calm in faith, who seriously cared about art; +and when casually moved by it, it is quite impossible to say +beforehand by what class of art this impression will on such +men be made. Very often it is by a theatrical commonplace, +more frequently still by false sentiment. I believe that the +four painters who have had, and still have, the most influence, +such as it is, on the ordinary Protestant Christian mind, are +Carlo Dolci, Guercino, Benjamin West, and John Martin. +Raphael, much as he is talked about, is, I believe in very fact, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page105"></a>105</span> +rarely looked at by religious people; much less his master, or +any of the truly great religious men of old. But a smooth +Magdalen of Carlo Dolci with a tear on each cheek, or a Guercino +Christ or St. John, or a Scripture illustration of West’s, +or a black cloud with a flash of lightning in it of Martin’s, +rarely fails of being verily, often deeply, felt for the time.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LIX.</span> There are indeed many very evident reasons for this; +the chief one being that, as all truly great religious painters +have been hearty Romanists, there are none of their works +which do not embody, in some portions of them, definitely +Romanist doctrines. The Protestant mind is instantly struck +by these, and offended by them, so as to be incapable of entering, +or at least rendered indisposed to enter, farther into the +heart of the work, or to the discovering those deeper characters +of it, which are not Romanist, but Christian, in the everlasting +sense and power of Christianity. Thus most Protestants, +entering for the first time a Paradise of Angelico, would +be irrevocably offended by finding that the first person the +painter wished them to speak to was St. Dominic; and would +retire from such a heaven as speedily as possible,—not giving +themselves time to discover, that whether dressed in black, or +white, or grey, and by whatever name in the calendar they +might be called, the figures that filled that Angelico heaven +were indeed more saintly, and pure, and full of love in every +feature, than any that the human hand ever traced before or +since. And thus Protestantism, having foolishly sought for +the little help it requires at the hand of painting from the +men who embodied no Catholic doctrine, has been reduced to +receive it from those who believed neither Catholicism nor +Protestantism, but who read the Bible in search of the picturesque. +We thus refuse to regard the painters who passed +their lives in prayer, but are perfectly ready to be taught by +those who spent them in debauchery. There is perhaps no +more popular Protestant picture than Salvator’s “Witch of +Endor,” of which the subject was chosen by the painter simply +because, under the names of Saul and the Sorceress, he could +paint a captain of banditti, and a Neapolitan hag.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page106"></a>106</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LX.</span> The fact seems to be that strength of religious feeling +is capable of supplying for itself whatever is wanting in +the rudest suggestions of art, and will either, on the one hand, +purify what is coarse into inoffensiveness, or, on the other, +raise what is feeble into impressiveness. Probably all art, as +such, is unsatisfactory to it; and the effort which it makes to +supply the void will be induced rather by association and accident +than by the real merit of the work submitted to it. The +likeness to a beloved friend, the correspondence with a habitual +conception, the freedom from any strange or offensive particularity, +and, above all, an interesting choice of incident, will +win admiration for a picture when the noblest efforts of religious +imagination would otherwise fail of power. How much +more, when to the quick capacity of emotion is joined a childish +trust that the picture does indeed represent a fact! it +matters little whether the fact be well or ill told; the moment +we believe the picture to be true, we complain little of its being +ill-painted. Let it be considered for a moment, whether the +child, with its colored print, inquiring eagerly and gravely +which is Joseph, and which is Benjamin, is not more capable +of receiving a strong, even a sublime, impression from the rude +symbol which it invests with reality by its own effort, than the +connoisseur who admires the grouping of the three figures in +Raphael’s “Telling of the Dreams;” and whether also, when +the human mind is in right religious tone, it has not always +this childish power—I speak advisedly, this power—a noble +one, and possessed more in youth than at any period of after +life, but always, I think, restored in a measure by religion—of +raising into sublimity and reality the rudest symbol which is +given to it of accredited truth.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXI.</span> Ever since the period of the Renaissance, however, +the truth has not been accredited; the painter of religious subject +is no longer regarded as the narrator of a fact, but as the +inventor of an idea.<a name="FnAnchor_35" href="#Footnote_35"><span class="sp">35</span></a> We do not severely criticise the manner +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page107"></a>107</span> +in which a true history is told, but we become harsh investigators +of the faults of an invention; so that in the modern religious +mind, the capacity of emotion, which renders judgment +uncertain, is joined with an incredulity which renders it +severe; and this ignorant emotion, joined with ignorant observance +of faults, is the worst possible temper in which any +art can be regarded, but more especially sacred art. For as religious +faith renders emotion facile, so also it generally renders +expression simple; that is to say a truly religious painter will +very often be ruder, quainter, simpler, and more faulty in his +manner of working, than a great irreligious one. And it was +in this artless utterance, and simple acceptance, on the part of +both the workman and the beholder, that all noble schools of +art have been cradled; it is in them that they <i>must</i> be cradled +to the end of time. It is impossible to calculate the enormous +loss of power in modern days, owing to the imperative requirement +that art shall be methodical and learned: for as long as +the constitution of this world remains unaltered, there will be +more intellect in it than there can be education; there will be +many men capable of just sensation and vivid invention, who +never will have time to cultivate or polish their natural +powers. And all unpolished power is in the present state of +society lost; in other things as well as in the arts, but in the +arts especially: nay, in nine cases out of ten, people mistake +the polish for the power. Until a man has passed through a +course of academy studentship, and can draw in an approved +manner with French chalk, and knows foreshortening, and +perspective, and something of anatomy, we do not think he +can possibly be an artist; what is worse, we are very apt to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page108"></a>108</span> +think that we can <i>make</i> him an artist by teaching him anatomy, +and how to draw with French chalk; whereas the real +gift in him is utterly independent of all such accomplishments: +and I believe there are many peasants on every estate, and +laborers in every town, of Europe, who have imaginative +powers of a high order, which nevertheless cannot be used for +our good, because we do not choose to look at anything but +what is expressed in a legal and scientific way. I believe there +is many a village mason who, set to carve a series of Scripture +or any other histories, would find many a strange and noble +fancy in his head, and set it down, roughly enough indeed, but +in a way well worth our having. But we are too grand to let +him do this, or to set up his clumsy work when it is done; and +accordingly the poor stone-mason is kept hewing stones smooth +at the corners, and we build our church of the smooth square +stones, and consider ourselves wise.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXII.</span> I shall pursue this subject farther in another place; +but I allude to it here in order to meet the objections of those +persons who suppose the mosaics of St. Mark’s, and others of +the period, to be utterly barbarous as representations of religious +history. Let it be granted that they are so; we are not +for that reason to suppose they were ineffective in religious +teaching. I have above spoken of the whole church as a great +Book of Common Prayer; the mosaics were its illuminations, +and the common people of the time were taught their Scripture +history by means of them, more impressively perhaps, +though far less fully, than ours are now by Scripture reading. +They had no other Bible, and—Protestants do not often enough +consider this—<i>could</i> have no other. We find it somewhat difficult +to furnish our poor with printed Bibles; consider what +the difficulty must have been when they could be given only +in manuscript. The walls of the church necessarily became +the poor man’s Bible, and a picture was more easily read upon +the walls than a chapter. Under this view, and considering +them merely as the Bible pictures of a great nation in its +youth, I shall finally invite the reader to examine the connexion +and subjects of these mosaics; but in the meantime I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page109"></a>109</span> +have to deprecate the idea of their execution being in any +sense barbarous. I have conceded too much to modern prejudice, +in permitting them to be rated as mere childish efforts at +colored portraiture: they have characters in them of a very +noble kind; nor are they by any means devoid of the remains +of the science of the later Roman empire. The character of +the features is almost always fine, the expression stern and +quiet, and very solemn, the attitudes and draperies always majestic +in the single figures, and in those of the groups which +are not in violent action;<a name="FnAnchor_36" href="#Footnote_36"><span class="sp">36</span></a> while the bright coloring and disregard +of chiaroscuro cannot be regarded as imperfections, since +they are the only means by which the figures could be rendered +clearly intelligible in the distance and darkness of the +vaulting. So far am I from considering them barbarous, that +I believe of all works of religious art whatsoever, these, and +such as these, have been the most effective. They stand exactly +midway between the debased manufacture of wooden and +waxen images which is the support of Romanist idolatry all +over the world, and the great art which leads the mind away +from the religious subject to the art itself. Respecting neither +of these branches of human skill is there, nor can there be, any +question. The manufacture of puppets, however influential on +the Romanist mind of Europe, is certainly not deserving of +consideration as one of the fine arts. It matters literally nothing +to a Romanist what the image he worships is like. Take +the vilest doll that is screwed together in a cheap toy-shop, +trust it to the keeping of a large family of children, let it be +beaten about the house by them till it is reduced to a shapeless +block, then dress it in a satin frock and declare it to have fallen +from heaven, and it will satisfactorily answer all Romanist purposes. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page110"></a>110</span> +Idolatry,<a name="FnAnchor_37" href="#Footnote_37"><span class="sp">37</span></a> it cannot be too often repeated, is no encourager +of the fine arts. But, on the other hand, the highest +branches of the fine arts are no encouragers either of idolatry +or of religion. No picture of Leonardo’s or Raphael’s, no +statue of Michael Angelo’s, has ever been worshipped, except +by accident. Carelessly regarded, and by ignorant persons, +there is less to attract in them than in commoner works. Carefully +regarded, and by intelligent persons, they instantly divert +the mind from their subject to their art, so that admiration +takes the place of devotion. I do not say that the Madonna di +S. Sisto, the Madonna del Cardellino, and such others, have not +had considerable religious influence on certain minds, but I say +that on the mass of the people of Europe they have had none +whatever; while by far the greater number of the most celebrated +statues and pictures are never regarded with any other +feelings than those of admiration of human beauty, or reverence +for human skill. Effective religious art, therefore, has +always lain, and I believe must always lie, between the two extremes—of +barbarous idol-fashioning on one side, and magnificent +craftsmanship on the other. It consists partly in missal +painting, and such book-illustrations as, since the invention +of printing, have taken its place; partly in glass-painting; +partly in rude sculpture on the outsides of buildings; partly in +mosaics; and partly in the frescoes and tempera pictures +which, in the fourteenth century, formed the link between this +powerful, because imperfect, religious art, and the impotent +perfection which succeeded it.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXIII.</span> But of all these branches the most important are +the inlaying and mosaic of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, +represented in a central manner by these mosaics of St. Mark’s. +Missal-painting could not, from its minuteness, produce the +same sublime impressions, and frequently merged itself in mere +ornamentation of the page. Modern book-illustration has been +so little skilful as hardly to be worth naming. Sculpture, +though in some positions it becomes of great importance, has +always a tendency to lose itself in architectural effect; and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page111"></a>111</span> +was probably seldom deciphered, in all its parts, by the common +people, still less the traditions annealed in the purple +burning of the painted window. Finally, tempera pictures +and frescoes were often of limited size or of feeble color. But +the great mosaics of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries covered +the walls and roofs of the churches with inevitable lustre; +they could not be ignored or escaped from; their size rendered +them majestic, their distance mysterious, their color attractive. +They did not pass into confused or inferior decorations; neither +were they adorned with any evidences of skill or science, such +as might withdraw the attention from their subjects. They +were before the eyes of the devotee at every interval of his +worship; vast shadowings forth of scenes to whose realization +he looked forward, or of spirits whose presence he invoked. +And the man must be little capable of receiving a religious +impression of any kind, who, to this day, does not acknowledge +some feeling of awe, as he looks up at the pale countenances +and ghastly forms which haunt the dark roofs of the Baptisteries +of Parma and Florence, or remains altogether untouched +by the majesty of the colossal images of apostles, and +of Him who sent apostles, that look down from the darkening +gold of the domes of Venice and Pisa.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXIV.</span> I shall, in a future portion of this work, endeavor +to discover what probabilities there are of our being able to +use this kind of art in modern churches; but at present it remains +for us to follow out the connexion of the subjects represented +in St. Mark’s so as to fulfil our immediate object, and +form an adequate conception of the feelings of its builders, +and of its uses to those for whom it was built.</p> + +<p>Now there is one circumstance to which I must, in the outset, +direct the reader’s special attention, as forming a notable +distinction between ancient and modern days. Our eyes are +now familiar and wearied with writing; and if an inscription +is put upon a building, unless it be large and clear, it is ten to +one whether we ever trouble ourselves to decipher it. But +the old architect was sure of readers. He knew that every one +would be glad to decipher all that he wrote; that they would +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page112"></a>112</span> +rejoice in possessing the vaulted leaves of his stone manuscript; +and that the more he gave them, the more grateful would the +people be. We must take some pains, therefore, when we +enter St. Mark’s, to read all that is inscribed, or we shall not +penetrate into the feeling either of the builder or of his times.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXV.</span> A large atrium or portico is attached to two sides of +the church, a space which was especially reserved for unbaptized +persons and new converts. It was thought right that, +before their baptism, these persons should be led to contemplate +the great facts of the Old Testament history; the history +of the Fall of Man, and of the lives of Patriarchs up to the +period of the Covenant by Moses: the order of the subjects in +this series being very nearly the same as in many Northern +churches, but significantly closing with the Fall of the Manna, +in order to mark to the catechumen the insufficiency of the +Mosaic covenant for salvation,—“Our fathers did eat manna +in the wilderness, and are dead,”—and to turn his thoughts to +the true Bread of which that manna was the type.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXVI.</span> Then, when after his baptism he was permitted to +enter the church, over its main entrance he saw, on looking +back, a mosaic of Christ enthroned, with the Virgin on one +side and St. Mark on the other, in attitudes of adoration. +Christ is represented as holding a book open upon his knee, on +which is written: “<span class="sc">I am the door; by me if any man enter +in, he shall be saved.</span>” On the red marble moulding which +surrounds the mosaic is written: “<span class="sc">I am the gate of life; +Let those who are mine enter by me.</span>” Above, on the red +marble fillet which forms the cornice of the west end of the +church, is written, with reference to the figure of Christ below: +“<span class="sc">Who he was, and from whom he came, and at what +price he redeemed thee, and why he made thee, and gave +thee all things, do thou consider.</span>”</p> + +<p>Now observe, this was not to be seen and read only by the +catechumen when he first entered the church; every one who +at any time entered, was supposed to look back and to read +this writing; their daily entrance into the church was thus +made a daily memorial of their first entrance into the spiritual +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page113"></a>113</span> +Church; and we shall find that the rest of the book which was +opened for them upon its walls continually led them in the +same manner to regard the visible temple as in every part a +type of the invisible Church of God.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXVII.</span> Therefore the mosaic of the first dome, which is +over the head of the spectator as soon as he has entered by +the great door (that door being the type of baptism), represents +the effusion of the Holy Spirit, as the first consequence +and seal of the entrance into the Church of God. In the +centre of the cupola is the Dove, enthroned in the Greek manner, +as the Lamb is enthroned, when the Divinity of the +Second and Third Persons is to be insisted upon together with +their peculiar offices. From the central symbol of the Holy +Spirit twelve streams of fire descend upon the heads of the +twelve apostles, who are represented standing around the +dome; and below them, between the windows which are +pierced in its walls, are represented, by groups of two figures +for each separate people, the various nations who heard the +apostles speak, at Pentecost, every man in his own tongue. +Finally, on the vaults, at the four angles which support the +cupola, are pictured four angels, each bearing a tablet upon +the end of a rod in his hand: on each of the tablets of the +three first angels is inscribed the word “Holy;” on that of the +fourth is written “Lord;” and the beginning of the hymn +being thus put into the mouths of the four angels, the words +of it are continued around the border of the dome, uniting +praise to God for the gift of the Spirit, with welcome to the +redeemed soul received into His Church:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poem sc"> + <p>“Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God of Sabaoth:</p> + <p style="padding-left: 1.5em; ">Heaven and Earth are full of thy Glory.</p> + <p style="padding-left: 3em; ">Hosanna in the Highest:</p> +<p style="margin-left: 3em; ">Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>And observe in this writing that the convert is required to +regard the outpouring of the Holy Spirit especially as a work +of <i>sanctification</i>. It is the <i>holiness</i> of God manifested in the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page114"></a>114</span> +giving of His Spirit to sanctify those who had become His +children, which the four angels celebrate in their ceaseless +praise; and it is on account of this holiness that the heaven +and earth are said to be full of His glory.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXVIII.</span> After thus hearing praise rendered to God by the +angels for the salvation of the newly-entered soul, it was +thought fittest that the worshipper should be led to contemplate, +in the most comprehensive forms possible, the past evidence +and the future hopes of Christianity, as summed up in +three facts without assurance of which all faith is vain; +namely that Christ died, that He rose again, and that He ascended +into heaven, there to prepare a place for His elect. +On the vault between the first and second cupolas are represented +the crucifixion and resurrection of Christ, with the +usual series of intermediate scenes,—the treason of Judas, the +judgment of Pilate, the crowning with thorns, the descent into +Hades, the visit of the women to the sepulchre, and the apparition +to Mary Magdalene. The second cupola itself, which is +the central and principal one of the church, is entirely occupied +by the subject of the Ascension. At the highest point of it +Christ is represented as rising into the blue heaven, borne +up by four angels, and throned upon a rainbow, the type of +reconciliation. Beneath him, the twelve apostles are seen +upon the Mount of Olives, with the Madonna, and, in the midst +of them, the two men in white apparel who appeared at the +moment of the Ascension, above whom, as uttered by them, +are inscribed the words, “Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye +gazing up into heaven? This Christ, the Son of God, as He +is taken from you, shall so come, the arbiter of the earth, +trusted to do judgment and justice.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXIX.</span> Beneath the circle of the apostles, between the +windows of the cupola, are represented the Christian virtues, +as sequent upon the crucifixion of the flesh, and the spiritual +ascension together with Christ. Beneath them, on the vaults +which support the angles of the cupola, are placed the four +Evangelists, because on their evidence our assurance of the +fact of the ascension rests; and, finally, beneath their feet, as +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page115"></a>115</span> +symbols of the sweetness and fulness of the Gospel which they +declared, are represented the four rivers of Paradise, Pison, +Gihon, Tigris, and Euphrates.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXX.</span> The third cupola, that over the altar, represents the +witness of the Old Testament to Christ; showing him enthroned +in its centre, and surrounded by the patriarchs and +prophets. But this dome was little seen by the people;<a name="FnAnchor_38" href="#Footnote_38"><span class="sp">38</span></a> their +contemplation was intended to be chiefly drawn to that of the +centre of the church, and thus the mind of the worshipper was +at once fixed on the main groundwork and hope of Christianity,—“Christ +is risen,” and “Christ shall come.” If he had time +to explore the minor lateral chapels and cupolas, he could find +in them the whole series of New Testament history, the events +of the Life of Christ, and the Apostolic miracles in their order, +and finally the scenery of the Book of Revelation;<a name="FnAnchor_39" href="#Footnote_39"><span class="sp">39</span></a> but if he +only entered, as often the common people do to this hour, +snatching a few moments before beginning the labor of the day +to offer up an ejaculatory prayer, and advanced but from the +main entrance as far as the altar screen, all the splendor of the +glittering nave and variegated dome, if they smote upon his +heart, as they might often, in strange contrast with his reed +cabin among the shallows of the lagoon, smote upon it only +that they might proclaim the two great messages—“Christ is +risen,” and “Christ shall come.” Daily, as the white cupolas +rose like wreaths of sea-foam in the dawn, while the shadowy +campanile and frowning palace were still withdrawn into the +night, they rose with the Easter Voice of Triumph,—“Christ +is risen;” and daily, as they looked down upon the tumult of +the people, deepening and eddying in the wide square that +opened from their feet to the sea, they uttered above them the +sentence of warning,—“Christ shall come.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXI.</span> And this thought may surely dispose the reader to +look with some change of temper upon the gorgeous building +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page116"></a>116</span> +and wild blazonry of that shrine of St. Mark’s. He now perceives +that it was in the hearts of the old Venetian people far +more than a place of worship. It was at once a type of the +Redeemed Church of God, and a scroll for the written word of +God. It was to be to them, both an image of the Bride, all +glorious within, her clothing of wrought gold; and the actual +Table of the Law and the Testimony, written within and without. +And whether honored as the Church or as the Bible, was +it not fitting that neither the gold nor the crystal should be +spared in the adornment of it; that, as the symbol of the +Bride, the building of the wall thereof should be of jasper,<a name="FnAnchor_40" href="#Footnote_40"><span class="sp">40</span></a> +and the foundations of it garnished with all manner of precious +stones; and that, as the channel of the World, that triumphant +utterance of the Psalmist should be true of it,—“I have rejoiced +in the way of thy testimonies, as much as in all riches?” +And shall we not look with changed temper down the long +perspective of St. Mark’s Place towards the sevenfold gates +and glowing domes of its temple, when we know with what +solemn purpose the shafts of it were lifted above the pavement +of the populous square? Men met there from all countries of +the earth, for traffic or for pleasure; but, above the crowd +swaying for ever to and fro in the restlessness of avarice or +thirst of delight, was seen perpetually the glory of the temple, +attesting to them, whether they would hear or whether they +would forbear, that there was one treasure which the merchantmen +might buy without a price, and one delight better than all +others, in the word and the statutes of God. Not in the wantonness +of wealth, not in vain ministry to the desire of the +eyes or the pride of life, were those marbles hewn into transparent +strength, and those arches arrayed in the colors of the +iris. There is a message written in the dyes of them, that +once was written in blood; and a sound in the echoes of their +vaults, that one day shall fill the vault of heaven,—“He shall +return, to do judgment and justice.” The strength of Venice +was given her, so long as she remembered this: her destruction +found her when she had forgotten this; and it found her +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page117"></a>117</span> +irrevocably, because she forgot it without excuse. Never had +city a more glorious Bible. Among the nations of the North, +a rude and shadowy sculpture filled their temples with confused +and hardly legible imagery; but, for her, the skill and +the treasures of the East had gilded every letter, and illumined +every page, till the Book-Temple shone from afar off like the +star of the Magi. In other cities, the meetings of the people +were often in places withdrawn from religious association, subject +to violence and to change; and on the grass of the dangerous +rampart, and in the dust of the troubled street, there +were deeds done and counsels taken, which, if we cannot justify, +we may sometimes forgive. But the sins of Venice, +whether in her palace or in her piazza, were done with the +Bible at her right hand. The walls on which its testimony +was written were separated but by a few inches of marble from +those which guarded the secrets of her councils, or confined the +victims of her policy. And when in her last hours she threw +off all shame and all restraint, and the great square of the city +became filled with the madness of the whole earth, be it remembered +how much her sin was greater, because it was done +in the face of the House of God, burning with the letters of +His Law. Mountebank and masquer laughed their laugh, and +went their way; and a silence has followed them, not unforetold; +for amidst them all, through century after century of +gathering vanity and festering guilt, that white dome of St. +Mark’s had uttered in the dead ear of Venice, “Know thou, +that for all these things God will bring thee into judgment.”</p> + + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_19" href="#FnAnchor_19"><span class="fn">19</span></a> Acts, xiii. 13; xv. 38, 39.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_20" href="#FnAnchor_20"><span class="fn">20</span></a> The reader who desires to investigate it may consult Galliciolli, “Delle +Memorie Venete” (Venice, 1795), tom. ii. p. 332, and the authorities quoted +by him.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_21" href="#FnAnchor_21"><span class="fn">21</span></a> Venice, 1761, tom. i. p. 126.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_22" href="#FnAnchor_22"><span class="fn">22</span></a> St. Mark’s Place, “partly covered by turf, and planted with a few +trees; and on account of its pleasant aspect called Brollo or Broglio, that +is to say, Garden.” The canal passed through it, over which is built the +bridge of the Malpassi, Galliciolli, lib. i. cap. viii.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_23" href="#FnAnchor_23"><span class="fn">23</span></a> My authorities for this statement are given below, in the chapter on +the Ducal Palace.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_24" href="#FnAnchor_24"><span class="fn">24</span></a> In the Chronicles, “Sancti Marci Ducalis Cappella.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_25" href="#FnAnchor_25"><span class="fn">25</span></a> “To God the Lord, the glorious Virgin Annunciate, and the Protector +St. Mark.”—<i>Corner</i>, p. 14. It is needless to trouble the reader with +the various authorities for the above statements: I have consulted the best. +The previous inscription once existing on the church itself:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="ind05">“Anno milleno transacto bisque trigeno</p> +<p>Desuper undecimo fuit facta primo,”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>is no longer to be seen, and is conjectured by Corner, with much probability, +to have perished “in qualche ristauro.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_26" href="#FnAnchor_26"><span class="fn">26</span></a> Signed Bartolomeus Bozza, 1634, 1647, 1656, &c.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_27" href="#FnAnchor_27"><span class="fn">27</span></a> Guida di Venezia, p. 6.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_28" href="#FnAnchor_28"><span class="fn">28</span></a> The mere warmth of St. Mark’s in winter, which is much greater than +that of the other two churches above named, must, however, be taken into +consideration, as one of the most efficient causes of its being then more +frequented.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_29" href="#FnAnchor_29"><span class="fn">29</span></a> I said above that the larger number of the devotees entered by the +“Arabian” porch; the porch, that is to say, on the north side of the church, +remarkable for its rich Arabian archivolt, and through which access is gained +immediately to the northern transept. The reason is, that in that transept +is the chapel of the Madonna, which has a greater attraction for the Venetians +than all the rest of the church besides. The old builders kept their +images of the Virgin subordinate to those of Christ; but modern Romanism +has retrograded from theirs, and the most glittering portions of the whole +church are the two recesses behind this lateral altar, covered with silver +hearts dedicated to the Virgin.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_30" href="#FnAnchor_30"><span class="fn">30</span></a> Vide “Builder,” for October, 1851.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_31" href="#FnAnchor_31"><span class="fn">31</span></a> “Quivi presso si vedi una colonna di tanta bellezza e finezza che e riputato +<i>piutosto gioia che pietra</i>.”—<i>Sansovino</i>, of the verd-antique pillar in San +Jacomo dell’ Orio. A remarkable piece of natural history and moral philosophy, +connected with this subject, will be found in the second chapter of +our third volume, quoted from the work of a Florentine architect of the +fifteenth century.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_32" href="#FnAnchor_32"><span class="fn">32</span></a> The fact is, that no two tesserć of the glass are exactly of the same tint, +the greens being all varied with blues, the blues of different depths, the reds +of different clearness, so that the effect of each mass of color is full of variety, +like the stippled color of a fruit piece.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_33" href="#FnAnchor_33"><span class="fn">33</span></a> Some illustration, also, of what was said in § <span class="scs">XXXIII.</span> above, respecting +the value of the shafts of St. Mark’s as large jewels, will be found in <a href="#app_9">Appendix +9</a>, “Shafts of St. Mark’s.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_34" href="#FnAnchor_34"><span class="fn">34</span></a> See the farther notice of this subject in Vol. III. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30756/30756-h/30756-h.htm#chap_4">Chap. IV.</a></p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_35" href="#FnAnchor_35"><span class="fn">35</span></a> I do not mean that modern Christians believe less in the <i>facts</i> than +ancient Christians, but they do not believe in the representation of the facts +as true. We look upon the picture as this or that painter’s conception; the +elder Christians looked upon it as this or that painter’s description of what +had actually taken place. And in the Greek Church all painting is, to this +day, strictly a branch of tradition. See M. Dideron’s admirably written +introduction to his Iconographie Chrétienne, p. 7:—“Un de mes compagnons +s’étonnait de retrouver ŕ la Panagia de St. Luc, le saint Jean Chrysostome +qu’il avait dessiné dans le baptistčre de St. Marc, ŕ Venise. Le costume +des personnages est partout et en tout temps le męme, non-seulement +pour la forme, mais pour la couleur, mais pour le dessin, mais jusque pour +le nombre et l’épaisseur des plis.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_36" href="#FnAnchor_36"><span class="fn">36</span></a> All the effects of Byzantine art to represent violent action are inadequate, +most of them ludicrously so, even when the sculptural art is in other +respects far advanced. The early Gothic sculptors, on the other hand, fail +in all points of refinement, but hardly ever in expression of action. This +distinction is of course one of the necessary consequences of the difference +in all respects between the repose of the Eastern, and activity of the Western, +mind, which we shall have to trace out completely in the inquiry into +the nature of Gothic.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_37" href="#FnAnchor_37"><span class="fn">37</span></a> <a href="#app_10">Appendix 10</a>, “Proper Sense of the word Idolatry.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_38" href="#FnAnchor_38"><span class="fn">38</span></a> It is also of inferior workmanship, and perhaps later than the rest. +Vide Lord Lindsay, vol. i. p. 124, note.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_39" href="#FnAnchor_39"><span class="fn">39</span></a> The old mosaics from the Revelation have perished, and have been replaced +by miserable work of the seventeenth century.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_40" href="#FnAnchor_40"><span class="fn">40</span></a> Rev. xxi. 18.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page118"></a>118</span></p> + +<h3><a name="chap_5"></a>CHAPTER V.</h3> + +<h5>BYZANTINE PALACES.</h5> + + +<p>§ <span class="scs">I.</span> The account of the architecture of St. Mark’s given +in the previous chapter has, I trust, acquainted the reader sufficiently +with the spirit of the Byzantine style: but he has +probably, as yet, no clear idea of its generic forms. Nor would +it be safe to define these after an examination of St. Mark’s +alone, built as it was upon various models, and at various +periods. But if we pass through the city, looking for buildings +which resemble St. Mark’s—first, in the most important +feature of incrustation; secondly, in the character of the +mouldings,—we shall find a considerable number, not indeed +very attractive in their first address to the eye, but agreeing +perfectly, both with each other, and with the earliest portions +of St. Mark’s, in every important detail; and to be regarded, +therefore, with profound interest, as indeed the remains of an +ancient city of Venice, altogether different in aspect from that +which now exists. From these remains we may with safety +deduce general conclusions touching the forms of Byzantine +architecture, as practised in Eastern Italy, during the eleventh, +twelfth, and thirteenth centuries.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">II.</span> They agree in another respect, as well as in style. All +are either ruins, or fragments disguised by restoration. Not +one of them is uninjured or unaltered; and the impossibility +of finding so much as an angle or a single story in perfect +condition is a proof, hardly less convincing than the method of +their architecture, that they were indeed raised during the +earliest phases of the Venetian power. The mere fragments, +dispersed in narrow streets, and recognizable by a single capital, +or the segment of an arch, I shall not enumerate: but, of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page119"></a>119</span> +important remains, there are six in the immediate neighborhood +of the Rialto, one in the Rio di Ca’ Foscari, and one +conspicuously placed opposite the great Renaissance Palace +known as the Vendramin Calerghi, one of the few palaces still +inhabited<a name="FnAnchor_41" href="#Footnote_41"><span class="sp">41</span></a> and well maintained; and noticeable, moreover, as +having a garden beside it, rich with evergreens, and decorated +by gilded railings and white statues that cast long streams of +snowy reflection down into the deep water. The vista of +canal beyond is terminated by the Church of St. Geremia, +another but less attractive work of the Renaissance; a mass of +barren brickwork, with a dull leaden dome above, like those of +our National Gallery. So that the spectator has the richest +and meanest of the late architecture of Venice before him at +once: the richest, let him observe, a piece of private luxury; +the poorest, that which was given to God. Then, looking to +the left, he will see the fragment of the work of earlier ages, +testifying against both, not less by its utter desolation than by +the nobleness of the traces that are still left of it.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">III.</span> It is a ghastly ruin; whatever is venerable or sad in +its wreck being disguised by attempts to put it to present uses +of the basest kind. It has been composed of arcades borne +by marble shafts, and walls of brick faced with marble: but +the covering stones have been torn away from it like the +shroud from a corpse; and its walls, rent into a thousand +chasms, are filled and refilled with fresh brickwork, and the +seams and hollows are choked with clay and whitewash, oozing +and trickling over the marble,—itself blanched into dusty +decay by the frosts of centuries. Soft grass and wandering +leafage have rooted themselves in the rents, but they are not +suffered to grow in their own wild and gentle way, for the +place is in a sort inhabited; rotten partitions are nailed across +its corridors, and miserable rooms contrived in its western +wing; and here and there the weeds are indolently torn down, +leaving their haggard fibres to struggle again into unwholesome +growth when the spring next stirs them: and thus, in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page120"></a>120</span> +contest between death and life, the unsightly heap is festering +to its fall.</p> + +<p>Of its history little is recorded, and that little futile. That +it once belonged to the dukes of Ferrara, and was bought from +them in the sixteenth century, to be made a general receptacle +for the goods of the Turkish merchants, whence it is now +generally known as the Fondaco, or Fontico, de’ Turchi, are +facts just as important to the antiquary, as that, in the year +1852, the municipality of Venice allowed its lower story to be +used for a “deposito di Tabacchi.” Neither of this, nor of +any other remains of the period, can we know anything but +what their own stones will tell us.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">IV.</span> The reader will find in <a href="#app_11">Appendix 11</a>, written chiefly +for the traveller’s benefit, an account of the situation and +present state of the other seven Byzantine palaces. Here I +shall only give a general account of the most interesting points +in their architecture.</p> + +<p>They all agree in being round-arched and incrusted with +marble, but there are only six in which the original disposition +of the parts is anywise traceable; namely, those distinguished +in the Appendix as the Fondaco de’ Turchi, Casa Loredan, +Caso Farsetti, Rio-Foscari House, Terraced House, and Madonnetta +House:<a name="FnAnchor_42" href="#Footnote_42"><span class="sp">42</span></a> and these six agree farther in having continuous +arcades along their entire fronts from one angle to the +other, and in having their arcades divided, in each case, into +a centre and wings; both by greater size in the midmost +arches, and by the alternation of shafts in the centre, with pilasters, +or with small shafts, at the flanks.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">V.</span> So far as their structure can be traced, they agree also +in having tall and few arches in their lower stories, and shorter +and more numerous arches above: but it happens most unfortunately +that in the only two cases in which the second stories +are left the ground floors are modernized, and in the others +where the sea stories are left the second stories are modernized; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page121"></a>121</span> +so that we never have more than two tiers of the Byzantine +arches, one above the other. These, however, are quite +enough to show the first main point on which I wish to insist, +namely, the subtlety of the feeling for proportion in the Greek +architects; and I hope that even the general reader will not +allow himself to be frightened by the look of a few measurements, +for, if he will only take the little pains necessary to +compare them, he will, I am almost certain, find the result not +devoid of interest.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. IV.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter1"> + <a name="fig_4"><img src="images/img121.jpg" width="650" height="487" alt="Fig. IV." title="Fig. IV." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VI.</span> I had intended originally to give elevations of all +these palaces; but have not had time to prepare plates requiring +so much labor and care. I must, therefore, explain the +position of their parts in the simplest way in my power.</p> + +<p>The Fondaco de’ Turchi has sixteen arches in its sea story, +and twenty-six above them in its first story, the whole based +on a magnificent foundation, built of blocks of red marble, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page122"></a>122</span> +some of them seven feet long by a foot and a half thick, and +raised to a height of about five feet above high-water mark. +At this level, the elevation of one half of the building, from +its flank to the central pillars of its arcades, is rudely given in +<a href="#fig_4">Fig. IV.</a>, in the previous page. It is only drawn to show the +arrangement of the parts, as the sculptures which are indicated +by the circles and upright oblongs between the arches are too +delicate to be shown in a sketch three times the size of this. +The building once was crowned with an Arabian parapet; but +it was taken down some years since, and I am aware of no +authentic representation of its details. The greater part of the +sculptures between the arches, indicated in the woodcut only +by blank circles, have also fallen, or been removed, but enough +remain on the two flanks to justify the representation given in +the diagram of their original arrangement.</p> + +<p>And now observe the dimensions. The small arches of the +wings in the ground story, <i>a</i>, <i>a</i>, <i>a</i>, measure, in breadth, from</p> + +<table class="nobctr" width="60%" summary="Table of distances."> + +<tr><td> </td> + <td class="tc2" style="font-size: 80%; ">Ft.</td> + <td class="tc2" style="font-size: 80%; width: 2.5em; ">In.</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3">shaft to shaft</td> + <td class="tc2">4</td> + <td class="tc2">5</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3">interval <i>b</i></td> + <td class="tc2">7</td> + <td class="tc2">6½</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3">interval <i>c</i></td> + <td class="tc2">7</td> + <td class="tc2">11</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3">intervals <i>d</i>, <i>e</i>, <i>f</i>, &c.</td> + <td class="tc2">8</td> + <td class="tc2">1</td> </tr> +</table> + +<p>The difference between the width of the arches <i>b</i> and <i>c</i> is +necessitated by the small recess of the cornice on the left hand +as compared with that of the great capitals; but this sudden +difference of half a foot between the two extreme arches of +the centre offended the builder’s eye, so he diminished the +next one, <i>unnecessarily</i>, two inches, and thus obtained the +gradual cadence to the flanks, from eight feet down to four +and a half, in a series of continually increasing steps. Of +course the effect cannot be shown in the diagram, as the first +difference is less than the thickness of its lines. In the upper +story the capitals are all nearly of the same height, and there +was no occasion for the difference between the extreme arches. +Its twenty-six arches are placed, four small ones above each +lateral three of the lower arcade, and eighteen larger above the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page123"></a>123</span> +central ten; thus throwing the shafts into all manner of relative +positions, and completely confusing the eye in any effort +to count them: but there is an exquisite symmetry running +through their apparent confusion; for it will be seen that the +four arches in each flank are arranged in two groups, of which +one has a large single shaft in the centre, and the other a pilaster +and two small shafts. The way in which the large shaft is +used as an echo of those in the central arcade, dovetailing +them, as it were, into the system of the pilasters,—just as a great +painter, passing from one tone of color to another, repeats, +over a small space, that which he has left,—is highly characteristic +of the Byzantine care in composition. There are other +evidences of it in the arrangement of the capitals, which will +be noticed below in the seventh chapter. The lateral arches of +this upper arcade measure 3 ft. 2 in. across, and the central 3 +ft. 11 in., so that the arches in the building are altogether of +six magnitudes.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VII.</span> Next let us take the Casa Loredan. The mode of +arrangement of its pillars is precisely like that of the Fondaco +de’ Turchi, so that I shall merely indicate them by vertical +lines in order to be able to letter the intervals. It has five +arches in the centre of the lower story, and two in each of its +wings.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter1"> + <a name="fig_123"><img src="images/img123.jpg" width="650" height="132" alt="arches" title="arches" /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<table class="nobctr" width="80%" summary="Table of distances."> + +<tr><td> </td> + <td class="tc2" style="font-size: 80%; ">Ft.</td> + <td class="tc2" style="font-size: 80%; width: 2.5em; ">In.</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3">The midmost interval, <i>a</i>, of the central five, is</td> + <td class="tc2">6</td> + <td class="tc2">1</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3">The two on each side, <i>b</i>, <i>b</i></td> + <td class="tc2">5</td> + <td class="tc2">2</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3">The two extremes, <i>c</i>, <i>c</i></td> + <td class="tc2">4</td> + <td class="tc2">9</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3">Inner arches of the wings, <i>d</i>, <i>d</i></td> + <td class="tc2">4</td> + <td class="tc2">4</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3">Outer arches of the wings, <i>e</i>, <i>e</i></td> + <td class="tc2">4</td> + <td class="tc2">6</td> </tr> +</table> + +<p>The gradation of these dimensions is visible at a glance; +the boldest step being here taken nearest the centre, while in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page124"></a>124</span> +the Fondaco it is farthest from the centre. The first loss here +is of eleven inches, the second of five, the third of five, and +then there is a most subtle increase of two inches in the extreme +arches, as if to contradict the principle of diminution, +and stop the falling away of the building by firm resistance at +its flanks.</p> + +<p>I could not get the measures of the upper story accurately, +the palace having been closed all the time I was in Venice; but +it has seven central arches above the five below, and three at +the flanks above the two below, the groups being separated by +double shafts.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VIII.</span> Again, in the Casa Farsetti, the lower story has a +centre of five arches, and wings of two. Referring, therefore, +to the last figure, which will answer for this palace also, the +measures of the intervals are:</p> + +<table class="nobctr" width="60%" summary="Table of distances."> + +<tr><td> </td> + <td class="tc2" style="font-size: 80%; ">Ft.</td> + <td class="tc2" style="font-size: 80%; width: 2.5em; ">In.</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3"><i>a</i></td> + <td class="tc2">8</td> + <td class="tc2">0</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3"><i>b</i></td> + <td class="tc2">5</td> + <td class="tc2">10</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3"><i>c</i></td> + <td class="tc2">5</td> + <td class="tc2">4</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3"><i>d</i> and <i>e</i></td> + <td class="tc2">5</td> + <td class="tc2">3</td> </tr> +</table> + +<p>It is, however, possible that the interval <i>c</i> and the wing arches +may have been intended to be similar; for one of the wing +arches measures 5 ft. 4 in. We have thus a simpler proportion +than any we have hitherto met with; only two losses taking +place, the first of 2 ft. 2 in., the second of 6 inches.</p> + +<p>The upper story has a central group of seven arches, whose +widths are 4 ft. 1 in.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" width="60%" summary="Table of distances."> + +<tr><td> </td> + <td class="tc2" style="font-size: 80%; ">Ft.</td> + <td class="tc2" style="font-size: 80%; width: 2.5em; ">In.</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3">The next arch on each side</td> + <td class="tc2">3</td> + <td class="tc2">5</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3">The three arches of each wing</td> + <td class="tc2">3</td> + <td class="tc2">6</td> </tr> +</table> + +<p>Here again we have a most curious instance of the subtlety of +eye which was not satisfied without a third dimension, but +<i>could</i> be satisfied with a difference of an inch on three feet and +a half.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">IX.</span> In the Terraced House, the ground floor is modernized, +but the first story is composed of a centre of five arches, +with wings of two, measuring as follows:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page125"></a>125</span></p> + +<table class="nobctr" width="60%" summary="Table of distances."> + +<tr><td> </td> + <td class="tc2" style="font-size: 80%; ">Ft.</td> + <td class="tc2" style="font-size: 80%; width: 2.5em; ">In.</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3">Three midmost arches of the central group</td> + <td class="tc2">4</td> + <td class="tc2">0</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3">Outermost arch of the central group</td> + <td class="tc2">4</td> + <td class="tc2">6</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3">Innermost arch of the wing</td> + <td class="tc2">4</td> + <td class="tc2">10</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3">Outermost arch of the wing<a name="FnAnchor_43" href="#Footnote_43"><span class="sp">43</span></a></td> + <td class="tc2">5</td> + <td class="tc2">0</td> </tr> +</table> + +<p>Here the greatest step is towards the centre; but the increase, +which is unusual, is towards the outside, the gain being successively +six, four, and two inches.</p> + +<p>I could not obtain the measures of the second story, in +which only the central group is left; but the two outermost +arches are visibly larger than the others, thus beginning a correspondent +proportion to the one below, of which the lateral +quantities have been destroyed by restorations.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">X.</span> Finally, in the Rio-Foscari House, the central arch is +the principal feature, and the four lateral ones form one magnificent +wing; the dimensions being from the centre to the +side:</p> + +<table class="nobctr" width="60%" summary="Table of distances."> + +<tr><td class="tc5" style="width: 3.5em; "> </td> <td> </td> + <td class="tc2" style="font-size: 80%; ">Ft.</td> + <td class="tc2" style="font-size: 80%; width: 2.5em; ">In.</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5">Central</td> + <td class="tc5">arch</td> + <td class="tc2">9</td> + <td class="tc2">9</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5">Second</td> + <td class="tc5"> "</td> + <td class="tc2">3</td> + <td class="tc2">8</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5">Third</td> + <td class="tc5"> "</td> + <td class="tc2">3</td> + <td class="tc2">10</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5">Fourth</td> + <td class="tc5"> "</td> + <td class="tc2">3</td> + <td class="tc2">10</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5">Fifth</td> + <td class="tc5"> "</td> + <td class="tc2">3</td> + <td class="tc2">8</td> </tr> +</table> + +<p>The difference of two inches on nearly three feet in the two +midmost arches being all that was necessary to satisfy the +builder’s eye.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XI.</span> I need not point out to the reader that these singular +and minute harmonies of proportion indicate, beyond all dispute, +not only that the buildings in which they are found are +of one school, but (so far as these subtle coincidences of measurement +can still be traced in them) in their original form. +No modern builder has any idea of connecting his arches in +this manner, and restorations in Venice are carried on with too +violent hands to admit of the supposition that such refinements +would be even noticed in the progress of demolition, much less +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page126"></a>126</span> +imitated in heedless reproduction. And as if to direct our +attention especially to this character, as indicative of Byzantine +workmanship, the most interesting example of all will be +found in the arches of the front of St. Mark’s itself, whose +proportions I have not noticed before, in order that they might +here be compared with those of the contemporary palaces.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. V.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter2"> + <a name="fig_5"><img src="images/img126.jpg" width="500" height="218" alt="Fig. V." title="Fig. V." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XII.</span> The doors actually employed for entrance in the western +façade are as usual five, arranged as at <i>a</i> in the annexed +woodcut, <a href="#fig_5">Fig. V.</a>; but the Byzantine builder could not be satisfied +with so simple a group, and he introduced, therefore, +two minor arches at the extremities, as at <i>b</i>, by adding two +small porticos which are of <i>no use whatever</i> except to consummate +the proportions of the façade, and themselves to exhibit +the most exquisite proportions in arrangements of shaft and +archivolt with which I am acquainted in the entire range of +European architecture.</p> + +<p>Into these minor particulars I cannot here enter; but observe +the dimensions of the range of arches in the façade, as +thus completed by the flanking porticos:</p> + +<table class="nobctr" width="60%" summary="Table of distances."> + +<tr><td> </td> + <td class="tc2" style="font-size: 80%; ">Ft.</td> + <td class="tc2" style="font-size: 80%; width: 2.5em; ">In.</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3">The space of its central archivolt is</td> + <td class="tc2">31</td> + <td class="tc2">8</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3"><span style="letter-spacing: 2em; "> " </span>the two on each side, about<a name="FnAnchor_44" href="#Footnote_44"><span class="sp">44</span></a></td> + <td class="tc2">19</td> + <td class="tc2">8</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3"><span style="letter-spacing: 2em; "> " </span>the two succeeding, about</td> + <td class="tc2">20</td> + <td class="tc2">4</td> </tr> + +<tr><td class="tc3"><span style="letter-spacing: 2em; "> " </span>small arches at flanks, about</td> + <td class="tc2">6</td> + <td class="tc2">0</td> </tr> +</table> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page127"></a>127</span></p> + +<table style="float: right; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. VI.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figright2"> + <a name="fig_6"><img src="images/img127.jpg" width="200" height="125" alt="Fig. VI." title="Fig. VI." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>I need not make any comment upon the subtle difference of +eight inches on twenty feet between the second and third +dimensions. If the reader will be at the pains to compare the +whole evidence now laid before him, with that deduced above +from the apse of Murano, he cannot but confess that it amounts +to an irrefragable proof of an intense perception of harmony +in the relation of quantities, on the part of the Byzantine architects; +a perception which we have at present lost so utterly as +hardly to be able even to conceive it. And let it not be said, +as it was of the late discoveries of subtle curvature in the +Parthenon,<a name="FnAnchor_45" href="#Footnote_45"><span class="sp">45</span></a> that what is not to be demonstrated without laborious +measurement, cannot have influence on the beauty of the +design. The eye is continually influenced by what it cannot +detect; nay, it is not going too far to say, that it is most influenced +by what it detects least. Let the painter define, if he +can, the variations of lines on which depend the changes of +expression in the human countenance. The greater he is, the +more he will feel their subtlety, and the intense difficulty of +perceiving all their relations, or answering for the consequences +of a variation of a hair’s breadth +in a single curve. Indeed, there +is nothing truly noble either in +color or in form, but its power +depends on circumstances infinitely +too intricate to be explained, +and almost too subtle to +be traced. And as for these Byzantine +buildings, we only do not feel them because we do not +<i>watch</i> them; otherwise we should as much enjoy the variety +of proportion in their arches, as we do at present that of the +natural architecture of flowers and leaves. Any of us can feel +in an instant the grace of the leaf group, <i>b</i>, in the annexed +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page128"></a>128</span> +figure; and yet that grace is simply owing to its being proportioned +like the façade of St. Mark’s; each leaflet answering to +an arch,—the smallest at the root, to those of the porticos. I +have tried to give the proportion quite accurately in <i>b</i>; but as +the difference between the second and third leaflets is hardly +discernible on so small a scale, it is somewhat exaggerated in +<i>a</i>.<a name="FnAnchor_46" href="#Footnote_46"><span class="sp">46</span></a> Nature is often far more subtle in her proportions. In +looking at some of the nobler species of lilies, full in the front +of the flower, we may fancy for a moment that they form a +symmetrical six-petaled star; but on examining +them more closely, we shall find that they are +thrown into a group of three magnitudes by +the expansion of two of the inner petals +above the stamens to a breadth greater than +any of the four others; while the third inner +petal, on which the stamens rest, contracts +itself into the narrowest of the six, and the +three under petals remain of one intermediate magnitude, as +seen in the annexed figure.</p> + +<table style="float: left; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. VII.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figleft2"> + <a name="fig_7"><img src="images/img128.jpg" width="150" height="154" alt="Fig. VII." title="Fig. VII." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIII.</span> I must not, however, weary the reader with this +subject, which has always been a favorite one with me, and is +apt to lead too far; we will return to the palaces on the Grand +Canal. Admitting, then, that their fragments are proved, by +the minute correspondences of their arrangement, to be still +in their original positions, they indicate to us a form, whether +of palace or dwelling-house, in which there were, universally, +central galleries, or loggias, opening into apartments on each +wing, the amount of light admitted being immense; and the +general proportions of the building, slender, light, and graceful +in the utmost degree, it being in fact little more than an +aggregate of shafts and arches. Of the interior disposition of +these palaces there is in no instance the slightest trace left, nor +am I well enough acquainted with the existing architecture of +the East to risk any conjecture on this subject. I pursue the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page129"></a>129</span> +statement of the facts which still are ascertainable respecting +their external forms.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIV.</span> In every one of the buildings above mentioned, except +the Rio-Foscari House (which has only one great entrance +between its wings), the central arcades are sustained, at least +in one story, and generally in both, on bold detached cylindrical +shafts, with rich capitals, while the arches of the wings are +carried on smaller shafts assisted by portions of wall, which become +pilasters of greater or less width.</p> + +<p>And now I must remind the reader of what was pointed +out above (Vol. I. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#chap_27">Chap. XXVII</a>. §§ <span class="scs">III. XXXV. XL.</span>), that there +are two great orders of capitals in the world; that one of these +is convex in its contour, the other concave; and that richness +of ornament, with all freedom of fancy, is for the most part +found in the one, and severity of ornament, with stern discipline +of the fancy, in the other.</p> + +<p>Of these two families of capitals both occur in the Byzantine +period, but the concave group is the longest-lived, and extends +itself into the Gothic times. In the account which I +gave of them in the first volume, they were illustrated by giving +two portions of a simple curve, that of a salvia leaf. We +must now investigate their characters more in detail; and these +may be best generally represented by considering both families +as formed upon the types of flowers,—the one upon that of the +water-lily, the other upon that of the convolvulus. There was +no intention in the Byzantine architects to imitate either one +or the other of these flowers; but, as I have already so often +repeated, all beautiful works of art must either intentionally +imitate or accidentally resemble natural forms; and the direct +comparison with the natural forms which these capitals most +resemble, is the likeliest mode of fixing their distinctions in +the reader’s mind.</p> + +<p>The one then, the convex family, is modelled according to +the commonest shapes of that great group of flowers which +form rounded cups, like that of the water-lily, the leaves springing +horizontally from the stalk, and closing together upwards. +The rose is of this family, but her cup is filled with the luxuriance +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page130"></a>130</span> +of her leaves; the crocus, campanula, ranunculus, anemone, +and almost all the loveliest children of the field, are +formed upon the same type.</p> + +<p>The other family resembles the convolvulus, trumpet-flower, +and such others, in which the lower part of the bell is slender, +and the lip curves outwards at the top. There are fewer flowers +constructed on this than on the convex model; but in the +organization of trees and of clusters of herbage it is seen continually. +Of course, both of these conditions are modified, +when applied to capitals, by the enormously greater thickness +of the stalk or shaft, but in other respects the parallelism is +close and accurate; and the reader had better at once fix the +flower outlines in his mind,<a name="FnAnchor_47" href="#Footnote_47"><span class="sp">47</span></a> and remember them as representing +the only two orders of capitals that the world has ever seen, +or can see.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XV.</span> The examples of the concave family in the Byzantine +times are found principally either in large capitals founded +on the Greek Corinthian, used chiefly for the nave pillars of +churches, or in the small lateral shafts of the palaces. It appears +somewhat singular that the pure Corinthian form should +have been reserved almost exclusively for nave pillars, as at +Torcello, Murano, and St. Mark’s; it occurs, indeed, together +with almost every other form, on the exterior of St. Mark’s +also, but never so definitely as in the nave and transept shafts. +Of the conditions assumed by it at Torcello enough has been +said; and one of the most delicate of the varieties occurring +in St. Mark’s is given in <a href="#plate_8">Plate VIII.</a>, fig. 15, remarkable for +the cutting of the sharp thistle-like leaves into open relief, so +that the light sometimes shines through them from behind, +and for the beautiful curling of the extremities of the leaves +outwards, joining each other at the top, as in an undivided +flower.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVI.</span> The other characteristic examples of the concave +groups in the Byzantine times are as simple as those resulting +from the Corinthian are rich. They occur on the <i>small</i> shafts +at the flanks of the Fondaco de’ Turchi, the Casa Farsetti, Casa +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page131"></a>131</span> +Loredan, Terraced House, and upper story of the Madonnetta +House, in forms so exactly similar that the two figures 1 and +2 in <a href="#plate_8">Plate VIII.</a> may sufficiently represent them all. They +consist merely of portions cut out of the plinths or string-courses +which run along all the faces of these palaces, by four +truncations in the form of arrowy leaves (fig. 1, Fondaco de’ Turchi), +and the whole rounded a little at the bottom so as to fit the +shaft. When they occur between two arches they assume the +form of the group fig. 2 (Terraced House). Fig. 3 is from +the central arches of the Casa Farsetti, and is only given because +either it is a later restoration or a form absolutely unique +in the Byzantine period.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">VII.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter"> + <a name="plate_7"><img src="images/img131.jpg" width="437" height="650" alt="BYZANTINE CAPITALS. CONVEX GROUP." title="BYZANTINE CAPITALS. CONVEX GROUP." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">BYZANTINE CAPITALS. CONVEX GROUP.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVII.</span> The concave group, however, was not naturally +pleasing to the Byzantine mind. Its own favorite capital was +of the bold convex or cushion shape, so conspicuous in all the +buildings of the period that I have devoted <a href="#plate_7">Plate VII.</a>, opposite, +entirely to its illustration. The form in which it is first +used is practically obtained from a square block laid on the +head of the shaft (fig. 1, <a href="#plate_7">Plate VII.</a>), by first cutting off the +lower corners, as in fig. 2, and then rounding the edges, as in +fig. 3; this gives us the bell stone: on this is laid a simple +abacus, as seen in fig. 4, which is the actual form used in the +upper arcade of Murano, and the framework of the capital is +complete. Fig. 5 shows the general manner and effect of its +decoration on the same scale; the other figures, 6 and 7, both +from the apse of Murano, 8, from the Terraced House, and 9, +from the Baptistery of St. Mark’s, show the method of chiselling +the surfaces in capitals of average richness, such as occur +everywhere, for there is no limit to the fantasy and beauty of +the more elaborate examples.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVIII.</span> In consequence of the peculiar affection entertained +for these massy forms by the Byzantines, they were apt, when +they used any condition of capital founded on the Corinthian, +to modify the concave profile by making it bulge out at the +bottom. Fig. 1, <i>a</i>, <a href="#plate_10">Plate X.</a>, is the profile of a capital of the +pure concave family; and observe, it needs a fillet or cord +round the neck of the capital to show where it separates from +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page132"></a>132</span> +the shaft. Fig. 4, <i>a</i>, on the other hand, is the profile of the +pure convex group, which not only needs no such projecting +fillet, but would be encumbered by it; while fig. 2, <i>a</i>, is the +profile of one of the Byzantine capitals (Fondaco de’ Turchi, +lower arcade) founded on Corinthian, of which the main sweep +is concave, but which bends below into the convex bell-shape, +where it joins the shaft. And, lastly, fig. 3, <i>a</i>, is the profile of +the nave shafts of St. Mark’s, where, though very delicately +granted, the concession to the Byzantine temper is twofold; +first at the spring of the curve from the base, and secondly +the top, where it again becomes convex, though the expression +of the Corinthian bell is still given to it by the bold concave +leaves.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIX.</span> These, then, being the general modifications of Byzantine +profiles, I have thrown together in <a href="#plate_8">Plate VIII.</a>, opposite, +some of the most characteristic examples of the decoration +of the concave and transitional types; their localities are given +in the note below,<a name="FnAnchor_48" href="#Footnote_48"><span class="sp">48</span></a> and the following are the principal points +to be observed respecting them.</p> + +<p>The purest concave forms, 1 and 2, were never decorated +in the earliest times, except sometimes by an incision or rib +down the centre of their truncations on the angles.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">VIII.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter"> + <a name="plate_8"><img src="images/img132.jpg" width="426" height="650" alt="BYZANTINE CAPITALS. CONCAVE GROUP." title="BYZANTINE CAPITALS. CONCAVE GROUP." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">BYZANTINE CAPITALS. CONCAVE GROUP.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>Figures 4, 5, 6, and 7 show some of the modes of application +of a peculiarly broad-lobed acanthus leaf, very characteristic +of native Venetian work; 4 and 5 are from the same +building, two out of a group of four, and show the boldness of +the variety admitted in the management even of the capitals +most closely derived from the Corinthian. I never saw one of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page133"></a>133</span> +these Venetian capitals in all respects like another. The trefoils +into which the leaves fall at the extremities are, however, +for the most part similar, though variously disposed, and generally +niche themselves one under the other, as very characteristically +in fig. 7. The form 8 occurs in St. Mark’s only, and +there very frequently: 9 at Venice occurs, I think, in St. +Mark’s only; but it is a favorite early Lombardic form. 10, +11, and 12 are all highly characteristic. 10 occurs with more +fantastic interweaving upon its sides in the upper stories of St. +Mark’s; 11 is derived, in the Casa Loredan, from the great +lily capitals of St. Mark’s, of which more presently. 13 and +15 are peculiar to St. Mark’s. 14 is a lovely condition, occurring +both there and in the Fondaco de’ Turchi.</p> + +<p>The modes in which the separate portions of the leaves are +executed in these and other Byzantine capitals, will be noticed +more at length hereafter. Here I only wish the reader to observe +two things, both with respect to these and the capitals of +the convex family on the former Plate: first the Life, secondly, +the Breadth, of these capitals, as compared with Greek forms.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XX.</span> I say, first, the Life. Not only is every one of these +capitals differently fancied, but there are many of them which +<i>have no two sides alike</i>. Fig. 5, for instance, varies on every +side in the arrangement of the pendent leaf in its centre; fig. +6 has a different plant on each of its four upper angles. The +birds are each cut with a different play of plumage in figs. 9 +and 12, and the vine-leaves are every one varied in their +position in fig. 13. But this is not all. The differences in the +character of ornamentation between them and the Greek +capitals, all show a greater love of nature; the leaves are, +every one of them, more founded on realities, sketched, however +rudely, more directly from the truth; and are continually +treated in a manner which shows the mind of the workman to +have been among the living herbage, not among Greek precedents. +The hard outlines in which, for the sake of perfect intelligibility, +I have left this Plate, have deprived the examples +of the vitality of their light and shade; but the reader can +nevertheless observe the <i>ideas</i> of life occurring perpetually: +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page134"></a>134</span> +at the top of fig. 4, for instance, the small leaves turned sideways; +in fig. 5, the formal volutes of the old Corinthian +transformed into a branching tendril; in fig. 6, the bunch of +grapes thrown carelessly in at the right-hand corner, in defiance +of all symmetry; in fig. 7, the volutes knitted into wreaths +of ivy; in fig. 14, the leaves, drifted, as it were, by a whirlwind +round the capital by which they rise; while figs. 13 and +15 are as completely living leaves as any of the Gothic time. +These designs may or may not be graceful; what grace or +beauty they have is not to be rendered in mere outline,—but +they are indisputably more <i>natural</i> than any Greek ones, and +therefore healthier, and tending to greatness.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXI.</span> In the second place, note in all these examples, the +excessive breadth of the masses, however afterwards they may +be filled with detail. Whether we examine the contour of the +simpler convex bells, or those of the leaves which bend outwards +from the richer and more Corinthian types, we find they +are all outlined by grand and simple curves, and that the whole +of their minute fretwork and thistle-work is cast into a gigantic +mould which subdues all their multitudinous points and +foldings to its own inevitable dominion. And the fact is, that +in the sweeping lines and broad surfaces of these Byzantine +sculptures we obtain, so far as I know, for the first time in the +history of art, the germ of that unity of perfect ease in every +separate part, with perfect subjection to an enclosing form or +directing impulse, which was brought to its most intense expression +in the compositions of the two men in whom the art +of Italy consummated itself and expired—Tintoret and Michael +Angelo.</p> + +<p>I would not attach too much importance to the mere habit +of working on the rounded surface of the stone, which is often +as much the result of haste or rudeness as of the desire for +breadth, though the result obtained is not the less beautiful. +But in the capital from the Fondaco de’ Turchi, fig. 6, it will +be seen that while the sculptor had taken the utmost care to +make his leaves free, graceful, and sharp in effect, he was dissatisfied +with their separation, and could not rest until he had +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page135"></a>135</span> +enclosed them with an unbroken line, like that of a pointed +arch; and the same thing is done in many different ways in +other capitals of the same building, and in many of St. Mark’s: +but one such instance would have been enough to prove, if the +loveliness of the profiles themselves did not do so, that the +sculptor understood and loved the laws of generalization; and +that the feeling which bound his prickly leaves, as they waved +or drifted round the ridges of his capital, into those broad +masses of unbroken flow, was indeed one with that which made +Michael Angelo encompass the principal figure in his Creation +of Adam with the broad curve of its cloudy drapery. It may +seem strange to assert any connexion between so great a conception +and these rudely hewn fragments of ruined marble; but +all the highest principles of art are as universal as they are +majestic, and there is nothing too small to receive their influence. +They rule at once the waves of the mountain outline, +and the sinuosities of the minutest lichen that stains its shattered +stones.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXII.</span> We have not yet spoken of the three braided and +chequered capitals, numbered 10, 11, and 12. They are representations +of a group, with which many most interesting associations +are connected. It was noticed in the last chapter, that +the method of covering the exterior of buildings with thin +pieces of marble was likely to lead to a system of lighting the +interior by minute perforation. In order to obtain both light +and air, without admitting any unbroken body of sunshine, in +warm countries, it became a constant habit of the Arabian +architects to pierce minute and starlike openings in slabs of +stone; and to employ the stones so pierced where the Gothic +architects employ traceries. Internally, the form of stars +assumed by the light as it entered<a name="FnAnchor_49" href="#Footnote_49"><span class="sp">49</span></a> was, in itself, an exquisite +decoration; but, externally, it was felt necessary to add some +slight ornament upon the surface of the perforated stone; and +it was soon found that, as the small perforations had a tendency +to look scattered and spotty, the most effective treatment +of the intermediate surfaces would be one which bound +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page136"></a>136</span> +them together, and gave unity and repose to the pierced and +disturbed stone: universally, therefore, those intermediate +spaces were carved into the semblance of interwoven fillets, +which alternately sank beneath and rose above each other as +they met. This system of braided or woven ornament was not +confined to the Arabs; it is universally pleasing to the instinct +of mankind. I believe that nearly all early ornamentation is +full of it,—more especially, perhaps, Scandinavian and Anglo-Saxon; +and illuminated manuscripts depend upon it for their +loveliest effects of intricate color, up to the close of the thirteenth +century. There are several very interesting metaphysical +reasons for this strange and unfailing delight, felt in a +thing so simple. It is not often that any idea of utility has +power to enhance the true impressions of beauty; but it is +possible that the enormous importance of the art of weaving +to mankind may give some interest, if not actual attractiveness, +to any type or image of the invention to which we owe, +at once, our comfort and our pride. But the more profound +reason lies in the innate love of mystery and unity; in the joy +that the human mind has in contemplating any kind of maze +or entanglement, so long as it can discern, through its confusion, +any guiding clue or connecting plan: a pleasure increased +and solemnized by some dim feeling of the setting +forth, by such symbols, of the intricacy, and alternate rise and +fall, subjection and supremacy, of human fortune; the</p> + +<p class="pquote">"Weave the warp, and weave the woof,"</p> + +<p class="noind">of Fate and Time.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">IX.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter"> + <a name="plate_9"><img src="images/img136.jpg" width="482" height="665" alt="LILY CAPITAL OF ST. MARKS." title="LILY CAPITAL OF ST. MARKS." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">LILY CAPITAL OF ST. MARKS.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIII.</span> But be this as it may, the fact is that we are never +tired of contemplating this woven involution; and that, in +some degree, the sublime pleasure which we have in watching +the branches of trees, the intertwining of the grass, and the +tracery of the higher clouds, is owing to it, not less than that +which we receive from the fine meshes of the robe, the braiding +of the hair, and the various glittering of the linked net or +wreathed chain. Byzantine ornamentation, like that of almost +all nations in a state of progress, is full of this kind of work: +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page137"></a>137</span> +but it occurs most conspicuously, though most simply, in the +minute traceries which surround their most solid capitals; +sometimes merely in a reticulated veil, as in the tenth figure +in the Plate, sometimes resembling a basket, on the edges of +which are perched birds and other animals. The diamonded +ornament in the eleventh figure is substituted for it in the +Casa Loredan, and marks a somewhat later time and a tendency +to the ordinary Gothic chequer; but the capitals which +show it most definitely are those already so often spoken of as +the lily capitals of St. Mark’s, of which the northern one is +carefully drawn in <a href="#plate_9">Plate IX.</a></p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">X.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter"> + <a name="plate_10"><img src="images/img137.jpg" width="413" height="650" alt="THE FOUR VENETIAN FLOWER ORDERS." title="THE FOUR VENETIAN FLOWER ORDERS." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">THE FOUR VENETIAN FLOWER ORDERS.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIV.</span> These capitals, called barbarous by our architects, +are without exception the most subtle pieces of composition in +broad contour which I have ever met with in architecture. +Their profile is given in the opposite <a href="#plate_10">Plate X.</a> fig. 3, <i>b</i>; the +inner line in the figure being that of the stone behind the lily, +the outer that of the external network, taken through the +side of the capital; while fig. 3, <i>c</i> is the outer profile at its +angle; and the reader will easily understand that the passing +of the one of these lines into the other is productive of the +most exquisite and wonderful series of curvatures possible +within such compass, no two views of the capital giving the +same contour. Upon these profoundly studied outlines, as remarkable +for their grace and complexity as the general mass +of the capital is for solid strength and proportion to its necessary +service, the braided work is wrought with more than +usual care; perhaps, as suggested by the Marchese Selvatico, +with some idea of imitating those “nets of chequerwork and +wreaths of chainwork” on the chapiters of Solomon’s temple, +which are, I suppose, the first instances on record of an ornamentation +of this kind thus applied. The braided work encloses +on each of the four sides of the capital a flower whose +form, derived from that of the lily, though as usual modified, +in every instance of its occurrence, in some minor particulars, +is generally seen as represented in fig. 11 of <a href="#plate_8">Plate VIII.</a> It +is never without the two square or oblong objects at the extremity +of the tendrils issuing from its root, set like vessels to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page138"></a>138</span> +catch the dew from the points of its leaves; but I do not understand +their meaning. The abacus of the capital has already +been given at <i>a</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#plate_16">Plate XVI.</a>, Vol. I.; but no amount of illustrations +or eulogium would be enough to make the reader understand +the perfect beauty of the thing itself, as the sun steals +from interstice to interstice of its marble veil, and touches with +the white lustre of its rays at mid-day the pointed leaves of +its thirsty lilies.</p> + +<p>In all the capitals hitherto spoken of, the form of the head +of the bell has been square, and its varieties of outline have +been obtained in the transition from the square of the abacus +to the circular outline of the shafts. A far more complex +series of forms results from the division of the bell by recesses +into separate lobes or leaves, like those of a rose or tulip, which +are each in their turn covered with flower-work or hollowed +into reticulation. The example (fig. 10, <a href="#plate_7">Plate VII.</a>) from St. +Mark’s will give some idea of the simplest of these conditions: +perhaps the most exquisite in Venice, on the whole, is the +central capital of the upper arcade of the Fondaco de’ Turchi.</p> + +<p>Such are the principal generic conditions of the Byzantine +capital; but the reader must always remember that the +examples given are single instances, and those not the most +beautiful but the most intelligible, chosen out of thousands: +the designs of the capitals of St. Mark’s alone would form a +volume.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">XI.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter"> + <a name="plate_11"><img src="images/img138.jpg" width="435" height="650" alt="BYZANTINE SCULPTURE." title="BYZANTINE SCULPTURE." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">BYZANTINE SCULPTURE.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXV.</span> Of the archivolts which these capitals generally sustain, +details are given in the Appendix and in the notice of +Venetian doors in Chapter VII. In the private palaces, the +ranges of archivolt are for the most part very simple, with +dentilled mouldings; and all the ornamental effect is entrusted +to pieces of sculpture set in the wall above or between the +arches, in the manner shown in <a href="#plate_15">Plate XV.</a>, below, Chapter +VII. These pieces of sculpture are either crosses, upright +oblongs, or circles: of all the three forms an example is given +in <a href="#plate_11">Plate XI.</a> opposite. The cross was apparently an invariable +ornament, placed either in the centre of the archivolt of the +doorway, or in the centre of the first story above the windows; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page139"></a>139</span> +on each side of it the circular and oblong ornaments were used +in various alternation. In too many instances the wall marbles +have been torn away from the earliest Byzantine palaces, so +that the crosses are left on their archivolts only. The best examples +of the cross set above the windows are found in houses +of the transitional period: one in the Campo St<span class="sp">a</span> M. Formosa; +another, in which a cross is placed between every window, is +still well preserved in the Campo St<span class="sp">a</span> Maria Mater Domini; +another, on the Grand Canal, in the parish of the Apostoli, has +two crosses, one on each side of the first story, and a bas-relief +of Christ enthroned in the centre; and finally, that from +which the larger cross in the Plate was taken in the house +once belonging to Marco Polo, at San Giovanni Grisostomo.</p> + +<p>§ XXVI. This cross, though graceful and rich, and given +because it happens to be one of the best preserved, is uncharacteristic +in one respect; for, instead of the central rose at the +meeting of the arms, we usually find a hand raised in the attitude +of blessing, between the sun and moon, as in the two +smaller crosses seen in the Plate. In nearly all representations +of the Crucifixion, over the whole of Europe, at the period in +question, the sun and the moon are introduced, one on each +side of the cross,—the sun generally, in paintings, as a red star; +but I do not think with any purpose of indicating the darkness +at the time of the agony; especially because, had this been the +intention, the moon ought not to have been visible, since it +could not have been in the heavens during the day at the time +of passover. I believe rather that the two luminaries are set +there in order to express the entire dependence of the heavens +and the earth upon the work of the Redemption: and this +view is confirmed by our frequently finding the sun and moon +set in the same manner beside the figure of Christ, as in the +centre of the great archivolt of St. Mark’s, or beside the hand +signifying benediction, without any cross, in some other early +archivolts;<a name="FnAnchor_50" href="#Footnote_50"><span class="sp">50</span></a> while, again, not unfrequently they are absent +from the symbol of the cross itself, and its saving power over +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page140"></a>140</span> +the whole of creation is indicated only by fresh leaves springing +from its foot, or doves feeding beside it; and so also, in +illuminated Bibles, we find the series of pictures representing +the Creation terminate in the Crucifixion, as the work by which +all the families of created beings subsist, no less than that in +sympathy with which “the whole creation groaneth and travaileth +in pain together until now.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVII.</span> This habit of placing the symbol of the Christian +faith in the centres of their palaces was, as I above said, universal +in early Venice; it does not cease till about the middle +of the fourteenth century. The other sculptures, which were +set above or between the arches, consist almost invariably of +groups of birds or beasts; either standing opposite to each +other with a small pillar or spray of leafage between them, or +else tearing and devouring each other. The multitude of these +sculptures, especially of the small ones enclosed in circles, as +figs 5 and 6, <a href="#plate_11">Plate XI.</a>, which are now scattered through the +city of Venice, is enormous, but they are seldom to be seen in +their original positions. When the Byzantine palaces were +destroyed, these fragments were generally preserved, and inserted +again in the walls of the new buildings, with more or +less attempt at symmetry; fragments of friezes and mouldings +being often used in the same manner; so that the mode of +their original employment can only be seen in St. Mark’s, the +Fondaco de’ Turchi, Braided House, and one or two others. +The most remarkable point about them is, that the groups of +beasts or birds on each side of the small pillars bear the closest +possible resemblance to the group of Lions over the gate of +Mycenć; and the whole of the ornamentation of that gate, as +far as I can judge of it from drawings, is so like Byzantine +sculpture, that I cannot help sometimes suspecting the original +conjecture of the French antiquarians, that it was a work of +the middle ages, to be not altogether indefensible. By far the +best among the sculptures at Venice are those consisting of +groups thus arranged; the first figure in <a href="#plate_11">Plate XI.</a> is one of +those used on St. Mark’s, and, with its chain of wreathen work +round it, is very characteristic of the finest kind, except that +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page141"></a>141</span> +the immediate trunk or pillar often branches into luxuriant +leafage, usually of the vine, so that the whole ornament seems +almost composed from the words of Ezekiel. “A great eagle +with great wings, long-winged, full of feathers, which had +divers colors, came into Lebanon, and took the highest branch +of the cedar: He cropped off the top of his young twigs; and +<i>carried it into a city of traffic; he set it in a city of merchants</i>. +He took also of the seed of the land, ... and it +grew, and became a spreading vine of low stature, <i>whose +branches turned towards him, and the roots thereof were under +him</i>.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVIII.</span> The groups of contending and devouring animals +are always much ruder in cutting, and take somewhat the place +in Byzantine sculpture which the lower grotesques do in the +Gothic; true, though clumsy, grotesques being sometimes +mingled among them, as four bodies joined to one head in the +centre;<a name="FnAnchor_51" href="#Footnote_51"><span class="sp">51</span></a> but never showing any attempt at variety of invention, +except only in the effective disposition of the light and +shade, and in the vigor and thoughtfulness of the touches +which indicate the plumes of the birds or foldings of the leaves. +Care, however, is always taken to secure variety enough to +keep the eye entertained, no two sides of these Byzantine ornaments +being in all respects the same: for instance, in the +chainwork round the first figure in <a href="#plate_11">Plate XI.</a> there are two +circles enclosing squares on the left-hand side of the arch at +the top, but two smaller circles and a diamond on the other, +enclosing one square, and two small circular spots or bosses; +and in the line of chain at the bottom there is a circle on the +right, and a diamond on the left, and so down to the working +of the smallest details. I have represented this upper sculpture +as dark, in order to give some idea of the general effect of +these ornaments when seen in shadow against light; an effect +much calculated upon by the designer, and obtained by the use +of a golden ground formed of glass mosaic inserted in the +hollows of the marble. Each square of glass has the leaf gold +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page142"></a>142</span> +upon its surface protected by another thin film of glass above +it, so that no time or weather can affect its lustre, until the +pieces of glass are bodily torn from their setting. The smooth +glazed surface of the golden ground is washed by every shower +of rain, but the marble usually darkens into an amber color in +process of time; and when the whole ornament is cast into +shadow, the golden surface, being perfectly reflective, refuses +the darkness, and shows itself in bright and burnished light +behind the dark traceries of the ornament. Where the marble +has retained its perfect whiteness, on the other hand, and is +seen in sunshine, it is shown as a snowy tracery on a golden +ground; and the alternations and intermingling of these two +effects form one of the chief enchantments of Byzantine ornamentation.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIX.</span> How far the system of grounding with gold and +color, universal in St. Mark’s, was carried out in the sculptures +of the private palaces, it is now impossible to say. The wrecks +of them which remain, as above noticed, show few of their +ornamental sculptures in their original position; and from +those marbles which were employed in succeeding buildings, +during the Gothic period, the fragments of their mosaic +grounds would naturally rather have been removed than restored. +Mosaic, while the most secure of all decorations if +carefully watched and refastened when it loosens, may, if neglected +and exposed to weather, in process of time disappear so +as to leave no vestige of its existence. However this may have +been, the assured facts are, that both the shafts of the pillars +and the facing of the old building were of veined or variously +colored marble: the capitals and sculptures were either, as they +now appear, of pure white marble, relieved upon the veined +ground; or, which is infinitely the more probable, grounded in +the richer palaces with mosaic of gold, in the inferior ones +with blue color; and only the leaves and edges of the sculpture +gilded. These brighter hues were opposed by bands of +deeper color, generally alternate russet and green, in the archivolts,—bands +which still remain in the Casa Loredan and Fondaco +de’ Turchi, and in a house in the Corte del Remer, near +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page143"></a>143</span> +the Rialto, as well as in St. Mark’s; and by circular disks of +green serpentine and porphyry, which, together with the circular +sculptures, appear to have been an ornament peculiarly +grateful to the Eastern mind, derived probably in the first +instance from the suspension of shields upon the wall, as in +the majesty of ancient Tyre. “The men of Arvad with thine +army were upon thy walls round about, and the Gammadins +were in thy towers: they hanged their shields upon thy walls +round about; they have made thy beauty perfect.”<a name="FnAnchor_52" href="#Footnote_52"><span class="sp">52</span></a> The +sweet and solemn harmony of purple with various green (the +same, by the by, to which the hills of Scotland owe their best +loveliness) remained a favorite chord of color with the Venetians, +and was constantly used even in the later palaces; but +never could have been seen in so great perfection as when +opposed to the pale and delicate sculpture of the Byzantine +time.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXX.</span> Such, then, was that first and fairest Venice which +rose out of the barrenness of the lagoon, and the sorrow of her +people; a city of graceful arcades and gleaming walls, veined +with azure and warm with gold, and fretted with white sculpture +like frost upon forest branches turned to marble. And +yet, in this beauty of her youth, she was no city of thoughtless +pleasure. There was still a sadness of heart upon her, and +a depth of devotion, in which lay all her strength. I do not +insist upon the probable religious signification of many of the +sculptures which are now difficult of interpretation; but the +temper which made the cross the principal ornament of every +building is not to be misunderstood, nor can we fail to perceive, +in many of the minor sculptural subjects, meanings perfectly +familiar to the mind of early Christianity. The peacock, used +in preference to every other bird, is the well-known symbol of +the resurrection; and when drinking from a fountain (<a href="#plate_11">Plate +XI.</a> fig. 1) or from a font (<a href="#plate_11">Plate XI.</a> fig. 5), is, I doubt not, +also a type of the new life received in faithful baptism. The +vine, used in preference to all other trees, was equally recognized +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page144"></a>144</span> +as, in all cases, a type either of Christ himself<a name="FnAnchor_53" href="#Footnote_53"><span class="sp">53</span></a> or of +those who were in a state of visible or professed union with +him. The dove, at its foot, represents the coming of the Comforter; +and even the groups of contending animals had, probably, +a distinct and universally apprehended reference to the +powers of evil. But I lay no stress on these more occult meanings. +The principal circumstance which marks the seriousness +of the early Venetian mind is perhaps the last in which the +reader would suppose it was traceable;—that love of bright +and pure color which, in a modified form, was afterwards the +root of all the triumph of the Venetian schools of painting, +but which, in its utmost simplicity, was characteristic of the +Byzantine period only; and of which, therefore, in the close +of our review of that period, it will be well that we should +truly estimate the significance. The fact is, we none of us +enough appreciate the nobleness and sacredness of color. +Nothing is more common than to hear it spoken of as a +subordinate beauty,—nay, even as the mere source of a sensual +pleasure; and we might almost believe that we were +daily among men who</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“Could strip, for aught the prospect yields</p> +<p>To them, their verdure from the fields;</p> +<p>And take the radiance from the clouds</p> +<p>With which the sun his setting shrouds.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>But it is not so. Such expressions are used for the most part +in thoughtlessness; and if the speakers would only take the +pains to imagine what the world and their own existence would +become, if the blue were taken from the sky, and the gold +from the sunshine, and the verdure from the leaves, and the +crimson from the blood which is the life of man, the flush +from the cheek, the darkness from the eye, the radiance from +the hair,—if they could but see for an instant, white human +creatures living in a white world,—they would soon feel what +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page145"></a>145</span> +they owe to color. The fact is, that, of all God’s gifts to the +sight of man, color is the holiest, the most divine, the most +solemn. We speak rashly of gay color, and sad color, for +color cannot at once be good and gay. All good color is in +some degree pensive, the loveliest is melancholy, and the purest +and most thoughtful minds are those which love color the +most.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXI.</span> I know that this will sound strange in many ears, +and will be especially startling to those who have considered +the subject chiefly with reference to painting; for the great +Venetian schools of color are not usually understood to be +either pure or pensive, and the idea of its pre-eminence is +associated in nearly every mind with the coarseness of Rubens, +and the sensualities of Correggio and Titian. But a more +comprehensive view of art will soon correct this impression. +It will be discovered, in the first place, that the more faithful +and earnest the religion of the painter, the more pure and +prevalent is the system of his color. It will be found, in the +second place, that where color becomes a primal intention with +a painter otherwise mean or sensual, it instantly elevates him, +and becomes the one sacred and saving element in his work. +The very depth of the stoop to which the Venetian painters +and Rubens sometimes condescend, is a consequence of their +feeling confidence in the power of their color to keep them +from falling. They hold on by it, as by a chain let down from +heaven, with one hand, though they may sometimes seem to +gather dust and ashes with the other. And, in the last place, +it will be found that so surely as a painter is irreligious, +thoughtless, or obscene in disposition, so surely is his coloring +cold, gloomy, and valueless. The opposite poles of art in this +respect are Frŕ Angelico and Salvator Rosa; of whom the +one was a man who smiled seldom, wept often, prayed constantly, +and never harbored an impure thought. His pictures +are simply so many pieces of jewellery, the colors of the +draperies being perfectly pure, as various as those of a painted +window, chastened only by paleness, and relieved upon a gold +ground. Salvator was a dissipated jester and satirist, a man +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page146"></a>146</span> +who spent his life in masquing and revelry. But his pictures +are full of horror, and their color is for the most part gloomy +grey. Truly it would seem as if art had so much of eternity +in it, that it must take its dye from the close rather than the +course of life:—“In such laughter the heart of man is sorrowful, +and the end of that mirth is heaviness.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXII.</span> These are no singular instances. I know no law +more severely without exception than this of the connexion +of pure color with profound and noble thought. The late +Flemish pictures, shallow in conception and obscene in subject, +are always sober in color. But the early religious painting +of the Flemings is as brilliant in hue as it is holy in +thought. The Bellinis, Francias, Peruginos painted in crimson, +and blue, and gold. The Caraccis, Guidos, and Rembrandts +in brown and grey. The builders of our great cathedrals +veiled their casements and wrapped their pillars with one +robe of purple splendor. The builders of the luxurious +Renaissance left their palaces filled only with cold white light, +and in the paleness of their native stone.<a name="FnAnchor_54" href="#Footnote_54"><span class="sp">54</span></a></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIII.</span> Nor does it seem difficult to discern a noble reason +for this universal law. In that heavenly circle which binds +the statutes of color upon the front of the sky, when it became +the sign of the covenant of peace, the pure hues of +divided light were sanctified to the human heart for ever; nor +this, it would seem, by mere arbitrary appointment, but in +consequence of the fore-ordained and marvellous constitution +of those hues into a sevenfold, or, more strictly still, a threefold +order, typical of the Divine nature itself. Observe also, +the name Shem, or Splendor, given to that son of Noah in +whom this covenant with mankind was to be fulfilled, and see +how that name was justified by every one of the Asiatic races +which descended from him. Not without meaning was the +love of Israel to his chosen son expressed by the coat “of +many colors;” not without deep sense of the sacredness of +that symbol of purity, did the lost daughter of David tear it +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page147"></a>147</span> +from her breast:—“With such robes were the king’s daughters +that were virgins apparelled.”<a name="FnAnchor_55" href="#Footnote_55"><span class="sp">55</span></a> We know it to have been by +Divine command that the Israelite, rescued from servitude, +veiled the tabernacle with its rain of purple and scarlet, while +the under sunshine flashed through the fall of the color from +its tenons of gold: but was it less by Divine guidance that the +Mede, as he struggled out of anarchy, encompassed his king +with the sevenfold burning of the battlements of Ecbatana?—of +which one circle was golden like the sun, and another silver +like the moon; and then came the great sacred chord of color, +blue, purple, and scarlet; and then a circle white like the day, +and another dark, like night; so that the city rose like a great +mural rainbow, a sign of peace amidst the contending of lawless +races, and guarded, with color and shadow, that seemed to +symbolize the great order which rules over Day, and Night, +and Time, the first organization of the mighty statutes,—the +law of the Medes and Persians, that altereth not.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIV.</span> Let us not dream that it is owing to the accidents +of tradition or education that those races possess the supremacy +over color which has always been felt, though but lately +acknowledged among men. However their dominion might +be broken, their virtue extinguished, or their religion defiled, +they retained alike the instinct and the power: the instinct +which made even their idolatry more glorious than that of +others, bursting forth in fire-worship from pyramid, cave, and +mountain, taking the stars for the rulers of its fortune, and +the sun for the God of its life; the power which so dazzled +and subdued the rough crusader into forgetfulness of sorrow +and of shame, that Europe put on the splendor which she had +learnt of the Saracen, as her sackcloth of mourning for what +she suffered from his sword;—the power which she confesses +to this day, in the utmost thoughtlessness of her pride, or her +beauty, as it treads the costly carpet, or veils itself with the +variegated Cachemire; and in the emulation of the concourse +of her workmen, who, but a few months back, perceived, or at +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page148"></a>148</span> +least admitted, for the first time, the pre-eminence which has +been determined from the birth of mankind, and on whose +charter Nature herself has set a mysterious seal, granting to +the Western races, descended from that son of Noah whose +name was Extension, the treasures of the sullen rock, and +stubborn ore, and gnarled forest, which were to accomplish +their destiny across all distance of earth and depth of sea, +while she matured the jewel in the sand, and rounded the +pearl in the shell, to adorn the diadem of him whose name +was Splendor.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXV.</span> And observe, farther, how in the Oriental mind a +peculiar seriousness is associated with this attribute of the love +of color; a seriousness rising out of repose, and out of the +depth and breadth of the imagination, as contrasted with the +activity, and consequent capability of surprise, and of laughter, +characteristic of the Western mind: as a man on a journey +must look to his steps always, and view things narrowly +and quickly; while one at rest may command a wider view, +though an unchanging one, from which the pleasure he receives +must be one of contemplation, rather than of amusement +or surprise. Wherever the pure Oriental spirit manifests +itself definitely, I believe its work is serious; and the +meeting of the influences of the Eastern and Western races is +perhaps marked in Europe more by the dying away of the +grotesque laughter of the Goth than by any other sign. I +shall have more to say on this head in other places of this +volume; but the point I wish at present to impress upon the +reader is, that the bright hues of the early architecture of +Venice were no sign of gaiety of heart, and that the investiture +with the mantle of many colors by which she is known +above all other cities of Italy and of Europe, was not granted +to her in the fever of her festivity, but in the solemnity of her +early and earnest religion. She became in after times the +revel of the earth, the masque of Italy; and <i>therefore</i> is she +now desolate: but her glorious robe of gold and purple was +given her when first she rose a vestal from the sea, not when +she became drunk with the wine of her fornication.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page149"></a>149</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVI.</span> And we have never yet looked with enough reverence +upon the separate gift which was thus bestowed upon +her; we have never enough considered what an inheritance +she has left us, in the works of those mighty painters who +were the chief of her children. That inheritance is indeed +less than it ought to have been, and other than it ought to +have been; for before Titian and Tintoret arose,—the men in +whom her work and her glory should have been together consummated,—she +had already ceased to lead her sons in the way +of truth and life, and they erred much, and fell short of that +which was appointed for them. There is no subject of thought +more melancholy, more wonderful, than the way in which God +permits so often His best gifts to be trodden under foot of +men, His richest treasures to be wasted by the moth, and the +mightiest influences of His Spirit, given but once in the world’s +history, to be quenched and shortened by miseries of chance +and guilt. I do not wonder at what men Suffer, but I wonder +often at what they Lose. We may see how good rises out of +pain and evil; but the dead, naked, eyeless loss, what good +comes of that? The fruit struck to the earth before its ripeness; +the glowing life and goodly purpose dissolved away in +sudden death; the words, half spoken, choked upon the lips +with clay for ever; or, stranger than all, the whole majesty of +humanity raised to its fulness, and every gift and power necessary +for a given purpose, at a given moment, centred in one +man, and all this perfected blessing permitted to be refused, +perverted, crushed, cast aside by those who need it most,—the +city which is Not set on a hill, the candle that giveth light +to None that are in the house:—these are the heaviest mysteries +of this strange world, and, it seems to me, those which mark +its curse the most. And it is true that the power with which +this Venice had been entrusted, was perverted, when at its +highest, in a thousand miserable ways; still, it was possessed +by her alone; to her all hearts have turned which could be +moved by its manifestation, and none without being made +stronger and nobler by what her hand had wrought. That +mighty Landscape, of dark mountains that guard the horizon +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page150"></a>150</span> +with their purple towers, and solemn forests, that gather their +weight of leaves, bronzed with sunshine, not with age, into +those gloomy masses fixed in heaven, which storm and frost +have power no more to shake, or shed;—that mighty Humanity, +so perfect and so proud, that hides no weakness beneath the +mantle, and gains no greatness from the diadem; the majesty +of thoughtful form, on which the dust of gold and flame of +jewels are dashed as the sea-spray upon the rock, and still the +great Manhood seems to stand bare against the blue sky;—that +mighty Mythology, which fills the daily walks of men +with spiritual companionship, and beholds the protecting +angels break with their burning presence through the arrow-flights +of battle:—measure the compass of that field of creation, +weigh the value of the inheritance that Venice thus left +to the nations of Europe, and then judge if so vast, so beneficent +a power could indeed have been rooted in dissipation or +decay. It was when she wore the ephod of the priest, not the +motley of the masquer, that the fire fell upon her from +heaven; and she saw the first rays of it through the rain of +her own tears, when, as the barbaric deluge ebbed from the +hills of Italy, the circuit of her palaces, and the orb of her +fortunes, rose together, like the Iris, painted upon the Cloud.</p> + + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_41" href="#FnAnchor_41"><span class="fn">41</span></a> In the year 1851, by the Duchesse de Berri.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_42" href="#FnAnchor_42"><span class="fn">42</span></a> Of the Braided House and Casa Businello, described in the Appendix, +only the great central arcades remain.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_43" href="#FnAnchor_43"><span class="fn">43</span></a> Only one wing of the first story is left. See <a href="#app_11">Appendix 11</a>.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_44" href="#FnAnchor_44"><span class="fn">44</span></a> I am obliged to give these measures approximately, because, this front +having been studied by the builder with unusual care, not one of its measures +is the same as another; and the symmetries between the correspondent +arches are obtained by changes in the depth of their mouldings and +variations in their heights, far too complicated for me to enter into here; +so that of the two arches stated as 19 ft. 8 in. in span, one is in reality 19 +ft. 6˝ in., the other 19 ft. 10 in., and of the two stated as 20 ft. 4 in., one +is 20 ft. and the other 20 ft. 8 in.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_45" href="#FnAnchor_45"><span class="fn">45</span></a> By Mr. Penrose.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_46" href="#FnAnchor_46"><span class="fn">46</span></a> I am sometimes obliged, unfortunately, to read my woodcuts backwards +owing to my having forgotten to reverse them on the wood.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_47" href="#FnAnchor_47"><span class="fn">47</span></a> Vide <a href="#plate_10">Plate X.</a> figs. 1 and 4.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_48" href="#FnAnchor_48"><span class="fn">48</span></a></p> + +<table class="nobctr" width="90%" summary="list"> + +<tr> <td class="tc5"> +<p>1. Fondaco de’ Turehi, lateral pillars.</p> +<p>2. Terraced House, lateral pillars.</p> +<p>3. Casa Farsetti, central pillars, upper arcade.</p> +<p>4. Casa Loredan, lower arcade.</p> +<p>5. Casa Loredan, lower arcade.</p> +<p>6. Fondaco de’ Turchi, upper arcade.</p> +<p>7. Casa Loredan, upper arcade.</p> +<p>8. St. Mark’s.</p> </td> + +<td class="tc5" style="vertical-align: top;"> +<p> 9. St. Mark’s.</p> +<p>10. Braided House, upper arcade.</p> +<p>11. Casa Loredan, upper arcade.</p> +<p>12. St. Mark’s.</p> +<p>13. St. Mark’s.</p> +<p>14. Fondaco de’ Turchi, upper arcade.</p> +<p>15. St. Mark’s.</p></td></tr> + +</table> + +<p><a name="Footnote_49" href="#FnAnchor_49"><span class="fn">49</span></a> Compare “Seven Lamps,” chap. ii. § 22.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_50" href="#FnAnchor_50"><span class="fn">50</span></a> Two of these are represented in the second number of my folio work +upon Venice.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_51" href="#FnAnchor_51"><span class="fn">51</span></a> The absence of the true grotesque spirit in Byzantine work will be +examined in the third chapter of the third volume.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_52" href="#FnAnchor_52"><span class="fn">52</span></a> Ezekiel, xxvii. 11.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_53" href="#FnAnchor_53"><span class="fn">53</span></a> Perhaps this type is in no place of Scripture more touchingly used than +in Lamentations, i. 12, where the word “afflicted” is rendered in the Vulgate +“vindemiavit,” “vintaged.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_54" href="#FnAnchor_54"><span class="fn">54</span></a> <a href="#app_12">Appendix 12</a>, “Modern Painting on Glass.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_55" href="#FnAnchor_55"><span class="fn">55</span></a> 2 Samuel, xiii. 18.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page151"></a>151</span></p> + +<h3>SECOND, OR GOTHIC, PERIOD.</h3> + +<hr class="short" /> +<h3><a name="chap_6"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h3> + +<h5>THE NATURE OF GOTHIC.</h5> + + +<p>§ <span class="scs">I.</span> If the reader will look back to the division of our subject +which was made in the first chapter of the first volume, he +will find that we are now about to enter upon the examination +of that school of Venetian architecture which forms an intermediate +step between the Byzantine and Gothic forms; but +which I find may be conveniently considered in its connexion +with the latter style. In order that we may discern the tendency +of each step of this change, it will be wise in the outset +to endeavor to form some general idea of its final result. We +know already what the Byzantine architecture is from which +the transition was made, but we ought to know something of +the Gothic architecture into which it led. I shall endeavor +therefore to give the reader in this chapter an idea, at once +broad and definite, of the true nature of <i>Gothic</i> architecture, +properly so called; not of that of Venice only, but of universal +Gothic: for it will be one of the most interesting parts of +our subsequent inquiry, to find out how far Venetian architecture +reached the universal or perfect type of Gothic, and +how far it either fell short of it, or assumed foreign and independent +forms.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">II.</span> The principal difficulty in doing this arises from the +fact that every building of the Gothic period differs in some +important respect from every other; and many include features +which, if they occurred in other buildings, would not be +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page152"></a>152</span> +considered Gothic at all; so that all we have to reason upon is +merely, if I may be allowed so to express it, a greater or less +degree of <i>Gothicness</i> in each building we examine. And it is +this Gothicness,—the character which, according as it is found +more or less in a building, makes it more or less Gothic,—of +which I want to define the nature; and I feel the same kind +of difficulty in doing so which would be encountered by any +one who undertook to explain, for instance, the nature of Redness, +without any actual red thing to point to, but only orange +and purple things. Suppose he had only a piece of heather +and a dead oak-leaf to do it with. He might say, the color +which is mixed with the yellow in this oak-leaf, and with the +blue in this heather, would be red, if you had it separate; but +it would be difficult, nevertheless, to make the abstraction perfectly +intelligible: and it is so in a far greater degree to make +the abstraction of the Gothic character intelligible, because +that character itself is made up of many mingled ideas, and +can consist only in their union. That is to say, pointed arches +do not constitute Gothic, nor vaulted roofs, nor flying buttresses, +nor grotesque sculptures; but all or some of these +things, and many other things with them, when they come together +so as to have life.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">III.</span> Observe also, that, in the definition proposed, I shall +only endeavor to analyze the idea which I suppose already to +exist in the reader’s mind. We all have some notion, most of +us a very determined one, of the meaning of the term Gothic; +but I know that many persons have this idea in their minds +without being able to define it: that is to say, understanding +generally that Westminster Abbey is Gothic, and St. Paul’s +is not, that Strasburg Cathedral is Gothic, and St. Peter’s is +not, they have, nevertheless, no clear notion of what it is that +they recognize in the one or miss in the other, such as would +enable them to say how far the work at Westminster or Strasburg +is good and pure of its kind: still less to say of any non-descript +building, like St. James’s Palace or Windsor Castle, +how much right Gothic element there is in it, and how much +wanting, And I believe this inquiry to be a pleasant and profitable +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page153"></a>153</span> +one; and that there will be found something more than +usually interesting in tracing out this grey, shadowy, many-pinnacled +image of the Gothic spirit within us; and discerning +what fellowship there is between it and our Northern hearts. +And if, at any point of the inquiry, I should interfere with +any of the reader’s previously formed conceptions, and use the +term Gothic in any sense which he would not willingly attach +to it, I do not ask him to accept, but only to examine and understand, +my interpretation, as necessary to the intelligibility +of what follows in the rest of the work.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">IV.</span> We have, then, the Gothic character submitted to our +analysis, just as the rough mineral is submitted to that of the +chemist, entangled with many other foreign substances, itself +perhaps in no place pure, or ever to be obtained or seen in +purity for more than an instant; but nevertheless a thing of +definite and separate nature, however inextricable or confused +in appearance. Now observe: the chemist defines his mineral +by two separate kinds of character; one external, its crystalline +form, hardness, lustre, &c.; the other internal, the proportions +and nature of its constituent atoms. Exactly in the same +manner, we shall find that Gothic architecture has external +forms, and internal elements. Its elements are certain mental +tendencies of the builders, legibly expressed in it; as fancifulness, +love of variety, love of richness, and such others. Its +external forms are pointed arches, vaulted roofs, &c. And +unless both the elements and the forms are there, we have no +right to call the style Gothic. It is not enough that it has the +Form, if it have not also the power and life. It is not enough +that it has the Power, if it have not the form. We must therefore +inquire into each of these characters successively; and +determine first, what is the Mental Expression, and secondly, +what the Material Form, of Gothic architecture, properly so +called.</p> + +<p>1st. Mental Power or Expression. What characters, we +have to discover, did the Gothic builders love, or instinctively +express in their work, as distinguished from all other builders?</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">V.</span> Let us go back for a moment to our chemistry, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page154"></a>154</span> +note that, in defining a mineral by its constituent parts, it is +not one nor another of them, that can make up the mineral, +but the union of all: for instance, it is neither in charcoal, nor +in oxygen, nor in lime, that there is the making of chalk, but +in the combination of all three in certain measures; they are +all found in very different things from chalk, and there is +nothing like chalk either in charcoal or in oxygen, but they are +nevertheless necessary to its existence.</p> + +<p>So in the various mental characters which make up the soul +of Gothic. It is not one nor another that produces it; but +their union in certain measures. Each one of them is found +in many other architectures besides Gothic; but Gothic cannot +exist where they are not found, or, at least, where their +place is not in some way supplied. Only there is this great +difference between the composition of the mineral, and of the +architectural style, that if we withdraw one of its elements +from the stone, its form is utterly changed, and its existence +as such and such a mineral is destroyed; but if we withdraw +one of its mental elements from the Gothic style, it is only a +little less Gothic than it was before, and the union of two or +three of its elements is enough already to bestow a certain +Gothicness of character, which gains in intensity as we add the +others, and loses as we again withdraw them.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VI.</span> I believe, then, that the characteristic or moral elements +of Gothic are the following, placed in the order of their +importance:</p> + +<table class="nobctr" summary="list"> +<tr><td> +<p>1. Savageness.</p> +<p>2. Changefulness.</p> +<p>3. Naturalism.</p> +<p>4. Grotesqueness.</p> +<p>5. Rigidity.</p> +<p>6. Redundance.</p> +</td></tr> +</table> + +<p>These characters are here expressed as belonging to the +building; as belonging to the builder, they would be expressed +thus:—1. Savageness, or Rudeness. 2. Love of Change. 3. +Love of Nature. 4. Disturbed Imagination. 5, Obstinacy. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page155"></a>155</span> +6. Generosity. And I repeat, that the withdrawal of any one, +or any two, will not at once destroy the Gothic character of a +building, but the removal of a majority of them will. I shall +proceed to examine them in their order.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VII.</span> 1. <span class="sc">Savageness</span>. I am not sure when the word +“Gothic” was first generically applied to the architecture of the +North; but I presume that, whatever the date of its original +usage, it was intended to imply reproach, and express the barbaric +character of the nations among whom that architecture +arose. It never implied that they were literally of Gothic +lineage, far less that their architecture had been originally invented +by the Goths themselves; but it did imply that they +and their buildings together exhibited a degree of sternness +and rudeness, which, in contradistinction to the character of +Southern and Eastern nations, appeared like a perpetual reflection +of the contrast between the Goth and the Roman in their +first encounter. And when that fallen Roman, in the utmost +impotence of his luxury, and insolence of his guilt, became the +model for the imitation of civilized Europe, at the close of the +so-called Dark ages, the word Gothic became a term of unmitigated +contempt, not unmixed with aversion. From that contempt, +by the exertion of the antiquaries and architects of this +century, Gothic architecture has been sufficiently vindicated; +and perhaps some among us, in our admiration of the magnificent +science of its structure, and sacredness of its expression, +might desire that the term of ancient reproach should be withdrawn, +and some other, of more apparent honorableness, adopted +in its place. There is no chance, as there is no need, of such +a substitution. As far as the epithet was used scornfully, it +was used falsely; but there is no reproach in the word, rightly +understood; on the contrary, there is a profound truth, which +the instinct of mankind almost unconsciously recognizes. It +is true, greatly and deeply true, that the architecture of the +North is rude and wild; but it is not true, that, for this reason, +we are to condemn it, or despise. Far otherwise: I believe it +is in this very character that it deserves our profoundest reverence.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page156"></a>156</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VIII.</span> The charts of the world which have been drawn up +by modern science have thrown into a narrow space the expression +of a vast amount of knowledge, but I have never yet +seen any one pictorial enough to enable the spectator to imagine +the kind of contrast in physical character which exists between +Northern and Southern countries. We know the differences +in detail, but we have not that broad glance and grasp which +would enable us to feel them in their fulness. We know that +gentians grow on the Alps, and olives on the Apennines; but +we do not enough conceive for ourselves that variegated mosaic +of the world’s surface which a bird sees in its migration, that +difference between the district of the gentian and of the olive +which the stork and the swallow see far off, as they lean upon +the sirocco wind. Let us, for a moment, try to raise ourselves +even above the level of their flight, and imagine the Mediterranean +lying beneath us like an irregular lake, and all its ancient +promontories sleeping in the sun: here and there an angry spot +of thunder, a grey stain of storm, moving upon the burning +field; and here and there a fixed wreath of white volcano +smoke, surrounded by its circle of ashes; but for the most part +a great peacefulness of light, Syria and Greece, Italy and Spain, +laid like pieces of a golden pavement into the sea-blue, chased, +as we stoop nearer to them, with bossy beaten work of mountain +chains, and glowing softly with terraced gardens, and flowers +heavy with frankincense, mixed among masses of laurel, and +orange and plumy palm, that abate with their grey-green shadows +the burning of the marble rocks, and of the ledges of porphyry +sloping under lucent sand. Then let us pass farther towards +the north, until we see the orient colors change gradually +into a vast belt of rainy green, where the pastures of Switzerland, +and poplar valleys of France, and dark forests of the +Danube and Carpathians stretch from the mouths of the Loire +to those of the Volga, seen through clefts in grey swirls of rain-cloud +and flaky veils of the mist of the brooks, spreading low +along the pasture lands: and then, farther north still, to see the +earth heave into mighty masses of leaden rock and heathy +moor, bordering with a broad waste of gloomy purple that belt +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page157"></a>157</span> +of field and wood, and splintering into irregular and grisly +islands amidst the northern seas, beaten by storm and chilled +by ice-drift, and tormented by furious pulses of contending +tide, until the roots of the last forests fail from among the hill +ravines, and the hunger of the north wind bites their peaks +into barrenness; and, at last, the wall of ice, durable like iron, +sets, deathlike, its white teeth against us out of the polar +twilight. And, having once traversed in thought its gradation +of the zoned iris of the earth in all its material vastness, +let us go down nearer to it, and watch the parallel change in +the belt of animal life: the multitudes of swift and brilliant +creatures that glance in the air and sea, or tread the sands of +the southern zone; striped zebras and spotted leopards, glistening +serpents, and birds arrayed in purple and scarlet. Let us +contrast their delicacy and brilliancy of color, and swiftness of +motion, with the frost-cramped strength, and shaggy covering, +and dusky plumage of the northern tribes; contrast the Arabian +horse with the Shetland, the tiger and leopard with the +wolf and bear, the antelope with the elk, the bird of paradise +with the osprey: and then, submissively acknowledging the +great laws by which the earth and all that it bears are ruled +throughout their being, let us not condemn, but rejoice at the +expression by man of his own rest in the statutes of the lands +that gave him birth. Let us watch him with reverence as he +sets side by side the burning gems, and smoothes with soft +sculpture the jasper pillars, that are to reflect a ceaseless sunshine, +and rise into a cloudless sky: but not with less reverence +let us stand by him, when, with rough strength and hurried +stroke, he smites an uncouth animation out of the rocks +which he has torn from among the moss of the moorland, and +heaves into the darkened air the pile of iron buttress and rugged +wall, instinct with work of an imagination as wild and +wayward as the northern sea; creations of ungainly shape and +rigid limb, but full of wolfish life; fierce as the winds that +beat, and changeful as the clouds that shade them.</p> + +<p>There is, I repeat, no degradation, no reproach in this, but +all dignity and honorableness; and we should err grievously in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page158"></a>158</span> +refusing either to recognise as an essential character of the existing +architecture of the North, or to admit as a desirable character +in that which it yet may be, this wildness of thought, +and roughness of work; this look of mountain brotherhood +between the cathedral and the Alp; this magnificence of sturdy +power, put forth only the more energetically because the fine +finger-touch was chilled away by the frosty wind, and the eye +dimmed by the moor-mist, or blinded by the hail; this outspeaking +of the strong spirit of men who may not gather redundant +fruitage from the earth, nor bask in dreamy benignity +of sunshine, but must break the rock for bread, and cleave the +forest for fire, and show, even in what they did for their delight, +some of the hard habits of the arm and heart that grew +on them as they swung the axe or pressed the plough.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">IX.</span> If, however, the savageness of Gothic architecture, +merely as an expression of its origin among Northern nations, +may be considered, in some sort, a noble character, it possesses +a higher nobility still, when considered as an index, not of climate, +but of religious principle.</p> + +<p>In the 13th and 14th paragraphs of <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#chap_21">Chapter XXI.</a> of the +first volume of this work, it was noticed that the systems of architectural +ornament, properly so called, might be divided into +three:—1. Servile ornament, in which the execution or power +of the inferior workman is entirely subjected to the intellect of +the higher:—2. Constitutional ornament, in which the executive +inferior power is, to a certain point, emancipated and independent, +having a will of its own, yet confessing its inferiority +and rendering obedience to higher powers;—and 3. +Revolutionary ornament, in which no executive inferiority is +admitted at all. I must here explain the nature of these divisions +at somewhat greater length.</p> + +<p>Of Servile ornament, the principal schools are the Greek, +Ninevite, and Egyptian; but their servility is of different kinds. +The Greek master-workman was far advanced in knowledge +and power above the Assyrian or Egyptian. Neither he nor +those for whom he worked could endure the appearance of +imperfection in anything; and, therefore, what ornament he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page159"></a>159</span> +appointed to be done by those beneath him was composed of +mere geometrical forms,—balls, ridges, and perfectly symmetrical +foliage,—which could be executed with absolute precision +by line and rule, and were as perfect in their way when completed, +as his own figure sculpture. The Assyrian and Egyptian, +on the contrary, less cognizant of accurate form in anything, +were content to allow their figure sculpture to be executed +by inferior workmen, but lowered the method of its +treatment to a standard which every workman could reach, and +then trained him by discipline so rigid, that there was no chance +of his falling beneath the standard appointed. The Greek gave +to the lower workman no subject which he could not perfectly +execute. The Assyrian gave him subjects which he could only +execute imperfectly, but fixed a legal standard for his imperfection. +The workman was, in both systems, a slave.<a name="FnAnchor_56" href="#Footnote_56"><span class="sp">56</span></a></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">X.</span> But in the medićval, or especially Christian, system of +ornament, this slavery is done away with altogether; Christianity +having recognized, in small things as well as great, the +individual value of every soul. But it not only recognizes its +value; it confesses its imperfection, in only bestowing dignity +upon the acknowledgment of unworthiness. That admission +of lost power and fallen nature, which the Greek or Ninevite +felt to be intensely painful, and, as far as might be, altogether +refused, the Christian makes daily and hourly, contemplating +the fact of it without fear, as tending, in the end, to God’s +greater glory. Therefore, to every spirit which Christianity +summons to her service, her exhortation is: Do what you can, +and confess frankly what you are unable to do; neither let +your effort be shortened for fear of failure, nor your confession +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page160"></a>160</span> +silenced for fear of shame. And it is, perhaps, the principal +admirableness of the Gothic schools of architecture, that they +thus receive the results of the labor of inferior minds; and out +of fragments full of imperfection, and betraying that imperfection +in every touch, indulgently raise up a stately and unaccusable +whole.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XI.</span> But the modern English mind has this much in common +with that of the Greek, that it intensely desires, in all +things, the utmost completion or perfection compatible with +their nature. This is a noble character in the abstract, but +becomes ignoble when it causes us to forget the relative dignities +of that nature itself, and to prefer the perfectness of the +lower nature to the imperfection of the higher; not considering +that as, judged by such a rule, all the brute animals would +be preferable to man, because more perfect in their functions +and kind, and yet are always held inferior to him, so also in +the works of man, those which are more perfect in their kind +are always inferior to those which are, in their nature, liable to +more faults and shortcomings. For the finer the nature, the +more flaws it will show through the clearness of it; and it is a +law of this universe, that the best things shall be seldomest +seen in their best form. The wild grass grows well and +strongly, one year with another; but the wheat is, according +to the greater nobleness of its nature, liable to the bitterer +blight. And therefore, while in all things that we see, or do, +we are to desire perfection, and strive for it, we are nevertheless +not to set the meaner thing, in its narrow accomplishment, +above the nobler thing, in its mighty progress; not to esteem +smooth minuteness above shattered majesty; not to prefer +mean victory to honorable defeat; not to lower the level of +our aim, that we may the more surely enjoy the complacency +of success. But, above all, in our dealings with the souls of +other men, we are to take care how we check, by severe requirement +or narrow caution, efforts which might otherwise +lead to a noble issue; and, still more, how we withhold our +admiration from great excellences, because they are mingled +with rough faults. Now, in the make and nature of every +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page161"></a>161</span> +man, however rude or simple, whom we employ in manual +labor, there are some powers for better things: some tardy +imagination, torpid capacity of emotion, tottering steps of +thought, there are, even at the worst; and in most cases it is +all our own fault that they <i>are</i> tardy or torpid. But they cannot +be strengthened, unless we are content to take them in +their feebleness, and unless we prize and honor them in their +imperfection above the best and most perfect manual skill. +And this is what we have to do with all our laborers; to +look for the <i>thoughtful</i> part of them, and get that out of +them, whatever we lose for it, whatever faults and errors +we are obliged to take with it. For the best that is in them +cannot manifest itself, but in company with much error. +Understand this clearly: You can teach a man to draw a +straight line, and to cut one; to strike a curved line, and to +carve it; and to copy and carve any number of given lines +or forms, with admirable speed and perfect precision; and +you find his work perfect of its kind: but if you ask him to +think about any of those forms, to consider if he cannot find +any better in his own head, he stops; his execution becomes +hesitating; he thinks, and ten to one he thinks wrong; ten +to one he makes a mistake in the first touch he gives to his +work as a thinking being. But you have made a man of him +for all that. He was only a machine before, an animated +tool.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XII.</span> And observe, you are put to stern choice in this +matter. You must either made a tool of the creature, or a +man of him. You cannot make both. Men were not intended +to work with the accuracy of tools, to be precise and perfect +in all their actions. If you will have that precision out of +them, and make their fingers measure degrees like cog-wheels, +and their arms strike curves like compasses, you must unhumanize +them. All the energy of their spirits must be given +to make cogs and compasses of themselves. All their attention +and strength must go to the accomplishment of the mean +act. The eye of the soul must be bent upon the finger-point, +and the soul’s force must fill all the invisible nerves that guide +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page162"></a>162</span> +it, ten hours a day, that it may not err from its steely precision, +and so soul and sight be worn away, and the whole +human being be lost at last—a heap of sawdust, so far as its +intellectual work in this world is concerned; saved only by +its Heart, which cannot go into the form of cogs and compasses, +but expands, after the ten hours are over, into fireside +humanity. On the other hand, if you will make a man of +the working creature, you cannot make a tool. Let him but +begin to imagine, to think, to try to do anything worth doing; +and the engine-turned precision is lost at once. Out +come all his roughness, all his dulness, all his incapability; +shame upon shame, failure upon failure, pause after pause: +but out comes the whole majesty of him also; and we know +the height of it only, when we see the clouds settling upon +him. And, whether the clouds be bright or dark, there will +be transfiguration behind and within them.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIII.</span> And now, reader, look round this English room of +yours, about which you have been proud so often, because the +work of it was so good and strong, and the ornaments of it +so finished. Examine again all those accurate mouldings, and +perfect polishings, and unerring adjustments of the seasoned +wood and tempered steel. Many a time you have exulted +over them, and thought how great England was, because her +slightest work was done so thoroughly. Alas! if read rightly, +these perfectnesses are signs of a slavery in our England a +thousand times more bitter and more degrading than that of +the scourged African, or helot Greek. Men may be beaten, +chained, tormented, yoked like cattle, slaughtered like summer +flies, and yet remain in one sense, and the best sense, free. +But to smother their souls within them, to blight and hew into +rotting pollards the suckling branches of their human intelligence, +to make the flesh and skin which, after the worm’s +work on it, is to see God, into leathern thongs to yoke machinery +with,—this it is to be slave-masters indeed; and there +might be more freedom in England, though her feudal lords’ +lightest words were worth men’s lives, and though the blood +of the vexed husbandman dropped in the furrows of her fields, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page163"></a>163</span> +than there is while the animation of her multitudes is sent +like fuel to feed the factory smoke, and the strength of them +is given daily to be wasted into the fineness of a web, or racked +into the exactness of a line.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIV.</span> And, on the other hand, go forth again to gaze upon +the old cathedral front, where you have smiled so often at the +fantastic ignorance of the old sculptors: examine once more +those ugly goblins, and formless monsters, and stern statues, +anatomiless and rigid; but do not mock at them, for they are +signs of the life and liberty of every workman who struck the +stone; a freedom of thought, and rank in scale of being, such +as no laws, no charters, no charities can secure; but which it +must be the first aim of all Europe at this day to regain for +her children.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XV.</span> Let me not be thought to speak wildly or extravagantly. +It is verily this degradation of the operative into a +machine, which, more than any other evil of the times, is leading +the mass of the nations everywhere into vain, incoherent, +destructive struggling for a freedom of which they cannot explain +the nature to themselves. Their universal outcry against +wealth, and against nobility, is not forced from them either +by the pressure of famine, or the sting of mortified pride. +These do much, and have done much in all ages; but the +foundations of society were never yet shaken as they are at this +day. It is not that men are ill fed, but that they have no +pleasure in the work by which they make their bread, and +therefore look to wealth as the only means of pleasure. It is +not that men are pained by the scorn of the upper classes, but +they cannot endure their own; for they feel that the kind of +labor to which they are condemned is verily a degrading one, +and makes them less than men. Never had the upper classes +so much sympathy with the lower, or charity for them, as they +have at this day, and yet never were they so much hated by +them: for, of old, the separation between the noble and the +poor was merely a wall built by law; now it is a veritable +difference in level of standing, a precipice between upper and +lower grounds in the field of humanity and there is pestilential +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page164"></a>164</span> +air at the bottom of it. I know not if a day is ever to come +when the nature of right freedom will be understood, and +when men will see that to obey another man, to labor for him, +yield reverence to him or to his place, is not slavery. It is +often the best kind of liberty,—liberty from care. The man +who says to one, Go, and he goeth, and to another, Come, and +he cometh, has, in most cases, more sense of restraint and +difficulty than the man who obeys him. The movements of +the one are hindered by the burden on his shoulder; of the +other, by the bridle on his lips: there is no way by which the +burden may be lightened; but we need not suffer from the +bridle if we do not champ at it. To yield reverence to another, +to hold ourselves and our lives at his disposal, is not slavery; +often, it is the noblest state in which a man can live in this +world. There is, indeed, a reverence which is servile, that is +to say, irrational or selfish: but there is also noble reverence, that +is to say, reasonable and loving; and a man is never so noble as +when he is reverent in this kind; nay, even if the feeling pass +the bounds of mere reason, so that it be loving, a man is raised +by it. Which had, in reality, most of the serf nature in him,—the +Irish peasant who was lying in wait yesterday for his +landlord, with his musket muzzle thrust through the ragged +hedge; or that old mountain servant, who, 200 years ago, at +Inverkeithing, gave up his own life and the lives of his seven +sons for his chief?<a name="FnAnchor_57" href="#Footnote_57"><span class="sp">57</span></a>—and as each fell, calling forth his brother +to the death, “Another for Hector!” And therefore, in all +ages and all countries, reverence has been paid and sacrifice +made by men to each other, not only without complaint, but +rejoicingly; and famine, and peril, and sword, and all evil, and +all shame, have been borne willingly in the causes of masters +and kings; for all these gifts of the heart ennobled the men +who gave, not less than the men who received them, and nature +prompted, and God rewarded the sacrifice. But to feel +their souls withering within them, unthanked, to find their +whole being sunk into an unrecognized abyss, to be counted off +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page165"></a>165</span> +into a heap of mechanism, numbered with its wheels, and +weighed with its hammer strokes;—this nature bade not,—this +God blesses not,—this humanity for no long time is able to +endure.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVI.</span> We have much studied and much perfected, of late, +the great civilized invention of the division of labor; only we +give it a false name. It is not, truly speaking, the labor that +is divided; but the men:—Divided into mere segments of men—broken +into small fragments and crumbs of life; so that all +the little piece of intelligence that is left in a man is not enough +to make a pin, or a nail, but exhausts itself in making the point +of a pin, or the head of a nail. Now it is a good and desirable +thing, truly, to make many pins in a day; but if we could +only see with what crystal sand their points were polished,—sand +of human soul, much to be magnified before it can be +discerned for what it is,—we should think there might be +some loss in it also. And the great cry that rises from all our +manufacturing cities, louder than their furnace blast, is all in +very deed for this,—that we manufacture everything there +except men; we blanch cotton, and strengthen steel, and refine +sugar, and shape pottery; but to brighten, to strengthen, to +refine, or to form a single living spirit, never enters into our +estimate of advantages. And all the evil to which that cry is +urging our myriads can be met only in one way: not by teaching +nor preaching, for to teach them is but to show them their +misery, and to preach to them, if we do nothing more than +preach, is to mock at it. It can be met only by a right understanding, +on the part of all classes, of what kinds of labor are +good for men, raising them, and making them happy; by a determined +sacrifice of such convenience, or beauty, or cheapness +as is to be got only by the degradation of the workman; and +by equally determined demand for the products and results of +healthy and ennobling labor.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVII.</span> And how, it will be asked, are these products to be +recognized, and this demand to be regulated? Easily: by the +observance of three broad and simple rules:</p> + +<p>1. Never encourage the manufacture of any article not +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page166"></a>166</span> +absolutely necessary, in the production of which <i>Invention</i> has +no share.</p> + +<p>2. Never demand an exact finish for its own sake, but only +for some practical or noble end.</p> + +<p>3. Never encourage imitation or copying of any kind, except +for the sake of preserving record of great works.</p> + +<p>The second of these principles is the only one which directly +rises out of the consideration of our immediate subject; but I +shall briefly explain the meaning and extent of the first also, +reserving the enforcement of the third for another place.</p> + +<p>1. Never encourage the manufacture of anything not necessary, +in the production of which invention has no share.</p> + +<p>For instance. Glass beads are utterly unnecessary, and +there is no design or thought employed in their manufacture. +They are formed by first drawing out the glass into rods; +these rods are chopped up into fragments of the size of beads +by the human hand, and the fragments are then rounded in +the furnace. The men who chop up the rods sit at their work +all day, their hands vibrating with a perpetual and exquisitely +timed palsy, and the beads dropping beneath their vibration +like hail. Neither they, nor the men who draw out the rods, +or fuse the fragments, have the smallest occasion for the use of +any single human faculty; and every young lady, therefore, +who buys glass beads is engaged in the slave-trade, and in a +much more cruel one than that which we have so long been +endeavoring to put down.</p> + +<p>But glass cups and vessels may become the subjects of +exquisite invention; and if in buying these we pay for the invention, +that is to say for the beautiful form, or color, or +engraving, and not for mere finish of execution, we are doing +good to humanity.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVIII.</span> So, again, the cutting of precious stones, in all ordinary +cases, requires little exertion of any mental faculty; some +tact and judgment in avoiding flaws, and so on, but nothing to +bring out the whole mind. Every person who wears cut jewels +merely for the sake of their value is, therefore, a slave-driver.</p> + +<p>But the working of the goldsmith, and the various designing +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page167"></a>167</span> +of grouped jewellery and enamel-work, may become the +subject of the most noble human intelligence. Therefore, +money spent in the purchase of well-designed plate, of precious +engraved vases, cameos, or enamels, does good to humanity; +and, in work of this kind, jewels may be employed to heighten +its splendor; and their cutting is then a price paid for the +attainment of a noble end, and thus perfectly allowable.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIX.</span> I shall perhaps press this law farther elsewhere, but +our immediate concern is chiefly with the second, namely, never +to demand an exact finish, when it does not lead to a noble +end. For observe, I have only dwelt upon the rudeness of +Gothic, or any other kind of imperfectness, as admirable, where +it was impossible to get design or thought without it. If you +are to have the thought of a rough and untaught man, you +must have it in a rough and untaught way; but from an educated +man, who can without effort express his thoughts in an +educated way, take the graceful expression, and be thankful. +Only <i>get</i> the thought, and do not silence the peasant because +he cannot speak good grammar, or until you have taught him +his grammar. Grammar and refinement are good things, both, +only be sure of the better thing first. And thus in art, delicate +finish is desirable from the greatest masters, and is always +given by them. In some places Michael Angelo, Leonardo, +Phidias, Perugino, Turner, all finished with the most exquisite +care; and the finish they give always leads to the fuller accomplishment +of their noble purposes. But lower men than these +cannot finish, for it requires consummate knowledge to finish +consummately, and then we must take their thoughts as they +are able to give them. So the rule is simple: Always look for +invention first, and after that, for such execution as will help +the invention, and as the inventor is capable of without painful +effort, and <i>no more</i>. Above all, demand no refinement of +execution where there is no thought, for that is slaves’ work, +unredeemed. Rather choose rough work than smooth work, so +only that the practical purpose be answered, and never imagine +there is reason to be proud of anything that may be accomplished +by patience and sandpaper.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page168"></a>168</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XX.</span> I shall only give one example, which however will +show the reader what I mean, from the manufacture already +alluded to, that of glass. Our modern glass is exquisitely clear +in its substance, true in its form, accurate in its cutting. We +are proud of this. We ought to be ashamed of it. The old +Venice glass was muddy, inaccurate in all its forms, and +clumsily cut, if at all. And the old Venetian was justly proud +of it. For there is this difference between the English and +Venetian workman, that the former thinks only of accurately +matching his patterns, and getting his curves perfectly true +and his edges perfectly sharp, and becomes a mere machine +for rounding curves and sharpening edges, while the old Venetian +cared not a whit whether his edges were sharp or not, but +he invented a new design for every glass that he made, and +never moulded a handle or a lip without a new fancy in it. +And therefore, though some Venetian glass is ugly and clumsy +enough, when made by clumsy and uninventive workmen, +other Venetian glass is so lovely in its forms that no price is +too great for it; and we never see the same form in it twice. +Now you cannot have the finish and the varied form too. If +the workman is thinking about his edges, he cannot be thinking +of his design; if of his design, he cannot think of his +edges. Choose whether you will pay for the lovely form or +the perfect finish, and choose at the same moment whether +you will make the worker a man or a grindstone.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXI.</span> Nay, but the reader interrupts me,—“If the workman +can design beautifully, I would not have him kept at the +furnace. Let him be taken away and made a gentleman, and +have a studio, and design his glass there, and I will have it +blown and cut for him by common workmen, and so I will +have my design and my finish too.”</p> + +<p>All ideas of this kind are founded upon two mistaken suppositions: +the first, that one man’s thoughts can be, or ought to +be, executed by another man’s hands; the second, that manual +labor is a degradation, when it is governed by intellect.</p> + +<p>On a large scale, and in work determinable by line and +rule, it is indeed both possible and necessary that the thoughts +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page169"></a>169</span> +of one man should be carried out by the labor of others; in +this sense I have already defined the best architecture to be +the expression of the mind of manhood by the hands of childhood. +But on a smaller scale, and in a design which cannot +be mathematically defined, one man’s thoughts can never be +expressed by another: and the difference between the spirit of +touch of the man who is inventing, and of the man who is +obeying directions, is often all the difference between a great +and a common work of art. How wide the separation is +between original and second-hand execution, I shall endeavor +to show elsewhere; it is not so much to our purpose here as +to mark the other and more fatal error of despising manual +labor when governed by intellect; for it is no less fatal an +error to despise it when thus regulated by intellect, than to +value it for its own sake. We are always in these days +endeavoring to separate the two; we want one man to be +always thinking, and another to be always working, and we call +one a gentleman, and the other an operative; whereas the +workman ought often to be thinking, and the thinker often to +be working, and both should be gentlemen, in the best sense. +As it is, we make both ungentle, the one envying, the other +despising, his brother; and the mass of society is made up of +morbid thinkers, and miserable workers. Now it is only by +labor that thought can be made healthy, and only by thought +that labor can be made happy, and the two cannot be separated +with impunity. It would be well if all of us were good handicraftsmen +in some kind, and the dishonor of manual labor +done away with altogether; so that though there should still +be a trenchant distinction of race between nobles and commoners, +there should not, among the latter, be a trenchant distinction +of employment, as between idle and working men, or +between men of liberal and illiberal professions. All professions +should be liberal, and there should be less pride felt in +peculiarity of employment, and more in excellence of achievement. +And yet more, in each several profession, no master +should be too proud to do its hardest work. The painter +should grind his own colors; the architect work in the mason’s +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page170"></a>170</span> +yard with his men; the master-manufacturer be himself a +more skilful operative than any man in his mills; and the distinction +between one man and another be only in experience +and skill, and the authority and wealth which these must +naturally and justly obtain.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXII.</span> I should be led far from the matter in hand, if I +were to pursue this interesting subject. Enough, I trust, has +been said to show the reader that the rudeness or imperfection +which at first rendered the term “Gothic” one of reproach is +indeed, when rightly understood, one of the most noble characters +of Christian architecture, and not only a noble but an +<i>essential</i> one. It seems a fantastic paradox, but it is nevertheless +a most important truth, that no architecture can be truly +noble which is <i>not</i> imperfect. And this is easily demonstrable. +For since the architect, whom we will suppose capable of +doing all in perfection, cannot execute the whole with his own +hands, he must either make slaves of his workmen in the old +Greek, and present English fashion, and level his work to a +slave’s capacities, which is to degrade it; or else he must take +his workmen as he finds them, and let them show their weaknesses +together with their strength, which will involve the +Gothic imperfection, but render the whole work as noble as +the intellect of the age can make it.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIII.</span> But the principle may be stated more broadly still. +I have confined the illustration of it to architecture, but I must +not leave it as if true of architecture only. Hitherto I have +used the words imperfect and perfect merely to distinguish between +work grossly unskilful, and work executed with average +precision and science; and I have been pleading that any +degree of unskilfulness should be admitted, so only that the +laborer’s mind had room for expression. But, accurately speaking, +no good work whatever can be perfect, and <i>the demand +for perfection is always a sign of a misunderstanding of the +ends of art</i>.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIV.</span> This for two reasons, both based on everlasting +laws. The first, that no great man ever stops working till he +has reached his point of failure; that is to say, his mind is +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page171"></a>171</span> +always far in advance of his powers of execution, and the +latter will now and then give way in trying to follow it; +besides that he will always give to the inferior portions of his +work only such inferior attention as they require; and according +to his greatness he becomes so accustomed to the feeling of +dissatisfaction with the best he can do, that in moments of +lassitude or anger with himself he will not care though the +beholder be dissatisfied also. I believe there has only been one +man who would not acknowledge this necessity, and strove +always to reach perfection, Leonardo; the end of his vain +effort being merely that he would take ten years to a picture, +and leave it unfinished. And therefore, if we are to have +great men working at all, or less men doing their best, the +work will be imperfect, however beautiful. Of human work +none but what is bad can be perfect, in its own bad way.<a name="FnAnchor_58" href="#Footnote_58"><span class="sp">58</span></a></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXV.</span> The second reason is, that imperfection is in some +sort essential to all that we know of life. It is the sign of life +in a mortal body, that is to say, of a state of progress and +change. Nothing that lives is, or can be, rigidly perfect; part +of it is decaying, part nascent. The foxglove blossom,—a +third part bud, a third part past, a third part in full bloom,—is +a type of the life of this world. And in all things that live +there are certain, irregularities and deficiencies which are not +only signs of life, but sources of beauty. No human face is +exactly the same in its lines on each side, no leaf perfect in its +lobes, no branch in its symmetry. All admit irregularity as +they imply change; and to banish imperfection is to destroy +expression, to check exertion, to paralyse vitality. All things +are literally better, lovelier, and more beloved for the imperfections +which have been divinely appointed, that the law of +human life may be Effort, and the law of human judgment, +Mercy.</p> + +<p>Accept this then for a universal law, that neither architecture +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page172"></a>172</span> +nor any other noble work of man can be good unless it +be imperfect; and let us be prepared for the otherwise strange +fact, which we shall discern clearly as we approach the period +of the Renaissance, that the first cause of the fall of the arts +of Europe was a relentless requirement of perfection, incapable +alike either of being silenced by veneration for greatness, or +softened into forgiveness of simplicity.</p> + +<p>Thus far then of the Rudeness or Savageness, which is the +first mental element of Gothic architecture. It is an element +in many other healthy architectures also, as in Byzantine and +Romanesque; but true Gothic cannot exist without it.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVI.</span> The second mental element above named was +<span class="sc">Changefulness</span>, or Variety.</p> + +<p>I have already enforced the allowing independent operation +to the inferior workman, simply as a duty <i>to him</i>, and as ennobling +the architecture by rendering it more Christian. We +have now to consider what reward we obtain for the performance +of this duty, namely, the perpetual variety of every +feature of the building.</p> + +<p>Wherever the workman is utterly enslaved, the parts of the +building must of course be absolutely like each other; for the +perfection of his execution can only be reached by exercising +him in doing one thing, and giving him nothing else to do. +The degree in which the workman is degraded may be thus +known at a glance, by observing whether the several parts of +the building are similar or not; and if, as in Greek work, all +the capitals are alike, and all the mouldings unvaried, then the +degradation is complete; if, as in Egyptian or Ninevite work, +though the manner of executing certain figures is always the +same, the order of design is perpetually varied, the degradation +is less total; if, as in Gothic work, there is perpetual change +both in design and execution, the workman must have been +altogether set free.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVII.</span> How much the beholder gains from the liberty of +the laborer may perhaps be questioned in England, where one +of the strongest instincts in nearly every mind is that Love of +Order which makes us desire that our house windows should +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page173"></a>173</span> +pair like our carriage horses, and allows us to yield our faith +unhesitatingly to architectural theories which fix a form for +everything and forbid variation from it. I would not impeach +love of order: it is one of the most useful elements of the +English mind; it helps us in our commerce and in all purely +practical matters; and it is in many cases one of the foundation +stones of morality. Only do not let us suppose that love +of order is love of art. It is true that order, in its highest +sense, is one of the necessities of art, just as time is a necessity +of music; but love of order has no more to do with our right +enjoyment of architecture or painting, than love of punctuality +with the appreciation of an opera. Experience, I fear, teaches +us that accurate and methodical habits in daily life are seldom +characteristic of those who either quickly perceive, or richly +possess, the creative powers of art; there is, however, nothing +inconsistent between the two instincts, and nothing to hinder +us from retaining our business habits, and yet fully allowing +and enjoying the noblest gifts of Invention. We already do +so, in every other branch of art except architecture, and we +only do <i>not</i> so there because we have been taught that it would +be wrong. Our architects gravely inform us that, as there are +four rules of arithmetic, there are five orders of architecture; +we, in our simplicity, think that this sounds consistent, and +believe them. They inform us also that there is one proper +form for Corinthian capitals, another for Doric, and another for +Ionic. We, considering that there is also a proper form for the +letters A, B, and C, think that this also sounds consistent, and +accept the proposition. Understanding, therefore, that one +form of the said capitals is proper, and no other, and having a +conscientious horror of all impropriety, we allow the architect +to provide us with the said capitals, of the proper form, in such +and such a quantity, and in all other points to take care that +the legal forms are observed; which having done, we rest in +forced confidence that we are well housed.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVIII.</span> But our higher instincts are not deceived. We +take no pleasure in the building provided for us, resembling +that which we take in a new book or a new picture. We may +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page174"></a>174</span> +be proud of its size, complacent in its correctness, and happy +in its convenience. We may take the same pleasure in its +symmetry and workmanship as in a well-ordered room, or a +skilful piece of manufacture. And this we suppose to be all +the pleasure that architecture was ever intended to give us. +The idea of reading a building as we would read Milton or +Dante, and getting the same kind of delight out of the stones +as out of the stanzas, never enters our minds for a moment. +And for good reason:—There is indeed rhythm in the verses, +quite as strict as the symmetries or rhythm of the architecture, +and a thousand times more beautiful, but there is something +else than rhythm. The verses were neither made to order, nor +to match, as the capitals were; and we have therefore a kind +of pleasure in them other than a sense of propriety. But it +requires a strong effort of common sense to shake ourselves +quit of all that we have been taught for the last two centuries, +and wake to the perception of a truth just as simple and certain +as it is new: that great art, whether expressing itself in +words, colors, or stones, does <i>not</i> say the same thing over and +over again; that the merit of architectural, as of every other +art, consists in its saying new and different things; that to +repeat itself is no more a characteristic of genius in marble +than it is of genius in print; and that we may, without offending +any laws of good taste, require of an architect, as we do of +a novelist, that he should be not only correct, but entertaining.</p> + +<p>Yet all this is true, and self-evident; only hidden from us, +as many other self-evident things are, by false teaching. Nothing +is a great work of art, for the production of which either +rules or models can be given. Exactly so far as architecture +works on known rules, and from given models, it is not an art, +but a manufacture; and it is, of the two procedures, rather +less rational (because more easy) to copy capitals or mouldings +from Phidias, and call ourselves architects, than to copy heads +and hands from Titian, and call ourselves painters.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIX.</span> Let us then understand at once, that change or +variety is as much a necessity to the human heart and brain +in buildings as in books; that there is no merit, though there +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page175"></a>175</span> +is some occasional use, in monotony; and that we must no +more expect to derive either pleasure or profit from an architecture +whose ornaments are of one pattern, and whose pillars +are of one proportion, than we should out of a universe in +which the clouds were all of one shape, and the trees all of +one size.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXX.</span> And this we confess in deeds, though not in words. +All the pleasure which the people of the nineteenth century +take in art, is in pictures, sculpture, minor objects of virtů, or +medićval architecture, which we enjoy under the term picturesque: +no pleasure is taken anywhere in modern buildings, +and we find all men of true feeling delighting to escape out of +modern cities into natural scenery: hence, as I shall hereafter +show, that peculiar love of landscape which is characteristic of +the age. It would be well, if, in all other matters, we were as +ready to put up with what we dislike, for the sake of compliance +with established law, as we are in architecture.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXI.</span> How so debased a law ever came to be established, +we shall see when we come to describe the Renaissance +schools: here we have only to note, as the second most essential +element of the Gothic spirit, that it broke through that +law wherever it found it in existence; it not only dared, but +delighted in, the infringement of every servile principle; and +invented a series of forms of which the merit was, not merely +that they were new, but that they were <i>capable of perpetual +novelty</i>. The pointed arch was not merely a bold variation +from the round, but it admitted of millions of variations in +itself; for the proportions of a pointed arch are changeable to +infinity, while a circular arch is always the same. The grouped +shaft was not merely a bold variation from the single one, but +it admitted of millions of variations in its grouping, and in the +proportions resultant from its grouping. The introduction of +tracery was not only a startling change in the treatment of +window lights, but admitted endless changes in the interlacement +of the tracery bars themselves. So that, while in all +living Christian architecture the love of variety exists, the +Gothic schools exhibited that love in culminating energy; and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page176"></a>176</span> +their influence, wherever it extended itself, may be sooner and +farther traced by this character than by any other; the tendency +to the adoption of Gothic types being always first shown +by greater irregularity and richer variation in the forms of the +architecture it is about to supersede, long before the appearance +of the pointed arch or of any other recognizable <i>outward</i> +sign of the Gothic mind.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXII.</span> We must, however, herein note carefully what +distinction there is between a healthy and a diseased love of +change; for as it was in healthy love of change that the Gothic +architecture rose, it was partly in consequence of diseased love +of change that it was destroyed. In order to understand this +clearly, it will be necessary to consider the different ways in +which change and monotony are presented to us in nature; +both having their use, like darkness and light, and the one incapable +of being enjoyed without the other: change being +most delightful after some prolongation of monotony, as light +appears most brilliant after the eyes have been for some time +closed.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIII.</span> I believe that the true relations of monotony and +change may be most simply understood by observing them in +music. We may therein notice, first, that there is a sublimity +and majesty in monotony which there is not in rapid or frequent +variation. This is true throughout all nature. The +greater part of the sublimity of the sea depends on its monotony; +so also that of desolate moor and mountain scenery; and +especially the sublimity of motion, as in the quiet, unchanged +fall and rise of an engine beam. So also there is sublimity in +darkness which there is not in light.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIV.</span> Again, monotony after a certain time, or beyond +a certain degree, becomes either uninteresting or intolerable, +and the musician is obliged to break it in one or two ways: +either while the air or passage is perpetually repeated, its +notes are variously enriched and harmonized; or else, after a +certain number of repeated passages, an entirely new passage +is introduced, which is more or less delightful according to +the length of the previous monotony. Nature, of course, uses +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page177"></a>177</span> +both these kinds of variation perpetually. The sea-waves, +resembling each other in general mass, but none like its +brother in minor divisions and curves, are a monotony of the +first kind; the great plain, broken by an emergent rock or +clump of trees, is a monotony of the second.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXV.</span> Farther: in order to the enjoyment of the change +in either case, a certain degree of patience is required from +the hearer or observer. In the first case, he must be satisfied +to endure with patience the recurrence of the great masses of +sound or form, and to seek for entertainment in a careful +watchfulness of the minor details. In the second case, he must +bear patiently the infliction of the monotony for some moments, +in order to feel the full refreshment of the change. This is +true even of the shortest musical passage in which the element +of monotony is employed. In cases of more majestic monotony, +the patience required is so considerable that it becomes a +kind of pain,—a price paid for the future pleasure.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVI.</span> Again: the talent of the composer is not in the +monotony, but in the changes: he may show feeling and taste +by his use of monotony in certain places or degrees; that is to +say, by his <i>various</i> employment of it; but it is always in the +new arrangement or invention that his intellect is shown, and +not in the monotony which relieves it.</p> + +<p>Lastly: if the pleasure of change be too often repeated, it +ceases to be delightful, for then change itself becomes monotonous, +and we are driven to seek delight in extreme and fantastic +degrees of it. This is the diseased love of change of +which we have above spoken.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVII.</span> From these facts we may gather generally that +monotony is, and ought to be, in itself painful to us, just as +darkness is; that an architecture which is altogether monotonous +is a dark or dead architecture; and, of those who love it, +it may be truly said, “they love darkness rather than light.” +But monotony in certain measure, used in order to give value +to change, and, above all, that <i>transparent</i> monotony which, +like the shadows of a great painter, suffers all manner of dimly +suggested form to be seen through the body of it, is an essential +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page178"></a>178</span> +in architectural as in all other composition; and the endurance +of monotony has about the same place in a healthy mind +that the endurance of darkness has: that is to say, as a strong +intellect will have pleasure in the solemnities of storm and +twilight, and in the broken and mysterious lights that gleam +among them, rather than in mere brilliancy and glare, while a +frivolous mind will dread the shadow and the storm; and as +a great man will be ready to endure much darkness of fortune +in order to reach greater eminence of power or felicity, while +an inferior man will not pay the price; exactly in like manner a +great mind will accept, or even delight in, monotony which +would be wearisome to an inferior intellect, because it has +more patience and power of expectation, and is ready to pay +the full price for the great future pleasure of change. But in +all cases it is not that the noble nature loves monotony, any +more than it loves darkness or pain. But it can bear with it, +and receives a high pleasure in the endurance or patience, a +pleasure necessary to the well-being of this world; while those +who will not submit to the temporary sameness, but rush from +one change to another, gradually dull the edge of change itself, +and bring a shadow and weariness over the whole world +from which there is no more escape.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVIII.</span> From these general uses of variety in the economy +of the world, we may at once understand its use and +abuse in architecture. The variety of the Gothic schools is +the more healthy and beautiful, because in many cases it is +entirely unstudied, and results, not from the mere love of +change, but from practical necessities. For in one point of +view Gothic is not only the best, but the <i>only rational</i> architecture, +as being that which can fit itself most easily to all services, +vulgar or noble. Undefined in its slope of roof, height +of shaft, breadth of arch, or disposition of ground plan, it can +shrink into a turret, expand into a hall, coil into a staircase, or +spring into a spire, with undegraded grace and unexhausted +energy; and whenever it finds occasion for change in its form +or purpose, it submits to it without the slightest sense of loss +either to its unity or majesty,—subtle and flexible like a fiery +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page179"></a>179</span> +serpent, but ever attentive to the voice of the charmer. And +it is one of the chief virtues of the Gothic builders, that they +never suffered ideas of outside symmetries and consistencies to +interfere with the real use and value of what they did. If +they wanted a window, they opened one; a room, they added +one; a buttress, they built one; utterly regardless of any established +conventionalities of external appearance, knowing (as +indeed it always happened) that such daring interruptions of +the formal plan would rather give additional interest to its +symmetry than injure it. So that, in the best times of Gothic, +a useless window would rather have been opened in an unexpected +place for the sake of the surprise, than a useful one forbidden +for the sake of symmetry. Every successive architect, +employed upon a great work, built the pieces he added in his +own way, utterly regardless of the style adopted by his predecessors; +and if two towers were raised in nominal correspondence +at the sides of a cathedral front, one was nearly sure to +be different from the other, and in each the style at the top to +be different from the style at the bottom.<a name="FnAnchor_59" href="#Footnote_59"><span class="sp">59</span></a></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIX.</span> These marked variations were, however, only permitted +as part of the great system of perpetual change which +ran through every member of Gothic design, and rendered it +as endless a field for the beholder’s inquiry, as for the builder’s +imagination: change, which in the best schools is subtle and +delicate, and rendered more delightful by intermingling of a +noble monotony; in the more barbaric schools is somewhat +fantastic and redundant; but, in all, a necessary and constant +condition of the life of the school. Sometimes the variety is +in one feature, sometimes in another; it may be in the capitals +or crockets, in the niches or the traceries, or in all together, +but in some one or other of the features it will be found +always. If the mouldings are constant, the surface sculpture +<span class="correction" title="wiil in the original">will</span> change; if the capitals are of a fixed design, the traceries +will change; if the traceries are monotonous, the capitals will +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page180"></a>180</span> +change; and if even, as in some fine schools, the early English +for example, there is the slightest approximation to an unvarying +type of mouldings, capitals, and floral decoration, the +variety is found in the disposition of the masses, and in the +figure sculpture.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XL.</span> I must now refer for a moment, before we quit the +consideration of this, the second mental element of Gothic, to +the opening of the third chapter of the “Seven Lamps of Architecture,” +in which the distinction was drawn (§ 2) between +man gathering and man governing; between his acceptance +of the sources of delight from nature, and his developement of +authoritative or imaginative power in their arrangement: for +the two mental elements, not only of Gothic, but of all good +architecture, which we have just been examining, belong to it, +and are admirable in it, chiefly as it is, more than any other +subject of art, the work of man, and the expression of the +average power of man. A picture or poem is often little more +than a feeble utterance of man’s admiration of something out +of himself; but architecture approaches more to a creation of +his own, born of his necessities, and expressive of his nature. +It is also, in some sort, the work of the whole race, while the +picture or statue are the work of one only, in most cases more +highly gifted than his fellows. And therefore we may expect +that the first two elements of good architecture should be expressive +of some great truths commonly belonging to the whole +race, and necessary to be understood or felt by them in all +their work that they do under the sun. And observe what +they are: the confession of Imperfection and the confession of +Desire of Change. The building of the bird and the bee needs +not express anything like this. It is perfect and unchanging. +But just because we are something better than birds or bees, +our building must confess that we have not reached the perfection +we can imagine, and cannot rest in the condition we have +attained. If we pretend to have reached either perfection or +satisfaction, we have degraded ourselves and our work. God’s +work only may express that; but ours may never have that +sentence written upon it,—“And behold, it was very good.” +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page181"></a>181</span> +And, observe again, it is not merely as it renders the edifice a +book of various knowledge, or a mine of precious thought, that +variety is essential to its nobleness. The vital principle is not +the love of <i>Knowledge</i>, but the love of <i>Change</i>. It is that +strange <i>disquietude</i> of the Gothic spirit that is its greatness; +that restlessness of the dreaming mind, that wanders hither +and thither among the niches, and flickers feverishly around +the pinnacles, and frets and fades in labyrinthine knots and +shadows along wall and roof, and yet is not satisfied, nor shall +be satisfied. The Greek could stay in his triglyph furrow, and +be at peace; but the work of the Gothic heart is fretwork still, +and it can neither rest in, nor from, its labor, but must pass on, +sleeplessly, until its love of change shall be pacified for ever in +the change that must come alike on them that wake and them +that sleep.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLI.</span> The third constituent element of the Gothic mind +was stated to be <span class="sc">Naturalism</span>; that is to say, the love of natural +objects for their own sake, and the effort to represent them +frankly, unconstrained by artistical laws.</p> + +<p>This characteristic of the style partly follows in necessary +connexion with those named above. For, so soon as the workman +is left free to represent what subjects he chooses, he must +look to the nature that is round him for material, and will endeavor +to represent it as he sees it, with more or less accuracy +according to the skill he possesses, and with much play of +fancy, but with small respect for law. There is, however, a +marked distinction between the imaginations of the Western +and Eastern races, even when both are left free; the Western, +or Gothic, delighting most in the representation of facts, and +the Eastern (Arabian, Persian, and Chinese) in the harmony of +colors and forms. Each of these intellectual dispositions has +its particular forms of error and abuse, which, though I have +often before stated, I must here again briefly explain; and +this the rather, because the word Naturalism is, in one of its +senses, justly used as a term of reproach, and the questions respecting +the real relations of art and nature are so many and +so confused throughout all the schools of Europe at this day, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page182"></a>182</span> +that I cannot clearly enunciate any single truth without appearing +to admit, in fellowship with it, some kind of error, +unless the reader will bear with me in entering into such an +analysis of the subject as will serve us for general guidance.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLII.</span> We are to remember, in the first place, that the arrangement +of colors and lines is an art analogous to the composition<a name="FnAnchor_60" href="#Footnote_60"><span class="sp">60</span></a> +of music, and entirely independent of the representation +of facts. Good coloring does not necessarily convey the +image of anything but itself. It consists in certain proportions +and arrangements of rays of light, but not in likenesses +to anything. A few touches of certain greys and purples laid +by a master’s hand on white paper, will be good coloring; as +more touches are added beside them, we may find out that +they were intended to represent a dove’s neck, and we may +praise, as the drawing advances, the perfect imitation of the +dove’s neck. But the good coloring does not consist in that +imitation, but in the abstract qualities and relations of the grey +and purple.</p> + +<p>In like manner, as soon as a great sculptor begins to shape +his work out of the block, we shall see that its lines are nobly +arranged, and of noble character. We may not have the +slightest idea for what the forms are intended, whether they +are of man or beast, of vegetation or drapery. Their likeness +to anything does not affect their nobleness. They are +magnificent forms, and that is all we need care to know of +them, in order to say whether the workman is a good or bad +sculptor.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page183"></a>183</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLIII.</span> Now the noblest art is an exact unison of the abstract +value, with the imitative power, of forms and colors. +It is the noblest composition, used to express the noblest +facts. But the human mind cannot in general unite the two +perfections: it either pursues the fact to the neglect of the +composition, or pursues the composition to the neglect of the +fact.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLIV.</span> And it is intended by the Deity that it <i>should</i> do +this; the best art is not always wanted. Facts are often wanted +without art, as in a geological diagram; and art often without +facts, as in a Turkey carpet. And most men have been +made capable of giving either one or the other, but not both; +only one or two, the very highest, can give both.</p> + +<p>Observe then. Men are universally divided, as respects +their artistical qualifications, into three great classes; a right, +a left, and a centre. On the right side are the men of facts, +on the left the men of design,<a name="FnAnchor_61" href="#Footnote_61"><span class="sp">61</span></a> in the centre the men of +both.</p> + +<p>The three classes of course pass into each other by imperceptible +gradations. The men of facts are hardly ever altogether +without powers of design; the men of design are always +in some measure cognizant of facts; and as each class +possesses more or less of the powers of the opposite one, it +approaches to the character of the central class. Few men, +even in that central rank, are so exactly throned on the summit +of the crest that they cannot be perceived to incline in the +least one way or the other, embracing both horizons with their +glance. Now each of these classes has, as I above said, a +healthy function in the world, and correlative diseases or unhealthy +functions; and, when the work of either of them is +seen in its morbid condition, we are apt to find fault with the +class of workmen, instead of finding fault only with the particular +abuse which has perverted their action.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page184"></a>184</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLV.</span> Let us first take an instance of the healthy action +of the three classes on a simple subject, so as fully to understand +the distinction between them, and then we shall more +easily examine the corruptions to which they are liable. Fig. +1 in <a href="#plate_6">Plate VI.</a> is a spray of vine with a bough of cherry-tree, +which I have outlined from nature as accurately as I could, +without in the least endeavoring to compose or arrange the +form. It is a simple piece of fact-work, healthy and good as +such, and useful to any one who wanted to know plain truths +about tendrils of vines, but there is no attempt at design in it. +<a href="#plate_19">Plate XIX.</a>, below, represents a branch of vine used to decorate +the angle of the Ducal Palace. It is faithful as a representation +of vine, and yet so designed that every leaf serves +an architectural purpose, and could not be spared from its +place without harm. This is central work; fact and design +together. Fig. 2 in <a href="#plate_6">Plate VI.</a> is a spandril from St. Mark’s, +in which the forms of the vine are dimly suggested, the object +of the design being merely to obtain graceful lines and +well proportioned masses upon the gold ground. There is +not the least attempt to inform the spectator of any facts +about the growth of the vine; there are no stalks or tendrils,—merely +running bands with leaves emergent from +them, of which nothing but the outline is taken from the +vine, and even that imperfectly. This is design, unregardful +of facts.</p> + +<p>Now the work is, in all these three cases, perfectly healthy. +Fig. 1 is not bad work because it has not design, nor Fig. 2 +bad work because it has not facts. The object of the one is to +give pleasure through truth, and of the other to give pleasure +through composition. And both are right.</p> + +<p>What, then, are the diseased operations to which the three +classes of workmen are liable?</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLVI.</span> Primarily, two; affecting the two inferior classes:</p> + +<p>1st, When either of those two classes Despises the other:</p> + +<p>2nd, When either of the two classes Envies the other; producing, +therefore, four forms of dangerous error.</p> + +<p>First, when the men of facts despise design. This is the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page185"></a>185</span> +error of the common Dutch painters, of merely imitative +painters of still life, flowers, &c., and other men who, having +either the gift of accurate imitation or strong sympathies with +nature, suppose that all is done when the imitation is perfected +or sympathy expressed. A large body of English landscapists +come into this class, including most clever sketchers from nature, +who fancy that to get a sky of true tone, and a gleam of +sunshine or sweep of shower faithfully expressed, is all that +can be required of art. These men are generally themselves +answerable for much of their deadness of feeling to the higher +qualities of composition. They probably have not originally +the high gifts of design, but they lose such powers as they +originally possessed by despising, and refusing to study, the +results of great power of design in others. Their knowledge, +as far as it goes, being accurate, they are usually presumptuous +and self-conceited, and gradually become incapable of admiring +anything but what is like their own works. They see +nothing in the works of great designers but the faults, and do +harm almost incalculable in the European society of the present +day by sneering at the compositions of the greatest men of +the earlier ages,<a name="FnAnchor_62" href="#Footnote_62"><span class="sp">62</span></a> because they do not absolutely tally with +their own ideas of “Nature.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLVII.</span> The second form of error is when the men of +design despise facts. All noble design must deal with facts to +a certain extent, for there is no food for it but in nature. The +best colorist invents best by taking hints from natural colors; +from birds, skies, or groups of figures. And if, in the delight +of inventing fantastic color and form the truths of nature are +wilfully neglected, the intellect becomes comparatively decrepit, +and that state of art results which we find among the +Chinese. The Greek designers delighted in the facts of the +human form, and became great in consequence; but the facts +of lower nature were disregarded by them, and their inferior +ornament became, therefore, dead and valueless.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page186"></a>186</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLVIII.</span> The third form of error is when the men of facts +envy design: that is to say, when, having only imitative +powers, they refuse to employ those powers upon the visible +world around them; but, having been taught that composition +is the end of art, strive to obtain the inventive powers which +nature has denied them, study nothing but the works of reputed +designers, and perish in a fungous growth of plagiarism +and laws of art.</p> + +<p>Here was the great error of the beginning of this century; +it is the error of the meanest kind of men that employ themselves +in painting, and it is the most fatal of all, rendering +those who fall into it utterly useless, incapable of helping the +world with either truth or fancy, while, in all probability, they +deceive it by base resemblances of both, until it hardly recognizes +truth or fancy when they really exist.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLIX.</span> The fourth form of error is when the men of design +envy facts; that is to say, when the temptation of closely +imitating nature leads them to forget their own proper ornamental +function, and when they lose the power of the composition +for the sake of graphic truth; as, for instance, in the +hawthorn moulding so often spoken of round the porch of +Bourges Cathedral, which, though very lovely, might perhaps, +as we saw above, have been better, if the old builder, in his +excessive desire to make it look like hawthorn, had not painted +it green.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">L.</span> It is, however, carefully to be noted, that the two +morbid conditions to which the men of facts are liable are +much more dangerous and harmful than those to which the +men of design are liable. The morbid state of men of design +injures themselves only; that of the men of facts injures the +whole world. The Chinese porcelain-painter is, indeed, not +so great a man as he might be, but he does not want to break +everything that is not porcelain; but the modern English fact-hunter, +despising design, wants to destroy everything that does +not agree with his own notions of truth, and becomes the most +dangerous and despicable of iconoclasts, excited by egotism instead +of religion. Again: the Bourges sculptor, painting his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page187"></a>187</span> +hawthorns green, did indeed somewhat hurt the effect of his +own beautiful design, but did not prevent any one from loving +hawthorn: but Sir George Beaumont, trying to make Constable +paint grass brown <i>instead</i> of green, was setting himself +between Constable and nature, blinding the painter, and blaspheming +the work of God.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LI.</span> So much, then, of the diseases of the inferior classes, +caused by their envying or despising each other. It is evident +that the men of the central class cannot be liable to any morbid +operation of this kind, they possessing the powers of both.</p> + +<p>But there is another order of diseases which affect all the +three classes, considered with respect to their pursuit of facts. +For observe, all the three classes are in some degree pursuers +of facts; even the men of design not being in any case altogether +independent of external truth. Now, considering them +<i>all</i> as more or less searchers after truth, there is another triple +division to be made of them. Everything presented to them +in nature has good and evil mingled in it: and artists, considered +as searchers after truth, are again to be divided into +three great classes, a right, a left, and a centre. Those on the +right perceive, and pursue, the good, and leave the evil: those +in the centre, the greatest, perceive and pursue the good and +evil together, the whole thing as it verily is: those on the left +perceive and pursue the evil, and leave the good.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LII.</span> The first class, I say, take the good and leave the +evil. Out of whatever is presented to them, they gather what +it has of grace, and life, and light, and holiness, and leave all, +or at least as much as possible, of the rest undrawn. The +faces of their figures express no evil passions; the skies of +their landscapes are without storm; the prevalent character +of their color is brightness, and of their chiaroscuro fulness of +light. The early Italian and Flemish painters, Angelico and +Hemling, Perugino, Francia, Raffaelle in his best time, John +Bellini, and our own Stothard, belong eminently to this class.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LIII.</span> The second, or greatest class, render all that they see +in nature unhesitatingly, with a kind of divine grasp and +government of the whole, sympathizing with all the good, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page188"></a>188</span> +yet confessing, permitting, and bringing good out of the evil +also. Their subject is infinite as nature, their color equally +balanced between splendor and sadness, reaching occasionally +the highest degrees of both, and their chiaroscuro equally +balanced between light and shade.</p> + +<p>The principal men of this class are Michael Angelo, Leonardo, +Giotto, Tintoret, and Turner. Raffaelle in his second +time, Titian, and Rubens are transitional; the first inclining to +the eclectic, and the last two to the impure class, Raffaelle +rarely giving all the evil, Titian and Rubens rarely all the +good.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LIV.</span> The last class perceive and imitate evil only. They +cannot draw the trunk of a tree without blasting and shattering +it, nor a sky except covered with stormy clouds: they delight +in the beggary and brutality of the human race; their +color is for the most part subdued or lurid, and the greatest +spaces of their pictures are occupied by darkness.</p> + +<p>Happily the examples of this class are seldom seen in perfection. +Salvator Rosa and Caravaggio are the most characteristic: +the other men belonging to it approach towards the +central rank by imperceptible gradations, as they perceive and +represent more and more of good. But Murillo, Zurbaran, +Camillo Procaccini, Rembrandt, and Teniers, all belong +naturally to this lower class.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LV.</span> Now, observe: the three classes into which artists +were previously divided, of men of fact, men of design, and +men of both, are all of Divine institution; but of these latter +three, the last is in no wise of Divine institution. It is entirely +human, and the men who belong to it have sunk into it by +their own faults. They are, so far forth, either useless or +harmful men. It is indeed good that evil should be occasionally +represented, even in its worst forms, but never that it +should be taken delight in: and the mighty men of the central +class will <span class="correction" title="aways in the original">always</span> give us all that is needful of it; sometimes, as +Hogarth did, dwelling upon it bitterly as satirists,—but this +with the more effect, because they will neither exaggerate it, nor +represent it mercilessly, and without the atoning points that all +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page189"></a>189</span> +evil shows to a Divinely guided glance, even at its deepest. +So then, though the third class will always, I fear, in some +measure exist, the two necessary classes are only the first two; +and this is so far acknowledged by the general sense of men, +that the basest class has been confounded with the second; and +painters have been divided commonly only into two ranks, now +known, I believe, throughout Europe by the names which they +first received in Italy, “Puristi and Naturalisti.” Since, however, +in the existing state of things, the degraded or evil-loving +class, though less defined than that of the Puristi, is +just as vast as it is indistinct, this division has done infinite +dishonor to the great faithful painters of nature: and it has +long been one of the objects I have had most at heart to +show that, in reality, the Purists, in their sanctity, are less +separated from these natural painters than the Sensualists in +their foulness; and that the difference, though less discernible, +is in reality greater, between the man who pursues evil for +its own sake, and him who bears with it for the sake of truth, +than between this latter and the man who will not endure it +at all.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LVI.</span> Let us, then, endeavor briefly to mark the real relations +of these three vast ranks of men, whom I shall call, for +convenience in speaking of them, Purists, Naturalists, and +Sensualists; not that these terms express their real characters, +but I know no word, and cannot coin a convenient one, which +would accurately express the opposite of Purist; and I keep +the terms Purist and Naturalist in order to comply, as far as +possible, with the established usage of language on the Continent. +Now, observe: in saying that nearly everything presented +to us in nature has mingling in it of good and evil, I do +not mean that nature is conceivably improvable, or that anything +that God has made could be called evil, if we could see +far enough into its uses, but that, with respect to immediate +effects or appearances, it may be so, just as the hard rind or +bitter kernel of a fruit may be an evil to the eater, though in +the one is the protection of the fruit, and in the other its continuance. +The Purist, therefore, does not mend nature, but +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page190"></a>190</span> +receives from nature and from God that which is good for him; +while the Sensualist fills himself “with the husks that the +swine did eat.”</p> + +<p>The three classes may, therefore, be likened to men reaping +wheat, of which the Purists take the fine flour, and the Sensualists +the chaff and straw, but the Naturalists take all home, +and make their cake of the one, and their couch of the other.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LVII.</span> For instance. We know more certainly every day +that whatever appears to us harmful in the universe has some +beneficent or necessary operation; that the storm which destroys +a harvest brightens the sunbeams for harvests yet unsown, +and that the volcano which buries a city preserves a thousand +from destruction. But the evil is not for the time less fearful, +because we have learned it to be necessary; and we easily +understand the timidity or the tenderness of the spirit which +would withdraw itself from the presence of destruction, and +create in its imagination a world of which the peace should be +unbroken, in which the sky should not darken nor the sea +rage, in which the leaf should not change nor the blossom +wither. That man is greater, however, who contemplates +with an equal mind the alternations of terror and of beauty; +who, not rejoicing less beneath the sunny sky, can bear also to +watch the bars of twilight narrowing on the horizon; and, not +less sensible to the blessing of the peace of nature, can rejoice +in the magnificence of the ordinances by which that peace is +protected and secured. But separated from both by an immeasurable +distance would be the man who delighted in convulsion +and disease for their own sake; who found his daily +food in the disorder of nature mingled with the suffering of +humanity; and watched joyfully at the right hand of the +Angel whose appointed work is to destroy as well as to accuse, +while the corners of the House of feasting were struck by the +wind from the wilderness.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LVIII.</span> And far more is this true, when the subject of contemplation +is humanity itself. The passions of mankind are +partly protective, partly beneficent, like the chaff and grain of +the corn; but none without their use, none without nobleness +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page191"></a>191</span> +when seen in balanced unity with the rest of the <span class="correction" title="spirt in the original">spirit</span> which +they are charged to defend. The passions of which the end is +the continuance of the race; the indignation which is to arm +it against injustice, or strengthen it to resist wanton injury; +and the fear<a name="FnAnchor_63" href="#Footnote_63"><span class="sp">63</span></a> which lies at the root of prudence, reverence, +and awe, are all honorable and beautiful, so long as man is regarded +in his relations to the existing world. The religious +Purist, striving to conceive him withdrawn from those relations, +effaces from the countenance the traces of all transitory +passion, illumines it with holy hope and love, and seals it with +the serenity of heavenly peace; he conceals the forms of the +body by the deep-folded garment, or else represents them +under severely chastened types, and would rather paint them +emaciated by the fast, or pale from the torture, than strengthened +by exertion, or flushed by emotion. But the great Naturalist +takes the human being in its wholeness, in its mortal as +well as its spiritual strength. Capable of sounding and sympathizing +with the whole range of its passions, he brings one +majestic harmony out of them all; he represents it fearlessly +in all its acts and thoughts, in its haste, its anger, its sensuality, +and its pride, as well as in its fortitude or faith, but makes it +noble in them all; he casts aside the veil from the body, +and beholds the mysteries of its form like an angel looking +down on an inferior creature: there is nothing which he is reluctant +to behold, nothing that he is ashamed to confess; with +all that lives, triumphing, falling, or suffering, he claims kindred, +either in majesty or in mercy, yet standing, in a sort, afar +off, unmoved even in the deepness of his sympathy; for the +spirit within him is too thoughtful to be grieved, too brave to +be appalled, and too pure to be polluted.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LIX.</span> How far beneath these two ranks of men shall we +place, in the scale of being, those whose pleasure is only in sin +or in suffering; who habitually contemplate humanity in poverty +or decrepitude, fury or sensuality; whose works are either +temptations to its weakness, or triumphs over its ruin, and recognize +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page192"></a>192</span> +no other subjects for thought or admiration than the +subtlety of the robber, the rage of the soldier, or the joy of the +Sybarite. It seems strange, when thus definitely stated, that +such a school should exist. Yet consider a little what gaps +and blanks would disfigure our gallery and chamber walls, in +places that we have long approached with reverence, if every +picture, every statue, were removed from them, of which the +subject was either the vice or the misery of mankind, portrayed +without any moral purpose: consider the innumerable groups +having reference merely to various forms of passion, low or +high; drunken revels and brawls among peasants, gambling +or fighting scenes among soldiers, amours and intrigues among +every class, brutal battle pieces, banditti subjects, gluts of torture +and death in famine, wreck, or slaughter, for the sake +merely of the excitement,—that quickening and suppling of +the dull spirit that cannot be gained for it but by bathing it in +blood, afterward to wither back into stained and stiffened +apathy; and then that whole vast false heaven of sensual passion, +full of nymphs, satyrs, graces, goddesses, and I know not +what, from its high seventh circle in Correggio’s Antiope, +down to the Grecized ballet-dancers and smirking Cupids of +the Parisian upholsterer. Sweep away all this, remorselessly, +and see how much art we should have left.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LX.</span> And yet these are only the grossest manifestations of +the tendency of the school. There are subtler, yet not less +certain, signs of it in the works of men who stand high in the +world’s list of sacred painters. I doubt not that the reader was +surprised when I named Murillo among the men of this third +rank. Yet, go into the Dulwich Gallery, and meditate for a +little over that much celebrated picture of the two beggar boys, +one eating lying on the ground, the other standing beside him. +We have among our own painters one who cannot indeed be +set beside Murillo as a painter of Madonnas, for he is a pure +Naturalist, and, never having seen a Madonna, does not paint +any; but who, as a painter of beggar or peasant boys, may be +set beside Murillo, or any one else,—W. Hunt. He loves peasant +boys, because he finds them more roughly and picturesquely +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page193"></a>193</span> +dressed, and more healthily colored, than others. And he +paints all that he sees in them fearlessly; all the health and +humor, and freshness, and vitality, together with such awkwardness +and stupidity, and what else of negative or positive +harm there may be in the creature; but yet so that on the +whole we love it, and find it perhaps even beautiful, or if not, +at least we see that there is capability of good in it, rather than +of evil; and all is lighted up by a sunshine and sweet color +that makes the smock-frock as precious as cloth of gold. But +look at those two ragged and vicious vagrants that Murillo has +gathered out of the street. You smile at first, because they +are eating so naturally, and their roguery is so complete. But +is there anything else than roguery there, or was it well for +the painter to give his time to the painting of those repulsive +and wicked children? Do you feel moved with any charity +towards children as you look at them? Are we the least more +likely to take any interest in ragged schools, or to help the next +pauper child that comes in our way, because the painter has +shown us a cunning beggar feeding greedily? Mark the choice +of the act. He might have shown hunger in other ways, and +given interest to even this act of eating, by making the face +wasted, or the eye wistful. But he did not care to do this. +He delighted merely in the disgusting manner of eating, the +food filling the cheek; the boy is not hungry, else he would +not turn round to talk and grin as he eats.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXI.</span> But observe another point in the lower figure. It +lies so that the sole of the foot is turned towards the spectator; +not because it would have lain less easily in another attitude, +but that the painter may draw, and exhibit, the grey dust engrained +in the foot. Do not call this the painting of nature: +it is mere delight in foulness. The lesson, if there be any, in +the picture, is not one whit the stronger. We all know that a +beggar’s bare foot cannot be clean; there is no need to thrust +its degradation into the light, as if no human imagination were +vigorous enough for its conception.</p> + +<p>§ LXII. The position of the Sensualists, in treatment of landscape, +is less distinctly marked than in that of the figure: because +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page194"></a>194</span> +even the wildest passions of nature are noble: but the +inclination is manifested by carelessness in marking generic +form in trees and flowers: by their preferring confused and +irregular arrangements of foliage or foreground to symmetrical +and simple grouping; by their general choice of such picturesqueness +as results from decay, disorder, and disease, rather +than of that which is consistent with the perfection of the +things in which it is found; and by their imperfect rendering +of the elements of strength and beauty in all things. I propose +to work out this subject fully in the last volume of “Modern +Painters;” but I trust that enough has been here said to +enable the reader to understand the relations of the three great +classes of artists, and therefore also the kinds of morbid condition +into which the two higher (for the last has no other +than a morbid condition) are liable to fall. For, since the +function of the Naturalists is to represent, as far as may be, +the whole of nature, and the Purists to represent what is absolutely +good for some special purpose or time, it is evident that +both are liable to error from shortness of sight, and the last +also from weakness of judgment. I say, in the first place, both +may err from shortness of sight, from not seeing all that there +is in nature; seeing only the outsides of things, or those points of +them which bear least on the matter in hand. For instance, a +modern continental Naturalist sees the anatomy of a limb thoroughly, +but does not see its color against the sky, which latter +fact is to a painter far the more important of the two. And +because it is always easier to see the surface than the depth of +things, the full sight of them requiring the highest powers of +penetration, sympathy, and imagination, the world is full of +vulgar Naturalists: not Sensualists, observe, not men who delight +in evil; but men who never see the deepest good, and +who bring discredit on all painting of Nature by the little that +they discover in her. And the Purist, besides being liable to +this same shortsightedness, is liable also to fatal errors of judgment; +for he may think that good which is not so, and that +the highest good which is the least. And thus the world is +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page195"></a>195</span> +full of vulgar Purists,<a name="FnAnchor_64" href="#Footnote_64"><span class="sp">64</span></a> who bring discredit on all selection by +the silliness of their choice; and this the more, because the +very becoming a Purist is commonly indicative of some slight +degree of weakness, readiness to be offended, or narrowness of +understanding of the ends of things: the greatest men being, +in all times of art, Naturalists, without any exception; and the +greatest Purists being those who approach nearest to the Naturalists, +as Benozzo Gozzoli and Perugino. Hence there is a +tendency in the Naturalists to despise the Purists, and in the +Purists to be offended with the Naturalists (not understanding +them, and confounding them with the Sensualists); and this is +grievously harmful to both.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXIII.</span> Of the various forms of resultant mischief it is not +here the place to speak: the reader may already be somewhat +wearied with a statement which has led us apparently so far +from our immediate subject. But the digression was necessary, +in order that I might clearly define the sense in which I +use the word Naturalism when I state it to be the third most +essential characteristic of Gothic architecture. I mean that the +Gothic builders belong to the central or greatest rank in <i>both</i> +the classifications of artists which we have just made; that, +considering all artists as either men of design, men of facts, or +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page196"></a>196</span> +men of both, the Gothic builders were men of both; and that +again, considering all artists as either Purists, Naturalists, or +Sensualists, the Gothic builders were Naturalists.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXIV.</span> I say first, that the Gothic builders were of that +central class which unites fact with design; but that the part +of the work which was more especially their own was the truthfulness. +Their power of artistical invention or arrangement was +not greater than that of Romanesque and Byzantine workmen: +by those workmen they were taught the principles, and from +them received their models, of design; but to the ornamental +feeling and rich fancy of the Byzantine the Gothic builder +added a love of <i>fact</i> which is never found in the South. Both +Greek and Roman used conventional foliage in their ornament, +passing into something that was not foliage at all, knotting +itself into strange cup-like buds or clusters, and growing out of +lifeless rods instead of stems; the Gothic sculptor received +these types, at first, as things that ought to be, just as we have +a second time received them; but he could not rest in them. +He saw there was no veracity in them, no knowledge, no +vitality. Do what he would, he could not help liking the true +leaves better; and cautiously, a little at a time, he put more of +nature into his work, until at last it was all true, retaining, +nevertheless, every valuable character of the original well-disciplined +and designed arrangement.<a name="FnAnchor_65" href="#Footnote_65"><span class="sp">65</span></a></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXV.</span> Nor is it only in external and visible subject that +the Gothic workman wrought for truth: he is as firm in his +rendering of imaginative as of actual truth; that is to say, +when an idea would have been by a Roman, or Byzantine, +symbolically represented, the Gothic mind realizes it to the +utmost. For instance, the purgatorial fire is represented in +the mosaic of Torcello (Romanesque) as a red stream, longitudinally +striped like a riband, descending out of the throne of +Christ, and gradually extending itself to envelope the wicked. +When we are once informed what this means, it is enough for +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page197"></a>197</span> +its purpose; but the Gothic inventor does not leave the sign +in need of interpretation. He makes the fire as like real fire +as he can; and in the porch of St. Maclou at Rouen the sculptured +flames burst out of the Hades gate, and flicker up, in +writhing tongues of stone, through the interstices of the niches, +as if the church itself were on fire. This is an extreme instance, +but it is all the more illustrative of the entire difference +in temper and thought between the two schools of art, and of +the intense love of veracity which influenced the Gothic design.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXVI.</span> I do not say that this love of veracity is always +healthy in its operation. I have above noticed the errors into +which it falls from despising design; and there is another kind +of error noticeable in the instance just given, in which the love +of truth is too hasty, and seizes on a surface truth instead of +an inner one. For in representing the Hades fire, it is not the +mere <i>form</i> of the flame which needs most to be told, but its +unquenchableness, its Divine ordainment and limitation, and +its inner fierceness, not physical and material, but in being the +expression of the wrath of God. And these things are not to +be told by imitating the fire that flashes out of a bundle of +sticks. If we think over his symbol a little, we shall perhaps +find that the Romanesque builder told more truth in that likeness +of a blood-red stream, flowing between definite shores and +out of God’s throne, and expanding, as if fed by a perpetual +current, into the lake wherein the wicked are cast, than the +Gothic builder in those torch-flickerings about his niches. But +this is not to our immediate purpose; I am not at present to +insist upon the faults into which the love of truth was led in +the later Gothic times, but on the feeling itself, as a glorious +and peculiar characteristic of the Northern builders. For, observe, +it is not, even in the above instance, love of truth, but +want of thought, which <i>causes</i> the fault. The love of truth, +as such, is good, but when it is misdirected by thoughtlessness +or over-excited by vanity, and either seizes on facts of small +value, or gathers them chiefly that it may boast of its grasp +and apprehension, its work may well become dull or offensive. +Yet let us not, therefore, blame the inherent love of facts, but +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page198"></a>198</span> +the incautiousness of their selection, and impertinence of their +statement.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXVII.</span> I said, in the second place, that Gothic work, when +referred to the arrangement of all art, as purist, naturalist, or +sensualist, was naturalist. This character follows necessarily +on its extreme love of truth, prevailing over the sense of beauty, +and causing it to take delight in portraiture of every kind, and +to express the various characters of the human countenance +and form, as it did the varieties of leaves and the ruggedness +of branches. And this tendency is both increased and ennobled +by the same Christian humility which we saw expressed +in the first character of Gothic work, its rudeness. For as that +resulted from a humility which confessed the imperfection of +the <i>workman</i>, so this naturalist portraiture is rendered more +faithful by the humility which confesses the imperfection of +the <i>subject</i>. The Greek sculptor could neither bear to confess +his own feebleness, nor to tell the faults of the forms that he +portrayed. But the Christian workman, believing that all is +finally to work together for good, freely confesses both, and +neither seeks to disguise his own roughness of work, nor his +subject’s roughness of make. Yet this frankness being joined, +for the most part, with depth of religious feeling in other directions, +and especially with charity, there is sometimes a tendency +to Purism in the best Gothic sculpture; so that it frequently +reaches great dignity of form and tenderness of expression, +yet never so as to lose the veracity of portraiture, +wherever portraiture is possible: not exalting its kings into +demi-gods, nor its saints into archangels, but giving what kingliness +and sanctity was in them, to the full, mixed with due +record of their faults; and this in the most part with a great +indifference like that of Scripture history, which sets down, +with unmoved and unexcusing resoluteness, the virtues and +errors of all men of whom it speaks, often leaving the reader +to form his own estimate of them, without an indication of the +judgment of the historian. And this veracity is carried out by +the Gothic sculptors in the minuteness and generality, as well +as the equity, of their delineation: for they do not limit their +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page199"></a>199</span> +art to the portraiture of saints and kings, but introduce the +most familiar scenes and most simple subjects; filling up the +backgrounds of Scripture histories with vivid and curious representations +of the commonest incidents of daily life, and availing +themselves of every occasion in which, either as a symbol, +or an explanation of a scene or time, the things familiar to the +eye of the workman could be introduced and made of account. +Hence Gothic sculpture and painting are not only full of valuable +portraiture of the greatest men, but copious records of all +the domestic customs and inferior arts of the ages in which it +flourished.<a name="FnAnchor_66" href="#Footnote_66"><span class="sp">66</span></a></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXVIII.</span> There is, however, one direction in which the +Naturalism of the Gothic workmen is peculiarly manifested; +and this direction is even more characteristic of the school than +the Naturalism itself; I mean their peculiar fondness for the +forms of Vegetation. In rendering the various circumstances +of daily life, Egyptian and Ninevite sculpture is as frank and +as diffuse as the Gothic. From the highest pomps of state or +triumphs of battle, to the most trivial domestic arts and amusements, +all is taken advantage of to fill the field of granite with +the perpetual interest of a crowded drama; and the early Lombardic +and Romanesque sculpture is equally copious in its description +of the familiar circumstances of war and the chase. +But in all the scenes portrayed by the workmen of these nations, +vegetation occurs only as an explanatory accessory; the +reed is introduced to mark the course of the river, or the tree +to mark the covert of the wild beast, or the ambush of the +enemy, but there is no especial interest in the forms of the +vegetation strong enough to induce them to make it a subject +of separate and accurate study. Again, among the nations +who followed the arts of design exclusively, the forms of foliage +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page200"></a>200</span> +introduced were meagre and general, and their real intricacy +and life were neither admired nor expressed. But to the +Gothic workman the living foliage became a subject of intense +affection, and he struggled to render all its characters with as +much accuracy as was compatible with the laws of his design +and the nature of his material, not unfrequently tempted in his +enthusiasm to transgress the one and disguise the other.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXIX.</span> There is a peculiar significancy in this, indicative +both of higher civilization and gentler temperament, than had +before been manifested in architecture. Rudeness, and the +love of change, which we have insisted upon as the first elements +of Gothic, are also elements common to all healthy +schools. But here is a softer element mingled with them, +peculiar to the Gothic itself. The rudeness or ignorance which +would have been painfully exposed in the treatment of the +human form, are still not so great as to prevent the successful +rendering of the wayside herbage; and the love of change, +which becomes morbid and feverish in following the haste of +the hunter, and the rage of the combatant, is at once soothed +and satisfied as it watches the wandering of the tendril, and +the budding of the flower. Nor is this all: the new direction +of mental interest marks an infinite change in the means and +the habits of life. The nations whose chief support was in the +chase, whose chief interest was in the battle, whose chief pleasure +was in the banquet, would take small care respecting the +shapes of leaves and flowers; and notice little in the forms of +the forest trees which sheltered them, except the signs indicative +of the wood which would make the toughest lance, the +closest roof, or the clearest fire. The affectionate observation +of the grace and outward character of vegetation is the sure +sign of a more tranquil and gentle existence, sustained by the +gifts, and gladdened by the splendor, of the earth. In that +careful distinction of species, and richness of delicate and undisturbed +organization, which characterize the Gothic design, +there is the history of rural and thoughtful life, influenced by +habitual tenderness, and devoted to subtle inquiry; and every +discriminating and delicate touch of the chisel, as it rounds the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page201"></a>201</span> +petal or guides the branch, is a prophecy of the developement +of the entire body of the natural sciences, beginning with that +of medicine, of the recovery of literature, and the establishment +of the most necessary principles of domestic wisdom and +national peace.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXX.</span> I have before alluded to the strange and vain supposition, +that the original conception of Gothic architecture +had been derived from vegetation,—from the symmetry of +avenues, and the interlacing of branches. It is a supposition +which never could have existed for a moment in the mind of +any person acquainted with early Gothic; but, however idle +as a theory, it is most valuable as a testimony to the character +of the perfected style. It is precisely because the reverse of +this theory is the fact, because the Gothic did not arise out of, +but develope itself into, a resemblance to vegetation, that this +resemblance is so instructive as an indication of the temper of +the builders. It was no chance suggestion of the form of an +arch from the bending of a bough, but a gradual and continual +discovery of a beauty in natural forms which could be more +and more perfectly transferred into those of stone, that influenced +at once the heart of the people, and the form of the +edifice. The Gothic architecture arose in massy and mountainous +strength, axe-hewn, and iron-bound, block heaved upon +block by the monk’s enthusiasm and the soldier’s force; and +cramped and stanchioned into such weight of grisly wall, as +might bury the anchoret in darkness, and beat back the utmost +storm of battle, suffering but by the same narrow crosslet the +passing of the sunbeam, or of the arrow. Gradually, as that +monkish enthusiasm became more thoughtful, and as the sound +of war became more and more intermittent beyond the gates +of the convent or the keep, the stony pillar grew slender and +the vaulted roof grew light, till they had wreathed themselves +into the semblance of the summer woods at their fairest, and +of the dead field-flowers, long trodden down in blood, sweet +monumental statues were set to bloom for ever, beneath the +porch of the temple, or the canopy of the tomb.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXI.</span> Nor is it only as a sign of greater gentleness or +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page202"></a>202</span> +refinement of mind, but as a proof of the best possible direction +of this refinement, that the tendency of the Gothic to the +expression of vegetative life is to be admired. That sentence +of Genesis, “I have given thee every green herb for meat,” +like all the rest of the book, has a profound symbolical as well +as a literal meaning. It is not merely the nourishment of the +body, but the food of the soul, that is intended. The green +herb is, of all nature, that which is most essential to the healthy +spiritual life of man. Most of us do not need fine scenery; +the precipice and the mountain peak are not intended to be +seen by all men,—perhaps their power is greatest over those +who are unaccustomed to them. But trees, and fields, and +flowers were made for all, and are necessary for all. God has +connected the labor which is essential to the bodily sustenance, +with the pleasures which are healthiest for the heart; and +while He made the ground stubborn, He made its herbage +fragrant, and its blossoms fair. The proudest architecture +that man can build has no higher honor than to bear the image +and recall the memory of that grass of the field which is, at +once, the type and the support of his existence; the goodly +building is then most glorious when it is sculptured into the +likeness of the leaves of Paradise; and the great Gothic spirit, +as we showed it to be noble in its disquietude, is also noble in its +hold of nature; it is, indeed, like the dove of Noah, in that she +found no rest upon the face of the waters,—but like her in this +also, “<span class="sc">Lo, in her mouth was an olive branch, plucked off.</span>”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXII.</span> The fourth essential element of the Gothic mind +was above stated to be the sense of the <span class="sc">Grotesque</span>; but I shall +defer the endeavor to define this most curious and subtle character +until we have occasion to examine one of the divisions +of the Renaissance schools, which was morbidly influenced by +it (Vol. III. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30756/30756-h/30756-h.htm#chap_3">Chap. III.</a>). It is the less necessary to insist upon +it here, because every reader familiar with Gothic architecture +must understand what I mean, and will, I believe, have no +hesitation in admitting that the tendency to delight in fantastic +and ludicrous, as well as in sublime, images, is a universal +instinct of the Gothic imagination.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page203"></a>203</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXIII.</span> The fifth element above named was <span class="sc">Rigidity</span>; +and this character I must endeavor carefully to define, for +neither the word I have used, nor any other that I can think +of, will express it accurately. For I mean, not merely stable, +but <i>active</i> rigidity; the peculiar energy which gives tension to +movement, and stiffness to resistance, which makes the fiercest +lightning forked rather than curved, and the stoutest oak-branch +angular rather than bending, and is as much seen in +the quivering of the lance as in the glittering of the icicle.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXIV.</span> I have before had occasion (Vol. I. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#chap_13">Chap. XIII.</a> +§ <span class="scs">VII.</span>) to note some manifestations of this energy or fixedness; +but it must be still more attentively considered here, as it +shows itself throughout the whole structure and decoration of +Gothic work. Egyptian and Greek buildings stand, for the +most part, by their own weight and mass, one stone passively +incumbent on another: but in the Gothic vaults and traceries +there is a stiffness analogous to that of the bones of a limb, or +fibres of a tree; an elastic tension and communication of force +from part to part, and also a studious expression of this throughout +every visible line of the building. And, in like manner, +the Greek and Egyptian ornament is either mere surface +engraving, as if the face of the wall had been stamped with a +seal, or its lines are flowing, lithe, and luxuriant; in either case, +there is no expression of energy in framework of the ornament +itself. But the Gothic ornament stands out in prickly independence, +and frosty fortitude, jutting into crockets, and freezing +into pinnacles; here starting up into a monster, there germinating +into a blossom; anon knitting itself into a branch, +alternately thorny, bossy, and bristly, or writhed into every +form of nervous entanglement; but, even when most graceful, +never for an instant languid, always quickset; erring, if at all, +ever on the side of brusquerie.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXV.</span> The feelings or habits in the workman which give +rise to this character in the work, are more complicated and +various than those indicated by any other sculptural expression +hitherto named. There is, first, the habit of hard and rapid +working; the industry of the tribes of the North, quickened +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page204"></a>204</span> +by the coldness of the climate, and giving an expression of +sharp energy to all they do (as above noted, Vol. I. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#chap_13">Chap. +XIII.</a> § <span class="scs">VII</span>.), as opposed to the languor of the Southern tribes, +however much of fire there may be in the heart of that <span class="correction" title="langour in the original">languor</span>, +for lava itself may flow languidly. There is also the habit of +finding enjoyment in the signs of cold, which is never found, +I believe, in the inhabitants of countries south of the Alps. +Cold is to them an unredeemed evil, to be suffered, and forgotten +as soon as may be; but the long winter of the North +forces the Goth (I mean the Englishman, Frenchman, Dane, +or German), if he would lead a happy life at all, to find sources +of happiness in foul weather as well as fair, and to rejoice in +the leafless as well as in the shady forest. And this we do +with all our hearts; finding perhaps nearly as much contentment +by the Christmas fire as in the summer sunshine, and +gaining health and strength on the ice-fields of winter, as well +as among the meadows of spring. So that there is nothing +adverse or painful to our feelings in the cramped and stiffened +structure of vegetation checked by cold; and instead of seeking, +like the Southern sculptor, to express only the softness of +leafage nourished in all tenderness, and tempted into all luxuriance +by warm winds and glowing rays, we find pleasure in +dwelling upon the crabbed, perverse, and morose animation of +plants that have known little kindness from earth or heaven, +but, season after season, have had their best efforts palsied by +frost, their brightest buds buried under snow, and their goodliest +limbs lopped by tempest.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXVI.</span> There are many subtle sympathies and affections +which join to confirm the Gothic mind in this peculiar choice +of subject; and when we add to the influence of these, the +necessities consequent upon the employment of a rougher +material, compelling the workman to seek for vigor of effect, +rather than refinement of texture or accuracy of form, we +have direct and manifest causes for much of the difference +between the northern and southern cast of conception: but +there are indirect causes holding a far more important place +in the Gothic heart, though less immediate in their influence +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page205"></a>205</span> +on design. Strength of will, independence of character, resoluteness +of purpose, impatience of undue control, and that +general tendency to set the individual reason against authority, +and the individual deed against destiny, which, in the Northern +tribes, has opposed itself throughout all ages to the languid +submission, in the Southern, of thought to tradition, and purpose +to fatality, are all more or less traceable in the rigid +lines, vigorous and various masses, and daringly projecting and +independent structure of the Northern Gothic ornament: +while the opposite feelings are in like manner legible in the +graceful and softly guided waves and wreathed bands, in which +Southern decoration is constantly disposed; in its tendency to +lose its independence, and fuse itself into the surface of the +masses upon which it is traced; and in the expression seen so +often, in the arrangement of those masses themselves, of an +abandonment of their strength to an inevitable necessity, or a +listless repose.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXVII.</span> There is virtue in the measure, and error in the +excess, of both these characters of mind, and in both of the +styles which they have created; the best architecture, and the +best temper, are those which unite them both; and this fifth +impulse of the Gothic heart is therefore that which needs most +caution in its indulgence. It is more definitely Gothic than +any other, but the best Gothic building is not that which is +<i>most</i> Gothic: it can hardly be too frank in its confession of +rudeness, hardly too rich in its changefulness, hardly too faithful +in its naturalism; but it may go too far in its rigidity, and, +like the great Puritan spirit in its extreme, lose itself either +in frivolity of division, or perversity of purpose.<a name="FnAnchor_67" href="#Footnote_67"><span class="sp">67</span></a> It actually +did so in its later times; but it is gladdening to remember +that in its utmost nobleness, the very temper which has been +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page206"></a>206</span> +thought most adverse to it, the Protestant spirit of self-dependence +and inquiry, was expressed in its every line. Faith +and aspiration there were, in every Christian ecclesiastical +building, from the first century to the fifteenth; but the moral +habits to which England in this age owes the kind of greatness +that she has,—the habits of philosophical investigation, of accurate +thought, of domestic seclusion and independence, of +stern self-reliance, and sincere upright searching into religious +truth,—were only traceable in the features which were the +distinctive creation of the Gothic schools, in the veined foliage, +and thorny fretwork, and shadowy niche, and buttressed pier, +and fearless height of subtle pinnacle and crested tower, sent +like an “unperplexed question up to Heaven.”<a name="FnAnchor_68" href="#Footnote_68"><span class="sp">68</span></a></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXVIII.</span> Last, because the least essential, of the constituent +elements of this noble school, was placed that of <span class="sc">Redundance</span>,—the +uncalculating bestowal of the wealth of its labor. +There is, indeed, much Gothic, and that of the best period, in +which this element is hardly traceable, and which depends for +its effect almost exclusively on loveliness of simple design and +grace of uninvolved proportion: still, in the most characteristic +buildings, a certain portion of their effect depends upon +accumulation of ornament; and many of those which have +most influence on the minds of men, have attained it by means +of this attribute alone. And although, by careful study of the +school, it is possible to arrive at a condition of taste which +shall be better contented by a few perfect lines than by a +whole façade covered with fretwork, the building which only +satisfies such a taste is not to be considered the best. For the +very first requirement of Gothic architecture being, as we saw +above, that it shall both admit the aid, and appeal to the admiration, +of the rudest as well as the most refined minds, the +richness of the work is, paradoxical as the statement may appear, +a part of its humility. No architecture is so haughty as +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page207"></a>207</span> +that which is simple; which refuses to address the eye, except +in a few clear and forceful lines; which implies, in offering so +little to our regards, that all it has offered is perfect; and disdains, +either by the complexity or the attractiveness of its features, +to embarrass our investigation, or betray us into delight. +That humility, which is the very life of the Gothic school, is +shown not only in the imperfection, but in the accumulation, +of ornament. The inferior rank of the workman is often +shown as much in the richness, as the roughness, of his work; +and if the co-operation of every hand, and the sympathy of +every heart, are to be received, we must be content to allow +the redundance which disguises the failure of the feeble, and +wins the regard of the inattentive. There are, however, far +nobler interests mingling, in the Gothic heart, with the rude +love of decorative accumulation: a magnificent enthusiasm, +which feels as if it never could do enough to reach the fulness +of its ideal; an unselfishness of sacrifice, which would rather +cast fruitless labor before the altar than stand idle in the +market; and, finally, a profound sympathy with the fulness +and wealth of the material universe, rising out of that Naturalism +whose operation we have already endeavored to define. +The sculptor who sought for his models among the forest +leaves, could not but quickly and deeply feel that complexity +need not involve the loss of grace, nor richness that of repose; +and every hour which he spent in the study of the minute and +various work of Nature, made him feel more forcibly the barrenness +of what was best in that of man: nor is it to be wondered +at, that, seeing her perfect and exquisite creations poured +forth in a profusion which conception could not grasp nor calculation +sum, he should think that it ill became him to be +niggardly of his own rude craftsmanship; and where he saw +throughout the universe a faultless beauty lavished on measureless +spaces of broidered field and blooming mountain, to +grudge his poor and imperfect labor to the few stones that he +had raised one upon another, for habitation or memorial. The +years of his life passed away before his task was accomplished; +but generation succeeded generation with unwearied enthusiasm, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page208"></a>208</span> +and the cathedral front was at last lost in the tapestry of +its traceries, like a rock among the thickets and herbage of +spring.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXIX.</span> We have now, I believe, obtained a view approaching +to completeness of the various moral or imaginative +elements which composed the inner spirit of Gothic architecture. +We have, in the second place, to define its outward +form.</p> + +<p>Now, as the Gothic spirit is made up of several elements, +some of which may, in particular examples, be wanting, so +the Gothic form is made up of minor conditions of form, +some of which may, in particular examples, be imperfectly +developed.</p> + +<p>We cannot say, therefore, that a building is either Gothic +or not Gothic in form, any more than we can in spirit. We +can only say that it is more or less Gothic, in proportion to +the number of Gothic forms which it unites.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXX.</span> There have been made lately many subtle and +ingenious endeavors to base the definition of Gothic form +entirely upon the roof-vaulting; endeavors which are both +forced and futile: for many of the best Gothic buildings in +the world have roofs of timber, which have no more connexion +with the main structure of the walls of the edifice than a hat +has with that of the head it protects; and other Gothic buildings +are merely enclosures of spaces, as ramparts and walls, +or enclosures of gardens or cloisters, and have no roofs at all, +in the sense in which the word “roof” is commonly accepted. +But every reader who has ever taken the slightest interest in +architecture must know that there is a great popular impression +on this matter, which maintains itself stiffly in its old +form, in spite of all ratiocination and definition; namely, that +a flat lintel from pillar to pillar is Grecian, a round arch Norman +or Romanesque, and a pointed arch Gothic.</p> + +<p>And the old popular notion, as far as it goes, is perfectly +right, and can never be bettered. The most striking outward +feature in all Gothic architecture is, that it is composed of +pointed arches, as in Romanesque that it is in like manner +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page209"></a>209</span> +composed of round; and this distinction would be quite as +clear, though the roofs were taken off every cathedral in +Europe. And yet, if we examine carefully into the real force +and meaning of the term “roof” we shall perhaps be able to +retain the old popular idea in a definition of Gothic architecture +which shall also express whatever dependence that architecture +has upon true forms of roofing.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXI.</span> In <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#chap_13">Chap. XIII.</a> of the first volume, the reader +will remember that roofs were considered as generally divided +into two parts; the roof proper, that is to say, the shell, vault, +or ceiling, internally visible; and the roof-mask, which protects +this lower roof from the weather. In some buildings +these parts are united in one framework; but, in most, they +are more or less independent of each other, and in nearly +all Gothic buildings there is considerable interval between +them.</p> + +<p>Now it will often happen, as above noticed, that owing to +the nature of the apartments required, or the materials at +hand, the roof proper may be flat, coved, or domed, in buildings +which in their walls employ pointed arches, and are, in +the straitest sense of the word, Gothic in all other respects. +Yet so far forth as the roofing alone is concerned, they are +not Gothic unless the pointed arch be the principal form +adopted either in the stone vaulting or the timbers of the roof +proper.</p> + +<p>I shall say then, in the first place, that “Gothic architecture +is that which uses, if possible, the pointed arch in the roof +proper.” This is the first step in our definition.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXII.</span> Secondly. Although there may be many advisable +or necessary forms for the lower roof or ceiling, there is, +in cold countries exposed to rain and snow, only one advisable +form for the roof-mask, and that is the gable, for this alone +will throw off both rain and snow from all parts of its surface +as speedily as possible. Snow can lodge on the top of a dome, +not on the ridge of a gable. And thus, as far as roofing is +concerned, the gable is a far more essential feature of Northern +architecture than the pointed vault, for the one is a thorough +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page210"></a>210</span> +necessity, the other often a graceful conventionality: the gable +occurs in the timber roof of every dwelling-house and every +cottage, but not the vault; and the gable built on a polygonal +or circular plan, is the origin of the turret and spire;<a name="FnAnchor_69" href="#Footnote_69"><span class="sp">69</span></a> and all +the so-called aspiration of Gothic architecture is, as above +noticed (Vol. I. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#chap_12">Chap. XII.</a> § <span class="scs">VI.</span>), nothing more than its developement. +So that we must add to our definition another +clause, which will be, at present, by far the most important, +and it will stand thus: “Gothic architecture is that which uses +the pointed arch for the roof proper, and the gable for the +roof-mask.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXIII.</span> And here, in passing, let us notice a principle as +true in architecture as in morals. It is not the <i>compelled</i>, but +the <i>wilful</i>, transgression of law which corrupts the character. +Sin is not in the act, but in the choice. It is a law for Gothic +architecture, that it shall use the pointed arch for its roof +proper; but because, in many cases of domestic building, this +becomes impossible for want of room (the whole height of the +apartment being required everywhere), or in various other +ways inconvenient, flat ceilings may be used, and yet the +Gothic shall not lose its purity. But in the roof-mask, there +can be no necessity nor reason for a change of form: the gable +is the best; and if any other—dome, or bulging crown, or +whatsoever else—be employed at all, it must be in pure +caprice, and wilful transgression of law. And wherever, +therefore, this is done, the Gothic has lost its character; it is +pure Gothic no more.</p> + +<table style="float: right; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. VIII.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figright2"> + <a name="fig_8"><img src="images/img211.jpg" width="300" height="139" alt="Fig. VIII." title="Fig. VIII." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXIV.</span> And this last clause of the definition is to be +more strongly insisted upon, because it includes multitudes of +buildings, especially domestic, which are Gothic in spirit, but +which we are not in the habit of embracing in our general conception +of Gothic architecture; multitudes of street dwelling-houses +and straggling country farm-houses, built with little +care for beauty, or observance of Gothic laws in vaults or +windows, and yet maintaining their character by the sharp +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page211"></a>211</span> +and quaint gables of the roofs. And, for the reason just +given, a house is far more Gothic which has square windows, +and a boldly gabled roof, than the one which has pointed +arches for the windows, and a domed or flat roof. For it +often happened in the best Gothic times, as it must in all +times, that it was more easy and convenient to make a window +square than pointed; not but that, as above emphatically +stated, the richness of church architecture was also found in +domestic; and systematically “when the pointed arch was +used in the church it was used in the street,” only in all times +there were cases in which men +could not build as they would, and +were obliged to construct their +doors or windows in the readiest +way; and this readiest way was +then, in small work, as it will be +to the end of time, to put a flat stone for a lintel and build the +windows as in <a href="#fig_8">Fig. VIII.</a>; and the occurrence of such windows +in a building or a street will not un-Gothicize them, so +long as the bold gable roof be retained, and the spirit of the +work be visibly Gothic in other respects. But if the roof be +wilfully and conspicuously of any other form than the gable,—if +it be domed, or Turkish, or Chinese,—the building has +positive corruption mingled with its Gothic elements, in proportion +to the conspicuousness of the roof; and, if not absolutely +un-Gothicized, can maintain its character only by such +vigor of vital Gothic energy in other parts as shall cause the +roof to be forgotten, thrown off like an eschar from the living +frame. Nevertheless, we must always admit that it <i>may</i> be +forgotten, and that if the Gothic seal be indeed set firmly on the +walls, we are not to cavil at the forms reserved for the tiles +and leads. For, observe, as our definition at present stands, +being understood of large roofs only, it will allow a conical +glass-furnace to be a Gothic building, but will <i>not</i> allow so +much, either of the Duomo of Florence, or the Baptistery of +Pisa. We must either mend it, therefore, or understand it in +some broader sense.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page212"></a>212</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXV.</span> And now, if the reader will look back to the fifth +paragraph of <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#chap_3">Chap. III.</a> Vol. I., he will find that I carefully +extended my definition of a roof so as to include more than is +usually understood by the term. It was there said to be the +covering of a space, <i>narrow or wide</i>. It does not in the least +signify, with respect to the real nature of the covering, whether +the space protected be two feet wide, or ten; though in the +one case we call the protection an arch, in the other a vault +or roof. But the real point to be considered is, the manner in +which this protection stands, and not whether it is narrow or +broad. We call the vaulting of a bridge "an arch,” because it +is narrow with respect to the river it crosses; but if it were +built above us on the ground, we should call it a waggon vault, +because then we should feel the breadth of it. The real question +is the nature of the curve, not the extent of space over +which it is carried: and this is more the case with respect to +Gothic than to any other architecture; for, in the greater +number of instances, the form of the roof is entirely dependent +on the ribs; the domical shells being constructed in all kinds +of inclinations, quite undeterminable by the eye, and all that +is definite in their character being fixed by the curves of the +ribs.</p> + +<table style="float: left; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. IX.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figleft2"> + <a name="fig_9"><img src="images/img212.jpg" width="80" height="97" alt="Fig. IX." title="Fig. IX." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<table style="float: right; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. X.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figright2"> + <a name="fig_10"><img src="images/img213.jpg" width="197" height="800" alt="Fig. X." title="Fig. X." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXVI.</span> Let us then consider our definition as including +the narrowest arch, or tracery bar, as well as the broadest roof, +and it will be nearly a perfect one. For the fact is, that all +good Gothic is nothing more than the developement, in various +ways, and on every conceivable scale, of the group formed by +the <i>pointed arch for the bearing line</i> below, and <i>the gable for +the protecting line</i> above; and from the huge, gray, +shaly slope of the cathedral roof, with its elastic +pointed vaults beneath, to the slight crown-like +points that enrich the smallest niche of its doorway, +one law and one expression will be found in all. +The modes of support and of decoration are infinitely +various, but the real character of the building, +in all good Gothic, depends upon the single lines of the +gable over the pointed arch, <a href="#fig_9">Fig. IX.</a>, endlessly rearranged or +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page213"></a>213</span> +repeated. The larger woodcut, +<a href="#fig_10">Fig. X.</a>, represents three characteristic +conditions of the treatment of +the group: <i>a</i>, from a tomb at Verona +(1328); <i>b</i>, one of the lateral +porches at Abbeville; <i>c</i>, one of +the uppermost points of the great +western façade of Rouen Cathedral; +both these last being, I believe, +early work of the fifteenth +century. The forms of the pure +early English and French Gothic +are too well known to need any +notice; my reason will appear +presently for choosing, by way of +example, these somewhat rare conditions.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXVII.</span> But, first, let us try +whether we cannot get the forms +of the other great architectures of +the world broadly expressed by relations +of the same lines into which +we have compressed the Gothic. +We may easily do this if the reader +will first allow me to remind him +of the true nature of the pointed +arch, as it was expressed in § <span class="scs">X.</span> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#chap_10">Chap. X.</a> of the first volume. It +was said there, that it ought to be +called a “curved gable,” for, strictly +speaking, an “arch” cannot be +“pointed.” The so-called pointed +arch ought always to be considered +as a gable, with its sides curved in +order to enable them to bear pressure +from without. Thus considering +it, there are but three ways +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page214"></a>214</span> +in which an interval between piers can be bridged,—the three +ways represented by <span class="scs">A</span>, <span class="scs">B</span>, and <span class="scs">C</span>, <a href="#fig_11">Fig. XI.</a>,<a name="FnAnchor_70" href="#Footnote_70"><span class="sp">70</span></a> on <a href="#page213">page 213</a>,—<span class="scs">A</span>, the +lintel; <span class="scs">B</span>, the round arch; <span class="scs">C</span>, the gable. All the architects in +the world will never discover any other ways of bridging a +space than these three; they may vary the curve of the arch, +or curve the sides of the gable, or break them; but in doing +this they are merely modifying or subdividing, not adding to +the generic forms.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXVIII.</span> Now there are three good architectures in the +world, and there never can be more, correspondent to each of +these three simple ways of covering in a space, which is the +original function of all architectures. And those three architectures +are <i>pure</i> exactly in proportion to the simplicity and +directness with which they express the condition of roofing on +which they are founded. They have many interesting varieties, +according to their scale, manner of decoration, and character of +the nations by whom they are practised, but all their varieties +are finally referable to the three great heads:—</p> + +<p><span class="scs">A</span>, Greek: Architecture of the Lintel.</p> +<p><span class="scs">B</span>, Romanesque: Architecture of the Round Arch.</p> +<p><span class="scs">C</span>, Gothic: Architecture of the Gable.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XI.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter2"> + <a name="fig_11"><img src="images/img214.jpg" width="400" height="135" alt="Fig. XI." title="Fig. XI." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>The three names, Greek, Romanesque, and Gothic, are +indeed inaccurate when used in this vast sense, because they +imply national limitations; but the three architectures may +nevertheless not unfitly receive their names from those nations +by whom they were carried to the highest perfections. We +may thus briefly state their existing varieties.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXIX.</span> <span class="scs">A. GREEK:</span> Lintel Architecture. The worst of +the three; and, considered with reference to stone construction, +always in some measure barbarous. Its simplest type is +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page215"></a>215</span> +Stonehenge; its most refined, the Parthenon; its noblest, the +Temple of Karnak.</p> + +<p>In the hands of the Egyptian, it is sublime; in those of the +Greek, pure; in those of the Roman, rich; and in those of the +Renaissance builder, effeminate.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">B. Romanesque:</span> Round-arch Architecture. Never thoroughly +developed until Christian times. It falls into two +great branches, Eastern and Western, or Byzantine and Lombardic; +changing respectively in process of time, with certain +helps from each other, into Arabian Gothic and Teutonic +Gothic. Its most perfect Lombardic type is the Duomo of +Pisa; its most perfect Byzantine type (I believe), St. Mark’s at +Venice. Its highest glory is, that it has no corruption. It perishes +in giving birth to another architecture as noble as itself.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">C. Gothic:</span> Architecture of the Gable. The daughter of +the Romanesque; and, like the Romanesque, divided into two +great branches, Western and Eastern, or pure Gothic and +Arabian Gothic; of which the latter is called Gothic, only +because it has many Gothic forms, pointed arches, vaults, &c., +but its spirit remains Byzantine, more especially in the form +of the roof-mask, of which, with respect to these three great +families, we have next to determine the typical form.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XC.</span> For, observe, the distinctions we have hitherto been +stating, depend on the form of the stones first laid from pier +to pier; that is to say, of the simplest condition of roofs +proper. Adding the relations of the roof-mask to these lines, +we shall have the perfect type of form for each school.</p> + +<table style="float: right; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XII.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figright2"> + <a name="fig_12"><img src="images/img215.jpg" width="300" height="156" alt="Fig. XII." title="Fig. XII." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>In the Greek, the Western Romanesque, and Western +Gothic, the roof-mask is the +gable: in the Eastern Romanesque, +and Eastern Gothic, it +is the dome: but I have not +studied the roofing of either +of these last two groups, and +shall not venture to generalize +them in a diagram. But the three groups, in the hands of +the Western builders, may be thus simply represented: <i>a</i>, <a href="#fig_12">Fig. XII.</a>, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page216"></a>216</span> +Greek;<a name="FnAnchor_71" href="#Footnote_71"><span class="sp">71</span></a> <i>b</i>, Western Romanesque; <i>c</i>, Western, or true, +Gothic.</p> + +<p>Now, observe, first, that the relation of the roof-mask to the +roof proper, in the Greek type, forms that pediment which +gives its most striking character to the temple, and is the +principal recipient of its sculptural decoration. The relation +of these lines, therefore, is just as important in the Greek as in +the Gothic schools.</p> + +<table style="float: left; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XIII.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figleft2"> + <a name="fig_13"><img src="images/img216.jpg" width="300" height="283" alt="Fig. XIII." title="Fig. XIII." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCI.</span> Secondly, the reader must observe the difference of +steepness in the Romanesque and Gothic gables. This is not +an unimportant distinction, nor an undecided one. The +Romanesque gable does not pass gradually into the more elevated +form; there is a great gulf +between the two; the whole effect +of all Southern architecture +being dependent upon the use +of the flat gable, and of all +Northern upon that of the +acute. I need not here dwell +upon the difference between the +lines of an Italian village, or the +flat tops of most Italian towers, +and the peaked gables and +spires of the North, attaining +their most fantastic developement, I believe, in Belgium: +but it may be well to state the law of separation, namely, that +a Gothic gable <i>must</i> have all its angles acute, and a Romanesque +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page217"></a>217</span> +one <i>must</i> have the upper one obtuse: or, to give the reader +a simple practical rule, take any gable, <i>a</i> or <i>b</i>, <a href="#fig_13">Fig. XIII.</a>, and +strike a semicircle on its base; if its top rises above the semicircle, +as at <i>b</i>, it is a Gothic gable; if it falls beneath it, a +Romanesque one; but the best forms in each group are those +which are distinctly steep, or distinctly low. In the figure <i>f</i> +is, perhaps, the average of Romanesque slope, and <i>g</i> of Gothic.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XIV.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter2"> + <a name="fig_14"><img src="images/img217.jpg" width="650" height="250" alt="Fig. XIV." title="Fig. XIV." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCII</span>. But although we do not find a transition from one +school into the other in the slope of the gables, there is often a +confusion between the two schools in the association of the +gable with the arch below it. It has just been stated that the +pure Romanesque condition is the round arch under the low +gable, <i>a</i>, <a href="#fig_14">Fig. XIV.</a>, and the pure Gothic condition is the pointed +arch under the high gable, <i>b</i>. But in the passage from one +style to the other, we sometimes find the two conditions reversed; +the pointed arch under a low gable, as <i>d</i>, or the round +arch under a high gable, as <i>c</i>. The form <i>d</i> occurs in the tombs +of Verona, and <i>c</i> in the doors of Venice.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCIII</span>. We have thus determined the relation of Gothic to +the other architectures of the world, as far as regards the main +lines of its construction; but there is still one word which +needs to be added to our definition of its form, with respect to +a part of its decoration, which rises out of that construction. +We have seen that the first condition of its form is, that it +shall have pointed arches. When Gothic is perfect, therefore, +it will follow that the pointed arches must be built in the +strongest possible manner.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page218"></a>218</span></p> + +<table style="float: left; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XV.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figleft2"> + <a name="fig_15"><img src="images/img218.jpg" width="300" height="480" alt="Fig. XV." title="Fig. XV." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>Now, if the reader will look back to <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#chap_11">Chapter XI.</a> of Vol. +I., he will find the subject of the masonry of the pointed +arch discussed at length, and +the conclusion deduced, that +of all possible forms of the +pointed arch (a certain weight +of material being given), that +generically represented at <i>e</i>, +<a href="#fig_15">Fig. XV.</a>, is the strongest. +In fact, the reader can see in +a moment that the weakness +of the pointed arch is in its +flanks, and that by merely +thickening them gradually at +this point all chance of fracture +is removed. Or, perhaps, +more simply still:—Suppose +a gable built of stone, as +at <i>a</i>, and pressed upon from +without by a weight in the direction +of the arrow, clearly it +would be liable to fall in, as at +<i>b</i>. To prevent this, we make a pointed arch of it, as at <i>c</i>; and +now it cannot fall inwards, but if pressed upon from above +may give way outwards, as at <i>d</i>. But at last we build as at <i>e</i>, +and now it can neither fall out nor in.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCIV</span>. The forms of arch thus obtained, with a pointed +projection called a cusp on each side, must for ever be delightful +to the human mind, as being expressive of the utmost +strength and permanency obtainable with a given mass of +material. But it was not by any such process of reasoning, +nor with any reference to laws of construction, that the cusp +was originally invented. It is merely the special application +to the arch of the great ornamental system of <span class="sc">Foliation</span>; or +the adaptation of the forms of leafage which has been above +insisted upon as the principal characteristic of Gothic Naturalism. +This love of foliage was exactly proportioned, in its +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page219"></a>219</span> +intensity, to the increase of strength in the Gothic spirit: in +the Southern Gothic it is <i>soft</i> leafage that is most loved; in the +Northern <i>thorny</i> leafage. And if we +take up any Northern illuminated manuscript +of the great Gothic time, we +shall find every one of its leaf ornaments +surrounded by a thorny structure +laid round it in gold or in color; sometimes +apparently copied faithfully from +the prickly developement of the root of +the leaf in the thistle, running along +the stems and branches exactly as the +thistle leaf does along its own stem, +and with sharp spines proceeding from +the points, as in <a href="#fig_16">Fig. XVI.</a> At other +times, and for the most part in work in the thirteenth century, +the golden ground takes the form of pure and severe cusps, +sometimes enclosing the leaves, sometimes filling up the forks +of the branches (as in the example fig. 1, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30756/30756-h/30756-h.htm#plate_1">Plate I.</a> Vol. III.), +passing imperceptibly from the distinctly vegetable condition +(in which it is just as certainly +representative of the thorn, +as other parts of the design are of +the bud, leaf, and fruit) into the +crests on the necks, or the membranous +sails of the wings, of serpents, +dragons, and other grotesques, +as in <a href="#fig_17">Fig. XVII.</a>, and into +rich and vague fantasies of curvature; +among which, however, the +pure cusped system of the pointed +arch is continually discernible, not +accidentally, but designedly indicated, and connecting itself +with the literally architectural portions of the design.</p> + +<table style="float: right; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XVI.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figright2"> + <a name="fig_16"><img src="images/img219a.jpg" width="200" height="286" alt="Fig. XVI." title="Fig. XVI." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<table style="float: left; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XVII.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figleft2"> + <a name="fig_17"><img src="images/img219b.jpg" width="250" height="240" alt="Fig. XVII." title="Fig. XVII." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCV</span>. The system, then, of what is called Foliation, whether +simple, as in the cusped arch, or complicated, as in tracery, +rose out of this love of leafage; not that the form of the arch +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page220"></a>220</span> +is intended to <i>imitate</i> a leaf, but <i>to be invested with the same +characters of beauty which the designer had discovered in the +leaf</i>. Observe, there is a wide difference between these two +intentions. The idea that large Gothic structure, in arches +and roofs, was intended to imitate vegetation is, as above +noticed, untenable for an instant in the front of facts. But +the Gothic builder perceived that, in the leaves which he +copied for his minor decorations, there was a peculiar beauty, +arising from certain characters of curvature in outline, and +certain methods of subdivision and of radiation in structure. +On a small scale, in his sculptures and his missal-painting, he +copied the leaf or thorn itself; on a large scale he adopted +from it its abstract sources of beauty, and gave the same kinds +of curvatures and the same species of subdivision to the outline +of his arches, so far as was consistent with their strength, +never, in any single instance, suggesting the resemblance to +leafage by <i>irregularity</i> of outline, but keeping the structure +perfectly simple, and, as we have seen, so consistent with the +best principles of masonry, that in the finest Gothic designs of +arches, which are always <i>single</i> cusped (the cinquefoiled arch +being licentious, though in early work often very lovely), it is +literally impossible, without consulting the context of the +building, to say whether the cusps have been added for the +sake of beauty or of strength; nor, though in medićval architecture +they were, I believe, assuredly first employed in mere +love of their picturesque form, am I absolutely certain that +their earliest invention was not a structural effort. For the +earliest cusps with which I am acquainted are those used in +the vaults of the great galleries of the Serapeum, discovered +in 1850 by M. Maniette at Memphis, and described by Colonel +Hamilton in a paper read in February last before the Royal +Society of Literature.<a name="FnAnchor_72" href="#Footnote_72"><span class="sp">72</span></a> The roofs of its galleries were admirably +shown in Colonel Hamilton’s drawings made to scale +upon the spot, and their profile is a cusped round arch, perfectly +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page221"></a>221</span> +pure and simple; but whether thrown into this form for +the sake of strength or of grace, I am unable to say.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCVI</span>. It is evident, however, that the structural advantage +of the cusp is available only in the case of arches on a comparatively +small scale. If the arch becomes very large, the +projections under the flanks must become too ponderous to be +secure; the suspended weight of stone would be liable to break +off, and such arches are therefore never constructed with heavy +cusps, but rendered secure by general mass of masonry; and +what additional <i>appearance</i> of support may be thought necessary +(sometimes a considerable degree of <i>actual</i> support) is +given by means of tracery.</p> + +<table style="float: right; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XVIII.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figright2"> + <a name="fig_18"><img src="images/img221.jpg" width="350" height="546" alt="Fig. XVIII." title="Fig. XVIII." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCVII</span>. Of what I stated in the second chapter of the +“Seven Lamps” respecting the nature of tracery, I need repeat +here only this much, that it began in the use of penetrations +through the stone-work +of windows or walls, cut into +forms which looked like stars +when seen from within, and +like leaves when seen from +without: the name foil or +feuille being universally applied +to the separate lobes of +their extremities, and the +pleasure received from them +being the same as that which +we feel in the triple, quadruple, +or other radiated leaves +of vegetation, joined with the +perception of a severely geometrical +order and symmetry. +A few of the most common +forms are represented, unconfused +by exterior mouldings, +in <a href="#fig_18">Fig. XVIII.</a>, and the best +traceries are nothing more than close clusters of such forms, +with mouldings following their outlines.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page222"></a>222</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCVIII</span>. The term “foliated,” therefore, is equally descriptive +of the most perfect conditions both of the simple arch and +of the traceries by which, in later Gothic, it is filled; and this +foliation is an essential character of the style. No Gothic is +either good or characteristic which is not foliated either in its +arches or apertures. Sometimes the bearing arches are foliated, +and the ornamentation above composed of figure sculpture; +sometimes the bearing arches are plain, and the ornamentation +above them is composed of foliated apertures. But the element +of foliation <i>must</i> enter somewhere, or the style is imperfect. +And our final definition of Gothic will, therefore, stand +thus:—</p> + +<p>“<i>Foliated</i> Architecture, which uses the pointed arch for +the roof proper, and the gable for the roof-mask.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCIX</span>. And now there is but one point more to be examined, +and we have done.</p> + +<table style="float: left; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XIX.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figleft2"> + <a name="fig_19"><img src="images/img222.jpg" width="350" height="367" alt="Fig. XIX." title="Fig. XIX." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>Foliation, while it is the most distinctive and peculiar, is +also the easiest method of decoration which Gothic architecture +possesses; and, although in +the disposition of the proportions +and forms of foils, +the most noble imagination +may be shown, yet a builder +without imagination at +all, or any other faculty of +design, can produce some +effect upon the mass of his +work by merely covering +it with foolish foliation. +Throw any number of +crossing lines together at +random, as in <a href="#fig_19">Fig. XIX.</a>, +and fill their squares and +oblong openings with quatrefoils and cinquefoils, and you will +immediately have what will stand, with most people, for very +satisfactory Gothic. The slightest possible acquaintance with +existing forms will enable any architect to vary his patterns of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page223"></a>223</span> +foliation with as much ease as he would those of a kaleidoscope, +and to produce a building which the present European public +will think magnificent, though there may not be, from foundation +to coping, one ray of invention, or any other intellectual +merit, in the whole mass of it. But floral decoration, and the +disposition of mouldings, require some skill and thought; and, +if they are to be agreeable at all, must be verily invented, or +accurately copied. They cannot be drawn altogether at random, +without becoming so commonplace as to involve detection: +and although, as I have just said, the noblest imagination +may be shown in the dispositions of traceries, there is far +more room for its play and power when those traceries are +associated with floral or animal ornament; and it is probable, +<i>ŕ priori</i>, that, wherever true invention exists, such ornament +will be employed in profusion.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">C.</span> Now, all Gothic may be divided into two vast schools, +one early, the other late;<a name="FnAnchor_73" href="#Footnote_73"><span class="sp">73</span></a> of which the former, noble, inventive, +and progressive, uses the element of foliation moderately, +that of floral and figure sculpture decoration profusely; the +latter, ignoble, uninventive, and declining, uses foliation immoderately, +floral and figure sculpture subordinately. The +two schools touch each other at that instant of momentous +change, dwelt upon in the “Seven Lamps,” chap, ii., a period +later or earlier in different districts, but which may be broadly +stated as the middle of the fourteenth century; both styles +being, of course, in their highest excellence at the moment +when they meet, the one ascending to the point of junction, +the one declining from it, but, at first, not in any marked +degree, and only showing the characters which justify its being +above called, generically, ignoble, as its declension reaches +steeper slope.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CI.</span> Of these two great schools, the first uses foliation +only in large and simple masses, and covers the minor members, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page224"></a>224</span> +cusps, &c., of that foliation, with various sculpture. The +latter decorates foliation itself with minor foliation, and breaks +its traceries into endless and lace-like subdivision of tracery.</p> + +<p>A few instances will explain the difference clearly. Fig. +2, <a href="#plate_12">Plate XII.</a>, represents half of an eight-foiled aperture from +Salisbury; where the element of foliation is employed in the +larger disposition of the starry form; but in the decoration +of the cusp it has entirely disappeared, and the ornament is +floral.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">XII.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter"> + <a name="plate_12"><img src="images/img224.jpg" width="410" height="650" alt="LINEAR AND SURFACE GOTHIC." title="LINEAR AND SURFACE GOTHIC." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">LINEAR AND SURFACE GOTHIC.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>But in fig. 1, which is part of a fringe round one of the +later windows in Rouen Cathedral, the foliation is first carried +boldly round the arch, and then each cusp of it divided into +other forms of foliation. The two larger canopies of niches +below, figs. 5 and 6, are respectively those seen at the flanks +of the two uppermost examples of gabled Gothic in <a href="#fig_10">Fig. X.</a>, +p. 213. Those examples were there chosen in order also to +illustrate the distinction in the character of ornamentation +which we are at present examining; and if the reader will +look back to them, and compare their methods of treatment, +he will at once be enabled to fix that distinction clearly in his +mind. He will observe that in the uppermost the element +of foliation is scrupulously confined to the bearing arches of +the gable, and of the lateral niches, so that, on any given side +of the monument, only three foliated arches are discernible. +All the rest of the ornamentation is “bossy sculpture,” set on +the broad marble surface. On the point of the gable are set +the shield and dog-crest of the Scalas, with its bronze wings, +as of a dragon, thrown out from it on either side; below, an +admirably sculptured oak-tree fills the centre of the field; +beneath it is the death of Abel, Abel lying dead upon his face +on one side, Cain opposite, looking up to heaven in terror: the +border of the arch is formed of various leafage, alternating +with the scala shield; and the cusps are each filled by one +flower, and two broad flowing leaves. The whole is exquisitely +relieved by color; the ground being of pale red Verona +marble, and the statues and foliage of white Carrara marble, +inlaid.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page225"></a>225</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CII.</span> The figure below it, <i>b</i>, represents the southern lateral +door of the principal church in Abbeville: the smallness of +the scale compelled me to make it somewhat heavier in the +lines of its traceries than it is in reality, but the door itself is +one of the most exquisite pieces of flamboyant Gothic in the +world; and it is interesting to see the shield introduced here, +at the point of the gable, in exactly the same manner as in the +upper example, and with precisely the same purpose,—to stay +the eye in its ascent, and to keep it from being offended by +the sharp point of the gable, the reversed angle of the shield +being so energetic as completely to balance the upward tendency +of the great convergent lines. It will be seen, however, +as this example is studied, that its other decorations are altogether +different from those of the Veronese tomb; that, here, +the whole effect is dependent on mere multiplications of similar +lines of tracery, sculpture being hardly introduced except in +the seated statue under the central niche, and, formerly, in +groups filling the shadowy hollows under the small niches in +the archivolt, but broken away in the Revolution. And if +now we turn to <a href="#plate_12">Plate XII.</a>, just passed, and examine the heads +of the two lateral niches there given from each of these monuments +on a larger scale, the contrast will be yet more apparent. +The one from Abbeville (fig. 5), though it contains much +floral work of the crisp Northern kind in its finial and crockets, +yet depends for all its effect on the various patterns of +foliation with which its spaces are filled; and it is so cut +through and through that it is hardly stronger than a piece +of lace: whereas the pinnacle from Verona depends for its +effect on one broad mass of shadow, boldly shaped into the +trefoil in its bearing arch; and there is no other trefoil on that +side of the niche. All the rest of its decoration is floral, or +by almonds and bosses; and its surface of stone is unpierced, +and kept in broad light, and the mass of it thick and strong +enough to stand for as many more centuries as it has already +stood, scatheless, in the open street of Verona. The figures 3 +and 4, above each niche, show how the same principles are +carried out into the smallest details of the two edifices, 3 being +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page226"></a>226</span> +the moulding which borders the gable at Abbeville, and 4, +that in the same position at Verona; and as thus in all cases +the distinction in their treatment remains the same, the one +attracting the eye to broad sculptured <i>surfaces</i>, the other to +involutions of intricate <i>lines</i>, I shall hereafter characterize the +two schools, whenever I have occasion to refer to them, the +one as Surface-Gothic, the other as Linear-Gothic.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CIII.</span> Now observe: it is not, at present, the question, +whether the form of the Veronese niche, and the design of its +flower-work, be as good as they might have been; but simply, +which of the two architectural principles is the greater and +better. And this we cannot hesitate for an instant in deciding. +The Veronese Gothic is strong in its masonry, simple +in its masses, but perpetual in its variety. The late French +Gothic is weak in masonry, broken in mass, and repeats the +same idea continually. It is very beautiful, but the Italian +Gothic is the nobler style.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CIV.</span> Yet, in saying that the French Gothic repeats one +idea, I mean merely that it depends too much upon the foliation +of its traceries. The disposition of the traceries themselves +is endlessly varied and inventive; and indeed, the mind +of the French workman was, perhaps, even richer in fancy +than that of the Italian, only he had been taught a less noble +style. This is especially to be remembered with respect to the +subordination of figure sculpture above noticed as characteristic +of the later Gothic.</p> + +<p>It is not that such sculpture is wanting; on the contrary, +it is often worked into richer groups, and carried out with a +perfection of execution, far greater than those which adorn +the earlier buildings: but, in the early work, it is vigorous, +prominent, and essential to the beauty of the whole; in the +late work it is enfeebled, and shrouded in the veil of tracery, +from which it may often be removed with little harm to the +general effect.<a name="FnAnchor_74" href="#Footnote_74"><span class="sp">74</span></a></p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page227"></a>227</span></p> + +<table style="float: right; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XX.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figright2"> + <a name="fig_20"><img src="images/img227.jpg" width="150" height="534" alt="Fig. XX." title="Fig. XX." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CV.</span> Now the reader may rest assured that no principle of +art is more absolute than this,—that a composition from which +anything can be removed without doing mischief is always so +far forth inferior. On this ground, therefore, if on no other, +there can be no question, for a moment, which of the two +schools is the greater; although there are many most noble +works in the French traceried Gothic, having a sublimity of +their own dependent on their extreme richness and grace of +line, and for which we may be most grateful to their builders. +And, indeed, the superiority of the Surface-Gothic +cannot be completely felt, until we +compare it with the more degraded Linear +schools, as, for instance, with our own English +Perpendicular. The ornaments of the +Veronese niche, which we have used for our +example, are by no means among the best of +their school, yet they will serve our purpose +for such a comparison. That of its pinnacle +is composed of a single upright flowering +plant, of which the stem shoots up through the +centres of the leaves, and bears a pendent blossom, +somewhat like that of the imperial lily. +The leaves are thrown back from the stem with +singular grace and freedom, and foreshortened, +as if by a skilful painter, in the shallow marble +relief. Their arrangement is roughly shown +in the little woodcut at the side (<a href="#fig_20">Fig. XX.</a>); +and if the reader will simply try the experiment +for himself,—first, of covering a piece +of paper with crossed lines, as if for accounts, +and filling all the interstices with any foliation +that comes into his head, as in Figure XIX. above; and +then, of trying to fill the point of a gable with a piece of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page228"></a>228</span> +leafage like that in Figure XX. above, putting the figure itself +aside,—he will presently find that more thought and invention +are required to design this single minute pinnacle, than to cover +acres of ground with English perpendicular.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CVI.</span> We have now, I believe, obtained a sufficiently accurate +knowledge both of the spirit and form of Gothic architecture; +but it may, perhaps, be useful to the general reader, +if, in conclusion, I set down a few plain and practical rules +for determining, in every instance, whether a given building +be good Gothic or not, and, if not Gothic, whether its architecture +is of a kind which will probably reward the pains of +careful examination.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CVII.</span> First. Look if the roof rises in a steep gable, high +above the walls. If it does not do this, there is something wrong; +the building is not quite pure Gothic, or has been altered.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CVIII.</span> Secondly. Look if the principal windows and doors +have pointed arches with gables over them. If not pointed +arches, the building is not Gothic; if they have not any gables +over them, it is either not pure, or not first-rate.</p> + +<p>If, however, it has the steep roof, the pointed arch, and +gable all united, it is nearly certain to be a Gothic building of +a very fine time.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CIX.</span> Thirdly. Look if the arches are cusped, or apertures +foliated. If the building has met the first two conditions, +it is sure to be foliated somewhere; but, if not everywhere, +the parts which are unfoliated are imperfect, unless they are +large bearing arches, or small and sharp arches in groups, forming +a kind of foliation by their own multiplicity, and relieved +by sculpture and rich mouldings. The upper windows, for instance, +in the east end of Westminster Abbey are imperfect for +want of foliation. If there be no foliation anywhere, the +building is assuredly imperfect Gothic.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CX.</span> Fourthly. If the building meets all the first three +conditions, look if its arches in general, whether of windows +and doors, or of minor ornamentation, are carried on <i>true +shafts with bases and capitals</i>. If they are, then the building +is assuredly of the finest Gothic style. It may still, perhaps, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page229"></a>229</span> +be an imitation, a feeble copy, or a bad example of a noble +style; but the manner of it, having met all these four conditions, +is assuredly first-rate.</p> + +<p>If its apertures have not shafts and capitals, look if they +are plain openings in the walls, studiously simple, and unmoulded +at the sides; as, for instance, the arch in <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#plate_19">Plate XIX.</a> +Vol. I. If so, the building may still be of the finest Gothic, +adapted to some domestic or military service. But if the sides +of the window be moulded, and yet there are no capitals at the +spring of the arch, it is assuredly of an inferior school.</p> + +<p>This is all that is necessary to determine whether the building +be of a fine Gothic style. The next tests to be applied are +in order to discover whether it be good architecture or not: +for it may be very impure Gothic, and yet very noble architecture; +or it may be very pure Gothic, and yet, if a copy, or +originally raised by an ungifted builder, very bad architecture.</p> + +<p>If it belong to any of the great schools of color, its criticism +becomes as complicated, and needs as much care, as that of a piece +of music, and no general rules for it can be given; but if not—</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXI.</span> First. See if it looks as if it had been built by +strong men; if it has the sort of roughness, and largeness, and +nonchalance, mixed in places with the exquisite tenderness +which seems always to be the sign-manual of the broad vision, +and massy power of men who can see <i>past</i> the work they are +doing, and betray here and there something like disdain for it. +If the building has this character, it is much already in its +favor; it will go hard but it proves a noble one. If it has not +this, but is altogether accurate, minute, and scrupulous in its +workmanship, it must belong to either the very best or the very +worst of schools: the very best, in which exquisite design is +wrought out with untiring and conscientious care, as in the +Giottesque Gothic; or the very worst, in which mechanism +has taken the place of design. It is more likely, in general, +that it should belong to the worst than the best: so that, on +the whole, very accurate workmanship is to be esteemed a bad +sign; and if there is nothing remarkable about the building but +its precision, it may be passed at once with contempt.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page230"></a>230</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXII.</span> Secondly. Observe if it be irregular, its different +parts fitting themselves to different purposes, no one caring +what becomes of them, so that they do their work. If one +part always answers accurately to another part, it is sure to +be a bad building; and the greater and more conspicuous the +irregularities, the greater the chances are that it is a good one. +For instance, in the Ducal Palace, of which a rough woodcut +is given in <a href="#chap_8">Chap. VIII.</a>, the general idea is sternly symmetrical; +but two windows are lower than the rest of the six; and +if the reader will count the arches of the small arcade as far as +to the great balcony, he will find it is not in the centre, but set +to the right-hand side by the whole width of one of those arches. +We may be pretty sure that the building is a good one; none +but a master of his craft would have ventured to do this.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXIII.</span> Thirdly. Observe if all the traceries, capitals, and +other ornaments are of perpetually varied design. If not, the +work is assuredly bad.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXIV.</span> Lastly. <i>Read</i> the sculpture. Preparatory to reading +it, you will have to discover whether it is legible (and, if +legible, it is nearly certain to be worth reading). On a good +building, the sculpture is <i>always</i> so set, and on such a scale, +that at the ordinary distance from which the edifice is seen, +the sculpture shall be thoroughly intelligible and interesting. +In order to accomplish this, the uppermost statues will be ten +or twelve feet high, and the upper ornamentation will be colossal, +increasing in fineness as it descends, till on the foundation +it will often be wrought as if for a precious cabinet in a +king’s chamber; but the spectator will not notice that the +upper sculptures are colossal. He will merely feel that he can +see them plainly, and make them all out at his ease.</p> + +<p>And, having ascertained this, let him set himself to read +them. Thenceforward the criticism of the building is to be +conducted precisely on the same principles as that of a book; +and it must depend on the knowledge, feeling, and not a little +on the industry and perseverance of the reader, whether, even +in the case of the best works, he either perceive them to be +great, or feel them to be entertaining.</p> + + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_56" href="#FnAnchor_56"><span class="fn">56</span></a> The third kind of ornament, the Renaissance, is that in which the inferior +detail becomes principal, the executor of every minor portion being +required to exhibit skill and possess knowledge as great as that which is +possessed by the master of the design; and in the endeavor to endow him +with this skill and knowledge, his own original power is overwhelmed, and +the whole building becomes a wearisome exhibition of well-educated imbecility. +We must fully inquire into the nature of this form of error, when +we arrive at the examination of the Renaissance schools.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_57" href="#FnAnchor_57"><span class="fn">57</span></a> Vide Preface to “Fair Maid of Perth.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_58" href="#FnAnchor_58"><span class="fn">58</span></a> The Elgin marbles are supposed by many persons to be “perfect.” In +the most important portions they indeed approach perfection, but only +there. The draperies are unfinished, the hair and wool of the animals are +unfinished, and the entire bas-reliefs of the frieze are roughly cut.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_59" href="#FnAnchor_59"><span class="fn">59</span></a> In the eighth chapter we shall see a remarkable instance of this sacrifice +of symmetry to convenience in the arrangement of the windows of the +Ducal Palace.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_60" href="#FnAnchor_60"><span class="fn">60</span></a> I am always afraid to use this word “Composition;” it is so utterly +misused in the general parlance respecting art. Nothing is more common +than to hear divisions of art into “form, composition, and color,” or “light +and shade and composition,” or “sentiment and composition,” or it matters +not what else and composition; the speakers in each case attaching a +perfectly different meaning to the word, generally an indistinct one, and +always a wrong one. Composition is, in plain English, “putting together,” +and it means the putting together of lines, of forms, of colors, of shades, +or of ideas. Painters compose in color, compose in thought, compose in +form, and compose in effect: the word being of use merely in order to +express a scientific, disciplined, and inventive arrangement of any of these, +instead of a merely natural or accidental one.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_61" href="#FnAnchor_61"><span class="fn">61</span></a> Design is used in this place as expressive of the power to arrange +lines and colors nobly. By facts, I mean facts perceived by the eye and +mind, not facts accumulated by knowledge. See the chapter on Roman +Renaissance (Vol. III. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30756/30756-h/30756-h.htm#chap_2">Chap. II.</a>) for this distinction.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_62" href="#FnAnchor_62"><span class="fn">62</span></a> “Earlier,” that is to say, pre-Raphaelite ages. Men of this stamp will +praise Claude, and such other comparatively debased artists; but they cannot +taste the work of the thirteenth century.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_63" href="#FnAnchor_63"><span class="fn">63</span></a> Not selfish fear, caused by want of trust in God, or of resolution in the +soul.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_64" href="#FnAnchor_64"><span class="fn">64</span></a> I reserve for another place the full discussion of this interesting subject, +which here would have led me too far; but it must be noted, in passing, +that this vulgar Purism, which rejects truth, not because it is vicious, +but because it is humble, and consists not in choosing what is good, but in +disguising what is rough, extends itself into every species of art. The most +definite instance of it is the dressing of characters of peasantry in an opera +or ballet scene; and the walls of our exhibitions are full of works of art +which “exalt nature” in the same way, not by revealing what is great in +the heart, but by smoothing what is coarse in the complexion. There is +nothing, I believe, so vulgar, so hopeless, so indicative of an irretrievably +base mind, as this species of Purism. Of healthy Purism carried to the utmost +endurable length in this direction, exalting the heart first, and the +features with it, perhaps the most characteristic instance I can give is Stothard’s +vignette to “Jorasse,” in Rogers’s Italy; at least it would be so if it +could be seen beside a real group of Swiss girls. The poems of Rogers, +compared with those of Crabbe, are admirable instances of the healthiest +Purism and healthiest Naturalism in poetry. The first great Naturalists of +Christian art were Orcagna and Giotto.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_65" href="#FnAnchor_65"><span class="fn">65</span></a> The reader will understand this in a moment by glancing at <a href="#plate_20">Plate XX.</a>, +the last in this volume, where the series 1 to 12 represents the change in +one kind of leaf, from the Byzantine to the perfect Gothic.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_66" href="#FnAnchor_66"><span class="fn">66</span></a> The best art either represents the facts of its own day, or, if facts of +the past, expresses them with accessories of the time in which the work was +done. All good art, representing past events, is therefore full of the most +frank anachronism, and always <i>ought</i> to be. No painter has any business to +be an antiquarian. We do not want his impressions or suppositions respecting +things that are past. We want his clear assertions respecting +things present.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_67" href="#FnAnchor_67"><span class="fn">67</span></a> See the account of the meeting at Talla Linns, in 1682, given in the +fourth chapter of the “Heart of Midlothian.” At length they arrived at +the conclusion that “they who owned (or allowed) such names as Monday, +Tuesday, January, February, and so forth, served themselves heirs to the +same if not greater punishment than had been denounced against the idolaters +of old.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_68" href="#FnAnchor_68"><span class="fn">68</span></a> See the beautiful description of Florence in Elizabeth Browning’s “Casa +Guidi Windows,” which is not only a noble poem, but the only book I have +seen which, favoring the Liberal cause in Italy, gives a just account of the +incapacities of the modern Italian.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_69" href="#FnAnchor_69"><span class="fn">69</span></a> Salisbury spire is only a tower with a polygonal gabled roof of stone, +and so also the celebrated spires of Caen and Coutances.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_70" href="#FnAnchor_70"><span class="fn">70</span></a> Or by the shaded portions of <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#fig_29">Fig. XXIX.</a> Vol. I.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_71" href="#FnAnchor_71"><span class="fn">71</span></a> The reader is not to suppose that Greek architecture had always, or +often, flat ceilings, because I call its lintel the roof proper. He must remember +I always use these terms of the first simple arrangements of materials +that bridge a space; bringing in the real roof afterwards, if I can. In +the case of Greek temples it would be vain to refer their structure to the +real roof, for many were hypćthral, and without a roof at all. I am unfortunately +more ignorant of Egyptian roofing than even of Arabian, so +that I cannot bring this school into the diagram; but the gable appears to +have been magnificently used for a bearing roof. Vide Mr. Fergusson’s +section of the Pyramid of Geezeh, “Principles of Beauty in Art,” Plate I., +and his expressions of admiration of Egyptian roof masonry, page 201.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_72" href="#FnAnchor_72"><span class="fn">72</span></a> See ‘Athenćum,’ March 5th, 1853.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_73" href="#FnAnchor_73"><span class="fn">73</span></a> Late, and chiefly confined to Northern countries, so that the two +schools may be opposed either as Early and Late Gothic, or (in the fourteenth +century) as Southern and Northern Gothic.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_74" href="#FnAnchor_74"><span class="fn">74</span></a> In many of the best French Gothic churches, the groups of figures +have been all broken away at the Revolution, without much harm to the +picturesqueness, though with grievous loss to the historical value of the +architecture: whereas, if from the niche at Verona we were to remove its +floral ornaments, and the statue beneath it, nothing would remain but a +rude square trefoiled shell, utterly valueless, or even ugly.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page231"></a>231</span></p> + +<h3><a name="chap_7"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h3> + +<h5>GOTHIC PALACES.</h5> + + +<p>§ <span class="scs">I.</span> The buildings out of the remnants of which we have +endeavored to recover some conception of the appearance of +Venice during the Byzantine period, contribute hardly anything +at this day to the effect of the streets of the city. They +are too few and too much defaced to attract the eye or influence +the feelings. The charm which Venice still possesses, +and which for the last fifty years has rendered it the favorite +haunt of all the painters of picturesque subject, is owing to +the effect of the palaces belonging to the period we have now +to examine, mingled with those of the Renaissance.</p> + +<p>This effect is produced in two different ways. The Renaissance +palaces are not more picturesque in themselves than the +club-houses of Pall Mall; but they become delightful by the +contrast of their severity and refinement with the rich and +rude confusion of the sea life beneath them, and of their +white and solid masonry with the green waves. Remove +from beneath them the orange sails of the fishing boats, the +black gliding of the gondolas, the cumbered decks and rough +crews of the barges of traffic, and the fretfulness of the green +water along their foundations, and the Renaissance palaces +possess no more interest than those of London or Paris. But +the Gothic palaces are picturesque in themselves, and wield +over us an independent power. Sea and sky, and every other +accessory might be taken away from them, and still they +would be beautiful and strange. They are not less striking in +the loneliest streets of Padua and Vicenza (where many were +built during the period of the Venetian authority in those +cities) than in the most crowded thoroughfares of Venice +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page232"></a>232</span> +itself; and if they could be transported into the midst of +London, they would still not altogether lose their power over +the feelings.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">II.</span> The best proof of this is in the perpetual attractiveness +of all pictures, however poor in skill, which have taken +for their subject the principal of these Gothic buildings, the +Ducal Palace. In spite of all architectural theories and teachings, +the paintings of this building are always felt to be delightful; +we cannot be wearied by them, though often sorely +tried; but we are not put to the same trial in the case of the +palaces of the Renaissance. They are never drawn singly, or +as the principal subject, nor can they be. The building which +faces the Ducal Palace on the opposite side of the Piazzetta is +celebrated among architects, but it is not familiar to our eyes; +it is painted only incidentally, for the completion, not the subject, +of a Venetian scene; and even the Renaissance arcades +of St. Mark’s Place, though frequently painted, are always +treated as a mere avenue to its Byzantine church and colossal +tower. And the Ducal Palace itself owes the peculiar charm +which we have hitherto felt, not so much to its greater size as +compared with other Gothic buildings, or nobler design (for +it never yet has been rightly drawn), as to its comparative isolation. +The other Gothic structures are as much injured by +the continual juxtaposition of the Renaissance palaces, as the +latter are aided by it; they exhaust their own life by breathing +it into the Renaissance coldness: but the Ducal Palace +stands comparatively alone, and fully expresses the Gothic +power.</p> + +<table style="float: right; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XXI.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figright2"> + <a name="fig_21"><img src="images/img233.jpg" width="350" height="219" alt="Fig. XXI." title="Fig. XXI." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">III.</span> And it is just that it should be so seen, for it is the +original of nearly all the rest. It is not the elaborate and more +studied developement of a national style, but the great and +sudden invention of one man, instantly forming a national +style, and becoming the model for the imitation of every architect +in Venice for upwards of a century. It was the determination +of this one fact which occupied me the greater part of the +time I spent in Venice. It had always appeared to me most +strange that there should be in no part of the city any incipient +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page233"></a>233</span> +or imperfect types of the form of the Ducal Palace; it was +difficult to believe that so mighty a building had been the conception +of one man, not only in disposition and detail, but in +style; and yet impossible, had it been otherwise, but that some +early examples of approximate Gothic form must exist. There +is not one. The palaces built between the final cessation of +the Byzantine style, about 1300, and the date of the Ducal +Palace (1320-1350), are all completely distinct in character, so +distinct that I at first intended the account of them to form a +separate section of this volume; and there is literally <i>no</i> transitional +form between them and the perfection of the Ducal +Palace. Every Gothic building in Venice which resembles the +latter is a copy of it. I do not mean that there was no Gothic +in Venice before the Ducal Palace, but that the mode of +its application to domestic architecture had not been determined. +The real root of the Ducal Palace is the apse of the +church of the Frari. The traceries of that apse, though earlier +and ruder in workmanship, are nearly the same in mouldings, +and precisely the same in treatment (especially in the placing +of the lions’ heads), as those of the great Ducal Arcade; and +the originality of thought in the architect of the Ducal Palace +consists in his having adapted those traceries, in a more highly +developed and finished form, to civil uses. In the apse of the +church they form narrow and tall window lights, somewhat +more massive than those of Northern Gothic, but similar in +application: the thing to be done was to adapt these traceries +to the forms of domestic +building necessitated by national +usage. The early palaces +consisted, as we have +seen, of arcades sustaining +walls faced with marble, rather +broad and long than elevated. +This form was kept +for the Ducal Palace; but instead +of round arches from shaft to shaft, the Frari traceries +were substituted, with two essential modifications. Besides +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page234"></a>234</span> +being enormously increased in scale and thickness, that they +might better bear the superincumbent weight, the quatrefoil, +which in the Frari windows is above the arch, as at <i>a</i>, <a href="#fig_21">Fig. +XXI.</a>, on previous page, was, in the Ducal Palace, put between +the arches, as at <i>b</i>; the main reason for this alteration being +that the bearing power of the arches, which was now to be +trusted with the weight of a wall forty feet high,<a name="FnAnchor_75" href="#Footnote_75"><span class="sp">75</span></a> was thus +thrown <i>between</i> the quatrefoils, instead of +under them, and thereby applied at far better +advantage. And, in the second place, the +joints of the masonry were changed. In the +Frari (as often also in St. John and St. Paul’s) +the tracery is formed of two simple cross bars +or slabs of stone, pierced into the requisite +forms, and separated by a horizontal joint, +just on a level with the lowest cusp of the +quatrefoils, as seen in <a href="#fig_21">Fig. XXI.</a>, <i>a</i>. But at +the Ducal Palace the horizontal joint is in the centre of the +quatrefoils, and two others are introduced beneath it at right +angles to the run of the mouldings, as seen in <a href="#fig_21">Fig. XXI.</a>, <i>b</i>.<a name="FnAnchor_76" href="#Footnote_76"><span class="sp">76</span></a> +The Ducal Palace builder was sternly resolute in carrying out +this rule of masonry. In the traceries of the large upper windows, +where the cusps are cut through as in the quatrefoil <a href="#fig_22">Fig. +XXII.</a>, the lower cusp is left partly solid, as at <i>a</i>, merely that +the joint <i>a b</i> may have its right place and direction.</p> + +<table style="float: left; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XXII.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figleft2"> + <a name="fig_22"><img src="images/img234.jpg" width="150" height="212" alt="Fig. XXII." title="Fig. XXII." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">IV.</span> The ascertaining the formation of the Ducal Palace +traceries from those of the Frari, and its priority to all other +buildings which resemble it in Venice, rewarded me for a +great deal of uninteresting labor in the examination of mouldings +and other minor features of the Gothic palaces, in which +alone the internal evidence of their date was to be discovered, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page235"></a>235</span> +there being no historical records whatever respecting them. +But the accumulation of details on which the complete proof +of the fact depends, could not either be brought within the +compass of this volume, or be made in anywise interesting to +the general reader. I shall therefore, without involving myself +in any discussion, give a brief account of the developement +of Gothic design in Venice, as I believe it to have taken +place. I shall possibly be able at some future period so to +compress the evidence on which my conviction rests, as to +render it intelligible to the public, while, in the meantime, +some of the more essential points of it are thrown together in +the Appendix, and in the history of the Ducal Palace given +in the next chapter.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">V.</span> According, then, to the statement just made, the +Gothic architecture of Venice is divided into two great periods: +one, in which, while various irregular Gothic tendencies are +exhibited, no consistent type of domestic building was developed; +the other, in which a formed and consistent school of +domestic architecture resulted from the direct imitation of the +great design of the Ducal Palace. We must deal with these +two periods separately; the first of them being that which has +been often above alluded to, under the name of the transitional +period.</p> + +<p>We shall consider in succession the general form, the windows, +doors, balconies, and parapets, of the Gothic palaces belonging +to each of these periods.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VI.</span> First. General Form.</p> + +<p>We have seen that the wrecks of the Byzantine palaces +consisted merely of upper and lower arcades surrounding cortiles; +the disposition of the interiors being now entirely +changed, and their original condition untraceable. The +entrances to these early buildings are, for the most part, merely +large circular arches, the central features of their continuous +arcades: they do not present us with definitely separated windows +and doors.</p> + +<p>But a great change takes place in the Gothic period. +These long arcades break, as it were, into pieces, and coagulate +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page236"></a>236</span> +into central and lateral windows, and small arched doors, +pierced in great surfaces of brick wall. The sea story of a +Byzantine palace consists of seven, nine, or more arches in a +continuous line; but the sea story of a Gothic palace consists +of a door and one or two windows on each side, as in a modern +house. The first story of a Byzantine palace consists of, perhaps, +eighteen or twenty arches, reaching from one side of the +house to the other; the first story of a Gothic palace consists +of a window of four or five lights in the centre, and one or +two single windows on each side. The germ, however, of the +Gothic arrangement is already found in the Byzantine, where, +as we have seen, the arcades, though continuous, are always +composed of a central mass and two wings of smaller arches. +The central group becomes the door or the middle light of the +Gothic palace, and the wings break into its lateral windows.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VII.</span> But the most essential difference in the entire arrangement, +is the loss of the unity of conception which, regulated +Byzantine composition. How subtle the sense of gradation +which disposed the magnitudes of the early palaces we +have seen already, but I have not hitherto noticed that the +Byzantine work was centralized in its ornamentation as much +as in its proportions. Not only were the lateral capitals and +archivolts kept comparatively plain, while the central ones +were sculptured, but the midmost piece of sculpture, whatever +it might be,—capital, inlaid circle, or architrave,—was always +made superior to the rest. In the Fondaco de’ Turchi, for +instance, the midmost capital of the upper arcade is the key +to the whole group, larger and more studied than all the rest; +and the lateral ones are so disposed as to answer each other +on the opposite sides, thus, <span class="scs">A</span> being put for the central one,</p> + +<p class="center scs" style="letter-spacing: 0.5em; ">F E B C <b>A</b> C B E F,</p> + +<p>a sudden break of the system being admitted in one unique +capital at the extremity of the series.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VIII.</span> Now, long after the Byzantine arcades had been contracted +into windows, this system of centralization was more +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page237"></a>237</span> +or less maintained; and in all the early groups of windows of +five lights the midmost capital is different from the two on +each side of it, which always correspond. So strictly is this +the case, that whenever the capitals of any group of windows +are not centralized in this manner, but are either entirely like +each other, or all different, so as to show no correspondence, +it is a certain proof, even if no other should exist, of the comparative +lateness of the building.</p> + +<p>In every group of windows in Venice which I was able to +examine, and which were centralized in this manner, I found +evidence in their mouldings of their being <i>anterior</i> to the +Ducal Palace. That palace did away with the subtle proportion +and centralization of the Byzantine. Its arches are of +equal width, and its capitals are all different and ungrouped; +some, indeed, are larger than the rest, but this is not for the +sake of proportion, only for particular service when more +weight is to be borne. But, among other evidences of the +early date of the sea façade of that building, is one subtle and +delicate concession to the system of centralization which is +finally closed. The capitals of the upper arcade are, as I said, +all different, and show no arranged correspondence with each +other; but <i>the central one is of pure Parian marble</i>, while +all the others are of Istrian stone.</p> + +<p>The bold decoration of the central window and balcony +above, in the Ducal Palace, is only a peculiar expression of the +principality of the central window, which was characteristic of +the Gothic period not less than of the Byzantine. In the +private palaces the central windows become of importance by +their number of lights; in the Ducal Palace such an arrangement +was, for various reasons, inconvenient, and the central +window, which, so far from being more important than the +others, is every way inferior in design to the two at the eastern +extremity of the façade, was nevertheless made the leading +feature by its noble canopy and balcony.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">IX.</span> Such being the principal differences in the general +conception of the Byzantine and Gothic palaces, the particulars +in the treatment of the latter are easily stated. The marble +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page238"></a>238</span> +facings are gradually removed from the walls; and the +bare brick either stands forth confessed boldly, contrasted with +the marble shafts and archivolts of the windows, or it is covered +with stucco painted in fresco, of which more hereafter. +The Ducal Palace, as in all other respects, is an exact expression +of the middle point in the change. It still retains marble +facing; but instead of being disposed in slabs as in the Byzantine +times, it is applied in solid bricks or blocks of marble, 11½ +inches long, by 6 inches high.</p> + +<p>The stories of the Gothic palaces are divided by string +courses, considerably bolder in projection than those of the +Byzantines, and more highly decorated; and while the angles +of the Byzantine palaces are quite sharp and pure, those of +the Gothic palaces are wrought into a chamfer, filled by small +twisted shafts which have capitals under the cornice of each +story.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">X.</span> These capitals are little observed in the general effect, +but the shafts are of essential importance in giving an aspect +of firmness to the angle; a point of peculiar necessity in Venice, +where, owning to the various convolutions of the canals, the +angles of the palaces are not only frequent, but often necessarily +<i>acute</i>, every inch of ground being valuable. In other +cities, the appearance as well as the assurance of stability can +always be secured by the use of massy stones, as in the fortress +palaces of Florence; but it must have been always desirable at +Venice to build as lightly as possible, in consequence of the +comparative insecurity of the foundations. The early palaces +were, as we have seen, perfect models of grace and lightness, +and the Gothic, which followed, though much more massive +in the style of its details, never admitted more weight into +its structure than was absolutely necessary for its strength, +Hence, every Gothic palace has the appearance of enclosing +as many rooms, and attaining as much strength, as is possible, +with a minimum quantity of brick and stone. The traceries +of the windows, which in Northern Gothic only support the +<i>glass</i>, at Venice support the <i>building</i>; and thus the greater +ponderousness of the <i>traceries</i> is only an indication of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page239"></a>239</span> +greater lightness of the <i>structure</i>. Hence, when the Renaissance +architects give their opinions as to the stability of the +Ducal Palace when injured by fire, one of them, Christofore +Sorte, says, that he thinks it by no means laudable that the +“Serenissimo Dominio” of the Venetian senate “should live +in a palace built in the air.”<a name="FnAnchor_77" href="#Footnote_77"><span class="sp">77</span></a> And again, Andrea della Valle +says, that<a name="FnAnchor_78" href="#Footnote_78"><span class="sp">78</span></a> “the wall of the saloon is thicker by fifteen inches +than the shafts below it, projecting nine inches within, and six +without, <i>standing as if in the air</i>, above the piazza;”<a name="FnAnchor_79" href="#Footnote_79"><span class="sp">79</span></a> and yet +this wall is so nobly and strongly knit together, that Rusconi, +though himself altogether devoted to the Renaissance school, +declares that the fire which had destroyed the whole interior +of the palace had done this wall no more harm than the bite of +a fly to an elephant. “Troveremo che el danno che ha patito +queste muraglie sarŕ conforme alla beccatura d’ una mosca fatta +ad un elefante.”<a name="FnAnchor_80" href="#Footnote_80"><span class="sp">80</span></a></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XI</span>. And so in all the other palaces built at the time, consummate +strength was joined with a lightness of form and +sparingness of material which rendered it eminently desirable +that the eye should be convinced, by every possible expedient, +of the stability of the building; and these twisted pillars at +the angles are not among the least important means adopted +for this purpose, for they seem to bind the walls together as a +cable binds a chest. In the Ducal Palace, where they are +carried up the angle of an unbroken wall forty feet high, they +are divided into portions, gradually diminishing in length +towards the top, by circular bands or rings, set with the nail-head +or dog-tooth ornament, vigorously projecting, and giving +the column nearly the aspect of the stalk of a reed; its diminishing +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page240"></a>240</span> +proportions being exactly arranged as they are by +Nature in all jointed plants. At the top of the palace, like +the wheat-stalk branching into the ear of corn, it expands +into a small niche with a pointed canopy, which joins with the +fantastic parapet in at once relieving, and yet making more +notable by its contrast, the weight of massy wall below. The +arrangement is seen in the woodcut, <a href="#chap_8">Chap. VIII.</a>; the angle +shafts being slightly exaggerated in thickness, together with +their joints, as otherwise they would hardly have been intelligible +on so small a scale.</p> + +<p>The Ducal Palace is peculiar in these niches at the angles, +which throughout the rest of the city appear on churches +only; but some may perhaps have been removed by restorations, +together with the parapets with which they were associated.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XXIII.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter2"> + <a name="fig_23"><img src="images/img240.jpg" width="500" height="296" alt="Fig. XXIII." title="Fig. XXIII." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XII</span>. Of these roof parapets of Venice, it has been already +noticed that the examples which remain differ from those of +all other cities of Italy in their purely ornamental character. +(<a href="#chap_1">Chap. I.</a> § <span class="scs">XII</span>.) They are not battlements, properly so-called; +still less machicolated cornices, such as crown the fortress +palaces of the great mainland nobles; but merely adaptations +of the light and crown-like ornaments which crest the walls of +the Arabian mosque. Nor are even these generally used on +the main walls of the palaces themselves. They occur on the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page241"></a>241</span> +Ducal Palace, on the Casa d’ Oro, and, some years back, were +still standing on the Fondaco de’ Turchi; but the majority of +the Gothic Palaces have the plain dog-tooth cornice under the +tiled projecting roof (Vol. I. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#chap_14">Chap. XIV.</a> § <span class="scs">IV</span>.); and the +highly decorated parapet is employed only on the tops of walls +which surround courts or gardens, and which, without such +decoration, would have been utterly devoid of interest. <a href="#fig_23">Fig. +XXIII.</a> represents, at <i>b</i>, part of a parapet of this kind which +surrounds the courtyard of a palace in the Calle del Bagatin, +between San G. Grisostomo, and San Canzian: the whole is +of brick, and the mouldings peculiarly sharp and varied; the +height of each separate pinnacle being about four feet, crowning +a wall twelve or fifteen feet high: a piece of the moulding +which surrounds the quatrefoil is given larger in the figure at +<i>a</i>, together with the top of the small arch below, having the +common Venetian dentil round it, and a delicate little moulding +with dog-tooth ornament to carry the flanks of the arch. +The moulding of the brick is throughout sharp and beautiful +in the highest degree. One of the most curious points about +it is the careless way in which the curved outlines of the pinnacles +are cut into the plain brickwork, with no regard whatever +to the places of its joints. The weather of course wears +the bricks at the exposed joints, and jags the outline a little; +but the work has stood, evidently from the fourteenth century, +without sustaining much harm.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIII.</span> This parapet may be taken as a general type of the +<i>wall</i>-parapet of Venice in the Gothic period; some being much +less decorated, and others much more richly: the most beautiful +in Venice is in the little Calle, opening on the Campo and +Traghetto San Samuele; it has delicately carved devices in +stone let into each pinnacle.</p> + +<p>The parapets of the palaces themselves were lighter and +more fantastic, consisting of narrow lance-like spires of marble, +set between the broader pinnacles, which were in such cases generally +carved into the form of a fleur-de-lis: the French word +gives the reader the best idea of the form, though he must +remember that this use of the lily for the parapets has nothing +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page242"></a>242</span> +to do with France, but is the carrying out of the Byzantine +system of floral ornamentation, which introduced the outline +of the lily everywhere; so that I have found it convenient to +call its most beautiful capitals, the <i>lily</i> capitals of St. Mark’s. +But the occurrence of this flower, more distinctly than usual, +on the battlements of the Ducal Palace, was the cause of some +curious political speculation in the year 1511, when a piece of +one of these battlements was shaken down by the great earthquake +of that year. Sanuto notes in his diary that “the piece +that fell was just that which bore the lily,” and records sundry +sinister anticipations, founded on this important omen, of impending +danger to the adverse French power. As there happens, +in the Ducal Palace, to be a joint in the pinnacles which +exactly separates the “part which bears the lily” from that +which is fastened to the cornice, it is no wonder that the omen +proved fallacious.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIV.</span> The decorations of the parapet were completed by +attaching gilded balls of metal to the extremities of the leaves +of the lilies, and of the intermediate spires, so as literally to +form for the wall a diadem of silver touched upon the points +with gold; the image being rendered still more distinct in the +Casa d’ Oro, by variation in the height of the pinnacles, the +highest being in the centre of the front.</p> + +<p>Very few of these light roof parapets now remain; they +are, of course, the part of the building which dilapidation first +renders it necessary to remove. That of the Ducal Palace, +however, though often, I doubt not, restored, retains much of +the ancient form, and is exceedingly beautiful, though it has +no appearance from below of being intended for protection, +but serves only, by its extreme lightness, to relieve the eye +when wearied by the breadth of wall beneath; it is nevertheless +a most serviceable defence for any person walking along +the edge of the roof. It has some appearance of insecurity, +owing to the entire independence of the pieces of stone composing +it, which, though of course fastened by iron, look as if +they stood balanced on the cornice like the pillars of Stonehenge; +but I have never heard of its having been disturbed +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page243"></a>243</span> +by anything short of an earthquake; and, as we have seen, +even the great earthquake of 1511, though it much injured +the Gorne, or battlements at the Casa d’ Oro, and threw down +several statues at St. Mark’s,<a name="FnAnchor_81" href="#Footnote_81"><span class="sp">81</span></a> only shook one lily from the +brow of the Ducal Palace.</p> + +<table style="float: right; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XXIV.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figright2"> + <a name="fig_24"><img src="images/img243.jpg" width="300" height="549" alt="Fig. XXIV." title="Fig. XXIV." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XV.</span> Although, however, these light and fantastic forms +appear to have been universal in the battlements meant primarily +for decoration, there was +another condition of parapet altogether +constructed for the protection +of persons walking on the +roofs or in the galleries of the +churches, and from these more +substantial and simple defences, +the <span class="sc">Balconies</span>, to which the Gothic +palaces owe half of their picturesque +effect, were immediately derived; +the balcony being, in fact, +nothing more than a portion of +such roof parapets arranged round +a projecting window-sill sustained +on brackets, as in the central example +of the annexed figure. We +must, therefore, examine these +defensive balustrades and the derivative +balconies consecutively.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page244"></a>244</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVI.</span> Obviously, a parapet with an unbroken edge, upon +which the arm may rest (a condition above noticed, Vol. I. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page157">p. +157.</a>, as essential to the proper performance of its duty), can be +constructed only in one of three ways. It must either be (1) +of solid stone, decorated, if at all, by mere surface sculpture, +as in the uppermost example in <a href="#fig_24">Fig. XXIV.</a>, above; or (2) +pierced into some kind of tracery, as in the second; or (3) +composed of small pillars carrying a level bar of stone, as in +the third; this last condition being, in a diseased and swollen +form, familiar to us in the balustrades of our bridges.<a name="FnAnchor_82" href="#Footnote_82"><span class="sp">82</span></a></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVII.</span> (1.) Of these three kinds, the first, which is employed +for the pulpit at Torcello and in the nave of St. Mark’s, +whence the uppermost example is taken, is beautiful when +sculpture so rich can be employed upon it; but it is liable to +objection, first, because it is heavy and unlike a parapet when +seen from below; and, secondly, because it is inconvenient in +use. The position of leaning over a balcony becomes cramped +and painful if long continued, unless the foot can be sometimes +advanced <i>beneath</i> the ledge on which the arm leans, i. e. +between the balusters or traceries, which of course cannot be +done in the solid parapet: it is also more agreeable to be able +to see partially down through the penetrations, than to be +obliged to lean far over the edge. The solid parapet was +rarely used in Venice after the earlier ages.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVIII.</span> (2.) The Traceried Parapet is chiefly used in the +Gothic of the North, from which the above example, in the +Casa Contarini Fasan, is directly derived. It is, when well +designed, the richest and most beautiful of all forms, and +many of the best buildings of France and Germany are dependent +for half their effect upon it; its only fault being a +slight tendency to fantasticism. It was never frankly received +in Venice, where the architects had unfortunately returned to +the Renaissance forms before the flamboyant parapets were +fully developed in the North; but, in the early stage of the +Renaissance, a kind of pierced parapet was employed, founded +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page245"></a>245</span> +on the old Byzantine interwoven traceries; that is to say, the +slab of stone was pierced here and there with holes, and then +an interwoven pattern traced on the surface round them. The +difference in system will be understood in a moment by comparing +the uppermost example in +the figure at the side, which is a +Northern parapet from the Cathedral +of Abbeville, with the lowest, +from a secret chamber in the Casa +Foscari. It will be seen that the +Venetian one is far more simple +and severe, yet singularly piquant, +the black penetrations telling sharply +on the plain broad surface. Far inferior +in beauty, it has yet one point +of superiority to that of Abbeville, +that it proclaims itself more definitely +to be stone. The other has +rather the look of lace.</p> + +<table style="float: right; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XXV.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figright2"> + <a name="fig_25"><img src="images/img245.jpg" width="250" height="369" alt="Fig. XXV." title="Fig. XXV." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>The intermediate figure is a panel of the main balcony of +the Ducal Palace, and is introduced here as being an exactly +transitional condition between the Northern and Venetian +types. It was built when the German Gothic workmen were +exercising considerable influence over those in Venice, and +there was some chance of the Northern parapet introducing +itself. It actually did so, as above shown, in the Casa Contarini +Fasan, but was for the most part stoutly resisted and kept +at bay by the Byzantine form, the lowest in the last figure, +until that form itself was displaced by the common, vulgar, +Renaissance baluster; a grievous loss, for the severe pierced +type was capable of a variety as endless as the fantasticism of +our own Anglo-Saxon manuscript ornamentation.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIX.</span> (3.) The Baluster Parapet. Long before the idea of +tracery had suggested itself to the minds either of Venetian +or any other architects, it had, of course, been necessary to +provide protection for galleries, edges of roofs, &c.; and the +most natural form in which such protection could be obtained +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page246"></a>246</span> +was that of a horizontal bar or hand-rail, sustained upon short +shafts or balusters, as in <a href="#fig_24">Fig. XXIV.</a> <a href="#page243">p. 243</a>. This form was, +above all others, likely to be adopted where variations of Greek +or Roman pillared architecture were universal in the larger +masses of the building; the parapet became itself a small series +of columns, with capitals and architraves; and whether the +cross-bar laid upon them should be simply horizontal, and in +contact with their capitals, or sustained by mimic arches, +round or pointed, depended entirely on the system adopted +in the rest of the work. Where the large arches were round, +the small balustrade arches would be so likewise; where +those were pointed, these would become so in sympathy with +them.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XX.</span> Unfortunately, wherever a balcony or parapet is used +in an inhabited house, it is, of course, the part of the structure +which first suffers from dilapidation, as well as that of which +the security is most anxiously cared for. The main pillars of +a casement may stand for centuries unshaken under the steady +weight of the superincumbent wall, but the cement and various +insetting of the balconies are sure to be disturbed by the +irregular pressures and impulses of the persons leaning on +them; while, whatever extremity of decay may be allowed in +other parts of the building, the balcony, as soon as it seems +dangerous, will assuredly be removed or restored. The reader +will not, if he considers this, be surprised to hear that, among +all the remnants of the Venetian domestic architecture of the +eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth centuries, there is not a single +instance of the original balconies being preserved. The palace +mentioned below (§ <span class="scs">XXXII.</span>), in the piazza of the Rialto, has, +indeed, solid slabs of stone between its shafts, but I cannot be +certain that they are of the same period; if they are, this is +the only existing example of the form of protection employed +for casements during this transitional period, and it cannot be +reasoned from as being the general one.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXI.</span> It is only, therefore, in the churches of Torcello, +Murano, and St. Mark’s, that the ancient forms of gallery +defence may still be seen. At Murano, between the pillars of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page247"></a>247</span> +the apse, a beautiful balustrade is employed, of which a single +arch is given in the Plate opposite, fig. 4, with its section, +fig. 5.; and at St. Mark’s, a noble round-arched parapet, with +small pillars of precisely the same form as those of Murano, +but shorter, and bound at the angles into groups of four by +the serpentine knot so often occurring in Lombardic work, runs +round the whole exterior of the lower story of the church, and +round great part of its interior galleries, alternating with the +more fantastic form, fig. 6. In domestic architecture, the +remains of the original balconies begin to occur first in the +beginning of the fourteenth century, when the round arch had +entirely disappeared; and the parapet consists, almost without +exception, of a series of small trefoiled arches, cut boldly +through a bar of stone which rests upon the shafts, at first +very simple, and generally adorned with a cross at the point +of each arch, as in fig. 7 in the last Plate, which gives the +angle of such a balcony on a large scale; but soon enriched +into the beautiful conditions, figs. 2 and 3, and sustained on +brackets formed of lions’ heads, as seen in the central example +of their entire effect, fig. 1.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">XIII.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter"> + <a name="plate_13"><img src="images/img247.jpg" width="424" height="650" alt="BALCONIES." title="BALCONIES." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">BALCONIES.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXII.</span> In later periods, the round arches return; then the +interwoven Byzantine form; and finally, as above noticed, the +common English or classical balustrade; of which, however, +exquisite examples, for grace and variety of outline, are found +designed in the backgrounds of Paul Veronese. I could +willingly follow out this subject fully, but it is impossible to +do so without leaving Venice; for the chief city of Italy, as +far as regards the strict effect of the balcony, is Verona; and +if we were once to lose ourselves among the sweet shadows +of its lonely streets, where the falling branches of the flowers +stream like fountains through the pierced traceries of the marble, +there is no saying whether we might soon be able to return +to our immediate work. Yet before leaving the subject +of the balcony<a name="FnAnchor_83" href="#Footnote_83"><span class="sp">83</span></a> altogether, I must allude, for a moment, to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page248"></a>248</span> +the peculiar treatment of the iron-work out of which it is +frequently wrought on the mainland of Italy—never in Venice. +The iron is always wrought, not cast, beaten first into +thin leaves, and then cut either into strips or bands, two or +three inches broad, which are bent into various curves to form +the sides of the balcony, or else into actual leafage, sweeping +and free, like the leaves of nature, with which it is richly decorated. +There is no end to the variety of design, no limit to +the lightness and flow of the forms, which the workman can +produce out of iron treated in this manner; and it is very +nearly as impossible for any metal-work, so handled, to be +poor, or ignoble in effect, as it is for cast metal-work to be +otherwise.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIII.</span> We have next to examine those features of the +Gothic palaces in which the transitions of their architecture +are most distinctly traceable; namely, the arches of the windows +and doors.</p> + +<p>It has already been repeatedly stated, that the Gothic style +had formed itself completely on the mainland, while the +Byzantines still retained their influence at Venice; and that +the history of early Venetian Gothic is therefore not that of +a school taking new forms independently of external influence, +but the history of the struggle of the Byzantine manner with +a contemporary style quite as perfectly organized as itself, and +far more energetic. And this struggle is exhibited partly in +the gradual change of the Byzantine architecture into other +forms, and partly by isolated examples of genuine Gothic +taken prisoner, as it were, in the contest; or rather entangled +among the enemy’s forces, and maintaining their ground till +their friends came up to sustain them. Let us first follow the +steps of the gradual change, and then give some brief account +of the various advanced guards and forlorn hopes of the +Gothic attacking force.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">XIV.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter"> + <a name="plate_14"><img src="images/img248.jpg" width="405" height="650" alt="THE ORDERS OF VENETIAN ARCHES." title="THE ORDERS OF VENETIAN ARCHES." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">THE ORDERS OF VENETIAN ARCHES.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIV.</span> The uppermost shaded series of six forms of windows +in <a href="#plate_14">Plate XIV.</a>, opposite, represents, at a glance, the modifications +of this feature in Venetian palaces, from the eleventh +to the fifteenth century. Fig. 1 is Byzantine, of the eleventh +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page249"></a>249</span> +and twelfth centuries; figs. 2 and 3 transitional, of the thirteenth +and early fourteenth centuries; figs. 4 and 5 pure +Gothic, of the thirteenth, fourteenth and early fifteenth; and +fig. 6. late Gothic, of the fifteenth century, distinguished by +its added finial. Fig. 4 is the longest-lived of all these forms: +it occurs first in the thirteenth century; and, sustaining modifications +only in its mouldings, is found also in the middle of +the fifteenth.</p> + +<p>I shall call these the six orders<a name="FnAnchor_84" href="#Footnote_84"><span class="sp">84</span></a> of Venetian windows, and +when I speak of a window of the fourth, second, or sixth order, +the reader will only have to refer to the numerals at the top of +<a href="#plate_14">Plate XIV.</a></p> + +<p>Then the series below shows the principal forms found in +each period, belonging to each several order; except 1 <i>b</i> to 1 <i>c</i>, +and the two lower series, numbered 7 to 16, which are types +of Venetian doors.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXV.</span> We shall now be able, without any difficulty, to +follow the course of transition, beginning with the first order, +1 and 1 <i>a</i>, in the second row. The horse-shoe arch, 1 <i>b</i>, is the +door-head commonly associated with it, and the other three in +the same row occur in St. Mark’s exclusively; 1 <i>c</i> being used +in the nave, in order to give a greater appearance of lightness +to its great lateral arcades, which at first the spectator supposes +to be round-arched, but he is struck by a peculiar grace and +elasticity in the curves for which he is unable to account, until +he ascends into the galleries whence the true form of the arch +is discernible. The other two—1 <i>d</i>, from the door of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page250"></a>250</span> +southern transept, and 1 <i>c</i>, from that of the treasury,—sufficiently +represent a group of fantastic forms derived from the +Arabs, and of which the exquisite decoration is one of the +most important features in St. Mark’s. Their form is indeed +permitted merely to obtain more fantasy in the curves of this +decoration.<a name="FnAnchor_85" href="#Footnote_85"><span class="sp">85</span></a> The reader can see in a moment, that, as pieces +of masonry, or bearing arches, they are infirm or useless, and +therefore never could be employed in any building in which +dignity of structure was the primal object. It is just because +structure is <i>not</i> the primal object in St. Mark’s, because it has +no severe weights to bear, and much loveliness of marble and +sculpture to exhibit, that they are therein allowable. They are +of course, like the rest of the building, built of brick and faced +with marble, and their inner masonry, which must be very ingenious, +is therefore not discernible. They have settled a little, +as might have been expected, and the consequence is, that +there is in every one of them, except the upright arch of the +treasury, a small fissure across the marble of the flanks.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XXVI.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter2"> + <a name="fig_26"><img src="images/img250.jpg" width="550" height="264" alt="Fig. XXVI." title="Fig. XXVI." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVI.</span> Though, however, the Venetian builders adopted +these Arabian forms of arch where grace of ornamentation was +their only purpose, they saw that such arrangements were unfit +for ordinary work; and there is no instance, I believe, in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page251"></a>251</span> +Venice, of their having used any of them for a dwelling-house +in the truly Byzantine period. But so soon as the Gothic influence +began to be felt, and the pointed arch forced itself +upon them, their first concession to its attack was the adoption, +in preference to the round arch, of the form 3 <i>a</i> (<a href="#plate_14">Plate XIV.</a>, +above); the point of the Gothic arch forcing itself up, as it +were, through the top of the semicircle which it was soon to +supersede.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVII.</span> The woodcut above, <a href="#fig_26">Fig. XXVI.</a>, represents the +door and two of the lateral windows of a house in the Corte +del Remer, facing the Grand Canal, in the parish of the Apostoli. +It is remarkable as having its great entrance on the first +floor, attained by a bold flight of steps, sustained on pure +<i>pointed</i> arches wrought in brick. I cannot tell if these arches +are contemporary with the building, though it must always +have had an access of the kind. The rest of its aspect is +Byzantine, except only that the rich sculptures of its archivolt +show in combats of animals, beneath the soffit, a beginning of +the Gothic fire and energy. The moulding of its plinth is of +a Gothic profile,<a name="FnAnchor_86" href="#Footnote_86"><span class="sp">86</span></a> and the windows are pointed, not with a reversed +curve, but in a pure straight gable, very curiously contrasted +with the delicate bending of the pieces +of marble armor cut for the shoulders of each +arch. There is a two-lighted window, such +as that seen in the vignette, on each side of +the door, sustained in the centre by a basket-worked +Byzantine capital: the mode of +covering the brick archivolt with marble, +both in the windows and doorway, is precisely like that of +the true Byzantine palaces.</p> + +<table style="float: right; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XXVII.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figright2"> + <a name="fig_27"><img src="images/img251.jpg" width="150" height="126" alt="Fig. XXVII." title="Fig. XXVII." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVIII.</span> But as, even on a small scale, these arches are +weak, if executed in brickwork, the appearance of this sharp +point in the outline was rapidly accompanied by a parallel +change in the method of building; and instead of constructing +the arch of brick and coating it with marble, the builders +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page252"></a>252</span> +formed it of three pieces of hewn stone inserted in the wall, +as in <a href="#fig_27">Fig. XXVII.</a> Not, however, at first in this perfect form. +The endeavor to reconcile the grace of the reversed arch with +the strength of the round one, and still to build in brick, +ended at first in conditions such as that represented at <i>a</i>, <a href="#fig_28">Fig. +XXVIII.</a>, which is a window in the Calle del Pistor, close to +the church of the Apostoli, a very interesting and perfect example. +Here, observe, the poor round arch is still kept to do +all the hard work, and the fantastic ogee takes its pleasure +above, in the form of a moulding merely, a chain of bricks +cast to the required curve. And this condition, translated into +stone-work, becomes a window of the second order (<i>b</i>5, <a href="#fig_28">Fig. +XXVIII.</a>, or 2, in <a href="#plate_14">Plate XIV.</a>); a form perfectly strong and +serviceable, and of immense importance in the transitional +architecture of Venice.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XXVIII.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter2"> + <a name="fig_28"><img src="images/img252.jpg" width="500" height="268" alt="Fig. XXVIII." title="Fig. XXVIII." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIX.</span> At <i>b</i>, <a href="#fig_28">Fig. XXVIII.</a>, as above, is given one of the +earliest and simplest occurrences of the second order window +(in a double group, exactly like the brick transitional form <i>a</i>), +from a most important fragment of a defaced house in the +Salizzada San Liň, close to the Merceria. It is associated +with a fine <i>pointed</i> brick arch, indisputably of contemporary +work, towards the close of the thirteenth century, and it +is shown to be later than the previous example, <i>a</i>, by the +greater developement of its mouldings. The archivolt profile, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page253"></a>253</span> +indeed, is the simpler of the two, not having the sub-arch; +as in the brick example; but the other mouldings are +far more developed. <a href="#fig_29">Fig. XXIX.</a> shows at +1 the arch profiles, at 2 the capital profiles, at +3 the basic-plinth profiles, of each window, <i>a</i> +and <i>b</i>.</p> + +<table style="float: right; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XXIX.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figright2"> + <a name="fig_29"><img src="images/img253.jpg" width="150" height="508" alt="Fig. XXIX." title="Fig. XXIX." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXX.</span> But the second order window +soon attained nobler developement. At once +simple, graceful, and strong, it was received +into all the architecture of the period, and +there is hardly a street in Venice which does +not exhibit some important remains of palaces +built with this form of window in many +stories, and in numerous groups. The most +extensive and perfect is one upon the Grand +Canal in the parish of the Apostoli, near the +Rialto, covered with rich decoration, in the +Byzantine manner, between the windows of +its first story; but not completely characteristic +of the transitional period, because still +retaining the dentil in the arch mouldings, +while the transitional houses all have the simple +roll. Of the fully established type, one +of the most extensive and perfect examples is in a court in the +Calle di Rimedio, close to the Ponte dell’ Angelo, near St. +Mark’s Place. Another looks out upon a small square garden, +one of the few visible in the centre of Venice, close by the +Corte Salviati (the latter being known to every cicerone as +that from which Bianca Capello fled). But, on the whole, the +most interesting to the traveller is that of which I have given +a vignette opposite.</p> + +<p>But for this range of windows, the little piazza SS. Apostoli +would be one of the least picturesque in Venice; to those, +however, who seek it on foot, it becomes geographically interesting +from the extraordinary involution of the alleys leading +to it from the Rialto. In Venice, the straight road is usually +by water, and the long road by land; but the difference of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page254"></a>254</span> +distance appears, in this case, altogether inexplicable. Twenty +or thirty strokes of the oar will bring a gondola from the foot +of the Rialto to that of the Ponte SS. Apostoli; but the unwise +pedestrian, who has not noticed the white clue beneath +his feet,<a name="FnAnchor_87" href="#Footnote_87"><span class="sp">87</span></a> may think himself fortunate, if, after a quarter of an +hour’s wandering among the houses behind the Fondaco de’ +Tedeschi, he finds himself anywhere in the neighborhood of +the point he seeks. With much patience, however, and modest +following of the guidance of the marble thread, he will at last +emerge over a steep bridge into the open space of the Piazza, +rendered cheerful in autumn by a perpetual market of pomegranates, +and purple gourds, like enormous black figs; while +the canal, at its extremity, is half-blocked up by barges laden +with vast baskets of grapes as black as charcoal, thatched over +with their own leaves.</p> + +<p>Looking back, on the other side of this canal, he will see +the windows represented in <a href="#plate_15">Plate XV.</a>, which, with the arcade +of pointed arches beneath them, are the remains of the palace +once belonging to the unhappy doge, Marino Faliero.</p> + +<p>The balcony is, of course, modern, and the series of windows +has been of greater extent, once terminated by a pilaster +on the left hand, as well as on the right; but the terminal +arches have been walled up. What remains, however, is +enough, with its sculptured birds and dragons, to give the +reader a very distinct idea of the second order window in its +perfect form. The details of the capitals, and other minor +portions, if these interest him, he will find given in the final +Appendix.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">XV.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter"> + <a name="plate_15"><img src="images/img254.jpg" width="441" height="650" alt="WINDOWS OF THE SECOND ORDER." title="WINDOWS OF THE SECOND ORDER." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">WINDOWS OF THE SECOND ORDER.<br /> + <span style="font-size: 75%; ">CASA FALIER.</span></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXI.</span> The advance of the Gothic spirit was, for a few +years, checked by this compromise between the round and +pointed arch. The truce, however, was at last broken, in consequence +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page255"></a>255</span> +of the discovery that the keystone would do duty quite +as well in the form <i>b</i> as in the form <i>a</i>, <a href="#fig_30">Fig. XXX.</a>, and the substitution +of <i>b</i>, at the head of the arch, gives us +the window of the third order, 3 <i>b</i>, 3 <i>d</i>, and 3 +<i>e</i>, in <a href="#plate_14">Plate XIV.</a> The forms 3 <i>a</i> and 3 <i>c</i> are +exceptional; the first occurring, as we have +seen, in the Corte del Remer, and in one +other palace on the Grand Canal, close to the +Church of St. Eustachio; the second only, as far as I know, in +one house on the Canna-Reggio, belonging to the true Gothic +period. The other three examples, 3 <i>b</i>, 3 <i>d</i>, 3 <i>e</i>, are generally +characteristic of the third order; and it will be observed that +they differ not merely in mouldings, but in slope of sides, and +this latter difference is by far the most material. For in the +example 3 <i>b</i> there is hardly any true Gothic expression; it is +still the pure Byzantine arch, with a point thrust up through +it: but the moment the flanks slope, as in 3 <i>d</i>, the Gothic expression +is definite, and the entire school of the architecture is +changed.</p> + +<table style="float: right; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XXX.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figright2"> + <a name="fig_30"><img src="images/img255.jpg" width="150" height="104" alt="Fig. XXX." title="Fig. XXX." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>This slope of the flanks occurs, first, in so slight a degree +as to be hardly perceptible, and gradually increases until, reaching +the form 3 <i>e</i> at the close of the thirteenth century, the +window is perfectly prepared for a transition into the fifth +order.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXII.</span> The most perfect examples of the third order in +Venice are the windows of the ruined palace of Marco Querini, +the father-in-law of Bajamonte Tiepolo, in consequence of +whose conspiracy against the government this palace was +ordered to be razed in 1310; but it was only partially ruined, +and was afterwards used as the common shambles. The Venetians +have now made a poultry market of the lower story (the +shambles being removed to a suburb), and a prison of the +upper, though it is one of the most important and interesting +monuments in the city, and especially valuable as giving us a +secure date for the central form of these very rare transitional +windows. For, as it was the palace of the father-in-law of +Bajamonte, and the latter was old enough to assume the leadership +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page256"></a>256</span> +of a political faction in 1280,<a name="FnAnchor_88" href="#Footnote_88"><span class="sp">88</span></a> the date of the accession to +the throne of the Doge Pietro Gradenigo, we are secure of +this palace having been built not later than the middle of the +thirteenth century. Another example, less refined in workmanship, +but, if possible, still more interesting, owing to the +variety of its capitals, remains in the little piazza opening to +the Rialto, on the St. Mark’s side of the Grand Canal. The +house faces the bridge, and its second story has been built in +the thirteenth century, above a still earlier Byzantine cornice +remaining, or perhaps introduced from some other ruined edifice, +in the walls of the first floor. The windows of the second +story are of pure third order; four of them are represented +above, with their flanking pilaster, and capitals varying constantly +in the form of the flower or leaf introduced between +their volutes.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XXXI.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter2"> + <a name="fig_31"><img src="images/img256.jpg" width="500" height="227" alt="Fig. XXXI." title="Fig. XXXI." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIII.</span> Another most important example exists in the +lower story of the Casa Sagredo, on the Grand Canal, remarkable +as having the early upright form (3 <i>b</i>, <a href="#plate_14">Plate XIV.</a>) with +a somewhat late moulding. Many others occur in the fragmentary +ruins in the streets: but the two boldest conditions +which I found in Venice are those of the Chapter-House of +the Frari, in which the Doge Francesco Dandolo was buried +circa 1339; and those of the flank of the Ducal Palace itself +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page257"></a>257</span> +absolutely corresponding with those of the Frari, and therefore +of inestimable value in determining the date of the palace. Of +these more hereafter.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">XVI.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter"> + <a name="plate_16"><img src="images/img257.jpg" width="434" height="650" alt="WINDOWS OF THE FOURTH ORDER." title="WINDOWS OF THE FOURTH ORDER." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">WINDOWS OF THE FOURTH ORDER.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<table style="float: right; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XXXII.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figright2"> + <a name="fig_32"><img src="images/img257a.jpg" width="300" height="274" alt="Fig. XXXII." title="Fig. XXXII." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIV.</span> Contemporarily with these windows of the second +and third orders, those of the fourth (4 <i>a</i> and 4 <i>b</i>, in <a href="#plate_14">Plate +XIV.</a>) occur, at first in pairs, and with simple mouldings, precisely +similar to those of the second order, but much more rare, +as in the example at the side, <a href="#fig_32">Fig. +XXXII.</a>, from the Salizada San +Liň; and then, enriching their +mouldings as shown in the continuous +series 4 <i>c</i>, 4 <i>d</i>, of <a href="#plate_14">Plate +XIV.</a>, associate themselves with +the fifth order windows of the +perfect Gothic period. There is +hardly a palace in Venice without +some example, either early or +late, of these fourth order windows; +but the Plate opposite (<a href="#plate_16">XVI.</a>) represents one of their +purest groups at the close of the thirteenth century, from a +house on the Grand Canal, nearly opposite the Church of the +Scalzi. I have drawn it from the side, in order that the great +depth of the arches may be seen, and the clear detaching of +the shafts from the sheets of glass behind. The latter, as well +as the balcony, are comparatively modern; but there is no +doubt that if glass were used in the old window, it was set behind +the shafts, at the same depth. The entire modification +of the interiors of all the Venetian houses by recent work has +however prevented me from entering into any inquiry as to +the manner in which the ancient glazing was attached to the +interiors of the windows.</p> + +<p>The fourth order window is found in great richness and +beauty at Verona, down to the latest Gothic times, as well as +in the earliest, being then more frequent than any other form. +It occurs, on a grand scale, in the old palace of the Scaligers, +and profusely throughout the streets of the city. The series +4 <i>a</i> to 4 <i>e</i>, <a href="#plate_14">Plate XIV.</a>, shows its most ordinary conditions +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page258"></a>258</span> +and changes of arch-line: 4 <i>a</i> and 4 <i>b</i> are the early Venetian +forms; 4 <i>c</i>, later, is general at Venice; 4 <i>d</i>, the best and +most piquant condition, owing to its fantastic and bold projection +of cusp, is common to Venice and Verona; 4 <i>e</i> is early +Veronese.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXV.</span> The reader will see at once, in descending to the +fifth row in <a href="#plate_14">Plate XIV.</a>, representing the windows of the fifth +order, that they are nothing more than a combination of the +third and fourth. By this union they become the nearest +approximation to a perfect Gothic form which occurs characteristically +at Venice; and we shall therefore pause on the +threshold of this final change, to glance back upon, and gather +together, those fragments of purer pointed architecture which +were above noticed as the forlorn hopes of the Gothic assault.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XXXIII.</td> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XXXIV.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter2"> + <a name="fig_33"><img src="images/img258a.jpg" width="350" height="213" alt="Fig. XXXIII." title="Fig. XXXIII." /></a></td> + <td class="figcenter2"> + <a name="fig_34"><img src="images/img258b.jpg" width="250" height="384" alt="Fig. XXXIV." title="Fig. XXXIV." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + + +<p>The little Campiello San Rocco is entered by a sotto-portico +behind the church of the Frari. Looking back, the upper +traceries of the magnificent apse are seen towering above the +irregular roofs and chimneys of the little square; and our lost +Prout was enabled to bring the whole subject into an exquisitely +picturesque composition, by the fortunate occurrence +of four quaint trefoiled windows in one of the houses on the +right. Those trefoils are among the most ancient efforts of +Gothic art in Venice. I have given a rude sketch of them in +<a href="#fig_33">Fig. XXXIII.</a> They are built entirely of brick, except the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page259"></a>259</span> +central shaft and capital, which are of Istrian stone. Their +structure is the simplest possible; the trefoils being cut out of +the radiating bricks which form the pointed arch, and the edge +or upper limit of that pointed arch indicated by a roll moulding +formed of cast bricks, in length of about a foot, and ground +at the bottom so as to meet in one, as in <a href="#fig_34">Fig. XXXIV.</a> The +capital of the shaft is one of the earliest transitional forms;<a name="FnAnchor_89" href="#Footnote_89"><span class="sp">89</span></a> +and observe the curious following out, even in this minor instance, +of the great law of centralization above explained with +respect to the Byzantine palaces. There is a central shaft, a +pilaster on each side, and then the wall. The pilaster has, by +way of capital, a square flat brick, projecting a little, and cast, +at the edge, into the form of the first type of all cornices (<i>a</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page063">p. +63</a>, Vol. I.; the reader ought to glance back at this passage, if +he has forgotten it); and the shafts and pilasters all stand, +without any added bases, on a projecting plinth of the same +simple profile. These windows have been much defaced; but +I have not the least doubt that their plinths are the original +ones: and the whole group is one of the most valuable in +Venice, as showing the way in which the humblest houses, in +the noble times, followed out the system of the larger palaces, +as far as they could, in their rude materials. It is not often +that the dwellings of the lower orders are preserved to us from +the thirteenth century.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">XVII.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter"> + <a name="plate_17"><img src="images/img259.jpg" width="411" height="650" alt="WINDOWS OF THE EARLY GOTHIC PALACES." title="WINDOWS OF THE EARLY GOTHIC PALACES." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">WINDOWS OF THE EARLY GOTHIC PALACES.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVI.</span> In the two upper lines of the opposite Plate +(<a href="#plate_17">XVII.</a>), I have arranged some of the more delicate and finished +examples of Gothic work of this period. Of these, fig. 4 is +taken from the outer arcade of San Fermo of Verona, to show +the condition of mainland architecture, from which all these +Venetian types were borrowed. This arch, together with the +rest of the arcade, is wrought in fine stone, with a band of inlaid +red brick, the whole chiselled and fitted with exquisite +precision, all Venetian work being coarse in comparison. +Throughout the streets of Verona, arches and windows of the +thirteenth century are of continual occurrence, wrought, in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page260"></a>260</span> +this manner, with brick and stone; sometimes the brick alternating +with the stones of the arch, as in the finished example +given in <a href="#plate_19">Plate XIX.</a> of the first volume, and there selected in +preference to other examples of archivolt decoration, because +furnishing a complete type of the master school from which +the Venetian Gothic is derived.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVII.</span> The arch from St. Fermo, however, fig. 4, <a href="#plate_17">Plate +XVII.</a>, corresponds more closely, in its entire simplicity, with +the little windows from the Campiello San Rocco; and with +the type 5 set beside it in <a href="#plate_17">Plate XVII.</a>, from a very ancient +house in the Corte del Forno at Santa Marina (all in brick); while +the upper examples, 1 and 2, show the use of the flat but highly +enriched architrave, for the connection of which with Byzantine +work see the final Appendix, Vol. III., under the head “Archivolt.” +These windows (figs. 1 and 2, <a href="#plate_17">Plate XVII.</a>) are from +a narrow alley in a part of Venice now exclusively inhabited +by the lower orders, close to the arsenal;<a name="FnAnchor_90" href="#Footnote_90"><span class="sp">90</span></a> they are entirely +wrought in brick, with exquisite mouldings, not cast, but +<i>moulded in the clay by the hand</i>, so that there is not one +piece of the arch like another; the pilasters and shafts being, +as usual, of stone.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVIII.</span> And here let me pause for a moment, to note +what one should have thought was well enough known in England,—yet +I could not perhaps touch upon anything less considered,—the +real use of brick. Our fields of good clay were +never given us to be made into oblong morsels of one size. +They were given us that we might play with them, and that +men who could not handle a chisel, might knead out of them +some expression of human thought. In the ancient architecture +of the clay districts of Italy, every possible adaptation of +the material is found exemplified: from the coarsest and most +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page261"></a>261</span> +brittle kinds, used in the mass of the structure, to bricks for +arches and plinths, cast in the most perfect curves, and of +almost every size, strength, and hardness; and moulded bricks, +wrought into flower-work and tracery as fine as raised patterns +upon china. And, just as many of the finest works of the +Italian sculptors were executed in porcelain, many of the best +thoughts of their architects are expressed in brick, or in the +softer material of terra cotta; and if this were so in Italy, +where there is not one city from whose towers we may not +descry the blue outline of Alp or Apennine, everlasting quarries +of granite or marble, how much more ought it to be so +among the fields of England! I believe that the best academy +for her architects, for some half century to come, would be +the brick-field; for of this they may rest assured, that till +they know how to use clay, they will never know how to use +marble.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIX.</span> And now observe, as we pass from fig. 2 to fig. +3, and from fig. 5 to fig. 6, in <a href="#plate_17">Plate XVII.</a>, a most interesting +step of transition. As we saw above, § <span class="scs">XIV.</span>, the round +arch yielding to the Gothic, by allowing a point to emerge at +its summit, so here we have the Gothic conceding something +to the form which had been assumed by the round; and itself +slightly altering its outline so as to meet the condescension of +the round arch half way. At page 137 of the first volume, I +have drawn to scale one of these minute concessions of the +pointed arch, granted at Verona out of pure courtesy to the +Venetian forms, by one of the purest Gothic ornaments in the +world; and the small window here, fig. 6, is a similar example +at Venice itself, from the Campo Santa Maria Mater Domini, +where the reversed curve at the head of the pointed arch is +just perceptible and no more. The other examples, figs. 3 and +7, the first from a small but very noble house in the Merceria, +the second from an isolated palace at Murano, show more +advanced conditions of the reversed curve, which, though still +employing the broad decorated architrave of the earlier examples, +are in all other respects prepared for the transition to the +simple window of the fifth order.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page262"></a>262</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XL.</span> The next example, the uppermost of the three lower +series in <a href="#plate_17">Plate XVII.</a>, shows this order in its early purity; +associated with intermediate decorations like those of the +Byzantines, from a palace once belonging to the Erizzo family, +near the Arsenal. The ornaments appear to be actually of +Greek workmanship (except, perhaps, the two birds over the +central arch, which are bolder, and more free in treatment), +and built into the Gothic fronts; showing, however, the early +date of the whole by the manner of their insertion, corresponding +exactly with that employed in the Byzantine palaces, +and by the covering of the intermediate spaces with sheets +of marble, which, however, instead of being laid over the +entire wall, are now confined to the immediate spaces between +and above the windows, and are bounded by a dentil +moulding.</p> + +<p>In the example below this the Byzantine ornamentation +has vanished, and the fifth order window is seen in its generic +form, as commonly employed throughout the early Gothic +period. Such arcades are of perpetual occurrence; the one +in the Plate was taken from a small palace on the Grand +Canal, nearly opposite the Casa Foscari. One point in it +deserves especial notice, the increased size of the lateral window +as compared with the rest: a circumstance which occurs +in a great number of the groups of windows belonging to this +period, and for which I have never been able to account.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLI.</span> Both these figures have been most carefully engraved; +and the uppermost will give the reader a perfectly +faithful idea of the general effect of the Byzantine sculptures, +and of the varied alabaster among which they are inlaid, as +well as of the manner in which these pieces are set together, +every joint having been drawn on the spot: and the transition +from the embroidered and silvery richness of this architecture, +in which the Byzantine ornamentation was associated with the +Gothic form of arch, to the simplicity of the pure Gothic +arcade as seen in the lower figure, is one of the most remarkable +phenomena in the history of Venetian art. If it had +occurred suddenly, and at an earlier period, it might have +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page263"></a>263</span> +been traced partly to the hatred of the Greeks, consequent +upon the treachery of Manuel Comnenus,<a name="FnAnchor_91" href="#Footnote_91"><span class="sp">91</span></a> and the fatal war +to which it led; but the change takes place gradually, and not +till a much later period. I hoped to have been able to make +some careful inquiries into the habits of domestic life of the +Venetians before and after the dissolution of their friendly +relations with Constantinople; but the labor necessary for the +execution of my more immediate task has entirely prevented +this: and I must be content to lay the succession of the architectural +styles plainly before the reader, and leave the collateral +questions to the investigation of others; merely <span class="correction" title="nothing in the original">noting</span> +this one assured fact, that <i>the root of all that is greatest in +Christian art is struck in the thirteenth century</i>; that the +temper of that century is the life-blood of all manly work +thenceforward in Europe; and I suppose that one of its peculiar +characteristics was elsewhere, as assuredly in Florence, a +singular simplicity in domestic life:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“I saw Bellincion Berti walk abroad</p> +<p>In leathern girdle, and a clasp of bone;</p> +<p>And, with no artful coloring on her cheeks,</p> +<p>His lady leave the glass. The sons I saw</p> +<p>Of Verli and of Vecchio, well content</p> +<p>With unrobed jerkin, and their good dames handling</p> +<p>The spindle and the flax<span style="letter-spacing: 2em;" >....</span></p> +<p>One waked to tend the cradle, hushing it</p> +<p>With sounds that lulled the parents’ infancy; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page264"></a>264</span></p> +<p>Another, with her maidens, drawing off</p> +<p>The tresses from the distaff, lectured them</p> +<p>Old tales of Troy, and Fesole, and Rome.”<a name="FnAnchor_92" href="#Footnote_92"><span class="sp">92</span></a></p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLII.</span> Such, then, is the simple fact at Venice, that from +the beginning of the thirteenth century there is found a singular +increase of simplicity in all architectural ornamentation; +the rich Byzantine capitals giving place to a pure and severe +type hereafter to be described,<a name="FnAnchor_93" href="#Footnote_93"><span class="sp">93</span></a> and the rich sculptures vanishing +from the walls, nothing but the marble facing remaining. +One of the most interesting examples of this transitional state +is a palace at San Severo, just behind the Casa Zorzi. This +latter is a Renaissance building, utterly worthless in every +respect, but known to the Venetian Ciceroni; and by inquiring +for it, and passing a little beyond it down the Fondamenta +San Severo, the traveller will see, on the other side of the +canal, a palace which the Ciceroni never notice, but which is +unique in Venice for the magnificence of the veined purple +alabasters with which it has been decorated, and for the manly +simplicity of the foliage of its capitals. Except in these, it +has no sculpture whatever, and its effect is dependent entirely +on color. Disks of green serpentine are inlaid on the field +of purple alabaster; and the pillars are alternately of red +marble with white capitals, and of white marble with red +capitals. Its windows appear of the third order; and the back +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page265"></a>265</span> +of the palace, in a small and most picturesque court, shows a +group of windows which are, perhaps, the most superb examples +of that order in Venice. But the windows to the front +have, I think, been of the fifth order, and their cusps have +been cut away.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLIII.</span> When the Gothic feeling began more decidedly to +establish itself, it evidently became a question with the Venetian +builders, how the intervals between the arches, now left +blank by the abandonment of the Byzantine sculptures, should +be enriched in accordance with the principles of the new +school. Two most important examples are left of the experiments +made at this period: one at the Ponte del Forner, at +San Cassano, a noble house in which the spandrils of the windows +are filled by the emblems of the four Evangelists, sculptured +in deep relief, and touching the edges of the arches with +their expanded wings; the other now known as the Palazzo +Cicogna, near the church of San Sebastiano, in the quarter +called “of the Archangel Raphael,” in which a large space of +wall above the windows is occupied by an intricate but rude +tracery of involved quatrefoils. Of both these palaces I purposed +to give drawings in my folio work; but I shall probably +be saved the trouble by the publication of the beautiful calotypes +lately made at Venice of both; and it is unnecessary to +represent them here, as they are unique in Venetian architecture, +with the single exception of an unimportant imitation of +the first of them in a little by-street close to the Campo Sta. +Maria Formosa. For the question as to the mode of decorating +the interval between the arches was suddenly and irrevocably +determined by the builder of the Ducal Palace, who, +as we have seen, taking his first idea from the traceries of the +Frari, and arranging those traceries as best fitted his own purpose, +designed the great arcade (the lowest of the three in +<a href="#plate_17">Plate XVII.</a>), which thenceforward became the established +model for every work of importance in Venice. The palaces +built on this model, however, most of them not till the beginning +of the fifteenth century, belong properly to the time of +the Renaissance; and what little we have to note respecting +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page266"></a>266</span> +them may be more clearly stated in connexion with other facts +characteristic of that period.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLIV.</span> As the examples in <a href="#plate_17">Plate XVII.</a> are necessarily +confined to the upper parts of the windows, I have given in +the Plate opposite (<a href="#plate_18">XVIII</a><a name="FnAnchor_94" href="#Footnote_94"><span class="sp">94</span></a>) examples of the fifth order +window, both in its earliest and in its fully developed form, +completed from base to keystone. The upper example is a +beautiful group from a small house, never of any size or pretension, +and now inhabited only by the poor, in the Campiello +della Strope, close to the Church of San Giacomo de Lorio. +It is remarkable for its excessive purity of curve, and is of +very early date, its mouldings being simpler than usual.<a name="FnAnchor_95" href="#Footnote_95"><span class="sp">95</span></a> The +lower example is from the second story of a palace belonging +to the Priuli family, near San Lorenzo, and shows one feature +to which our attention has not hitherto been directed, namely, +the penetration of the cusp, leaving only a silver thread of +stone traced on the darkness of the window. I need not say +that, in this condition, the cusp ceases to have any constructive +use, and is merely decorative, but often exceedingly beautiful. +The steps of transition from the early solid cusp to this slender +thread are noticed in the final Appendix, under the head +“Tracery Bars;” the commencement of the change being in +the thinning of the stone, which is not cut through until it is +thoroughly emaciated. Generally speaking, the condition in +which the cusp is found is a useful test of age, when compared +with other points; the more solid it is, the more ancient: but +the massive form is often found associated with the perforated, +as late as the beginning of the fourteenth century. In the +Ducal Palace, the lower or bearing traceries have the solid +cusp, and the upper traceries of the windows, which are +merely decorative., have the perforated cusp, both with exquisite +effect.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">XVIII.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter2"> + <a name="plate_18"><img src="images/img266a.jpg" width="290" height="350" alt="WINDOWS OF THE FIFTH ORDER." title="WINDOWS OF THE FIFTH ORDER." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img266b.jpg" width="369" height="300" alt="WINDOWS OF THE FIFTH ORDER." title="WINDOWS OF THE FIFTH ORDER." /></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">WINDOWS OF THE FIFTH ORDER.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLV.</span> The smaller balconies between the great shafts in +the lower example in <a href="#plate_18">Plate XVIII.</a> are original and characteristic: +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page267"></a>267</span> +not so the lateral one of the detached window, which +has been restored; but by imagining it to be like that represented +in fig. 1, <a href="#plate_13">Plate XIII.</a>, above, which is a perfect window +of the finest time of the fifth order, the reader will be enabled +to form a complete idea of the external appearance of the +principal apartments in the house of a noble of Venice, at the +beginning of the fourteenth century.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLVI.</span> Whether noble, or merchant, or, as frequently happened, +both, every Venetian appears, at this time, to have +raised his palace or dwelling-house upon one type. Under +every condition of importance, through every variation of +size, the forms and mode of decoration of all the features +were universally alike; not servilely alike, but fraternally; +not with the sameness of coins cast from one mould, but with +the likeness of the members of one family. No fragment of +the period is preserved, in which the windows, be they few +or many, a group of three or an arcade of thirty, have not +the noble cusped arch of the fifth order. And they are especially +to be noted by us at this day, because these refined and +richly ornamented forms were used in the habitations of a +nation as laborious, as practical, as brave, and as prudent as +ourselves; and they were built at a time when that nation +was struggling with calamities and changes threatening its +existence almost every hour. And, farther, they are interesting +because perfectly applicable to modern habitation. The +refinement of domestic life appears to have been far advanced +in Venice from her earliest days; and the remains of her +Gothic palaces are, at this day, the most delightful residences +in the city, having undergone no change in external form, and +probably having been rather injured than rendered more convenient +by the modifications which poverty and Renaissance +taste, contending with the ravages of time, have introduced +in the interiors. So that, in Venice, and the cities grouped +around it, Vicenza, Padua, and Verona, the traveller may ascertain, +by actual experience, the effect which would be produced +upon the comfort or luxury of daily life by the revival of the +Gothic school of architecture. He can still stand upon the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page268"></a>268</span> +marble balcony in the soft summer air, and feel its smooth +surface warm from the noontide as he leans on it in the twilight; +he can still see the strong sweep of the unruined +traceries drawn on the deep serenity of the starry sky, and +watch the fantastic shadows of the clustered arches shorten +in the moonlight on the chequered floor; or he may close the +casements fitted to their unshaken shafts against such wintry +winds as would have made an English house vibrate to its +foundation, and, in either case, compare their influence on his +daily home feeling with that of the square openings in his +English wall.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLVII.</span> And let him be assured, if he find there is more +to be enjoyed in the Gothic window, there is also more to be +trusted. It is the best and strongest building, as it is the +most beautiful. I am not now speaking of the particular +form of Venetian Gothic, but of the general strength of the +pointed arch as opposed to that of the level lintel of the +square window; and I plead for the introduction of the +Gothic form into our domestic architecture, not merely because +it is lovely, but because it is the only form of faithful, +strong, enduring, and honorable building, in such materials as +come daily to our hands. By increase of scale and cost, it is +possible to build, in any style, what will last for ages; but only +in the Gothic is it possible to give security and dignity to +work wrought with imperfect means and materials. And I +trust that there will come a time when the English people +may see the folly of building basely and insecurely. It is +common with those architects against whose practice my writings +have hitherto been directed, to call them merely theoretical +and imaginative. I answer, that there is not a single principle +asserted either in the “Seven Lamps” or here, but is of +the simplest, sternest veracity, and the easiest practicability; +that buildings, raised as I would have them, would stand unshaken +for a thousand years; and the buildings raised by the +architects who oppose them will not stand for one hundred +and fifty, they sometimes do not stand for an hour. There is +hardly a week passes without some catastrophe brought about +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page269"></a>269</span> +by the base principles of modern building; some vaultless +floor that drops the staggering crowd through the jagged rents +of its rotten timbers; some baseless bridge that is washed +away by the first wave of a summer flood; some fungous wall +of nascent rottenness that a thunder-shower soaks down with +its workmen into a heap of slime and death.<a name="FnAnchor_96" href="#Footnote_96"><span class="sp">96</span></a> These we hear +of, day by day: yet these indicate but the thousandth part of +the evil. The portion of the national income sacrificed in +mere bad building, in the perpetual repairs, and swift condemnation +and pulling down of ill-built shells of houses, +passes all calculation. And the weight of the penalty is not +yet felt; it will tell upon our children some fifty years hence, +when the cheap work, and contract work, and stucco and +plaster work, and bad iron work, and all the other expedients +of modern rivalry, vanity, and dishonesty, begin to show themselves +for what they are.</p> + +<table style="float: right; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XXXV.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figright2"> + <a name="fig_35"><img src="images/img269.jpg" width="150" height="194" alt="Fig. XXXV." title="Fig. XXXV." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLVIII.</span> Indeed, dishonesty and false economy will no +more build safely in Gothic than in any other style: but of +all forms which we could possibly employ, to be framed hastily +and out of bad materials, the common square +window is the worst; and its level head of +brickwork (<i>a</i>, <a href="#fig_35">Fig. XXXV.</a>) is the weakest +way of covering a space. Indeed, in the +hastily heaped shells of modern houses, there +may be seen often even a worse manner of +placing the bricks, as at <i>b</i>, supporting them +by a bit of lath till the mortar dries; but +even when worked with the utmost care, +and having every brick tapered into the form of a voussoir +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page270"></a>270</span> +and accurately fitted, I have seen such a window-head give +way, and a wide fissure torn through all the brickwork above +it, two years after it was built; while the pointed arch of the +Veronese Gothic, wrought in brick also, occurs at every corner +of the streets of the city, untouched since the thirteenth century, +and without a single flaw.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLIX.</span> Neither can the objection, so often raised against +the pointed arch, that it will not admit the convenient adjustment +of modern sashes and glass, hold for an instant. There +is not the smallest necessity, because the arch is pointed, that +the aperture should be so. The work of the arch is to sustain +the building above; when this is once done securely, the +pointed head of it may be filled in any way we choose. In +the best cathedral doors it is always filled by a shield of solid +stone; in many early windows of the best Gothic it is filled in +the same manner, the introduced slab of stone becoming a +field for rich decoration; and there is not the smallest reason +why lancet windows, used in bold groups, with each pointed +arch filled by a sculptured tympanum, should not allow as +much light to enter, and in as convenient a way, as the most +luxuriously glazed square windows of our brick houses. Give +the groups of associated lights bold gabled canopies; charge +the gables with sculpture and color; and instead of the base +and almost useless Greek portico, letting the rain and wind +enter it at will, build the steeply vaulted and completely sheltered +Gothic porch; and on all these fields for rich decoration +let the common workman carve what he pleases, to the best +of his power, and we may have a school of domestic architecture +in the nineteenth century, which will make our children +grateful to us, and proud of us, till the thirtieth.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">L.</span> There remains only one important feature to be +examined, the entrance gate or door. We have already +observed that the one seems to pass into the other, a sign +of increased love of privacy rather than of increased humility, +as the Gothic palaces assume their perfect form. In the Byzantine +palaces the entrances appear always to have been rather +great gates than doors, magnificent semicircular arches opening +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page271"></a>271</span> +to the water, and surrounded by rich sculpture in the +archivolts. One of these entrances is seen in the small woodcut +above, <a href="#fig_25">Fig. XXV.</a>, and another has been given carefully +in my folio work: their sculpture is generally of grotesque +animals scattered among leafage, without any definite meaning; +but the great outer entrance of St. Mark’s, which appears +to have been completed some time after the rest of the fabric, +differs from all others in presenting a series of subjects altogether +Gothic in feeling, selection, and vitality of execution, +and which show the occult entrance of the Gothic spirit before +it had yet succeeded in effecting any modification of the Byzantine +forms. These sculptures represent the months of the +year employed in the avocations usually attributed to them +throughout the whole compass of the middle ages, in Northern +architecture and manuscript calendars, and at last exquisitely +versified by Spenser. For the sake of the traveller in Venice, +who should examine this archivolt carefully, I shall enumerate +these sculptures in their order, noting such parallel representations +as I remember in other work.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LI.</span> There are four successive archivolts, one within the +other, forming the great central entrance of St. Mark’s. The +first is a magnificent external arch, formed of obscure figures +mingled among masses of leafage, as in ordinary Byzantine +work; within this there is a hemispherical dome, covered with +modern mosaic; and at the back of this recess the other three +archivolts follow consecutively, two sculptured, one plain; the +one with which we are concerned is the outermost.</p> + +<p>It is carved both on its front and under-surface or soffit; +on the front are seventeen female figures bearing scrolls, from +which the legends are unfortunately effaced. These figures +were once gilded on a dark blue ground, as may still be seen in +Gentile Bellini’s picture of St. Mark’s in the Accademia delle +Belle Arti. The sculptures of the months are on the under-surface, +beginning at the bottom on the left hand of the spectator +as he enters, and following in succession round the +archivolt; separated, however, into two groups, at its centre, +by a beautiful figure of the youthful Christ, sitting in the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page272"></a>272</span> +midst of a slightly hollowed sphere covered with stars to +represent the firmament, and with the attendant sun and +moon, set one on each side to rule over the day and over the +night.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LII.</span> The months are personified as follows:—</p> + +<p>1. <span class="sc">January</span>, <i>Carrying home a noble tree on his shoulders, +the leafage of which nods forwards, and falls nearly to his +feet.</i> Superbly cut. This is a rare representation of him. +More frequently he is represented as the two-headed Janus, +sitting at a table, drinking at one mouth and eating at the +other. Sometimes as an old man, warming his feet at a fire, +and drinking from a bowl; though this type is generally +reserved for February. Spenser, however, gives the same +symbol as that on St. Mark’s:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + <p style="padding-left: 4.5em; ">“Numbd with holding all the day</p> +<p>An hatchet keene, with which he felled wood.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>His sign, Aquarius, is obscurely indicated in the archivolt +by some wavy lines representing water, unless the figure has +been broken away.</p> + +<p>2. <span class="sc">February.</span> <i>Sitting in a carved chair, warming his bare +feet at a blazing fire.</i> Generally, when he is thus represented, +there is a pot hung over the fire, from the top of the +chimney. Sometimes he is pruning trees, as in Spenser:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + <p style="padding-left: 6.5em; ">“Yet had he by his side</p> +<p>His plough and harnesse fit to till the ground,</p> +<p>And tooles to prune the trees.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>Not unfrequently, in the calendars, this month is represented +by a female figure carrying candles, in honor of the +Purification of the Virgin.</p> + +<p>His sign, Pisces, is prominently carved above him.</p> + +<p>3. <span class="sc">March.</span> Here, as almost always in Italy, <i>a warrior</i>: the +Mars of the Latins being of course, in medićval work, made +representative of the military power of the place and period; +and thus, at Venice, having the winged Lion painted upon +his shield. In Northern work, however, I think March is +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page273"></a>273</span> +commonly employed in pruning trees; or, at least, he is so +when that occupation is left free for him by February’s being +engaged with the ceremonies of Candlemas. Sometimes, also, +he is reaping a low and scattered kind of grain; and by Spenser, +who exactly marks the junction of medićval and classical feeling, +his military and agricultural functions are united, while +also, in the Latin manner, he is made the first of the months.</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“First sturdy March, with brows full sternly bent,</p> +<p>And armed strongly, rode upon a Ram,</p> +<p>The same which over Hellespontus swam;</p> +<p>Yet in his hand a spade he also bent,</p> +<p>And in a bag all sorts of seeds ysame,<a name="FnAnchor_97" href="#Footnote_97"><span class="sp">97</span></a></p> +<p>Which on the earth he strowed as he went.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>His sign, the Ram, is very superbly carved above him in +the archivolt.</p> + +<p>4. <span class="sc">April.</span> Here, <i>carrying a sheep upon his shoulder</i>. A +rare representation of him. In Northern work he is almost +universally gathering flowers, or holding them triumphantly +in each hand. The Spenserian mingling of this medićval +image with that of his being wet with showers, and wanton +with love, by turning his zodiacal sign, Taurus, into the bull +of Europa, is altogether exquisite.</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“Upon a Bull he rode, the same which led</p> +<p>Europa floting through the Argolick fluds:</p> +<p>His horns were gilden all with golden studs,</p> +<p>And garnished with garlonds goodly dight</p> +<p>Of all the fairest flowres and freshest buds</p> +<p>Which th’ earth brings forth; and <i>wet he seemed in sight</i></p> +<p><i>With waves, through which he waded for his love’s delight</i>.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>5. <span class="sc">May</span> <i>is seated, while two young maidens crown him with +flowers.</i> A very unusual representation, even in Italy; where, +as in the North, he is almost always riding out hunting or +hawking, sometimes playing on a musical instrument. In +Spenser, this month is personified as “the fayrest mayd on +ground,” borne on the shoulders of the Twins.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page274"></a>274</span></p> + +<p>In this archivolt there are only two heads to represent the +zodiacal sign.</p> + +<p>The summer and autumnal months are always represented +in a series of agricultural occupations, which, of course, vary +with the locality in which they occur; but generally in their +order only. Thus, if June is mowing, July is reaping; if +July is mowing, August is reaping; and so on. I shall give +a parallel view of some of these varieties presently; but, meantime, +we had better follow the St Mark’s series, as it is peculiar +in some respects.</p> + +<p>6. <span class="sc">June.</span> <i>Reaping.</i> The corn and sickle sculptured with +singular care and precision, in bold relief, and the zodiacal +sign, the Crab, above, also worked with great spirit. Spenser +puts plough irons into his hand. Sometimes he is sheep-shearing; +and, in English and northern French manuscripts, +carrying a kind of fagot or barrel, of the meaning of which I +am not certain.</p> + +<p>7. <span class="sc">July.</span> <i>Mowing.</i> A very interesting piece of sculpture, +owing to the care with which the flowers are wrought out +among the long grass. I do not remember ever finding July +but either reaping or mowing. Spenser works him hard, and +puts him to both labors:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“Behinde his backe a sithe, and by his side</p> +<p>Under his belt he bore a sickle circling wide.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>8. <span class="sc">August.</span> Peculiarly represented in this archivolt, <i>sitting +in a chair, with his head upon his hand, as if asleep; the +Virgin</i> (the zodiacal sign) <i>above him, lifting up her hand</i>. +This appears to be a peculiarly Italian version of the proper +employment of August. In Northern countries he is generally +threshing, or gathering grapes. Spenser merely clothes +him with gold, and makes him lead forth</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> + <p style="padding-left: 5.5em; ">“the righteous Virgin, which of old</p> +<p>Lived here on earth, and plenty made abound.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>9. <span class="sc">September.</span> <i>Bearing home grapes in a basket.</i> Almost +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page275"></a>275</span> +always sowing, in Northern work. By Spenser, with his +usual exquisite ingenuity, employed in gathering in the general +harvest, and <i>portioning it out with the Scales</i>, his zodiacal +sign.</p> + +<p>10. <span class="sc">October.</span> <i>Wearing a conical hat, and digging busily +with a long spade.</i> In Northern work he is sometimes a vintager, +sometimes beating the acorns out of an oak to feed swine. +When September is vintaging, October is generally sowing. +Spenser employs him in the harvest both of vine and olive.</p> + +<p>11. <span class="sc">November.</span> <i>Seems to be catching small birds in a net.</i> +I do not remember him so employed elsewhere. He is nearly +always killing pigs; sometimes beating the oak for them; with +Spenser, fatting them.</p> + +<p>12. <span class="sc">December.</span> <i>Killing swine.</i> It is hardly ever that this +employment is not given to one or other of the terminal months +of the year. If not so engaged, December is usually putting +new loaves into the oven; sometimes killing oxen. Spenser +properly makes him feasting and drinking instead of January.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LIII.</span> On the next page I have given a parallel view of the +employment of the months from some Northern manuscripts, +in order that they may be more conveniently compared with +the sculptures of St. Mark’s, in their expression of the varieties +of climate and agricultural system. Observe that the +letter (f.) in some of the columns, opposite the month of May, +means that he has a falcon on his fist; being, in those cases, +represented as riding out, in high exultation, on a caparisoned +white horse. A series nearly similar to that of St. Mark’s +occurs on the door of the Cathedral of Lucca, and on that of +the Baptistery of Pisa; in which, however, if I recollect +rightly, February is fishing, and May has something resembling +an umbrella in his hand, instead of a hawk. But, in all +cases, the figures are treated with the peculiar spirit of the +Gothic sculptors; and this archivolt is the first expression of +that spirit which is to be found in Venice.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page276"></a>276</span></p> + +<p class="center">SECOND PERIOD.</p> + +<table class="allb" summary="data"> +<tr> <td class="allb"> </td> + <td class="allb1">St. Mark’s.</td> + <td class="allb1">MS. French. Late 13th Century.</td> + <td class="allb1">MS. French. Late 13th Century.</td> + <td class="allb1">MS. French. Late 13th Century.</td> + <td class="allb1">MS. French. Early 14th Century.</td> + <td class="allb1">MS. English. Early 15th Century.</td> + <td class="allb1">MS. Flemish. 15th Century.</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="allb sc">January</td> + <td class="allb">Carrying wood.</td> + <td class="allb">Janus feasting.</td> + <td class="allb">Janus feasting.</td> + <td class="allb">Drinking and stirring fire.</td> + <td class="allb">Warming feet.</td> + <td class="allb">Janus feasting.</td> + <td class="allb">Feasting.</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="allb sc">February</td> + <td class="allb">Warming feet.</td> + <td class="allb">Warming feet.</td> + <td class="allb">Warming feet.</td> + <td class="allb">Pruning.</td> + <td class="allb">Bearing candles.</td> + <td class="allb">Warming feet.</td> + <td class="allb">Warming hands.</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="allb sc">March</td> + <td class="allb">Going to war.</td> + <td class="allb">Pruning.</td> + <td class="allb">Pruning.</td> + <td class="allb">Striking with axe.</td> + <td class="allb">Pruning.</td> + <td class="allb">Carrying candles.</td> + <td class="allb">Reaping.</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="allb sc">April</td> + <td class="allb">Carrying sheep.</td> + <td class="allb">Gathering flowers.</td> + <td class="allb">Gathering flowers.</td> + <td class="allb">Gathering flowers.</td> + <td class="allb">Gathering flowers.</td> + <td class="allb">Pruning.</td> + <td class="allb">Gathering flowers.</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="allb sc">May</td> + <td class="allb">Crowned with flowers.</td> + <td class="allb">Riding (f.).</td> + <td class="allb">Riding (f.).</td> + <td class="allb">Playing on violin.</td> + <td class="allb">Riding (f.).</td> + <td class="allb">Riding (f.).</td> + <td class="allb">Riding with lady on pillion.</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="allb sc">June</td> + <td class="allb">Reaping.</td> + <td class="allb">Mowing.</td> + <td class="allb">Mowing.</td> + <td class="allb">Gathering large red flowers.</td> + <td class="allb">Carrying (fagots?)</td> + <td class="allb">Carrying fagots.</td> + <td class="allb">Sheep-shearing.</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="allb sc">July</td> + <td class="allb">Mowing.</td> + <td class="allb">Reaping.</td> + <td class="allb">Reaping.</td> + <td class="allb">Mowing.</td> + <td class="allb">Mowing.</td> + <td class="allb">Mowing.</td> + <td class="allb">Mowing.</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="allb sc">August</td> + <td class="allb">Asleep.</td> + <td class="allb">Threshing.</td> + <td class="allb">Gathering grapes.</td> + <td class="allb">Reaping.</td> + <td class="allb">Reaping.</td> + <td class="allb">Reaping.</td> + <td class="allb">Reaping.</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="allb sc">September</td> + <td class="allb">Carrying grapes.</td> + <td class="allb">Sowing.</td> + <td class="allb">Sowing.</td> + <td class="allb">Drinking wine.</td> + <td class="allb">Threshing.</td> + <td class="allb">Threshing.</td> + <td class="allb">Sowing.</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="allb sc">October</td> + <td class="allb">Digging.</td> + <td class="allb">Gathering grapes.</td> + <td class="allb">Beating oak.</td> + <td class="allb">Sowing.</td> + <td class="allb">Sowing.</td> + <td class="allb">Sowing.</td> + <td class="allb">Beating oak.</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="allb sc">November</td> + <td class="allb">Catching birds.</td> + <td class="allb">Beating oak.</td> + <td class="allb">Killing swine.</td> + <td class="allb">Killing swine.</td> + <td class="allb">Killing swine.</td> + <td class="allb">Killing swine.</td> + <td class="allb">Pressing (grapes?)</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="allb sc">December</td> + <td class="allb">Killing swine.</td> + <td class="allb">Killing swine.</td> + <td class="allb">Baking.</td> + <td class="allb">Killing oxen.</td> + <td class="allb">Baking.</td> + <td class="allb">Baking.</td> + <td class="allb">Killing swine.</td> </tr> +</table> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page277"></a>277</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LIV.</span> In the private palaces, the entrances soon admitted +some concession to the Gothic form also. They pass through +nearly the same conditions of change as the windows, with +these three differences: first, that no arches of the fantastic +fourth order occur in any doorways; secondly, that the pure +pointed arch occurs earlier, and much oftener, in doorways +than in window-heads; lastly, that the entrance itself, if small, +is nearly always square-headed in the earliest examples, without +any arch above, but afterwards the arch is thrown across above +the lintel. The interval between the two, or tympanum, is +filled with sculpture, or closed by iron bars, with sometimes a +projecting gable, to form a porch, thrown over the whole, as +in the perfect example, 7 <i>a</i>, <a href="#plate_14">Plate XIV.</a>, above. The other +examples in the two lower lines, 6 and 7, of that Plate are +each characteristic of an enormous number of doors, variously +decorated, from the thirteenth to the close of the fifteenth +century. The particulars of their mouldings are given in the +final Appendix.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LV.</span> It was useless, on the small scale of this Plate, to +attempt any delineation of the richer sculptures with which +the arches are filled; so that I have chosen for it the simplest +examples I could find of the forms to be illustrated: but, in +all the more important instances, the door-head is charged +either with delicate ornaments and inlaid patterns in variously +colored brick, or with sculptures, consisting always of the +shield or crest of the family, protected by an angel. Of these +more perfect doorways I have given three examples carefully, +in my folio work; but I must repeat here one part of the account +of their subjects given in its text, for the convenience of +those to whom the larger work may not be accessible.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LVI.</span> “In the earlier ages, all agree thus far, that the name +of the family is told, and together with it there is always an +intimation that they have placed their defence and their +prosperity in God’s hands; frequently accompanied with some +general expression of benediction to the person passing over +the threshold. This is the general theory of an old Venetian +doorway;—the theory of modern doorways remains to be explained: +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page278"></a>278</span> +it may be studied to advantage in our rows of new-built +houses, or rather of new-built house, changeless for +miles together, from which, to each inhabitant, we allot his +proper quantity of windows, and a Doric portico. The Venetian +carried out his theory very simply. In the centre of the +archivolt we find almost invariably, in the older work, the +hand between the sun and moon in the attitude of blessing, +expressing the general power and presence of God, the source +of light. On the tympanum is the shield of the family. +Venetian heraldry requires no beasts for supporters, but usually +prefers angels, neither the supporters nor crests forming any +necessary part of Venetian bearings. Sometimes, however, +human figures, or grotesques, are substituted; but, in that +case, an angel is almost always introduced above the shield, +bearing a globe in his left hand, and therefore clearly intended +for the ‘Angel of the Lord,’ or, as it is expressed elsewhere, +the ‘Angel of His Presence.’ Where elaborate sculpture of +this kind is inadmissible, the shield is merely represented as +suspended by a leather thong; and a cross is introduced above +the archivolt. The Renaissance architects perceived the irrationality +of all this, cut away both crosses and angels, and +substituted heads of satyrs, which were the proper presiding +deities of Venice in the Renaissance periods, and which in our +own domestic institutions, we have ever since, with much +piety and sagacity, retained.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LVII.</span> The habit of employing some religious symbol, or +writing some religious legend, over the door of the house, +does not entirely disappear until far into the period of the +Renaissance. The words “Peace be to this house” occur on +one side of a Veronese gateway, with the appropriate and +veracious inscription S.P.Q.R., on a Roman standard, on the +other; and “Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the +Lord,” is written on one of the doorways of a building added +at the flank of the Casa Barbarigo, in the sixteenth or seventeenth +century. It seems to be only modern Protestantism +which is entirely ashamed of <i>all</i> symbols and words that +appear in anywise like a confession of faith.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LVIII.</span> This peculiar feeling is well worthy of attentive +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page279"></a>279</span> +analysis. It indeed, in most cases, hardly deserves the name +of a feeling; for the meaningless doorway is merely an ignorant +copy of heathen models: but yet, if it were at this +moment proposed to any of us, by our architects, to remove +the grinning head of a satyr, or other classical or Palladian +ornament, from the keystone of the door, and to substitute +for it a cross, and an inscription testifying our faith, I believe +that most persons would shrink from the proposal with an +obscure and yet overwhelming sense that things would be +sometimes done, and thought, within the house which would +make the inscription on its gate a base hypocrisy. And if so, +let us look to it, whether that strong reluctance to utter a +definite religious profession, which so many of us feel, and +which, not very carefully examining into its dim nature, we +conclude to be modesty, or fear of hypocrisy, or other such +form of amiableness, be not, in very deed, neither less nor +more than Infidelity; whether Peter’s “I know not the man” +be not the sum and substance of all these misgivings and hesitations; +and whether the shamefacedness which we attribute +to sincerity and reverence, be not such shamefacedness as may +at last put us among those of whom the Son of Man shall be +ashamed.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LIX.</span> Such are the principal circumstances to be noted in +the external form and details of the Gothic palaces; of their +interior arrangements there is little left unaltered. The gateways +which we have been examining almost universally lead, +in the earlier palaces, into a long interior court, round which +the mass of the palace is built; and in which its first story is +reached by a superb external staircase, sustained on four or +five pointed arches gradually increasing as they ascend, both +in height and span,—this change in their size being, so far as +I remember, peculiar to Venice, and visibly a consequence of +the habitual admission of arches of different sizes in the Byzantine +façades. These staircases are protected by exquisitely +carved parapets, like those of the outer balconies, with lions +or grotesque heads set on the angles, and with true projecting +balconies on their landing-places. In the centre of the court +there is always a marble well; and these wells furnish some +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page280"></a>280</span> +of the most superb examples of Venetian sculpture. I am +aware only of one remaining from the Byzantine period; it is +octagonal, and treated like the richest of our Norman fonts: +but the Gothic wells of every date, from the thirteenth century +downwards, are innumerable, and full of beauty, though +their form is little varied; they being, in almost every case, +treated like colossal capitals of pillars, with foliage at the +angles, and the shield of the family upon their sides.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LX.</span> The interior apartments always consist of one noble +hall on the first story, often on the second also, extending +across the entire depth of the house, and lighted in front by +the principal groups of its windows, while smaller apartments +open from it on either side. The ceilings, where they remain +untouched, are of bold horizontal beams, richly carved and +gilded; but few of these are left from the true Gothic times, +the Venetian interiors having, in almost every case, been remodelled +by the Renaissance architects. This change, <i>however,</i> +for once, we cannot regret, as the walls and ceilings, +when so altered, were covered with the noblest works of +Veronese, Titian, and Tintoret; nor the interior walls only, +but, as before noticed, often the exteriors also. Of the color +decorations of the Gothic exteriors I have, therefore, at present +taken no notice, as it will be more convenient to embrace this +subject in one general view of the systems of coloring of the +Venetian palaces, when we arrive at the period of its richest +developement.<a name="FnAnchor_98" href="#Footnote_98"><span class="sp">98</span></a> The details, also, of most interest, respecting +the forms and transitional decoration of their capitals, will be +given in the final Appendix to the next volume, where we +shall be able to include in our inquiry the whole extent of the +Gothic period; and it remains for us, therefore, at present, +only to review the history, fix the date, and note the most +important particulars in the structure of the building which at +once consummates and embodies the entire system of the +Gothic architecture of Venice,—the <span class="sc">Ducal Palace</span>.</p> + + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_75" href="#FnAnchor_75"><span class="fn">75</span></a> 38 ft. 2 in., without its cornice, which is 10 inches deep, and sustains +pinnacles of stone 7 feet high. I was enabled to get the measures by a +scaffolding erected in 1851 to repair the front.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_76" href="#FnAnchor_76"><span class="fn">76</span></a> I believe the necessary upper joint is vertical, through the uppermost +lobe of the quatrefoil, as in the figure; but I have lost my memorandum of +this joint.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_77" href="#FnAnchor_77"><span class="fn">77</span></a> “Dice, che non lauda per alcun modo di metter questo Serenissimo +Dominio in tanto pericolo d’ habitar un palazzo fabricato in aria.”—<i>Pareri +di XV. Architetti, con illustrazioni dell’ Abbate Giuseppe Cadorin</i> (Venice, +1838), p. 104.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_78" href="#FnAnchor_78"><span class="fn">78</span></a> “Il muro della sala č piů grosso delle colonne sott’ esso piedi uno e +onze tre, et posto in modo che onze sei sta come in aere sopra la piazza, et +onze nove dentro.”—<i>Pareri di XV. Architetti</i>, p. 47.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_79" href="#FnAnchor_79"><span class="fn">79</span></a> Compare “Seven Lamps,” chap. iii. § 7.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_80" href="#FnAnchor_80"><span class="fn">80</span></a> Pareri, above quoted, p. 21.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_81" href="#FnAnchor_81"><span class="fn">81</span></a> It is a curious proof how completely, even so early as the beginning of +the sixteenth century, the Venetians had lost the habit of <i>reading</i> the religious +art of their ancient churches, that Sanuto, describing this injury, +says, that “four of the <i>Kings</i> in marble fell from their pinnacles above the +front, at St. Mark’s church;” and presently afterwards corrects his mistake, +and apologises for it thus: “These were four saints, St. Constantine, St. +Demetrius, St. George, and St. Theodore, all Greek saints. <i>They look like +Kings</i>.” Observe the perfect, because unintentional, praise given to the +old sculptor.</p> + +<p>I quote the passage from the translation of these precious diaries of +Sanuto, by my friend Mr. Rawdon Brown, a translation which I hope will +some day become a standard book in English libraries.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_82" href="#FnAnchor_82"><span class="fn">82</span></a> I am not speaking here of iron balconies. See below, § <span class="scs">XXII.</span></p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_83" href="#FnAnchor_83"><span class="fn">83</span></a> A Some details respecting the mechanical structure of the Venetian balcony +are given in the final Appendix.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_84" href="#FnAnchor_84"><span class="fn">84</span></a> I found it convenient in my own memoranda to express them simply +as fourths, seconds, &c. But “order” is an excellent word for any known +group of forms, whether of windows, capitals, bases, mouldings, or any +other architectural feature, provided always that it be not understood in any +wise to imply preëminence or isolation in these groups. Thus I may rationally +speak of the six orders of Venetian windows, provided I am ready to allow +a French architect to speak of the six or seven, or eight, or seventy or eighty, +orders of Norman windows, if so many are distinguishable; and so also we +may rationally speak, for the sake of intelligibility, of the five orders of +Greek pillars, provided only we understand that there may be five millions +of orders as good or better, of pillars <i>not</i> Greek.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_85" href="#FnAnchor_85"><span class="fn">85</span></a> Or in their own curves; as, on a small scale, in the balustrade fig. 6, +<a href="#plate_13">Plate XIII.</a>, above.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_86" href="#FnAnchor_86"><span class="fn">86</span></a> For all details of this kind, the reader is referred to the final Appendix +in Vol. III.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_87" href="#FnAnchor_87"><span class="fn">87</span></a> Two threads of white marble, each about an inch wide, inlaid in the +dark grey pavement, indicate the road to the Rialto from the farthest extremity +of the north quarter of Venice. The peasant or traveller, lost in the +intricacy of the pathway in this portion of the city, cannot fail, after a few +experimental traverses, to cross these white lines, which thenceforward he +has nothing to do but to follow, though their capricious sinuosities will try +his patience not a little.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_88" href="#FnAnchor_88"><span class="fn">88</span></a> An account of the conspiracy of Bajamonte may be found in almost +any Venetian history; the reader may consult Mutinelli, Annali Urbani, +lib. iii.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_89" href="#FnAnchor_89"><span class="fn">89</span></a> See account of series of capitals in final Appendix.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_90" href="#FnAnchor_90"><span class="fn">90</span></a> If the traveller desire to find them (and they are worth seeking), let +him row from the Fondamenta S. Biagio down the Rio della Tana, and +look, on his right, for a low house with windows in it like those in the +woodcut No. XXXI. above, p. 256. Let him go in at the door of the +portico in the middle of this house, and he will find himself in a small alley, +with the windows in question on each side of him.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_91" href="#FnAnchor_91"><span class="fn">91</span></a> The bitterness of feeling with which the Venetians must have remembered +this, was probably the cause of their magnificent heroism in the final +siege of the city under Dandolo, and, partly, of the excesses which disgraced +their victory. The conduct of the allied army of the Crusaders on +this occasion cannot, however, be brought in evidence of general barbarism +in the thirteenth century: first, because the masses of the crusading armies +were in great part composed of the refuse of the nations of Europe; and +secondly, because such a mode of argument might lead us to inconvenient +conclusions respecting ourselves, so long as the horses of the Austrian cavalry +are stabled in the cloister of the convent which contains the Last Supper +of Leonardo da Vinci. See <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30756/30756-h/30756-h.htm#app_3">Appendix 3</a>, Vol. III.: “Austrian Government +in Italy.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_92" href="#FnAnchor_92"><span class="fn">92</span></a> It is generally better to read ten lines of any poet in the original language, +however painfully, than ten cantos of a translation. But an exception +may be made in favor of Cary’s Dante. If no poet ever was liable to +lose more in translation, none was ever so carefully translated; and I +hardly know whether most to admire the rigid fidelity, or the sweet and +solemn harmony, of Cary’s verse. There is hardly a fault in the fragment +quoted above, except the word “lectured,” for Dante’s beautiful “favoleggiava;” +and even in this case, joining the first words of the following +line, the translation is strictly literal. It is true that the conciseness and +the rivulet-like melody of Dante must continually be lost; but if I could +only read English, and had to choose, for a library narrowed by poverty, +between Cary’s Dante and our own original Milton, I should choose Cary +without an instant’s pause.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_93" href="#FnAnchor_93"><span class="fn">93</span></a> See final Appendix, Vol. III., under head “Capitals.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_94" href="#FnAnchor_94"><span class="fn">94</span></a> This Plate is not from a drawing of mine. It has been engraved by +Mr. Armytage, with great skill, from two daguerreotypes.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_95" href="#FnAnchor_95"><span class="fn">95</span></a> Vide final Appendix, under head “Archivolt.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_96" href="#FnAnchor_96"><span class="fn">96</span></a> “On Thursday, the 20th, the front walls of two of the new houses now +building in Victoria Street, Westminster, fell to the ground.... The +roof was on, <i>and a massive compo cornice</i> was put up at top, as well as +dressings to the upper windows. The roof is formed by girders and +4½-brick arches in cement, covered with asphalt to form a flat. The failure +is attributed <i>to the quantity of rain which has fallen</i>. Others suppose that +some of the girders were defective, and gave way, carrying the walls with +them.”—<i>Builder</i>, for January 29th, 1853. The rest of this volume might +be filled with such notices, if we sought for them.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_97" href="#FnAnchor_97"><span class="fn">97</span></a> “Ysame,” collected together.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_98" href="#FnAnchor_98"><span class="fn">98</span></a> Vol. III. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30756/30756-h/30756-h.htm#chap_1">Chap. I.</a> I have had considerable difficulty in the arrangement +of these volumes, so as to get the points bearing upon each other +grouped in consecutive and intelligible order.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page281"></a>281</span></p> + +<h3><a name="chap_8"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h3> + +<h5>THE DUCAL PALACE.</h5> + + +<p>§ <span class="scs">I.</span> It was stated in the commencement of the preceding +chapter that the Gothic art of Venice was separated by the +building of the Ducal Palace into two distinct periods; and +that in all the domestic edifices which were raised for half a +century after its completion, their characteristic and chiefly +effective portions were more or less directly copied from it. +The fact is, that the Ducal Palace was the great work of +Venice at this period, itself the principal effort of her imagination, +employing her best architects in its masonry, and her best +painters in its decoration, for a long series of years; and we +must receive it as a remarkable testimony to the influence +which it possessed over the minds of those who saw it in its +progress, that, while in the other cities of Italy every palace +and church was rising in some original and daily more daring +form, the majesty of this single building was able to give +pause to the Gothic imagination in its full career; stayed the +restlessness of innovation in an instant, and forbade the powers +which had created it thenceforth to exert themselves in new +directions, or endeavor to summon an image more attractive.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">II.</span> The reader will hardly believe that while the architectural +invention of the Venetians was thus lost, Narcissus-like, +in self-contemplation, the various accounts of the progress of +the building thus admired and beloved are so confused as frequently +to leave it doubtful to what portion of the palace they +refer; and that there is actually, at the time being, a dispute +between the best Venetian antiquaries, whether the main +façade of the palace be of the fourteenth or fifteenth century. +The determination of this question is of course necessary before +we proceed to draw any conclusions from the style of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page282"></a>282</span> +work; and it cannot be determined without a careful review +of the entire history of the palace, and of all the documents +relating to it. I trust that this review may not be found tedious,—assuredly +it will not be fruitless,—bringing many facts +before us, singularly illustrative of the Venetian character.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">III.</span> Before, however, the reader can enter upon any inquiry +into the history of this building, it is necessary that he +should be thoroughly familiar with the arrangement and names +of its principal parts, as it at present stands; otherwise he cannot +comprehend so much as a single sentence of any of the +documents referring to it. I must do what I can, by the help +of a rough plan and bird’s-eye view, to give him the necessary +topographical knowledge:</p> + +<p><a href="#fig_36">Fig. <span class="scs">XXXVI.</span></a> opposite is a rude ground plan of the buildings +round St. Mark’s Place; and the following references will +clearly explain their relative positions:</p> + +<div class="quote1"> +<p>A. St. Mark’s Place.</p> +<p>B. Piazzetta.</p> +<p>P. V. Procuratie Vecchie.</p> +<p>P. N. (opposite) Procuratie Nuove.</p> +<p>P. L. Libreria Vecchia.</p> +<p>I. Piazzetta de’ Leoni.</p> +<p>T. Tower of St. Mark.</p> +<p>F F. Great Façade of St. Mark’s Church.</p> +<p>M. St. Mark’s. (It is so united with the Ducal Palace, that the separation +cannot be indicated in the plan, unless all the walls had been +marked, which would have confused the whole.)</p> +<p>D D D. Ducal Palace.</p> +<p>C. Court of Ducal Palace.</p> +<p>c. Porta della Carta.</p> +<p>p p. Ponte della Paglia (Bridge of Straw).</p> +<p>S. Ponte de’ Sospiri (Bridge of Sighs).</p> +<p>R R. Riva de’ Schiavoni.</p> +<p>g s. Giant’s stair.</p> +<p>J. Judgment angle.</p> +<p>a. Fig-tree angle.</p> +</div> + +<p>The reader will observe that the Ducal Palace is arranged +somewhat in the form of a hollow square, of which one side +faces the Piazzetta, B, and another the quay called the Riva +de’ Schiavoni, R R; the third is on the dark canal called the +“Rio del Palazzo,” and the fourth joins the Church of St. +Mark.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter1"> + <a name="fig_36"><img src="images/img282a.jpg" width="650" height="480" alt="Fig. XXXVI." title="Fig. XXXVI." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter1"> + <a name="fig_37"><img src="images/img282b.jpg" width="650" height="535" alt="Fig. XXXVII." title="Fig. XXXVII." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page283"></a>283</span></p> + +<p>Of this fourth side, therefore, nothing can be seen. Of the +other three sides we shall have to speak constantly; and they +will be respectively called, that towards the Piazzetta, the +“Piazzetta Façade;” that towards the Riva de’ Schiavoni, the +“Sea Façade;” and that towards the Rio del Palazzo, the +“Rio Façade.” This Rio, or canal, is usually looked upon by +the traveller with great respect, or even horror, because it +passes under the Bridge of Sighs. It is, however, one of the +principal thoroughfares of the city; and the bridge and its +canal together occupy, in the mind of a Venetian, very much +the position of Fleet Street and Temple Bar in that of a Londoner,—at +least, at the time when Temple Bar was occasionally +decorated with human heads. The two buildings closely resemble +each other in form.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">IV.</span> We must now proceed to obtain some rough idea of +the appearance and distribution of the palace itself; but its +arrangement will be better understood by supposing ourselves +raised some hundred and fifty feet above the point in the +lagoon in front of it, so as to get a general view of the Sea +Façade and Rio Façade (the latter in very steep perspective), +and to look down into its interior court. <a href="#fig_37">Fig. XXXVII.</a> roughly +represents such a view, omitting all details on the roofs, in order +to avoid confusion. In this drawing we have merely to notice +that, of the two bridges seen on the right, the uppermost, +above the black canal, is the Bridge of Sighs; the lower one +is the Ponte della Paglia, the regular thoroughfare from quay +to quay, and, I believe, called the Bridge of Straw, because +the boats which brought straw from the mainland used to sell +it at this place. The corner of the palace, rising above this +bridge, and formed by the meeting of the Sea Façade and Rio +Façade, will always be called the Vine angle, because it is +decorated by a sculpture of the drunkenness of Noah. The +angle opposite will be called the Fig-tree angle, because it is +decorated by a sculpture of the Fall of Man. The long and +narrow range of building, of which the roof is seen in perspective +behind this angle, is the part of the palace fronting the +Piazzetta; and the angle under the pinnacle most to the left +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page284"></a>284</span> +of the two which terminate it will be called, for a reason presently +to be stated, the Judgment angle. Within the square +formed by the building is seen its interior court (with one of +its wells), terminated by small and fantastic buildings of the +Renaissance period, which face the Giant’s Stair, of which +the extremity is seen sloping down on the left.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">V.</span> The great façade which fronts the spectator looks +southward. Hence the two traceried windows lower than the +rest, and to the right of the spectator, may be conveniently +distinguished as the “Eastern Windows.” There are two +others like them, filled with tracery, and at the same level, +which look upon the narrow canal between the Ponte della +Paglia and the Bridge of Sighs: these we may conveniently +call the “Canal Windows.” The reader will observe a vertical +line in this dark side of the palace, separating its nearer +and plainer wall from a long four-storied range of rich architecture. +This more distant range is entirely Renaissance: its +extremity is not indicated, because I have no accurate sketch +of the small buildings and bridges beyond it, and we shall have +nothing whatever to do with this part of the palace in our +present inquiry. The nearer and undecorated wall is part of +the older palace, though much defaced by modern opening of +common windows, refittings of the brickwork, &c.</p> + +<table style="float: left; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. XXXVIII.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figleft2"> + <a name="fig_38"><img src="images/img284.jpg" width="150" height="185" alt="Fig. XXXVIII." title="Fig. XXXVIII." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VI.</span> It will be observed that the façade is composed of a +smooth mass of wall, sustained on two tiers of pillars, one +above the other. The manner in which these support the whole +fabric will be understood at once by the rough section, fig. +XXXVIII., which is supposed to be taken +right through the palace to the interior court, +from near the middle of the Sea Façade. Here +<i>a</i> and <i>d</i> are the rows of shafts, both in the +inner court and on the Façade, which carry +the main walls; <i>b</i>, <i>c</i> are solid walls variously +strengthened with pilasters. A, B, C are the +three stories of the interior of the palace.</p> + +<p>The reader sees that it is impossible for +any plan to be more simple, and that if the inner floors and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page285"></a>285</span> +walls of the stories A, B were removed, there could be left +merely the form of a basilica,—two high walls, carried on +ranges of shafts, and roofed by a low gable.</p> + +<p>The stories A, B are entirely modernized, and divided into +confused ranges of small apartments, among which what vestiges +remain of ancient masonry are entirely undecipherable, +except by investigations such as I have had neither the time +nor, as in most cases they would involve the removal of modern +plastering, the opportunity, to make. With the subdivisions +of this story, therefore, I shall not trouble the reader; but +those of the great upper story, C, are highly important.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VII.</span> In the bird’s-eye view above, <a href="#fig_37">fig. XXXVII.</a>, it will +be noticed that the two windows on the right are lower than the +other four of the façade. In this arrangement there is one of +the most remarkable instances I know of the daring sacrifice +of symmetry to convenience, which was noticed in <a href="#chap_7">Chap. VII.</a> +as one of the chief noblenesses of the Gothic schools.</p> + +<p>The part of the palace in which the two lower windows +occur, we shall find, was first built, and arranged in four stories +in order to obtain the necessary number of apartments. Owing +to circumstances, of which we shall presently give an account, +it became necessary, in the beginning of the fourteenth century, +to provide another large and magnificent chamber for +the meeting of the senate. That chamber was added at the +side of the older building; but, as only one room was wanted, +there was no need to divide the added portion into two stories. +The entire height was given to the single chamber, being +indeed not too great for just harmony with its enormous +length and breadth. And then came the question how to +place the windows, whether on a line with the two others, or +above them.</p> + +<p>The ceiling of the new room was to be adorned by the +paintings of the best masters in Venice, and it became of +great importance to raise the light near that gorgeous roof, +as well as to keep the tone of illumination in the Council +Chamber serene; and therefore to introduce light rather in +simple masses than in many broken streams. A modern +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page286"></a>286</span> +architect, terrified at the idea of violating external symmetry, +would have sacrificed both the pictures and the peace of the +council. He would have placed the larger windows at the +same level with the other two, and have introduced above +them smaller windows, like those of the upper story in the +older building, as if that upper story had been continued +along the façade. But the old Venetian thought of the honor +of the paintings, and the comfort of the senate, before his own +reputation. He unhesitatingly raised the large windows to +their proper position with reference to the interior of the +chamber, and suffered the external appearance to take care of +itself. And I believe the whole pile rather gains than loses in +effect by the variation thus obtained in the spaces of wall above +and below the windows.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VIII.</span> On the party wall, between the second and third +windows, which faces the eastern extremity of the Great +Council Chamber, is painted the Paradise of Tintoret; and +this wall will therefore be hereafter called the “Wall of the +Paradise.”</p> + +<p>In nearly the centre of the Sea Façade, and between the +first and second windows of the Great Council Chamber, is a +large window to the ground, opening on a balcony, which is +one of the chief ornaments of the palace, and will be called +in future the “Sea Balcony.”</p> + +<p>The façade which looks on the Piazetta is very nearly like +this to the Sea, but the greater part of it was built in the +fifteenth century, when people had become studious of their +symmetries. Its side windows are all on the same level. +Two light the west end of the Great Council Chamber, one +lights a small room anciently called the Quarantia Civil +Nuova; the other three, and the central one, with a balcony +like that to the Sea, light another large chamber, called Sala +del Scrutinio, or “Hall of Enquiry,” which extends to the +extremity of the palace above the Porta della Carta.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">IX.</span> The reader is now well enough acquainted with the +topography of the existing building, to be able to follow the +accounts of its history.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page287"></a>287</span></p> + +<p>We have seen above, that there were three principal styles +of Venetian architecture; Byzantine, Gothic, and Renaissance.</p> + +<p>The Ducal Palace, which was the great work of Venice, +was built successively in the three styles. There was a Byzantine +Ducal Palace, a Gothic Ducal Palace, and a Renaissance +Ducal Palace. The second superseded the first totally; a few +stones of it (if indeed so much) are all that is left. But the +third superseded the second in part only, and the existing +building is formed by the union of the two.</p> + +<p>We shall review the history of each in succession.<a name="FnAnchor_99" href="#Footnote_99"><span class="sp">99</span></a></p> + +<p>1st. The <span class="sc">Byzantine Palace</span>.</p> + +<p>In the year of the death of Charlemagne, 813,<a name="FnAnchor_100" href="#Footnote_100"><span class="sp">100</span></a> the Venetians +determined to make the island of Rialto the seat of the +government and capital of their state. Their Doge, Angelo +or Agnello Participazio, instantly took vigorous means for the +enlargement of the small group of buildings which were to be +the nucleus of the future Venice. He appointed persons to +superintend the raising of the banks of sand, so as to form +more secure foundations, and to build wooden bridges over +the canals. For the offices of religion, he built the Church +of St. Mark; and on, or near, the spot where the Ducal Palace +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page288"></a>288</span> +now stands, he built a palace for the administration of the +government.<a name="FnAnchor_101" href="#Footnote_101"><span class="sp">101</span></a></p> + +<p>The history of the Ducal Palace therefore begins with the +birth of Venice, and to what remains of it, at this day, is entrusted +the last representation of her power.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">X.</span> Of the exact position and form of this palace of Participazio +little is ascertained. Sansovino says that it was +“built near the Ponte della Paglia, and answeringly on the +Grand Canal,”<a name="FnAnchor_102" href="#Footnote_102"><span class="sp">102</span></a> towards San Giorgio; that is to say, in the +place now occupied by the Sea Façade; but this was merely +the popular report of his day. We know, however, positively, +that it was somewhere upon the site of the existing palace; +and that it had an important front towards the Piazzetta, with +which, as we shall see hereafter, the present palace at one +period was incorporated. We know, also, that it was a pile of +some magnificence, from the account given by Sagornino of +the visit paid by the Emperor Otho the Great, to the Doge +Pietro Orseolo II. The chronicler says that the Emperor +“beheld carefully all the beauty of the palace;”<a name="FnAnchor_103" href="#Footnote_103"><span class="sp">103</span></a> and the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page289"></a>289</span> +Venetian historians express pride in the building’s being +worthy of an emperor’s examination. This was after the +palace had been much injured by fire in the revolt against +Candiano IV.,<a name="FnAnchor_104" href="#Footnote_104"><span class="sp">104</span></a> and just repaired, and richly adorned by +Orseolo himself, who is spoken of by Sagornino as having +also “adorned the chapel of the Ducal Palace” (St. Mark’s) +with ornaments of marble and gold.<a name="FnAnchor_105" href="#Footnote_105"><span class="sp">105</span></a> There can be no doubt +whatever that the palace at this period resembled and impressed +the other Byzantine edifices of the city, such as the Fondaco +de Turchi, &c., whose remains have been already described; +and that, like them, it was covered with sculpture, and richly +adorned with gold and color.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XI.</span> In the year 1106, it was for the second time injured +by fire,<a name="FnAnchor_106" href="#Footnote_106"><span class="sp">106</span></a> but repaired before 1116, when it received another +emperor, Henry V. (of Germany), and was again honored by +imperial praise.<a name="FnAnchor_107" href="#Footnote_107"><span class="sp">107</span></a> Between 1173 and the close of the century, +it seems to have been again repaired and much enlarged by +the Doge Sebastian Ziani. Sansovino says that this Doge not +only repaired it, but “enlarged it in every direction;”<a name="FnAnchor_108" href="#Footnote_108"><span class="sp">108</span></a> and, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page290"></a>290</span> +after this enlargement, the palace seems to have remained +untouched for a hundred years, until, in the commencement +of the fourteenth century, the works of the Gothic Palace +were begun. As, therefore, the old Byzantine building was, +at the time when those works first interfered with it, in the +form given to it by Ziani, I shall hereafter always speak of it +as the <i>Ziani</i> Palace; and this the rather, because the only +chronicler whose words are perfectly clear respecting the +existence of part of this palace so late as the year 1422, speaks +of it as built by Ziani. The old “palace, of which half remains +to this day, was built, as we now see it, by Sebastian +Ziani.”<a name="FnAnchor_109" href="#Footnote_109"><span class="sp">109</span></a></p> + +<p>So far, then, of the Byzantine Palace.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XII.</span> 2nd. The <span class="sc">Gothic Palace</span>. The reader, doubtless, +recollects that the important change in the Venetian government +which gave stability to the aristocratic power took place +about the year 1297,<a name="FnAnchor_110" href="#Footnote_110"><span class="sp">110</span></a> under the Doge Pietro Gradenigo, a man +thus characterized by Sansovino:—“A prompt and prudent +man, of unconquerable determination and great eloquence, +who laid, so to speak, the foundations of the eternity of this +republic, by the admirable regulations which he introduced +into the government.”</p> + +<p>We may now, with some reason, doubt of their admirableness; +but their importance, and the vigorous will and intellect +of the Doge, are not to be disputed. Venice was in the zenith +of her strength, and the heroism of her citizens was displaying +itself in every quarter of the world.<a name="FnAnchor_111" href="#Footnote_111"><span class="sp">111</span></a> The acquiescence in the +secure establishment of the aristocratic power was an expression, +by the people, of respect for the families which had been +chiefly instrumental in raising the commonwealth to such a +height of prosperity.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page291"></a>291</span></p> + +<p>The Serrar del Consiglio fixed the numbers of the Senate +within certain limits, and it conferred upon them a dignity +greater than they had ever before possessed. It was natural +that the alteration in the character of the assembly should be +attended by some change in the size, arrangement, or decoration +of the chamber in which they sat.</p> + +<p>We accordingly find it recorded by Sansovino, that “in +1301 another saloon was begun on the Rio del Palazzo, <i>under +the Doge Gradenigo</i>, and finished in 1309, <i>in which year the +Grand Council first sat in it</i>.”<a name="FnAnchor_112" href="#Footnote_112"><span class="sp">112</span></a> In the first year, therefore, +of the fourteenth century, the Gothic Ducal Palace of Venice +was begun; and as the Byzantine Palace was, in its foundation, +coeval with that of the state, so the Gothic Palace was, +in its foundation, coeval with that of the aristocratic power. +Considered as the principal representation of the Venetian +school of architecture, the Ducal Palace is the Parthenon of +Venice, and Gradenigo its Pericles.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIII.</span> Sansovino, with a caution very frequent among Venetian +historians, when alluding to events connected with the +Serrar del Consiglio, does not specially mention the cause for +the requirement of the new chamber; but the Sivos Chronicle +is a little more distinct in expression. “In 1301, it was determined +to build a great saloon <i>for the assembling</i> of the Great +Council, and the room was built which is <i>now</i> called the Sala +del Scrutinio.”<a name="FnAnchor_113" href="#Footnote_113"><span class="sp">113</span></a> <i>Now</i>, that is to say, at the time when the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page292"></a>292</span> +Sivos Chronicle was written; the room has long ago been +destroyed, and its name given to another chamber on the opposite +side of the palace: but I wish the reader to remember the +date 1301, as marking the commencement of a great architectural +epoch, in which took place the first appliance of the +energy of the aristocratic power, and of the Gothic style, to +the works of the Ducal Palace. The operations then begun +were continued, with hardly an interruption, during the whole +period of the prosperity of Venice. We shall see the new +buildings consume, and take the place of, the Ziani Palace, +piece by piece: and when the Ziani Palace was destroyed, +they fed upon themselves; being continued round the +square, until, in the sixteenth century, they reached the point +where they had been begun in the fourteenth, and pursued +the track they had then followed some distance beyond the +junction; destroying or hiding their own commencement, as +the serpent, which is the type of eternity, conceals its tail in +its jaws.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIV.</span> We cannot, therefore, <i>see</i> the extremity, wherein lay +the sting and force of the whole creature,—the chamber, +namely, built by the Doge Gradenigo; but the reader must +keep that commencement and the date of it carefully in his +mind. The body of the Palace Serpent will soon become visible +to us.</p> + +<p>The Gradenigo Chamber was somewhere on the Rio Façade, +behind the present position of the Bridge of Sighs; i.e. about +the point marked on the roof by the dotted lines in the woodcut; +it is not known whether low or high, but probably on a +first story. The great façade of the Ziani Palace being, as +above mentioned, on the Piazzetta, this chamber was as far +back and out of the way as possible; secrecy and security +being obviously the points first considered.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XV.</span> But the newly constituted Senate had need of other +additions to the ancient palace besides the Council Chamber. +A short, but most significant, sentence is added to Sansovino’s +account of the construction of that room. “There were, <i>near</i> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page293"></a>293</span> +<i>it</i>,” he says, “the Cancellaria, and the <i>Gheba</i> or <i>Gabbia</i>, afterwards +called the Little Tower.”<a name="FnAnchor_114" href="#Footnote_114"><span class="sp">114</span></a></p> + +<p>Gabbia means a “cage;” and there can be no question that +certain apartments were at this time added at the top of the +palace and on the Rio Façade, which were to be used as prisons. +Whether any portion of the old Torresella still remains +is a doubtful question; but the apartments at the top of the +palace, in its fourth story, were still used for prisons as late as +the beginning of the seventeenth century.<a name="FnAnchor_115" href="#Footnote_115"><span class="sp">115</span></a> I wish the reader +especially to notice that a separate tower or range of apartments +was built for this purpose, in order to clear the government +of the accusations so constantly made against them, by +ignorant or partial historians, of wanton cruelty to prisoners. +The stories commonly told respecting the “piombi” of the +Ducal Palace are utterly false. Instead of being, as usually +reported, small furnaces under the leads of the palace, they +were comfortable rooms, with good flat roofs of larch, and carefully +ventilated.<a name="FnAnchor_116" href="#Footnote_116"><span class="sp">116</span></a> The new chamber, then, and the prisons, +being built, the Great Council first sat in their retired chamber +on the Rio in the year 1309.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVI.</span> Now, observe the significant progress of events. +They had no sooner thus established themselves in power than +they were disturbed by the conspiracy of the Tiepolos, in the +year 1310. In consequence of that conspiracy the Council of +Ten was created, still under the Doge Gradenigo; who, having +finished his work and left the aristocracy of Venice armed +with this terrible power, died in the year 1312, some say by +poison. He was succeeded by the Doge Marino Giorgio, who +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page294"></a>294</span> +reigned only one year; and then followed the prosperous government +of John Soranzo. There is no mention of any additions +to the Ducal Palace during his reign, but he was succeeded +by that Francesco Dandolo, the sculptures on whose +tomb, still existing in the cloisters of the Salute, may be compared +by any traveller with those of the Ducal Palace. Of +him it is recorded in the Savina Chronicle: “This Doge also +had the great gate built which is at the entry of the palace, +above which is his statue kneeling, with the gonfalon in hand, +before the feet of the Lion of St. Mark’s.”<a name="FnAnchor_117" href="#Footnote_117"><span class="sp">117</span></a></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVII.</span> It appears, then, that after the Senate had completed +their Council Chamber and the prisons, they required a nobler +door than that of the old Ziani Palace for their Magnificences +to enter by. This door is twice spoken of in the government +accounts of expenses, which are fortunately preserved,<a name="FnAnchor_118" href="#Footnote_118"><span class="sp">118</span></a> in the +following terms:—</p> + +<p style="padding-left: 1.5em; text-indent: -1.5em; ">“1335, June 1. We, Andrew Dandolo and Mark Loredano, +procurators of St. Mark’s, have paid to Martin the stone-cutter +and his associates<a name="FnAnchor_119" href="#Footnote_119"><span class="sp">119</span></a><span style="letter-spacing: 1em; "> .... </span>for a stone of which +the lion is made which is put over the gate of the palace.”</p> + +<p style="padding-left: 1.5em; text-indent: -1.5em; ">“1344, November 4. We have paid thirty-five golden ducats +for making gold leaf, to gild the lion which is over the +door of the palace stairs.”</p> + +<p>The position of this door is disputed, and is of no consequence +to the reader, the door itself having long ago disappeared, and +been replaced by the Porta della Carta.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVIII.</span> But before it was finished, occasion had been discovered +for farther improvements. The Senate found their +new Council Chamber inconveniently small, and, about thirty +years after its completion, began to consider where a larger +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page295"></a>295</span> +and more magnificent one might be built. The government +was now thoroughly established, and it was probably felt that +there was some meanness in the retired position, as well as +insufficiency in the size, of the Council Chamber on the Rio. +The first definite account which I find of their proceedings, +under these circumstances, is in the Caroldo Chronicle:<a name="FnAnchor_120" href="#Footnote_120"><span class="sp">120</span></a></p> + +<p>“1340. On the 28th of December, in the preceding year, +Master Marco Erizzo, Nicolo Soranzo, and Thomas Gradenigo, +were chosen to examine where a new saloon might be built in +order to assemble therein the Greater Council. . . . . On the +3rd of June, 1341, the Great Council elected two procurators +of the work of this saloon, with a salary of eighty ducats a +year.”</p> + +<p>It appears from the entry still preserved in the Archivio, +and quoted by Cadorin, that it was on the 28th of December, +1340, that the commissioners appointed to decide on this important +matter gave in their report to the Grand Council, and +that the decree passed thereupon for the commencement of a +new Council Chamber on the Grand Canal.<a name="FnAnchor_121" href="#Footnote_121"><span class="sp">121</span></a></p> + +<p><i>The room then begun is the one now in existence</i>, and its +building involved the building of all that is best and most +beautiful in the present Ducal Palace, the rich arcades of the +lower stories being all prepared for sustaining this Sala del +Gran Consiglio.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIX.</span> In saying that it is the same now in existence, I do +not mean that it has undergone no alterations; as we shall +see hereafter, it has been refitted again and again, and some +portions of its walls rebuilt; but in the place and form in +which it first stood, it still stands; and by a glance at the +position which its windows occupy, as shown in <a href="#fig_37">fig. XXXVII.</a> +above, the reader will see at once that whatever can be known +respecting the design of the Sea Façade, must be gleaned out +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page296"></a>296</span> +of the entries which refer to the building of this Great Council +Chamber.</p> + +<p>Cadorin quotes two of great importance, to which we shall +return in due time, made during the progress of the work in +1342 and 1344; then one of 1349, resolving that the works +at the Ducal Palace, which had been discontinued during the +plague, should be resumed; and finally one in 1362, which +speaks of the Great Council Chamber as having been neglected +and suffered to fall into “great desolation,” and resolves that +it shall be forthwith completed.<a name="FnAnchor_122" href="#Footnote_122"><span class="sp">122</span></a></p> + +<p>The interruption had not been caused by the plague only, +but by the conspiracy of Faliero, and the violent death of the +master builder.<a name="FnAnchor_123" href="#Footnote_123"><span class="sp">123</span></a> The work was resumed in 1362, and completed +within the next three years, at least so far as that +Guariento was enabled to paint his Paradise on the walls;<a name="FnAnchor_124" href="#Footnote_124"><span class="sp">124</span></a> so +that the building must, at any rate, have been roofed by this +time. Its decorations and fittings, however, were long in +completion; the paintings on the roof being only executed in +1400.<a name="FnAnchor_125" href="#Footnote_125"><span class="sp">125</span></a> They represented the heavens covered with stars,<a name="FnAnchor_126" href="#Footnote_126"><span class="sp">126</span></a> +this being, says Sansovino, the bearings of the Doge Steno. +Almost all ceilings and vaults were at this time in Venice covered +with stars, without any reference to armorial bearings; +but Steno claims, under his noble title of Stellifer, an important +share in completing the chamber, in an inscription upon +two square tablets, now inlaid in the walls on each side of the +great window towards the sea:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page297"></a>297</span></p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr sc"> +<p class="ind03">“Mille quadringenti currebant quatuor anni</p> +<p>Hoc opus illustris Michael dux stellifer auxit.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>And in fact it is to this Doge that we owe the beautiful +balcony of that window, though the work above it is partly +of more recent date; and I think the tablets bearing this +important inscription have been taken out and reinserted in the +newer masonry. The labor of these final decorations occupied +a total period of sixty years. The Grand Council sat in the +finished chamber for the first time in 1423. In that year the +Gothic Ducal Palace of Venice was completed. It had taken, +to build it, the energies of the entire period which I have +above described as the central one of her life.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XX</span>. 3rd. The <span class="sc">Renaissance Palace</span>. I must go back a +step or two, in order to be certain that the reader understands +clearly the state of the palace in 1423. The works of addition +or renovation had now been proceeding, at intervals, during a +space of a hundred and twenty-three years. Three generations +at least had been accustomed to witness the gradual +advancement of the form of the Ducal Palace into more +stately symmetry, and to contrast the works of sculpture and +painting with which it was decorated,—full of the life, knowledge, +and hope of the fourteenth century,—with the rude +Byzantine chiselling of the palace of the Doge Ziani. The +magnificent fabric just completed, of which the new Council +Chamber was the nucleus, was now habitually known in +Venice as the “Palazzo Nuovo;” and the old Byzantine +edifice, now ruinous, and more manifest in its decay by its +contrast with the goodly stones of the building which had +been raised at its side, was of course known as the “Palazzo +Vecchio.”<a name="FnAnchor_127" href="#Footnote_127"><span class="sp">127</span></a> That fabric, however, still occupied the principal +position in Venice. The new Council Chamber had been +erected by the side of it towards the Sea; but there was not +then the wide quay in front, the Riva dei Schiavoni, which +now renders the Sea Façade as important as that to the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page298"></a>298</span> +Piazzetta. There was only a narrow walk between the pillars +and the water; and the <i>old</i> palace of Ziani still faced the +Piazzetta, and interrupted, by its decrepitude, the magnificence +of the square where the nobles daily met. Every +increase of the beauty of the new palace rendered the discrepancy +between it and the companion building more painful; +and then began to arise in the minds of all men a vague idea +of the necessity of destroying the old palace, and completing +the front of the Piazzetta with the same splendor as the Sea +Façade. But no such sweeping measure of renovation had +been contemplated by the Senate when they first formed the +plan of their new Council Chamber. First a single additional +room, then a gateway, then a larger room; but all considered +merely as necessary additions to the palace, not as involving +the entire reconstruction of the ancient edifice. The exhaustion +of the treasury, and the shadows upon the political +horizon, rendered it more than imprudent to incur the vast +additional expense which such a project involved; and the +Senate, fearful of itself, and desirous to guard against the +weakness of its own enthusiasm, passed a decree, like the +effort of a man fearful of some strong temptation to keep his +thoughts averted from the point of danger. It was a decree, +not merely that the old palace should not be rebuilt, but that +no one should <i>propose</i> rebuilding it. The feeling of the +desirableness of doing so was too strong to permit fair discussion, +and the Senate knew that to bring forward such a motion +was to carry it.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXI</span>. The decree, thus passed in order to guard against +their own weakness, forbade any one to speak of rebuilding +the old palace under the penalty of a thousand ducats. But +they had rated their own enthusiasm too low: there was a +man among them whom the loss of a thousand ducats could +not deter from proposing what he believed to be for the good +of the state.</p> + +<p>Some excuse was given him for bringing forward the motion, +by a fire which occurred in 1419, and which injured both +the church of St. Mark’s, and part of the old palace fronting +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page299"></a>299</span> +the Piazzetta. What followed, I shall relate in the words of +Sanuto.<a name="FnAnchor_128" href="#Footnote_128"><span class="sp">128</span></a></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXII</span>. “Therefore they set themselves with all diligence +and care to repair and adorn sumptuously, first God’s house; +but in the Prince’s house things went on more slowly, <i>for it +did not please the Doge<a name="FnAnchor_129" href="#Footnote_129"><span class="sp">129</span></a> to restore it in the form in which it +was before</i>; and they could not rebuild it altogether in a +better manner, so great was the parsimony of these old +fathers; because it was forbidden by laws, which condemned +in a penalty of a thousand ducats any one who should propose +to throw down the <i>old</i> palace, and to rebuild it more richly +and with greater expense. But the Doge, who was magnanimous, +and who desired above all things what was honorable +to the city, had the thousand ducats carried into the Senate +Chamber, and then proposed that the palace should be rebuilt; +saying: that, ‘since the late fire had ruined in great part the +Ducal habitation (not only his own private palace, but all the +places used for public business) this occasion was to be taken +for an admonishment sent from God, that they ought to +rebuild the palace more nobly, and in a way more befitting the +greatness to which, by God’s grace, their dominions had +reached; and that his motive in proposing this was neither +ambition, nor selfish interest: that, as for ambition, they +might have seen in the whole course of his life, through so +many years, that he had never done anything for ambition, +either in the city, or in foreign business; but in all his actions +had kept justice first in his thoughts, and then the advantage +of the state, and the honor of the Venetian name: and that, +as far as regarded his private interest, if it had not been for +this accident of the fire, he would never have thought of +changing anything in the palace into either a more sumptuous +or a more honorable form; and that during the many years +in which he had lived in it, he had never endeavored to make +any change, but had always been content with it, as his predecessors +had left it; and that he knew well that, if they took +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page300"></a>300</span> +in hand to build it as he exhorted and besought them, being +now very old, and broken down with many toils, God would +call him to another life before the walls were raised a pace +from the ground. And that therefore they might perceive +that he did not advise them to raise this building for his own +convenience, but only for the honor of the city and its Dukedom; +and that the good of it would never be felt by him, but +by his successors.’ Then he said, that ‘in order, as he had +always done, to observe the laws,... he had brought +with him the thousand ducats which had been appointed as +the penalty for proposing such a measure, so that he might +prove openly to all men that it was not his own advantage that +he sought, but the dignity of the state.’” There was no one +(Sanuto goes on to tell us) who ventured, or desired, to oppose +the wishes of the Doge; and the thousand ducats were unanimously +devoted to the expenses of the work. “And they set +themselves with much diligence to the work; and the palace +was begun in the form and manner in which it is at present +seen; but, as Mocenigo had prophesied, not long after, he +ended his life, and not only did not see the work brought to a +close, but hardly even begun.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIII</span>. There are one or two expressions in the above extracts +which, if they stood alone, might lead the reader to suppose +that the whole palace had been thrown down and rebuilt. +We must however remember, that, at this time, the new Council +Chamber, which had been one hundred years in building, +was actually unfinished, the council had not yet sat in it; and +it was just as likely that the Doge should then propose to destroy +and rebuild it, as in this year, 1853, it is that any one +should propose in our House of Commons to throw down the +new Houses of Parliament, under the title of the “old palace,” +and rebuild <i>them</i>.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIV</span>. The manner in which Sanuto expresses himself will +at once be seen to be perfectly natural, when it is remembered +that although we now speak of the whole building as the +“Ducal Palace,” it consisted, in the minds of the old Venetians, +of four distinct buildings. There were in it the palace, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page301"></a>301</span> +the state prisons, the senate-house, and the offices of public +business; in other words, it was Buckingham Palace, the +Tower of olden days, the Houses of Parliament, and Downing +Street, all in one; and any of these four portions might be +spoken of, without involving an allusion to any other. “Il +Palazzo” was the Ducal residence, which, with most of the +public offices, Mocenigo <i>did</i> propose to pull down and rebuild, +and which was actually pulled down and rebuilt. But the +new Council Chamber, of which the whole façade to the Sea +consisted, never entered into either his or Sanuto’s mind for +an instant, as necessarily connected with the Ducal residence.</p> + +<p>I said that the new Council Chamber, at the time when +Mocenigo brought forward his measure, had never yet been +used. It was in the year 1422<a name="FnAnchor_130" href="#Footnote_130"><span class="sp">130</span></a> that the decree passed to rebuild +the palace: Mocenigo died in the following year,<a name="FnAnchor_131" href="#Footnote_131"><span class="sp">131</span></a> and +Francesco Foscari was elected in his room. The Great Council +Chamber was used for the first time on the day when +Foscari entered the Senate as Doge,—the 3rd of April, 1423, +according to the Caroldo Chronicle;<a name="FnAnchor_132" href="#Footnote_132"><span class="sp">132</span></a> the 23rd, which is probably +correct, by an anonymous MS., No. 60, in the Correr +Museum;<a name="FnAnchor_133" href="#Footnote_133"><span class="sp">133</span></a>—and, the following year, on the 27th of March, +the first hammer was lifted up against the old palace of Ziani.<a name="FnAnchor_134" href="#Footnote_134"><span class="sp">134</span></a></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXV</span>. That hammer stroke was the first act of the period +properly called the “Renaissance.” It was the knell of the +architecture of Venice,—and of Venice herself.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page302"></a>302</span></p> + +<p>The central epoch of her life was past; the decay had +already begun: I dated its commencement above (<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#chap_1">Ch. I.</a> Vol. +1.) from the death of Mocenigo. A year had not yet elapsed +since that great Doge had been called to his account: his +patriotism, always sincere, had been in this instance mistaken; +in his zeal for the honor of future Venice, he had forgotten +what was due to the Venice of long ago. A thousand palaces +might be built upon her burdened islands, but none of them +could take the place, or recall the memory, of that which was +first built upon her unfrequented shore. It fell; and, as if it had +been the talisman of her fortunes, the city never flourished again.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVI.</span> I have no intention of following out, in their intricate +details, the operations which were begun under Foscari +and continued under succeeding Doges till the palace assumed +its present form, for I am not in this work concerned, except +by occasional reference, with the architecture of the fifteenth +century: but the main facts are the following. The palace of +Ziani was destroyed; the existing façade to the Piazzetta built, +so as both to continue and to resemble, in most particulars, the +work of the Great Council Chamber. It was carried back +from the Sea as far as the Judgment angle; beyond which is +the Porta della Carta, begun in 1439, and finished in two years, +under the Doge Foscari;<a name="FnAnchor_135" href="#Footnote_135"><span class="sp">135</span></a> the interior buildings connected +with it were added by the Doge Christopher Moro (the Othello +of Shakspeare)<a name="FnAnchor_136" href="#Footnote_136"><span class="sp">136</span></a> in 1462.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVII.</span> By reference to the figure the reader will see that +we have now gone the round of the palace, and that the new +work of 1462 was close upon the first piece of the Gothic +palace, the <i>new</i> Council Chamber of 1301. Some remnants of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page303"></a>303</span> +the Ziani Palace were perhaps still left between the two extremities +of the Gothic Palace; or, as is more probable, the +last stones of it may have been swept away after the fire of +1419, and replaced by new apartments for the Doge. But +whatever buildings, old or new, stood on this spot at the time +of the completion of the Porta della Carta were destroyed by +another great fire in 1479, together with so much of the palace +on the Rio that, though the saloon of Gradenigo, then known +as the Sala de’ Pregadi, was not destroyed, it became necessary +to reconstruct the entire façades of the portion of the palace +behind the Bridge of Sighs, both towards the court and canal. +This work was entrusted to the best Renaissance architects of +the close of the fifteenth and opening of the sixteenth centuries; +Antonio Ricci executing the Giant’s staircase, and on +his absconding with a large sum of the public money, Pietro +Lombardo taking his place. The whole work must have been +completed towards the middle of the sixteenth century. The +architects of the palace, advancing round the square and led by +fire, had more than reached the point from which they had set +out; and the work of 1560 was joined to the work of 1301-1340, +at the point marked by the conspicuous vertical line in +Figure XXXVII. on the Rio Façade.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVIII.</span> But the palace was not long permitted to remain +in this finished form. Another terrific fire, commonly called +the great fire, burst out in 1574, and destroyed the inner fittings +and all the precious pictures of the Great Council Chamber, +and of all the upper rooms on the Sea Façade, and most +of those on the Rio Façade, leaving the building a mere shell, +shaken and blasted by the flames. It was debated in the +Great Council whether the ruin should not be thrown down, +and an entirely new palace built in its stead. The opinions of +all the leading architects of Venice were taken, respecting the +safety of the walls, or the possibility of repairing them as they +stood. These opinions, given in writing, have been preserved, +and published by the Abbé Cadorin, in the work already so +often referred to; and they form one of the most important +series of documents connected with the Ducal Palace.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page304"></a>304</span></p> + +<p>I cannot help feeling some childish pleasure in the accidental +resemblance to my own name in that of the architect whose +opinion was first given in favor of the ancient fabric, Giovanni +Rusconi. Others, especially Palladio, wanted to pull down +the old palace, and execute designs of their own; but the +best architects in Venice, and to his immortal honor, chiefly +Francesco Sansovino, energetically pleaded for the Gothic pile, +and prevailed. It was successfully repaired, and Tintoret +painted his noblest picture on the wall from which the Paradise +of Guariento had withered before the flames.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIX.</span> The repairs necessarily undertaken at this time +were however extensive, and interfere in many directions with +the earlier work of the palace: still the only serious alteration +in its form was the transposition of the prisons, formerly at the +top of the palace, to the other side of the Rio del Palazzo; +and the building of the Bridge of Sighs, to connect them with +the palace, by Antonio da Ponte. The completion of this +work brought the whole edifice into its present form; with the +exception of alterations in doors, partitions, and staircases +among the inner apartments, not worth noticing, and such +barbarisms and defacements as have been suffered within the +last fifty years, by, I suppose, nearly every building of importance +in Italy.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXX.</span> Now, therefore, we are liberty to examine some of +the details of the Ducal Palace, without any doubt about their +dates. I shall not, however, give any elaborate illustrations of +them here, because I could not do them justice on the scale of +the page of this volume, or by means of line engraving. I believe +a new era is opening to us in the art of illustration,<a name="FnAnchor_137" href="#Footnote_137"><span class="sp">137</span></a> and +that I shall be able to give large figures of the details of the +Ducal Palace at a price which will enable every person who is +interested in the subject to possess them; so that the cost and +labor of multiplying illustrations here would be altogether +wasted. I shall therefore direct the reader’s attention only to +points of interest as can be explained in the text.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page305"></a>305</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXI.</span> First, then, looking back to the woodcut at the beginning +of this chapter, the reader will observe that, as the +building was very nearly square on the ground plan, a peculiar +prominence and importance were given to its angles, which +rendered it necessary that they should be enriched and softened +by sculpture. I do not suppose that the fitness of this +arrangement will be questioned; but if the reader will take +the pains to glance over any series of engravings of church +towers or other four-square buildings in which great refinement +of form has been attained, he will at once observe how +their effect depends on some modification of the sharpness of +the angle, either by groups of buttresses, or by turrets and +niches rich in sculpture. It is to be noted also that this principle +of breaking the angle is peculiarly Gothic, arising partly +out of the necessity of strengthening the flanks of enormous +buildings, where composed of imperfect materials, by buttresses +or pinnacles; partly out of the conditions of Gothic +warfare, which generally required a tower at the angle; partly +out of the natural dislike of the meagreness of effect in buildings +which admitted large surfaces of wall, if the angle were +entirely unrelieved. The Ducal Palace, in its acknowledgment +of this principle, makes a more definite concession to the +Gothic spirit than any of the previous architecture of Venice. +No angle, up to the time of its erection, had been otherwise +decorated than by a narrow fluted pilaster of red marble, and +the sculpture was reserved always, as in Greek and Roman +work, for the plane surfaces of the building, with, as far as I +recollect, two exceptions only, both in St. Mark’s; namely, the +bold and grotesque gargoyle on its north-west angle, and the +angels which project from the four inner angles under the +main cupola; both of these arrangements being plainly made +under Lombardic influence. And if any other instances occur, +which I may have at present forgotten, I am very sure the +Northern influence will always be distinctly traceable in them.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXII.</span> The Ducal Palace, however, accepts the principle +in its completeness, and throws the main decoration upon its +angles. The central window, which looks rich and important +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page306"></a>306</span> +in the woodcut, was entirely restored in the Renaissance time, +as we have seen, under the Doge Steno; so that we have no +traces of its early treatment; and the principal interest of the +older palace is concentrated in the angle sculpture, which is +arranged in the following manner. The pillars of the two +bearing arcades are much enlarged in thickness at the angles, +and their capitals increased in depth, breadth, and fulness of +subject; above each capital, on the angle of the wall, a sculptural +subject is introduced, consisting, in the great lower +arcade, of two or more figures of the size of life; in the +upper arcade, of a single angel holding a scroll: above these +angels rise the twisted pillars with their crowning niches, +already noticed in the account of parapets in the seventh +chapter; thus forming an unbroken line of decoration from +the ground to the top of the angle.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIII.</span> It was before noticed that one of the corners of +the palace joins the irregular outer buildings connected with +St. Mark’s, and is not generally seen. There remain, therefore, +to be decorated, only the three angles, above distinguished +as the Vine angle, the Fig-tree angle, and the Judgment angle; +and at these we have, according to the arrangement just explained,—</p> + +<p>First, Three great bearing capitals (lower arcade).</p> + +<p>Secondly, Three figure subjects of sculpture above them +(lower arcade).</p> + +<p>Thirdly, Three smaller bearing capitals (upper arcade).</p> + +<p>Fourthly, Three angels above them (upper arcade).</p> + +<p>Fifthly, Three spiral shafts with niches.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIV.</span> I shall describe the bearing capitals hereafter, in +their order, with the others of the arcade; for the first point +to which the reader’s attention ought to be directed is the +choice of subject in the great figure sculptures above them. +These, observe, are the very corner stones of the edifice, and +in them we may expect to find the most important evidences +of the feeling, as well as of the skill, of the builder. If he +has anything to say to us of the purpose with which he built +the palace, it is sure to be said here; if there was any lesson +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page307"></a>307</span> +which he wished principally to teach to those for whom he +built, here it is sure to be inculcated; if there was any sentiment +which they themselves desired to have expressed in the +principal edifice of their city, this is the place in which we +may be secure of finding it legibly inscribed.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXV.</span> Now the first two angles, of the Vine and Fig-tree, +belong to the old, or true Gothic, Palace; the third +angle belongs to the Renaissance imitation of it: therefore, at +the first two angles, it is the Gothic spirit which is going to +speak to us; and, at the third, the Renaissance spirit.</p> + +<p>The reader remembers, I trust, that the most characteristic +sentiment of all that we traced in the working of the Gothic +heart, was the frank confession of its own weakness; and I +must anticipate, for a moment, the results of our inquiry in +subsequent chapters, so far as to state that the principal element +in the Renaissance spirit, is its firm confidence in its own +wisdom.</p> + +<p>Hear, then, the two spirits speak for themselves.</p> + +<p>The first main sculpture of the Gothic Palace is on what I +have called the angle of the Fig-tree:</p> + +<p>Its subject is the <span class="sc">Fall of Man</span>.</p> + +<p>The second sculpture is on the angle of the Vine:</p> + +<p>Its subject is the <span class="sc">Drunkenness of Noah</span>.</p> + +<p>The Renaissance sculpture is on the Judgment angle:</p> + +<p>Its subject is the <span class="sc">Judgment of Solomon</span>.</p> + +<p>It is impossible to overstate, or to regard with too much +admiration, the significance of this single fact. It is as if the +palace had been built at various epochs, and preserved uninjured +to this day, for the sole purpose of teaching us the difference +in the temper of the two schools.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVI.</span> I have called the sculpture on the Fig-tree angle +the principal one; because it is at the central bend of the +palace, where it turns to the Piazzetta (the façade upon the +Piazzetta being, as we saw above, the more important one in +ancient times). The great capital, which sustains this Fig-tree +angle, is also by far more elaborate than the head of the +pilaster under the Vine angle, marking the preëminence of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page308"></a>308</span> +former in the architect’s mind. It is impossible to say which +was first executed, but that of the Fig-tree angle is somewhat +rougher in execution, and more stiff in the design of the +figures, so that I rather suppose it to have been the earliest +completed.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">XIX.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter"> + <a name="plate_19"><img src="images/img308.jpg" width="418" height="638" alt="LEAFAGE OF THE VINE ANGLE." title="LEAFAGE OF THE VINE ANGLE." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">LEAFAGE OF THE VINE ANGLE.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVII.</span> In both the subjects, of the Fall and the Drunkenness, +the tree, which forms the chiefly decorative portion +of the sculpture,—fig in the one case, vine in the other,—was +a necessary adjunct. Its trunk, in both sculptures, forms the +true outer angle of the palace; boldly cut separate from the +stone-work behind, and branching out above the figures so as +to enwrap each side of the angle, for several feet, with its +deep foliage. Nothing can be more masterly or superb than +the sweep of this foliage on the Fig-tree angle; the broad +leaves lapping round the budding fruit, and sheltering from +sight, beneath their shadows, birds of the most graceful form +and delicate plumage. The branches are, however, so strong, +and the masses of stone hewn into leafage so large, that, notwithstanding +the depth of the undercutting, the work remains +nearly uninjured; not so at the Vine angle, where the natural +delicacy of the vine-leaf and tendril having tempted the +sculptor to greater effort, he has passed the proper limits of +his art, and cut the upper stems so delicately that half of them +have been broken away by the casualties to which the situation +of the sculpture necessarily exposes it. What remains +is, however, so interesting in its extreme refinement, that I +have chosen it for the subject of the opposite illustration rather +than the nobler masses of the fig-tree, which ought to be rendered +on a larger scale. Although half of the beauty of the +composition is destroyed by the breaking away of its central +masses, there is still enough in the distribution of the variously +bending leaves, and in the placing of the birds on the lighter +branches, to prove to us the power of the designer. I have +already referred to this Plate as a remarkable instance of the +Gothic Naturalism; and, indeed, it is almost impossible for the +copying of nature to be carried farther than in the fibres of +the marble branches, and the careful finishing of the tendrils: +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page309"></a>309</span> +note especially the peculiar expression of the knotty joints of +the vine in the light branch which rises highest. Yet only +half the finish of the work can be seen in the Plate: for, in +several cases, the sculptor has shown the under sides of the +leaves turned boldly to the light, and has literally <i>carved every +rib and vein upon them, in relief</i>; not merely the main ribs +which sustain the lobes of the leaf, and actually project in +nature, but the irregular and sinuous veins which chequer the +membranous tissues between them, and which the sculptor has +represented conventionally as relieved like the others, in order +to give the vine leaf its peculiar tessellated effect upon the +eye.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVIII.</span> As must always be the case in early sculpture, +the figures are much inferior to the leafage; yet so skilful in +many respects, that it was a long time before I could persuade +myself that they had indeed been wrought in the first half of +the fourteenth century. Fortunately, the date is inscribed +upon a monument in the Church of San Simeon Grande, +bearing a recumbent statue of the saint, of far finer workmanship, +in every respect, than those figures of the Ducal +Palace, yet so like them, that I think there can be no question +that the head of Noah was wrought by the sculptor of the +palace in emulation of that of the statue of St. Simeon. In +this latter sculpture, the face is represented in death; the +mouth partly open, the lips thin and sharp, the teeth carefully +sculptured beneath; the face full of quietness and majesty, +though very ghastly; the hair and beard flowing in luxuriant +wreaths, disposed with the most masterly freedom, yet severity, +of design, far down upon the shoulders; the hands +crossed upon the body, carefully studied, and the veins and +sinews perfectly and easily expressed, yet without any attempt +at extreme finish or display of technical skill. This monument +bears date 1317,<a name="FnAnchor_138" href="#Footnote_138"><span class="sp">138</span></a> and its sculptor was justly proud of it; +thus recording his name:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page310"></a>310</span></p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr sc"> +<p>“Celavit Marcus opus hoc insigne Romanis,</p> +<p><span style="padding-left: 1.5em; ">Laudibus non parcus est sua digna manus.”</span></p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIX</span>. The head of the Noah on the Ducal Palace, evidently +worked in emulation of this statue, has the same profusion +of flowing hair and beard, but wrought in smaller and +harder curls; and the veins on the arms and breast are more +sharply drawn, the sculptor being evidently more practised in +keen and fine lines of vegetation than in those of the figure; +so that, which is most remarkable in a workman of this early +period, he has failed in telling his story plainly, regret and +wonder being so equally marked on the features of all the +three brothers that it is impossible to say which is intended +for Ham. Two of the heads of the brothers are seen in the +Plate; the third figure is not with the rest of the group, but +set at a distance of about twelve feet, on the other side of the +arch which springs from the angle capital.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XL</span>. It may be observed, as a farther evidence of the date +of the group, that, in the figures of all the three youths, the +feet are protected simply by a bandage arranged in crossed +folds round the ankle and lower part of the limb; a feature +of dress which will be found in nearly every piece of figure +sculpture in Venice, from the year 1300 to 1380, and of which +the traveller may see an example within three hundred yards +of this very group, in the bas-reliefs on the tomb of the Doge +Andrea Dandolo (in St. Mark’s), who died in 1354.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLI</span>. The figures of Adam and Eve, sculptured on each +side of the Fig-tree angle, are more stiff than those of Noah +and his sons, but are better fitted for their architectural service; +and the trunk of the tree, with the angular body of the +serpent writhed around it, is more nobly treated as a terminal +group of lines than that of the vine.</p> + +<p>The Renaissance sculptor of the figures of the Judgment +of Solomon has very nearly copied the fig-tree from this +angle, placing its trunk between the executioner and the +mother, who leans forward to stay his hand. But, though the +whole group is much more free in design than those of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page311"></a>311</span> +earlier palace, and in many ways excellent in itself, so that it +always strikes the eye of a careless observer more than the +others, it is of immeasurably inferior spirit in the workmanship; +the leaves of the tree, though far more studiously varied +in flow than those of the fig-tree from which they are partially +copied, have none of its truth to nature; they are ill set on +the stems, bluntly defined on the edges, and their curves are +not those of growing leaves, but of wrinkled drapery.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLII.</span> Above these three sculptures are set, in the upper +arcade, the statues of the archangels Raphael, Michael, and +Gabriel: their positions will be understood by reference to +the lowest figure in <a href="#plate_17">Plate XVII.</a>, where that of Raphael +above the Vine angle is seen on the right. A diminutive +figure of Tobit follows at his feet, and he bears in his hand a +scroll with this inscription:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p>EFICE <span class="uscore">Q</span></p> +<p>SOFRE</p> +<p>T<span class="uscore">U</span>R AFA</p> +<p>EL REVE</p> +<p>RENDE</p> +<p>QUIET<span class="uscore">U</span></p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>i.e. Effice (qućso?) fretum, Raphael reverende, quietum.<a name="FnAnchor_139" href="#Footnote_139"><span class="sp">139</span></a> I +could not decipher the inscription on the scroll borne by the +angel Michael; and the figure of Gabriel, which is by much +the most beautiful feature of the Renaissance portion of the +palace, has only in its hand the Annunciation lily.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLIII.</span> Such are the subjects of the main sculptures decorating +the angles of the palace; notable, observe, for their +simple expression of two feelings, the consciousness of human +frailty, and the dependence upon Divine guidance and protection: +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page312"></a>312</span> +this being, of course, the general purpose of the +introduction of the figures of the angels; and, I imagine, +intended to be more particularly conveyed by the manner in +which the small figure of Tobit follows the steps of Raphael, +just touching the hem of his garment. We have next to +examine the course of divinity and of natural history embodied +by the old sculpture in the great series of capitals which +support the lower arcade of the palace; and which, being at +a height of little more than eight feet above the eye, might be +read, like the pages of a book, by those (the noblest men +in Venice) who habitually walked beneath the shadow of this +great arcade at the time of their first meeting each other for +morning converse.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLIV.</span> The principal sculptures of the capitals consist of +personifications of the Virtues and Vices, the favorite subjects +of decorative art, at this period, in all the cities of Italy; and +there is so much that is significant in the various modes of +their distinction and general representation, more especially +with reference to their occurrence as expressions of praise to +the dead in sepulchral architecture, hereafter to be examined, +that I believe the reader may both happily and profitably rest +for a little while beneath the first vault of the arcade, to +review the manner in which these symbols of the virtues were +first invented by the Christian imagination, and the evidence +they generally furnish of the state of religious feeling in those +by whom they were recognised.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLV.</span> In the early ages of Christianity, there was little +care taken to analyze character. One momentous question +was heard over the whole world,—Dost thou believe in the +Lord with all thine heart? There was but one division among +men,—the great unatoneable division between the disciple and +adversary. The love of Christ was all, and in all; and in proportion +to the nearness of their memory of His person and +teaching, men understood the infinity of the requirements of +the moral law, and the manner in which it alone could be +fulfilled. The early Christians felt that virtue, like sin, was a +subtle universal thing, entering into every act and thought, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page313"></a>313</span> +appearing outwardly in ten thousand diverse ways, diverse +according to the separate framework of every heart in which +it dwelt; but one and the same always in its proceeding from +the love of God, as sin is one and the same in proceeding from +hatred of God. And in their pure, early, and practical piety, +they saw there was no need for codes of morality, or systems +of metaphysics. Their virtue comprehended everything, entered +into everything; it was too vast and too spiritual to be +defined; but there was no need of its definition. For through +faith, working by love, they knew that all human excellence +would be developed in due order; but that, without faith, +neither reason could define, nor effort reach, the lowest phase +of Christian virtue. And therefore, when any of the Apostles +have occasion to describe or enumerate any forms of vice or +virtue by name, there is no attempt at system in their words. +They use them hurriedly and energetically, heaping the +thoughts one upon another, in order as far as possible to fill +the reader’s mind with a sense of the infinity both of crime +and of righteousness. Hear St. Paul describe sin: “Being +filled with all unrighteousness, fornication, wickedness, covetousness, +maliciousness; full of envy, murder, debate, deceit, +malignity; whisperers, backbiters, haters of God, despiteful, +proud, boasters, inventors of evil things, disobedient to parents, +without understanding, covenant breakers, without natural +affection, implacable, unmerciful.” There is evidently here +an intense feeling of the universality of sin; and in order to +express it, the Apostle hurries his words confusedly together, +little caring about their order, as knowing all the vices to be +indissolubly connected one with another. It would be utterly +vain to endeavor to arrange his expressions as if they had +been intended for the ground of any system, or to give any +philosophical definition of the vices.<a name="FnAnchor_140" href="#Footnote_140"><span class="sp">140</span></a> So also hear him speaking +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page314"></a>314</span> +of virtue: “Rejoice in the Lord. Let your moderation +be known unto all men. Be careful for nothing, but in +everything let your requests be made known unto God; and +whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, +whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, +whatsoever things are of good report, if there be any virtue, +and if there be any praise, think on these things.” Observe, +he gives up all attempt at definition; he leaves the +definition to every man’s heart, though he writes so as to mark +the overflowing fulness of his own vision of virtue. And so +it is in all writings of the Apostles; their manner of exhortation, +and the kind of conduct they press, vary according to the +persons they address, and the feeling of the moment at which +they write, and never show any attempt at logical precision. +And, although the words of their Master are not thus irregularly +uttered, but are weighed like fine gold, yet, even in His +teaching, there is no detailed or organized system of morality; +but the command only of that faith and love which were to +embrace the whole being of man: “On these two commandments +hang all the law and the prophets.” Here and there an +incidental warning against this or that more dangerous form of +vice or error, “Take heed and beware of covetousness,” “Beware +of the leaven of the Pharisees;” here and there a plain +example of the meaning of Christian love, as in the parables +of the Samaritan and the Prodigal, and His own perpetual +example: these were the elements of Christ’s constant teaching; +for the Beatitudes, which are the only approximation to +anything like a systematic statement, belong to different conditions +and characters of individual men, not to abstract +virtues. And all early Christians taught in the same manner. +They never cared to expound the nature of this or that virtue; +for they knew that the believer who had Christ, had all. Did +he need fortitude? Christ was his rock: Equity? Christ was +his righteousness: Holiness? Christ was his sanctification: +Liberty? Christ was his redemption: Temperance? Christ +was his ruler: Wisdom? Christ was his light: Truthfulness? +Christ was the truth: Charity? Christ was love.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page315"></a>315</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLVI.</span> Now, exactly in proportion as the Christian religion +became less vital, and as the various corruptions which time +and Satan brought into it were able to manifest themselves, +the person and offices of Christ were less dwelt upon, and +the virtues of Christians more. The Life of the Believer +became in some degree separated from the Life of Christ; and +his virtue, instead of being a stream flowing forth from the +throne of God, and descending upon the earth, began to be +regarded by him as a pyramid upon earth, which he had to +build up, step by step, that from the top of it he might reach +the Heavens. It was not possible to measure the waves of the +water of life, but it was perfectly possible to measure the +bricks of the Tower of Babel; and gradually, as the thoughts +of men were withdrawn from their Redeemer, and fixed upon +themselves, the virtues began to be squared, and counted, and +classified, and put into separate heaps of firsts and seconds; +some things being virtuous cardinally, and other things virtuous +only north-north-west. It is very curious to put in close +juxtaposition the words of the Apostles and of some of the +writers of the fifteenth century touching sanctification. For +instance, hear first St. Paul to the Thessalonians: “The very +God of peace sanctify you wholly; and I pray God your +whole spirit and soul and body be preserved blameless unto +the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. Faithful is he that +calleth you, who also will do it.” And then the following +part of a prayer which I translate from a MS. of the fifteenth +century: “May He (the Holy Spirit) govern the five Senses +of my body; may He cause me to embrace the Seven Works +of Mercy, and firmly to believe and observe the Twelve Articles +of the Faith and the Ten Commandments of the Law, and +defend me from the Seven Mortal Sins, even to the end.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLVII.</span> I do not mean that this quaint passage is generally +characteristic of the devotion of the fifteenth century: the +very prayer out of which it is taken is in other parts exceedingly +beautiful:<a name="FnAnchor_141" href="#Footnote_141"><span class="sp">141</span></a> but the passage is strikingly illustrative of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page316"></a>316</span> +the tendency of the later Romish Church, more especially +in its most corrupt condition, just before the Reformation, to +throw all religion into forms and ciphers; which tendency, as +it affected Christian ethics, was confirmed by the Renaissance +enthusiasm for the works of Aristotle and Cicero, from whom +the code of the fifteenth century virtues was borrowed, and +whose authority was then infinitely more revered by all the +Doctors of the Church than that either of St. Paul or St. +Peter.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLVIII.</span> Although, however, this change in the tone of the +Christian mind was most distinctly manifested when the revival +of literature rendered the works of the heathen philosophers +the leading study of all the greatest scholars of the +period, it had been, as I said before, taking place gradually +from the earliest ages. It is, as far as I know, that root of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page317"></a>317</span> +the Renaissance poison-tree, which, of all others, is deepest +struck; showing itself in various measures through the writings +of all the Fathers, of course exactly in proportion to the +respect which they paid to classical authors, especially to Plato, +Aristotle, and Cicero. The mode in which the pestilent study +of that literature affected them may be well illustrated by the +examination of a single passage from the works of one of the +best of them, St. Ambrose, and of the mode in which that +passage was then amplified and formulized by later writers.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLIX.</span> Plato, indeed, studied alone, would have done no +one any harm. He is profoundly spiritual and capacious in all +his views, and embraces the small systems of Aristotle and +Cicero, as the solar system does the Earth. He seems to me +especially remarkable for the sense of the great Christian virtue +of Holiness, or sanctification; and for the sense of the presence +of the Deity in all things, great or small, which always runs +in a solemn undercurrent beneath his exquisite playfulness and +irony; while all the merely moral virtues may be found in his +writings defined in the most noble manner, as a great painter +defines his figures, <i>without outlines</i>. But the imperfect scholarship +of later ages seems to have gone to Plato, only to +find in him the system of Cicero; which indeed was very +definitely expressed by him. For it having been quickly felt +by all men who strove, unhelped by Christian faith, to enter +at the strait gate into the paths of virtue, that there were four +characters of mind which were protective or preservative of +all that was best in man, namely, Prudence, Justice, Courage, +and Temperance,<a name="FnAnchor_142" href="#Footnote_142"><span class="sp">142</span></a> these were afterwards, with most illogical +inaccuracy, called cardinal <i>virtues</i>, Prudence being evidently +no virtue, but an intellectual gift: but this inaccuracy arose +partly from the ambiguous sense of the Latin word “virtutes,” +which sometimes, in medićval language, signifies virtues, +sometimes powers (being occasionally used in the Vulgate for +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page318"></a>318</span> +the word “hosts,” as in Psalm ciii. 21, cxlviii. 2, &c., while +“fortitudines” and “exercitus” are used for the same word +in other places), so that Prudence might properly be styled a +power, though not properly a virtue; and partly from the +confusion of Prudence with Heavenly Wisdom. The real +rank of these four virtues, if so they are to be called, is however +properly expressed by the term “cardinal.” They are +virtues of the compass, those by which all others are directed +and strengthened; they are not the greatest virtues, but the +restraining or modifying virtues, thus Prudence restrains zeal, +Justice restrains mercy, Fortitude and Temperance guide the +entire system of the passions; and, thus understood, these +virtues properly assumed their peculiar leading or guiding +position in the system of Christian ethics. But in Pagan +ethics, they were not only guiding, but comprehensive. They +meant a great deal more on the lips of the ancients, than they +now express to the Christian mind. Cicero’s Justice includes +charity, beneficence, and benignity, truth, and faith in the +sense of trustworthiness. His Fortitude includes courage, +self-command, the scorn of fortune and of all temporary felicities. +His Temperance includes courtesy and modesty. So +also, in Plato, these four virtues constitute the sum of education. +I do not remember any more simple or perfect expression +of the idea, than in the account given by Socrates, in the +“Alcibiades I.,” of the education of the Persian kings, for +whom, in their youth, there are chosen, he says, four tutors +from among the Persian nobles; namely, the Wisest, the most +Just, the most Temperate, and the most Brave of them. +Then each has a distinct duty: “The Wisest teaches the +young king the worship of the gods, and the duties of a +king (something more here, observe, than our ‘Prudence!’); +the most Just teaches him to speak all truth, and to act out +all truth, through the whole course of his life; the most Temperate +teaches him to allow no pleasure to have the mastery +of him, so that he may be truly free, and indeed a king; and +the most Brave makes him fearless of all things, showing him +that the moment he fears anything, he becomes a slave.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page319"></a>319</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">L.</span> All this is exceedingly beautiful, so far as it reaches; +but the Christian divines were grievously led astray by their +endeavors to reconcile this system with the nobler law of love. +At first, as in the passage I am just going to quote from St. +Ambrose, they tried to graft the Christian system on the four +branches of the Pagan one; but finding that the tree would +not grow, they planted the Pagan and Christian branches side +by side; adding, to the four cardinal virtues, the three called +by the schoolmen theological, namely, Faith, Hope, and +Charity: the one series considered as attainable by the +Heathen, but the other by the Christian only. Thus Virgil +to Sordello:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“Loco e laggiů, non tristo da martiri</p> +<p><span style="padding-left: 1em; ">Ma di tenebre solo, ove i lamenti</span></p> +<p><span style="padding-left: 1em; ">Non suonan come guai, ma son sospiri:</span></p> + +<p style="letter-spacing: 3em; ">.....</p> + +<p>Quivi sto io, con quei che le tre sante</p> +<p><span style="padding-left: 1em; ">Virtů non si vestiro, e senza vizio</span></p> +<p><span style="padding-left: 1em; ">Conobbei l’ altre, e seguir, tutte quante.”</span></p> + +<p class="stanza"> . . . . . “There I with those abide</p> +<p>Who the Three Holy Virtues put not on,</p> +<p>But understood the rest, and without blame</p> +<p>Followed them all.”</p> + +<p class="sc" style="text-align: right; ">Cary.</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LI.</span> This arrangement of the virtues was, however, productive +of infinite confusion and error: in the first place, +because Faith is classed with its own fruits,—the gift of God, +which is the root of the virtues, classed simply as one of them; +in the second, because the words used by the ancients to +express the several virtues had always a different meaning +from the same expressions in the Bible, sometimes a more extended, +sometimes a more limited one. Imagine, for instance, +the confusion which must have been introduced into the ideas +of a student who read St. Paul and Aristotle alternately; considering +that the word which the Greek writer uses for Justice, +means, with St. Paul, Righteousness. And lastly, it is impossible +to overrate the mischief produced in former days, as well +as in our own, by the mere habit of reading Aristotle, whose +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page320"></a>320</span> +system is so false, so forced, and so confused, that the study of +it at our universities is quite enough to occasion the utter want +of accurate habits of thought which so often disgraces men +otherwise well-educated. In a word, Aristotle mistakes the +Prudence or Temperance which must regulate the operation of +the virtues, for the essence of the virtues themselves; and, +striving to show that all virtues are means between two opposite +vices, torments his wit to discover and distinguish as many +pairs of vices as are necessary to the completion of his system, +not disdaining to employ sophistry where invention fails him.</p> + +<p>And, indeed, the study of classical literature, in general, not +only fostered in the Christian writers the unfortunate love of +systematizing, which gradually degenerated into every species +of contemptible formulism, but it accustomed them to work +out their systems by the help of any logical quibble, or verbal +subtlety, which could be made available for their purpose, and +this not with any dishonest intention, but in a sincere desire to +arrange their ideas in systematical groups, while yet their +powers of thought were not accurate enough, nor their common +sense stern enough, to detect the fallacy, or disdain the +finesse, by which these arrangements were frequently accomplished.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LII</span>. Thus St. Ambrose, in his commentary on Luke vi. +20, is resolved to transform the four Beatitudes there described +into rewards of the four cardinal Virtues, and sets himself +thus ingeniously to the task:</p> + +<p>“‘Blessed be ye poor.’ Here you have Temperance. +‘Blessed are ye that hunger now.’ He who hungers, pities +those who are an-hungered; in pitying, he gives to them, and +in giving he becomes just (largiendo fit Justus). ‘Blessed are +ye that weep now, for ye shall laugh.’ Here you have Prudence, +whose part it is to weep, so far as present things are +concerned, and to seek things which are eternal. ‘Blessed are +ye when men shall hate you.’ Here you have Fortitude.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LIII</span>. As a preparation for this profitable exercise of wit, +we have also a reconciliation of the Beatitudes as stated by +St. Matthew, with those of St. Luke, on the ground that “in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page321"></a>321</span> +those eight are these four, and in these four are those eight;” +with sundry remarks on the mystical value of the number +eight, with which I need not trouble the reader. With St. +Ambrose, however, this puerile systematization is quite subordinate +to a very forcible and truthful exposition of the real +nature of the Christian life. But the classification he employs +furnishes ground for farther subtleties to future divines; and +in a MS. of the thirteenth century I find some expressions in +this commentary on St. Luke, and in the treatise on the duties +of bishops, amplified into a treatise on the “Steps of the Virtues: +by which every one who perseveres may, by a straight +path, attain to the heavenly country of the Angels.” (“Liber +de Gradibus Virtutum: quibus ad patriam angelorum supernam +itinere recto ascenditur ab omni perseverante.”) These Steps +are thirty in number (one expressly for each day of the month), +and the curious mode of their association renders the list well +worth quoting:—</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LIV.</span></p> + +<table class="nobctr" width="90%" summary="data"> + +<tr> <td class="tc5" style="width: 4em; ">Primus</td> + <td class="tc5">gradus est</td> + <td class="tc5">Fides Recta.</td> + <td class="tc5">Unerring faith.</td></tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5">Secundus</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Spes firma.</td> + <td class="tc5">Firm hope. </td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5">Tertius</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Caritas perfecta.</td> + <td class="tc5">Perfect charity.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 4.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Patientia vera.</td> + <td class="tc5">True patience.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 5.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Humilitas sancta.</td> + <td class="tc5">Holy humility.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 6.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Mansuetudo</td> + <td class="tc5">Meekness.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 7.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Intelligentia.</td> + <td class="tc5">Understanding.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 8.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Compunctio cordis.</td> + <td class="tc5">Contrition of heart.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 9.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Oratio.</td> + <td class="tc5">Prayer.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 10.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Confessio pura.</td> + <td class="tc5">Pure confession.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 11.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Penitentia digna.</td> + <td class="tc5">Fitting penance.<a name="FnAnchor_143" href="#Footnote_143"><span class="sp">143</span></a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 12.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Abstinentia.</td> + <td class="tc5">Abstinence (fasting).</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 13.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Timor Dei.</td> + <td class="tc5">Fear of God.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 14.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Virginitas.</td> + <td class="tc5">Virginity.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 15.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Justicia.</td> + <td class="tc5">Justice.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 16.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Misericordia.</td> + <td class="tc5">Mercy.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 17.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Elemosina.</td> + <td class="tc5">Almsgiving.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 18.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Hospitalitas.</td> + <td class="tc5">Hospitality.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 19.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Honor parentum.</td> + <td class="tc5">Honoring of parents.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 20.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Silencium.</td> + <td class="tc5">Silence.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 21.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Consilium bonum.</td> + <td class="tc5">Good counsel.<span class="pagenum"><a name="page322"></a>322</span></td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 22.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Judicium rectum.</td> + <td class="tc5">Right judgment.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 23.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Exemplum bonum.</td> + <td class="tc5">Good example.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 24.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Visitatio infirmorum.</td> + <td class="tc5">Visitation of the sick.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 25.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Frequentatio sanctorum.</td> + <td class="tc5">Companying with saints.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 26.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Oblatio justa.</td> + <td class="tc5">Just oblations.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 27.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Decimas Deo solvere.</td> + <td class="tc5">Paying tithes to God.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 28.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Sapientia.</td> + <td class="tc5">Wisdom.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 29.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Voluntas bona.</td> + <td class="tc5">Goodwill.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="tc5"> 30.</td> + <td class="tc5a">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Perseverantia.</td> + <td class="tc5">Perseverance.</td> </tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LV</span>. The reader will note that the general idea of Christian +virtue embodied in this list is true, exalted, and beautiful; the +points of weakness being the confusion of duties with virtues, +and the vain endeavor to enumerate the various offices of +charity as so many separate virtues; more frequently arranged +as seven distinct works of mercy. This general tendency to a +morbid accuracy of classification was associated, in later times, +with another very important element of the Renaissance mind, +the love of personification; which appears to have reached its +greatest vigor in the course of the sixteenth century, and is +expressed to all future ages, in a consummate manner, in the +poem of Spenser. It is to be noted that personification is, in +some sort, the reverse of symbolism, and is far less noble. +Symbolism is the setting forth of a great truth by an imperfect +and inferior sign (as, for instance, of the hope of the resurrection +by the form of the phœnix); and it is almost always +employed by men in their most serious moods of faith, rarely +in recreation. Men who use symbolism forcibly are almost +always true believers in what they symbolize. But Personification +is the bestowing of a human or living form upon an abstract +idea: it is, in most cases, a mere recreation of the fancy, +and is apt to disturb the belief in the reality of the thing personified. +Thus symbolism constituted the entire system of the +Mosaic dispensation: it occurs in every word of Christ’s +teaching; it attaches perpetual mystery to the last and most +solemn act of His life. But I do not recollect a single instance +of personification in any of His words. And as we watch, +thenceforward, the history of the Church, we shall find the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page323"></a>323</span> +declension of its faith exactly marked by the abandonment of +symbolism,<a name="FnAnchor_144" href="#Footnote_144"><span class="sp">144</span></a> and the profuse employment of personification,—even +to such an extent that the virtues came, at last, to be +confused with the saints; and we find in the later Litanies, +St. Faith, St. Hope, St. Charity, and St. Chastity, invoked immediately +after St. Clara and St. Bridget.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LVI.</span> Nevertheless, in the hands of its early and earnest +masters, in whom fancy could not overthrow the foundations +of faith, personification is, often thoroughly noble and lovely; +the earlier conditions of it being just as much more spiritual +and vital than the later ones, as the still earlier symbolism was +more spiritual than they. Compare, for instance, Dante’s +burning Charity, running and returning at the wheels of the +chariot of God,—</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p><span style="padding-left: 4.5em; ">“So ruddy, that her form had scarce</span></p> +<p>Been known within a furnace of clear flame,”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p class="noind">with Reynolds’s Charity, a nurse in a white dress, climbed +upon by three children.<a name="FnAnchor_145" href="#Footnote_145"><span class="sp">145</span></a> And not only so, but the number +and nature of the virtues differ considerably in the statements +of different poets and painters, according to their own views +of religion, or to the manner of life they had it in mind to +illustrate. Giotto, for instance, arranges his system altogether +differently at Assisi, where he is setting forth the monkish +life, and in the Arena Chapel, where he treats of that of +mankind in general, and where, therefore, he gives only the +so-called theological and cardinal virtues; while, at Assisi, +the three principal virtues are those which are reported to +have appeared in vision to St. Francis, Chastity, Obedience, +and Poverty: Chastity being attended by Fortitude, Purity, +and Penance; Obedience by Prudence and Humility; Poverty +by Hope and Charity. The systems vary with almost every +writer, and in almost every important work of art which +embodies them, being more or less spiritual according to the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page324"></a>324</span> +power of intellect by which they were conceived. The most +noble in literature are, I suppose, those of Dante and Spenser: +and with these we may compare five of the most interesting +series in the early art of Italy; namely, those of Orcagna, +Giotto, and Simon Memmi, at Florence and Padua, and those +of St. Mark’s and the Ducal Palace at Venice. Of course, +in the richest of these series, the vices are personified together +with the virtues, as in the Ducal Palace; and by the form or +name of opposed vice, we may often ascertain, with much +greater accuracy than would otherwise be possible, the particular +idea of the contrary virtue in the mind of the writer +or painter. Thus, when opposed to Prudence, or Prudentia, +on the one side, we find Folly, or Stultitia, on the other, it +shows that the virtue understood by Prudence, is not the +mere guiding or cardinal virtue, but the Heavenly Wisdom,<a name="FnAnchor_146" href="#Footnote_146"><span class="sp">146</span></a> +opposed to that folly which “hath said in its heart, there is +no God;” and of which it is said, “the thought of foolishness +is sin;” and again, “Such as be foolish shall not stand in thy +sight.” This folly is personified, in early painting and illumination, +by a half-naked man, greedily eating an apple or other +fruit, and brandishing a club; showing that sensuality and +violence are the two principal characteristics of Foolishness, +and lead into atheism. The figure, in early Psalters, always +forms the letter D, which commences the fifty-third Psalm, +“<i>Dixit insipiens</i>.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LVII.</span> In reading Dante, this mode of reasoning from +contraries is a great help, for his philosophy of the vices is +the only one which admits of classification; his descriptions +of virtue, while they include the ordinary formal divisions, +are far too profound and extended to be brought under definition. +Every line of the “Paradise” is full of the most +exquisite and spiritual expressions of Christian truth; and +that poem is only less read than the “Inferno” because it +requires far greater attention, and, perhaps, for its full enjoyment, +a holier heart.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page325"></a>325</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LVIII.</span> His system in the “Inferno” is briefly this. The +whole nether world is divided into seven circles, deep within +deep, in each of which, according to its depth, severer punishment +is inflicted. These seven circles, reckoning them downwards, +are thus allotted:</p> + +<div class="list"> +<p>1. To those who have lived virtuously, but knew not Christ.</p> +<p>2. To Lust.</p> +<p>3. To Gluttony.</p> +<p>4. To Avarice and Extravagance.</p> +<p>5. To Anger and <i>Sorrow</i>.</p> +<p>6. To Heresy.</p> +<p>7. To Violence and Fraud.</p> +</div> + +<p>This seventh circle is divided into two parts; of which the +first, reserved for those who have been guilty of Violence, is +again divided into three, apportioned severally to those who +have committed, or desired to commit, violence against their +neighbors, against themselves, or against God.</p> + +<p>The lowest hell, reserved for the punishment of Fraud, is +itself divided into ten circles, wherein are severally punished +the sins of,—</p> + +<div class="list"> +<p> 1. Betraying women.</p> +<p> 2. Flattery.</p> +<p> 3. Simony.</p> +<p> 4. False prophecy.</p> +<p> 5. Peculation.</p> +<p> 6. Hypocrisy.</p> +<p> 7. Theft.</p> +<p> 8. False counsel.</p> +<p> 9. Schism and Imposture.</p> +<p>10. Treachery to those who repose entire trust in the traitor.</p> +</div> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LIX.</span> There is, perhaps, nothing more notable in this most +interesting system than the profound truth couched under the +attachment of so terrible a penalty to sadness or sorrow. It +is true that Idleness does not elsewhere appear in the scheme, +and is evidently intended to be included in the guilt of sadness +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page326"></a>326</span> +by the word “accidioso;” but the main meaning of the poet is +to mark the duty of rejoicing in God, according both to St. +Paul’s command, and Isaiah’s promise, “Thou meetest him +that rejoiceth and worketh righteousness.”<a name="FnAnchor_147" href="#Footnote_147"><span class="sp">147</span></a> I do not know +words that might with more benefit be borne with us, and set +in our hearts momentarily against the minor regrets and rebelliousnesses +of life, than these simple ones:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p><span style="padding-left: 9em; ">“Tristi fummo</span></p> +<p>Nel aer dolce, che del sol s’allegra,</p> +<p>Or ci attristiam, nella belletta negra.”</p> + +<p class="stanza"><span style="padding-left: 6em; ">“We once were sad,</span></p> +<p>In the sweet air, made gladsome by the sun,</p> +<p>Now in these murky settlings are we sad.”<a name="FnAnchor_148" href="#Footnote_148"><span class="sp">148</span></a></p> +<p class="sc" style="text-align: right">Cary.</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>The virtue usually opposed to this vice of sullenness is +Alacritas, uniting the sense of activity and cheerfulness. +Spenser has cheerfulness simply, in his description, never +enough to be loved or praised, of the virtues of Womanhood; +first feminineness or womanhood in specialty; then,—</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p><span style="padding-left: 1em; ">“Next to her sate goodly Shamefastnesse,</span></p> +<p>Ne ever durst, her eyes from ground upreare,</p> +<p>Ne ever once did looke up from her desse,<a name="FnAnchor_149" href="#Footnote_149"><span class="sp">149</span></a></p> +<p>As if some blame of evill she did feare</p> +<p>That in her cheekes made roses oft appeare:</p> +<p>And her against sweet Cherefulnesse was placed,</p> +<p>Whose eyes, like twinkling stars in evening cleare,</p> +<p>Were deckt with smyles that all sad humours chaced.</p> + +<p class="ind03 stanza">“And next to her sate sober Modestie,</p> +<p>Holding her hand upon her gentle hart;</p> +<p>And her against, sate comely Curtesie,</p> +<p><i>That unto every person knew her part</i>;</p> +<p>And her before was seated overthwart</p> +<p>Soft Silence, and submisse Obedience,</p> +<p>Both linckt together never to dispart.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page327"></a>327</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LX.</span> Another notable point in Dante’s system is the intensity +of uttermost punishment given to treason, the peculiar +sin of Italy, and that to which, at this day, she attributes her +own misery with her own lips. An Italian, questioned as to +the causes of the failure of the campaign of 1848, always makes +one answer, “We were betrayed;” and the most melancholy +feature of the present state of Italy is principally this, that she +does not see that, of all causes to which failure might be attributed, +this is at once the most disgraceful, and the most hopeless. +In fact, Dante seems to me to have written almost +prophetically, for the instruction of modern Italy, and chiefly +so in the sixth canto of the “Purgatorio.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXI.</span> Hitherto we have been considering the system of the +“Inferno” only. That of the “Purgatorio” is much simpler, +it being divided into seven districts, in which the souls are +severally purified from the sins of Pride, Envy, Wrath, +Indifference, Avarice, Gluttony, and Lust; the poet thus +implying in opposition, and describing in various instances, +the seven virtues of Humility, Kindness,<a name="FnAnchor_150" href="#Footnote_150"><span class="sp">150</span></a> Patience, Zeal, +Poverty, Abstinence, and Chastity, as adjuncts of the Christian +character, in which it may occasionally fail, while the essential +group of the three theological and four cardinal virtues are +represented as in direct attendance on the chariot of the Deity; +and all the sins of Christians are in the seventeenth canto +traced to the deficiency or aberration of Affection.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXII.</span> The system of Spenser is unfinished, and exceedingly +complicated, the same vices and virtues occurring under different +forms in different places, in order to show their different +relations to each other. I shall not therefore give any general +sketch of it, but only refer to the particular personification of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page328"></a>328</span> +each virtue in order to compare it with that of the Ducal +Palace.<a name="FnAnchor_151" href="#Footnote_151"><span class="sp">151</span></a> The peculiar superiority of his system is in its +exquisite setting forth of Chastity under the figure of Britomart; +not monkish chastity, but that of the purest Love. In +completeness of personification no one can approach him; not +even in Dante do I remember anything quite so great as the +description of the Captain of the Lusts of the Flesh:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“As pale and wan as ashes was his looke;</p> +<p>His body lean and meagre as a rake;</p> +<p>And skin all withered like a dryed rooke;</p> +<p>Thereto as cold and drery as a snake;</p> +<p>That seemed to tremble evermore, and quake:</p> +<p><i>All in a canvas thin he was bedight,</i></p> +<p><i>And girded with a belt of twisted brake</i>:</p> +<p>Upon his head he wore an helmet light,</p> +<p>Made of a dead man’s skull.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>He rides upon a tiger, and in his hand is a bow, bent;</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“And many arrows under his right side,</p> +<p>Headed with flint, and fethers bloody dide.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>The horror and the truth of this are beyond everything that +I know, out of the pages of Inspiration. Note the heading of +the arrows with flint, because sharper and more subtle in the +edge than steel, and because steel might consume away with +rust, but flint not; and consider in the whole description how +the wasting away of body and soul together, and the <i>coldness</i> +of the heart, which unholy fire has consumed into ashes, and +the loss of all power, and the kindling of all terrible impatience, +and the implanting of thorny and inextricable griefs, are set +forth by the various images, the belt of brake, the tiger steed, +and the <i>light</i> helmet, girding the head with death.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXIII.</span> Perhaps the most interesting series of the Virtues +expressed in Italian art are those above mentioned of Simon +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page329"></a>329</span> +Memmi in the Spanish chapel at Florence, of Ambrogio di +Lorenzo in the Palazzo Publico of Pisa, of Orcagna in Or San +Michele at Florence, of Giotto at Padua and Assisi, in mosaic +on the central cupola of St. Mark’s, and in sculpture on the +pillars of the Ducal Palace. The first two series are carefully +described by Lord Lindsay; both are too complicated for +comparison with the more simple series of the Ducal Palace; +the other four of course agree in giving first the cardinal and +evangelical virtues; their variations in the statement of the +rest will be best understood by putting them in a parallel +arrangement.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" width="90%" summary="data"> + +<tr><td class="tc1"><span class="sc">St. Mark’s</span>. </td> + <td class="tc1"><span class="sc">Orcagna</span>. </td> + <td class="tc1"><span class="sc">Giotto</span>. </td> + <td class="tc1"><span class="sc">Ducal Palace</span>.</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5">Constancy.</td> + <td class="tc5">Perseverance.</td> + <td class="tc5"> </td> + <td class="tc5">Constancy.</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5">Modesty.</td> + <td class="tc5"> </td> + <td class="tc5"> </td> + <td class="tc5">Modesty.</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5">Chastity.</td> + <td class="tc5">Virginity</td> + <td class="tc5">Chastity.</td> + <td class="tc5">Chastity.</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5">Patience.</td> + <td class="tc5">Patience.</td> + <td class="tc5"> </td> + <td class="tc5">Patience.</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5">Mercy.</td> + <td class="tc5"> </td> + <td class="tc5"> </td> + <td class="tc5"> </td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5">Abstinence.</td> + <td class="tc5"> </td> + <td class="tc5"> </td> + <td class="tc5">Abstinence?</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5">Piety.<a name="FnAnchor_152" href="#Footnote_152"><span class="sp">152</span></a></td> + <td class="tc5">Devotion.</td> + <td class="tc5"> </td> + <td class="tc5"> </td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5">Benignity.</td> + <td class="tc5"> </td> + <td class="tc5"> </td> + <td class="tc5"> </td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5">Humility.</td> + <td class="tc5">Humility.</td> + <td class="tc5">Humility.</td> + <td class="tc5">Humility.</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5"> </td> + <td class="tc5">Obedience.</td> + <td class="tc5">Obedience.</td> + <td class="tc5">Obedience.</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5"> </td> + <td class="tc5">Docility.</td> + <td class="tc5"> </td> + <td class="tc5"> </td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5"> </td> + <td class="tc5">Caution.</td> + <td class="tc5"> </td> + <td class="tc5"> </td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5"> </td> + <td class="tc5"> </td> + <td class="tc5">Poverty.</td> + <td class="tc5"><i>Honesty.</i></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5"> </td> + <td class="tc5"> </td> + <td class="tc5"> </td> + <td class="tc5">Liberality.</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="tc5"> </td> + <td class="tc5"> </td> + <td class="tc5"> </td> + <td class="tc5"><i>Alacrity</i>.</td></tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXIV.</span> It is curious, that in none of these lists do we find +either <i>Honesty</i> or <i>Industry</i> ranked as a virtue, except in the +Venetian one, where the latter is implied in Alacritas, and +opposed not only by “Accidia” or sloth, but by a whole series +of eight sculptures on another capital, illustrative, as I believe, +of the temptations to idleness; while various other capitals, as +we shall see presently, are devoted to the representation of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page330"></a>330</span> +active trades. Industry, in Northern art and Northern morality, +assumes a very principal place. I have seen in French +manuscripts the virtues reduced to these seven, Charity, Chastity, +Patience, Abstinence, Humility, Liberality, and Industry: +and I doubt whether, if we were but to add Honesty (or Truth), +a wiser or shorter list could be made out.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXV.</span> We will now take the pillars of the Ducal Palace +in their order. It has already been mentioned (Vol. I. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#chap_1">Chap. +I.</a> § <span class="scs">XLVI</span>.) that there are, in all, thirty-six great pillars supporting +the lower story; and that these are to be counted from +right to left, because then the more ancient of them come first: +and that, thus arranged, the first, which is not a shaft, but a +pilaster, will be the support of the Vine angle; the eighteenth +will be the great shaft of the Fig-tree angle; and the thirty-sixth, +that of the Judgment angle.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXVI.</span> All their capitals, except that of the first, are octagonal, +and are decorated by sixteen leaves, differently enriched +in every capital, but arranged in the same way; eight of them +rising to the angles, and there forming volutes; the eight +others set between them, on the sides, rising half-way up the +bell of the capital; there nodding forward, and showing above +them, rising out of their luxuriance, the groups or single +figures which we have to examine.<a name="FnAnchor_153" href="#Footnote_153"><span class="sp">153</span></a> In some instances, the +intermediate or lower leaves are reduced to eight sprays of +foliage; and the capital is left dependent for its effect on the +bold position of the figures. In referring to the figures on +the octagonal capitals, I shall call the outer side, fronting either +the Sea or the Piazzetta, the first side; and so count round +from left to right; the fourth side being thus, of course, the +innermost. As, however, the first five arches were walled up +after the great fire, only three sides of their capitals are left +visible, which we may describe as the front and the eastern +and western sides of each.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page331"></a>331</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXVII</span>. <span class="sc">First Capital</span>: i.e. of the pilaster at the Vine +angle.</p> + +<p>In front, towards the Sea. A child holding a bird before +him, with its wings expanded, covering his breast.</p> + +<p>On its eastern side. Children’s heads among leaves.</p> + +<p>On its western side. A child carrying in one hand a comb; +in the other, a pair of scissors.</p> + +<p>It appears curious, that this, the principal pilaster of the +façade, should have been decorated only by these graceful +grotesques, for I can hardly suppose them anything more. +There may be meaning in them, but I will not venture to conjecture +any, except the very plain and practical meaning conveyed +by the last figure to all Venetian children, which it +would be well if they would act upon. For the rest, I have +seen the comb introduced in grotesque work as early as the +thirteenth century, but generally for the purpose of ridiculing +too great care in dressing the hair, which assuredly is not its +purpose here. The children’s heads are very sweet and full +of life, but the eyes sharp and small.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXVIII</span>. <span class="sc">Second Capital</span>. Only three sides of the original +work are left unburied by the mass of added wall. Each side +has a bird, one web-footed, with a fish, one clawed, with a serpent, +which opens its jaws, and darts its tongue at the bird’s +breast; the third pluming itself, with a feather between the +mandibles of its bill. It is by far the most beautiful of the +three capitals decorated with birds.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Third Capital</span>. Also has three sides only left. They have +three heads, large, and very ill cut; one female, and crowned.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Fourth Capital</span>. Has three children. The eastern one +is defaced: the one in front holds a small bird, whose plumage +is beautifully indicated, in its right hand; and with its left +holds up half a walnut, showing the nut inside: the third +holds a fresh fig, cut through, showing the seeds.</p> + +<p>The hair of all the three children is differently worked: +the first has luxuriant flowing hair, and a double chin; the +second, light flowing hair falling in pointed locks on the +forehead; the third, crisp curling hair, deep cut with drill holes.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page332"></a>332</span></p> + +<p>This capital has been copied on the Renaissance side of the +palace, only with such changes in the ideal of the children as +the workman thought expedient and natural. It is highly +interesting to compare the child of the fourteenth with the +child of the fifteenth century. The early heads are full of +youthful life, playful, humane, affectionate, beaming with sensation +and vivacity, but with much manliness and firmness, +also, not a little cunning, and some cruelty perhaps, beneath +all; the features small and hard, and the eyes keen. There is +the making of rough and great men in them. But the children +of the fifteenth century are dull smooth-faced dunces, +without a single meaning line in the fatness of their stolid +cheeks; and, although, in the vulgar sense, as handsome as +the other children are ugly, capable of becoming nothing but +perfumed coxcombs.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Fifth Capital</span>. Still three sides only left, bearing three +half-length statues of kings; this is the first capital which bears +any inscription. In front, a king with a sword in his right +hand points to a handkerchief embroidered and fringed, with +a head on it, carved on the cavetto of the abacus. His name +is written above, “<span class="scs">TITUS VESPASIAN IMPERATOR</span>” (contracted +<img src="images/img332.jpg" width="70" height="31" alt="" title="" />.</p> + +<p>On eastern side, “<span class="scs">TRAJANUS IMPERATOR</span>.” Crowned, a +sword in right hand, and sceptre in left.</p> + +<p>On western, “<span class="scs">(OCT)AVIANUS AUGUSTUS IMPERATOR</span>.” The +“<span class="scs">OCT</span>” is broken away. He bears a globe in his right hand, +with “<span class="scs">MUNDUS PACIS</span>” upon it; a sceptre in his left, which I +think has terminated in a human figure. He has a flowing +beard, and a singularly high crown; the face is much injured, +but has once been very noble in expression.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Sixth Capital</span>. Has large male and female heads, very +coarsely cut, hard, and bad.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXIX.</span> <span class="sc">Seventh Capital</span>. This is the first of the series +which is complete; the first open arch of the lower arcade +being between it and the sixth. It begins the representation +of the Virtues.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page333"></a>333</span></p> + +<p><i>First side</i>. Largitas, or Liberality: always distinguished +from the higher Charity. A male figure, with his lap full of +money, which he pours out of his hand. The coins are plain, +circular, and smooth; there is no attempt to mark device upon +them. The inscription above is, “<span class="scs">LARGITAS ME ONORAT</span>.”</p> + +<p>In the copy of this design on the twenty-fifth capital, instead +of showering out the gold from his open hand, the figure +holds it in a plate or salver, introduced for the sake of disguising +the direct imitation. The changes thus made in the +Renaissance pillars are always injuries.</p> + +<p>This virtue is the proper opponent of Avarice; though it +does not occur in the systems of Orcagna or Giotto, being +included in Charity. It was a leading virtue with Aristotle +and the other ancients.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXX.</span> <i>Second side</i>. Constancy; not very characteristic. +An armed man with a sword in his hand, inscribed, “<span class="scs">CONSTANTIA +SUM, NIL TIMENS</span>.”</p> + +<p>This virtue is one of the forms of fortitude, and Giotto +therefore sets as the vice opponent to Fortitude, “Inconstantia,” +represented as a woman in loose drapery, falling from a +rolling globe. The vision seen in the interpreter’s house in +the Pilgrim’s Progress, of the man with a very bold countenance, +who says to him who has the writer’s ink-horn by his +side, “Set down my name,” is the best personification of the +Venetian “Constantia” of which I am aware in literature. +It would be well for us all to consider whether we have yet given +the order to the man with the ink-horn, “Set down my name.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXI.</span> <i>Third side</i>. Discord; holding up her finger, but +needing the inscription above to assure us of her meaning, +“<span class="scs">DISCORDIA SUM, DISCORDANS</span>.” In the Renaissance copy she +is a meek and nun-like person with a veil.</p> + +<p>She is the Atë of Spenser; “mother of debate,” thus +described in the fourth book:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“Her face most fowle and filthy was to see,</p> +<p>With squinted eyes contrarie wayes intended;</p> +<p>And loathly mouth, unmeete a mouth to bee,</p> +<p>That nought but gall and venim comprehended, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page334"></a>334</span></p> +<p>And wicked wordes that God and man offended:</p> +<p>Her lying tongue was in two parts divided,</p> +<p>And both the parts did speake, and both contended;</p> +<p>And as her tongue, so was her hart discided,</p> +<p>That never thoght one thing, but doubly stil was guided.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>Note the fine old meaning of “discided,” cut in two; it is +a great pity we have lost this powerful expression. We might +keep “determined” for the other sense of the word.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXII.</span> <i>Fourth side.</i> Patience. A female figure, very +expressive and lovely, in a hood, with her right hand on her +breast, the left extended, inscribed “<span class="scs">PATIENTIA MANET MECUM</span>.”</p> + +<p>She is one of the principal virtues in all the Christian systems: +a masculine virtue in Spenser, and beautifully placed +as the <i>Physician</i> in the House of Holinesse. The opponent +vice, Impatience, is one of the hags who attend the Captain +of the Lusts of the Flesh; the other being Impotence. In +like manner, in the “Pilgrim’s Progress,” the opposite of +Patience is Passion; but Spenser’s thought is farther carried. +His two hags, Impatience and Impotence, as attendant upon +the evil spirit of Passion, embrace all the phenomena of human +conduct, down even to the smallest matters, according to the +adage, “More haste, worse speed.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXIII.</span> <i>Fifth side.</i> Despair. A female figure thrusting +a dagger into her throat, and tearing her long hair, which +flows down among the leaves of the capital below her knees. +One of the finest figures of the series; inscribed “<span class="scs">DESPERACIO +MÔS</span> (mortis?) <span class="scs">CRUDELIS</span>.” In the Renaissance copy she is +totally devoid of expression, and appears, instead of tearing +her hair, to be dividing it into long curls on each side.</p> + +<p>This vice is the proper opposite of Hope. By Giotto she +is represented as a woman hanging herself, a fiend coming for +her soul. Spenser’s vision of Despair is well known, it being +indeed currently reported that this part of the Faerie Queen +was the first which drew to it the attention of Sir Philip Sidney.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXIV.</span> <i>Sixth side.</i> Obedience: with her arms folded; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page335"></a>335</span> +meek, but rude and commonplace, looking at a little dog standing +on its hind legs and begging, with a collar round its neck. +Inscribed “<span class="scs">OBEDIENTI</span> * *;” the rest of the sentence is much +defaced, but looks like <img src="images/img335a.jpg" width="92" height="25" alt="" title="" /> I suppose the note +of contraction above the final A has disappeared and that the +inscription was “Obedientiam domino exhibeo.”</p> + +<p>This virtue is, of course, a principal one in the monkish systems; +represented by Giotto at Assisi as “an angel robed in +black, placing the finger of his left hand on his mouth, and passing +the yoke over the head of a Franciscan monk kneeling at +his feet.”<a name="FnAnchor_154" href="#Footnote_154"><span class="sp">154</span></a></p> + +<p>Obedience holds a less principal place in Spenser. We +have seen her above associated with the other peculiar virtues +of womanhood.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXV.</span> <i>Seventh side.</i> Infidelity. A man in a turban, with +a small image in his hand, or the image of a child. Of the +inscription nothing but “<span class="scs">INFIDELITATE</span> * * *” and some fragmentary +letters, “<span class="scs">ILI, CERO</span>,” remain.</p> + +<p>By Giotto Infidelity is most nobly symbolized as a woman +helmeted, the helmet having a broad rim which keeps the +light from her eyes. She is covered with heavy drapery, +stands infirmly as if about to fall, is <i>bound by a cord round +her neck to an image</i> which she carries in her hand, and has +flames bursting forth at her feet.</p> + +<p>In Spenser, Infidelity is the Saracen knight Sans Foy,—</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p><span style="padding-left: 2em; ">“Full large of limbe and every joint</span></p> +<p>He was, and cared not for God or man a point.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>For the part which he sustains in the contest with Godly Fear, +or the Red-cross knight, see <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30756/30756-h/30756-h.htm#app_2">Appendix 2</a>, Vol. III.</p> + +<p>§ LX<span class="scs">XVI.</span> <i>Eighth side</i>. Modesty; bearing a pitcher. (In the +Renaissance copy, a vase like a coffee-pot.) Inscribed “<span class="scs">MODESTIA</span> +<img src="images/img335b.jpg" width="115" height="25" alt="" title="" /></p> + +<p>I do not find this virtue in any of the Italian series, except +that of Venice. In Spenser she is of course one of those +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page336"></a>336</span> +attendant on Womanhood, but occurs as one of the tenants +of the Heart of Man, thus portrayed in the second book:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“Straunge was her tyre, and all her garment blew,</p> +<p>Close rownd about her tuckt with many a plight:</p> +<p>Upon her fist the bird which shonneth vew.</p> + +<p style="letter-spacing: 1.5em; font-size: 150%; ">.........</p> + +<p>And ever and anone with rosy red</p> +<p>The bashfull blood her snowy cheekes did dye,</p> +<p>That her became, as polisht yvory</p> +<p>Which cunning craftesman hand hath overlayd</p> +<p>With fayre vermilion or pure castory.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXVII.</span> <span class="sc">Eighth Capital.</span> It has no inscriptions, and its +subjects are not, by themselves, intelligible; but they appear +to be typical of the degradation of human instincts.</p> + +<p><i>First side.</i> A caricature of Arion on his dolphin; he wears +a cap ending in a long proboscis-like horn, and plays a violin +with a curious twitch of the bow and wag of the head, very +graphically expressed, but still without anything approaching +to the power of Northern grotesque. His dolphin has a goodly +row of teeth, and the waves beat over his back.</p> + +<p><i>Second side.</i> A human figure, with curly hair and the legs +of a bear; the paws laid, with great sculptural skill, upon the +foliage. It plays a violin, shaped like a guitar, with a bent +double-stringed bow.</p> + +<p><i>Third side.</i> A figure with a serpent’s tail and a monstrous +head, founded on a Negro type, hollow-cheeked, large-lipped, +and wearing a cap made of a serpent’s skin, holding a fir-cone +in its hand.</p> + +<p><i>Fourth side.</i> A monstrous figure, terminating below in a +tortoise. It is devouring a gourd, which it grasps greedily +with both hands; it wears a cap ending in a hoofed leg.</p> + +<p><i>Fifth side.</i> A centaur wearing a crested helmet, and holding +a curved sword.</p> + +<p><i>Sixth side.</i> A knight, riding a headless horse, and wearing +chain armor, with a triangular shield flung behind his back, +and a two-edged sword.</p> + +<p><i>Seventh side.</i> A figure like that on the fifth, wearing a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page337"></a>337</span> +round helmet, and with the legs and tail of a horse. He bears +a long mace with a top like a fir-cone.</p> + +<p><i>Eighth side.</i> A figure with curly hair, and an acorn in its +hand, ending below in a fish.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXVIII.</span> Ninth Capital. <i>First side.</i> Faith. She has her +left hand on her breast, and the cross on her right. Inscribed +“<span class="scs">FIDES OPTIMA IN DEO</span>.” The Faith of Giotto holds the cross +in her right hand; in her left, a scroll with the Apostles’ +Creed. She treads upon cabalistic books, and has a key suspended +to her waist. Spenser’s Faith (Fidelia) is still more +spiritual and noble:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“She was araied all in lilly white,</p> +<p>And in her right hand bore a cup of gold,</p> +<p>With wine and water fild up to the hight,</p> +<p>In which a serpent did himselfe enfold,</p> +<p>That horrour made to all that did behold;</p> +<p>But she no whitt did chaunge her constant mood:</p> +<p>And in her other hand she fast did hold</p> +<p>A booke, that was both signd and seald with blood;</p> +<p>Wherein darke things were writt, hard to be understood.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXIX.</span> <i>Second side.</i> Fortitude. A long-bearded man +[Samson?] tearing open a lion’s jaw. The inscription is illegible, +and the somewhat vulgar personification appears to +belong rather to Courage than Fortitude. On the Renaissance +copy it is inscribed “<span class="scs">FORTITUDO SUM VIRILIS</span>.” The +Latin word has, perhaps, been received by the sculptor as +merely signifying “Strength,” the rest of the perfect idea of +this virtue having been given in “Constantia” previously. +But both these Venetian symbols together do not at all approach +the idea of Fortitude as given generally by Giotto and +the Pisan sculptors; clothed with a lion’s skin, knotted about +her neck, and falling to her feet in deep folds; drawing back +her right hand, with the sword pointed towards her enemy; +and slightly retired behind her immovable shield, which, with +Giotto, is square, and rested on the ground like a tower, covering +her up to above her shoulders; bearing on it a lion, and +with broken heads of javelins deeply infixed.</p> + +<p>Among the Greeks, this is, of course, one of the principal +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page338"></a>338</span> +virtues; apt, however, in their ordinary conception of it to +degenerate into mere manliness or courage.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXX.</span> <i>Third side.</i> Temperance; bearing a pitcher of +water and a cup. Inscription, illegible here, and on the +Renaissance copy nearly so, “<span class="scs">TEMPERANTIA SUM</span>” (<span class="scs">INO<span class="uscore">M</span>’ L</span><span class="sp">s</span>)? +only left. In this somewhat vulgar and most frequent conception +of this virtue (afterwards continually repeated, as by +Sir Joshua in his window at New College) temperance is +confused with mere abstinence, the opposite of Gula, or gluttony; +whereas the Greek Temperance, a truly cardinal virtue, +is the moderator of <i>all</i> the passions, and so represented by +Giotto, who has placed a bridle upon her lips, and a sword +in her hand, the hilt of which she is binding to the scabbard. +In his system, she is opposed among the vices, not by Gula or +Gluttony, but by Ira, Anger. So also the Temperance of +Spenser, or Sir Guyon, but with mingling of much sternness:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“A goodly knight, all armd in harnesse meete,</p> +<p>That from his head no place appeared to his feete,</p> +<p>His carriage was full comely and upright;</p> +<p>His countenance demure and temperate;</p> +<p>But yett so sterne and terrible in sight,</p> +<p>That cheard his friendes, and did his foes amate.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>The Temperance of the Greeks, <span class="grk" title="sôphrosynę">σωφροσύνη</span>, involves the +idea of Prudence, and is a most noble virtue, yet properly +marked by Plato as inferior to sacred enthusiasm, though necessary +for its government. He opposes it, under the name +“Mortal Temperance” or “the Temperance which is of men,” +to divine madness, <span class="grk" title="mania">μανία</span>, or inspiration; but he most justly +and nobly expresses the general idea of it under the term +<span class="grk" title="hubris">ὓβρις</span>, which, in the “Phćdrus,” is divided into various intemperances +with respect to various objects, and set forth under +the image of a black, vicious, diseased and furious horse, yoked +by the side of Prudence or Wisdom (set forth under the +figure of a white horse with a crested and noble head, like +that which we have among the Elgin Marbles) to the chariot +of the Soul. The system of Aristotle, as above stated, is +throughout a mere complicated blunder, supported by sophistry, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page339"></a>339</span> +the laboriously developed mistake of Temperance for the +essence of the virtues which it guides. Temperance in the +medićval systems is generally opposed by Anger, or by Folly, +or Gluttony: but her proper opposite is Spenser’s Acrasia, the +principal enemy of Sir Guyon, at whose gates we find the subordinate +vice “Excesse,” as the introduction to Intemperance; +a graceful and feminine image, necessary to illustrate the more +dangerous forms of subtle intemperance, as opposed to the +brutal “Gluttony” in the first book. She presses grapes into a +cup, because of the words of St. Paul, “Be not drunk with +wine, wherein is excess;” but always delicately,</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“Into her cup she scruzd with daintie breach</p> +<p>Of her fine fingers, without fowle empeach,</p> +<p>That so faire winepresse made the wine more sweet.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>The reader will, I trust, pardon these frequent extracts +from Spenser, for it is nearly as necessary to point out the profound +divinity and philosophy of our great English poet, as +the beauty of the Ducal Palace.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXI.</span> <i>Fourth side.</i> Humility; with a veil upon her +head, carrying a lamp in her lap. Inscribed in the copy, “<span class="scs">HUMILITAS +HABITAT IN ME.</span>”</p> + +<p>This virtue is of course a peculiarly Christian one, hardly +recognized in the Pagan systems, though carefully impressed +upon the Greeks in early life in a manner which at this day +it would be well if we were to imitate, and, together with an +almost feminine modesty, giving an exquisite grace to the +conduct and bearing of the well-educated Greek youth. It is, +of course, one of the leading virtues in all the monkish systems, +but I have not any notes of the manner of its representation.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXII.</span> <i>Fifth side.</i> Charity. A woman with her lap full +of loaves (?), giving one to a child, who stretches his arm out +for it across a broad gap in the leafage of the capital.</p> + +<p>Again very far inferior to the Giottesque rendering of this +virtue. In the Arena Chapel she is distinguished from all the +other virtues by having a circular glory round her head, and +a cross of fire; she is crowned with flowers, presents with her +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page340"></a>340</span> +right hand a vase of corn and fruit, and with her left receives +treasure from Christ, who appears above her, to provide her +with the means of continual offices of beneficence, while she +tramples under foot the treasures of the earth.</p> + +<p>The peculiar beauty of most of the Italian conceptions of +Charity, is in the subjection of mere munificence to the glowing +of her love, always represented by flames; here in the +form of a cross round her head; in Oreagna’s shrine at Florence, +issuing from a censer in her hand; and, with Dante, +inflaming her whole form, so that, in a furnace of clear fire, +she could not have been discerned.</p> + +<p>Spenser represents her as a mother surrounded by happy +children, an idea afterwards grievously hackneyed and vulgarized +by English painters and sculptors.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXIII.</span> <i>Sixth side.</i> Justice. Crowned, and with sword. +Inscribed in the copy, “<span class="scs">REX SUM JUSTICIE.</span>”</p> + +<p>This idea was afterwards much amplified and adorned in +the only good capital of the Renaissance series, under the +Judgment angle. Giotto has also given his whole strength to +the painting of this virtue, representing her as enthroned +under a noble Gothic canopy, holding scales, not by the beam, +but one in each hand; a beautiful idea, showing that the +equality of the scales of Justice is not owing to natural laws, +but to her own immediate weighing the opposed causes in +her own hands. In one scale is an executioner beheading a +criminal; in the other an angel crowning a man who seems +(in Selvatico’s plate) to have been working at a desk or table.</p> + +<p>Beneath her feet is a small predella, representing various +persons riding securely in the woods, and others dancing to +the sound of music.</p> + +<p>Spenser’s Justice, Sir Artegall, is the hero of an entire +book, and the betrothed knight of Britomart, or chastity.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXIV.</span> <i>Seventh side.</i> Prudence. A man with a book +and a pair of compasses, wearing the noble cap, hanging down +towards the shoulder, and bound in a fillet round the brow, +which occurs so frequently during the fourteenth century in +Italy in the portraits of men occupied in any civil capacity.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page341"></a>341</span></p> + +<p>This virtue is, as we have seen, conceived under very different +degrees of dignity, from mere worldly prudence up to +heavenly wisdom, being opposed sometimes by Stultitia, sometimes +by Ignorantia. I do not find, in any of the representations +of her, that her truly distinctive character, namely, <i>forethought</i>, +is enough insisted upon: Giotto expresses her vigilance +and just measurement or estimate of all things by painting +her as Janus-headed, and gazing into a convex mirror, +with compasses in her right hand; the convex mirror showing +her power of looking at many things in small compass. But +forethought or anticipation, by which, independently of greater +or less natural capacities, one man becomes more <i>prudent</i> than +another, is never enough considered or symbolized.</p> + +<p>The idea of this virtue oscillates, in the Greek systems, +between Temperance and Heavenly Wisdom.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXV.</span> <i>Eighth side.</i> Hope. A figure full of devotional +expression, holding up its hands as in prayer, and looking to a +hand which is extended towards it out of sunbeams. In the +Renaissance copy this hand does not appear.</p> + +<p>Of all the virtues, this is the most distinctively Christian (it +could not, of course, enter definitely into any Pagan scheme); +and above all others, it seems to me the <i>testing</i> virtue,—that +by the possession of which we may most certainly determine +whether we are Christians or not; for many men have charity, +that is to say, general kindness of heart, or even a kind of +faith, who have not any habitual <i>hope</i> of, or longing for, +heaven. The Hope of Giotto is represented as winged, rising +in the air, while an angel holds a crown before her. I do not +know if Spenser was the first to introduce our marine virtue, +leaning on an anchor, a symbol as inaccurate as it is vulgar: +for, in the first place, anchors are not for men, but for ships; +and in the second, anchorage is the characteristic not of Hope, +but of Faith. Faith is dependent, but Hope is aspirant. +Spenser, however, introduces Hope twice,—the first time as +the Virtue with the anchor; but afterwards fallacious Hope, +far more beautifully, in the Masque of Cupid:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“She always smyld, and in her hand did hold</p> +<p>An holy-water sprinckle, dipt in deowe.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page342"></a>342</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXVI. Tenth Capital.</span> <i>First side.</i> Luxury (the opposite +of chastity, as above explained). A woman with a jewelled +chain across her forehead, smiling as she looks into a +mirror, exposing her breast by drawing down her dress with +one hand. Inscribed “<span class="scs">LUXURIA SUM IMENSA</span>.”</p> + +<p>These subordinate forms of vice are not met with so frequently +in art as those of the opposite virtues, but in Spenser +we find them all. His Luxury rides upon a goat:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“In a greene gowne he clothed was full faire,</p> +<p>Which underneath did hide his filthinesse,</p> +<p>And in his hand a burning hart he bare.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>But, in fact, the proper and comprehensive expression of +this vice is the Cupid of the ancients; and there is not any +minor circumstance more indicative of the <i>intense</i> difference +between the medićval and the Renaissance spirit, than the +mode in which this god is represented.</p> + +<p>I have above said, that all great European art is rooted in +the thirteenth century; and it seems to me that there is a +kind of central year about which we may consider the energy +of the middle ages to be gathered; a kind of focus of time +which, by what is to my mind a most touching and impressive +Divine appointment, has been marked for us by the greatest +writer of the middle ages, in the first words he utters; namely, +the year 1300, the “mezzo del cammin” of the life of Dante. +Now, therefore, to Giotto, the contemporary of Dante, and +who drew Dante’s still existing portrait in this very year, +1300, we may always look for the central medićval idea in +any subject: and observe how he represents Cupid; as one +of three, a terrible trinity, his companions being Satan and +Death; and he himself “a lean scarecrow, with bow, quiver, +and fillet, and feet ending in claws,”<a name="FnAnchor_155" href="#Footnote_155"><span class="sp">155</span></a> thrust down into Hell +by Penance, from the presence of Purity and Fortitude. +Spenser, who has been so often noticed as furnishing the exactly +intermediate type of conception between the medićval +and the Renaissance, indeed represents Cupid under the form +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page343"></a>343</span> +of a beautiful winged god, and riding on a lion, but still no +plaything of the Graces, but full of terror:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“With that the darts which his right hand did straine</p> +<p>Full dreadfully he shooke, that all did quake,</p> +<p>And clapt on hye his coloured winges twaine,</p> +<p>That all his many it afraide did make.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>His <i>many</i>, that is to say, his company; and observe what a +company it is. Before him go Fancy, Desire, Doubt, Danger, +Fear, Fallacious Hope, Dissemblance, Suspicion, Grief, Fury, +Displeasure, Despite, and Cruelty. After him, Reproach, Repentance, +Shame,</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“Unquiet Care, and fond Unthriftyhead,</p> +<p>Lewd Losse of Time, and Sorrow seeming dead,</p> +<p>Inconstant Chaunge, and false Disloyalty,</p> +<p>Consuming Riotise, and guilty Dread</p> +<p>Of heavenly vengeaunce; faint Infirmity,</p> +<p>Vile Poverty, and lastly Death with infamy.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>Compare these two pictures of Cupid with the Love-god of +the Renaissance, as he is represented to this day, confused +with angels, in every faded form of ornament and allegory, in +our furniture, our literature, and our minds.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXVII.</span> <i>Second side.</i> Gluttony. A woman in a turban, +with a jewelled cup in her right hand. In her left, the clawed +limb of a bird, which she is gnawing. Inscribed “<span class="scs">GULA SINE +ORDINE SUM</span>.”</p> + +<p>Spenser’s Gluttony is more than usually fine:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“His belly was upblowne with luxury,</p> +<p>And eke with fatnesse swollen were his eyne,</p> +<p>And like a crane his necke was long and fyne,</p> +<p>Wherewith he swallowed up excessive feast,</p> +<p>For want whereof poore people oft did pyne.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>He rides upon a swine, and is clad in vine-leaves, with a +garland of ivy. Compare the account of Excesse, above, as +opposed to Temperance.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXVIII.</span> <i>Third side.</i> Pride. A knight, with a heavy +and stupid face, holding a sword with three edges: his armor +covered with ornaments in the form of roses, and with two +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page344"></a>344</span> +ears attached to his helmet. The inscription indecipherable, +all but “<span class="scs">SUPERBIA</span>.”</p> + +<p>Spenser has analyzed this vice with great care. He first +represents it as the Pride of life; that is to say, the pride which +runs in a deep under current through all the thoughts and acts +of men. As such, it is a feminine vice, directly opposed to +Holiness, and mistress of a castle called the House of Pryde, +and her chariot is driven by Satan, with a team of beasts, +ridden by the mortal sins. In the throne chamber of her +palace she is thus described:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“So proud she shyned in her princely state,</p> +<p>Looking to Heaven, for Earth she did disdayne;</p> +<p>And sitting high, for lowly she did hate:</p> +<p>Lo, underneath her scornefull feete was layne</p> +<p>A dreadfull dragon with an hideous trayne;</p> +<p>And in her hand she held a mirrhour bright,</p> +<p>Wherein her face she often vewed fayne”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>The giant Orgoglio is a baser species of pride, born of the +Earth and Eolus; that is to say, of sensual and vain conceits. +His foster-father and the keeper of his castle is Ignorance. +(Book I. canto <span class="scs">VIII</span>.)</p> + +<p>Finally, Disdain is introduced, in other places, as the form +of pride which vents itself in insult to others.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXIX.</span> <i>Fourth side.</i> Anger. A woman tearing her dress +open at her breast. Inscription here undecipherable; but in +the Renaissance copy it is “<span class="scs">IRA CRUDELIS EST IN ME</span>.”</p> + +<p>Giotto represents this vice under the same symbol; but it +is the weakest of all the figures in the Arena Chapel. The +“Wrath” of Spenser rides upon a lion, brandishing a fire-brand, +his garments stained with blood. Rage, or Furor, +occurs subordinately in other places. It appears to me very +strange that neither Giotto nor Spenser should have given any +representation of the <i>restrained</i> Anger, which is infinitely the +most terrible; both of them make him violent.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XC.</span> <i>Fifth side.</i> Avarice. An old woman with a veil +over her forehead, and a bag of money in each hand. A figure +very marvellous for power of expression. The throat is all +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page345"></a>345</span> +made up of sinews with skinny channels deep between them, +strained as by anxiety, and wasted by famine; the features +hunger-bitten, the eyes hollow, the look glaring and intense, +yet without the slightest: caricature. Inscribed in the Renaissance +copy, “<span class="sc">avaritia impletor</span>.”</p> + +<p>Spenser’s Avarice (the vice) is much feebler than this; but +the god Mammon and his kingdom have been described by +him with his usual power. Note the position of the house of +Richesse:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“Betwixt them both was but a little stride,</p> +<p>That did the House of Richesse from Hell-mouth divide.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>It is curious that most moralists confuse avarice with +covetousness, although they are vices totally different in their +operation on the human heart, and on the frame of society. +The love of money, the sin of Judas and Ananias, is indeed +the root of all evil in the hardening of the heart; but “covetousness, +which is idolatry,” the sin of Ahab, that is, the inordinate +desire of some seen or recognized good,—thus destroying +peace of mind,—is probably productive of much more +misery in heart, and error in conduct, than avarice itself, only +covetousness is not so inconsistent with Christianity: for covetousness +may partly proceed from vividness of the affections +and hopes, as in David, and be consistent with, much charity; +not so avarice.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCI</span>. <i>Sixth side</i>. Idleness. Accidia. A figure much +broken away, having had its arms round two branches of trees.</p> + +<p>I do not know why Idleness should be represented as among +trees, unless, in the Italy of the fourteenth century, forest country +was considered as desert, and therefore the domain of Idleness. +Spenser fastens this vice especially upon the clergy,—</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“Upon a slouthfull asse he chose to ryde,</p> +<p>Arayd in habit blacke, and amis thin,</p> +<p>Like to an holy monck, the service to begin.</p> +<p>And in his hand his portesse still he bare,</p> +<p>That much was worne, but therein little redd.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>And he properly makes him the leader of the train of the vices:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“May seem the wayne was very evil ledd,</p> +<p>When such an one had guiding of the way”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page346"></a>346</span></p> + +<p>Observe that subtle touch of truth in the “wearing” of the +portesse, indicating the abuse of books by idle readers, so +thoroughly characteristic of unwilling studentship from the +schoolboy upwards.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCII</span>. <i>Seventh side.</i> Vanity. She is smiling complacently +as she looks into a mirror in her lap. Her robe is embroidered +with roses, and roses form her crown. Undecipherable.</p> + +<p>There is some confusion in the expression of this vice, +between pride in the personal appearance and lightness of +purpose. The word Vanitas generally, I think, bears, in the +medićval period, the sense given it in Scripture. “Let not +him that is deceived trust in Vanity, for Vanity shall be his +recompense.” “Vanity of Vanities.” “The Lord knoweth +the thoughts of the wise, that they are vain.” It is difficult +to find this sin,—which, after Pride, is the most universal, perhaps +the most fatal, of all, fretting the whole depth of our +humanity into storm “to waft a feather or to drown a fly,”—definitely +expressed in art. Even Spenser, I think, has only +partially expressed it under the figure of Phćdria, more +properly Idle Mirth, in the second book. The idea is, however, +entirely worked out in the Vanity Fair of the “Pilgrim’s +Progress.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCIII</span>. <i>Eighth side.</i> Envy. One of the noblest pieces of +expression in the series. She is pointing malignantly with her +finger; a serpent is wreathed about her head like a cap, another +forms the girdle of her waist, and a dragon rests in her +lap.</p> + +<p>Giotto has, however, represented her, with still greater +subtlety, as having her fingers terminating in claws, and raising +her right hand with an expression partly of impotent +regret, partly of involuntary grasping; a serpent, issuing from +her mouth, is about to bite her between the eyes; she has +long membranous ears, horns on her head, and flames consuming +her body. The Envy of Spenser is only inferior to that +of Giotto, because the idea of folly and quickness of hearing +is not suggested by the size of the ear: in other respects it is +even finer, joining the idea of fury, in the wolf on which he +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page347"></a>347</span> +rides, with that of corruption on his lips, and of discoloration +or distortion in the whole mind:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p><span style="padding-left: 7em; ">“Malicious Envy rode</span></p> +<p>Upon a ravenous wolfe, and still did chaw</p> +<p>Between his cankred teeth a venemous tode,</p> +<p>That all the poison ran about his jaw.</p> +<p><i>All in a kirtle of discolourd say</i></p> +<p><i>He clothed was, ypaynted full of eies,</i></p> +<p>And in his bosome secretly there lay</p> +<p>An hatefull snake, the which his taile uptyes</p> +<p>In many folds, and mortall sting implyes.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>He has developed the idea in more detail, and still more +loathsomely, in the twelfth canto of the fifth book.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCIV</span>. <span class="sc">Eleventh Capital</span>. Its decoration is composed +of eight birds, arranged as shown in Plate V. of the “Seven +Lamps,” which, however, was sketched from the Renaissance +copy. These birds are all varied in form and action, but not +so as to require special description.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCV</span>. <span class="sc">Twelfth Capital</span>. This has been very interesting, +but is grievously defaced, four of its figures being entirely +broken away, and the character of two others quite undecipherable. +It is fortunate that it has been copied in the thirty-third +capital of the Renaissance series, from which we are able +to identify the lost figures.</p> + +<p><i>First side.</i> Misery. A man with a wan face, seemingly +pleading with a child who has its hands crossed on its breast. +There is a buckle at his own breast in the shape of a cloven +heart. Inscribed “<span class="scs">MISERIA</span>.”</p> + +<p>The intention of this figure is not altogether apparent, as it +is by no means treated as a vice; the distress seeming real, +and like that of a parent in poverty mourning over his child. +Yet it seems placed here as in direct opposition to the virtue +of Cheerfulness, which follows next in order; rather, however, +I believe, with the intention of illustrating human life, than +the character of the vice which, as we have seen, Dante placed +in the circle of hell. The word in that case would, I think, +have been “Tristitia,” the “unholy Griefe” of Spenser—</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page348"></a>348</span></p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p><span style="padding-left: 4em; ">“All in sable sorrowfully clad,</span></p> +<p>Downe hanging his dull head with heavy chere:</p> + +<p style="letter-spacing: 2em; font-size: 150%; ">........</p> + +<p>A pair of pincers in his hand he had,</p> +<p>With which he pinched people to the heart.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>He has farther amplified the idea under another figure in +the fifth canto of the fourth book:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“His name was Care; a blacksmith by his trade,</p> +<p>That neither day nor night from working spared;</p> +<p>But to small purpose yron wedges made:</p> +<p>Those be unquiet thoughts that carefull minds invade.</p> +<p>Rude was his garment, and to rags all rent,</p> +<p>Ne better had he, ne for better cared;</p> +<p>With blistered hands among the cinders brent.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>It is to be noticed, however, that in the Renaissance copy +this figure is stated to be, not Miseria, but “Misericordia.” +The contraction is a very moderate one, Misericordia being in +old MS. written always as “Mia.” If this reading be right, +the figure is placed here rather as the companion, than the +opposite, of Cheerfulness; unless, indeed, it is intended to unite +the idea of Mercy and Compassion with that of Sacred Sorrow.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCVI</span>. <i>Second side.</i> Cheerfulness. A woman with long +flowing hair, crowned with roses, playing on a tambourine, +and with open lips, as singing. Inscribed “<span class="sc">alacritas</span>.”</p> + +<p>We have already met with this virtue among those especially +set by Spenser to attend on Womanhood. It is inscribed +in the Renaissance copy, “<span class="scs">ALACHRITAS CHANIT MECUM</span>.” Note +the gutturals of the rich and fully developed Venetian dialect +now affecting the Latin, which is free from them in the earlier +capitals.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCVII</span>. <i>Third side.</i> Destroyed; but, from the copy, we +find it has been Stultitia, Folly; and it is there represented +simply as a man <i>riding</i>, a sculpture worth the consideration +of the English residents who bring their horses to Venice. +Giotto gives Stultitia a feather, cap, and club. In early manuscripts +he is always eating with one hand, and striking with +the other; in later ones he has a cap and bells, or cap crested +with a cock’s head, whence the word “coxcomb.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page349"></a>349</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCVIII</span>. <i>Fourth side.</i> Destroyed, all but a book, which +identifies it with the “Celestial Chastity” of the Renaissance +copy; there represented as a woman pointing to a book (connecting +the convent life with the pursuit of literature?).</p> + +<p>Spenser’s Chastity, Britomart, is the most exquisitely +wrought of all his characters; but, as before noticed, she is +not the Chastity of the convent, but of wedded life.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCIX</span>. <i>Fifth side.</i> Only a scroll is left; but, from the +copy, we find it has been Honesty or Truth. Inscribed “<span class="scs">HONESTATEM +DILIGO</span>.” It is very curious, that among all the Christian +systems of the virtues which we have examined, we should +find this one in Venice only.</p> + +<p>The Truth of Spenser, Una, is, after Chastity, the most +exquisite character in the “Faerie Queen.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">C</span>. <i>Sixth side.</i> Falsehood. An old woman leaning on +a crutch; and inscribed in the copy, “<span class="scs">FALSITAS IN ME SEMPER +EST</span>.” The Fidessa of Spenser, the great enemy of Una, or +Truth, is far more subtly conceived, probably not without +special reference to the Papal deceits. In her true form she +is a loathsome hag, but in her outward aspect,</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“A goodly lady, clad in scarlot red,</p> +<p>Purfled with gold and pearle;...</p> +<p>Her wanton palfrey all was overspred</p> +<p>With tinsell trappings, woven like a wave,</p> +<p>Whose bridle rung with golden bels and bosses brave.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>Dante’s Fraud, Geryon, is the finest personification of all, +but the description (Inferno, canto <span class="scs">XVII</span>.) is too long to be +quoted.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CI</span>. <i>Seventh side.</i> Injustice. An armed figure holding +a halbert; so also in the copy. The figure used by Giotto +with the particular intention of representing unjust government, +is represented at the gate of an embattled castle in a +forest, between rocks, while various deeds of violence are committed +at his feet. Spenser’s “Adicia” is a furious hag, at +last transformed into a tiger.</p> + +<p><i>Eighth side.</i> A man with a dagger looking sorrowfully at +a child, who turns its back to him. I cannot understand this +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page350"></a>350</span> +figure. It is inscribed in the copy, “<span class="scs">ASTINECIA</span> (Abstinentia?) +<span class="scs">OPITIMA</span>.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CII.</span> Thirteenth Capital. It has lions’ heads all round, +coarsely cut.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Fourteenth Capital.</span> It has various animals, each sitting +on its haunches. Three dogs, one a greyhound, one long-haired, +one short-haired with bells about its neck; two +monkeys, one with fan-shaped hair projecting on each side +of its face; a noble boar, with its tusks, hoofs, and bristles +sharply cut; and a lion and lioness.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CIII.</span> <span class="sc">Fifteenth Capital.</span> The pillar to which it belongs is +thicker than the rest, as well as the one over it in the upper arcade.</p> + +<p>The sculpture of this capital is also much coarser, and seems +to me later than that of the rest; and it has no inscription, +which is embarrassing, as its subjects have had much meaning; +but I believe Selvatico is right in supposing it to have been +intended for a general illustration of Idleness.</p> + +<p><i>First side.</i> A woman with a distaff; her girdle richly +decorated, and fastened by a buckle.</p> + +<p><i>Second side.</i> A youth in a long mantle, with a rose in his hand.</p> + +<p><i>Third side.</i> A woman in a turban stroking a puppy which +she holds by the haunches.</p> + +<p><i>Fourth side.</i> A man with a parrot.</p> + +<p><i>Fifth side.</i> A woman in very rich costume, with braided +hair, and dress thrown into minute folds, holding a rosary(?) +in her left hand, her right on her breast.</p> + +<p><i>Sixth side.</i> A man with a very thoughtful face, laying his +hand upon the leaves of the capital.</p> + +<p><i>Seventh side.</i> A crowned lady, with a rose in her hand.</p> + +<p><i>Eighth side.</i> A boy with a ball in his left hand, and his +right laid on his breast.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CIV.</span> <span class="sc">Sixteenth Capital.</span> It is decorated with eight +large heads, partly intended to be grotesque,<a name="FnAnchor_156" href="#Footnote_156"><span class="sp">156</span></a> and very coarse +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page351"></a>351</span> +and bad, except only that in the sixth side, which is totally different +from all the rest, and looks like a portrait. It is thin, +thoughtful, and dignified; thoroughly fine in every way. It +wears a cap surmounted by two winged lions; and, therefore, +I think Selvatico must have inaccurately written the list given +in the note, for this head is certainly meant to express the +superiority of the Venetian character over that of other +nations. Nothing is more remarkable in all early sculpture, +than its appreciation of the signs of dignity of character in +the features, and the way in which it can exalt the principal +figure in any subject by a few touches.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CV.</span> <span class="sc">Seventeenth Capital</span>. This has been so destroyed +by the sea wind, which sweeps at this point of the arcade +round the angle of the palace, that its inscriptions are no +longer legible, and great part of its figures are gone. Selvatico +states them as follows: Solomon, the wise; Priscian, +the grammarian; Aristotle, the logician; Tully, the orator; +Pythagoras, the philosopher; Archimedes, the mechanic; Orpheus, +the musician; Ptolemy, the astronomer. The fragments +actually remaining are the following:</p> + +<p><i>First side.</i> A figure with two books, in a robe richly +decorated with circles of roses. Inscribed “<span class="scs">SALOMON (SAP)IENS.”</span></p> + +<p><i>Second side.</i> A man with one book, poring over it: he +has had a long stick or reed in his hand. Of inscription only +the letters “<span class="scs">GRAMMATIC</span>” remain.</p> + +<p><i>Third side.</i> “<span class="scs">ARISTOTLE:</span>” so inscribed. He has a peaked +double beard and a flat cap, from under which his long hair +falls down his back.</p> + +<p><i>Fourth side.</i> Destroyed.</p> + +<p><i>Fifth side.</i> Destroyed, all but a board with three (counters?) +on it.</p> + +<p><i>Sixth side.</i> A figure with compasses. Inscribed “<span class="scs">GEOMET * *</span>”</p> + +<p><i>Seventh side.</i> Nothing is left but a guitar with its handle +wrought into a lion’s head.</p> + +<p><i>Eighth side.</i> Destroyed.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page352"></a>352</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CVI.</span> We have now arrived at the <span class="sc">Eighteenth Capital</span>, +the most interesting and beautiful of the palace. It represents +the planets, and the sun and moon, in those divisions of +the zodiac known to astrologers as their “houses;” and perhaps +indicates, by the position in which they are placed, the +period of the year at which this great corner-stone was laid. +The inscriptions above have been in quaint Latin rhyme, but +are now decipherable only in fragments, and that with the +more difficulty because the rusty iron bar that binds the +abacus has broken away, in its expansion, nearly all the upper +portions of the stone, and with them the signs of contraction, +which are of great importance. I shall give the fragments of +them that I could decipher; first as the letters actually stand +(putting those of which I am doubtful in brackets, with a +note of interrogation), and then as I would read them.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CVII.</span> It should be premised that, in modern astrology, +the houses of the planets are thus arranged:</p> + +<table class="nobctr" width="90%" summary="data"> + +<tr> <td class="tc1" style="width: 6em; ">The house of</td> + <td class="tc1" style="width: 2em; ">the</td> + <td class="tc5" style="width: 5em; ">Sun,</td> + <td class="tc1">is</td> + <td class="tc5">Leo.</td></tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc1"> </td> + <td class="tc5">Moon,</td> + <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Cancer.</td></tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc1">of</td> + <td class="tc5">Mars,</td> + <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Aries and Scorpio.</td></tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc1"> </td> + <td class="tc5">Venus,</td> + <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Taurus and Libra.</td></tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc1"> </td> + <td class="tc5">Mercury,</td> + <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Gemini and Virgo.</td></tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc1"> </td> + <td class="tc5">Jupiter,</td> + <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Sagittarius and Pisces.</td></tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc1"> </td> + <td class="tc5">Saturn,</td> + <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Capricorn.</td></tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc1"> </td> + <td class="tc5">Herschel,</td> + <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc5">Aquarius.</td></tr> +</table> + +<p>The Herschel planet being of course unknown to the old +astrologers, we have only the other six planetary powers, +together with the sun; and Aquarius is assigned to Saturn +as his house. I could not find Capricorn at all; but this sign +may have been broken away, as the whole capital is grievously +defaced. The eighth side of the capital, which the Herschel +planet would now have occupied, bears a sculpture of the Creation +of Man: it is the most conspicuous side, the one set diagonally +across the angle; or the eighth in our usual mode of +reading the capitals, from which I shall not depart.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CVIII.</span> <i>The first side</i>, then, or that towards the Sea, has +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page353"></a>353</span> +Aquarius, as the house of Saturn, represented as a seated +figure beautifully draped, pouring a stream of water out of an +amphora over the leaves of the capital. His inscription is:</p> + +<p class="centerf">“<span class="scs">ET SATURNE DOMUS (ECLOCERUNT?) 1<span class="sp">s</span> 7BRE.</span>”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CIX.</span> <i>Second side.</i> Jupiter, in his houses Sagittarius +and Pisces, represented throned, with an upper dress disposed +in radiating folds about his neck, and hanging down upon his +breast, ornamented by small pendent trefoiled studs or bosses. +He wears the drooping bonnet and long gloves; but the folds +about the neck, shot forth to express the rays of the star, are +the most remarkable characteristic of the figure. He raises +his sceptre in his left hand over Sagittarius, represented as the +centaur Chiron; and holds two thunnies in his right. Something +rough, like a third fish, has been broken away below +them; the more easily because this part of the group is +entirely undercut, and the two fish glitter in the light, relieved +on the deep gloom below the leaves. The inscription is:</p> + +<p class="centerf">“<span class="scs">INDE JOVI’<a name="FnAnchor_157" href="#Footnote_157"><span class="sp">157</span></a> DONA PISES SIMUL ATQ<span class="sp">s</span> CIRONA.</span>”</p> + +<p class="noind">Or,</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“Inde Jovis dona</p> +<p>Pisces simul atque Chirona.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p class="noind">Domus is, I suppose, to be understood before Jovis: “Then +the house of Jupiter gives (or governs?) the fishes and +Chiron.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CX.</span> <i>Third side.</i> Mars, in his houses Aries and Scorpio. +Represented as a very ugly knight in chain mail, seated +sideways on the ram, whose horns are broken away, and having +a large scorpion in his left hand, whose tail is broken also, to +the infinite injury of the group, for it seems to have curled +across to the angle leaf, and formed a bright line of light, like +the fish in the hand of Jupiter. The knight carries a shield, +on which fire and water are sculptured, and bears a banner +upon his lance, with the word “<span class="scs">DEFEROSUM</span>,” which puzzled +me for some time. It should be read, I believe, “De ferro +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page354"></a>354</span> +sum;” which would be good <i>Venetian</i> Latin for “I am of +iron.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXI</span>. <i>Fourth side.</i> The Sun, in his house Leo. Represented +under the figure of Apollo, sitting on the Lion, with +rays shooting from his head, and the world in his hand. +The inscription:</p> + +<p class="centerf">“<span class="scs">TU ES DOMU’ SOLIS (QUO *?) SIGNE LEONI.”</span></p> + +<p>I believe the first phrase is, “Tunc est Domus solis;” but +there is a letter gone after the “quo,” and I have no idea +what case of signum “signe” stands for.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXII</span>. <i>Fifth side.</i> Venus, in her houses Taurus and Libra. +The most beautiful figure of the series. She sits upon the +bull, who is deep in the dewlap, and better cut than most of +the animals, holding a mirror in her right hand, and the scales +in her left. Her breast is very nobly and tenderly indicated +under the folds of her drapery, which is exquisitely studied in +its fall. What is left of the inscription, runs:</p> + +<p class="centerf"><span class="scs">“LIBRA CUM TAURO DOMUS</span> * * * <span class="scs">PURIOR AUR</span> *.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXIII</span>. <i>Sixth side.</i> Mercury, represented as wearing a +pendent cap, and holding a book: he is supported by three +children in reclining attitudes, representing his houses Gemini +and Virgo. But I cannot understand the inscription, though +more than usually legible.</p> + +<p class="centerf"><span class="scs">“OCCUPAT ERIGONE STIBONS GEMINUQ’ LACONE.”</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXIV</span>. <i>Seventh side.</i> The Moon, in her house Cancer. +This sculpture, which is turned towards the Piazzetta, is the +most picturesque of the series. The moon is represented as a +woman in a boat, upon the sea, who raises the crescent in her +right hand, and with her left draws a crab out of the waves, +up the boat’s side. The moon was, I believe, represented in +Egyptian sculptures as in a boat; but I rather think the Venetian +was not aware of this, and that he meant to express the +peculiar sweetness of the moonlight at Venice, as seen across +the lagoons. Whether this was intended by putting the planet +in the boat, may be questionable, but assuredly the idea was +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page355"></a>355</span> +meant to be conveyed by the dress of the figure. For all the +draperies of the other figures on this capital, as well as on the +rest of the façade, are disposed in severe but full folds, showing +little of the forms beneath them; but the moon’s drapery +<i>ripples</i> down to her feet, so as exactly to suggest the trembling +of the moonlight on the waves. This beautiful idea is highly +characteristic of the thoughtfulness of the early sculptors: five +hundred men may be now found who could have cut the +drapery, as such, far better, for one who would have disposed +its folds with this intention. The inscription is:</p> + +<p class="centerf">“<span class="scs">LUNE CANCER DOMU T. PBET IORBE SIGNORU.</span>”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXV.</span> <i>Eighth side.</i> God creating Man. Represented as a +throned figure, with a glory round the head, laying his left +hand on the head of a naked youth, and sustaining him with +his right hand. The inscription puzzled me for a long time; +but except the lost r and m of “formavit,” and a letter +quite undefaced, but to me unintelligible, before the word +Eva, in the shape of a figure of 7, I have safely ascertained +the rest.</p> + +<p class="centerf">“<span class="scs">DELIMO DSADA DECO STAFO * * AVIT7EVA.</span>”</p> + +<p class="noind">Or</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p><span style="padding-left: 1em; ">“De limo Dominus Adam, de costa fo(rm) avit Evam;”</span></p> +<p>From the dust the Lord made Adam, and from the rib Eve.</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p class="noind">I imagine the whole of this capital, therefore—the principal +one of the old palace,—to have been intended to signify, first, +the formation of the planets for the service of man upon the +earth; secondly, the entire subjection of the fates and fortune +of man to the will of God, as determined from the time when +the earth and stars were made, and, in fact, written in the +volume of the stars themselves.</p> + +<p>Thus interpreted, the doctrines of judicial astrology were +not only consistent with, but an aid to, the most spiritual and +humble Christianity.</p> + +<p>In the workmanship and grouping of its foliage, this capital +is, on the whole, the finest I know in Europe. The sculptor +has put his whole strength into it. I trust that it will appear +among the other Venetian casts lately taken for the Crystal +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page356"></a>356</span> +Palace; but if not, I have myself cast all its figures, and two +of its leaves, and I intend to give drawings of them on a large +scale in my folio work.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXVI</span>. <span class="sc">Nineteenth Capital</span>. This is, of course, the second +counting from the Sea, on the Piazzetta side of the palace, calling +that of the Fig-tree angle the first.</p> + +<p>It is the most important capital, as a piece of evidence in +point of dates, in the whole palace. Great pains have been +taken with it, and in some portion of the accompanying furniture +or ornaments of each of its figures a small piece of +colored marble has been inlaid, with peculiar significance: +for the capital represents the <i>arts of sculpture and architecture</i>; +and the inlaying of the colored stones (which are far +too small to be effective at a distance, and are found in this +one capital only of the whole series) is merely an expression +of the architect’s feeling of the essential importance of this art +of inlaying, and of the value of color generally in his own art.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXVII</span>. <i>First side.</i> “<span class="scs">ST. SIMPLICIUS</span>”: so inscribed. A +figure working with a pointed chisel on a small oblong block +of green serpentine, about four inches long by one wide, inlaid +in the capital. The chisel is, of course, in the left hand, but +the right is held up open, with the palm outwards.</p> + +<p><i>Second side.</i> A crowned figure, carving the image of a +child on a small statue, with a ground of red marble. The +sculptured figure is highly finished, and is in type of head +much like the Ham or Japheth at the Vine angle. Inscription +effaced.</p> + +<p><i>Third side.</i> An old man, uncrowned, but with curling +hair, at work on a small column, with its capital complete, and +a little shaft of dark red marble, spotted with paler red. The +capital is precisely of the form of that found in the palace of +the Tiepolos and the other thirteenth century work of Venice. +This one figure would be quite enough, without any other +evidence whatever, to determine the date of this flank of the +Ducal Palace as not later, at all events, than the first half of +the fourteenth century. Its inscription is broken away, all but +“<span class="scs">DISIPULO</span>.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page357"></a>357</span></p> + +<p><i>Fourth side.</i> A crowned figure; but the object on which +it has been working is broken away, and all the inscription except +“<span class="scs">ST. E(N?)AS</span>.”</p> + +<p><i>Fifth side.</i> A man with a turban, and a sharp chisel, at +work on a kind of panel or niche, the back of which is of red +marble.</p> + +<p><i>Sixth side.</i> A crowned figure, with hammer and chisel, +employed <i>on a little range of windows of the fifth order</i>, having +roses set, instead of orbicular ornaments, between the spandrils, +with a rich cornice, and a band of marble inserted above. +This sculpture assures us of the date of the fifth order window, +which it shows to have been universal in the early fourteenth +century.</p> + +<p>There are also five arches in the block on which the sculptor +is working, marking the frequency of the number five in the +window groups of the time.</p> + +<p><i>Seventh side.</i> A figure at work on a pilaster, with Lombardic +thirteenth century capital (for account of the series of forms in +Venetian capitals, see the final Appendix of the next volume), +the shaft of dark red spotted marble.</p> + +<p><i>Eighth side.</i> A figure with a rich open crown, working on +a delicate recumbent statue, the head of which is laid on a +pillow covered with a rich chequer pattern; the whole supported +on a block of dark red marble. Inscription broken away, all +but “<span class="scs">ST. SYM</span>. (Symmachus?) <span class="scs">TV</span> * * <span class="scs">ANVS</span>.” There appear, +therefore, altogether to have been five saints, two of them +popes, if Simplicius is the pope of that name (three in front, +two on the fourth and sixth sides), alternating with the three +uncrowned workmen in the manual labor of sculpture. I did +not, therefore, insult our present architects in saying above +that they “ought to work in the mason’s yard with their men.” +It would be difficult to find a more interesting expression of +the devotional spirit in which all great work was undertaken at +this time.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXVIII</span>. <span class="sc">Twentieth Capital</span>. It is adorned with heads of +animals, and is the finest of the whole series in the broad massiveness +of its effect; so simply characteristic, indeed, of the grandeur +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page358"></a>358</span> +of style in the entire building, that I chose it for the first +Plate in my folio work. In spite of the sternness of its plan, +however, it is wrought with great care in surface detail; and the +ornamental value of the minute chasing obtained by the delicate +plumage of the birds, and the clustered bees on the honeycomb +in the bear’s mouth, opposed to the strong simplicity of +its general form, cannot be too much admired. There are also +more grace, life, and variety in the sprays of foliage on each +side of it, and under the heads, than in any other capital of the +series, though the earliness of the workmanship is marked by +considerable hardness and coldness in the larger heads. A +Northern Gothic workman, better acquainted with bears and +wolves than it was possible to become in St. Mark’s Place, +would have put far more life into these heads, but he could not +have composed them more skilfully.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXIX</span>. <i>First side.</i> A lion with a stag’s haunch in his +mouth. Those readers who have the folio plate, should observe +the peculiar way in which the ear is cut into the shape of a +ring, jagged or furrowed on the edge; an archaic mode of +treatment peculiar, in the Ducal Palace, to the lions’ heads of +the fourteenth century. The moment we reach the Renaissance +work, the lions’ ears are smooth. Inscribed simply, “<span class="scs">LEO</span>.”</p> + +<p><i>Second side.</i> A wolf with a dead bird in his mouth, its +body wonderfully true in expression of the passiveness of +death. The feathers are each wrought with a central quill and +radiating filaments. Inscribed “<span class="scs">LUPUS</span>.”</p> + +<p><i>Third side.</i> A fox, not at all like one, with a dead cock in +his mouth, its comb and pendent neck admirably designed so as +to fall across the great angle leaf of the capital, its tail hanging +down on the other side, its long straight feathers exquisitely +cut. Inscribed “(<span class="scs">VULP</span>?)<span class="sc">is</span>.”</p> + +<p><i>Fourth side.</i> Entirely broken away.</p> + +<p><i>Fifth side</i>. “<span class="scs">APER.</span>” Well tusked, with a head of maize +in his mouth; at least I suppose it to be maize, though shaped +like a pine-cone.</p> + +<p><i>Sixth side.</i> “<span class="scs">CHANIS</span>.” With a bone, very ill cut; and a +bald-headed species of dog, with ugly flap ears.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page359"></a>359</span></p> + +<p><i>Seventh side.</i> “<span class="scs">MUSCIPULUS</span>.” With a rat (?) in his mouth.</p> + +<p><i>Eighth side.</i> “<span class="scs">URSUS</span>.” With a honeycomb, covered with +large bees.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXX</span>. <span class="sc">Twenty-first Capital</span>. Represents the principal +inferior professions.</p> + +<p><i>First side.</i> An old man, with his brow deeply wrinkled, +and very expressive features, beating in a kind of mortar with +a hammer. Inscribed “<span class="scs">LAPICIDA SUM</span>.”</p> + +<p><i>Second side.</i> I believe, a goldsmith; he is striking a small +flat bowl or patera, on a pointed anvil, with a light hammer. +The inscription is gone.</p> + +<p><i>Third side.</i> A shoemaker with a shoe in his hand, and an +instrument for cutting leather suspended beside him. Inscription +undecipherable.</p> + +<p><i>Fourth side.</i> Much broken. A carpenter planing a beam +resting on two horizontal logs. Inscribed “<span class="scs">CARPENTARIUS SUM</span>.”</p> + +<p><i>Fifth side.</i> A figure shovelling fruit into a tub; the latter +very carefully carved from what appears to have been an excellent +piece of cooperage. Two thin laths cross each other over +the top of it. The inscription, now lost, was, according to Selvatico, +“<span class="scs">MENSURATOR</span>”?</p> + +<p><i>Sixth side.</i> A man, with a large hoe, breaking the ground, +which lies in irregular furrows and clods before him. Now +undecipherable, but according to Selvatico, “<span class="scs">AGRICHOLA</span>.”</p> + +<p><i>Seventh side.</i> A man, in a pendent cap, writing on a large +scroll which falls over his knee. Inscribed “<span class="scs">NOTARIUS +SUM</span>.”</p> + +<p><i>Eighth side.</i> A man forging a sword, or scythe-blade: he +wears a large skull-cap; beats with a large hammer on a solid +anvil; and is inscribed “<span class="scs">FABER SUM</span>.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXXI</span>. <span class="sc">Twenty-second Capital</span>. The Ages of Man; and +the influence of the planets on human life.</p> + +<p><i>First side.</i> The moon, governing infancy for four years, +according to Selvatico. I have no note of this side, having, I +suppose, been prevented from raising the ladder against it by +some fruit-stall or other impediment in the regular course of +my examination; and then forgotten to return to it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page360"></a>360</span></p> + +<p><i>Second side.</i> A child with a tablet, and an alphabet inscribed +on it. The legend above is</p> + +<p class="centerf">“<span class="scs">MECUREU<span class="sp">s</span> <span class="uscore">D</span>NT. PUERICIE PAN. X.</span>”</p> + +<p class="noind">Or, “Mercurius dominatur pueritić per annos X.” (Selvatico +reads VII.) “Mercury governs boyhood for ten (or seven) +years.”</p> + +<p><i>Third side.</i> An older youth, with another tablet, but broken. +Inscribed</p> + +<p class="centerf">“<span class="scs">ADOLOSCENCIE * * * P. AN. VII.</span>”</p> + +<p>Selvatico misses this side altogether, as I did the first, so +that the lost planet is irrecoverable, as the inscription is now +defaced. Note the o for e in adolescentia; so also we constantly +find u for o; showing, together with much other incontestable +evidence of the same kind, how full and deep the +old pronunciation of Latin always remained, and how ridiculous +our English mincing of the vowels would have sounded +to a Roman ear.</p> + +<p><i>Fourth side.</i> A youth with a hawk on his fist.</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p><span style="padding-left: 1em; "><span class="scs">“IUVENTUTI <span class="uscore">D</span>N<span class="uscore">T</span> SOL. P. AN. XIX.”</span></span></p> +<p>The son governs youth for nineteen years.</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p><i>Fifth side.</i> A man sitting, helmed, with a sword over his +shoulder. Inscribed</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p><span style="padding-left: 1em; "><span class="scs">“SENECTUTI <span class="uscore">D</span>NT MARS. P. AN. XV.”</span></span></p> +<p>Mars governs manhood for fifteen years.</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p><i>Sixth side.</i> A very graceful and serene figure, in the pendent +cap, reading.</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03"><span class="scs">“SENICIE <span class="uscore">D</span>N<span class="uscore">T</span> JUPITER, P. ANN. XII.”</span></p> +<p>Jupiter governs age for twelve years.</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p><i>Seventh side.</i> An old man in a skull-cap, praying.</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p><span class="scs">“DECREPITE <span class="uscore">D</span>N<span class="uscore">T</span> SAT<span class="uscore">N</span> U<span class="uscore">Q</span><span class="sp">s</span> ADM<span class="uscore">O</span>T<span class="uscore">E</span>.”</span> (Saturnus usque ad mortem.)</p> +<p><span style="padding-left: 6em; ">Saturn governs decrepitude until death.</span></p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p><i>Eighth side.</i> The dead body lying on a mattress.</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p><span class="scs" style="padding-left: 1em; ">“ULTIMA EST MORS PENA PECCATI.”</span></p> +<p>Last comes death, the penalty of sin.</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page361"></a>361</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXXII</span>. Shakspeare’s Seven Ages are of course merely the +expression of this early and well known system. He has deprived +the dotage of its devotion; but I think wisely, as the +Italian system would imply that devotion was, or should be, +always delayed until dotage.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Twenty-third Capital</span>. I agree with Selvatico in thinking +this has been restored. It is decorated with large and vulgar +heads.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXXIII.</span> <span class="sc">Twenty-fourth Capital</span>. This belongs to the +large shaft which sustains the great party wall of the Sala del +Gran Consiglio. The shaft is thicker than the rest; but the +capital, though ancient, is coarse and somewhat inferior in +design to the others of the series. It represents the history +of marriage: the lover first seeing his mistress at a window, +then addressing her, bringing her presents; then the bridal, +the birth and the death of a child. But I have not been able +to examine these sculptures properly, because the pillar is +encumbered by the railing which surrounds the two guns set +before the Austrian guard-house.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXXIV.</span> <span class="sc">Twenty-fifth Capital</span>. We have here the employments +of the months, with which we are already tolerably +acquainted. There are, however, one or two varieties worth +noticing in this series.</p> + +<p><i>First side.</i> March. Sitting triumphantly in a rich dress, as +the beginning of the year.</p> + +<p><i>Second side.</i> April and May. April with a lamb: May +with a feather fan in her hand.</p> + +<p><i>Third side.</i> June. Carrying cherries in a basket.</p> + +<p>I did not give this series with the others in the previous +chapter, because this representation of June is peculiarly +Venetian. It is called “the month of cherries,” mese delle +ceriese, in the popular rhyme on the conspiracy of Tiepolo, +quoted above, Vol. I.</p> + +<p>The cherries principally grown near Venice are of a deep +red color, and large, but not of high flavor, though refreshing. +They are carved upon the pillar with great care, all their stalks +undercut.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page362"></a>362</span></p> + +<p><i>Fourth side.</i> July and August. The first reaping; the +<i>leaves</i> of the straw being given, shooting out from the tubular +stalk. August, opposite, beats (the grain?) in a basket.</p> + +<p><i>Fifth side.</i> September. A woman standing in a wine-tub, +and holding a branch of vine. Very beautiful.</p> + +<p><i>Sixth side.</i> October and November. I could not make +out their occupation; they seem to be roasting or boiling some +root over a fire.</p> + +<p><i>Seventh side.</i> December. Killing pigs, as usual.</p> + +<p><i>Eighth side.</i> January warming his feet, and February +frying fish. This last employment is again as characteristic +of the Venetian winter as the cherries are of the Venetian +summer.</p> + +<p>The inscriptions are undecipherable, except a few letters +here and there, and the words <span class="scs">MARCIUS</span>, <span class="scs">APRILIS</span>, and <span class="scs">FEBRUARIUS</span>.</p> + +<p>This is the last of the capitals of the early palace; the next, +or twenty-sixth capital, is the first of those executed in the +fifteenth century under Foscari; and hence to the Judgment +angle the traveller has nothing to do but to compare the base +copies of the earlier work with their originals, or to observe +the total want of invention in the Renaissance sculptor, wherever +he has depended on his own resources. This, however, +always with the exception of the twenty-seventh and of the +last capital, which are both fine.</p> + +<p>I shall merely enumerate the subjects and point out the +plagiarisms of these capitals, as they are not worth description.</p> + +<p>§ CXXV. <span class="sc">Twenty-sixth Capital</span>. Copied from the fifteenth, +merely changing the succession of the figures.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Twenty-seventh Capital</span>. I think it possible that this +may be part of the old work displaced in joining the new +palace with the old; at all events, it is well designed, though +a little coarse. It represents eight different kinds of fruit, +each in a basket; the characters well given, and groups well +arranged, but without much care or finish. The names are +inscribed above, though somewhat unnecessarily, and with +certainly as much disrespect to the beholder’s intelligence as +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page363"></a>363</span> +the sculptor’s art, namely, <span class="scs">ZEREXIS</span>, <span class="scs">PIRI</span>, <span class="scs">CHUCUMERIS</span>, <span class="scs">PERSICI</span>, +<span class="scs">ZUCHE</span>, <span class="scs">MOLONI</span>, <span class="scs">FICI</span>, <span class="scs">HUVA</span>. Zerexis (cherries) and Zuche +(gourds) both begin with the same letter, whether meant for +z, s, or c I am not sure. The Zuche are the common gourds, +divided into two protuberances, one larger than the other, +like a bottle compresed near the neck; and the Moloni are +the long water-melons, which, roasted, form a staple food of +the Venetians to this day.</p> + +<p>§ CXXVI. <span class="sc">Twenty-eighth Capital</span>. Copied from the seventh.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Twenty-ninth Capital</span>. Copied from the ninth.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Thirtieth Capital</span>. Copied from the tenth. The +“Accidia” is noticeable as having the inscription complete, +“<span class="scs">ACCIDIA ME STRINGIT</span>;” and the “Luxuria” for its utter want +of expression, having a severe and calm face, a robe up to the +neck, and her hand upon her breast. The inscription is also +different: “<span class="sc">luxuria sum sterc<span class="sp">s</span></span> (?) <span class="sc">inferi</span>” (?).</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Thirty-first Capital</span>. Copied from the eighth.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Thirty-second Capital</span>. Has no inscription, only fully +robed figures laying their hands, without any meaning, on their +own shoulders, heads, or chins, or on the leaves around them.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Thirty-third Capital</span>. Copied from the twelfth.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Thirty-fourth Capital</span>. Copied from the eleventh.</p> + +<p><span class="sc">Thirty-fifth Capital</span>. Has children, with birds or fruit, +pretty in features, and utterly inexpressive, like the cherubs +of the eighteenth century.</p> + +<p>§ CXXVII. <span class="sc">Thirty-sixth Capital</span>. This is the last of the +Piazzetta façade, the elaborate one under the Judgment angle. +Its foliage is copied from the eighteenth at the opposite side, +with an endeavor on the part of the Renaissance sculptor to +refine upon it, by which he has merely lost some of its truth +and force. This capital will, however, be always thought, at +first, the most beautiful of the whole series: and indeed it is +very noble; its groups of figures most carefully studied, very +graceful, and much more pleasing than those of the earlier +work, though with less real power in them; and its foliage is +only inferior to that of the magnificent Fig-tree angle. It +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page364"></a>364</span> +represents, on its front or first side, Justice enthroned, seated +on two lions; and on the seven other sides examples of acts of +justice or good government, or figures of lawgivers, in the +following order:</p> + +<p><i>Second side.</i> Aristotle, with two pupils, giving laws. +Inscribed:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p>“<span class="scs">ARISTOT</span> * * <span class="scs">CHE DIE LEGE</span>.”</p> +<p>Aristotle who declares laws.</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p><i>Third side.</i> I have mislaid my note of this side: Selvatico +and Lazari call it “Isidore” (?).<a name="FnAnchor_158" href="#Footnote_158"><span class="sp">158</span></a></p> + +<p><i>Fourth side.</i> Solon with his pupils. Inscribed:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“<span class="scs">SAL<span class="sp">O</span> UNO DEI SETE SAVI DI GRECIA CHE DIE LEGE</span>.”</p> +<p>Solon, one of the seven sages of Greece, who declares laws.</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>Note, by the by, the pure Venetian dialect used in this capital, +instead of the Latin in the more ancient ones. One of the +seated pupils in this sculpture is remarkably beautiful in the +sweep of his flowing drapery.</p> + +<p><i>Fifth side.</i> The chastity of Scipio. Inscribed:</p> + +<p class="centerf">“<span class="scs">ISIPIONE A CHASTITA CH</span> * * * <span class="scs">E LA FIA</span> (e la figlia?) * * <span class="scs">ARE</span>.”</p> + +<p>A soldier in a plumed bonnet presents a kneeling maiden to +the seated Scipio, who turns thoughtfully away.</p> + +<p><i>Sixth side.</i> Numa Pompilius building churches.</p> + +<p class="centerf">“<span class="scs">NUMA POMPILIO IMPERADOR EDIFICHADOR DI TEMPI E CHIESE</span>.”</p> + +<p>Numa, in a kind of hat with a crown above it, directing a +soldier in Roman armor (note this, as contrasted with the +mail of the earlier capitals). They point to a tower of three +stories filled with tracery.</p> + +<p><i>Seventh side.</i> Moses receiving the law. Inscribed:</p> + +<p class="centerf">“<span class="scs">QUANDO MOSE RECEVE LA LEGE I SUL MONTE</span>.”</p> + +<p>Moses kneels on a rock, whence springs a beautifully fancied +tree, with clusters of three berries in the centre of three leaves, +sharp and quaint, like fine Northern Gothic. The half figure +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page365"></a>365</span> +of the Deity comes out of the abacus, the arm meeting that of +Moses, both at full stretch, with the stone tablets between.</p> + +<p><i>Eighth side.</i> Trajan doing justice to the Widow.</p> + +<p class="centerf">“<span class="scs">TRAJANO IMPERADOR CHE FA JUSTITIA A LA VEDOVA</span>.”</p> + +<p>He is riding spiritedly, his mantle blown out behind: the +widow kneeling before his horse.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXXVIII.</span> The reader will observe that this capital is of +peculiar interest in its relation to the much disputed question +of the character of the later government of Venice. It is the +assertion by that government of its belief that Justice only +could be the foundation of its stability; as these stones of +Justice and Judgment are the foundation of its halls of council. +And this profession of their faith may be interpreted in two +ways. Most modern historians would call it, in common +with the continual reference to the principles of justice in the +political and judicial language of the period,<a name="FnAnchor_159" href="#Footnote_159"><span class="sp">159</span></a> nothing more +than a cloak for consummate violence and guilt; and it may +easily be proved to have been so in myriads of instances. But +in the main, I believe the expression of feeling to be genuine. +I do not believe, of the majority of the leading Venetians of +this period whose portraits have come down to us, that they +were deliberately and everlastingly hypocrites. I see no +hypocrisy in their countenances. Much capacity of it, much +subtlety, much natural and acquired reserve; but no meanness. +On the contrary, infinite grandeur, repose, courage, and the +peculiar unity and tranquillity of expression which come of +sincerity or <i>wholeness</i> of heart, and which it would take much +demonstration to make me believe could by any possibility be +seen on the countenance of an insincere man. I trust, therefore, +that these Venetian nobles of the fifteenth century did, in +the main, desire to do judgment and justice to all men; but, +as the whole system of morality had been by this time undermined +by the teaching of the Romish Church, the idea of +justice had become separated from that of truth, so that dissimulation +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page366"></a>366</span> +in the interest of the state assumed the aspect of +duty. We had, perhaps, better consider, with some carefulness, +the mode in which our own government is carried on, +and the occasional difference between parliamentary and private +morality, before we judge mercilessly of the Venetians +in this respect. The secrecy with which their political and +criminal trials were conducted, appears to modern eyes like a +confession of sinister intentions; but may it not also be considered, +and with more probability, as the result of an endeavor +to do justice in an age of violence?—the only means by +which Law could establish its footing in the midst of feudalism. +Might not Irish juries at this day justifiably desire to conduct +their proceedings with some greater approximation to the +judicial principles of the Council of Ten? Finally, if we +examine, with critical accuracy, the evidence on which our +present impressions of Venetian government are founded, we +shall discover, in the first place, that two-thirds of the traditions +of its cruelties are romantic fables: in the second, that +the crimes of which it can be proved to have been guilty, +differ only from those committed by the other Italian powers +in being done less wantonly, and under profounder conviction +of their political expediency: and lastly, that the final degradation +of the Venetian power appears owing not so much to +the principles of its government, as to their being forgotten in +the pursuit of pleasure.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXXIX.</span> We have now examined the portions of the palace +which contain the principal evidence of the feeling of its +builders. The capitals of the upper arcade are exceedingly +various in their character; their design is formed, as in the +lower series, of eight leaves, thrown into volutes at the +angles, and sustaining figures at the flanks; but these figures +have no inscriptions, and though evidently not without meaning, +cannot be interpreted without more knowledge than I +possess of ancient symbolism. Many of the capitals toward +the Sea appear to have been restored, and to be rude copies +of the ancient ones; others, though apparently original, have +been somewhat carelessly wrought; but those of them, which +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page367"></a>367</span> +are both genuine and carefully treated, are even finer in composition +than any, except the eighteenth, in the lower arcade. +The traveller in Venice ought to ascend into the corridor, +and examine with great care the series of capitals which +extend on the Piazzetta side from the Fig-tree angle to the +pilaster which carries the party wall of the Sala del Gran +Consiglio. As examples of graceful composition in massy +capitals meant for hard service and distant effect, these are +among the finest things I know in Gothic art; and that above +the fig-tree is remarkable for its sculptures of the four winds; +each on the side turned towards the wind represented. Levante, +the east wind; a figure with rays round its head, to +show that it is always clear weather when that wind blows, +raising the sun out of the sea: Hotro, the south wind; +crowned, holding the sun in its right hand; Ponente, the +west wind; plunging the sun into the sea: and Tramontana, +the north wind; looking up at the north star. This capital +should be carefully examined, if for no other reason than to +attach greater distinctness of idea to the magnificent verbiage +of Milton:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p><span style="padding-left: 6em; ">“Thwart of these, as fierce,</span></p> +<p>Forth rush the Levant and the Ponent winds,</p> +<p>Eurus, and Zephyr; with their lateral noise,</p> +<p>Sirocco and Libecchio.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>I may also especially point out the bird feeding its three +young ones on the seventh pillar on the Piazzetta side; but +there is no end to the fantasy of these sculptures; and the +traveller ought to observe them all carefully, until he comes +to the great Pilaster or complicated pier which sustains the +party wall of the Sala del Consiglio; that is to say, the forty-seventh +capital of the whole series, counting from the pilaster +of the Vine angle inclusive, as in the series of the lower +arcade. The forty-eighth, forty-ninth, and fiftieth are bad +work, but they are old; the fifty-first is the first Renaissance +capital of the upper arcade: the first new lion’s head with +smooth ears, cut in the time of Foscari, is over the fiftieth +capital; and that capital, with its shaft, stands on the apex +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page368"></a>368</span> +of the eighth arch from the Sea, on the Piazzetta side, of which +one spandril is masonry of the fourteenth and the other of the +fifteenth century.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXXX.</span> The reader who is not able to examine the building +on the spot may be surprised at the definiteness with +which the point of junction is ascertainable; but a glance at +the lowest range of leaves in the opposite Plate (<a href="#plate_20">XX.</a>) will +enable him to judge of the grounds on which the above statement +is made. Fig. 12 is a cluster of leaves from the capital +of the Four Winds; early work of the finest time. Fig. 13 +is a leaf from the great Renaissance capital at the Judgment +angle, worked in imitation of the older leafage. Fig. 14 is a +leaf from one of the Renaissance capitals of the upper arcade, +which are all worked in the natural manner of the period. +It will be seen that it requires no great ingenuity to distinguish +between such design as that of fig. 12 and that of +fig. 14.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">XX.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter"> + <a name="plate_20"><img src="images/img368.jpg" width="420" height="650" alt="LEAFAGE OF THE VENETIAN CAPITALS." title="LEAFAGE OF THE VENETIAN CAPITALS." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">LEAFAGE OF THE VENETIAN CAPITALS.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXXXI.</span> It is very possible that the reader may at first like +fig. 14 the best. I shall endeavor, in the next chapter, to +show why he should not; but it must also be noted, that +fig. 12 has lost, and fig. 14 gained, both largely, under the +hands of the engraver. All the bluntness and coarseness of +feeling in the workmanship of fig. 14 have disappeared on +this small scale, and all the subtle refinements in the broad +masses of fig. 12 have vanished. They could not, indeed, be +rendered in line engraving, unless by the hand of Albert +Durer; and I have, therefore, abandoned, for the present, all +endeavor to represent any more important mass of the early +sculpture of the Ducal Palace: but I trust that, in a few +months, casts of many portions will be within the reach of the +inhabitants of London, and that they will be able to judge for +themselves of their perfect, pure, unlabored naturalism; the +freshness, elasticity, and softness of their leafage, united with +the most noble symmetry and severe reserve,—no running to +waste, no loose or experimental lines, no extravagance, and no +weakness. Their design is always sternly architectural; there +is none of the wildness or redundance of natural vegetation, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page369"></a>369</span> +but there is all the strength, freedom, and tossing flow of the +breathing leaves, and all the undulation of their surfaces, +rippled, as they grew, by the summer winds, as the sands are +by the sea.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXXXII.</span> This early sculpture of the Ducal Palace, then, +represents the state of Gothic work in Venice at its central +and proudest period, i.e. circa 1350. After this time, all is +decline,—of what nature and by what steps, we shall inquire +in the ensuing chapter; for as this investigation, though still +referring to Gothic architecture, introduces us to the first +symptoms of the Renaissance influence, I have considered it as +properly belonging to the third division of our subject.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXXXIII.</span> And as, under the shadow of these nodding +leaves, we bid farewell to the great Gothic spirit, here also we +may cease our examination of the details of the Ducal Palace; +for above its upper arcade there are only the four traceried +windows,<a name="FnAnchor_160" href="#Footnote_160"><span class="sp">160</span></a> and one or two of the third order on the Rio +Façade, which can be depended upon as exhibiting the original +workmanship of the older palace. I examined the capitals of +the four other windows on the façade, and of those on the +Piazzetta, one by one, with great care, and I found them all +to be of far inferior workmanship to those which retain their +traceries: I believe the stone framework of these windows +must have been so cracked and injured by the flames of the +great fire, as to render it necessary to replace it by new +traceries; and that the present mouldings and capitals are base +imitations of the original ones. The traceries were at first, +however, restored in their complete form, as the holes for the +bolts which fastened the bases of their shafts are still to be +seen in the window-sills, as well as the marks of the inner +mouldings on the soffits. How much the stone facing of the +façade, the parapets, and the shafts and niches of the angles, +retain of their original masonry, it is also impossible to determine; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page370"></a>370</span> +but there is nothing in the workmanship of any of them +demanding especial notice; still less in the large central windows +on each façade, which are entirely of Renaissance execution. +All that is admirable in these portions of the building +is the disposition of their various parts and masses, which is +without doubt the same as in the original fabric, and calculated, +when seen from a distance, to produce the same impression.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXXXIV.</span> Not so in the interior. All vestige of the earlier +modes of decoration was here, of course, destroyed by the +fires; and the severe and religious work of Guariento and +Bellini has been replaced by the wildness of Tintoret and the +luxury of Veronese. But in this case, though widely different +in temper, the art of the renewal was at least intellectually as +great as that which had perished: and though the halls of the +Ducal Palace are no more representative of the character of +the men by whom it was built, each of them is still a colossal +casket of priceless treasure; a treasure whose safety has till +now depended on its being despised, and which at this moment, +and as I write, is piece by piece being destroyed for ever.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXXXV.</span> The reader will forgive my quitting our more +immediate subject, in order briefly to explain the causes and +the nature of this destruction; for the matter is simply the +most important of all that can be brought under our present +consideration respecting the state of art in Europe.</p> + +<p>The fact is, that the greater number of persons or societies +throughout Europe, whom wealth, or chance, or inheritance +has put in possession of valuable pictures, do not know a good +picture from a bad one,<a name="FnAnchor_161" href="#Footnote_161"><span class="sp">161</span></a> and have no idea in what the value +of a picture really consists. The reputation of certain works +is raised, partly by accident, partly by the just testimony of +artists, partly by the various and generally bad taste of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page371"></a>371</span> +public (no picture, that I know of, has ever, in modern times, +attained popularity, in the full sense of the term, without having +some exceedingly bad qualities mingled with its good +ones), and when this reputation has once been completely +established, it little matters to what state the picture may be +reduced: few minds are so completely devoid of imagination +as to be unable to invest it with the beauties which they have +heard attributed to it.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXXXVI.</span> This being so, the pictures that are most valued +are for the most part those by masters of established renown, +which are highly or neatly finished, and of a size small enough +to admit of their being placed in galleries or saloons, so as to +be made subjects of ostentation, and to be easily seen by a +crowd. For the support of the fame and value of such pictures, +little more is necessary than that they should be kept +bright, partly by cleaning, which is incipient destruction, and +partly by what is called “restoring,” that is, painting over, +which is of course total destruction. Nearly all the gallery +pictures in modern Europe have been more or less destroyed +by one or other of these operations, generally exactly in proportion +to the estimation in which they are held; and as, +originally, the smaller and more highly finished works of any +great master are usually his worst, the contents of many of +our most celebrated galleries are by this time, in reality, of +very small value indeed.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXXXVII.</span> On the other hand, the most precious works of +any noble painter are usually those which have been done +quickly, and in the heat of the first thought, on a large scale, +for places where there was little likelihood of their being well +seen, or for patrons from whom there was little prospect of +rich remuneration. In general, the best things are done in +this way, or else in the enthusiasm and pride of accomplishing +some great purpose, such as painting a cathedral or a camposanto +from one end to the other, especially when the time has +been short, and circumstances disadvantageous.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXXXVIII.</span> Works thus executed are of course despised, on +account of their quantity, as well as their frequent slightness, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page372"></a>372</span> +in the places where they exist; and they are too large to +be portable, and too vast and comprehensive to be read on +the spot, in the hasty temper of the present age. They are, +therefore, almost universally neglected, whitewashed by custodes, +shot at by soldiers, suffered to drop from the walls +piecemeal in powder and rags by society in general; but, +which is an advantage more than counterbalancing all this +evil, they are not often “restored.” What is left of them, +however fragmentary, however ruinous, however obscured and +defiled, is almost always <i>the real thing</i>; there are no fresh +readings: and therefore the greatest treasures of art which +Europe at this moment possesses are pieces of old plaster on +ruinous brick walls, where the lizards burrow and bask, and +which few other living creatures ever approach; and torn +sheets of dim canvas, in waste corners of churches; and +mildewed stains, in the shape of human figures, on the walls +of dark chambers, which now and then an exploring traveller +causes to be unlocked by their tottering custode, looks hastily +round, and retreats from in a weary satisfaction at his accomplished +duty.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXXXIX.</span> Many of the pictures on the ceilings and walls +of the Ducal Palace, by Paul Veronese and Tintoret, have +been more or less reduced, by neglect, to this condition. +Unfortunately they are not altogether without reputation, and +their state has drawn the attention of the Venetian authorities +and academicians. It constantly happens, that public bodies +who will not pay five pounds to preserve a picture, will pay +fifty to repaint it:<a name="FnAnchor_162" href="#Footnote_162"><span class="sp">162</span></a> and when I was at Venice in 1846, there +were two remedial operations carrying on, at one and the +same time, in the two buildings which contain the pictures of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page373"></a>373</span> +greatest value in the city (as pieces of color, of greatest value +in the world), curiously illustrative of this peculiarity in +human nature. Buckets were set on the floor of the Scuola +di San Rocco, in every shower, to catch the rain which came +through the pictures of Tintoret on the ceiling; while in the +Ducal Palace, those of Paul Veronese were themselves laid +on the floor to be repainted; and I was myself present at the +re-illumination of the breast of a white horse, with a brush, at +the end of a stick five feet long, luxuriously dipped in a common +house-painter’s vessel of paint.</p> + +<p>This was, of course, a large picture. The process has +already been continued in an equally destructive, though +somewhat more delicate manner, over the whole of the humbler +canvases on the ceiling of the Sala del Gran Consiglio; +and I heard it threatened when I was last in Venice (1851-2) +to the “Paradise” at its extremity, which is yet in tolerable +condition,—the largest work of Tintoret, and the most wonderful +piece of pure, manly, and masterly oil-painting in the +world.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CXL.</span> I leave these facts to the consideration of the European +patrons of art. Twenty years hence they will be +acknowledged and regretted; at present, I am well aware, +that it is of little use to bring them forward, except only to +explain the present impossibility of stating what pictures <i>are</i>, +and what <i>were</i>, in the interior of the Ducal Palace. I can +only say, that in the winter of 1851, the “Paradise” of Tintoret +was still comparatively uninjured, and that the Camera +di Collegio, and its antechamber, and the Sala de’ Pregadi +were full of pictures by Veronese and Tintoret, that made +their walls as precious as so many kingdoms; so precious +indeed, and so full of majesty, that sometimes when walking +at evening on the Lido, whence the great chain of the Alps, +crested with silver clouds, might be seen rising above the +front of the Ducal Palace, I used to feel as much awe in +gazing on the building as on the hills, and could believe that +God had done a greater work in breathing into the narrowness +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page374"></a>374</span> +of dust the mighty spirits by whom its haughty walls +had been raised, and its burning legends written, than in +lifting the rocks of granite higher than the clouds of heaven, +and veiling them with their various mantle of purple flower +and shadowy pine.</p> + + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_99" href="#FnAnchor_99"><span class="fn">99</span></a> The reader will find it convenient to note the following editions of the +printed books which have been principally consulted in the following inquiry. +The numbers of the manuscripts referred to in the Marcian Library are +given with the quotations.</p> + +<div class="list"> +<p>Sansovino. <span class="spc">Venetia Descritta. 4to, Venice, 1663.</span></p> +<p>Sansovino. <span class="spc">Lettera intorno al Palazzo Ducale. 8vo, Venice, 1829.</span></p> +<p>Temanza. <span class="spc">Antica Pianta di Venezia, with text. Venice, 1780.</span></p> +<p>Cadorin. <span class="spc">Pareri di XV. Architetti. 8vo, Venice, 1838.</span></p> +<p>Filiasi. <span class="spc">Memorie storiche. 8vo, Padua, 1811.</span></p> +<p>Bettio. <span class="spc">Lettera discorsiva del Palazzo Ducale. 8vo, Venice, 1837.</span></p> +<p>Selvatico. <span class="spc">Architettura di Venezia. 8vo, Venice, 1847.</span></p> +</div> + +<p><a name="Footnote_100" href="#FnAnchor_100"><span class="fn">100</span></a> The year commonly given is 810, as in the Savina Chronicle (Cod. +Marcianus), p. 13. “Del 810 fece principiar el pallazzo Ducal nel luogo ditto +Bruolo in confin di S. Moisč, et fece riedificar la isola di Eraclia.” The Sagornin +Chronicle gives 804; and Filiasi, vol. vi. chap. 1, corrects this date +to 813.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_101" href="#FnAnchor_101"><span class="fn">101</span></a> “Ampliň la cittŕ, fornilla di casamenti, <i>e per il culto d’ Iddio e l’ amministrazione +della giustizia</i> eresse la cappella di S. Marco, e il palazzo di sua +residenza.”—Pareri, p. 120. Observe, that piety towards God, and justice +towards man, have been at least the nominal purposes of every act and +institution of ancient Venice. Compare also Temanza, p. 24. “Quello +che abbiamo di certo si č che il suddetto Agnello lo incominciň da fondamenti, +e cost pure la cappella ducale di S. Marco.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_102" href="#FnAnchor_102"><span class="fn">102</span></a> What I call the Sea, was called “the Grand Canal” by the Venetians, +as well as the great water street of the city; but I prefer calling it “the +Sea,” in order to distinguish between that street and the broad water in +front of the Ducal Palace, which, interrupted only by the island of San +Giorgio, stretches for many miles to the south, and for more than two to +the boundary of the Lido. It was the deeper channel, just in front of the +Ducal Palace, continuing the line of the great water street itself which the +Venetians spoke of as “the Grand Canal.” The words of Sansovino are: +“Fu cominciato dove si vede, vicino al ponte della paglia, et rispondente +sul canal grande.” Filiasi says simply: “The palace was built where it +now is.” “Il palazio fu fatto dove ora pure esiste.”—Vol. iii. chap. 27. +The Savina Chronicle, already quoted, says: “In the place called the Bruolo +(or Broglio), that is to say, on the Piazzetta.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_103" href="#FnAnchor_103"><span class="fn">103</span></a> “Omni decoritate illius perlustrata.”—Sagornino, quoted by Cadorin +and Temanza.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_104" href="#FnAnchor_104"><span class="fn">104</span></a> There is an interesting account of this revolt in Monaci, p. 68. Some +historians speak of the palace as having been destroyed entirely; but, that it +did not even need important restorations, appears from Sagornino’s expression, +quoted by Cadorin and Temanza. Speaking of the Doge Participazio, +he says: “Qui Palatii hucusque manentis fuerit fabricator.” The reparations +of the palace are usually attributed to the successor of Candiano, +Pietro Orseolo I.; but the legend, under the picture of that Doge in the +Council Chamber, speaks only of his rebuilding St. Mark’s, and “performing +many miracles.” His whole mind seems to have been occupied with +ecclesiastical affairs; and his piety was finally manifested in a way somewhat +startling to the state, by his absconding with a French priest to St. +Michael’s, in Gascony, and there becoming a monk. What repairs, therefore, +were necessary to the Ducal Palace, were left to be undertaken by his +son, Orseolo II., above named.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_105" href="#FnAnchor_105"><span class="fn">105</span></a> “Quam non modo marmoreo, verum aureo compsit ornamento.”—<i>Temanza</i>, +p. 25.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_106" href="#FnAnchor_106"><span class="fn">106</span></a> “L’anno 1106, uscito fuoco d’una casa privata, arse parte del palazzo.”—<i>Sansovino</i>. +Of the beneficial effect of these fires, vide Cadorin, p. 121, 123.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_107" href="#FnAnchor_107"><span class="fn">107</span></a> “Urbis situm, ćdificiorum decorem, et regiminis ćquitatem multipliciter +commendavit.”—<i>Cronaca Dandolo</i>, quoted by Cadorin.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_108" href="#FnAnchor_108"><span class="fn">108</span></a> “Non solamente rinovň il palazzo, ma lo aggrandě per ogni verso.”—<i>Sansovino</i>. +Zanotto quotes the Altinat Chronicle for account of these repairs.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_109" href="#FnAnchor_109"><span class="fn">109</span></a> “El palazzo che anco di mezzo se vede vecchio, per M. Sebastian Ziani +fu fatto compir, come el se vede.”—<i>Chronicle of Pietro Dolfino</i>, Cod. Ven. p. +47. This Chronicle is spoken of by Sansovino as “molto particolare e distinta.”—<i>Sansovino, +Venezia descritta</i>, p. 593.—It terminates in the year 1422.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_110" href="#FnAnchor_110"><span class="fn">110</span></a> See Vol. I. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#app_3">Appendix 3</a>.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_111" href="#FnAnchor_111"><span class="fn">111</span></a> Vide Sansovino’s enumeration of those who flourished in the reign of +Gradenigo, p. 564.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_112" href="#FnAnchor_112"><span class="fn">112</span></a> Sansovino, 324, 1.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_113" href="#FnAnchor_113"><span class="fn">113</span></a> “1301 fu presa parte di fare una sala grande per la riduzione del gran +consiglio, e fu fatta quella che ora si chiama dello Scrutinio.”—<i>Cronaca Sivos</i>, +quoted by Cadorin. There is another most interesting entry in the Chronicle +of Magno, relating to this event; but the passage is so ill written, that I am +not sure if I have deciphered it correctly:—“Del 1301 fu preso de fabrichar +la sala fo ruina e fu fata (fatta) quella se adoperava a far el pregadi e fu adopera +per far el Gran Consegio fin 1423, che fu anni 122.” This last sentence, +which is of great importance, is luckily unmistakable:—“The room was +used for the meetings of the Great Council until 1423, that is to say, for 122 +years.”—<i>Cod. Ven</i>. tom. i. p. 126. The Chronicle extends from 1253 to +1454.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_114" href="#FnAnchor_114"><span class="fn">114</span></a> “Vi era appresso la Cancellaria, e la Gheba o Gabbia, chiamata poi +Torresella.”—P. 324. A small square tower is seen above the Vine angle in +the view of Venice dated 1500, and attributed to Albert Durer. It appears +about 25 feet square, and is very probably the Torresella in question.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_115" href="#FnAnchor_115"><span class="fn">115</span></a> Vide Bettio, Lettera, p. 23.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_116" href="#FnAnchor_116"><span class="fn">116</span></a> Bettio, Lettera, p. 20. “Those who wrote without having seen them +described them as covered with lead; and those who have seen them know +that, between their flat timber roofs and the sloping leaden roof of the +palace, the interval is five metres where it is least, and nine where it is +greatest.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_117" href="#FnAnchor_117"><span class="fn">117</span></a> “Questo Dose anche fese far la porta granda che se al intrar del Pallazzo, +in su la qual vi e la sua statua che sta in zenocchioni con lo confalon +in man, davanti li pie de lo Lion S. Marco,”—<i>Savin Chronicle</i>, Cod. Ven. p. +120.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_118" href="#FnAnchor_118"><span class="fn">118</span></a> These documents I have not examined myself, being satisfied of the +accuracy of Cadorin, from whom I take the passages quoted.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_119" href="#FnAnchor_119"><span class="fn">119</span></a> “Libras tres, soldos 15 grossorum.”—<i>Cadorin</i>, 189, 1.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_120" href="#FnAnchor_120"><span class="fn">120</span></a> Cod. Ven., No. <span class="scs">CXLI.</span> p. 365.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_121" href="#FnAnchor_121"><span class="fn">121</span></a> Sansovino is more explicit than usual in his reference to this decree: +“For it having appeared that the place (the first Council Chamber) was not +capacious enough, the saloon on the Grand Canal was ordered.” “Per cio +parendo che il luogo non fosse capace, fu ordinata la Sala sul Canal Grande.”—P. +324.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_122" href="#FnAnchor_122"><span class="fn">122</span></a> Cadorin, 185, 2. The decree of 1342 is falsely given as of 1345 by the +Sivos Chronicle, and by Magno; while Sanuto gives the decree to its right +year, 1342, but speaks of the Council Chamber as only begun in 1345.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_123" href="#FnAnchor_123"><span class="fn">123</span></a> Calendario. See <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30756/30756-h/30756-h.htm#app_1">Appendix 1</a>, Vol. III.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_124" href="#FnAnchor_124"><span class="fn">124</span></a> “Il primo che vi colorisse fu Guariento, il quale l’ anno 1365 vi fece il +Paradiso in testa della sala.”—<i>Sansovino.</i></p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_125" href="#FnAnchor_125"><span class="fn">125</span></a> “L’ an poi 1400 vi fece il cielo compartita a quadretti d’ oro, ripieni di +stelle, ch’ era la insegna del Doge Steno.”—<i>Sansovino</i>, lib. <span class="scs">VIII</span>.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_126" href="#FnAnchor_126"><span class="fn">126</span></a> “In questi tempi si messe in oro il cielo della sala del Gran Consiglio +et si fece il pergolo del finestra grande chi guarda sul canale, adornato l’ +uno e l’ altro di stelle, ch’ erano l’ insegne del Doge.”—<i>Sansovino</i>, lib. <span class="scs">XIII.</span> +Compare also Pareri, p. 129.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_127" href="#FnAnchor_127"><span class="fn">127</span></a> Baseggio (Pareri, p. 127) is called the Proto of the <i>New</i> Palace. Farther +notes will be found in <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30756/30756-h/30756-h.htm#app_1">Appendix 1</a>, Vol. III.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_128" href="#FnAnchor_128"><span class="fn">128</span></a> Cronaca Sanudo, No. <span class="scs">CXXV</span>. in the Marcian Library, p. 568.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_129" href="#FnAnchor_129"><span class="fn">129</span></a> Tomaso Mocenigo.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_130" href="#FnAnchor_130"><span class="fn">130</span></a> Vide notes in <span class="correction" title="Appendi in the original">Appendix</span>.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_131" href="#FnAnchor_131"><span class="fn">131</span></a> On the 4th of April, 1423, according to the copy of the Zancarol Chronicle +in the Marcian Library, but previously, according to the Caroldo +Chronicle, which makes Foscari enter the Senate as Doge on the 3rd of +April.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_132" href="#FnAnchor_132"><span class="fn">132</span></a> “Nella quale (the Sala del Gran Consiglio) non si fece Gran Consiglio +salvo nell’ anno 1423, alli 3 April, et fu il primo giorno che il Duce Foscari +venisse in Gran Consiglio dopo la sua creatione.”—Copy in Marcian Library, +p. 365.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_133" href="#FnAnchor_133"><span class="fn">133</span></a> “E a di 23 April (1423, by the context) sequente fo fatto Gran Conseio +in la salla nuovo dovi avanti non esta piů fatto Gran Conseio si che el primo +Gran Conseio dopo la sua (Foscari’s) creation, fo fatto in la salla nuova, nel +qual conseio fu el Marchese di Mantoa,” &c., p. 426.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_134" href="#FnAnchor_134"><span class="fn">134</span></a> Compare <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30756/30756-h/30756-h.htm#app_1">Appendix 1</a>, Vol. III.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_135" href="#FnAnchor_135"><span class="fn">135</span></a> “Tutte queste fatture si compirono sotto il dogado del Foscari, nel +1441.”—<i>Pareri</i>, p. 131.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_136" href="#FnAnchor_136"><span class="fn">136</span></a> This identification has been accomplished, and I think conclusively, by +my friend Mr. Rawdon Brown, who has devoted all the leisure which, during +the last twenty years, his manifold offices of kindness to almost every +English visitant of Venice have left him, in discovering and translating the +passages of the Venetian records which bear upon English history and literature. +I shall have occasion to take advantage hereafter of a portion of his +labors, which I trust will shortly be made public.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_137" href="#FnAnchor_137"><span class="fn">137</span></a> See the last chapter of the third volume.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_138" href="#FnAnchor_138"><span class="fn">138</span></a> “<span class="sc">In X<span class="uscore">ri</span>—n<span class="uscore">oi</span>e amen annincarnationis mcccxvii. In<span class="uscore">eset</span>br</span>.” “In +the name of Christ, Amen, in the year of the incarnation, 1317, in the +month of September,” &c.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_139" href="#FnAnchor_139"><span class="fn">139</span></a> “Oh, venerable Raphael, make thou the gulf calm, we beseech thee.” +The peculiar office of the angel Raphael is, in general, according to tradition, +the restraining the harmful influences of evil spirits. Sir Charles Eastlake +told me, that sometimes in this office he is represented bearing the gall +of the fish caught by Tobit; and reminded me of the peculiar superstitions +of the Venetians respecting the raising of storms by fiends, as embodied in +the well-known tale of the Fisherman and St. Mark’s ring.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_140" href="#FnAnchor_140"><span class="fn">140</span></a> In the original, the succession of words is evidently suggested partly +by similarity of sound; and the sentence is made weighty by an alliteration +which is quite lost in our translation; but the very allowance of influence +to these minor considerations is a proof how little any metaphysical order +or system was considered necessary in the statement.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_141" href="#FnAnchor_141"><span class="fn">141</span></a> It occurs in a prayer for the influence of the Holy Spirit, “That He +may keep my soul, and direct my way; compose my bearing, and form my +thoughts in holiness; may He govern my body, and protect my mind; +strengthen me in action, approve my vows, and accomplish my desires; +cause me to lead an honest and honorable life, and give me good hope, +charity and chastity, humility and patience: may He govern the Five +Senses of my body,” &c. The following prayer is also very characteristic +of this period. It opens with a beautiful address to Christ upon the cross; +then proceeds thus: “Grant to us, O Lord, we beseech thee, this day and +ever, the use of penitence, of abstinence, of humility, and chastity; and +grant to us light, judgment, understanding, and true knowledge, even to +the end.” One thing I note in comparing old prayers with modern ones, +that however quaint, or however erring, they are always tenfold more condensed, +comprehensive, and to their purpose, whatever that may be. There +is no dilution in them, no vain or monotonous phraseology. They ask for +what is desired plainly and earnestly, and never could be shortened by a +syllable. The following series of ejaculations are deep in spirituality, and +curiously to our present purpose in the philological quaintness of being +built upon prepositions:—</p> + +<p class="nomarg" style="margin-left: -0.4em; ">“Domine Jesu Christe, sancta cruce tua apud me sis, ut me defendas.</p> +<p class="nomarg">Domine Jesu Christe, pro veneranda cruce tua post me sis, ut me gubernes.</p> +<p class="nomarg">Domine Jesu Christe, pro benedicta cruce tua intra me sis, ut me reficeas.</p> +<p class="nomarg">Domine Jesu Christe, pro benedicta cruce tua circa me sis, ut me conserves.</p> +<p class="nomarg">Domine Jesu Christe, pro gloriosa cruce tua ante me sis, ut me deduces.</p> +<p class="nomarg">Domine Jesu Christe, pro laudanda cruce tua super me sis, ut benedicas.</p> +<p class="nomarg">Domine Jesu Christe, pro magnifica cruce tua in me sis, ut me ad regnum tuum perducas, per D. N. J. C. Amen.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_142" href="#FnAnchor_142"><span class="fn">142</span></a> This arrangement of the cardinal virtues is said to have been first +made by Archytas. See D’Ancarville’s illustration of the three figures of +Prudence, Fortitude, and Charity, in Selvatico’s “Cappellina degli Scrovegni,” +Padua, 1836.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_143" href="#FnAnchor_143"><span class="fn">143</span></a> Or Penitence: but I rather think this is understood only in Compunctio cordis.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_144" href="#FnAnchor_144"><span class="fn">144</span></a> The transformation of a symbol into a reality, observe, as in transubstantiation, +is as much an abandonment of symbolism as the forgetfulness +of symbolic meaning altogether.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_145" href="#FnAnchor_145"><span class="fn">145</span></a> On the window of New College, Oxford.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_146" href="#FnAnchor_146"><span class="fn">146</span></a> Uniting the three ideas expressed by the Greek philosophers under the +terms <span class="grk" title="phronęei">ϕρόνηἔι</span>, +<span class="grk" title="sophia">σοφία</span>, and +<span class="grk" title="epistęmę">ἐπιστήμη</span>; and part of the idea of +<span class="grk" title="sôphrosonę">σωφροσονη</span>.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_147" href="#FnAnchor_147"><span class="fn">147</span></a> Isa. lxiv. 5.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_148" href="#FnAnchor_148"><span class="fn">148</span></a> I can hardly think it necessary to point out to the reader the association +between sacred cheerfulness and solemn thought, or to explain any appearance +of contradiction between passages in which (as above in <a href="#chap_5">Chap. V.</a>) +I have had to oppose sacred pensiveness to unholy mirth, and those in which +I have to oppose sacred cheerfulness to unholy sorrow.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_149" href="#FnAnchor_149"><span class="fn">149</span></a> “Desse,” seat.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_150" href="#FnAnchor_150"><span class="fn">150</span></a> Usually called Charity: but this virtue in its full sense is one of the +attendant spirits by the Throne; the Kindness here meant is Charity with a +special object; or Friendship and Kindness, as opposed to Envy, which has +always, in like manner, a special object. Hence the love of Orestes and +Pylades is given as an instance of the virtue of Friendship; and the Virgin’s, +“They have no wine,” at Cana, of general kindness and sympathy with +others’ pleasure.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_151" href="#FnAnchor_151"><span class="fn">151</span></a> The “Faerie Queen,” like Dante’s “Paradise,” is only half estimated, +because few persons take the pains to think out its meaning. I have put a +brief analysis of the first book in <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30756/30756-h/30756-h.htm#app_2">Appendix 2</a>, Vol. III.; which may perhaps +induce the reader to follow out the subject for himself. No time devoted +to profane literature will be better rewarded than that spent <i>earnestly</i> on +Spenser.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_152" href="#FnAnchor_152"><span class="fn">152</span></a> Inscribed, I believe, Pietas, meaning general reverence and godly fear.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_153" href="#FnAnchor_153"><span class="fn">153</span></a> I have given one of these capitals carefully already in my folio work, +and hope to give most of the others in due time. It was of no use to draw +them here, as the scale would have been too small to allow me to show the +expression of the figures.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_154" href="#FnAnchor_154"><span class="fn">154</span></a> Lord Lindsay, vol. ii. p. 226.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_155" href="#FnAnchor_155"><span class="fn">155</span></a> Lord Lindsay, vol. ii. letter <span class="scs">IV</span>.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_156" href="#FnAnchor_156"><span class="fn">156</span></a> Selvatico states that these are intended to be representative of eight +nations, Latins, Tartars, Turks, Hungarians, Greeks, Goths, Egyptians, and +Persians. Either the inscriptions are now defaced or I have carelessly +omitted to note them.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_157" href="#FnAnchor_157"><span class="fn">157</span></a> The comma in these inscriptions stands for a small cuneiform mark, I +believe of contraction, and the small <span class="sp">s</span> for a zigzag mark of the same kind. +The dots or periods are similarly marked, on the stone.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_158" href="#FnAnchor_158"><span class="fn">158</span></a> Can they have mistaken the <span class="scs">ISIPIONE</span> of the fifth side for the word +Isidore?</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_159" href="#FnAnchor_159"><span class="fn">159</span></a> Compare the speech of the Doge Mocenigo, above,—“first justice, and +<i>then</i> the interests of the state:” and see Vol. III. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30756/30756-h/30756-h.htm#chap_2">Chap. II.</a> § <span class="scs">LIX</span>.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_160" href="#FnAnchor_160"><span class="fn">160</span></a> Some further details respecting these portions, as well as some necessary +confirmations of my statements of dates, are, however, given in <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30756/30756-h/30756-h.htm#app_1">Appendix 1</a>, +Vol. III. I feared wearying the general reader by introducing them into +the text.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_161" href="#FnAnchor_161"><span class="fn">161</span></a> Many persons, capable of quickly sympathizing with any excellence, +when once pointed out to them, easily deceive themselves into the supposition +that they are judges of art. There is only one real test of such power +of judgment. Can they, at a glance, discover a good picture obscured by the +filth, and confused among the rubbish, of the pawnbroker’s or dealer’s +garret?</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_162" href="#FnAnchor_162"><span class="fn">162</span></a> This is easily explained. There are, of course, in every place and at all +periods, bad painters who conscientiously believe that they can improve +every picture they touch; and these men are generally, in their presumption, +the most influential over the innocence, whether of monarchs or municipalities. +The carpenter and slater have little influence in recommending the +repairs of the roof; but the bad painter has great influence, as well as interest, +in recommending those of the picture.</p> +</div> + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page375"></a>375</span></p> + +<hr class="art" /> +<h3>APPENDIX.</h3> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="pd2"> </div> +<p class="center scs bmarg"><a name="app_1"></a>1. THE GONDOLIER’S CRY.</p> + +<p>Most persons are now well acquainted with the general aspect +of the Venetian gondola, but few have taken the pains to +understand the cries of warning uttered by its boatmen, although +those cries are peculiarly characteristic, and very impressive +to a stranger, and have been even very sweetly introduced +in poetry by Mr. Monckton Milnes. It may perhaps be +interesting to the traveller in Venice to know the general method +of management of the boat to which he owes so many happy +hours.</p> + +<p>A gondola is in general rowed only by one man, <i>standing</i> at +the stern; those of the upper classes having two or more boatmen, +for greater speed and magnificence. In order to raise the +oar sufficiently, it rests, not on the side of the boat, but on a +piece of crooked timber like the branch of a tree, rising about a +foot from the boat’s side, and called a “fórcola.” The fórcola +is of different forms, according to the size and uses of the boat, +and it is always somewhat complicated in its parts and curvature, +allowing the oar various kinds of rests and catches on both +its sides, but perfectly free play in all cases; as the management +of the boat depends on the gondolier’s being able in an instant +to place his oar in any position. The fórcola is set on the right-hand +side of the boat, some six feet from the stern: the gondolier +stands on a little flat platform or deck behind it, and throws +nearly the entire weight of his body upon the forward stroke. +The effect of this stroke would be naturally to turn the boat’s +head round to the left, as well as to send it forward; but this +tendency is corrected by keeping the blade of the oar under the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page376"></a>376</span> +water on the return stroke, and raising it gradually, as a full +spoon is raised out of any liquid, so that the blade emerges from +the water only an instant before it again plunges. A <i>downward</i> +and lateral pressure upon the fórcola is thus obtained, which +entirely counteracts the tendency given by the forward stroke; +and the effort, after a little practice, becomes hardly conscious, +though, as it adds some labor to the back stroke, rowing a gondola +at speed is hard and breathless work, though it appears +easy and graceful to the looker-on.</p> + +<p>If then the gondola is to be turned to the left, the forward +impulse is given without the return stroke; if it is to be turned +to the right, the plunged oar is brought forcibly up to the surface; +in either case a single strong stroke being enough to turn +the light and flat-bottomed boat. But as it has no keel, when +the turn is made sharply, as out of one canal into another very +narrow one, the impetus of the boat in its former direction gives +it an enormous lee-way, and it drifts laterally up against the +wall of the canal, and that so forcibly, that if it has turned at +speed, no gondolier can arrest the motion merely by strength or +rapidity of stroke of oar; but it is checked by a strong thrust of +the foot against the wall itself, the head of the boat being of +course turned for the moment almost completely round to the +opposite wall, and greater exertion made to give it, as quickly as +possible, impulse in the new direction.</p> + +<p>The boat being thus guided, the cry “Premi” is the order +from one gondolier to another that he should “press” or thrust +forward his oar, without the back stroke, so as to send the boat’s +head round <i>to the left</i>; and the cry “Stali” is the order that he +should give the return or upward stroke which sends the boat’s +head round to the <i>right</i>. Hence, if two gondoliers meet under +any circumstances which render it a matter of question on which +side they should pass each other, the gondolier who has at the +moment the least power over his boat, cries to the other, +“Premi,” if he wishes the boats to pass with their right-hand +sides to each other, and “Stali,” if with their left. Now, in +turning a corner, there is of course risk of collision between +boats coming from opposite sides, and warning is always clearly +and loudly given on approaching an angle of the canals. It is +of course presumed that the boat which gives the warning will +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page377"></a>377</span> +be nearer the turn than the one which receives and answers it; +and therefore will not have so much time to check itself or alter +its course. Hence the advantage of the turn, that is, the outside, +which allows the fullest swing and greatest room for lee-way, +is always yielded to the boat which gives warning. Therefore, +if the warning boat is going to turn to the right, as it is to +have the outside position, it will keep its own right-hand side +to the boat which it meets, and the cry of warning is therefore +“Premi,” twice given; first as soon as it can be heard round +the angle, prolonged and loud, with the accent on the e, and +another strongly accented e added, a kind of question, “Prémi-é,” +followed at the instant of turning, with “Ah Premí,” +with the accent sharp on the final i. If, on the other hand, the +warning boat is going to turn to the left, it will pass with its +left-hand side to the one it meets; and the warning cry is, +“Stáli-é, Ah Stalí.” Hence the confused idea in the mind of +the traveller that Stali means "to the left,” and “Premi” to +the right; while they mean, in reality, the direct reverse; the +Stali, for instance, being the order to the unseen gondolier who +may be behind the corner, coming from the left-hand side, that +he should hold as much as possible <i>to his own right</i>; this being +the only safe order for him, whether he is going to turn the corner +himself, or to go straight on; for as the warning gondola +will always swing right across the canal in turning, a collision +with it is only to be avoided by keeping well within it, and close +up to the corner which it turns.</p> + +<p>There are several other cries necessary in the management +of the gondola, but less frequently, so that the reader will hardly +care for their interpretation; except only the “sciar,” which is +the order to the opposite gondolier to stop the boat as suddenly +as possible by slipping his oar in front of the fórcola. The <i>cry</i> +is never heard except when the boatmen have got into some unexpected +position, involving a risk of collision; but the action +is seen constantly, when the gondola is rowed by two or more +men (for if performed by the single gondolier it only swings the +boat’s head sharp round to the right), in bringing up at a +landing-place, especially when there is any intent of display, the +boat being first urged to its full speed and then stopped with as +much foam about the oar-blades as possible, the effect being +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page378"></a>378</span> +much like that of stopping a horse at speed by pulling him on +his haunches.</p> + +<div class="pd2"> </div> +<p class="center scs bmarg"><a name="app_2"></a>2. OUR LADY OF SALVATION.</p> + +<p>“Santa Maria della Salute,” Our Lady of Health, or of +Safety, would be a more literal translation, yet not perhaps +fully expressing the force of the Italian word in this case. The +church was built between 1630 and 1680, in acknowledgment of +the cessation of the plague;—of course to the Virgin, to whom +the modern Italian has recourse in all his principal distresses, +and who receives his gratitude for all principal deliverances.</p> + +<p>The hasty traveller is usually enthusiastic in his admiration +of this building; but there is a notable lesson to be derived +from it, which is not often read. On the opposite side of the +broad canal of the Giudecca is a small church, celebrated among +Renaissance architects as of Palladian design, but which would +hardly attract the notice of the general observer, unless on +account of the pictures by John Bellini which it contains, in +order to see which the traveller may perhaps remember having +been taken across the Giudecca to the Church of the “Redentore.” +But he ought carefully to compare these two buildings +with each other, the one built “to the Virgin,” the other “to +the Redeemer” (also a votive offering after the cessation of the +plague of 1576); the one, the most conspicuous church in +Venice, its dome, the principal one by which she is first discerned, +rising out of the distant sea: the other, small and contemptible, +on a suburban island, and only becoming an object +of interest because it contains three small pictures! For in the +relative magnitude and conspicuousness of these two buildings, +we have an accurate index of the relative importance of the ideas +of the Madonna and of Christ, in the modern Italian mind.</p> + +<p>Some further account of this church is given in the final +Index to the Venetian buildings at the close of the third +Volume.</p> + +<div class="pd2"> </div> +<p class="center scs bmarg"><a name="app_3"></a>3. TIDES OF VENICE, AND MEASURES AT TORCELLO.</p> + +<p>The lowest and highest tides take place in Venice at different +periods, the lowest during the winter, the highest in the summer +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page379"></a>379</span> +and autumn. During the period of the highest tides, the +city is exceedingly beautiful, especially if, as is not unfrequently +the case, the water rises high enough partially to flood St. +Mark’s Place. Nothing can be more lovely or fantastic than +the scene, when the Campanile and the Golden Church are +reflected in the calm water, and the lighter gondolas floating +under the very porches of the façade. On the other hand, a +winter residence in Venice is rendered peculiarly disagreeable by +the low tides, which sometimes leave the smaller canals entirely +dry, and large banks of mud beneath the houses, along the +borders of even the Grand Canal. The difference between the +levels of the highest and lowest tides I saw in Venice was 6 ft. 3 +in. The average fall rise is from two to three feet.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The measures of Torcello were intended for <a href="#app_4">Appendix 4</a>; +but having by a misprint referred the reader to <a href="#app_3">Appendix 3</a>, I +give them here. The entire breadth of the church within the +walls is 70 feet; of which the square bases of the pillars, 3 feet +on each side, occupy 6 feet; and the nave, from base to base, +measures 31 ft. 1 in.; the aisles from base to wall, 16 feet odd +inches, not accurately ascertainable on account of the modern +wainscot fittings. The intervals between the bases of the pillars +are 8 feet each, increasing towards the altar to 8 ft. 3 in., in +order to allow for a corresponding diminution in the diameter +of the bases from 3 ft. to 2 ft. 11 in. or 2 ft. 10. in. This +subtle diminution of the bases is in order to prevent the eye +from feeling the greater narrowness of the shafts in that part of +the nave, their average circumference being 6 ft. 10 in.; and +one, the second on the north side, reaching 7 feet, while those +at the upper end of the nave vary from 6 ft. 8 in. to 6 ft. 4 in. +It is probable that this diminution in the more distant pillars +adds slightly to the perspective effect of length in the body of +the church, as it is seen from the great entrance: but whether +this was the intention or not, the delicate adaptation of this +diminished base to the diminished shaft is a piece of fastidiousness +in proportion which I rejoice in having detected; and this the +more, because the rude contours of the bases themselves would +little induce the spectator to anticipate any such refinement.</p> + +<div class="pd2"> </div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page380"></a>380</span></p> + +<p class="center scs bmarg"><a name="app_4"></a>4. DATE OF THE DUOMO OF TORCELLO.</p> + +<p>The first flight to the lagoons for shelter was caused by the +invasion of Attila in the fifth century, so that in endeavoring to +throw back the thought of the reader to the former solitude of +the islands, I spoke of them as they must have appeared “1300 +years ago.” Altinum, however, was not finally destroyed till the +Lombard invasion in 641, when the episcopal seat was removed +to Torcello, and the inhabitants of the mainland city, giving up +all hope of returning to their former homes, built their Duomo +there. It is a disputed point among Venetian antiquarians, +whether the present church be that which was built in the +seventh century, partially restored in 1008, or whether the words +of Sagornino, “ecclesiam jam vetustate consumptam recreare,” +justify them in assuming an entire rebuilding of the fabric. I +quite agree with the Marchese Selvatico, in believing the present +church to be the earlier building, variously strengthened, +refitted, and modified by subsequent care; but, in all its main +features, preserving its original aspect, except, perhaps, in the +case of the pulpit and chancel screen, which, if the Chevalier +Bunsen’s conclusions respecting early pulpits in the Roman +basilicas be correct (see the next article of this Appendix), may +possibly have been placed in their present position in the tenth +century, and the fragmentary character of the workmanship of +the latter, noticed in §§ <span class="scs">X.</span> and <span class="scs">XI</span>., would in that case have +been the result of innovation, rather than of haste. The question, +however, whether they are of the seventh or eleventh century, +does not in the least affect our conclusions, drawn from +the design of these portions of the church, respecting pulpits in +general.</p> + +<div class="pd2"> </div> +<p class="center scs bmarg"><a name="app_5"></a>5. MODERN PULPITS.</p> + +<p>There is no character of an ordinary modern English church +which appears to me more to be regretted than the peculiar +pompousness of the furniture of the pulpits, contrasted, as it +generally is, with great meagreness and absence of color in the +other portions of the church; a pompousness, besides, altogether +without grace or meaning, and dependent merely on certain +applications of upholstery; which, curiously enough, are always +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page381"></a>381</span> +in worse taste than even those of our drawing-rooms. Nor do I +understand how our congregations can endure the aspect of the +wooden sounding-board attached only by one point of its circumference +to an upright pillar behind the preacher; and looking +as if the weight of its enormous leverage must infallibly, +before the sermon is concluded, tear it from its support, and +bring it down upon the preacher’s head. These errors in taste +and feeling will however, I believe, be gradually amended as +more Gothic churches are built; but the question of the position +of the pulpit presents a more disputable ground of discussion. +I can perfectly sympathise with the feeling of those who wish +the eastern extremity of the church to form a kind of holy place +for the communion table; nor have I often received a more +painful impression than on seeing the preacher at the Scotch +church in George Street, Portman Square, taking possession of +a perfect apse; and occupying therein, during the course of the +service, very nearly the same position which the figure of Christ +does in that of the Cathedral of Pisa. But I nevertheless believe +that the Scotch congregation are perfectly right, and have +restored the real arrangement of the primitive churches. The +Chevalier Bunsen informed me very lately, that, in all the early +basilicas he has examined, the lateral pulpits are of more recent +date than the rest of the building; that he knows of none placed +in the position which they now occupy, both in the basilicas and +Gothic cathedrals, before the ninth century; and that there can +be no doubt that the bishop always preached or exhorted, in the +primitive times, from his throne in the centre of the apse, the +altar being always set at the centre of the church, in the crossing +of the transepts. His Excellency found by experiment in +Santa Maria Maggiore, the largest of the Roman basilicas, that +the voice could be heard more plainly from the centre of the +apse than from any other spot in the whole church; and, if this +be so, it will be another very important reason for the adoption +of the Romanesque (or Norman) architecture in our churches, +rather than of the Gothic. The reader will find some farther +notice of this question in the concluding chapter of the third +volume.</p> + +<p>Before leaving this subject, however, I must be permitted to +say one word to those members of the Scotch Church who are +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page382"></a>382</span> +severe in their requirement of the nominal or apparent extemporization +of all addresses delivered from the pulpit. Whether +they do right in giving those among their ministers who <i>cannot</i> +preach extempore, the additional and useless labor of committing +their sermons to memory, may be a disputed question; but +it can hardly be so, that the now not unfrequent habit of making +a desk of the Bible, and reading the sermon stealthily, by +slipping the sheets of it between the sacred leaves, so that the +preacher consults his own notes <i>on pretence</i> of consulting the +Scriptures, is a very unseemly consequence of their over-strictness.</p> + +<div class="pd2"> </div> +<p class="center scs bmarg"><a name="app_6"></a>6. APSE OF MURANO.</p> + +<p>The following passage succeeded in the original text to § XV. +of <a href="#chap_3">Chap. III.</a> Finding it not likely to interest the general +reader, I have placed it here, as it contains matter of some interest +to architects.</p> + +<p>“On this plinth, thus carefully studied in relations of magnitude, +the shafts are set at the angles, as close to each other as +possible, as seen in the ground-plan. These shafts are founded +on pure Roman tradition; their bases have no spurs, and the +shaft itself is tapered in a bold curve, according to the classical +model. But, in the adjustment of the bases to each other, we +have a most curious instance of the first beginning of the Gothic +principle of aggregation of shafts. They have a singularly +archaic and simple profile, composed of a single cavetto and roll, +which are circular, on a square plinth. Now when these bases +are brought close to each other at the angles of the apse, their +natural position would be as in fig. 3, <a href="#plate_1">Plate I.</a>, leaving an awkward +fissure between the two square plinths. This offended the +architect’s eye; so he cut part of each of the bases away, and +fitted them close to each other, as in fig. 5, <a href="#plate_1">Plate I.</a>, which is +their actual position. As before this piece of rough harmonization +the circular mouldings reached the sides of the squares, +they were necessarily cut partly away in the course of the adjustment, +and run into each other as in the figure, so as to give us +one of the first Venetian instances of the continuous Gothic +base.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page383"></a>383</span></p> + +<p>“The shafts measure on the average 2 ft. 8½ in. in circumference, +at the base, tapering so much that under the lowest +fillet of their necks they measure only 2 feet round, though their +height is only 5 ft. 6 in., losing thus eight inches of girth in +five feet and a half of height. They are delicately curved all +the way up; and are 2½ in. apart from each other where they +are nearest, and about 5 in. at the necks of their capitals.”</p> + +<div class="pd2"> </div> +<p class="center scs bmarg"><a name="app_7"></a>7. EARLY VENETIAN DRESS.</p> + +<p>Sansovino’s account of the changes in the dress of the Venetians +is brief, masterly, and full of interest; one or two passages +are deserving of careful notice, especially the introductory sentence. +“For the Venetians from their first origin, having +made it their aim to be peaceful and religious, and to keep on +an equality with one another, that equality might induce stability +and concord (as disparity produces confusion and ruin), +made their dress a matter of conscience, ...; and our +ancestors, observant lovers of religion, upon which all their acts +were founded, and desiring that their young men should direct +themselves to virtue, the true soul of all human action, <i>and +above all to peace</i>, invented a dress conformable to their gravity, +such, that in clothing themselves with it, they might clothe +themselves also with modesty and honor. And because their +mind was bent upon giving no offence to any one, and living +quietly as far as might be permitted them, it seemed good to +them to show to every one, even by external signs, this their endeavor, +by wearing a long dress, which was in no wise convenient +for persons of a quick temperament, or of eager and fierce +spirits.”</p> + +<p>Respecting the color of the women’s dress, it is noticeable +that blue is called “Venetian color” by Cassiodorus, translated +“turchino” by Filiasi, vol. v. chap. iv. It was a very pale blue, +as the place in which the word occurs is the description by Cassiodorus +of the darkness which came over the sun’s disk at the +time of the Belisarian wars and desolation of the Gothic kingdom.</p> + +<div class="pd2"> </div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page384"></a>384</span></p> + +<p class="center scs bmarg"><a name="app_8"></a>8. INSCRIPTIONS AT MURANO.</p> + +<p>There are two other inscriptions on the border of the concha; +but these, being written on the soffit of the face arch, which, as +before noticed, is supported by the last two shafts of the chancel, +could not be read by the congregation, and only with difficulty +by those immediately underneath them. One of them is in +black, the other in red letters. The first:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“Mutat quod sumsit, quod sollat crimina tandit</p> +<p>Et quod sumpsit, vultus vestisq. refulsit.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>The second:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“Discipuli testes, prophete certa videntes</p> +<p>Et cernunt purum, sibi credunt ese futurum.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>I have found no notice of any of these inscriptions in any Italian +account of the church of Murano, and have seldom seen even +Monkish Latin less intelligible. There is no mistake in the letters, +which are all large and clear; but wrong letters may have +been introduced by ignorant restorers, as has often happened in +St. Mark’s.</p> + +<div class="pd2"> </div> +<p class="center scs bmarg"><a name="app_9"></a>9. SHAFTS OF ST. MARK.</p> + +<p>The principal pillars which carry the nave and transepts, +fourteen in number, are of white alabaster veined with grey and +amber; each of a single block, 15 ft. high, and 6 ft. 2 in. round +at the base. I in vain endeavored to ascertain their probable +value. Every sculptor whom I questioned on this subject told +me there were no such pieces of alabaster in the market, and +that they were to be considered as without price.</p> + +<p>On the façade of the church alone are two great ranges of +shafts, seventy-two in the lower range, and seventy-nine in the +upper; all of porphyry, alabaster, and verd-antique or fine marble; +the lower about 9 ft., the upper about 7 ft. high, and of +various circumferences, from 4 ft. 6 in. to 2 ft. round.</p> + +<p>There are now so many published engravings, and, far better +than engravings, calotypes, of this façade, that I may point out +one or two circumstances for the reader’s consideration without +giving any plate of it here. And first, we ought to note the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page385"></a>385</span> +relations of the shafts and wall, the latter being first sheeted +with alabaster, and then the pillars set within two or three +inches of it, forming such a grove of golden marble that the +porches open before us as we enter the church like glades in a +deep forest. The reader may perhaps at first question the +propriety of placing the wall so close behind the shafts that the +latter have nearly as little work to do as the statues in a Gothic +porch; but the philosophy of this arrangement is briefly deducible +from the principles stated in the text. The builder had at +his disposal shafts of a certain size only, not fit to sustain the +whole weight of the fabric above. He therefore turns just as +much of the wall veil into shaft as he has strength of marble at +his disposal, and leaves the rest in its massive form. And that +there may be no dishonesty in this, nor any appearance in the +shafts of doing more work than is really allotted to them, many +are left visibly with half their capitals projecting beyond the +archivolts they sustain, showing that the wall is very slightly +dependent on their co-operation, and that many of them are +little more than mere bonds or connecting rods between the +foundation and cornices. If any architect ventures to blame +such an arrangement, let him look at our much vaunted early +English piers in Salisbury Cathedral or Westminster Abbey, +where the small satellitic shafts are introduced in the same +gratuitous manner, but with far less excuse or reason: for those +small shafts have nothing but their delicacy and purely theoretical +connection with the archivolt mouldings to recommend +them; but the St. Mark’s shafts have an intrinsic beauty and +value of the highest order, and the object of the whole system +of architecture, as above stated, is in great part to set forth the +beauty and value of the shaft itself. Now, not only is this accomplished +by withdrawing it occasionally from servile work, +but the position here given to it, within three or four inches of +a wall from which it nevertheless stands perfectly clear all the +way up, is exactly that which must best display its color and +quality. When there is much vacant space left behind a pillar, +the shade against which it is relieved is comparatively indefinite, +the eye passes by the shaft, and penetrates into the vacancy. +But when a broad surface of wall is brought near the shaft, its +own shadow is, in almost every effect of sunshine, so sharp and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page386"></a>386</span> +dark as to throw out its colors with the highest possible brilliancy; +if there be no sunshine, the wall veil is subdued and +varied by the most subtle gradations of delicate half shadow, +hardly less advantageous to the shaft which it relieves. And, +as far as regards pure effect in open air (all artifice of excessive +darkness or mystery being excluded), I do not know anything +whatsoever in the whole compass of the European architecture +I have seen, which can for a moment be compared with the +quaint shade and delicate color, like that of Rembrandt and +Paul Veronese united, which the sun brings out, as his rays +move from porch to porch along the St. Mark’s façade.</p> + +<p>And, as if to prove that this was indeed the builder’s intention, +and that he did not leave his shafts idle merely because he +did not know how to set them to work safely, there are two +pieces of masonry at the extremities of the façade, which are +just as remarkable for their frank trust in the bearing power of +the shafts as the rest are for their want of confidence in them. +But, before we come to these, we must say a word or two respecting +the second point named above, the superior position of +the shafts.</p> + +<p>It was assuredly not in the builder’s power, even had he been +so inclined, to obtain shafts high enough to sustain the whole +external gallery, as it is sustained in the nave, on one arcade. +He had, as above noticed, a supply of shafts of every sort and +size, from which he chose the largest for his nave shafts; the +smallest were set aside for windows, jambs, balustrades, supports +of pulpits, niches, and such other services, every conceivable +size occurring in different portions of the building; and the +middle-sized shafts were sorted into two classes, of which on the +average one was about two-thirds the length of the other, and +out of these the two stories of the façade and sides of the church +are composed, the smaller shafts of course uppermost, and more +numerous than the lower, according to the ordinary laws of +superimposition adopted by all the Romanesque builders, and +observed also in a kind of architecture quite as beautiful as any +we are likely to invent, that of forest trees.</p> + +<p>Nothing is more singular than the way in which this kind of +superimposition (the only right one in the case of shafts) will +shock a professed architect. He has been accustomed to see, in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page387"></a>387</span> +the Renaissance designs, shaft put on the top of shaft, three or +four times over, and he thinks this quite right; but the moment +he is shown a properly subdivided superimposition, in +which the upper shafts diminish in size and multiply in number, +so that the lower pillars would balance them safely even without +cement, he exclaims that it is “against law,” as if he had never +seen a tree in his life.</p> + +<p>Not that the idea of the Byzantine superimposition was taken +from trees, any more than that of Gothic arches. Both are simple +compliances with laws of nature, and, therefore, approximations +to the forms of nature.</p> + +<p>There is, however, one very essential difference between tree +structure and the shaft structure in question; namely, that the +marble branches, having no vital connexion with the stem, must +be provided with a firm tablet or second foundation whereon to +stand. This intermediate plinth or tablet runs along the whole +façade at one level, is about eighteen inches thick, and left with +little decoration as being meant for hard service. The small +porticos, already spoken of as the most graceful pieces of composition +with which I am acquainted, are sustained on detached +clusters of four or five columns, forming the continuation of +those of the upper series, and each of these clusters is balanced +on one grand detached shaft; as much trust being thus placed +in the pillars here, as is withdrawn from them elsewhere. The +northern portico has only one detached pillar at its outer angle, +which sustains three shafts and a square pilaster; of these shafts +the one at the outer angle of the group is the thickest (so as to +balance the pilaster on the inner angle), measuring 3 ft. 2 in. +round, while the others measure only 2 ft. 10 in. and 2 ft. 11 in.; +and in order to make this increase of diameter, and the importance +of the shaft, more manifest to the eye, the old builders +made the shaft <i>shorter</i> as well as thicker, increasing the depth +both of its capital and the base, with what is to the thoughtless +spectator ridiculous incongruity, and to the observant one a most +beautiful expression of constructive genius. Nor is this all. +Observe: the whole strength of this angle depends on accuracy +of <i>poise</i>, not on breadth or strength of foundation. It is a <i>balanced</i>, +not a propped structure: if the balance fails, it must fall +instantly; if the balance is maintained, no matter how the lower +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page388"></a>388</span> +shaft is fastened into the ground, all will be safe. And to mark +this more definitely, the great lower shaft <i>has a different base +from all the others of the façade</i>, remarkably high in proportion +to the shaft, on a circular instead of a square plinth, and <i>without +spurs</i>, while all the other bases have spurs without exception. +Glance back at what is said of the spurs at p. 79 of the first +volume, and reflect that all expression of <i>grasp</i> in the foot of the +pillar is here useless, and to be replaced by one of balance merely, +and you will feel what the old builder wanted to say to us, and +how much he desired us to follow him with our understanding +as he laid stone above stone.</p> + +<p>And this purpose of his is hinted to us once more, even by +the position of this base in the ground plan of the foundation of +the portico; for, though itself circular, it sustains a hexagonal +plinth <i>set obliquely to the walls of the church</i>, as if expressly to +mark to us that it did not matter how the base was set, so only +that the weights were justly disposed above it.</p> + +<div class="pd2"> </div> +<p class="center scs bmarg"><a name="app_10"></a>10. PROPER SENSE OF THE WORD IDOLATRY.</p> + +<p>I do not intend, in thus applying the word “Idolatry” to certain +ceremonies of Romanist worship, to admit the propriety of +the ordinary Protestant manner of regarding those ceremonies as +distinctively idolatrous, and as separating the Romanist from the +Protestant Church by a gulf across which we must not look to +our fellow-Christians but with utter reprobation and disdain. +The Church of Rome does indeed distinctively violate the <i>second</i> +commandment; but the true force and weight of the sin of idolatry +are in the violation of the first, of which we are all of us +guilty, in probably a very equal degree, considered only as members +of this or that communion, and not as Christians or unbelievers. +Idolatry is, both literally and verily, not the mere bowing +down before sculptures, but the serving or becoming the +slave of any images or imaginations which stand between us and +God, and it is otherwise expressed in Scripture as “walking after +the <i>Imagination</i>” of our own hearts. And observe also that while, +at least on one occasion, we find in the Bible an indulgence +granted to the mere external and literal violation of the second +commandment, “When I bow myself in the house of Rimmon, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page389"></a>389</span> +the Lord pardon thy servant in this thing,” we find no indulgence +in any instance, or in the slightest degree, granted to “covetousness, +which is idolatry” (Col. iii. 5; no casual association +of terms, observe, but again energetically repeated in Ephesians, +v. 5, “No covetous man, who is an idolater, hath any inheritance +in the kingdom of Christ”); nor any to that denial of God, +idolatry in one of its most subtle forms, following so often on the +possession of that wealth against which Agur prayed so earnestly, +“Give me neither poverty nor riches, lest I be full and deny thee, +and say, ‘Who is the Lord?’”</p> + +<p>And in this sense, which of us is not an idolater? Which of +us has the right, in the fulness of that better knowledge, in spite +of which he nevertheless is not yet separated from the service of +this world, to speak scornfully of any of his brethren, because, +in a guiltless ignorance, they have been accustomed to bow their +knees before a statue? Which of us shall say that there may not +be a spiritual worship in their apparent idolatry, or that there is +not a spiritual idolatry in our own apparent worship?</p> + +<p>For indeed it is utterly impossible for one man to judge of +the feeling with which another bows down before an image. +From that pure reverence in which Sir Thomas Brown wrote, “I +can dispense with my hat at the sight of a cross, but not with a +thought of my Redeemer,” to the worst superstition of the most +ignorant Romanist, there is an infinite series of subtle transitions; +and the point where simple reverence and the use of the +image merely to render conception more vivid, and feeling more +intense, change into definite idolatry by the attribution of Power +to the image itself, is so difficultly determinable that we cannot +be too cautions in asserting that such a change has actually taken +place in the case of any individual. Even when it is definite and +certain, we shall oftener find it the consequence of dulness of intellect +than of real alienation of heart from God; and I have no +manner of doubt that half of the poor and untaught Christians +who are this day lying prostrate before crucifixes, Bambinos, and +Volto Santos, are finding more acceptance with God, than many +Protestants who idolize nothing but their own opinions or their +own interests. I believe that those who have worshipped the +thorns of Christ’s crown will be found at last to have been holier +and wiser than those who worship the thorns of the world’s service, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page390"></a>390</span> +and that to adore the nails of the cross is a less sin than to +adore the hammer of the workman.</p> + +<p>But, on the other hand, though the idolatry of the lower orders +in the Romish Church may thus be frequently excusable, +the ordinary subterfuges by which it is defended are not so. It +may be extenuated, but cannot be denied; and the attribution +of power to the image,<a name="FnAnchor_163" href="#Footnote_163"><span class="sp">163</span></a> in which it consists, is not merely a form +of popular feeling, but a tenet of priestly instruction, and may +be proved, over and over again, from any book of the Romish +Church services. Take for instance the following prayer, which +occurs continually at the close of the service of the Holy Cross:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“Saincte vraye Croye aourée,</p> +<p>Qui du corps Dieu fu aournée</p> +<p>Et de sa sueur arrousée,</p> +<p>Et de son sanc enluminée,</p> +<p>Par ta vertu, par ta puissance,</p> +<p>Defent mon corps de meschance,</p> +<p>Et montroie moy par ton playsir</p> +<p>Que vray confes puisse mourir.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p style="text-indent: -1em; margin-left: 2em; font-size: 90%; ">“Oh holy, true, and golden Cross, which wast adorned with God’s body, + and watered with His sweat, and illuminated with His blood, by thy + healing virtue and thy power, defend my body from mischance; and + by thy good pleasure, let me make a good confession when I die.”</p> + +<p>There can be no possible defence imagined for the mere +terms in which this prayer and other such are couched: yet it is +always to be remembered, that in many cases they are rather +poetical effusions than serious prayers; the utterances of imaginative +enthusiasm, rather than of reasonable conviction; and +as such, they are rather to be condemned as illusory and fictitious, +than as idolatrous, nor even as such, condemned altogether, +for strong love and faith are often the roots of them and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page391"></a>391</span> +the errors of affection are better than the accuracies of apathy. +But the unhappy results, among all religious sects, of the habit +of allowing imaginative and poetical belief to take the place of +deliberate, resolute, and prosaic belief, have been fully and admirably +traced by the author of the “Natural History of Enthusiasm.”</p> + +<div class="pd2"> </div> +<p class="center scs bmarg"><a name="app_11"></a>11. SITUATIONS OF BYZANTINE PALACES.</p> + +<p class="center bmarg">(1.) <i>The Terraced House.</i></p> + +<p>The most conspicuous pile in the midmost reach of the +Grand Canal is the Casa Grimani, now the Post-Office. Letting +his boat lie by the steps of this great palace, the traveller will +see, on the other side of the canal, a building with a small terrace +in front of it, and a little court with a door to the water, +beside the terrace. Half of the house is visibly modern, and +there is a great seam, like the edge of a scar, between it and the +ancient remnant, in which the circular bands of the Byzantine +arches will be instantly recognized. This building not having, +as far as I know, any name except that of its present proprietor, +I shall in future distinguish it simply as the Terraced House.</p> + + +<p class="center bmarg">(2.) <i>Casa Businello.</i></p> + +<p>To the left of this edifice (looking from the Post-Office) +there is a modern palace, on the other side of which the Byzantine +mouldings appear again in the first and second stories of a +house lately restored. It might be thought that the shafts and +arches had been raised yesterday, the modern walls having been +deftly adjusted to them, and all appearance of antiquity, together +with the ornamentation and proportions of the fabric, +having been entirely destroyed. I cannot, however, speak with +unmixed sorrow of these changes, since, without his being implicated +in the shame of them, they fitted this palace to become +the residence of the kindest friend I had in Venice. It is generally +known as the Casa Businello.</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page392"></a>392</span></p> + +<p class="center bmarg">(3.) <i>The Braided House.</i></p> + +<p>Leaving the steps of the Casa Grimani, and turning the gondola +away from the Rialto, we will pass the Casa Businello, and +the three houses which succeed it on the right. The fourth is +another restored palace, white and conspicuous, but retaining of +its ancient structure only the five windows in its second story, +and an ornamental moulding above them which appears to be +ancient, though it is inaccessible without scaffolding, and I cannot +therefore answer for it. But the five central windows are +very valuable; and as their capitals differ from most that we +find (except in St. Mark’s), in their plaited or braided border +and basket-worked sides, I shall call this house, in future, the +Braided House.<a name="FnAnchor_164" href="#Footnote_164"><span class="sp">164</span></a></p> + + +<p class="center bmarg">(4.) <i>The Madonnetta House.</i></p> + +<p>On the other side of this palace is the Traghetto called +“Della Madonnetta;” and beyond this Traghetto, still facing +the Grand Canal, a small palace, of which the front shows mere +vestiges of arcades, the old shafts only being visible, with obscure +circular seams in the modern plaster which covers the +arches. The side of it is a curious agglomeration of pointed +and round windows in every possible position, and of nearly +every date from the twelfth to the eighteenth century. It is +the smallest of the buildings we have to examine, but by no +means the least interesting: I shall call it, from the name of its +Traghetto, the Madonnetta House.</p> + + +<p class="center bmarg">(5.) <i>The Rio Foscari House.</i></p> + +<p>We must now descend the Grand Canal as far as the Palazzo +Foscari, and enter the narrower canal, called the Rio di Ca’ +Foscari, at the side of that palace. Almost immediately after +passing the great gateway of the Foscari courtyard, we shall see +on our left, in the ruinous and time-stricken walls which totter +over the water, the white curve of a circular arch covered with +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page393"></a>393</span> +sculpture, and fragments of the bases of small pillars, entangled +among festoons of the Erba della Madonna. I have already, in +the folio plates which accompanied the first volume, partly illustrated +this building. In what references I have to make to it +here, I shall speak of it as the Rio Foscari House.</p> + + +<p class="center bmarg">(6.) <i>Casa Farsetti.</i></p> + +<p>We have now to reascend the Grand Canal, and approach the +Rialto. As soon as we have passed the Casa Grimani, the traveller +will recognize, on his right, two rich and extensive masses +of building, which form important objects in almost every +picturesque view of the noble bridge. Of these, the first, that +farthest from the Rialto, retains great part of its ancient materials +in a dislocated form. It has been entirely modernized in +its upper stories, but the ground floor and first floor have nearly +all their original shafts and capitals, only they have been shifted +hither and thither to give room for the introduction of various +small apartments, and present, in consequence, marvellous +anomalies in proportion. This building is known in Venice as +the Casa Farsetti.</p> + + +<p class="center bmarg">(7.) <i>Casa Loredan.</i></p> + +<p>The one next to it, though not conspicuous, and often passed +with neglect, will, I believe, be felt at last, by all who examine +it carefully, to be the most beautiful palace in the whole extent +of the Grand Canal. It has been restored often, once in the +Gothic, once in the Renaissance times,—some writers say, even +rebuilt; but, if so, rebuilt in its old form. The Gothic additions +harmonize exquisitely with its Byzantine work, and it is easy, +as we examine its lovely central arcade, to forget the Renaissance +additions which encumber it above. It is known as the +Casa Loredan.</p> + +<p>The eighth palace is the Fondaco de’ Turchi, described in +the text. A ninth existed, more interesting apparently than +any of these, near the Church of San Moisč, but it was thrown +down in the course of “improvements” a few years ago. A +woodcut of it is given in M. Lazari’s Guide.</p> + +<div class="pd2"> </div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page394"></a>394</span></p> + +<p class="center scs bmarg"><a name="app_12"></a>12. MODERN PAINTING ON GLASS.</p> + +<p>Of all the various principles of art which, in modern days, +we have defied or forgotten, none are more indisputable, and +few of more practical importance than this, which I shall have +occasion again and again to allege in support of many future +deductions:</p> + +<p>“All art, working with given materials, must propose to itself +the objects which, with those materials, are most perfectly +attainable; and becomes illegitimate and debased if it propose +to itself any other objects, better attainable with other materials.”</p> + +<p>Thus, great slenderness, lightness, or intricacy of structure,—as +in ramifications of trees, detached folds of drapery, or +wreaths of hair,—is easily and perfectly expressible in metal-work +or in painting, but only with great difficulty and imperfectly +expressible in sculpture. All sculpture, therefore, which +professes as its chief end the expression of such characters, is +debased; and if the suggestion of them be accidentally required +of it, that suggestion is only to be given to an extent compatible +with perfect ease of execution in the given material,—not to the +utmost possible extent. For instance: some of the most delightful +drawings of our own water-color painter, Hunt, have +been of birds’ nests; of which, in painting, it is perfectly possible +to represent the intricate fibrous or mossy structure; therefore, +the effort is a legitimate one, and the art is well employed. +But to carve a bird’s nest out of marble would be physically impossible, +and to reach any approximate expression of its structure +would require prolonged and intolerable labor. Therefore, +all sculpture which set itself to carving birds’ nests as an end, +or which, if a bird’s nest were required of it, carved it to the +utmost possible point of realization, would be debased. Nothing +but the general form, and as much of the fibrous structure +as could be with perfect ease represented, ought to be attempted +at all.</p> + +<p>But more than this. The workman has not done his duty, +and is not working on safe principles, unless he even so far +<i>honors</i> the materials with which he is working as to set himself +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page395"></a>395</span> +to bring out their beauty, and to recommend and exalt, as far +as lie can, their peculiar qualities. If he is working in marble, +he should insist upon and exhibit its transparency and solidity; +if in iron, its strength and tenacity; if in gold, its ductility; +and he will invariably find the material grateful, and that his +work is all the nobler for being eulogistic of the substance of +which it is made. But of all the arts, the working of glass is +that in which we ought to keep these principles most vigorously +in mind. For we owe it so much, and the possession of it is so +great a blessing, that all our work in it should be completely +and forcibly expressive of the peculiar characters which give it +so vast a value.</p> + +<p>These are two, namely, its <span class="scs">DUCTILITY</span> when heated, and +<span class="scs">TRANSPARENCY</span> when cold, both nearly perfect. In its employment +for vessels, we ought always to exhibit its ductility, and +in its employment for windows, its transparency. All work in +glass is bad which does not, with loud voice, proclaim one or +other of these great qualities.</p> + +<p>Consequently, <i>all cut glass</i> is barbarous: for the cutting conceals +its ductility, and confuses it with crystal. Also, all very +neat, finished, and perfect form in glass is barbarous: for this +fails in proclaiming another of its great virtues; namely, the +ease with which its light substance can be moulded or blown +into any form, so long as perfect accuracy be not required. In +metal, which, even when heated enough to be thoroughly malleable, +retains yet such weight and consistency as render it susceptible +of the finest handling and retention of the most delicate +form, great precision of workmanship is admissible; but in +glass, which when once softened must be blown or moulded, +not hammered, and which is liable to lose, by contraction or +subsidence, the fineness of the forms given to it, no delicate +outlines are to be attempted, but only such fantastic and fickle +grace as the mind of the workman can conceive and execute on +the instant. The more wild, extravagant, and grotesque in +their gracefulness the forms are, the better. No material is so +adapted for giving full play to the imagination, but it must not +be wrought with refinement or painfulness, still less with costliness. +For as in gratitude we are to proclaim its virtues, so in +all honesty we are to confess its imperfections; and while we +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page396"></a>396</span> +triumphantly set forth its transparency, we are also frankly to +admit its fragility, and therefore not to waste much time upon +it, nor put any real art into it when intended for daily use. No +workman ought ever to spend more than an hour in the making +of any glass vessel.</p> + +<p>Next in the case of windows, the points which we have to +insist upon are, the transparency of the glass and its susceptibility +of the most brilliant colors; and therefore the attempt to +turn painted windows into pretty pictures is one of the most +gross and ridiculous barbarisms of this pre-eminently barbarous +century. It originated, I suppose, with the Germans, who seem +for the present distinguished among European nations by the +loss of the sense of color; but it appears of late to have considerable +chance of establishing itself in England: and it is a two-edged +error, striking in two directions; first at the healthy +appreciation of painting, and then at the healthy appreciation +of glass. Color, ground with oil, and laid on a solid +opaque ground, furnishes to the human hand the most exquisite +means of expression which the human sight and invention +can find or require. By its two opposite qualities, each +naturally and easily attainable, of transparency in shadow and +opacity in light, it complies with the conditions of nature; +and by its perfect governableness it permits the utmost possible +fulness and subtlety in the harmonies of color, as well as the +utmost perfection in the drawing. Glass, considered as a material +for a picture, is exactly as bad as oil paint is good. It +sets out by reversing the conditions of nature, by making the +lights transparent and the shadows opaque; and the ungovernableness +of its color (changing in the furnace), and its violence +(being always on a high key, because produced by actual light), +render it so disadvantageous in every way, that the result of +working in it for pictorial effect would infallibly be the destruction +of all the appreciation of the noble qualities of pictorial +color.</p> + +<p>In the second place, this modern barbarism destroys the true +appreciation of the qualities of glass. It denies, and endeavors +as far as possible to conceal, the transparency, which is not only +its great virtue in a merely utilitarian point of view, but its +great spiritual character; the character by which in church architecture +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page397"></a>397</span> +it becomes most touchingly impressive, as typical of +the entrances of the Holy Spirit into the heart of man; a typical +expression rendered specific and intense by the purity and brilliancy +of its sevenfold hues;<a name="FnAnchor_165" href="#Footnote_165"><span class="sp">165</span></a> and therefore in endeavoring to +turn the window into a picture, we at once lose the sanctity and +power of the noble material, and employ it to an end which is +utterly impossible it should ever worthily attain. The true perfection +of a painted window is to be serene, intense, brilliant, +like flaming jewellery; full of easily legible and quaint subjects, +and exquisitely subtle, yet simple, in its harmonies. In a word, +this perfection has been consummated in the designs, never to +be surpassed, if ever again to be approached by human art, of +the French windows of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.</p> + + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_163" href="#FnAnchor_163"><span class="fn">163</span></a> I do not like to hear Protestants speaking with gross and uncharitable +contempt even of the worship of relics. Elisha once trusted his own staff +too far; nor can I see any reasonable ground for the scorn, or the unkind +rebuke, of those who have been taught from their youth upwards that to +hope even in the hem of the garment may sometimes be better than to +spend the living on physicians.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_164" href="#FnAnchor_164"><span class="fn">164</span></a> Casa Tiepolo (?) in Lazari’s Guide.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_165" href="#FnAnchor_165"><span class="fn">165</span></a> I do not think that there is anything more necessary to the progress +of European art in the present day than the complete understanding of this +sanctity of Color. I had much pleasure in finding it, the other day, fully +understood and thus sweetly expressed in a little volume of poems by a +Miss Maynard:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="ind05">“For still in every land, though to Thy name</p> +<p>Arose no temple,—still in every age,</p> +<p>Though heedless man had quite forgot Thy praise,</p> +<p><i>We</i> praised Thee; and at rise and set of sun</p> +<p>Did we assemble duly, and intone</p> +<p>A choral hymn that all the lands might hear.</p> +<p>In heaven, on earth, and in the deep we praised Thee,</p> +<p>Singly, or mingled in sweet sisterhood.</p> +<p>But now, acknowledged ministrants, we come,</p> +<p>Co-worshippers with man in this Thy house,</p> +<p>We, the Seven Daughters of the Light, to praise</p> +<p>Thee, Light of Light! Thee, God of very God!”</p> + + <p style="text-align: right; "><i>A Dream of Fair Colors.</i></p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>These poems seem to be otherwise remarkable for a very unobtrusive +and pure religious feeling in subjects connected with art.</p> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<hr class="art" /> +<p> </p> + +<div class="pg"> +<table class="pg" border="0" style="background-color: #ddddee;" cellpadding="10"> +<tr><td><a name="tntag" id="tntag"></a> +<h4>Transcriber's Note:</h4> +<p>This is the second volume of three.<br /> </p> + +<p>The index is in Volume III, with links to all +three volumes; and some footnotes are linked between volumes.<br /> </p> + +<p>These links are designed to work when +the book is read on line. However, if you want to download all +three volumes and have the links work on your own computer, +then follow these directions carefully.<br /> </p> + +<p> +1. 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