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margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. 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="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Stones of Venice, Volume III (of 3)</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: John Ruskin</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: December 31, 2009 [eBook #30756]<br /> +[Most recently updated: March 15, 2023]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Marius Masi, Juliet Sutherland, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STONES OF VENICE, VOLUME III (OF 3) ***</div> + +<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 this volume, 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/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm">Volume II</a></h3> + + +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> + +<div style="padding-top: 3em; "> </div> + + +<h3>THE COMPLETE WORKS</h3> + +<h5>OF</h5> + +<h3>JOHN RUSKIN</h3> + +<h4>VOLUME IX</h4> +<hr class="short" /> +<h4>STONES OF VENICE</h4> + +<h4>VOLUME III</h4> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter1"> + <img src="images/img001.jpg" width="444" height="650" alt="THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS" title="THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS" /></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS.<br /> + <span class="f80">FROM A PHOTOGRAPH.</span></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<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">Volume III</span><br /> + GIOTTO<br /> + LECTURES ON ARCHITECTURE<br /> + HARBOURS OF ENGLAND<br /> + A JOY FOREVER</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> +<h2>THE</h2> +<h2>STONES OF VENICE</h2> + +<h3>VOLUME III.</h3> + +<h3>THE FALL</h3> + +<hr class="art" /> +<h3>CONTENTS.</h3> +<hr class="short" /> + +<h5>THIRD, OR RENAISSANCE, 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">Early Renaissance, </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">Roman Renaissance,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page032">32</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER III.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="lsp">Grotesque Renaissance,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page112">112</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="center" colspan="2">CHAPTER IV.</td> </tr> +<tr> <td class="lsp">Conclusion,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page166">166</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">Architect of the Ducal Palace,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page199">199</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">2.</td> + <td class="tc3">Theology of Spenser,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page205">205</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">3.</td> + <td class="tc3">Austrian Government in Italy,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page209">209</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">4.</td> + <td class="tc3">Date of the Palaces of the Byzantine Renaissance,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page211">211</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">5.</td> + <td class="tc3">Renaissance Side of Ducal Palace,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page212">212</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">6.</td> + <td class="tc3">Character of the Doge Michele Morosini,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page213">213</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">7.</td> + <td class="tc3">Modern Education,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page214">214</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">8.</td> + <td class="tc3">Early Venetian Marriages,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page222">222</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">9.</td> + <td class="tc3">Character of the Venetian Aristocracy,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page223">223</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">10.</td> + <td class="tc3">Final Appendix,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page224">224</a> </td> </tr> +</table> + +<h5>INDICES.</h5> + +<table class="nobctr" width="90%" summary="Contents"> + +<tr> <td class="tc2" style="width: 1.5em; ">I.</td> + <td class="tc3">Personal Index,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page263">263</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">II.</td> + <td class="tc3">Local Index,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page268">268</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">III.</td> + <td class="tc3">Topical Index,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page271">271</a> </td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc2">IV.</td> + <td class="tc3">Venetian Index,</td> + <td class="rsp"><a href="#page287">287</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 sc">Plate</td> + <td class="tc2">1.</td> + <td class="tc3">Temperance and Intemperance in Ornament,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page006">6</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">2.</td> + <td class="tc3">Gothic Capitals,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page008">8</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">3.</td> + <td class="tc3">Noble and Ignoble Grotesque,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page125">125</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">4.</td> + <td class="tc3">Mosaic of Olive Tree and Flowers,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page179">179</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">5.</td> + <td class="tc3">Byzantine Bases,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page225">225</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">6.</td> + <td class="tc3">Byzantine Jambs,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page229">229</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">7.</td> + <td class="tc3">Gothic Jambs,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page230">230</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">8.</td> + <td class="tc3">Byzantine Archivolts,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page244">244</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">9.</td> + <td class="tc3">Gothic Archivolts,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page245">245</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">10.</td> + <td class="tc3">Cornices,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page248">248</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">11.</td> + <td class="tc3">Tracery Bars,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page252">252</a></td> </tr> + +<tr> <td class="tc1">"</td> + <td class="tc2">12.</td> + <td class="tc3">Capitals of Fondaco de Turchi,</td> + <td class="tc4"><a href="#page304">304</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>THIRD, OR RENAISSANCE, PERIOD.</h3> +<hr class="short" /> + + +<h3><a name="chap_1" id="chap_1"></a>CHAPTER I.</h3> + +<h5>EARLY RENAISSANCE.</h5> + + +<p>§ <span class="scs">I.</span> I trust that the reader has been enabled, by the preceding +chapters, to form some conception of the magnificence +of the streets of Venice during the course of the thirteenth +and fourteenth centuries. Yet by all this magnificence she +was not supremely distinguished above the other cities of the +middle ages. Her early edifices have been preserved to our +times by the circuit of her waves; while continual recurrences +of ruin have defaced the glory of her sister cities. But such +fragments as are still left in their lonely squares, and in the +corners of their streets, so far from being inferior to the buildings +of Venice, are even more rich, more finished, more admirable +in invention, more exuberant in beauty. And although, +in the North of Europe, civilization was less advanced, +and the knowledge of the arts was more confined to the ecclesiastical +orders, so that, for domestic architecture, the period of +perfection must be there placed much later than in Italy, and +considered as extending to the middle of the fifteenth century; +yet, as each city reached a certain point in civilization, +its streets became decorated with the same magnificence, varied +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page002"></a>2</span> +only in style according to the materials at hand, and temper +of the people. And I am not aware of any town of wealth +and importance in the middle ages, in which some proof does +not exist, that, at its period of greatest energy and prosperity, +its streets were inwrought with rich sculpture, and even +(though in this, as before noticed, Venice always stood +supreme) glowing with color and with gold. Now, therefore, +let the reader,— forming for himself as vivid and real a +conception as he is able, either of a group of Venetian palaces +in the fourteenth century, or, if he likes better, of one of the +more fantastic but even richer street scenes of Rouen, Antwerp, +Cologne, or Nuremberg, and keeping this gorgeous +image before him,—go out into any thoroughfare, representative, +in a general and characteristic way, of the feeling for +domestic architecture in modern times; let him, for instance, +if in London, walk once up and down Harley Street, or Baker +Street, or Gower Street; and then, looking upon this picture +and on this, set himself to consider (for this is to be the subject +of our following and final inquiry) what have been the +causes which have induced so vast a change in the European +mind.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">II.</span> Renaissance architecture is the school which has conducted +men’s inventive and constructive faculties from the +Grand Canal to Gower Street; from the marble shaft, and the +lancet arch, and the wreathed leafage, and the glowing and +melting harmony of gold and azure, to the square cavity in +the brick wall. We have now to consider the causes and the +steps of this change; and, as we endeavored above to investigate +the nature of Gothic, here to investigate also the nature +of Renaissance.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">III.</span> Although Renaissance architecture assumes very different +forms among different nations, it may be conveniently +referred to three heads:—Early Renaissance, consisting of the +first corruptions introduced into the Gothic schools: Central +or Roman Renaissance, which is the perfectly formed style: +and Grotesque Renaissance, which is the corruption of the +Renaissance itself.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page003"></a>3</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">IV.</span> Now, in order to do full justice to the adverse cause, +we will consider the abstract <i>nature</i> of the school with reference +only to its best or central examples. The forms of building +which must be classed generally under the term <i>early</i> +Renaissance are, in many cases, only the extravagances and +corruptions of the languid Gothic, for whose errors the classical +principle is in no wise answerable. It was stated in the +second chapter of the “Seven Lamps,” that, unless luxury had +enervated and subtlety falsified the Gothic forms, Roman +traditions could not have prevailed against them; and, although +these enervated and false conditions are almost instantly +colored by the classical influence, it would be utterly +unfair to lay to the charge of that influence the first debasement +of the earlier schools, which had lost the strength of +their system before they could be struck by the plague.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">V.</span> The manner, however, of the debasement of all +schools of art, so far as it is natural, is in all ages the same; +luxuriance of ornament, refinement of execution, and idle subtleties +of fancy, taking the place of true thought and firm +handling: and I do not intend to delay the reader long by the +Gothic sick-bed, for our task is not so much to watch the wasting +of fever in the features of the expiring king, as to trace +the character of that Hazael who dipped the cloth in water, +and laid it upon his face, Nevertheless, it is necessary to the +completeness of our view of the architecture of Venice, as +well as to our understanding of the manner in which the Central +Renaissance obtained its universal dominion, that we +glance briefly at the principal forms into which Venetian +Gothic first declined. They are two in number: one the corruption +of the Gothic itself; the other a partial return to Byzantine +forms; for the Venetian mind having carried the +Gothic to a point at which it was dissatisfied, tried to retrace +its steps, fell back first upon Byzantine types, and through them +passed to the first Roman. But in thus retracing its steps, +it does not recover its own lost energy. It revisits the places +through which it had passed in the morning light, but it is now +with wearied limbs, and under the gloomy shadows of evening.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page004"></a>4</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VI.</span> It has just been said that the two principal causes of +natural decline in any school, are over-luxuriance and over-refinement. +The corrupt Gothic of Venice furnishes us with +a curious instance of the one, and the corrupt Byzantine of +the other. We shall examine them in succession.</p> + +<p>Now, observe, first, I do not mean by <i>luxuriance</i> of ornament, +<i>quantity</i> of ornament. In the best Gothic in the world +there is hardly an inch of stone left unsculptured. But I mean +that character of extravagance in the ornament itself which +shows that it was addressed to jaded faculties; a violence and +coarseness in curvature, a depth of shadow, a lusciousness in +arrangement of line, evidently arising out of an incapability of +feeling the true beauty of chaste form and restrained power. +I do not know any character of design which may be more +easily recognized at a glance than this over-lusciousness; and +yet it seems to me that at the present day there is nothing so +little understood as the essential difference between chasteness +and extravagance, whether in color, shade, or lines. We speak +loosely and inaccurately of “overcharged” ornament, with an +obscure feeling that there is indeed something in visible Form +which is correspondent to Intemperance in moral habits; but +without any distinct detection of the character which offends +us, far less with any understanding of the most important +lesson which there can be no doubt was intended to be conveyed +by the universality of this ornamental law.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VII.</span> In a word, then, the safeguard of highest beauty, in +all visible work, is exactly that which is also the safeguard of +conduct in the soul,—Temperance, in the broadest sense; the +Temperance which we have seen sitting on an equal throne +with Justice amidst the Four Cardinal Virtues, and, wanting +which, there is not any other virtue which may not lead us +into desperate error. Now, observe: Temperance, in the +nobler sense, does not mean a subdued and imperfect energy; +it does not mean a stopping short in any good thing, as in +Love or in Faith; but it means the power which governs the +most intense energy, and prevents its acting in any way but +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page005"></a>5</span> +as it ought. And with respect to things in which there may +be excess, it does not mean imperfect enjoyment of them; but +the regulation of their quantity, so that the enjoyment of them +shall be greatest. For instance, in the matter we have at +present in hand, temperance in color does not mean imperfect +or dull enjoyment of color; but it means that government of +color which shall bring the utmost possible enjoyment out of +all hues. A bad colorist does not <i>love</i> beautiful color better +than the best colorist does, nor half so much. But he indulges +in it to excess; he uses it in large masses, and unsubdued; +and then it is a law of Nature, a law as universal as that of +gravitation, that he shall not be able to enjoy it so much as if +he had used it in less quantity. His eye is jaded and satiated, +and the blue and red have life in them no more. He tries to +paint them bluer and redder, in vain: all the blue has become +grey, and gets greyer the more he adds to it; all his crimson +has become brown, and gets more sere and autumnal the more +he deepens it. But the great painter is sternly temperate in +his work; he loves the vivid color with all his heart; but for +a long time he does not allow himself anything like it, nothing +but sober browns and dull greys, and colors that have no conceivable +beauty in them; but these by his government become +lovely: and after bringing out of them all the life and power +they possess, and enjoying them to the uttermost,—cautiously, +and as the crown of the work, and the consummation of its +music, he permits the momentary crimson and azure, and the +whole canvas is in a flame.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VIII.</span> Again, in curvature, which is the cause of loveliness +in all form; the bad designer does not enjoy it more than the +great designer, but he indulges in it till his eye is satiated, and +he cannot obtain enough of it to touch his jaded feeling for +grace. But the great and temperate designer does not allow +himself any violent curves; he works much with lines in +which the curvature, though always existing, is long before it +is perceived. He dwells on all these subdued curvatures to the +uttermost, and opposes them with still severer lines to bring +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page006"></a>6</span> +them out in fuller sweetness; and, at last, he allows himself a +momentary curve of energy, and all the work is, in an instant, +full of life and grace.</p> + +<p>The curves drawn in <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#plate_7">Plate VII.</a> of the first volume, were +chosen entirely to show this character of dignity and restraint, +as it appears in the lines of nature, together with the perpetual +changefulness of the degrees of curvature in one and +the same line; but although the purpose of that plate was +carefully explained in the chapter which it illustrates, as well +as in the passages of “Modern Painters” therein referred to +(vol. ii. pp. 43, 79), so little are we now in the habit of considering +the character of abstract lines, that it was thought by +many persons that this plate only illustrated Hogarth’s reversed +line of beauty, even although the curve of the salvia +leaf, which was the one taken from that plate for future use, +in architecture, was not a reversed or serpentine curve at all. +I shall now, however, I hope, be able to show my meaning +better.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">IX</span>. Fig. 1 in <a href="#plate_1">Plate I.</a>, opposite, is a piece of ornamentation +from a Norman-French manuscript of the thirteenth +century, and fig. 2 from an Italian one of the fifteenth. Observe +in the first its stern moderation in curvature; the gradually +united lines <i>nearly straight</i>, though none quite straight, +used for its main limb, and contrasted with the bold but +simple offshoots of its leaves, and the noble spiral from which +it shoots, these in their turn opposed by the sharp trefoils +and thorny cusps. And see what a reserve of resource there +is in the whole; how easy it would have been to make the +curves more palpable and the foliage more rich, and how the +noble hand has stayed itself, and refused to grant one wave of +motion more.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">I.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter"> + <a name="plate_1" id="plate_1"><img src="images/img006.jpg" width="405" height="650" alt="TEMPERANCE AND INTEMPERANCE." title="TEMPERANCE AND INTEMPERANCE." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">TEMPERANCE AND INTEMPERANCE.<br /> + <span class="sc f80">IN CURVATURE.</span></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">X</span>. Then observe the other example, in which, while the +same idea is continually repeated, excitement and interest are +sought for by means of violent and continual curvatures wholly +unrestrained, and rolling hither and thither in confused wantonness. +Compare the character of the separate lines in these +two examples carefully, and be assured that wherever this +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page007"></a>7</span> +redundant and luxurious curvature shows itself in ornamentation, +it is a sign of jaded energy and failing invention. Do +not confuse it with fulness or richness. Wealth is not necessarily +wantonness: a Gothic moulding may be buried half a +foot deep in thorns and leaves, and yet will be chaste in every +line; and a late Renaissance moulding may be utterly barren +and poverty-stricken, and yet will show the disposition to luxury +in every line.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XI</span>. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_20">Plate XX.</a>, in the second volume, though prepared +for the special illustration of the notices of capitals, becomes +peculiarly interesting when considered in relation to the points +at present under consideration. The four leaves in the upper +row are Byzantine; the two middle rows are transitional, all +but fig. 11, which is of the formed Gothic; fig. 12 is perfect +Gothic of the finest time (Ducal Palace, oldest part), fig. 13 is +Gothic beginning to decline, fig. 14 is Renaissance Gothic in +complete corruption.</p> + +<p>Now observe, first, the Gothic naturalism advancing gradually +from the Byzantine severity; how from the sharp, hard, +formalized conventionality of the upper series the leaves gradually +expand into more free and flexible animation, until in +fig. 12 we have the perfect living leaf as if fresh gathered out +of the dew. And then, in the last two examples and partly in +fig. 11, observe how the forms which can advance no longer +in animation, advance, or rather decline, into luxury and effeminacy +as the strength of the school expires.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XII</span>. In the second place, note that the Byzantine and +Gothic schools, however differing in degree of life, are both +alike in <i>temperance</i>, though the temperance of the Gothic is +the nobler, because it consists with entire animation. Observe +how severe and subtle the curvatures are in all the leaves +from fig. 1 to fig. 12, except only in fig. 11; and observe +especially the firmness and strength obtained by the close +approximation to the straight line in the lateral ribs of the +leaf, fig. 12. The longer the eye rests on these temperate curvatures +the more it will enjoy them, but it will assuredly in the +end be wearied by the morbid exaggeration of the last example.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page008"></a>8</span></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/img008.jpg" width="429" height="650" alt="GOTHIC CAPITALS." title="GOTHIC CAPITALS." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">GOTHIC CAPITALS.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIII.</span> Finally, observe—and this is very important—how +one and the same character in the work may be a sign of +totally different states of mind, and therefore in one case bad, +and in the other good. The examples, fig. 3. and fig. 12., are +both equally pure in line; but one is subdivided in the extreme, +the other broad in the extreme, and both are beautiful. +The Byzantine mind delighted in the delicacy of subdivision +which nature shows in the fern-leaf or parsley-leaf; and so, +also, often the Gothic mind, much enjoying the oak, thorn, +and thistle. But the builder of the Ducal Palace used great +breadth in his foliage, in order to harmonize with the broad +surface of his mighty wall, and delighted in this breadth as +nature delights in the sweeping freshness of the dock-leaf or +water-lily. Both breadth and subdivision are thus noble, when +they are contemplated or conceived by a mind in health; and +both become ignoble, when conceived by a mind jaded and +satiated. The subdivision in fig. 13 as compared with the +type, fig. 12, which it was intended to improve, is the sign, +not of a mind which loved intricacy, but of one which could +not relish simplicity, which had not strength enough to enjoy +the broad masses of the earlier leaves, and cut them to pieces +idly, like a child tearing the book which, in its weariness, it +cannot read. And on the other hand, we shall continually +find, in other examples of work of the same period, an unwholesome +breadth or heaviness, which results from the mind +having no longer any care for refinement or precision, nor +taking any delight in delicate forms, but making all things +blunted, cumbrous, and dead, losing at the same time the sense +of the elasticity and spring of natural curves. It is as if the +soul of man, itself severed from the root of its health, and +about to fall into corruption, lost the perception of life in all +things around it; and could no more distinguish the wave of +the strong branches, full of muscular strength and sanguine +circulation, from the lax bending of a broken cord, nor the +sinuousness of the edge of the leaf, crushed into deep folds by +the expansion of its living growth, from the wrinkled contraction +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page009"></a>9</span> +of its decay.<a name="FnAnchor_1" href="#Footnote_1"><span class="sp">1</span></a> Thus, in morals, there is a care for trifles +which proceeds from love and conscience, and is most holy; +and a care for trifles which comes of idleness and frivolity, and +is most base. And so, also, there is a gravity proceeding from +thought, which is most noble; and a gravity proceeding from +dulness and mere incapability of enjoyment, which is most +base. Now, in the various forms assumed by the later Gothic +of Venice, there are one or two features which, under other +circumstances, would not have been signs of decline; but, in +the particular manner of their occurrence here, indicate the +fatal weariness of decay. Of all these features the most distinctive +are its crockets and finials.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIV.</span> There is not to be found a single crocket or finial +upon any part of the Ducal Palace built during the fourteenth +century; and although they occur on contemporary, and on +some much earlier, buildings, they either indicate detached +examples of schools not properly Venetian, or are signs of +incipient decline.</p> + +<p>The reason of this is, that the finial is properly the ornament +of gabled architecture; it is the compliance, in the +minor features of the building, with the spirit of its towers, +ridged roof, and spires. Venetian building is not gabled, but +horizontal in its roots and general masses; therefore the finial +is a feature contradictory to its spirit, and adopted only in that +search for morbid excitement which is the infallible indication +of decline. When it occurs earlier, it is on fragments of +true gabled architecture, as, for instance, on the porch of the +Carmini.</p> + +<p>In proportion to the unjustifiableness of its introduction +was the extravagance of the form it assumed; becoming, +sometimes, a tuft at the top of the ogee windows, half as high +as the arch itself, and consisting, in the richest examples, of a +human figure, half emergent out of a cup of leafage, as, for +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page010"></a>10</span> +instance, in the small archway of the Campo San Zaccaria: +while the crockets, as being at the side of the arch, and not +so strictly connected with its balance and symmetry, appear to +consider themselves at greater liberty even than the finials, and +fling themselves, hither and thither, in the wildest contortions. +Fig. 4. in <a href="#plate_1">Plate I</a>, is the outline of one, carved in stone, from +the later Gothic of St. Mark’s; fig. 3. a crocket from the fine +Veronese Gothic; in order to enable the reader to discern the +Renaissance character better by comparison with the examples +of curvature above them, taken from the manuscripts. And +not content with this exuberance in the external ornaments of +the arch, the finial interferes with its traceries. The increased +intricacy of these, as such, being a natural process in the developement +of Gothic, would have been no evil; but they are +corrupted by the enrichment of the finial at the point of the +cusp,—corrupted, that is to say, in Venice: for at Verona the +finial, in the form of a fleur-de-lis, appears long previously at +the cusp point, with exquisite effect; and in our own best +Northern Gothic it is often used beautifully in this place, as +in the window from Salisbury, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_12">Plate XII.</a> (Vol. II.), fig. 2. +But in Venice, such a treatment of it was utterly contrary to +the severe spirit of the ancient traceries; and the adoption of +a leafy finial at the extremity of the cusps in the door of San +Stefano, as opposed to the simple ball which terminates those +of the Ducal Palace, is an unmistakable indication of a tendency +to decline.</p> + +<p>In like manner, the enrichment and complication of the +jamb mouldings, which, in other schools, might and did take +place in the healthiest periods, are, at Venice, signs of decline, +owing to the entire inconsistency of such mouldings with the +ancient love of the single square jamb and archivolt. The +process of enrichment in them is shown by the successive examples +given in <a href="#plate_7">Plate VII.</a>, below. They are numbered, and +explained in the Appendix.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XV.</span> The date at which this corrupt form of Gothic first +prevailed over the early simplicity of the Venetian types can +be determined in an instant, on the steps of the choir of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page011"></a>11</span> +Church of St. John and Paul. On our left hand, as we enter, +is the tomb of the Doge Marco Cornaro, who died in 1367. +It is rich and fully developed Gothic, with crockets and finials, +but not yet attaining any extravagant developement. Opposite +to it is that of the Doge Andrea Morosini, who died in +1382. Its Gothic is voluptuous, and over-wrought; the crockets +are bold and florid, and the enormous finial represents a +statue of St. Michael. There is no excuse for the antiquaries +who, having this tomb before them, could have attributed the +severe architecture of the Ducal Palace to a later date; for +every one of the Renaissance errors is here in complete developement, +though not so grossly as entirely to destroy the +loveliness of the Gothic forms. In the Porta della Carta, +1423, the vice reaches its climax.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVI.</span> Against this degraded Gothic, then, came up the +Renaissance armies; and their first assault was in the requirement +of universal perfection. For the first time since the +destruction of Rome, the world had seen, in the work of the +greatest artists of the fifteenth century,—in the painting of +Ghirlandajo, Masaccio, Francia, Perugino, Pinturicchio, and +Bellini; in the sculpture of Mino da Fiesole, of Ghiberti, and +Verrocchio,—a perfection of execution and fulness of knowledge +which cast all previous art into the shade, and which, +being in the work of those men united with all that was great +in that of former days, did indeed justify the utmost enthusiasm +with which their efforts were, or could be, regarded. +But when this perfection had once been exhibited in anything, +it was required in everything; the world could no longer be +satisfied with less exquisite execution, or less disciplined knowledge. +The first thing that it demanded in all work was, that +it should be done in a consummate and learned way; and men +altogether forgot that it was possible to consummate what was +contemptible, and to know what was useless. Imperatively +requiring dexterity of touch, they gradually forgot to look for +tenderness of feeling; imperatively requiring accuracy of +knowledge, they gradually forgot to ask for originality of +thought. The thought and the feeling which they despised +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page012"></a>12</span> +departed from them, and they were left to felicitate themselves +on their small science and their neat fingering. This +is the history of the first attack of the Renaissance upon the +Gothic schools, and of its rapid results, more fatal and immediate +in architecture than in any other art, because there the +demand for perfection was less reasonable, and less consistent +with the capabilities of the workman; being utterly opposed +to that rudeness or savageness on which, as we saw above, the +nobility of the elder schools in great part depends. But inasmuch +as the innovations were founded on some of the most +beautiful examples of art, and headed by some of the greatest +men that the world ever saw, and as the Gothic with which +they interfered was corrupt and valueless, the first appearance +of the Renaissance feeling had the appearance of a healthy +movement. A new energy replaced whatever weariness or +dulness had affected the Gothic mind; an exquisite taste and +refinement, aided by extended knowledge, furnished the first +models of the new school; and over the whole of Italy a style +arose, generally now known as cinque-cento, which in sculpture +and painting, as I just stated, produced the noblest masters +which the world ever saw, headed by Michael Angelo, Raphael, +and Leonardo; but which failed of doing the same in architecture, +because, as we have seen above, perfection is therein not +possible, and failed more totally than it would otherwise have +done, because the classical enthusiasm had destroyed the best +types of architectural form.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVII.</span> For, observe here very carefully, the Renaissance +principle, as it consisted in a demand for universal perfection, +is quite distinct from the Renaissance principle as it consists +in a demand for classical and Roman <i>forms</i> of perfection. +And if I had space to follow out the subject as I should desire, +I would first endeavor to ascertain what might have been +the course of the art of Europe if no manuscripts of classical +authors had been recovered, and no remains of classical architecture +left, in the fifteenth century; so that the executive +perfection to which the efforts of all great men had tended for +five hundred years, and which now at last was reached, might +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page013"></a>13</span> +have been allowed to develope itself in its own natural and +proper form, in connexion with the architectural structure of +earlier schools. This refinement and perfection had indeed +its own perils, and the history of later Italy, as she sank into +pleasure and thence into corruption, would probably have +been the same whether she had ever learned again to write +pure Latin or not. Still the inquiry into the probable cause +of the enervation which might naturally have followed the +highest exertion of her energies, is a totally distinct one from +that into the particular form given to this enervation by her +classical learning; and it is matter of considerable regret to +me that I cannot treat these two subjects separately: I must +be content with marking them for separation in the mind of +the reader.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVIII.</span> The effect, then, of the sudden enthusiasm for classical +literature, which gained strength during every hour of +the fifteenth century, was, as far as respected architecture, to +do away with the entire system of Gothic science. The +pointed arch, the shadowy vault, the clustered shaft, the +heaven-pointing spire, were all swept away; and no structure +was any longer permitted but that of the plain cross-beam +from pillar to pillar, over the round arch, with square or circular +shafts, and a low-gabled roof and pediment: two elements +of noble form, which had fortunately existed in Rome, +were, however, for that reason, still permitted; the cupola, +and, internally, the waggon vault.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIX.</span> These changes in form were all of them unfortunate; +and it is almost impossible to do justice to the occasionally +exquisite ornamentation of the fifteenth century, on account +of its being placed upon edifices of the cold and meagre +Roman outline. There is, as far as I know, only one Gothic +building in Europe, the Duomo of Florence, in which, though +the ornament be of a much earlier school, it is yet so exquisitely +finished as to enable us to imagine what might have +been the effect of the perfect workmanship of the Renaissance, +coming out of the hands of men like Verrocchio and Ghiberti, +had it been employed on the magnificent framework of Gothic +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page014"></a>14</span> +structure. This is the question which, as I shall note in the +concluding chapter, we ought to set ourselves practically to +solve in modern times.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XX.</span> The changes effected in form, however, were the +least part of the evil principles of the Renaissance. As I have +just said, its main mistake, in its early stages, was the unwholesome +demand for <i>perfection</i>, at any cost. I hope enough has +been advanced, in the chapter on the Nature of Gothic, to +show the reader that perfection is <i>not</i> to be had from the general +workman, but at the cost of everything,—of his whole +life, thought, and energy. And Renaissance Europe thought +this a small price to pay for manipulative perfection. Men +like Verrocchio and Ghiberti were not to be had every day, +nor in every place; and to require from the common workman +execution or knowledge like theirs, was to require him to become +their copyist. Their strength was great enough to +enable them to join science with invention, method with emotion, +finish with fire; but, in them, the invention and the fire +were first, while Europe saw in them only the method and the +finish. This was new to the minds of men, and they pursued +it to the neglect of everything else. “This,” they cried, “we +must have in all our work henceforward:” and they were +obeyed. The lower workman secured method and finish, and +lost, in exchange for them, his soul.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXI.</span> Now, therefore, do not let me be misunderstood +when I speak generally of the evil spirit of the Renaissance. +The reader may look through all I have written, from first to +last, and he will not find one word but of the most profound +reverence for those mighty men who could wear the Renaissance +armor of proof, and yet not feel it encumber their +living limbs,<a name="FnAnchor_2" href="#Footnote_2"><span class="sp">2</span></a>—Leonardo and Michael Angelo, Ghirlandajo +and Masaccio, Titian and Tintoret. But I speak of the Renaissance +as an evil time, because, when it saw those men go burning +forth into the battle, it mistook their armor for their +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page015"></a>15</span> +strength: and forthwith encumbered with the painful panoply +every stripling who ought to have gone forth only with his +own choice of three smooth stones out of the brook.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXII.</span> This, then, the reader must always keep in mind +when he is examining for himself any examples of cinque-cento +work. When it has been done by a truly great man, +whose life and strength could not be oppressed, and who turned +to good account the whole science of his day, nothing is more +exquisite. I do not believe, for instance, that there is a more +glorious work of sculpture existing in the world than that +equestrian statue of Bartolomeo Colleone, by Verrocchio, of +which, I hope, before these pages are printed, there will be a +cast in England. But when the cinque-cento work has been +done by those meaner men, who, in the Gothic times, though +in a rough way, would yet have found some means of speaking +out what was in their hearts, it is utterly inanimate,—a base +and helpless copy of more accomplished models; or, if not +this, a mere accumulation of technical skill, in gaining which +the workman had surrendered all other powers that were in +him.</p> + +<p>There is, therefore, of course, an infinite gradation in the +art of the period, from the Sistine Chapel down to modern upholstery; +but, for the most part, since in architecture the workman +must be of an inferior order, it will be found that this +cinque-cento painting and higher religious sculpture is noble, +while the cinque-cento architecture, with its subordinate sculpture, +is universally bad; sometimes, however, assuming forms, +in which the consummate refinement almost atones for the loss +of force.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIII.</span> This is especially the case with that second branch +of the Renaissance which, as above noticed, was engrafted at +Venice on the Byzantine types. So soon as the classical enthusiasm +required the banishment of Gothic forms, it was natural +that the Venetian mind should turn back with affection to the +Byzantine models in which the round arches and simple shafts, +necessitated by recent law, were presented under a form consecrated +by the usage of their ancestors. And, accordingly, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page016"></a>16</span> +the first distinct school of architecture<a name="FnAnchor_3" href="#Footnote_3"><span class="sp">3</span></a> which arose under the +new dynasty, was one in which the method of inlaying marble, +and the general forms of shaft and arch, were adopted from +the buildings of the twelfth century, and applied with the utmost +possible refinements of modern skill. Both at Verona +and Venice the resulting architecture is exceedingly beautiful. +At Verona it is, indeed, less Byzantine, but possesses a character +of richness and tenderness almost peculiar to that city. At +Venice it is more severe, but yet adorned with sculpture which, +for sharpness of touch and delicacy of minute form, cannot be +rivalled, and rendered especially brilliant and beautiful by the +introduction of those inlaid circles of colored marble, serpentine, +and porphyry, by which Phillippe de Commynes was so +much struck on his first entrance into the city. The two most +refined buildings in this style in Venice are, the small Church +of the Miracoli, and the Scuola di San Marco beside the Church +of St. John and St. Paul. The noblest is the Rio Façade of +the Ducal Palace. The Casa Dario, and Casa Manzoni, on the +Grand Canal, are exquisite examples of the school, as applied +to domestic architecture; and, in the reach of the canal between +the Casa Foscari and the Rialto, there are several palaces, +of which the Casa Contarini (called “delle Figure”) is the +principal, belonging to the same group, though somewhat later, +and remarkable for the association of the Byzantine principles +of color with the severest lines of the Roman pediment, gradually +superseding the round arch. The precision of chiselling +and delicacy of proportion in the ornament and general lines +of these palaces cannot be too highly praised; and I believe +that the traveller in Venice, in general, gives them rather too +little attention than too much. But while I would ask him to +stay his gondola beside each of them long enough to examine +their every line, I must also warn him to observe, most carefully, +the peculiar feebleness and want of soul in the conception +of their ornament, which mark them as belonging to a +period of decline; as well as the absurd mode of introduction +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page017"></a>17</span> +of their pieces of colored marble: these, instead of being simply +and naturally inserted in the masonry, are placed in small circular +or oblong frames of sculpture, like mirrors or pictures, and +are represented as suspended by ribands against the wall; a +pair of wings being generally fastened on to the circular tablets, +as if to relieve the ribands and knots from their weight, and +the whole series tied under the chin of a little cherub at the +top, who is nailed against the façade like a hawk on a barn +door.</p> + +<p>But chiefly let him notice, in the Casa Contarini delle +Figure, one most strange incident, seeming to have been permitted, +like the choice of the subjects at the three angles of +the Ducal Palace, in order to teach us, by a single lesson, the +true nature of the style in which it occurs. In the intervals +of the windows of the first story, certain shields and torches +are attached, in the form of trophies, to the stems of two trees +whose boughs have been cut off, and only one or two of their +faded leaves left, scarcely observable, but delicately sculptured +here and there, beneath the insertions of the severed boughs.</p> + +<p>It is as if the workman had intended to leave us an image +of the expiring naturalism of the Gothic school. I had not +seen this sculpture when I wrote the passage referring to its +period, in the first volume of this work (<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#chap_20">Chap. XX.</a> § <span class="scs">XXXI.</span>):—“Autumn +came,—the leaves were shed,—and the eye was +directed to the extremities of the delicate branches. <i>The +Renaissance frosts came, and all perished!</i>”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIV.</span> And the hues of this autumn of the early Renaissance +are the last which appear in architecture. The winter +which succeeded was colorless as it was cold; and although +the Venetian painters struggled long against its influence, the +numbness of the architecture prevailed over them at last, and +the exteriors of all the latter palaces were built only in barren +stone. As at this point of our inquiry, therefore, we must bid +farewell to color, I have reserved for this place the continuation +of the history of chromatic decoration, from the Byzantine +period, when we left it in the fifth chapter of the second +volume, down to its final close.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page018"></a>18</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXV.</span> It was above stated, that the principal difference in +general form and treatment between the Byzantine and Gothic +palaces was the contraction of the marble facing into the narrow +spaces between the windows, leaving large fields of brick +wall perfectly bare. The reason for this appears to have been, +that the Gothic builders were no longer satisfied with the faint +and delicate hues of the veined marble; they wished for some +more forcible and piquant mode of decoration, corresponding +more completely with the gradually advancing splendor of +chivalric costume and heraldic device. What I have said +above of the simple habits of life of the thirteenth century, +in no wise refers either to costumes of state, or of military +service; and any illumination of the thirteenth and early fourteenth +centuries (the great period being, it seems to me, from +1250 to 1350), while it shows a peculiar majesty and simplicity +in the fall of the robes (often worn over the chain armor), +indicates, at the same time, an exquisite brilliancy of color and +power of design in the hems and borders, as well as in the +armorial bearings with which they are charged; and while, as +we have seen, a peculiar simplicity is found also in the <i>forms</i> +of the architecture, corresponding to that of the folds of the +robes, its <i>colors</i> were constantly increasing in brilliancy and +decision, corresponding to those of the quartering of the shield, +and of the embroidery of the mantle.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVI.</span> Whether, indeed, derived from the quarterings of +the knights’ shields, or from what other source, I know not; +but there is one magnificent attribute of the coloring of the +late twelfth, the whole thirteenth, and the early fourteenth +century, which I do not find definitely in any previous work, +nor afterwards in general art, though constantly, and necessarily, +in that of great colorists, namely, the union of one color +with another by reciprocal interference: that is to say, if a +mass of red is to be set beside a mass of blue, a piece of the +red will be carried into the blue, and a piece of the blue carried +into the red; sometimes in nearly equal portions, as in a +shield divided into four quarters, of which the uppermost on +one side will be of the same color as the lowermost on the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page019"></a>19</span> +other; sometimes in smaller fragments, but, in the periods +above named, always definitely and grandly, though in a thousand +various ways. And I call it a magnificent principle, for +it is an eternal and universal one, not in art only,<a name="FnAnchor_4" href="#Footnote_4"><span class="sp">4</span></a> but in +human life. It is the great principle of Brotherhood, not by +equality, nor by likeness, but by giving and receiving; the +souls that are unlike, and the nations that are unlike, and the +natures that are unlike, being bound into one noble whole by +each receiving something from, and of, the others’ gifts and +the others’ glory. I have not space to follow out this thought,—it +is of infinite extent and application,—but I note it for the +reader’s pursuit, because I have long believed, and the whole +second volume of “Modern Painters” was written to prove, +that in whatever has been made by the Deity externally delightful +to the human sense of beauty, there is some type of +God’s nature or of God’s laws; nor are any of His laws, in +one sense, greater than the appointment that the most lovely +and perfect unity shall be obtained by the taking of one nature +into another. I trespass upon too high ground; and yet I +cannot fully show the reader the extent of this law, but by +leading him thus far. And it is just because it is so vast and +so awful a law, that it has rule over the smallest things; and +there is not a vein of color on the lightest leaf which the +spring winds are at this moment unfolding in the fields around +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page020"></a>20</span> +us, but it is an illustration of an ordainment to which the +earth and its creatures owe their continuance, and their Redemption.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVII</span>. It is perfectly inconceivable, until it has been +made a subject of special inquiry, how perpetually Nature +employs this principle in the distribution of her light and +shade; how by the most extraordinary adaptations, apparently +accidental, but always in exactly the right place, she contrives +to bring darkness into light, and light into darkness; and that +so sharply and decisively, that at the very instant when one +object changes from light to dark, the thing relieved upon it +will change from dark to light, and yet so subtly that the eye +will not detect the transition till it looks for it. The secret +of a great part of the grandeur in all the noblest compositions +is the doing of this delicately in <i>degree</i>, and broadly in <i>mass</i>; +in color it may be done much more decisively than in light +and shade, and, according to the simplicity of the work, with +greater frankness of confession, until, in purely decorative +art, as in the illumination, glass-painting, and heraldry of the +great periods, we find it reduced to segmental accuracy. Its +greatest masters, in high art, are Tintoret, Veronese, and +Turner.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVIII</span>. Together with this great principle of quartering +is introduced another, also of very high value as far as regards +the delight of the eye, though not of so profound meaning. +As soon as color began to be used in broad and opposed fields, +it was perceived that the mass of it destroyed its brilliancy, +and it was <i>tempered</i> by chequering it with some other color or +colors in smaller quantities, mingled with minute portions of +pure white. The two moral principles of which this is the +type, are those of Temperance and Purity; the one requiring +the fulness of the color to be subdued, and the other that it +shall be subdued without losing either its own purity or that +of the colors with which it is associated.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIX</span>. Hence arose the universal and admirable system of +the diapered or chequered background of early ornamental art. +They are completely developed in the thirteenth century, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page021"></a>21</span> +extend through the whole of the fourteenth gradually yielding +to landscape, and other pictorial backgrounds, as the designers +lost perception of the purpose of their art, and of the value +of color. The chromatic decoration of the Gothic palaces of +Venice was of course founded on these two great principles, +which prevailed constantly wherever the true chivalric and +Gothic spirit possessed any influence. The windows, with +their intermediate spaces of marble, were considered as the +objects to be relieved, and variously quartered with vigorous +color. The whole space of the brick wall was considered as a +background; it was covered with stucco, and painted in fresco, +with diaper patterns.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXX.</span> What? the reader asks in some surprise,—Stucco! +and in the great Gothic period? Even so, but <i>not stucco to +imitate stone</i>. Herein lies all the difference; it is stucco confessed +and understood, and laid on the bricks precisely as gesso +is laid on canvas, in order to form them into a ground for +receiving color from the human hand,—color which, if well +laid on, might render the brick wall more precious than if it +had been built of emeralds. Whenever we wish to paint, we +may prepare our paper as we choose; the value of the ground +in no wise adds to the value of the picture. A Tintoret on +beaten gold would be of no more value than a Tintoret on +coarse canvas; the gold would merely be wasted. All that +we have to do is to make the ground as good and fit for the +color as possible, by whatever means.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXI.</span> I am not sure if I am right in applying the term +“stucco” to the ground of fresco; but this is of no consequence; +the reader will understand that it was white, and that +the whole wall of the palace was considered as the page of a +book to be illuminated: but he will understand also that the +sea winds are bad librarians; that, when once the painted +stucco began to fade or to fall, the unsightliness of the defaced +color would necessitate its immediate restoration; and that +therefore, of all the chromatic decoration of the Gothic palaces, +there is hardly a fragment left.</p> + +<p>Happily, in the pictures of Gentile Bellini, the fresco coloring +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page022"></a>22</span> +of the Gothic palaces is recorded, as it still remained in +his time; not with rigid accuracy, but quite distinctly enough +to enable us, by comparing it with the existing colored designs +in the manuscripts and glass of the period, to ascertain precisely +what it must have been.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXII.</span> The walls were generally covered with chequers +of very warm color, a russet inclining to scarlet, more or less +relieved with white, black, and grey; as still seen in the only +example which, having been executed in marble, has been perfectly +preserved, the front of the Ducal Palace. This, however, +owing to the nature of its materials, was a peculiarly +simple example; the ground is white, crossed with double +bars of pale red, and in the centre of each chequer there is a +cross, alternately black with a red centre and red with a black +centre where the arms cross. In painted work the grounds +would be, of course, as varied and complicated as those of +manuscripts; but I only know of one example left, on the +Casa Sagredo, where, on some fragments of stucco, a very +early chequer background is traceable, composed of crimson +quatrefoils interlaced, with cherubim stretching their wings +filling the intervals. A small portion of this ground is seen +beside the window taken from the palace, Vol. II. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_13">Plate +XIII.</a> fig. 1.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIII.</span> It ought to be especially noticed, that, in all +chequered patterns employed in the colored designs of these +noble periods, the greatest care is taken to mark that they are +<i>grounds</i> of design rather than designs themselves. Modern +architects, in such minor imitations as they are beginning to +attempt, endeavor to dispose the parts in the patterns so as +to occupy certain symmetrical positions with respect to the +parts of the architecture. A Gothic builder never does this: +he cuts his ground into pieces of the shape he requires with +utter remorselessness, and places his windows or doors upon +it with no regard whatever to the lines in which they cut the +pattern: and, in illuminations of manuscripts, the chequer +itself is constantly changed in the most subtle and arbitrary +way, wherever there is the least chance of its regularity attracting +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page023"></a>23</span> +the eye, and making it of importance. So <i>intentional</i> +is this, that a diaper pattern is often set obliquely to the vertical +lines of the designs, for fear it should appear in any way +connected with them.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIV.</span> On these russet or crimson backgrounds the entire +space of the series of windows was relieved, for the most part, +as a subdued white field of alabaster; and on this delicate and +veined white were set the circular disks of purple and green. +The arms of the family were of course blazoned in their own +proper colors, but I think generally on a pure azure ground; +the blue color is still left behind the shields in the Casa Priuli +and one or two more of the palaces which are unrestored, and +the blue ground was used also to relieve the sculptures of religious +subject. Finally, all the mouldings, capitals, cornices, +cusps, and traceries, were either entirely gilded or profusely +touched with gold.</p> + +<p>The whole front of a Gothic palace in Venice may, therefore, +be simply described as a field of subdued russet, quartered +with broad sculptured masses of white and gold; these latter +being relieved by smaller inlaid fragments of blue, purple, and +deep green.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXV.</span> Now, from the beginning of the fourteenth century, +when painting and architecture were thus united, two +processes of change went on simultaneously to the beginning +of the seventeenth. The merely decorative chequerings on +the walls yielded gradually to more elaborate paintings of +figure-subject; first small and quaint, and then enlarging into +enormous pictures filled by figures generally colossal. As +these paintings became of greater merit and importance, the +architecture with which they were associated was less studied; +and at last a style was introduced in which the framework of +the building was little more interesting than that of a Manchester +factory, but the whole space of its walls was covered +with the most precious fresco paintings. Such edifices are of +course no longer to be considered as forming an architectural +school; they were merely large preparations of artists’ panels; +and Titian, Giorgione, and Veronese no more conferred merit +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page024"></a>24</span> +on the later architecture of Venice, as such, by painting on its +façades, than Landseer or Watts could confer merit on that +of London by first whitewashing and then painting its brick +streets from one end to the other.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVI.</span> Contemporarily with this change in the relative +values of the color decoration and the stone-work, one equally +important was taking place in the opposite direction, but of +course in another group of buildings. For in proportion as +the architect felt himself thrust aside or forgotten in one edifice, +he endeavored to make himself principal in another; and, +in retaliation for the painter’s entire usurpation of certain +fields of design, succeeded in excluding him totally from those +in which his own influence was predominant. Or, more accurately +speaking, the architects began to be too proud to receive +assistance from the colorists; and these latter sought for +ground which the architect had abandoned, for the unrestrained +display of their own skill. And thus, while one +series of edifices is continually becoming feebler in design and +richer in superimposed paintings, another, that of which we +have so often spoken as the earliest or Byzantine Renaissance, +fragment by fragment rejects the pictorial decoration; supplies +its place first with marbles, and then, as the latter are felt by +the architect, daily increasing in arrogance and deepening in +coldness, to be too bright for his dignity, he casts even these +aside one by one: and when the last porphyry circle has vanished +from the façade, we find two palaces standing side by +side, one built, so far as mere masonry goes, with consummate +care and skill, but without the slightest vestige of color in any +part of it; the other utterly without any claim to interest in +its architectural form, but covered from top to bottom with +paintings by Veronese. At this period, then, we bid farewell +to color, leaving the painters to their own peculiar field; and +only regretting that they waste their noblest work on walls, +from which in a couple of centuries, if not before, the greater +part of their labor must be effaced. On the other hand, the +architecture whose decline we are tracing, has now assumed +an entirely new condition, that of the Central or True Renaissance, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page025"></a>25</span> +whose nature we are to examine in the next +chapter.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVII.</span> But before leaving these last palaces over which +the Byzantine influence extended itself, there is one more +lesson to be learned from them of much importance to us. +Though in many respects debased in style, they are consummate +in workmanship, and unstained in honor; there is no imperfection +in them, and no dishonesty. That there is absolutely +<i>no</i> imperfection, is indeed, as we have seen above, a proof of +their being wanting in the highest qualities of architecture; +but, as lessons in masonry, they have their value, and may well +be studied for the excellence they display in methods of levelling +stones, for the precision of their inlaying, and other such +qualities, which in them are indeed too principal, yet very instructive +in their particular way.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVIII.</span> For instance, in the inlaid design of the dove +with the olive branch, from the Casa Trevisan (Vol. I. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#plate_20">Plate +XX.</a> p. 369), it is impossible for anything to go beyond the +precision with which the olive leaves are cut out of the white +marble; and, in some wreaths of laurel below, the rippled edge +of each leaf is as finely and easily drawn, as if by a delicate +pencil. No Florentine table is more exquisitely finished than +the façade of this entire palace; and as ideals of an executive +perfection, which, though we must not turn aside from our +main path to reach it, may yet with much advantage be kept in +our sight and memory, these palaces are most notable amidst +the architecture of Europe. The Rio Façade of the Ducal +Palace, though very sparing in color, is yet, as an example of +finished masonry in a vast building, one of the finest things, +not only in Venice, but in the world. It differs from other +work of the Byzantine Renaissance, in being on a very large +scale; and it still retains one pure Gothic character, which adds +not a little to its nobleness, that of perpetual variety. There +is hardly one window of it, or one panel, that is like another; +and this continual change so increases its apparent size by confusing +the eye, that, though presenting no bold features, or +striking masses of any kind, there are few things in Italy more +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page026"></a>26</span> +impressive than the vision of it overhead, as the gondola glides +from beneath the Bridge of Sighs. And lastly (unless we are +to blame these buildings for some pieces of very childish perspective), +they are magnificently honest, as well as perfect. I +do not remember even any gilding upon them; all is pure +marble, and of the finest kind.<a name="FnAnchor_5" href="#Footnote_5"><span class="sp">5</span></a></p> + +<p>And therefore, in finally leaving the Ducal Palace,<a name="FnAnchor_6" href="#Footnote_6"><span class="sp">6</span></a> let us +take with us one more lesson, the last which we shall receive +from the Stones of Venice, except in the form of a warning.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIX.</span> The school of architecture which we have just +been examining is, as we have seen above, redeemed from +severe condemnation by its careful and noble use of inlaid +marbles as a means of color. From that time forward, this art +has been unknown, or despised; the frescoes of the swift and +daring Venetian painters long contended with the inlaid +marbles, outvying them with color, indeed more glorious than +theirs, but fugitive as the hues of woods in autumn; and, at +last, as the art itself of painting in this mighty manner failed +from among men,<a name="FnAnchor_7" href="#Footnote_7"><span class="sp">7</span></a> the modern decorative system established +itself, which united the meaninglessness of the veined marble +with the evanescence of the fresco, and completed the harmony +by falsehood.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XL.</span> Since first, in the second chapter of the “Seven +Lamps,” I endeavored to show the culpableness, as well as the +baseness, of our common modes of decoration by painted imitation +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page027"></a>27</span> +of various woods or marbles, the subject has been discussed +in various architectural works, and is evidently becoming +one of daily increasing interest. When it is considered how +many persons there are whose means of livelihood consist altogether +in these spurious arts, and how difficult it is, even for +the most candid, to admit a conviction contrary both to their +interests and to their inveterate habits of practice and thought, +it is rather a matter of wonder, that the cause of Truth should +have found even a few maintainers, than that it should have +encountered a host of adversaries. It has, however, been defended +repeatedly by architects themselves, and so successfully, +that I believe, so far as the desirableness of this or that method +of ornamentation is to be measured by the fact of its simple +honesty or dishonesty, there is little need to add anything to +what has been already urged upon the subject. But there are +some points connected with the practice of imitating marble, +which I have been unable to touch upon until now, and by the +consideration of which we may be enabled to see something of +the <i>policy</i> of honesty in this matter, without in the least abandoning +the higher ground of principle.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLI</span>. Consider, then, first, what marble seems to have been +made for. Over the greater part of the surface of the world, +we find that a rock has been providentially distributed, in a +manner particularly pointing it out as intended for the service of +man. Not altogether a common rock, it is yet rare enough to +command a certain degree of interest and attention wherever +it is found; but not so rare as to preclude its use for any purpose +to which it is fitted. It is exactly of the consistence +which is best adapted for sculpture: that is to say, neither hard +nor brittle, nor flaky nor splintery, but uniform, and delicately, +yet not ignobly, soft,—exactly soft enough to allow the sculptor +to work it without force, and trace on it the finest lines of +finished form; and yet so hard as never to betray the touch or +moulder away beneath the steel; and so admirably crystallized, +and of such permanent elements, that no rains dissolve it, no +time changes it, no atmosphere decomposes it: once shaped, it +is shaped for ever, unless subjected to actual violence or attrition. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page028"></a>28</span> +This rock, then, is prepared by Nature for the sculptor +and architect, just as paper is prepared by the manufacturer +for the artist, with as great—nay, with greater—care, and more +perfect adaptation of the material to the requirements. And +of this marble paper, some is white and some colored; but +more is colored than white, because the white is evidently +meant for sculpture, and the colored for the covering of large +surfaces.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLII</span>. Now, if we would take Nature at her word, and use +this precious paper which she has taken so much care to provide +for us (it is a long process, the making of that paper; the +pulp of it needing the subtlest possible solution, and the pressing +of it—for it is all hot-pressed—having to be done under +the saw, or under something at least as heavy); if, I say, we use +it as Nature would have us, consider what advantages would +follow. The colors of marble are mingled for us just as if on +a prepared palette. They are of all shades and hues (except +bad ones), some being united and even, some broken, mixed, +and interrupted, in order to supply, as far as possible, the want +of the painter’s power of breaking and mingling the color with +the brush. But there is more in the colors than this delicacy +of adaptation. There is history in them. By the manner in +which they are arranged in every piece of marble, they record +the means by which that marble has been produced, and the +successive changes through which it has passed. And in all +their veins and zones, and flame-like stainings, or broken and +disconnected lines, they write various legends, never untrue, +of the former political state of the mountain kingdom to which +they belonged, of its infirmities and fortitudes, convulsions and +consolidations, from the beginning of time.</p> + +<p>Now, if we were never in the habit of seeing anything but +real marbles, this language of theirs would soon begin to be +understood; that is to say, even the least observant of us +would recognize such and such stones as forming a peculiar +class, and would begin to inquire where they came from, and, +at last, take some feeble interest in the main question, Why +they were only to be found in that or the other place, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page029"></a>29</span> +how they came to make a part of this mountain, and not of +that? And in a little while, it would not be possible to stand +for a moment at a shop door, leaning against the pillars of it, +without remembering or questioning of something well worth +the memory or the inquiry, touching the hills of Italy, or +Greece, or Africa, or Spain; and we should be led on from +knowledge to knowledge, until even the unsculptured walls of +our streets became to us volumes as precious as those of our +libraries.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLIII.</span> But the moment we admit imitation of marble, this +source of knowledge is destroyed. None of us can be at the +pains to go through the work of verification. If we knew +that every colored stone we saw was natural, certain questions, +conclusions, interests, would force themselves upon us +without any effort of our own; but we have none of us time +to stop in the midst of our daily business, to touch and pore +over, and decide with painful minuteness of investigation, +whether such and such a pillar be stucco or stone. And the +whole field of this knowledge, which Nature intended us to +possess when we were children, is hopelessly shut out from us. +Worse than shut out, for the mass of coarse imitations confuses +our knowledge acquired from other sources; and our +memory of the marbles we have perhaps once or twice carefully +examined, is disturbed and distorted by the inaccuracy +of the imitations which are brought before us continually.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLIV.</span> But it will be said, that it is too expensive to employ +real marbles in ordinary cases. It may be so: yet not +always more expensive than the fitting windows with enormous +plate glass, and decorating them with elaborate stucco +mouldings and other useless sources of expenditure in modern +building; nay, not always in the end more expensive than the +frequent repainting of the dingy pillars, which a little water +dashed against them would refresh from day to day, if they +were of true stone. But, granting that it be so, in that very +costliness, checking their common use in certain localities, is +part of the interest of marbles, considered as history. Where +they are not found, Nature has supplied other materials,—clay +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page030"></a>30</span> +for brick, or forest for timber,—in the working of which she +intends other characters of the human mind to be developed, +and by the proper use of which certain local advantages will +assuredly be attained, while the delightfulness and meaning +of the precious marbles will be felt more forcibly in the districts +where they occur, or on the occasions when they may be +procured.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLV.</span> It can hardly be necessary to add, that, as the imitation +of marbles interferes with and checks the knowledge of +geography and geology, so the imitation of wood interferes +with that of botany; and that our acquaintance with the +nature, uses, and manner of growth of the timber trees of our +own and of foreign countries, would probably, in the majority +of cases, become accurate and extensive, without any labor or +sacrifice of time, were not all inquiry checked, and all observation +betrayed, by the wretched labors of the “Grainer.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLVI.</span> But this is not all. As the practice of imitation +retards knowledge, so also it retards art.</p> + +<p>There is not a meaner occupation for the human mind than +the imitation of the stains and striæ of marble and wood. +When engaged in any easy and simple mechanical occupation, +there is still some liberty for the mind to leave the literal +work; and the clash of the loom or the activity of the fingers +will not always prevent the thoughts from some happy expatiation +in their own domains. But the grainer must think of +what he is doing; and veritable attention and care, and occasionally +considerable skill, are consumed in the doing of a +more absolute nothing than I can name in any other department +of painful idleness. I know not anything so humiliating +as to see a human being, with arms and limbs complete, +and apparently a head, and assuredly a soul, yet into the hands +of which when you have put a brush and pallet, it cannot do +anything with them but imitate a piece of wood. It cannot +color, it has no ideas of color; it cannot draw, it has no ideas +of form; it cannot caricature, it has no ideas of humor. It is +incapable of anything beyond knots. All its achievement, the +entire result of the daily application of its imagination and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page031"></a>31</span> +immortality, is to be such a piece of texture as the sun and +dew are sucking up out of the muddy ground, and weaving +together, far more finely, in millions of millions of growing +branches, over every rood of waste woodland and shady hill.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLVII.</span> But what is to be done, the reader asks, with men +who are capable of nothing else than this? Nay, they may +be capable of everything else, for all we know, and what we +are to do with them I will try to say in the next chapter; but +meanwhile one word more touching the higher principles of +action in this matter, from which we have descended to those +of expediency. I trust that some day the language of Types +will be more read and understood by us than it has been for +centuries; and when this language, a better one than either +Greek or Latin, is again recognized amongst us, we shall find, +or remember, that as the other visible elements of the universe—its +air, its water, and its flame—set forth, in their pure +energies, the life-giving, purifying, and sanctifying influences +of the Deity upon His creatures, so the earth, in its purity, +sets forth His eternity and His <span class="sc">Truth</span>. I have dwelt above +on the historical language of stones; let us not forget this, +which is their theological language; and, as we would not +wantonly pollute the fresh waters when they issue forth in +their clear glory from the rock, nor stay the mountain winds +into pestilential stagnancy, nor mock the sunbeams with artificial +and ineffective light; so let us not by our own base and +barren falsehoods, replace the crystalline strength and burning +color of the earth from which we were born, and to which we +must return; the earth which, like our own bodies, though +dust in its degradation, is full of splendor when God’s hand +gathers its atoms; and which was for ever sanctified by Him, +as the symbol no less of His love than of His truth, when He +bade the high priest bear the names of the Children of Israel +on the clear stones of the Breastplate of Judgment.</p> + + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_1" href="#FnAnchor_1"><span class="fn">1</span></a> There is a curious instance of this in the modern imitations of the +Gothic capitals of the Casa d’ Oro, employed in its restorations. The old +capitals look like clusters of leaves, the modern ones like kneaded masses +of dough with holes in them.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_2" href="#FnAnchor_2"><span class="fn">2</span></a> Not that even these men were able to wear it altogether without harm, +as we shall see in the next chapter.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_3" href="#FnAnchor_3"><span class="fn">3</span></a> <a href="#app_4">Appendix 4</a>, “Date of Palaces of Byzantine Renaissance.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_4" href="#FnAnchor_4"><span class="fn">4</span></a> In the various works which Mr. Prout has written on light and shade, +no principle will be found insisted on more strongly than this carrying of +the dark into the light, and <i>vice versa</i>. It is curious to find the untaught +instinct of a merely picturesque artist in the nineteenth century, fixing itself +so intensely on a principle which regulated the entire sacred composition of +the thirteenth. I say “untaught” instinct, for Mr. Prout was, throughout +his life, the discoverer of his own principles; fortunately so, considering +what principles were taught in his time, but unfortunately in the abstract, +for there were gifts in him, which, had there been any wholesome influences +to cherish them, might have made him one of the greatest men of his +age. He was great, under all adverse circumstances, but the mere wreck +of what he might have been, if, after the rough training noticed in my +pamphlet on Pre-Raphaelitism, as having fitted him for his great function +in the world, he had met with a teacher who could have appreciated his +powers, and directed them.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_5" href="#FnAnchor_5"><span class="fn">5</span></a> There may, however, be a kind of dishonesty even in the use of +marble, if it is attempted to make the marble look like something else. See +the final or Venetian Index under head “Scalzi.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_6" href="#FnAnchor_6"><span class="fn">6</span></a> <a href="#app_5">Appendix 5</a>, “Renaissance Side of Ducal Palace.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_7" href="#FnAnchor_7"><span class="fn">7</span></a> We have, as far as I <i>know</i>, at present among us, only one painter, G. +F. Watts, who is capable of design in color on a large scale. He stands +alone among our artists of the old school, in his perception of the value of +breadth in distant masses, and in the vigor of invention by which such +breadth must be sustained; and his power of expression and depth of +thought are not less remarkable than his bold conception of color effect. +Very probably some of the Pre-Raphaelites have the gift also; I am nearly +certain that Rosetti has it, and I think also Millais; but the experiment has +yet to be tried. I wish it could be made in Mr. Hope’s church in Margaret +Street.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page032"></a>32</span></p> + +<h3><a name="chap_2" id="chap_2"></a>CHAPTER II.</h3> + +<h5>ROMAN RENAISSANCE.</h5> + + +<p>§ <span class="scs">I.</span> Of all the buildings in Venice, later in date than the +final additions to the Ducal Palace, the noblest is, beyond all +question, that which, having been condemned by its proprietor, +not many years ago, to be pulled down and sold for the +value of its materials, was rescued by the Austrian government, +and appropriated—the government officers having no +other use for it—to the business of the Post-Office; though +still known to the gondolier by its ancient name, the Casa +Grimani. It is composed of three stories of the Corinthian +order, at once simple, delicate, and sublime; but on so colossal +a scale, that the three-storied palaces on its right and left only +reach to the cornice which marks the level of its first floor. Yet +it is not at first perceived to be so vast; and it is only when +some expedient is employed to hide it from the eye, that by +the sudden dwarfing of the whole reach of the Grand Canal, +which it commands, we become aware that it is to the majesty +of the Casa Grimani that the Rialto itself, and the whole +group of neighboring buildings, owe the greater part of their +impressiveness. Nor is the finish of its details less notable +than the grandeur of their scale. There is not an erring line, +nor a mistaken proportion, throughout its noble front; and +the exceeding fineness of the chiselling gives an appearance of +lightness to the vast blocks of stone out of whose perfect union +that front is composed. The decoration is sparing, but delicate: +the first story only simpler than the rest, in that it has +pilasters instead of shafts, but all with Corinthian capitals, rich +in leafage, and fruited delicately; the rest of the walls flat and +smooth, and the mouldings sharp and shallow, so that the bold +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page033"></a>33</span> +shafts look like crystals of beryl running through a rock of +quartz.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">II.</span> This palace is the principal type at Venice, and one of +the best in Europe, of the central architecture of the Renaissance +schools; that carefully studied and perfectly executed +architecture to which those schools owe their principal claims +to our respect, and which became the model of most of the +important works subsequently produced by civilized nations. +I have called it the Roman Renaissance, because it is founded, +both in its principles of superimposition, and in the style of +its ornament, upon the architecture of classic Rome at its best +period. The revival of Latin literature both led to its adoption, +and directed its form; and the most important example +of it which exists is the modern Roman basilica of St. Peter’s. +It had, at its Renaissance or new birth, no resemblance either +to Greek, Gothic, or Byzantine forms, except in retaining the +use of the round arch, vault, and dome; in the treatment of +all details, it was exclusively Latin; the last links of connexion +with mediæval tradition having been broken by its builders in +their enthusiasm for classical art, and the forms of true Greek +or Athenian architecture being still unknown to them. The +study of these noble Greek forms has induced various modifications +of the Renaissance in our own times; but the conditions +which are found most applicable to the uses of modern +life are still Roman, and the entire style may most fitly be +expressed by the term “Roman Renaissance.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">III.</span> It is this style, in its purity and fullest form,—represented +by such buildings as the Casa Grimani at Venice (built +by San Micheli), the Town Hall at Vicenza (by Palladio), St. +Peter’s at Rome (by Michael Angelo), St. Paul’s and Whitehall +in London (by Wren and Inigo Jones),—which is the true +antagonist of the Gothic school. The intermediate, or corrupt +conditions of it, though multiplied over Europe, are no longer +admired by architects, or made the subjects of their study; +but the finished work of this central school is still, in most +cases, the model set before the student of the nineteenth century, +as opposed to those Gothic, Romanesque, or Byzantine +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page034"></a>34</span> +forms which have long been considered barbarous, and are so +still by most of the leading men of the day. That they are, +on the contrary, most noble and beautiful, and that the antagonistic +Renaissance is, in the main, unworthy and unadmirable, +whatever perfection of a certain kind it may possess, it +was my principal purpose to show, when I first undertook the +labor of this work. It has been attempted already to put +before the reader the various elements which unite in the +Nature of Gothic, and to enable him thus to judge, not +merely of the beauty of the forms which that system has +produced already, but of its future applicability to the wants +of mankind, and endless power over their hearts. I would +now endeavor, in like manner, to set before the reader the +Nature of Renaissance, and thus to enable him to compare the +two styles under the same light, and with the same enlarged +view of their relations to the intellect, and capacities for the +service, of man.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">IV.</span> It will not be necessary for me to enter at length into +any examination of its external form. It uses, whether for its +roofs of aperture or roofs proper, the low gable or circular +arch: but it differs from Romanesque work in attaching great +importance to the horizontal lintel or architrave <i>above</i> the +arch; transferring the energy of the principal shafts to the +supporting of this horizontal beam, and thus rendering the +arch a subordinate, if not altogether a superfluous, feature. +The type of this arrangement has been given already at <i>c</i>, Fig. +XXXVI., p. 145, Vol. I.: and I might insist at length upon +the absurdity of a construction in which the shorter shaft, +which has the real weight of wall to carry, is split into two +by the taller one, which has nothing to carry at all,—that +taller one being strengthened, nevertheless, as if the whole +weight of the building bore upon it; and on the ungracefulness, +never conquered in any Palladian work, of the two half-capitals +glued, as it were, against the slippery round sides of +the central shaft. But it is not the form of this architecture +against which I would plead. Its defects are shared by many +of the noblest forms of earlier building, and might have been +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page035"></a>35</span> +entirely atoned for by excellence of spirit. But it is the moral +nature of it which is corrupt, and which it must, therefore, be +our principal business to examine and expose.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">V.</span> The moral, or immoral, elements which unite to form +the spirit of Central Renaissance architecture are, I believe, in +the main, two,—Pride and Infidelity; but the pride resolves +itself into three main branches,—Pride of Science, Pride of +State, and Pride of System: and thus we have four separate +mental conditions which must be examined successively.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VI.</span> 1. <span class="sc">Pride of Science.</span> It would have been more +charitable, but more confusing, to have added another element +to our list, namely the <i>Love</i> of Science; but the love is included +in the pride, and is usually so very subordinate an element +that it does not deserve equality of nomenclature. But, +whether pursued in pride or in affection (how far by either we +shall see presently), the first notable characteristic of the Renaissance +central school is its introduction of accurate knowledge +into all its work, so far as it possesses such knowledge; +and its evident conviction, that such science is necessary to the +excellence of the work, and is the first thing to be expressed +therein. So that all the forms introduced, even in its minor +ornament, are studied with the utmost care; the anatomy of +all animal structure is thoroughly understood and elaborately +expressed, and the whole of the execution skilful and practised +in the highest degree. Perspective, linear and aerial, perfect +drawing and accurate light and shade in painting, and true +anatomy in all representations of the human form, drawn or +sculptured, are the first requirements in all the work of this +school.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VII.</span> Now, first considering all this in the most charitable +light, as pursued from a real love of truth, and not from vanity, +it would, of course, have been all excellent and admirable, had +it been regarded as the aid of art, and not as its essence. But +the grand mistake of the Renaissance schools lay in supposing +that science and art are the same things, and that to advance +in the one was necessarily to perfect the other. Whereas they +are, in reality, things not only different, but so opposed, that +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page036"></a>36</span> +to advance in the one is, in ninety-nine cases out of the hundred, +to retrograde in the other. This is the point to which I +would at present especially bespeak the reader’s attention.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VIII.</span> Science and art are commonly distinguished by the +nature of their actions; the one as knowing, the other as changing, +producing, or creating. But there is a still more important +distinction in the nature of the things they deal with. Science +deals exclusively with things as they are in themselves; and +art exclusively with things as they affect the human senses and +human soul.<a name="FnAnchor_8" href="#Footnote_8"><span class="sp">8</span></a> Her work is to portray the appearance of things, +and to deepen the natural impressions which they produce +upon living creatures. The work of science is to substitute +facts for appearances, and demonstrations for impressions. +Both, observe, are equally concerned with truth; the one with +truth of aspect, the other with truth of essence. Art does not +represent things falsely, but truly as they appear to mankind. +Science studies the relations of things to each other: but art +studies only their relations to man; and it requires of everything +which is submitted to it imperatively this, and only this,—what +that thing is to the human eyes and human heart, what +it has to say to men, and what it can become to them: a field +of question just as much vaster than that of science, as the soul +is larger than the material creation.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">IX.</span> Take a single instance. Science informs us that the +sun is ninety-five millions of miles distant from, and 111 times +broader than, the earth; that we and all the planets revolve +round it; and that it revolves on its own axis in 25 days, 14 +hours and 4 minutes. With all this, art has nothing whatsoever +to do. It has no care to know anything of this kind. +But the things which it does care to know, are these: that in +the heavens God hath set a tabernacle for the sun, “which is +as a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, and rejoiceth as a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page037"></a>37</span> +strong man to run a race. His going forth is from the end of +the heaven, and his circuit unto the ends of it, and there is +nothing hid from the heat thereof.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">X.</span> This, then, being the kind of truth with which art is +exclusively concerned, how is such truth as this to be ascertained +and accumulated? Evidently, and only, by perception +and feeling. Never either by reasoning, or report. Nothing +must come between Nature and the artist’s sight; nothing between +God and the artist’s soul. Neither calculation nor hearsay,—be +it the most subtle of calculations, or the wisest of sayings,—may +be allowed to come between the universe, and the +witness which art bears to its visible nature. The whole value +of that witness depends on its being <i>eye</i>-witness; the whole +genuineness, acceptableness, and dominion of it depend on the +personal assurance of the man who utters it. All its victory +depends on the veracity of the one preceding word, “Vidi.”</p> + +<p>The whole function of the artist in the world is to be a +seeing and feeling creature; to be an instrument of such tenderness +and sensitiveness, that no shadow, no hue, no line, no +instantaneous and evanescent expression of the visible things +around him, nor any of the emotions which they are capable +of conveying to the spirit which has been given him, shall +either be left unrecorded, or fade from the book of record. It +is not his business either to think, to judge, to argue, or to +know. His place is neither in the closet, nor on the bench, +nor at the bar, nor in the library. They are for other men +and other work. He may think, in a by-way; reason, now and +then, when he has nothing better to do; know, such fragments +of knowledge as he can gather without stooping, or reach without +pains; but none of these things are to be his care. The +work of his life is to be twofold only: to see, to feel.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XI.</span> Nay, but, the reader perhaps pleads with me, one of +the great uses of knowledge is to open the eyes; to make +things perceivable which, never would have been seen, unless +first they had been known.</p> + +<p>Not so. This could only be said or believed by those who +do not know what the perceptive faculty of a great artist is, in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page038"></a>38</span> +comparison with that of other men. There is no great painter, +no great workman in any art, but he sees more with the glance +of a moment than he could learn by the labor of a thousand +hours. God has made every man fit for his work; He has +given to the man whom he means for a student, the reflective, +logical, sequential faculties; and to the man whom He means +for an artist, the perceptive, sensitive, retentive faculties. And +neither of these men, so far from being able to do the other’s +work, can even comprehend the way in which it is done. The +student has no understanding of the vision, nor the painter of +the process; but chiefly the student has no idea of the colossal +grasp of the true painter’s vision and sensibility.</p> + +<p>The labor of the whole Geological Society, for the last fifty +years, has but now arrived at the ascertainment of those truths +respecting mountain form which Turner saw and expressed +with a few strokes of a camel’s hair pencil fifty years ago, when +he was a boy. The knowledge of all the laws of the planetary +system, and of all the curves of the motion of projectiles, would +never enable the man of science to draw a waterfall or a wave; +and all the members of Surgeons’ Hall helping each other +could not at this moment see, or represent, the natural movement +of a human body in vigorous action, as a poor dyer’s son +did two hundred years ago.<a name="FnAnchor_9" href="#Footnote_9"><span class="sp">9</span></a></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XII.</span> But surely, it is still insisted, granting this peculiar +faculty to the painter, he will still see more as he knows more, +and the more knowledge he obtains, therefore, the better. No; +not even so. It is indeed true, that, here and there, a piece of +knowledge will enable the eye to detect a truth which might +otherwise have escaped it; as, for instance, in watching a sunrise, +the knowledge of the true nature of the orb may lead the +painter to feel more profoundly, and express more fully, the +distance between the bars of cloud that cross it, and the sphere +of flame that lifts itself slowly beyond them into the infinite +heaven. But, for one visible truth to which knowledge thus +opens the eyes, it seals them to a thousand: that is to say, if +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page039"></a>39</span> +the knowledge occur to the mind so as to occupy its powers of +contemplation at the moment when the sight work is to be +done, the mind retires inward, fixes itself upon the known fact, +and forgets the passing visible ones; and a <i>moment</i> of such +forgetfulness loses more to the painter than a day’s thought +can gain. This is no new or strange assertion. Every person +accustomed to careful reflection of any kind, knows that its +natural operation is to close his eyes to the external world. +While he is thinking deeply, he neither sees nor feels, even +though naturally he may possess strong powers of sight and +emotion. He who, having journeyed all day beside the Leman +Lake, asked of his companions, at evening, where it was,<a name="FnAnchor_10" href="#Footnote_10"><span class="sp">10</span></a> probably +was not wanting in sensibility; but he was generally a +thinker, not a perceiver. And this instance is only an extreme +one of the effect which, in all cases, knowledge, becoming a +subject of reflection, produces upon the sensitive faculties. It +must be but poor and lifeless knowledge, if it has no tendency +to force itself forward, and become ground for reflection, in +despite of the succession of external objects. It will not obey +their succession. The first that comes gives it food enough +for its day’s work; it is its habit, its duty, to cast the rest aside, +and fasten upon that. The first thing that a thinking and +knowing man sees in the course of the day, he will not easily +quit. It is not his way to quit anything without getting to the +bottom of it, if possible. But the artist is bound to receive all +things on the broad, white, lucid field of his soul, not to grasp +at one. For instance, as the knowing and thinking man +watches the sunrise, he sees something in the color of a ray, or +the change of a cloud, that is new to him; and this he follows +out forthwith into a labyrinth of optical and pneumatical laws, +perceiving no more clouds nor rays all the morning. But the +painter must catch all the rays, all the colors that come, and see +them all truly, all in their real relations and succession; therefore, +everything that occupies room in his mind he must cast +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page040"></a>40</span> +aside for the time, as completely as may be. The thoughtful +man is gone far away to seek; but the perceiving man must +sit still, and open his heart to receive. The thoughtful man is +knitting and sharpening himself into a two-edged sword, wherewith +to pierce. The perceiving man is stretching himself into +a four-cornered sheet wherewith to catch. And all the breadth +to which he can expand himself, and all the white emptiness +into which he can blanch himself, will not be enough to receive +what God has to give him.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIII.</span> What, then, it will be indignantly asked, is an +utterly ignorant and unthinking man likely to make the best +artist? No, not so neither. Knowledge is good for him so +long as he can keep it utterly, servilely, subordinate to his own +divine work, and trample it under his feet, and out of his way, +the moment it is likely to entangle him.</p> + +<p>And in this respect, observe, there is an enormous difference +between knowledge and education. An artist need not +be a <i>learned</i> man, in all probability it will be a disadvantage +to him to become so; but he ought, if possible, always to be +an <i>educated</i> man: that is, one who has understanding of his +own uses and duties in the world, and therefore of the general +nature of the things done and existing in the world; and who +has so trained himself, or been trained, as to turn to the best +and most courteous account whatever faculties or knowledge +he has. The mind of an educated man is greater than the +knowledge it possesses; it is like the vault of heaven, encompassing +the earth which lives and flourishes beneath it: but the +mind of an educated and learned man is like a caoutchouc band, +with an everlasting spirit of contraction in it, fastening together +papers which it cannot open, and keeps others from +opening.</p> + +<p>Half our artists are ruined for want of education, and by +the possession of knowledge; the best that I have known have +been educated, and illiterate. The ideal of an artist, however, +is not that he should be illiterate, but well read in the best +books, and thoroughly high bred, both in heart and in bearing. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page041"></a>41</span> +In a word, he should be fit for the best society, <i>and should +keep out of it</i>.<a name="FnAnchor_11" href="#Footnote_11"><span class="sp">11</span></a></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIV.</span> There are, indeed, some kinds of knowledge with +which an artist ought to be thoroughly furnished; those, for +instance, which enable him to express himself; for this knowledge +relieves instead of encumbering his mind, and permits +it to attend to its purposes instead of wearying itself about +means. The whole mystery of manipulation and manufacture +should be familiar to the painter from a child. He should +know the chemistry of all colors and materials whatsoever, and +should prepare all his colors himself, in a little laboratory of +his own. Limiting his chemistry to this one object, the +amount of practical science necessary for it, and such accidental +discoveries as might fall in his way in the course of his +work, of better colors or better methods of preparing them, +would be an infinite refreshment to his mind; a minor subject +of interest to which it might turn when jaded with comfortless +labor, or exhausted with feverish invention, and yet which +would never interfere with its higher functions, when it chose +to address itself to them. Even a considerable amount of +manual labor, sturdy color-grinding and canvas-stretching, +would be advantageous; though this kind of work ought to +be in great part done by pupils. For it is one of the conditions +of perfect knowledge in these matters, that every great +master should have a certain number of pupils, to whom he is +to impart all the knowledge of materials and means which he +himself possesses, as soon as possible; so that, at any rate, by +the time they are fifteen years old, they may know all that he +knows himself in this kind; that is to say, all that the world +of artists know, and his own discoveries besides, and so never +be troubled about methods any more. Not that the knowledge +even of his own particular methods is to be of purpose confined +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page042"></a>42</span> +to himself and his pupils, but that necessarily it must be so in +some degree; for only those who see him at work daily can +understand his small and multitudinous ways of practice. +These cannot verbally be explained to everybody, nor is it +needful that they should, only let them be concealed from +nobody who cares to see them; in which case, of course, his +attendant scholars will know them best. But all that can be +made public in matters of this kind should be so with all speed, +every artist throwing his discovery into the common stock, and +the whole body of artists taking such pains in this department +of science as that there shall be no unsettled questions +about any known material or method: that it shall be an +entirely ascertained and indisputable matter which is the best +white, and which the best brown; which the strongest canvas, +and safest varnish; and which the shortest and most perfect +way of doing everything known up to that time: and if +any one discovers a better, he is to make it public forthwith. +All of them taking care to embarrass themselves with no theories +or reasons for anything, but to work empirically only: it +not being in any wise their business to know whether light +moves in rays or in waves; or whether the blue rays of the +spectrum move slower or faster than the rest; but simply to +know how many minutes and seconds such and such a powder +must be calcined, to give the brightest blue.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XV.</span> Now it is perhaps the most exquisite absurdity of the +whole Renaissance system, that while it has encumbered the +artist with every species of knowledge that is of no use to him, +this one precious and necessary knowledge it has utterly lost. +There is not, I believe, at this moment, a single question which +could be put respecting pigments and methods, on which the +body of living artists would agree in their answers. The lives +of artists are passed in fruitless experiments; fruitless, because +undirected by experience and uncommunicated in their results. +Every man has methods of his own, which he knows to be +insufficient, and yet jealously conceals from his fellow-workmen: +every colorman has materials of his own, to which it is +rare that the artist can trust: and in the very front of the majestic +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page043"></a>43</span> +advance of chemical science, the empirical science of the +artist has been annihilated, and the days which should have led +us to higher perfection are passed in guessing at, or in mourning +over, lost processes; while the so-called Dark ages, possessing +no more knowledge of chemistry than a village herbalist +does now, discovered, established, and put into daily practice +such methods of operation as have made their work, at this +day, the despair of all who look upon it.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVI.</span> And yet even this, to the painter, the safest of +sciences, and in some degree necessary, has its temptations, +and capabilities of abuse. For the simplest means are always +enough for a great man; and when once he has obtained a few +ordinary colors, which he is sure will stand, and a white surface +that will not darken nor moulder, nor rend, he is master +of the world, and of his fellow-men. And, indeed, as if in +these times we were bent on furnishing examples of every +species of opposite error, while we have suffered the traditions +to escape us of the simple methods of doing simple things, +which are enough for all the arts, and to all the ages, we have +set ourselves to discover fantastic modes of doing fantastic +things,—new mixtures and manipulations of metal, and porcelain, +and leather, and paper, and every conceivable condition +of false substance and cheap work, to our own infinitely multiplied +confusion,—blinding ourselves daily more and more to +the great, changeless, and inevitable truth, that there is but +one goodness in art; and that is one which the chemist cannot +prepare, nor the merchant cheapen, for it comes only of a rare +human hand, and rare human soul.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVII.</span> Within its due limits, however, here is one branch +of science which the artist may pursue; and, within limits still +more strict, another also, namely, the science of the appearances +of things as they have been ascertained and registered +by his fellow-men. For no day passes but some visible fact is +pointed out to us by others, which, without their help, we +should not have noticed; and the accumulation and generalization +of visible facts have formed, in the succession of ages, +the sciences of light and shade, and perspective, linear and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page044"></a>44</span> +aerial: so that the artist is now at once put in possession of +certain truths respecting the appearances of things, which, so +pointed out to him, any man may in a few days understand +and acknowledge; but which, without aid, he could not probably +discover in his lifetime. I say, probably could not, because +the time which the history of art shows us to have been +actually occupied in the discovery and systematization of such +truth, is no measure of the time <i>necessary</i> for such discovery. +The lengthened period which elapsed between the earliest and +the perfect developement of the science of light (if I may so +call it) was not occupied in the actual effort to ascertain its +laws, but in <i>acquiring the disposition to make that effort</i>. It +did not take five centuries to find out the appearance of natural +objects; but it took five centuries to make people care about +representing them. An artist of the twelfth century did not +desire to represent nature. His work was symbolical and +ornamental. So long as it was intelligible and lovely, he had +no care to make it like nature. As, for instance, when an old +painter represented the glory round a saint’s head by a burnished +plate of pure gold, he had no intention of imitating an +effect of light. He meant to tell the spectator that the figure +so decorated was a saint, and to produce splendor of effect by +the golden circle. It was no matter to him what light was +like. So soon as it entered into his intention to represent the +appearance of light, he was not long in discovering the natural +facts necessary for his purpose.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVIII.</span> But, this being fully allowed, it is still true that +the accumulation of facts now known respecting visible phenomena, +is greater than any man could hope to gather for himself, +and that it is well for him to be made acquainted with +them; provided always, that he receive them only at their +true value, and do not suffer himself to be misled by them. I +say, at their true value; that is, an exceedingly small one. All +the information which men can receive from the accumulated +experience of others, is of no use but to enable them more +quickly and accurately to see for themselves. It will in no +wise take the place of this personal sight. Nothing can be +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page045"></a>45</span> +done well in art, except by vision. Scientific principles and +experiences are helps to the eye, as a microscope is; and they +are of exactly as much use <i>without</i> the eye. No science of +perspective, or of anything else, will enable us to draw the +simplest natural line accurately, unless we see it and feel it. +Science is soon at her wits’ end. All the professors of perspective +in Europe, could not, by perspective, draw the line of +curve of a sea beach; nay, could not outline one pool of the +quiet water left among the sand. The eye and hand can do it, +nothing else. All the rules of aerial perspective that ever +were written, will not tell me how sharply the pines on the hill-top +are drawn at this moment on the sky. I shall know if I +see them, and love them; not till then. I may study the laws +of atmospheric gradation for fourscore years and ten, and I +shall not be able to draw so much as a brick-kiln through its +own smoke, unless I look at it; and that in an entirely humble +and unscientific manner, ready to see all that the smoke, my +master, is ready to show me, and expecting to see nothing +more.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIX.</span> So that all the knowledge a man has must be held +cheap, and neither trusted nor respected, the moment he comes +face to face with Nature. If it help him, well; if not, but, on +the contrary, thrust itself upon him in an impertinent and contradictory +temper, and venture to set itself in the slightest degree +in opposition to, or comparison with, his sight, let it be +disgraced forthwith. And the slave is less likely to take too +much upon herself, if she has not been bought for a high +price. All the knowledge an artist needs, will, in these days, +come to him almost without his seeking; if he has far to look +for it, he may be sure he does not want it. Prout became +Prout, without knowing a single rule of perspective to the end +of his days; and all the perspective in the Encyclopædia will +never produce us another Prout.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XX.</span> And observe, also, knowledge is not only very often +unnecessary, but it is often <i>untrustworthy</i>. It is inaccurate, +and betrays us where the eye would have been true to us. Let +us take the single instance of the knowledge of aerial perspective, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page046"></a>46</span> +of which the moderns are so proud, and see how it betrays +us in various ways. First by the conceit of it, which often +prevents our enjoying work in which higher and better things +were thought of than effects of mist. The other day I showed +a line impression of Albert Durer’s “St. Hubert” to a modern +engraver, who had never seen it nor any other of Albert +Durer’s works. He looked at it for a minute contemptuously, +then turned away: “Ah, I see that man did not know much +about aerial perspective!” All the glorious work and thought +of the mighty master, all the redundant landscape, the living +vegetation, the magnificent truth of line, were dead letters to +him, because he happened to have been taught one particular +piece of knowledge which Durer despised.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXI.</span> But not only in the conceit of it, but in the inaccuracy +of it, this science betrays us. Aerial perspective, as given +by the modern artist, is, in nine cases out of ten, a gross and +ridiculous exaggeration, as is demonstrable in a moment. The +effect of air in altering the hue and depth of color is of course +great in the exact proportion of the volume of air between the +observer and the object. It is not violent within the first few +yards, and then diminished gradually, but it is equal for each +foot of interposing air. Now in a clear day, and clear climate, +such as that generally presupposed in a work of fine color, objects +are completely visible at a distance of ten miles; visible +in light and shade, with gradations between the two. Take, +then, the faintest possible hue of shadow, or of any color, and +the most violent and positive possible, and set them side by +side. The interval between them is greater than the real difference +(for objects may often be seen clearly much farther +than ten miles, I have seen Mont Blanc at 120) caused by the +ten miles of intervening air between any given hue of the +nearest, and most distant, objects; but let us assume it, in +courtesy to the masters of aerial perspective, to be the real difference. +Then roughly estimating a mile at less than it really +is, also in courtesy to them, or at 5000 feet, we have this difference +between tints produced by 50,000 feet of air. Then, ten +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page047"></a>47</span> +feet of air will produce the 5000th part of this difference. Let +the reader take the two extreme tints, and carefully gradate +the one into the other. Let him divide this gradated shadow +or color into 5000 successive parts; and the difference in depth +between one of these parts and the next is the exact amount of +aerial perspective between one object, and another, ten feet +behind it, on a clear day.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXII.</span> Now, in Millais’ “Huguenot,” the figures were +standing about three feet from the wall behind them; and the +wise world of critics, which could find no other fault with the +picture, professed to have its eyes hurt by the want of an aerial +perspective, which, had it been accurately given (as, indeed, I +believe it was), would have amounted to the <b><span class="above">10</span>⁄<span class="below">3</span></b>5000th, or less +than the 15,000th part of the depth of any given color. It +would be interesting to see a picture painted by the critics, +upon this scientific principle. The aerial perspective usually +represented is entirely conventional and ridiculous; a mere +struggle on the part of the pretendedly well-informed, but +really ignorant, artist, to express distances by mist which he +cannot by drawing.</p> + +<p>It is curious that the critical world is just as much offended +by the true <i>presence</i> of aerial perspective, over distances of +fifty miles, and with definite purpose of representing mist, in +the works of Turner, as by the true <i>absence</i> of aerial perspective, +over distances of three feet, and in clear weather, in those +of Millais.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIII.</span> “Well but,” still answers the reader, “this kind of +error may here and there be occasioned by too much respect +for undigested knowledge; but, on the whole, the gain is +greater than the loss, and the fact is, that a picture of the Renaissance +period, or by a modern master, does indeed represent +nature more faithfully than one wrought in the ignorance of +old times.” No, not one whit; for the most part less faithfully. +Indeed, the outside of nature is more truly drawn; the material +commonplace, which can be systematized, catalogued, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page048"></a>48</span> +taught to all pains-taking mankind,—forms of ribs and scapulæ,<a name="FnAnchor_12" href="#Footnote_12"><span class="sp">12</span></a> +of eyebrows and lips, and curls of hair. Whatever can be +measured and handled, dissected and demonstrated,—in a word, +whatever is of the body only,—that the schools of knowledge +do resolutely and courageously possess themselves of, and portray. +But whatever is immeasurable, intangible, indivisible, +and of the spirit, that the schools of knowledge do as certainly +lose, and blot out of their sight, that is to say, all that is worth +art’s possessing or recording at all; for whatever can be arrested, +measured, and systematized, we can contemplate as much +as we will in nature herself. But what we want art to do for +us is to stay what is fleeting, and to enlighten what is incomprehensible, +to incorporate the things that have no measure, +and immortalize the things that have no duration. The dimly +seen, momentary glance, the flitting shadow of faint emotion, +the imperfect lines of fading thought, and all that by and +through such things as these is recorded on the features of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page049"></a>49</span> +man, and all that in man’s person and actions, and in the great +natural world, is infinite and wonderful; having in it that +spirit and power which man may witness, but not weigh; conceive, +but not comprehend; love, but not limit; and imagine, +but not define;—this, the beginning and the end of the aim of +all noble art, we have, in the ancient art, by perception; and +we have <i>not</i>, in the newer art, by knowledge. Giotto gives it +us, Orcagna gives it us. Angelico, Memmi, Pisano, it matters +not who,—all simple and unlearned men, in their measure and +manner,—give it us; and the learned men that followed them +give it us not, and we, in our supreme learning, own ourselves +at this day farther from it than ever.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIV.</span> “Nay,” but it is still answered, “this is because +we have not yet brought our knowledge into right use, but +have been seeking to accumulate it, rather than to apply it +wisely to the ends of art. Let us now do this, and we may +achieve all that was done by that elder ignorant art, and infinitely +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page050"></a>50</span> +more.” No, not so; for as soon as we try to put our +knowledge to good use, we shall find that we have much more +than we can use, and that what more we have is an encumbrance. +All our errors in this respect arise from a gross misconception +as to the true nature of knowledge itself. We +talk of learned and ignorant men, as if there were a certain +quantity of knowledge, which to possess was to be learned, and +which not to possess was to be ignorant; instead of considering +that knowledge is infinite, and that the man most learned +in human estimation is just as far from knowing anything as +he ought to know it, as the unlettered peasant. Men are +merely on a lower or higher stage of an eminence, whose summit +is God’s throne, infinitely above all; and there is just as +much reason for the wisest as for the simplest man being +discontented with his position, as respects the real quantity +of knowledge he possesses. And, for both of them, the only +true reasons for contentment with the sum of knowledge they +possess are these: that it is the kind of knowledge they need +for their duty and happiness in life; that all they have is +tested and certain, so far as it is in their power; that all they +have is well in order, and within reach when they need it; +that it has not cost too much time in the getting; that none +of it, once got, has been lost; and that there is not too much +to be easily taken care of.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXV.</span> Consider these requirements a little, and the evils +that result in our education and polity from neglecting them. +Knowledge is mental food, and is exactly to the spirit what +food is to the body (except that the spirit needs several sorts +of food, of which knowledge is only one), and it is liable to the +same kind of misuses. It may be mixed and disguised by art, +till it becomes unwholesome; it may be refined, sweetened, +and made palatable, until it has lost all its power of nourishment; +and, even of its best kind, it may be eaten to surfeiting, +and minister to disease and death.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVI.</span> Therefore, with respect to knowledge, we are to +reason and act exactly as with respect to food. We no more +live to know, than we live to eat. We live to contemplate, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page051"></a>51</span> +enjoy, act, adore; and we may know all that is to be known +in this world, and what Satan knows in the other, without +being able to do any of these. We are to ask, therefore, first, +is the knowledge we would have fit food for us, good and +simple, not artificial and decorated? and secondly, how much +of it will enable us best for our work; and will leave our +hearts light, and our eyes clear? For no more than that is +to be eaten without the old Eve-sin.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVII.</span> Observe, also, the difference between tasting knowledge, +and hoarding it. In this respect it is also like food; +since, in some measure, the knowledge of all men is laid up in +granaries, for future use; much of it is at any given moment +dormant, not fed upon or enjoyed, but in store. And by all +it is to be remembered, that knowledge in this form may be +kept without air till it rots, or in such unthreshed disorder that +it is of no use; and that, however good or orderly, it is still +only in being tasted that it becomes of use; and that men +may easily starve in their own granaries, men of science, perhaps, +most of all, for they are likely to seek accumulation of +their store, rather than nourishment from it. Yet let it not +be thought that I would undervalue them. The good and +great among them are like Joseph, to whom all nations sought +to buy corn; or like the sower going forth to sow beside all +waters, sending forth thither the feet of the ox and the ass: +only let us remember that this is not all men’s work. We are +not intended to be all keepers of granaries, nor all to be measured +by the filling of a storehouse; but many, nay, most of +us, are to receive day by day our daily bread, and shall be +as well nourished and as fit for our labor, and often, also, fit +for nobler and more divine labor, in feeding from the barrel +of meal that does not waste, and from the cruse of oil that +does not fail, than if our barns were filled with plenty, and our +presses bursting out with new wine.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVIII.</span> It is for each man to find his own measure in this +matter; in great part, also, for others to find it for him, while +he is yet a youth. And the desperate evil of the whole Renaissance +system is, that all idea of measure is therein forgotten, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page052"></a>52</span> +that knowledge is thought the one and the only good, +and it is never inquired whether men are vivified by it or +paralyzed. Let us leave figures. The reader may not believe +the analogy I have been pressing so far; but let him consider +the subject in itself, let him examine the effect of knowledge +in his own heart, and see whether the trees of knowledge and +of life are one now, any more than in Paradise. He must feel +that the real animating power of knowledge is only in the +moment of its being first received, when it fills us with wonder +and joy; a joy for which, observe, the previous ignorance +is just as necessary as the present knowledge. That man is +always happy who is in the presence of something which he +cannot know to the full, which he is always going on to know. +This is the necessary condition of a finite creature with +divinely rooted and divinely directed intelligence; this, therefore, +its happy state,—but observe, a state, not of triumph or +joy in what it knows, but of joy rather in the continual discovery +of new ignorance, continual self-abasement, continual +astonishment. Once thoroughly our own, the knowledge +ceases to give us pleasure. It may be practically useful to us, +it may be good for others, or good for usury to obtain more; +but, in itself, once let it be thoroughly familiar, and it is dead. +The wonder is gone from it, and all the fine color which it had +when first we drew it up out of the infinite sea. And what +does it matter how much or how little of it we have laid aside, +when our only enjoyment is still in the casting of that deep +sea line? What does it matter? Nay, in one respect, it +matters much, and not to our advantage. For one effect of +knowledge is to deaden the force of the imagination and the +original energy of the whole man: under the weight of his +knowledge he cannot move so lightly as in the days of his +simplicity. The pack-horse is furnished for the journey, the +war-horse is armed for war; but the freedom of the field and +the lightness of the limb are lost for both. Knowledge is, at +best, the pilgrim’s burden or the soldier’s panoply, often a +weariness to them both: and the Renaissance knowledge is +like the Renaissance armor of plate, binding and cramping the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page053"></a>53</span> +human form; while all good knowledge is like the crusader’s +chain mail, which throws itself into folds with the body, +yet it is rarely so forged as that the clasps and rivets do not +gall us. All men feel this, though they do not think of it, +nor reason out its consequences. They look back to the days +of childhood as of greatest happiness, because those were the +days of greatest wonder, greatest simplicity, and most vigorous +imagination. And the whole difference between a man of +genius and other men, it has been said a thousand times, and +most truly, is that the first remains in great part a child, seeing +with the large eyes of children, in perpetual wonder, not +conscious of much knowledge,—conscious, rather, of infinite +ignorance, and yet infinite power; a fountain of eternal admiration, +delight, and creative force within him meeting the +ocean of visible and governable things around him.</p> + +<p>That is what we have to make men, so far as we may. All +are to be men of genius in their degree,—rivulets or rivers, it +does not matter, so that the souls be clear and pure; not dead +walls encompassing dead heaps of things known and numbered, +but running waters in the sweet wilderness of things +unnumbered and unknown, conscious only of the living banks, +on which they partly refresh and partly reflect the flowers, +and so pass on.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIX.</span> Let each man answer for himself how far his knowledge +has made him this, or how far it is loaded upon him as +the pyramid is upon the tomb. Let him consider, also, how +much of it has cost him labor and time that might have been +spent in healthy, happy action, beneficial to all mankind; +how many living souls may have been left uncomforted and +unhelped by him, while his own eyes were failing by the midnight +lamp; how many warm sympathies have died within +him as he measured lines or counted letters; how many +draughts of ocean air, and steps on mountain-turf, and openings +of the highest heaven he has lost for his knowledge; how +much of that knowledge, so dearly bought, is now forgotten +or despised, leaving only the capacity of wonder less within +him, and, as it happens in a thousand instances, perhaps even +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page054"></a>54</span> +also the capacity of devotion. And let him,—if, after thus +dealing with his own heart, he can say that his knowledge +has indeed been fruitful to him,—yet consider how many there +are who have been forced by the inevitable laws of modern +education into toil utterly repugnant to their natures, and that +in the extreme, until the whole strength of the young soul +was sapped away; and then pronounce with fearfulness how +far, and in how many senses, it may indeed be true that the +wisdom of this world is foolishness with God.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXX.</span> Now all this possibility of evil, observe, attaches to +knowledge pursued for the noblest ends, if it be pursued imprudently. +I have assumed, in speaking of its effect both on +men generally and on the artist especially, that it was sought +in the true love of it, and with all honesty and directness of +purpose. But this is granting far too much in its favor. +Of knowledge in general, and without qualification, it is said +by the Apostle that “it puffeth up;” and the father of all +modern science, writing directly in its praise, yet asserts this +danger even in more absolute terms, calling it a “venomousness” +in the very nature of knowledge itself.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXI.</span> There is, indeed, much difference in this respect +between the tendencies of different branches of knowledge; it +being a sure rule that exactly in proportion as they are inferior, +nugatory, or limited in scope, their power of feeding pride is +greater. Thus philology, logic, rhetoric, and the other sciences +of the schools, being for the most part ridiculous and trifling, +have so pestilent an effect upon those who are devoted to them, +that their students cannot conceive of any higher sciences than +these, but fancy that all education ends in the knowledge of +words: but the true and great sciences, more especially natural +history, make men gentle and modest in proportion to the +largeness of their apprehension, and just perception of the infiniteness +of the things they can never know. And this, it +seems to me, is the principal lesson we are intended to be +caught by the book of Job; for there God has thrown open to +us the heart of a man most just and holy, and apparently perfect +in all things possible to human nature except humility. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page055"></a>55</span> +For this he is tried: and we are shown that no suffering, no +self-examination, however honest, however stern, no searching +out of the heart by its own bitterness, is enough to convince +man of his nothingness before God; but that the sight of God’s +creation will do it. For, when the Deity himself has willed +to end the temptation, and to accomplish in Job that for +which it was sent, He does not vouchsafe to reason with him, +still less does He overwhelm him with terror, or confound him +by laying open before his eyes the book of his iniquities. He +opens before him only the arch of the dayspring, and the fountains +of the deep; and amidst the covert of the reeds, and on +the heaving waves, He bids him watch the kings of the children +of pride,—“Behold now Behemoth, which I made with thee:” +And the work is done.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXII.</span> Thus, if, I repeat, there is any one lesson in the +whole book which stands forth more definitely than another, it +is this of the holy and humbling influence of natural science +on the human heart. And yet, even here, it is not the science, +but the perception, to which the good is owing; and the +natural sciences may become as harmful as any others, when +they lose themselves in classification and catalogue-making. +Still, the principal danger is with the sciences of words and +methods; and it was exactly into those sciences that the whole +energy of men during the Renaissance period was thrown. +They discovered suddenly that the world for ten centuries had +been living in an ungrammatical manner, and they made it +forthwith the end of human existence to be grammatical. And +it mattered thenceforth nothing what was said, or what was +done, so only that it was said with scholarship, and done with +system. Falsehood in a Ciceronian dialect had no opposers; +truth in patois no listeners. A Roman phrase was thought +worth any number of Gothic facts. The sciences ceased at once +to be anything more than different kinds of grammars,—grammar +of language, grammar of logic, grammar of ethics, grammar +of art; and the tongue, wit, and invention of the human race +were supposed to have found their utmost and most divine +mission in syntax and syllogism, perspective and five orders.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page056"></a>56</span></p> + +<p>Of such knowledge as this, nothing but pride could come; +and, therefore, I have called the first mental characteristic of +the Renaissance schools, the “pride” of science. If they had +reached any science worth the name, they might have loved it; +but of the paltry knowledge they possessed, they could only be +proud. There was not anything in it capable of being loved. +Anatomy, indeed, then first made a subject of accurate study, +is a true science, but not so attractive as to enlist the affections +strongly on its side: and therefore, like its meaner sisters, it +became merely a ground for pride; and the one main purpose +of the Renaissance artists, in all their work, was to show how +much they knew.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIII.</span> There were, of course, noble exceptions; but +chiefly belonging to the earliest periods of the Renaissance, +when its teaching had not yet produced its full effect. Raphael, +Leonardo, and Michael Angelo were all trained in the old +school; they all had masters who knew the true ends of art, +and had reached them; masters nearly as great as they were +themselves, but imbued with the old religious and earnest +spirit, which their disciples receiving from them, and drinking +at the same time deeply from all the fountains of knowledge +opened in their day, became the world’s wonders. Then the +dull wondering world believed that their greatness rose out of +their new knowledge, instead of out of that ancient religious +root, in which to abide was life, from which to be severed was +annihilation. And from that day to this, they have tried to +produce Michael Angelos and Leonardos by teaching the barren +sciences, and still have mourned and marvelled that no more +Michael Angelos came; not perceiving that those great Fathers +were only able to receive such nourishment because they were +rooted on the rock of all ages, and that our scientific teaching, +nowadays, is nothing more nor less than the assiduous watering +of trees whose stems are cut through. Nay, I have even +granted too much in saying that those great men were able to +receive pure nourishment from the sciences; for my own conviction +is, and I know it to be shared by most of those who +love Raphael truly,—that he painted best when he knew least. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page057"></a>57</span> +Michael Angelo was betrayed, again and again, into such vain +and offensive exhibition of his anatomical knowledge as, to this +day, renders his higher powers indiscernible by the greater +part of men; and Leonardo fretted his life away in engineering, +so that there is hardly a picture left to bear his name. +But, with respect to all who followed, there can be no question +that the science they possessed was utterly harmful; serving +merely to draw away their hearts at once from the purposes of +art and the power of nature, and to make, out of the canvas +and marble, nothing more than materials for the exhibition of +petty dexterity and useless knowledge.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIV.</span> It is sometimes amusing to watch the naïve and +childish way in which this vanity is shown. For instance, +when perspective was first invented, the world thought it a +mighty discovery, and the greatest men it had in it were as +proud of knowing that retiring lines converge, as if all the +wisdom of Solomon had been compressed into a vanishing +point. And, accordingly, it became nearly impossible for any +one to paint a Nativity, but he must turn the stable and manger +into a Corinthian arcade, in order to show his knowledge +of perspective; and half the best architecture of the time, instead +of being adorned with historical sculpture, as of old, was +set forth with bas-relief of minor corridors and galleries, thrown +into perspective.</p> + +<p>Now that perspective can be taught to any schoolboy in a +week, we can smile at this vanity. But the fact is, that all +pride in knowledge is precisely as ridiculous, whatever its kind, +or whatever its degree. There is, indeed, nothing of which +man has any right to be proud; but the very last thing of +which, with any show of reason, he can make his boast is his +knowledge, except only that infinitely small portion of it which +he has discovered for himself. For what is there to be more +proud of in receiving a piece of knowledge from another person, +than in receiving a piece of money? Beggars should not +be proud, whatever kind of alms they receive. Knowledge is +like current coin. A man may have some right to be proud +of possessing it, if he has worked for the gold of it, and assayed +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page058"></a>58</span> +it, and stamped it, so that it may be received of all men as +true; or earned it fairly, being already assayed: but if he has +done none of these things, but only had it thrown in his face +by a passer-by, what cause has he to be proud? And though, +in this mendicant fashion, he had heaped together the wealth +of Crœsus, would pride any more, for this, become him, as, in +some sort, it becomes the man who has labored for his fortune, +however small? So, if a man tells me the sun is larger than +the earth, have I any cause for pride in knowing it? or, if any +multitude of men tell me any number of things, heaping all +their wealth of knowledge upon me, have I any reason to be +proud under the heap? And is not nearly all the knowledge +of which we boast in these days cast upon us in this dishonorable +way; worked for by other men, proved by them, and then +forced upon us, even against our wills, and beaten into us in +our youth, before we have the wit even to know if it be good +or not? (Mark the distinction between knowledge and +thought.) Truly a noble possession to be proud of! Be +assured, there is no part of the furniture of a man’s mind +which he has a right to exult in, but that which he has hewn +and fashioned for himself. He who has built himself a hut on +a desert heath, and carved his bed, and table, and chair out of +the nearest forest, may have some right to take pride in the appliances +of his narrow chamber, as assuredly he will have joy in +them. But the man who has had a palace built, and adorned, +and furnished for him, may, indeed, have many advantages +above the other, but he has no reason to be proud of his upholsterer’s +skill; and it is ten to one if he has half the joy in +his couches of ivory that the other will have in his pallet of +pine.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXV.</span> And observe how we feel this, in the kind of respect +we pay to such knowledge as we are indeed capable of +estimating the value of. When it is our own, and new to us, +we cannot judge of it; but let it be another’s also, and long +familiar to us, and see what value we set on it. Consider how +we regard a schoolboy, fresh from his term’s labor. If he begin +to display his newly acquired small knowledge to us, and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page059"></a>59</span> +plume himself thereupon, how soon do we silence him with +contempt! But it is not so if the schoolboy begins to feel or +see anything. In the strivings of his soul within him he is +our equal; in his power of sight and thought he stands separate +from us, and may be a greater than we. We are ready to +hear him forthwith. “You saw that? you felt that? No +matter for your being a child; let us hear.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVI.</span> Consider that every generation of men stands in +this relation to its successors. It is as the schoolboy: the +knowledge of which it is proudest will be as the alphabet to +those who follow. It had better make no noise about its knowledge; +a time will come when its utmost, in that kind, will be +food for scorn. Poor fools! was that all they knew? and behold +how proud they were! But what we see and feel will +never be mocked at. All men will be thankful to us for telling +them that. “Indeed!” they will say, “they felt that in +their day? saw that? Would God we may be like them, +before we go to the home where sight and thought are +not!”</p> + +<p>This unhappy and childish pride in knowledge, then, was +the first constituent element of the Renaissance mind, and it +was enough, of itself, to have cast it into swift decline: but it +was aided by another form of pride, which was above called +the Pride of State; and which we have next to examine.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVII.</span> II. <span class="sc">Pride of State.</span> It was noticed in the +second volume of “Modern Painters,” p. 122, that the principle +which had most power in retarding the modern school of +portraiture was its constant expression of individual vanity and +pride. And the reader cannot fail to have observed that one +of the readiest and commonest ways in which the painter ministers +to this vanity, is by introducing the pedestal or shaft of +a column, or some fragment, however simple, of Renaissance +architecture, in the background of the portrait. And this is +not merely because such architecture is bolder or grander than, +in general, that of the apartments of a private house. No +other architecture would produce the same effect in the same +degree. The richest Gothic, the most massive Norman, would +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page060"></a>60</span> +not produce the same sense of exaltation as the simple and +meagre lines of the Renaissance.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVIII.</span> And if we think over this matter a little, we +shall soon feel that in those meagre lines there is indeed an expression +of aristocracy in its worst characters; coldness, perfectness +of training, incapability of emotion, want of sympathy +with the weakness of lower men, blank, hopeless, haughty self-sufficiency. +All these characters are written in the Renaissance +architecture as plainly as if they were graven on it in words. +For, observe, all other architectures have something in them +that common men can enjoy; some concession to the simplicities +of humanity, some daily bread for the hunger of the +multitude. Quaint fancy, rich ornament, bright color, something +that shows a sympathy with men of ordinary minds and +hearts; and this wrought out, at least in the Gothic, with a +rudeness showing that the workman did not mind exposing his +own ignorance if he could please others. But the Renaissance +is exactly the contrary of all this. It is rigid, cold, inhuman; +incapable of glowing, of stooping, of conceding for an instant. +Whatever excellence it has is refined, high-trained, and deeply +erudite; a kind which the architect well knows no common +mind can taste. He proclaims it to us aloud. “You cannot +feel my work unless you study Vitruvius. I will give you no +gay color, no pleasant sculpture, nothing to make you happy; +for I am a learned man. All the pleasure you can have in +anything I do is in its proud breeding, its rigid formalism, its +perfect finish, its cold tranquillity. I do not work for the +vulgar, only for the men of the academy and the court.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIX.</span> And the instinct of the world felt this in a +moment. In the new precision and accurate law of the classical +forms, they perceived something peculiarly adapted to +the setting forth of state in an appalling manner: Princes delighted +in it, and courtiers. The Gothic was good for God’s +worship, but this was good for man’s worship. The Gothic +had fellowship with all hearts, and was universal, like nature: +it could frame a temple for the prayer of nations, or shrink +into the poor man’s winding stair. But here was an architecture +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page061"></a>61</span> +that would not shrink, that had in it no submission, no +mercy. The proud princes and lords rejoiced in it. It was +full of insult to the poor in its every line. It would not be +built of the materials at the poor man’s hand; it would not roof +itself with thatch or shingle, and black oak beams; it would +not wall itself with rough stone or brick; it would not pierce +itself with small windows where they were needed; it would +not niche itself, wherever there was room for it, in the street +corners. It would be of hewn stone; it would have its windows +and its doors, and its stairs and its pillars, in lordly order, +and of stately size; it would have its wings and its corridors, +and its halls and its gardens, as if all the earth were its own. +And the rugged cottages of the mountaineers, and the fantastic +streets of the laboring burgher were to be thrust out of its +way, as of a lower species.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XL.</span> It is to be noted also, that it ministered as much to +luxury as to pride. Not to luxury of the eye, that is a holy +luxury; Nature ministers to that in her painted meadows, and +sculptured forests, and gilded heavens; the Gothic builder +ministered to that in his twisted traceries, and deep-wrought +foliage, and burning casements. The dead Renaissance drew +back into its earthliness, out of all that was warm and heavenly; +back into its pride, out of all that was simple and kind; back +into its stateliness, out of all that was impulsive, reverent, and +gay. But it understood the luxury of the body; the terraced +and scented and grottoed garden, with its trickling fountains +and slumbrous shades; the spacious hall and lengthened corridor +for the summer heat; the well-closed windows, and perfect +fittings and furniture, for defence against the cold; and +the soft picture, and frescoed wall and roof, covered with the +last lasciviousness of Paganism;—this is understood and possessed +to the full, and still possesses. This is the kind of +domestic architecture on which we pride ourselves, even to +this day, as an infinite and honorable advance from the rough +habits of our ancestors; from the time when the king’s floor +was strewn with rushes, and the tapestries swayed before the +searching wind in the baron’s hall.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page062"></a>62</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLI.</span> Let us hear two stories of those rougher times.</p> + +<p>At the debate of King Edwin with his courtiers and priests, +whether he ought to receive the Gospel preached to him by +Paulinus, one of his nobles spoke as follows:</p> + +<p>“The present life, O king! weighed with the time that is +unknown, seems to me like this. When you are sitting at a +feast with your earls and thanes in winter time, and the fire is +lighted, and the hall is warmed, and it rains and snows, and +the storm is loud without, there comes a sparrow, and flies +through the house. It comes in at one door and goes out at +the other. While it is within, it is not touched by the winter’s +storm; but it is but for the twinkling of an eye, for from +winter it comes and to winter it returns. So also this life of +man endureth for a little space; what goes before or what +follows after, we know not. Wherefore, if this new lore bring +anything more certain, it is fit that we should follow it.”<a name="FnAnchor_13" href="#Footnote_13"><span class="sp">13</span></a></p> + +<p>That could not have happened in a Renaissance building. +The bird could not have dashed in from the cold into the heat, +and from the heat back again into the storm. It would have +had to come up a flight of marble stairs, and through seven +or eight antechambers; and so, if it had ever made its way +into the presence chamber, out again through loggias and corridors +innumerable. And the truth which the bird brought +with it, fresh from heaven, has, in like manner, to make its +way to the Renaissance mind through many antechambers, +hardly, and as a despised thing, if at all.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLII.</span> Hear another story of those early times.</p> + +<p>The king of Jerusalem, Godfrey of Bouillon, at the siege +of Asshur, or Arsur, gave audience to some emirs from Samaria +and Naplous. They found him seated on the ground on a +sack of straw. They expressing surprise, Godfrey answered +them: “May not the earth, out of which we came, and which +is to be our dwelling after death, serve us for a seat during +life?”</p> + +<p>It is long since such a throne has been set in the reception +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page063"></a>63</span> +chambers of Christendom, or such an answer heard from the +lips of a king.</p> + +<p>Thus the Renaissance spirit became base both in its abstinence +and its indulgence. Base in its abstinence; curtailing +the bright and playful wealth of form and thought, which +filled the architecture of the earlier ages with sources of +delight for their hardy spirit, pure, simple, and yet rich as the +fretwork of flowers and moss, watered by some strong and +stainless mountain stream: and base in its indulgence; as it +granted to the body what it withdrew from the heart, and +exhausted, in smoothing the pavement for the painless feet, +and softening the pillow for the sluggish brain, the powers of +art which once had hewn rough ladders into the clouds of +heaven, and set up the stones by which they rested for houses +of God.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLIII</span>. And just in proportion as this courtly sensuality +lowered the real nobleness of the men whom birth or fortune +raised above their fellows, rose their estimate of their own +dignity, together with the insolence and unkindness of its +expression, and the grossness of the flattery with which it +was fed. Pride is indeed the first and the last among the sins +of men, and there is no age of the world in which it has not +been unveiled in the power and prosperity of the wicked. +But there was never in any form of slavery, or of feudal supremacy, +a forgetfulness so total of the common majesty of the +human soul, and of the brotherly kindness due from man to +man, as in the aristocratic follies in the Renaissance. I have +not space to follow out this most interesting and extensive +subject; but here is a single and very curious example of the +kind of flattery with which architectural teaching was mingled +when addressed to the men of rank of the day.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLIV</span>. In St. Mark’s library there is a very curious Latin +manuscript of the twenty-five books of Averulinus, a Florentine +architect, upon the principles of his art. The book was written +in or about 1460, and translated into Latin, and richly illuminated +for Corvinus, king of Hungary, about 1483. I extract +from the third book the following passage on the nature of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page064"></a>64</span> +stones. “As there are three genera of men,—that is to say, +nobles, men of the middle classes, and rustics,—so it appears +that there are of stones. For the marbles and common stones +of which we have spoken above, set forth the rustics. The +porphyries and alabasters, and the other harder stones of +mingled quality, represent the middle classes, if we are to deal +in comparisons: and by means of these the ancients adorned +their temples with incrustations and ornaments in a magnificent +manner. And after these come the chalcedonies and +sardonyxes, &c., which are so transparent that there can be +seen no spot in them.<a name="FnAnchor_14" href="#Footnote_14"><span class="sp">14</span></a> Thus men endowed with nobility lead +a life in which no spot can be found.”</p> + +<p>Canute or Cœur de Lion (I name not Godfrey or St. Louis) +would have dashed their sceptres against the lips of a man +who should have dared to utter to them flattery such as this. +But in the fifteenth century it was rendered and accepted as +a matter of course, and the tempers which delighted in it +necessarily took pleasure also in every vulgar or false means, +of taking worldly superiority. And among such false means +largeness of scale in the dwelling-house was of course one of +the easiest and most direct. All persons, however senseless +or dull, could appreciate size: it required some exertion of +intelligence to enter into the spirit of the quaint carving of the +Gothic times, but none to perceive that one heap of stones +was higher than another.<a name="FnAnchor_15" href="#Footnote_15"><span class="sp">15</span></a> And therefore, while in the execution +and manner of work the Renaissance builders zealously +vindicated for themselves the attribute of cold and superior +learning, they appealed for such approbation as they needed +from the multitude, to the lowest possible standard of taste; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page065"></a>65</span> +and while the older workman lavished his labor on the minute +niche and narrow casement, on the doorways no higher than +the head, and the contracted angles of the turreted chamber, +the Renaissance builder spared such cost and toil in his detail, +that he might spend it in bringing larger stones from a +distance; and restricted himself to rustication and five orders, +that he might load the ground with colossal piers, and raise an +ambitious barrenness of architecture, as inanimate as it was +gigantic, above the feasts and follies of the powerful or the +rich. The Titanic insanity extended itself also into ecclesiastical +design: the principal church in Italy was built with little +idea of any other admirableness than that which was to result +from its being huge; and the religious impressions of those +who enter it are to this day supposed to be dependent, in a +great degree, on their discovering that they cannot span the +thumbs of the statues which sustain the vessels for holy +water.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLV</span>. It is easy to understand how an architecture which +thus appealed not less to the lowest instincts of dulness than +to the subtlest pride of learning, rapidly found acceptance +with a large body of mankind; and how the spacious pomp +of the new manner of design came to be eagerly adopted by +the luxurious aristocracies, not only of Venice, but of the +other countries of Christendom, now gradually gathering +themselves into that insolent and festering isolation, against +which the cry of the poor sounded hourly in more ominous +unison, bursting at last into thunder (mark where,—first +among the planted walks and plashing fountains of the palace +wherein the Renaissance luxury attained its utmost height in +Europe, Versailles); that cry, mingling so much piteousness +with its wrath and indignation, “Our soul is filled with the +scornful reproof of the wealthy, and with the despitefulness +of the proud.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLVI</span>. But of all the evidence bearing upon this subject +presented by the various arts of the fifteenth century, none is +so interesting or so conclusive as that deduced from its tombs. +For, exactly in proportion as the pride of life became more +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page066"></a>66</span> +insolent, the fear of death became more servile; and the difference +in the manner in which the men of early and later +days adorned the sepulchre, confesses a still greater difference +in their manner of regarding death. To those he came as the +comforter and the friend, rest in his right hand, hope in his left; +to these as the humiliator, the spoiler, and the avenger. And, +therefore, we find the early tombs at once simple and lovely +in adornment, severe and solemn in their expression; confessing +the power, and accepting the peace, of death, openly and +joyfully; and in all their symbols marking that the hope of +resurrection lay only in Christ’s righteousness; signed always +with this simple utterance of the dead, “I will lay me down +in peace, and take my rest; for it is thou, Lord, only that +makest me dwell in safety.” But the tombs of the later ages +are a ghastly struggle of mean pride and miserable terror: +the one mustering the statues of the Virtues about the tomb, +disguising the sarcophagus with delicate sculpture, polishing +the false periods of the elaborate epitaph, and filling with +strained animation the features of the portrait statue; and +the other summoning underneath, out of the niche or from +behind the curtain, the frowning skull, or scythed skeleton, or +some other more terrible image of the enemy in whose defiance +the whiteness of the sepulchre had been set to shine +above the whiteness of the ashes.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLVII</span>. This change in the feeling with which sepulchral +monuments were designed, from the eleventh to the eighteenth +centuries, has been common to the whole of Europe. +But, as Venice is in other respects the centre of the Renaissance +system, so also she exhibits this change in the manner +of the sepulchral monument under circumstances peculiarly +calculated to teach us its true character. For the severe +guard which, in earlier times, she put upon every tendency to +personal pomp and ambition, renders the tombs of her ancient +monarchs as remarkable for modesty and simplicity as for +their religious feeling; so that, in this respect, they are separated +by a considerable interval from the more costly monuments +erected at the same periods to the kings or nobles of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page067"></a>67</span> +other European states. In later times, on the other hand, as +the piety of the Venetians diminished, their pride overleaped +all limits, and the tombs which in recent epochs, were erected +for men who had lived only to impoverish or disgrace the +state, were as much more magnificent than those contemporaneously +erected for the nobles of Europe, as the monuments +for the great Doges had been humbler. When, in addition to +this, we reflect that the art of sculpture, considered as +expressive of emotion, was at a low ebb in Venice in the +twelfth century, and that in the seventeenth she took the lead +in Italy in luxurious work, we shall at once see the chain of +examples through which the change of feeling is expressed, +must present more remarkable extremes here than it can in +any other city; extremes so startling that their impressiveness +cannot be diminished, while their intelligibility is greatly +increased, by the large number of intermediate types which +have fortunately been preserved.</p> + +<p>It would, however, too much weary the general reader if, +without illustrations, I were to endeavor to lead him step by +step through the aisles of St. John and Paul; and I shall +therefore confine myself to a slight notice of those features in +sepulchral architecture generally which are especially illustrative +of the matter at present in hand, and point out the order +in which, if possible, the traveller should visit the tombs in +Venice, so as to be most deeply impressed with the true character +of the lessons they convey.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLVIII</span>. I have not such an acquaintance with the modes +of entombment or memorial in the earliest ages of Christianity +as would justify me in making any general statement respecting +them: but it seems to me that the perfect type of a Christian +tomb was not developed until toward the thirteenth century, +sooner or later according to the civilization of each +country; that perfect type consisting in the raised and perfectly +visible sarcophagus of stone, bearing upon it a recumbent +figure, and the whole covered by a canopy. Before that +type was entirely developed, and in the more ordinary tombs +contemporary with it, we find the simple sarcophagus, often +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page068"></a>68</span> +with only a rough block of stone for its lid, sometimes with a +low-gabled lid like a cottage roof, derived from Egyptian +forms, and bearing, either on the sides or the lid, at least a +sculpture of the cross, and sometimes the name of the +deceased, and date of erection of the tomb. In more elaborate +examples rich figure-sculpture is gradually introduced; +and in the perfect period the sarcophagus, even when it does +not bear any recumbent figure, has generally a rich sculpture +on its sides representing an angel presenting the dead, in person +and dress as he lived, to Christ or to the Madonna, with +lateral figures, sometimes of saints, sometimes—as in the tombs +of the Dukes of Burgundy at Dijon—of mourners; but in +Venice almost always representing the Annunciation, the +angel being placed at one angle of the sarcophagus, and the +Madonna at the other. The canopy, in a very simple foursquare +form, or as an arch over a recess, is added above the +sarcophagus, long before the life-size recumbent figure appears +resting upon it. By the time that the sculptors had acquired +skill enough to give much expression to this figure, the canopy +attains an exquisite symmetry and richness; and, in the most +elaborate examples, is surmounted by a statue, generally small, +representing the dead person in the full strength and pride +of life, while the recumbent figure shows him as he lay in +death. And, at this point, the perfect type of the Gothic +tomb is reached.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLIX</span>. Of the simple sarcophagus tomb there are many +exquisite examples both at Venice and Verona; the most +interesting in Venice are those which are set in the recesses +of the rude brick front of the Church of St. John and Paul, +ornamented only, for the most part, with two crosses set in +circles, and the legend with the name of the dead, and an +“Orate pro anima” in another circle in the centre. And in +this we may note one great proof of superiority in Italian +over English tombs; the latter being often enriched with +quatrefoils, small shafts, and arches, and other ordinary architectural +decorations, which destroy their seriousness and solemnity, +render them little more than ornamental, and have +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page069"></a>69</span> +no religious meaning whatever; while the Italian sarcophagi +are kept massive, <span class="correction" title="corrected from 'smoth'">smooth</span>, and gloomy,—heavy-lidded dungeons +of stone, like rock-tombs,—but bearing on their surface, +sculptured with tender and narrow lines, the emblem of the +cross, not presumptuously nor proudly, but dimly graven +upon their granite, like the hope which the human heart holds, +but hardly perceives in its heaviness.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">L</span>. Among the tombs in front of the Church of St. John +and Paul there is one which is peculiarly illustrative of the +simplicity of these earlier ages. It is on the left of the +entrance, a massy sarcophagus with low horns as of an altar, +placed in a rude recess of the outside wall, shattered and worn, +and here and there entangled among wild grass and weeds. +Yet it is the tomb of two Doges, Jacopo and Lorenzo Tiepolo, +by one of whom nearly the whole ground was given for the +erection of the noble church in front of which his unprotected +tomb is wasting away. The sarcophagus bears an inscription +in the centre, describing the acts of the Doges, of which the +letters show that it was added a considerable period after the +erection of the tomb: the original legend is still left in other +letters on its base, to this effect,</p> + +<p class="quote">“Lord James, died 1251. Lord Laurence, died 1288.”</p> + +<p>At the two corners of the sarcophagus are two angels bearing +censers; and on its lid two birds, with crosses like crests upon +their heads. For the sake of the traveller in Venice the +reader will, I think, pardon me the momentary irrelevancy of +telling the meaning of these symbols.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LI</span>. The foundation of the church of St. John and Paul +was laid by the Dominicans about 1234, under the immediate +protection of the Senate and the Doge Giacomo Tiepolo, +accorded to them in consequence of a miraculous vision +appearing to the Doge; of which the following account is +given in popular tradition:</p> + +<p>“In the year 1226, the Doge Giacomo Tiepolo dreamed a +dream; and in his dream he saw the little oratory of the +Dominicans, and, behold, the ground all around it (now occupied +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page070"></a>70</span> +by the church) was covered with roses of the color of +vermilion, and the air was filled with their fragrance. And in +the midst of the roses, there were seen flying to and fro a +crowd of white doves, with golden crosses upon their heads. +And while the Doge looked, and wondered, behold, two angels +descended from heaven with golden censers, and passing through +the oratory, and forth among the flowers, they filled the +place with the smoke of their incense. Then the Doge heard +suddenly a clear and loud voice which proclaimed, ‘This is the +place that I have chosen for my preachers;’ and having heard +it, straightway he awoke and went to the Senate, and +declared to them the vision. Then the Senate decreed that +forty paces of ground should be given to enlarge the monastery; +and the Doge Tiepolo himself made a still larger grant +afterwards.”</p> + +<p>There is nothing miraculous in the occurrence of such a +dream as this to the devout Doge; and the fact, of which +there is no doubt, that the greater part of the land on which +the church stands was given by him, is partly a confirmation +of the story. But, whether the sculptures on the tomb were +records of the vision, or the vision a monkish invention from +the sculptures on the tomb, the reader will not, I believe, look +upon its doves and crosses, or rudely carved angels, any more +with disdain; knowing how, in one way or another, they were +connected with a point of deep religious belief.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LII</span>. Towards the beginning of the fourteenth century, +in Venice, the recumbent figure begins to appear on the sarcophagus, +the first dated example being also one of the most +beautiful; the statue of the prophet Simeon, sculptured upon +the tomb which was to receive his relics in the church dedicated +to him under the name of San Simeone Grande. So soon +as the figure appears, the sarcophagus becomes much more +richly sculptured, but always with definite religious purpose. +It is usually divided into two panels, which are filled with +small bas-reliefs of the acts or martyrdom of the patron saints +of the deceased: between them, in the centre, Christ, or the +Virgin and Child, are richly enthroned, under a curtained +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page071"></a>71</span> +canopy; and the two figures representing the Annunciation +are almost always at the angles; the promise of the Birth of +Christ being taken as at once the ground and the type of the +promise of eternal life to all men.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LIII</span>. These figures are always in Venice most rudely +chiselled; the progress of figure sculpture being there comparatively +tardy. At Verona, where the great Pisan school +had strong influence, the monumental sculpture is immeasurably +finer; and, so early as about the year 1335,<a name="FnAnchor_16" href="#Footnote_16"><span class="sp">16</span></a> the consummate +form of the Gothic tomb occurs in the monument of Can +Grande della Scala at Verona. It is set over the portal of the +chapel anciently belonging to the family. The sarcophagus is +sculptured with shallow bas-reliefs, representing (which is rare +in the tombs with which I am acquainted in Italy, unless they +are those of saints) the principal achievements of the warrior’s +life, especially the siege of Vicenza and battle of Placenza; +these sculptures, however, form little more than a chased and +roughened groundwork for the fully relieved statues representing +the Annunciation, projecting boldly from the front of +the sarcophagus. Above, the Lord of Verona is laid in his +long robe of civil dignity, wearing the simple bonnet, consisting +merely of a fillet bound round the brow, knotted and +falling on the shoulder. He is laid as asleep; his arms crossed +upon his body, and his sword by his side. Above him, a bold +arched canopy is sustained by two projecting shafts, and on +the pinnacle of its roof is the statue of the knight on his war-horse; +his helmet, dragon-winged and crested with the dog’s +head, tossed back behind his shoulders, and the broad and +blazoned drapery floating back from his horse’s breast,—so +truly drawn by the old workman from the life, that it seems +to wave in the wind, and the knight’s spear to shake, and his +marble horse to be evermore quickening its pace, and starting +into heavier and hastier charge, as the silver clouds float past +behind it in the sky.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page072"></a>72</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LIV</span>. Now observe, in this tomb, as much concession is +made to the pride of man as may ever consist with honor, +discretion, or dignity. I do not enter into any question +respecting the character of Can Grande, though there can be +little doubt that he was one of the best among the nobles of +his time; but that is not to our purpose. It is not the question +whether his wars were just, or his greatness honorably +achieved; but whether, supposing them to have been so, these +facts are well and gracefully told upon his tomb. And I +believe there can be no hesitation in the admission of its perfect +feeling and truth. Though beautiful, the tomb is so little +conspicuous or intrusive, that it serves only to decorate the +portal of the little chapel, and is hardly regarded by the +traveller as he enters. When it is examined, the history of +the acts of the dead is found subdued into dim and minute +ornament upon his coffin; and the principal aim of the monument +is to direct the thoughts to his image as he lies in death, +and to the expression of his hope of resurrection; while, seen +as by the memory far away, diminished in the brightness of +the sky, there is set the likeness of his armed youth, stately, +as it stood of old, in the front of battle, and meet to be thus +recorded for us, that we may now be able to remember the +dignity of the frame, of which those who once looked upon it +hardly remembered that it was dust.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LV</span>. This, I repeat, is as much as may ever be granted, +but this ought always to be granted, to the honor and the affection +of men. The tomb which stands beside that of Can +Grande, nearest it in the little field of sleep, already shows the +traces of erring ambition. It is the tomb of Mastino the +Second, in whose reign began the decline of his family. It is +altogether exquisite as a work of art; and the evidence of a +less wise or noble feeling in its design is found only in this, +that the image of a virtue, Fortitude, as belonging to the dead, +is placed on the extremity of the sarcophagus, opposite to the +Crucifixion. But for this slight circumstance, of which the +significance will only be appreciated as we examine the series +of later monuments, the composition of this monument of Can +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page073"></a>73</span> +Mastino would have been as perfect as its decoration is refined. +It consists, like that of Can Grande, of the raised sarcophagus, +bearing the recumbent statue, protected by a noble foursquare +canopy, sculptured with ancient Scripture history. On one +side of the sarcophagus is Christ enthroned, with Can Mastino +kneeling before Him; on the other, Christ is represented in +the mystical form, half-rising from the tomb, meant, I believe, +to be at once typical of His passion and resurrection. The +lateral panels are occupied by statues of saints. At one extremity +of the sarcophagus is the Crucifixion; at the other, a +noble statue of Fortitude, with a lion’s skin thrown over her +shoulders, its head forming a shield upon her breast, her flowing +hair bound with a narrow fillet, and a three-edged sword +in her gauntleted right hand, drawn back sternly behind her +thigh, while, in her left, she bears high the shield of the Scalas.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LVI</span>. Close to this monument is another, the stateliest and +most sumptuous of the three; it first arrests the eye of the +stranger, and long detains it,—a many-pinnacled pile surrounded +by niches with statues of the warrior saints.</p> + +<p>It is beautiful, for it still belongs to the noble time, the +latter part of the fourteenth century; but its work is coarser +than that of the other, and its pride may well prepare us to +learn that it was built for himself, in his own lifetime, by the +man whose statue crowns it, Can Signorio della Scala. Now +observe, for this is infinitely significant. Can Mastino II. was +feeble and wicked, and began the ruin of his house; his sarcophagus +is the first which bears upon it the image of a virtue, +but he lays claim only to Fortitude. Can Signorio was twice +a fratricide, the last time when he lay upon his death-bed: <i>his</i> +tomb bears upon its gables the images of six virtues,—Faith, +Hope, Charity, Prudence, and (I believe) Justice and Fortitude.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LVII</span>. Let us now return to Venice, where, in the second +chapel counting from right to left, at the west end of the +Church of the Frari, there is a very early fourteenth, or perhaps +late thirteenth, century tomb, another exquisite example +of the perfect Gothic form. It is a knight’s; but there is no +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page074"></a>74</span> +inscription upon it, and his name is unknown. It consists of a +sarcophagus, supported on bold brackets against the chapel +wall, bearing the recumbent figure, protected by a simple canopy +in the form of a pointed arch, pinnacled by the knight’s +crest; beneath which the shadowy space is painted dark blue, +and strewn with stars. The statue itself is rudely carved; but +its lines, as seen from the intended distance, are both tender +and masterly. The knight is laid in his mail, only the hands +and face being bare. The hauberk and helmet are of chain-mail, +the armor for the limbs of jointed steel; a tunic, fitting +close to the breast, and marking the noble swell of it by two +narrow embroidered lines, is worn over the mail; his dagger is +at his right side; his long cross-belted sword, not seen by the +spectator from below, at his left. His feet rest on a hound +(the hound being his crest), which looks up towards its master. +In general, in tombs of this kind, the face of the statue is +slightly turned towards the spectator; in this monument, on +the contrary, it is turned away from him, towards the depth of +the arch: for there, just above the warrior’s breast, is carved a +small image of St. Joseph bearing the infant Christ, who looks +down upon the resting figure; and to this image its countenance +is turned. The appearance of the entire tomb is as if +the warrior had seen the vision of Christ in his dying moments, +and had fallen back peacefully <span class="correction" title="originally uppon">upon</span> his pillow, with his eyes +still turned to it, and his hands clasped in prayer.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LVIII</span>. On the opposite side of this chapel is another very +lovely tomb, to Duccio degli Alberti, a Florentine ambassador +at Venice; noticeable chiefly as being the first in Venice on +which any images of the Virtues appear. We shall return to it +presently, but some account must first be given of the more +important among the other tombs in Venice belonging to the +perfect period. Of these, by far the most interesting, though +not the most elaborate, is that of the great Doge Francesco +Dandolo, whose ashes, it might have been thought, were honorable +enough to have been permitted to rest undisturbed in the +chapter-house of the Frari, where they were first laid. But, +as if there were not room enough, nor waste houses enough in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page075"></a>75</span> +the desolate city to receive a few convent papers, the monks, +wanting an “archivio,” have separated the tomb into three +pieces: the canopy, a simple arch sustained on brackets, still +remains on the blank walls of the desecrated chamber; the +sarcophagus has been transported to a kind of museum of antiquities, +established in what was once the cloister of Santa +Maria della Salute; and the painting which filled the lunette +behind it is hung far out of sight, at one end of the sacristy of +the same church. The sarcophagus is completely charged with +bas-reliefs: at its two extremities are the types of St. Mark +and St. John; in front, a noble sculpture of the death of +the Virgin; at the angles, angels holding vases. The whole +space is occupied by the sculpture; there are no spiral shafts +or panelled divisions; only a basic plinth below, and crowning +plinth above, the sculpture being raised from a deep concave +field between the two, but, in order to give piquancy and +picturesqueness to the mass of figures, two small trees are introduced +at the head and foot of the Madonna’s couch, an oak +and a stone pine.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LIX</span>. It was said above,<a name="FnAnchor_17" href="#Footnote_17"><span class="sp">17</span></a> in speaking of the frequent disputes +of the Venetians with the Pontifical power, which in +their early days they had so strenuously supported, that “the +humiliation of Francesco Dandolo blotted out the shame of +Barbarossa.” It is indeed well that the two events should be +remembered together. By the help of the Venetians, Alexander +III. was enabled, in the twelfth century, to put his foot +upon the neck of the emperor Barbarossa, quoting the words +of the Psalm, “Thou shalt tread upon the lion and the adder.” +A hundred and fifty years later, the Venetian ambassador, +Francesco Dandolo, unable to obtain even an audience from +the Pope, Clement V., to whom he had been sent to pray for +a removal of the sentence of excommunication pronounced +against the republic, concealed himself (according to the common +tradition) beneath the Pontiff’s dining-table; and thence +coming out as he sat down to meat, embraced his feet, and obtained, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page076"></a>76</span> +by tearful entreaties, the removal of the terrible sentence.</p> + +<p>I say, “according to the common tradition;” for there are +some doubts cast upon the story by its supplement. Most of +the Venetian historians assert that Francesco Dandolo’s surname +of “Dog” was given him first on this occasion, in insult, +by the cardinals; and that the Venetians, in remembrance of +the grace which his humiliation had won for them, made it a +title of honor to him and to his race. It has, however, been +proved<a name="FnAnchor_18" href="#Footnote_18"><span class="sp">18</span></a> that the surname was borne by the ancestors of +Francesco Dandolo long before; and the falsity of this seal +of the legend renders also its circumstances doubtful. But the +main fact of grievous humiliation having been undergone, +admits of no dispute; the existence of such a tradition at all +is in itself a proof of its truth; it was not one likely to be +either invented or received without foundation: and it will be +well, therefore, that the reader should remember, in connection +with the treatment of Barbarossa at the door of the Church +of St. Mark’s, that in the Vatican, one hundred and fifty +years later, a Venetian noble, a future Doge, submitted to a +degradation, of which the current report among his people +was, that he had crept on his hands and knees from beneath +the Pontiff’s table to his feet, and had been spurned as a “dog” +by the cardinals present.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LX</span>. There are two principal conclusions to be drawn from +this: the obvious one respecting the insolence of the Papal +dominion in the thirteenth century; the second, that there +were probably most deep piety and humility in the character +of the man who could submit to this insolence for the sake of +a benefit to his country. Probably no motive would have +been strong enough to obtain such a sacrifice from most men, +however unselfish; but it was, without doubt, made easier to +Dandolo by his profound reverence for the Pontifical office; a +reverence which, however <i>we</i> may now esteem those who +claimed it, could not but have been felt by nearly all good and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page077"></a>77</span> +faithful men at the time of which we are speaking. This is +the main point which I wish the reader to remember as we +look at his tomb, this, and the result of it,—that, some years +afterwards, when he was seated on the throne which his piety +had saved, “there were sixty princes’ ambassadors in Venice +at the same time, requesting the judgment of the Senate on +matters of various concernment, <i>so great was the fame of the +uncorrupted justice of the Fathers</i>.”<a name="FnAnchor_19" href="#Footnote_19"><span class="sp">19</span></a></p> + +<p>Observe, there are no virtues on this tomb. Nothing but +religious history or symbols; the Death of the Virgin in front, +and the types of St. Mark and St. John at the extremities.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXI</span>. Of the tomb of the Doge Andrea Dandolo, in St. +Mark’s, I have spoken before. It is one of the first in Venice +which presents, in a canopy, the Pisan idea of angels withdrawing +curtains, as of a couch, to look down upon the dead. +The sarcophagus is richly decorated with flower-work; the +usual figures of the Annunciation are at the sides; an enthroned +Madonna in the centre; and two bas-reliefs, one of +the martyrdom of the Doge’s patron saint, St. Andrew, occupy +the intermediate spaces. All these tombs have been richly +colored; the hair of the angels has here been gilded, their +wings bedropped with silver, and their garments covered with +the most exquisite arabesques. This tomb, and that of St. +Isidore in another chapel of St. Mark’s, which was begun by +this very Doge, Andrea Dandolo, and completed after his +death in 1354, are both nearly alike in their treatment, and +are, on the whole, the best existing examples of Venetian +monumental sculpture.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXII</span>. Of much ruder workmanship, though still most precious, +and singularly interesting from its quaintness, is a sarcophagus +in the northernmost chapel, beside the choir of St. +John and Paul, charged with two bas-reliefs and many figures, +but which bears no inscription. It has, however, a shield with +three dolphins on its brackets; and as at the feet of the Madonna +in its centre there is a small kneeling figure of a Doge, we know +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page078"></a>78</span> +it to be the tomb of the Doge Giovanni Dolfino, who came to +the throne in 1356.</p> + +<p>He was chosen Doge while, as provveditore, he was in Treviso, +defending the city against the King of Hungary. The +Venetians sent to the besiegers, praying that their newly +elected Doge might be permitted to pass the Hungarian lines. +Their request was refused, the Hungarians exulting that they +held the Doge of Venice prisoner in Treviso. But Dolfino, +with a body of two hundred horse, cut his way through their +lines by night, and reached Mestre (Malghera) in safety, where +he was met by the Senate. His bravery could not avert the +misfortunes which were accumulating on the republic. The +Hungarian war was ignominiously terminated by the surrender +of Dalmatia: the Doge’s heart was broken, his eyesight +failed him, and he died of the plague four years after he had +ascended the throne.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXIII</span>. It is perhaps on this account, perhaps in consequence +of later injuries, that the tomb has neither effigy nor +inscription: that it has been subjected to some violence is +evident from the dentil which once crowned its leaf-cornice +being now broken away, showing the whole front. But, +fortunately, the sculpture of the sarcophagus itself is little +injured.</p> + +<p>There are two saints, male and female, at its angles, each +in a little niche; a Christ, enthroned in the centre, the Doge +and Dogaressa kneeling at his feet; in the two intermediate +panels, on one side the Epiphany, on the other the Death of +the Virgin; the whole supported, as well as crowned, by an +elaborate leaf-plinth. The figures under the niches are rudely +cut, and of little interest. Not so the central group. Instead +of a niche, the Christ is seated under a square tent, or tabernacle, +formed by curtains running on rods; the idea, of +course, as usual, borrowed from the Pisan one, but here ingeniously +applied. The curtains are opened in front, showing +those at the back of the tent, behind the seated figure; the +perspective of the two retiring sides being very tolerably suggested. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page079"></a>79</span> +Two angels, of half the size of the seated figure, +thrust back the near curtains, and look up reverently to the +Christ; while again, at their feet, about one third of <i>their</i> +size, and half-sheltered, as it seems, by their garments, are the +two kneeling figures of the Doge and Dogaressa, though so +small and carefully cut, full of life. The Christ raising one +hand as to bless, and holding a book upright and open on the +knees, does not look either towards them or to the angels, but +forward; and there is a very noticeable effort to represent +Divine abstraction in the countenance: the idea of the three +magnitudes of spiritual being,—the God, the Angel, and the +Man,—is also to be observed, aided as it is by the complete +subjection of the angelic power to the Divine; for the angels +are in attitudes of the most lowly watchfulness of the face of +Christ, and appear unconscious of the presence of the human +beings who are nestled in the folds of their garments.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXIV</span>. With this interesting but modest tomb of one of +the kings of Venice, it is desirable to compare that of one of +her senators, of exactly the same date, which is raised against +the western wall of the Frari, at the end of the north aisle. It +bears the following remarkable inscription:</p> + +<div class="quote1"> +<p>“<span class="sc">Anno MCCCLX. prima die Julii Sepultura . Domini . Simonii +Dandolo . amador . de . Justisia . e . desiroso . de . acrese . +el . ben . chomum</span>.”</p> +</div> + +<p>The “Amador de Justitia” has perhaps some reference to +Simon Dandolo’s having been one of the Giunta who condemned +the Doge Faliero. The sarcophagus is decorated +merely by the Annunciation group, and an enthroned Madonna +with a curtain behind her throne, sustained by four tiny angels, +who look over it as they hold it up; but the workmanship of +the figures is more than usually beautiful.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXV</span>. Seven years later, a very noble monument was placed +on the north side of the choir of St. John and Paul, to the +Doge Marco Cornaro, chiefly, with respect to our present subject, +noticeable for the absence of religious imagery from the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page080"></a>80</span> +sarcophagus, which is decorated with roses only; three very +beautiful statues of the Madonna and two saints are, however, +set in the canopy above. Opposite this tomb, though about +fifteen years later in date, is the richest monument of the +Gothic period in Venice; that of the Doge Michele Morosini, +who died in 1382. It consists of a highly florid canopy,—an +arch crowned by a gable, with pinnacles at the flanks, boldly +crocketed, and with a huge finial at the top representing St. +Michael,—a medallion of Christ set in the gable; under the +arch, a mosaic, representing the Madonna presenting the Doge +to Christ upon the cross; beneath, as usual, the sarcophagus, +with a most noble recumbent figure of the Doge, his face +meagre and severe, and sharp in its lines, but exquisite in the +form of its small and princely features. The sarcophagus is +adorned with elaborate wrinkled leafage, projecting in front +of it into seven brackets, from which the statues are broken +away; but by which, for there can be no doubt that these last +statues represented the theological and cardinal Virtues, we +must for a moment pause.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXVI</span>. It was noticed above, that the tomb of the Florentine +ambassador, Duccio, was the first in Venice which presented +images of the Virtues. Its small lateral statues of +Justice and Temperance are exquisitely beautiful, and were, I +have no doubt, executed by a Florentine sculptor; the whole +range of artistical power and religious feeling being, in Florence, +full half a century in advance of that of Venice. But +this is the first truly Venetian tomb which has the Virtues; +and it becomes of importance, therefore, to know what was +the character of Morosini.</p> + +<p>The reader must recollect, that I dated the commencement +of the fall of Venice from the death of Carlo Zeno, considering +that no state could be held as in decline, which numbered +such a man amongst its citizens. Carlo Zeno was a candidate +for the Ducal bonnet together with Michael Morosini; and +Morosini was chosen. It might be anticipated, therefore, that +there was something more than usually admirable or illustrious +in his character. Yet it is difficult to arrive at a just estimate +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page081"></a>81</span> +of it, as the reader will at once understand by comparing the +following statements:</p> + +<div class="quote"> +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXVI</span>. 1. “To him (Andrea Contarini) succeeded Morosini, at the age +of seventy-four years; a most learned and prudent man, who also reformed +several laws.”—<i>Sansovino</i>, Vite de’ Principi.</p> + +<p>2. “It was generally believed that, if his reign had been longer, he +would have dignified the state by many noble laws and institutes; but by +so much as his reign was full of hope, by as much was it short in duration, +for he died when he had been at the head of the republic but four months.”—<i>Sabellico</i>, +lib. viii.</p> + +<p>3. “He was allowed but a short time to enjoy this high dignity, which +he had so well deserved by his rare virtues, for God called him to Himself +on the 15th of October.”—<i>Muratori</i>, Annali de’ Italia.</p> + +<p>4. “Two candidates presented themselves; one was Zeno, the other that +Michael Morosini who, during the war, had tripled his fortune by his +speculations. The suffrages of the electors fell upon him, and he was proclaimed +Doge on the 10th of June.”—<i>Daru</i>, Histoire de Venise, lib. x.</p> + +<p>5. “The choice of the electors was directed to Michele Morosini, a noble +of illustrious birth, derived from a stock which, coeval with the republic +itself, had produced the conqueror of Tyre, given a queen to Hungary, +and more than one Doge to Venice. The brilliancy of this descent was +tarnished in the present chief representative of the family by the most +base and grovelling avarice; for at that moment, in the recent war, at +which all other Venetians were devoting their whole fortunes to the service +of the state, Morosini sought in the distresses of his country an opening for +his own private enrichment, and employed his ducats, not in the assistance +of the national wants, but in speculating upon houses which were brought +to market at a price far beneath their real value, and which, upon the +return of peace, insured the purchaser a fourfold profit. ‘What matters +the fall of Venice to me, so as I fall not together with her?’ was his +selfish and sordid reply to some one who expressed surprise at the transaction.”—<i>Sketches +of Venetian History</i>. Murray, 1831.</p> +</div> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXVIII</span>. The writer of the unpretending little history from +which the last quotation is taken has not given his authority +for this statement, and I could not find it, but believed, from +the general accuracy of the book, that some authority might +exist better than Daru’s. Under these circumstances, wishing +if possible to ascertain the truth, and to clear the character of +this great Doge from the accusation, if it proved groundless, +I wrote to the Count Carlo Morosini, his descendant, and one +of the few remaining representatives of the ancient noblesse +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page082"></a>82</span> +of Venice; one, also, by whom his great ancestral name is +revered, and in whom it is exalted. His answer appears to +me altogether conclusive as to the utter fallacy of the reports +of Daru and the English history. I have placed his letter in +the close of this volume (<a href="#app_6">Appendix 6</a>), in order that the reader +may himself be the judge upon this point; and I should not +have alluded to Daru’s report, except for the purpose of contradicting +it, but that it still appears to me impossible that +any modern historian should have gratuitously invented the +whole story, and that, therefore, there must have been a trace +in the documents which Daru himself possessed, of some scandal +of this kind raised by Morosini’s enemies, perhaps at the +very time of the disputed election with Carlo Zeno. The +occurrence of the Virtues upon his tomb, for the first time in +Venetian monumental work, and so richly and conspicuously +placed, may partly have been in public contradiction of such +a floating rumor. But the face of the statue is a more explicit +contradiction still; it is resolute, thoughtful, serene, and full +of beauty; and we must, therefore, for once, allow the somewhat +boastful introduction of the Virtues to have been perfectly +just: though the whole tomb is most notable, as furnishing +not only the exact intermediate condition in style +between the pure Gothic and its final Renaissance corruption, +but, at the same time, the exactly intermediate condition of +<i>feeling</i> between the pure calmness of early Christianity, and +the boastful pomp of the Renaissance faithlessness; for here +we have still the religious humility remaining in the mosaic +of the canopy, which shows the Doge kneeling before the +cross, while yet this tendency to self-trust is shown in the surrounding +of the coffin by the Virtues.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXIX</span>. The next tomb by the side of which they appear is +that of Jacopo Cavalli, in the same chapel of St. John and Paul +which contains the tomb of the Doge Delfin. It is peculiarly +rich in religious imagery, adorned by boldly cut types of the +four evangelists, and of two saints, while, on projecting +brackets in front of it, stood three statues of Faith, Hope, and +Charity, now lost, but drawn in Zanotto’s work. It is all rich +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page083"></a>83</span> +in detail, and its sculptor has been proud of it, thus recording +his name below the epitaph:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03 sc">“<span class="uscore">Qst</span> opera dintalgio e fatto in piera,</p> +<p class="sc">Unvenician lafe chanome Polo,</p> +<p class="sc">Nato di Jachomel chataiapiera.”</p> + +<p class="stanza">This work of sculpture is done in stone;</p> +<p>A Venetian did it, named Paul,</p> +<p>Son of Jachomel the stone-cutter.</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>Jacopo Cavalli died in 1384. He was a bold and active +Veronese soldier, did the state much service, was therefore +ennobled by it, and became the founder of the house of the +Cavalli; but I find no especial reason for the images of the +Virtues, especially that of Charity, appearing at his tomb, +unless it be this: that at the siege of Feltre, in the war against +Leopold of Austria, he refused to assault the city, because the +senate would not grant his soldiers the pillage of the town. +The feet of the recumbent figure, which is in full armor, rest +on a dog, and its head on two lions; and these animals (neither +of which form any part of the knight’s bearings) are said by +Zanotto to be intended to symbolize his bravery and fidelity. +If, however, the lions are meant to set forth courage, it is a +pity they should have been represented as howling.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXX</span>. We must next pause for an instant beside the tomb +of Michael Steno, now in the northern aisle of St. John and +Paul, having been removed there from the destroyed church +of the Servi: first, to note its remarkable return to the early +simplicity, the sarcophagus being decorated only with two +crosses in quatrefoils, though it is of the fifteenth century, +Steno dying in 1413; and, in the second place, to observe the +peculiarity of the epitaph, which eulogises Steno as having +been “amator justitie, pacis, et ubertatis,” “a lover of justice, +peace, and plenty.” In the epitaphs of this period, the virtues +which are made most account of in public men are those which +were most useful to their country. We have already seen one +example in the epitaph on Simon Dandolo; and similar expressions +occur constantly in laudatory mentions of their later +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page084"></a>84</span> +Doges by the Venetian writers. Thus Sansovino of Marco +Cornaro, “Era savio huomo, eloquente, e amava molto la +pace e l’ abbondanza della citta;” and of Tomaso Mocenigo, +“Huomo oltre modo desideroso della pace.”</p> + +<p>Of the tomb of this last-named Doge mention has before +been made. Here, as in Morosini’s, the images of the Virtues +have no ironical power, although their great conspicuousness +marks the increase of the boastful feeling in the treatment +of monuments. For the rest, this tomb is the last in +Venice which can be considered as belonging to the Gothic +period. Its mouldings are already rudely classical, and it has +meaningless figures in Roman armor at the angles; but its +tabernacle above is still Gothic, and the recumbent figure is +very beautiful. It was carved by two Florentine sculptors in +1423.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXI</span>. Tomaso Mocenigo was succeeded by the renowned +Doge, Francesco Foscari, under whom, it will be remembered, +the last additions were made to the Gothic Ducal Palace; +additions which, in form only, not in spirit, corresponded to +the older portions; since, during his reign, the transition took +place which permits us no longer to consider the Venetian +architecture as Gothic at all. He died in 1457, and his tomb +is the first important example of Renaissance art.</p> + +<p>Not, however, a good characteristic example. It is remarkable +chiefly as introducing all the faults of the Renaissance +at an early period, when its merits, such as they are, were yet +undeveloped. Its claim to be rated as a classical composition +is altogether destroyed by the remnants of Gothic feeling +which cling to it here and there in their last forms of degradation; +and of which, now that we find them thus corrupted, +the sooner we are rid the better. Thus the sarcophagus is +supported by a species of trefoil arches; the bases of the +shafts have still their spurs; and the whole tomb is covered +by a pediment, with crockets and a pinnacle. We shall find +that the perfect Renaissance is at least pure in its insipidity, +and subtle in its vice; but this monument is remarkable as +showing the refuse of one style encumbering the embryo of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page085"></a>85</span> +another, and all principles of life entangled either in the swaddling +clothes or the shroud.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXII</span>. With respect to our present purpose, however, it +is a monument of enormous importance. We have to trace, +be it remembered, the pride of state in its gradual intrusion +upon the sepulchre; and the consequent and correlative vanishing +of the expressions of religious feeling and heavenly +hope, together with the more and more arrogant setting forth +of the virtues of the dead. Now this tomb is the largest and +most costly we have yet seen; but its means of religious +expression are limited to a single statue of Christ, small and +used merely as a pinnacle at the top. The rest of the composition +is as curious as it is vulgar. The conceit, so often +noticed as having been borrowed from the Pisan school, of +angels withdrawing the curtains of the couch to look down +upon the dead, was brought forward with increasing prominence +by every succeeding sculptor; but, as we draw nearer +to the Renaissance period, we find that the <i>angels</i> become of +less importance, and the <i>curtains</i> of more. With the Pisans, +the curtains are introduced as a motive for the angels; with +the Renaissance sculptors, the angels are introduced merely +as a motive for the curtains, which become every day more +huge and elaborate. In the monument of Mocenigo, they +have already expanded into a tent, with a pole in the centre +of it: and in that of Foscari, for the first time, the <i>angels are +absent altogether</i>; while the curtains are arranged in the form +of an enormous French tent-bed, and are sustained at the +flanks by two diminutive figures in Roman armor; substituted +for the angels, merely that the sculptor might <i>show his knowledge</i> +of classical costume. And now observe how often a +fault in feeling induces also a fault in style. In the old tombs, +the angels used to stand on or by the side of the sarcophagus; +but their places are here to be occupied by the Virtues, and +therefore, to sustain the diminutive Roman figures at the +necessary height, each has a whole Corinthian pillar to himself, +a pillar whose shaft is eleven feet high, and some three +or four feet round: and because this was not high enough, it +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page086"></a>86</span> +is put on a pedestal four feet and a half high; and has a +spurred base besides of its own, a tall capital, then a huge +bracket above the capital, and then another pedestal above the +bracket, and on the top of all the diminutive figure who has +charge of the curtains.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXIII</span>. Under the canopy, thus arranged, is placed the +sarcophagus with its recumbent figure. The statues of the +Virgin and the saints have disappeared from it. In their +stead, its panels are filled with half-length figures of Faith, +Hope, and Charity; while Temperance and Fortitude are at +the Doge’s feet, Justice and Prudence at his head, figures now +the size of life, yet nevertheless recognizable only by their +attributes: for, except that Hope raises her eyes, there is no +difference in the character or expression of any of their faces,—they +are nothing more than handsome Venetian women, in +rather full and courtly dresses, and tolerably well thrown into +postures for effect from below. Fortitude could not of course +be placed in a graceful one without some sacrifice of her character, +but that was of no consequence in the eyes of the +sculptors of this period, so she leans back languidly, and +nearly overthrows her own column; while Temperance, and +Justice opposite to her, as neither the left hand of the one +nor the right hand of the other could be seen from below, +have been <i>left with one hand each</i>.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXIV</span>. Still these figures, coarse and feelingless as they +are, have been worked with care, because the principal effect +of the tomb depends on them. But the effigy of the Doge, +of which nothing but the side is visible, has been utterly neglected; +and the ingenuity of the sculptor is not so great, at +the best, as that he can afford to be slovenly. There is, indeed, +nothing in the history of Foscari which would lead us to +expect anything particularly noble in his face; but I trust, +nevertheless, it has been misrepresented by this despicable +carver; for no words are strong enough to express the baseness +of the portraiture. A huge, gross, bony clown’s face, +with the peculiar sodden and sensual cunning in it which is +seen so often in the countenances of the worst Romanist +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page087"></a>87</span> +priest; a face part of iron and part of clay, with the immobility +of the one, and the foulness of the other, double chinned, +blunt-mouthed, bony-cheeked, with its brows drawn down +into meagre lines and wrinkles over the eyelids; the face of a +man incapable either of joy or sorrow, unless such as may be +caused by the indulgence of passion, or the mortification of +pride. Even had he been such a one, a noble workman would +not have written it so legibly on his tomb; and I believe it to be +the image of the carver’s own mind that is there hewn in the +marble, not that of the Doge Foscari. For the same mind is +visible enough throughout, the traces of it mingled with those +of the evil taste of the whole time and people. There is not +anything so small but it is shown in some portion of its treatment; +for instance, in the placing of the shields at the back of +the great curtain. In earlier times, the shield, as we have +seen, was represented as merely suspended against the tomb by +a thong, or if sustained in any other manner, still its form was +simple and undisguised. Men in those days used their shields +in war, and therefore there was no need to add dignity to their +form by external ornament. That which, through day after +day of mortal danger, had borne back from them the waves +of battle, could neither be degraded by simplicity, nor exalted +by decoration. By its rude leathern thong it seemed to be +fastened to their tombs, and the shield of the mighty was not +cast away, though capable of defending its master no more.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXV</span>. It was otherwise in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. +The changed system of warfare was rapidly doing +away with the practical service of the shield; and the chiefs +who directed the battle from a distance, or who passed the +greater part of their lives in the council-chamber, soon came +to regard the shield as nothing more than a field for their +armorial bearings. It then became a principal object of their +Pride of State to increase the conspicuousness of these marks +of family distinction by surrounding them with various and +fantastic ornament, generally scroll or flower work, which of +course deprived the shield of all appearance of being intended +for a soldier’s use. Thus the shield of the Foscari is introduced +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page088"></a>88</span> +in two ways. On the sarcophagus, the bearings are +three times repeated, enclosed in circular disks, which are +sustained each by a couple of naked infants. Above the +canopy, two shields of the usual form are set in the centre of +circles filled by a radiating ornament of shell flutings, which +give them the effect of ventilators; and their circumference is +farther adorned by gilt rays, undulating to represent a glory.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXVI</span>. We now approach that period of the early Renaissance +which was noticed in the preceding chapter as being at +first a very visible improvement on the corrupted Gothic. The +tombs executed during the period of the Byzantine Renaissance +exhibit, in the first place, a consummate skill in handling +the chisel, perfect science of drawing and anatomy, high +appreciation of good classical models, and a grace of composition +and delicacy of ornament derived, I believe, principally +from the great Florentine sculptors. But, together with this +science, they exhibit also, for a short time, some return to the +early religious feeling, forming a school of sculpture which +corresponds to that of the school of the Bellini in painting; +and the only wonder is that there should not have been more +workmen in the fifteenth century doing in marble what Perugino, +Francia, and Bellini did on canvas. There are, indeed, +some few, as I have just said, in whom the good and pure +temper shows itself: but the sculptor was necessarily led +sooner than the painter to an exclusive study of classical +models, utterly adverse to the Christian imagination; and he +was also deprived of the great purifying and sacred element +of color, besides having much more of merely mechanical and +therefore degrading labor to go through in the realization of +his thought. Hence I do not know any example in sculpture +at this period, at least in Venice, which has not conspicuous +faults (not faults of imperfection, as in early sculpture, but of +purpose and sentiment), staining such beauties as it may possess; +and the whole school soon falls away, and merges into +vain pomp and meagre metaphor.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXVII</span>. The most celebrated monument of this period is +that to the Doge Andrea Vendramin, in the Church of St. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page089"></a>89</span> +John and Paul, sculptured about 1480, and before alluded to +in the first chapter of the first volume. It has attracted public +admiration, partly by its costliness, partly by the delicacy and +precision of its chiselling; being otherwise a very base and unworthy +example of the school, and showing neither invention +nor feeling. It has the Virtues, as usual, dressed like heathen +goddesses, and totally devoid of expression, though graceful +and well studied merely as female figures. The rest of its +sculpture is all of the same kind; perfect in workmanship, +and devoid of thought. Its dragons are covered with marvellous +scales, but have no terror nor sting in them; its birds are +perfect in plumage, but have no song in them; its children +lovely of limb, but have no childishness in them.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXVIII</span>. Of far other workmanship are the tombs of +Pietro and Giovanni Mocenigo, in St. John and Paul, and of +Pietro Bernardo in the Frari; in all which the details are as +full of exquisite fancy, as they are perfect in execution; and +in the two former, and several others of similar feeling, the +old religious symbols return; the Madonna is again seen +enthroned under the canopy, and the sarcophagus is decorated +with legends of the saints. But the fatal errors of sentiment +are, nevertheless, always traceable. In the first place, the +sculptor is always seen to be intent upon the exhibition of his +skill, more than on producing any effect on the spectator’s +mind; elaborate backgrounds of landscape, with tricks of perspective, +imitations of trees, clouds, and water, and various +other unnecessary adjuncts, merely to show how marble could +be subdued; together with useless under-cutting, and over-finish +in subordinate parts, continually exhibiting the same +cold vanity and unexcited precision of mechanism. In the +second place, the figures have all the peculiar tendency to +posture-making, which, exhibiting itself first painfully in Perugino, +rapidly destroyed the veracity of composition in all art. +By posture-making I mean, in general, that action of figures +which results from the painter’s considering, in the first place, +not how, under the circumstances, they would actually have +walked, or stood, or looked, but how they may most gracefully +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page090"></a>90</span> +and harmoniously walk or stand. In the hands of a great man, +posture, like everything else, becomes noble, even when over-studied, +as with Michael Angelo, who was, perhaps, more than +any other, the cause of the mischief; but, with inferior men, +this habit of composing attitudes ends necessarily in utter lifelessness +and abortion. Giotto was, perhaps, of all painters, the most +free from the infection of the poison, always conceiving an incident +naturally, and drawing it unaffectedly; and the absence +of posture-making in the works of the Pre-Raphaelites, as opposed +to the Attitudinarianism of the modern school, has been +both one of their principal virtues, and of the principal causes +of outcry against them.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXIX</span>. But the most significant change in the treatment +of these tombs, with respect to our immediate object, is in the +form of the sarcophagus. It was above noted, that, exactly in +proportion to the degree of the pride of life expressed in any +monument, would be also the fear of death; and therefore, as +these tombs increase in splendor, in size, and beauty of workmanship, +we perceive a gradual desire to <i>take away from the +definite character of the sarcophagus</i>. In the earliest times, +as we have seen, it was a gloomy mass of stone; gradually it +became charged with religious sculpture; but never with the +slightest desire to disguise its form, until towards the middle +of the fifteenth century. It then becomes enriched with +flower-work and hidden by the Virtues; and, finally, losing its +foursquare form, it is modelled on graceful types of ancient +vases, made as little like a coffin as possible, and refined away +in various elegancies, till it becomes, at last, a mere pedestal +or stage for the portrait statue. This statue, in the meantime, +has been gradually coming back to life, through a curious +series of transitions. The Vendramin monument is one of the +last which shows, or pretends to show, the recumbent figure +laid in death. A few years later, this idea became disagreeable +to polite minds; and, lo! the figures which before had +been laid at rest upon the tomb pillow, raised themselves on +their elbows, and began to look round them. The soul of the +sixteenth century dared not contemplate its body in death.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page091"></a>91</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXX</span>. The reader cannot but remember many instances +of this form of monument, England being peculiarly rich in +examples of them; although, with her, tomb sculpture, after +the fourteenth century, is altogether imitative, and in no degree +indicative of the temper of the people. It was from Italy +that the authority for the change was derived; and in Italy +only, therefore, that it is truly correspondent to the change in +the national mind. There are many monuments in Venice of +this semi-animate type, most of them carefully sculptured, and +some very admirable as portraits, and for the casting of the +drapery, especially those in the Church of San Salvador; but +I shall only direct the reader to one, that of Jacopo Pesaro, +Bishop of Paphos, in the Church of the Frari; notable not +only as a very skilful piece of sculpture, but for the +epitaph, singularly characteristic of the period, and confirmatory +of all that I have alleged against it:</p> + +<div class="quote1"> +<p>“James Pesaro, Bishop of Paphos, who conquered the Turks in war, +himself in peace, transported from a noble family among the Venetians +to a nobler among the angels, laid here, expects the noblest crown, +which the just Judge shall give to him in that day. He lived the years +of Plato. He died 24th March, 1547.”<a name="FnAnchor_20" href="#Footnote_20"><span class="sp">20</span></a></p> +</div> + +<p>The mingled classicism and carnal pride of this epitaph +surely need no comment. The crown is expected as a right +from the justice of the judge, and the nobility of the Venetian +family is only a little lower than that of the angels. The +quaint childishness of the “Vixit annos Platonicos” is also +very notable.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXI</span>. The statue, however, did not long remain in this +partially recumbent attitude. Even the expression of peace +became painful to the frivolous and thoughtless Italians, and +they required the portraiture to be rendered in a manner that +should induce no memory of death. The statue rose up, and +presented itself in front of the tomb, like an actor upon a stage, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page092"></a>92</span> +surrounded now not merely, or not at all, by the Virtues, but by +allegorical figures of Fame and Victory, by genii and muses, +by personifications of humbled kingdoms and adoring nations, +and by every circumstance of pomp, and symbol of adulation, +that flattery could suggest, or insolence could claim.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXII</span>. As of the intermediate monumental type, so also +of this, the last and most gross, there are unfortunately many +examples in our own country; but the most wonderful, by +far, are still at Venice. I shall, however, particularize only +two; the first, that of the Doge John Pesaro, in the Frari. +It is to be observed that we have passed over a considerable +interval of time; we are now in the latter half of the seventeenth +century; the progress of corruption has in the meantime +been incessant, and sculpture has here lost its taste and +learning as well as its feeling. The monument is a huge accumulation +of theatrical scenery in marble: four colossal negro +caryatides, grinning and horrible, with faces of black marble +and white eyes, sustain the first story of it; above this, two +monsters, long-necked, half dog and half dragon, sustain an +ornamental sarcophagus, on the top of which the full-length +statue of the Doge in robes of state stands forward with its +arms expanded, like an actor courting applause, under a huge +canopy of metal, like the roof of a bed, painted crimson and +gold; on each side of him are sitting figures of genii, and +unintelligible personifications gesticulating in Roman armor; +below, between the negro caryatides, are two ghastly figures +in bronze, half corpse, half skeleton, carrying tablets on which +is written the eulogium: but in large letters graven in gold, +the following words are the first and last that strike the eye; +the first two phrases, one on each side, on tablets in the lower +story, the last under the portrait statue above:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="sc">Vixit annos LXX. <span style="padding-left: 6em; ">Devixit anno MDCLIX.</span></p> +<p class="sc"><span style="padding-left: 6em; ">“Hic revixit anno MDCLXIX.”</span></p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p class="noind">We have here, at last, the horrible images of death in violent +contrast with the defiant monument, which pretends to bring +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page093"></a>93</span> +the resurrection down to earth, “Hic revixit;” and it seems +impossible for false taste and base feeling to sink lower. Yet +even this monument is surpassed by one in St. John and Paul.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXIII</span>. But before we pass to this, the last with which I +shall burden the reader’s attention, let us for a moment, and +that we may feel the contrast more forcibly, return to a tomb +of the early times.</p> + +<p>In a dark niche in the outer wall of the outer corridor of +St. Mark’s—not even in the church, observe, but in the +atrium or porch of it, and on the north side of the church,—is +a solid sarcophagus of white marble, raised only about two +feet from the ground on four stunted square pillars. Its lid +is a mere slab of stone; on its extremities are sculptured two +crosses; in front of it are two rows of rude figures, the uppermost +representing Christ with the Apostles: the lower row is +of six figures only, alternately male and female, holding up +their hands in the usual attitude of benediction; the sixth is +smaller than the rest, and the midmost of the other five has a +glory round its head. I cannot tell the meaning of these +figures, but between them are suspended censers attached to +crosses; a most beautiful symbolic expression of Christ’s +mediatorial function. The whole is surrounded by a rude +wreath of vine leaves, proceeding out of the foot of a cross.</p> + +<p>On the bar of marble which separates the two rows of +figures are inscribed these words:</p> + +<p class="quote">“Here lies the Lord Marin Morosini, Duke.”</p> + +<p class="noind">It is the tomb of the Doge Marino Morosini, who reigned +from 1249 to 1252.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXIV</span>. From before this rude and solemn sepulchre let +us pass to the southern aisle of the church of St. John and +Paul; and there, towering from the pavement to the vaulting +of the church, behold a mass of marble, sixty or seventy feet +in height, of mingled yellow and white, the yellow carved into +the form of an enormous curtain, with ropes, fringes, and +tassels, sustained by cherubs; in front of which, in the now +usual stage attitudes, advance the statues of the Doge Bertuccio +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page094"></a>94</span> +Valier, his son the Doge Silvester Falier, and his son’s +wife, Elizabeth. The statues of the Doges, though mean and +Polonius-like, are partly redeemed by the Ducal robes; but +that of the Dogaressa is a consummation of grossness, vanity, +and ugliness,—the figure of a large and wrinkled woman, with +elaborate curls in stiff projection round her face, covered from +her shoulders to her feet with ruffs, furs, lace, jewels, and embroidery. +Beneath and around are scattered Virtues, Victories, +Fames, genii,—the entire company of the monumental +stage assembled, as before a drop scene,—executed by various +sculptors, and deserving attentive study as exhibiting every +condition of false taste and feeble conception. The Victory in +the centre is peculiarly interesting; the lion by which she is +accompanied, springing on a dragon, has been intended to +look terrible, but the incapable sculptor could not conceive +any form of dreadfulness, could not even make the lion look +angry. It looks only lachrymose; and its lifted forepaws, +there being no spring nor motion in its body, give it the +appearance of a dog begging. The inscriptions under the +two principal statues are as follows:</p> + + <p class="poems"> “Bertucius Valier, Duke,</p> + <p class="poem">Great in wisdom and eloquence,</p> +<p class="poem">Greater in his Hellespontic victory,</p> + <p class="poem">Greatest in the Prince his son.</p> + <p class="poem">Died in the year 1658.”</p> + + <p class="poems">“Elisabeth Quirina,</p> + <p class="poem">The wife of Silvester,</p> +<p class="poem">Distinguished by Roman virtue,</p> + <p class="poem">By Venetian piety,</p> + <p class="poem">And by the Ducal crown,</p> + <p class="poem">Died 1708.”</p> + +<p>The writers of this age were generally anxious to make the +world aware that they understood the degrees of comparison, +and a large number of epitaphs are principally constructed +with this object (compare, in the Latin, that of the Bishop of +Paphos, given above): but the latter of these epitaphs is also +interesting from its mention, in an age now altogether given +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page095"></a>95</span> +up to the pursuit of worldly honor, of that “Venetian piety” +which once truly distinguished the city from all others; and +of which some form and shadow, remaining still, served to +point an epitaph, and to feed more cunningly and speciously +the pride which could not be satiated with the sumptuousness +of the sepulchre.</p> + +<p>§ LXXXV. Thus far, then, of the second element of the Renaissance +spirit, the Pride of State; nor need we go farther to +learn the reason of the fall of Venice. She was already likened +in her thoughts, and was therefore to be likened in her ruin, +to the Virgin of Babylon. The Pride of State and the Pride +of Knowledge were no new passions: the sentence against +them had gone forth from everlasting. “Thou saidst, I shall +be a lady for ever; so that thou didst not lay these things to +thine heart ... <i>Thy wisdom and thy knowledge, it hath +perverted thee</i>; and thou hast said in thine heart, I am, and +none else beside me. Therefore shall evil come upon thee +...; thy merchants from thy youth, they shall wander +every one to his quarter; none shall save thee.”<a name="FnAnchor_21" href="#Footnote_21"><span class="sp">21</span></a></p> + +<p>§ LXXXVI. III. <span class="sc">Pride of System</span>. I might have illustrated +these evil principles from a thousand other sources, but I have +not time to pursue the subject farther, and must pass to the +third element above named, the Pride of System. It need +not detain us so long as either of the others, for it is at once +more palpable and less dangerous. The manner in which the +pride of the fifteenth century corrupted the sources of knowledge, +and diminished the majesty, while it multiplied the trappings, +of state, is in general little observed; but the reader is +probably already well and sufficiently aware of the curious +tendency to formulization and system which, under the name +of philosophy, encumbered the minds of the Renaissance +schoolmen. As it was above stated, grammar became the +first of sciences; and whatever subject had to be treated, the +first aim of the philosopher was to subject its principles to a +code of laws, in the observation of which the merit of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page096"></a>96</span> +speaker, thinker, or worker, in or on that subject, was thereafter +to consist; so that the whole mind of the world was +occupied by the exclusive study of Restraints. The sound of +the forging of fetters was heard from sea to sea. The doctors +of all the arts and sciences set themselves daily to the invention +of new varieties of cages and manacles; they themselves +wore, instead of gowns, a chain mail, whose purpose was not +so much to avert the weapon of the adversary as to restrain +the motions of the wearer; and all the acts, thoughts, and +workings of mankind,—poetry, painting, architecture, and +philosophy,—were reduced by them merely to so many different +forms of fetter-dance.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXVII.</span> Now, I am very sure that no reader who has +given any attention to the former portions of this work, or the +tendency of what else I have written, more especially the last +chapter of the “Seven Lamps,” will suppose me to underrate +the importance, or dispute the authority, of law. It has been +necessary for me to allege these again and again, nor can they +ever be too often or too energetically alleged, against the vast +masses of men who now disturb or retard the advance of civilization; +heady and high-minded, despisers of discipline, and refusers +of correction. But law, so far as it can be reduced to +form and system, and is not written upon the heart,—as it is, +in a Divine loyalty, upon the hearts of the great hierarchies +who serve and wait about the throne of the Eternal Lawgiver,—this +lower and formally expressible law has, I say, two objects. +It is either for the definition and restraint of sin, or +the guidance of simplicity; it either explains, forbids, and +punishes wickedness, or it guides the movements and actions +both of lifeless things and of the more simple and untaught +among responsible agents. And so long, therefore, as sin and +foolishness are in the world, so long it will be necessary for +men to submit themselves painfully to this lower law, in proportion +to their need of being corrected, and to the degree of +childishness or simplicity by which they approach more nearly +to the condition of the unthinking and inanimate things which +are governed by law altogether; yet yielding, in the manner +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page097"></a>97</span> +of their submission to it, a singular lesson to the pride of man,—being +obedient more perfectly in proportion to their greatness.<a name="FnAnchor_22" href="#Footnote_22"><span class="sp">22</span></a> +But, so far as men become good and wise, and rise +above the state of children, so far they become emancipated +from this written law, and invested with the perfect freedom +which consists in the fulness and joyfulness of compliance +with a higher and unwritten law; a law so universal, so subtle, +so glorious, that nothing but the heart can keep it.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXVIII.</span> Now pride opposes itself to the observance of +this Divine law in two opposite ways: either by brute resistance, +which is the way of the rabble and its leaders, denying +or defying law altogether; or by formal compliance, which is +the way of the Pharisee, exalting himself while he pretends to +obedience, and making void the infinite and spiritual commandment +by the finite and lettered commandment. And it +is easy to know which law we are obeying: for any law which +we magnify and keep through pride, is always the law of the +letter; but that which we love and keep through humility, is +the law of the Spirit: And the letter killeth, but the Spirit +giveth life.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXXIX.</span> In the appliance of this universal principle to +what we have at present in hand, it is to be noted, that all +written or writable law respecting the arts is for the childish +and ignorant: that in the beginning of teaching, it is possible +to say that this or that must or must not be done; and laws of +color and shade may be taught, as laws of harmony are to the +young scholar in music. But the moment a man begins to be +anything deserving the name of an artist, all this teachable law +has become a matter of course with him; and if, thenceforth, +he boast himself anywise in the law, or pretend that he lives +and works by it, it is a sure sign that he is merely tithing +cummin, and that there is no true art nor religion in him. For +the true artist has that inspiration in him which is above all +law, or rather, which is continually working out such magnificent +and perfect obedience to supreme law, as can in no wise +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page098"></a>98</span> +be rendered by line and rule. There are more laws perceived +and fulfilled in the single stroke of a great workman, than +could be written in a volume. His science is inexpressibly +subtle, directly taught him by his Maker, not in any wise communicable +or imitable.<a name="FnAnchor_23" href="#Footnote_23"><span class="sp">23</span></a> Neither can any written or definitely +observable laws enable us to do any great thing. It is possible, +by measuring and administering quantities of color, to paint a +room wall so that it shall not hurt the eye; but there are no laws +by observing which we can become Titians. It is possible so to +measure and administer syllables, as to construct harmonious +verse; but there are no laws by which we can write Iliads. +Out of the poem or the picture, once produced, men may elicit +laws by the volume, and study them with advantage, to the +better understanding of the existing poem or picture; but no +more write or paint another, than by discovering laws of vegetation +they can make a tree to grow. And therefore, wheresoever +we find the system and formality of rules much dwelt +upon, and spoken of as anything else than a help for children, +there we may be sure that noble art is not even understood, far +less reached. And thus it was with all the common and public +mind in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. The greater +men, indeed, broke through the thorn hedges; and, though +much time was lost by the learned among them in writing +Latin verses and anagrams, and arranging the framework of +quaint sonnets and dexterous syllogisms, still they tore their +way through the sapless thicket by force of intellect or of +piety; for it was not possible that, either in literature or in +painting, rules could be received by any strong mind, so as +materially to interfere with its originality: and the crabbed +discipline and exact scholarship became an advantage to the +men who could pass through and despise them; so that in +spite of the rules of the drama we had Shakspeare, and in spite +of the rules of art we had Tintoret,—both of them, to this day, +doing perpetual violence to the vulgar scholarship and dim-eyed +proprieties of the multitude.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XC.</span> But in architecture it was not so; for that was the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page099"></a>99</span> +art of the multitude, and was affected by all their errors; and +the great men who entered its field, like Michael Angelo, found +expression for all the best part of their minds in sculpture, and +made the architecture merely its shell. So the simpletons and +sophists had their way with it: and the reader can have no +conception of the inanities and puerilities of the writers, who, +with the help of Vitruvius, re-established its “five orders,” +determined the proportions of each, and gave the various recipes +for sublimity and beauty, which have been thenceforward +followed to this day, but which may, I believe, in this age of +perfect machinery, be followed out still farther. If, indeed, +there are only five perfect forms of columns and architraves, +and there be a fixed proportion to each, it is certainly possible, +with a little ingenuity, so to regulate a stonecutting machine, +as that it shall furnish pillars and friezes to the size ordered, +of any of the five orders, on the most perfect Greek models, +in any quantity; an epitome, also, of Vitruvius, may be made +so simple, as to enable any bricklayer to set them up at their +proper distances, and we may dispense with our architects +altogether.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCI.</span> But if this be not so, and there be any truth in the +faint persuasion which still lurks in men’s minds that architecture +<i>is</i> an art, and that it requires some gleam of intellect to +practise it, then let the whole system of the orders and their +proportions be cast out and trampled down as the most vain, +barbarous, and paltry deception that was ever stamped on +human prejudice; and let us understand this plain truth, common +to all work of man, that, if it be good work, it is not a +copy, nor anything done by rule, but a freshly and divinely +imagined thing. Five orders! There is not a side chapel in +any Gothic cathedral but it has fifty orders, the worst of them +better than the best of the Greek ones, and all new; and a +single inventive human soul could create a thousand orders in +an hour.<a name="FnAnchor_24" href="#Footnote_24"><span class="sp">24</span></a> And this would have been discovered even in the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page100"></a>100</span> +worst times, but that, as I said, the greatest men of the age +found expression for their invention in the other arts, and the +best of those who devoted themselves to architecture were in +great part occupied in adapting the construction of buildings +to new necessities, such as those developed by the invention +of gunpowder (introducing a totally new and most interesting +science of fortification, which directed the ingenuity of Sanmicheli +and many others from its proper channel), and found +interest of a meaner kind in the difficulties of reconciling the +obsolete architectural laws they had consented to revive, and +the forms of Roman architecture which they agreed to copy, +with the requirements of the daily life of the sixteenth +century.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCII.</span> These, then, were the three principal directions in +which the Renaissance pride manifested itself, and its impulses +were rendered still more fatal by the entrance of another element, +inevitably associated with pride. For, as it is written, +“He that trusteth in his own heart is a fool,” so also it is +written, “The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God;” +and the self-adulation which influenced not less the learning of +the age than its luxury, led gradually to the forgetfulness of all +things but self, and to an infidelity only the more fatal because +it still retained the form and language of faith.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCIII.</span> IV. <span class="sc">Infidelity</span>. In noticing the more prominent +forms in which this faithlessness manifested itself, it is necessary +to distinguish justly between that which was the consequence +of respect for Paganism, and that which followed from the +corruption of Catholicism. For as the Roman architecture is +not to be made answerable for the primal corruption of the +Gothic, so neither is the Roman philosophy to be made +answerable for the primal corruption of Christianity. Year +after year, as the history of the life of Christ sank back into +the depths of time, and became obscured by the misty atmosphere +of the history of the world,—as intermediate actions +and incidents multiplied in number, and countless changes in +men’s modes of life, and tones of <span class="correction" title="corrected from throught">thought</span>, rendered it more +difficult for them to imagine the facts of distant time,—it became +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page101"></a>101</span> +daily, almost hourly, a greater effort for the faithful +heart to apprehend the entire veracity and vitality of the story +of its Redeemer; and more easy for the thoughtless and +remiss to deceive themselves as to the true character of the +belief they had been taught to profess. And this must have +been the case, had the pastors of the Church never failed in +their watchfulness, and the Church itself never erred in its +practice or doctrine. But when every year that removed the +truths of the Gospel into deeper distance, added to them also +some false or foolish tradition; when wilful distortion was +added to natural obscurity, and the dimness of memory was +disguised by the fruitfulness of fiction; when, moreover, the +enormous temporal power granted to the clergy attracted into +their ranks multitudes of men who, but for such temptation, +would not have pretended to the Christian name, so that +grievous wolves entered in among them, not sparing the flock; +and when, by the machinations of such men, and the remissness +of others, the form and administrations of Church doctrine +and discipline had become little more than a means of aggrandizing +the power of the priesthood, it was impossible any +longer for men of thoughtfulness or piety to remain in an +unquestioning serenity of faith. The Church had become so +mingled with the world that its witness could no longer be received; +and the professing members of it, who were placed in +circumstances such as to enable them to become aware of its +corruptions, and whom their interest or their simplicity did not +bribe or beguile into silence, gradually separated themselves +into two vast multitudes of adverse energy, one tending to +Reformation, and the other to Infidelity.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCIV.</span> Of these, the last stood, as it were, apart, to watch +the course of the struggle between Romanism and Protestantism; +a struggle which, however necessary, was attended with +infinite calamity to the Church. For, in the first place, the +Protestant movement was, in reality, not <i>reformation</i> but <i>reanimation</i>. +It poured new life into the Church, but it did not +form or define her anew. In some sort it rather broke down +her hedges, so that all they who passed by might pluck off her +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page102"></a>102</span> +grapes. The reformers speedily found that the enemy was +never far behind the sower of good seed; that an evil spirit +might enter the ranks of reformation as well as those of resistance; +and that though the deadly blight might be checked +amidst the wheat, there was no hope of ever ridding the wheat +itself from the tares. New temptations were invented by +Satan wherewith to oppose the revived strength of Christianity: +as the Romanist, confiding in his human teachers, had +ceased to try whether they were teachers sent from God, so the +Protestant, confiding in the teaching of the Spirit, believed +every spirit, and did not try the spirits whether they were of +God. And a thousand enthusiasms and heresies speedily +obscured the faith and divided the force of the Reformation.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCV.</span> But the main evils rose out of the antagonism of the +two great parties; primarily, in the mere fact of the existence +of an antagonism. To the eyes of the unbeliever the Church +of Christ, for the first time since its foundation, bore the aspect +of a house divided against itself. Not that many forms +of schism had not before arisen in it; but either they had been +obscure and silent, hidden among the shadows of the Alps +and the marshes of the Rhine; or they had been outbreaks of +visible and unmistakable error, cast off by the Church, rootless, +and speedily withering away, while, with much that was +erring and criminal, she still retained within her the pillar and +ground of the truth. But here was at last a schism in which +truth and authority were at issue. The body that was cast off +withered away no longer. It stretched out its boughs to the +sea and its branches to the river, and it was the ancient trunk +that gave signs of decrepitude. On one side stood the +reanimated faith, in its right hand the book open, and its left +hand lifted up to heaven, appealing for its proof to the Word +of the Testimony and the power of the Holy Ghost. On the +other stood, or seemed to stand, all beloved custom and believed +tradition; all that for fifteen hundred years had been +closest to the hearts of men, or most precious for their help. +Long-trusted legend; long-reverenced power; long-practised +discipline; faiths that had ruled the destiny, and sealed the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page103"></a>103</span> +departure, of souls that could not be told or numbered for +multitude; prayers, that from the lips of the fathers to those +of the children had distilled like sweet waterfalls, sounding +through the silence of ages, breaking themselves into heavenly +dew to return upon the pastures of the wilderness; hopes, that +had set the face as a flint in the torture, and the sword as a +flame in the battle, that had pointed the purposes and ministered +the strength of life, brightened the last glances and +shaped the last syllables of death; charities, that had bound +together the brotherhoods of the mountain and the desert, and +had woven chains of pitying or aspiring communion between +this world and the unfathomable beneath and above; and, +more than these, the spirits of all the innumerable, undoubting, +dead, beckoning to the one way by which they had been content +to follow the things that belonged unto their peace;—these +all stood on the other side: and the choice must have +been a bitter one, even at the best; but it was rendered tenfold +more bitter by the natural, but most sinful animosity of +the two divisions of the Church against each other.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCVI.</span> On one side this animosity was, of course, inevitable. +The Romanist party, though still including many Christian +men, necessarily included, also, all the worst of those who +called themselves Christians. In the fact of its refusing correction, +it stood confessed as the Church of the unholy; and, +while it still counted among its adherents many of the simple +and believing,—men unacquainted with the corruption of the +body to which they belonged, or incapable of accepting any +form of doctrine but that which they had been taught from +their youth,—it gathered together with them whatever was +carnal and sensual in priesthood or in people, all the lovers of +power in the one, and of ease in the other. And the rage of +these men was, of course, unlimited against those who either +disputed their authority, reprehended their manner of life, or +cast suspicion upon the popular methods of lulling the conscience +in the lifetime, or purchasing salvation on the death-bed.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCVII.</span> Besides this, the reassertion and defence of various +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page104"></a>104</span> +tenets which before had been little more than floating errors +in the popular mind, but which, definitely attacked by Protestantism, +it became necessary to fasten down with a band +of iron and brass, gave a form at once more rigid, and less +rational, to the whole body of Romanist Divinity. Multitudes +of minds which in other ages might have brought honor and +strength to the Church, preaching the more vital truths which +it still retained, were now occupied in pleading for arraigned +falsehoods, or magnifying disused frivolities; and it can hardly +be doubted by any candid observer, that the nascent or latent +errors which God pardoned in times of ignorance, became unpardonable +when they were formally defined and defended; +that fallacies which were forgiven to the enthusiasm of a multitude, +were avenged upon the stubbornness of a Council; that, +above all, the great invention of the age, which rendered God’s +word accessible to every man, left all sins against its light incapable +of excuse or expiation; and that from the moment +when Rome set herself in direct opposition to the Bible, the +judgment was pronounced upon her, which made her the scorn +and the prey of her own children, and cast her down from the +throne where she had magnified herself against heaven, so low, +that at last the unimaginable scene of the Bethlehem humiliation +was mocked in the temples of Christianity. Judea had +seen her God laid in the manger of the beasts of burden; it +was for Christendom to stable the beasts of burden by the altar +of her God.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCVIII.</span> Nor, on the other hand, was the opposition of +Protestantism to the Papacy less injurious to itself. That opposition +was, for the most part, intemperate, undistinguishing, +and incautious. It could indeed hardly be otherwise. Fresh +bleeding from the sword of Rome, and still trembling at her +anathema, the reformed churches were little likely to remember +any of her benefits, or to regard any of her teaching. Forced +by the Romanist contumely into habits of irreverence, by the +Romanist fallacies into habits of disbelief, the self-trusting, +rashly-reasoning spirit gained ground among them daily. Sect +branched out of sect, presumption rose over presumption; the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page105"></a>105</span> +miracles of the early Church were denied and its martyrs forgotten, +though their power and palm were claimed by the +members of every persecuted sect; pride, malice, wrath, love +of change, masked themselves under the thirst for truth, and +mingled with the just resentment of deception, so that it became +impossible even for the best and truest men to know the +plague of their own hearts; while avarice and impiety openly +transformed reformation into robbery, and reproof into sacrilege. +Ignorance could as easily lead the foes of the Church, as lull +her slumber; men who would once have been the unquestioning +recipients, were now the shameless inventors of absurd or +perilous superstitions; they who were of the temper that +walketh in darkness, gained little by having discovered their +guides to be blind; and the simplicity of the faith, ill understood +and contumaciously alleged, became an excuse for the +rejection of the highest arts and most tried wisdom of mankind: +while the learned infidel, standing aloof, drew his own +conclusions, both from the rancor of the antagonists, and from +their errors; believed each in all that he alleged against the +other; and smiled with superior humanity, as he watched the +winds of the Alps drift the ashes of Jerome, and the dust of +England drink the blood of King Charles.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XCIX.</span> Now all this evil was, of course, entirely independent +of the renewal of the study of Pagan writers. But that +renewal found the faith of Christendom already weakened and +divided; and therefore it was itself productive of an effect +tenfold greater than could have been apprehended from it at +another time. It acted first, as before noticed, in leading the +attention of all men to words instead of things; for it was discovered +that the language of the middle ages had been corrupt, +and the primal object of every scholar became now to purify +his style. To this study of words, that of forms being added, +both as of matters of the first importance, half the intellect of +the age was at once absorbed in the base sciences of grammar, +logic, and rhetoric; studies utterly unworthy of the serious +labor of men, and necessarily rendering those employed upon +them incapable of high thoughts or noble emotion. Of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page106"></a>106</span> +debasing tendency of philology, no proof is needed beyond once +reading a grammarian’s notes on a great poet: logic is unnecessary +for men who can reason; and about as useful to those who +cannot, as a machine for forcing one foot in due succession before +the other would be to a man who could not walk: while +the study of rhetoric is exclusively one for men who desire to +deceive or be deceived; he who has the truth at his heart need +never fear the want of persuasion on his tongue, or, if he fear +it, it is because the base rhetoric of dishonesty keeps the truth +from being heard.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">C.</span> The study of these sciences, therefore, naturally made +men shallow and dishonest in general; but it had a peculiarly +fatal effect with respect to religion, in the view which men +took of the Bible. Christ’s teaching was discovered not to be +rhetorical, St. Paul’s preaching not to be logical, and the Greek +of the New Testament not to be grammatical. The stern +truth, the profound pathos, the impatient period, leaping from +point to point and leaving the intervals for the hearer to fill, +the comparatively Hebraized and unelaborate idiom, had little +in them of attraction for the students of phrase and syllogism; +and the chief knowledge of the age became one of the chief +stumbling-blocks to its religion.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CI.</span> But it was not the grammarian and logician alone +who was thus retarded or perverted; in them there had been +small loss. The men who could truly appreciate the higher +excellences of the classics were carried away by a current of +enthusiasm which withdrew them from every other study. +Christianity was still professed as a matter of form, but neither +the Bible nor the writings of the Fathers had time left for their +perusal, still less heart left for their acceptance. The human +mind is not capable of more than a certain amount of admiration +or reverence, and that which was given to Horace was +withdrawn from David. Religion is, of all subjects, that +which will least endure a second place in the heart or thoughts, +and a languid and occasional study of it was sure to lead to +error or infidelity. On the other hand, what was heartily admired +and unceasingly contemplated was soon brought nigh to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page107"></a>107</span> +being believed; and the systems of Pagan mythology began +gradually to assume the places in the human mind from which +the unwatched Christianity was wasting. Men did not indeed +openly sacrifice to Jupiter, or build silver shrines for Diana, +but the ideas of Paganism nevertheless became thoroughly +vital and present with them at all times; and it did not matter +in the least, as far as respected the power of true religion, +whether the Pagan image was believed in or not, so long as it +entirely occupied the thoughts. The scholar of the sixteenth +century, if he saw the lightning shining from the east unto +the west, thought forthwith of Jupiter, not of the coming of +the Son of Man; if he saw the moon walking in brightness, +he thought of Diana, not of the throne which was to be established +for ever as a faithful witness in heaven; and though his +heart was but secretly enticed, yet thus he denied the God that +is above.<a name="FnAnchor_25" href="#Footnote_25"><span class="sp">25</span></a></p> + +<p>And, indeed, this double creed, of Christianity confessed +and Paganism beloved, was worse than Paganism itself, inasmuch +as it refused effective and practical belief altogether. It +would have been better to have worshipped Diana and Jupiter +at once, than to have gone on through the whole of life naming +one God, imagining another, and dreading none. Better, a +thousandfold, to have been “a Pagan suckled in some creed +outworn,” than to have stood by the great sea of Eternity and +seen no God walking on its waves, no heavenly world on its +horizon.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CII.</span> This fatal result of an enthusiasm for classical literature +was hastened and heightened by the misdirection of the +powers of art. The imagination of the age was actively set to +realize these objects of Pagan belief; and all the most exalted +faculties of man, which, up to that period, had been employed +in the service of Faith, were now transferred to the service of +Fiction. The invention which had formerly been both sanctified +and strengthened by laboring under the command of +settled intention, and on the ground of assured belief, had now +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page108"></a>108</span> +the reins laid upon its neck by passion, and all ground of fact +cut from beneath its feet; and the imagination which formerly +had helped men to apprehend the truth, now tempted them to +believe a falsehood. The faculties themselves wasted away in +their own treason; one by one they fell in the potter’s field; +and the Raphael who seemed sent and inspired from heaven +that he might paint Apostles and Prophets, sank at once into +powerlessness at the feet of Apollo and the Muses.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">CIII.</span> But this was not all. The habit of using the greatest +gifts of imagination upon fictitious subjects, of course destroyed +the honor and value of the same imagination used in the cause +of truth. Exactly in the proportion in which Jupiters and +Mercuries were embodied and believed, in that proportion +Virgins and Angels were disembodied and disbelieved. The +images summoned by art began gradually to assume one average +value in the spectator’s mind; and incidents from the Iliad and +from the Exodus to come within the same degrees of credibility. +And, farther, while the powers of the imagination +were becoming daily more and more languid, because unsupported +by faith, the manual skill and science of the artist were +continually on the increase. When these had reached a certain +point, they began to be the principal things considered in the +picture, and its story or scene to be thought of only as a theme +for their manifestation. Observe the difference. In old times, +men used their powers of painting to show the objects of faith; +in later times, they used the objects of faith that they might +show their powers of painting. The distinction is enormous, +the difference incalculable as irreconcilable. And thus, the +more skilful the artist, the less his subject was regarded; and +the hearts of men hardened as their handling softened, until +they reached a point when sacred, profane, or sensual subjects +were employed, with absolute indifference, for the display of +color and execution; and gradually the mind of Europe congealed +into that state of utter apathy,—inconceivable, unless it +had been witnessed, and unpardonable, unless by us, who have +been infected by it,—which permits us to place the Madonna +and the Aphrodite side by side in our galleries, and to pass, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page109"></a>109</span> +with the same unmoved inquiry into the manner of their handling, +from a Bacchanal to a Nativity.</p> + +<p>Now all this evil, observe, would have been merely the +necessary and natural operation of an enthusiasm for the +classics, and of a delight in the mere science of the artist, on +the most virtuous mind. But this operation took place upon +minds enervated by luxury, and which were tempted, at the +very same period, to forgetfulness or denial of all religious +principle by their own basest instincts. The faith which had +been undermined by the genius of Pagans, was overthrown +by the crimes of Christians; and the ruin which was begun +by scholarship, was completed by sensuality. The characters +of the heathen divinities were as suitable to the manners of +the time as their forms were agreeable to its taste; and Paganism +again became, in effect, the religion of Europe. That +is to say, the civilized world is at this moment, collectively, +just as Pagan as it was in the second century; a small body +of believers being now, as they were then, representative of +the Church of Christ in the midst of the faithless: but there +is just this difference, and this very fatal one, between the +second and nineteenth centuries, that the Pagans are nominally +and fashionably Christians, and that there is every conceivable +variety and shade of belief between the two; so that +not only is it most difficult theoretically to mark the point +where hesitating trust and failing practice change into definite +infidelity, but it has become a point of politeness not to inquire +too deeply into our neighbor’s religious opinions; and, so +that no one be offended by violent breach of external forms, +to waive any close examination into the tenets of faith. The +fact is, we distrust each other and ourselves so much, that +we dare not press this matter; we know that if, on any occasion +of general intercourse, we turn to our next neighbor, +and put to him some searching or testing question, we shall, +in nine cases out of ten, discover him to be only a Christian in +his own way, and as far as he thinks proper, and that he +doubts of many things which we ourselves do not believe +strongly enough to hear doubted without danger. What is +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page110"></a>110</span> +in reality cowardice and faithlessness, we call charity; and +consider it the part of benevolence sometimes to forgive men’s +evil practice for the sake of their accurate faith, and sometimes +to forgive their confessed heresy for the sake of their admirable +practice. And under this shelter of charity, humility, and +faintheartedness, the world, unquestioned by others or by +itself, mingles with and overwhelms the small body of Christians, +legislates for them, moralizes for them, reasons for +them; and, though itself of course greatly and beneficently +influenced by the association, and held much in check by its +pretence to Christianity, yet undermines, in nearly the same +degree, the sincerity and practical power of Christianity itself, +until at last, in the very institutions of which the administration +may be considered as the principal test of the genuineness +of national religion, those devoted to education, the Pagan +system is completely triumphant; and the entire body of the +so-called Christian world has established a system of instruction +for its youth, wherein neither the history of Christ’s +Church, nor the language of God’s law, is considered a study +of the smallest importance; wherein, of all subjects of human +inquiry, his own religion is the one in which a youth’s ignorance +is most easily forgiven;<a name="FnAnchor_26" href="#Footnote_26"><span class="sp">26</span></a> and in which it is held a light +matter that he should be daily guilty of lying, or debauchery, +or of blasphemy, so only that he write Latin verses accurately, +and with speed.</p> + +<p>I believe that in few years more we shall wake from all +these errors in astonishment, as from evil dreams; having +been preserved, in the midst of their madness, by those hidden +roots of active and earnest Christianity which God’s grace +has bound in the English nation with iron and brass. But in +the Venetian, those roots themselves had withered; and, from +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page111"></a>111</span> +the palace of their ancient religion, their pride cast them forth +hopelessly to the pasture of the brute. From pride to infidelity, +from infidelity to the unscrupulous and insatiable pursuit +of pleasure, and from this to irremediable degradation, the +transitions were swift, like the falling of a star. The great +palaces of the haughtiest nobles of Venice were stayed, before +they had risen far above their foundations, by the blast of a +penal poverty; and the wild grass, on the unfinished fragments +of their mighty shafts, waves at the tide-mark where +the power of the godless people first heard the “Hitherto +shalt thou come.” And the regeneration in which they had +so vainly trusted,—the new birth and clear dawning, as they +thought it, of all art, all knowledge, and all hope,—became +to them as that dawn which Ezekiel saw on the hills of +Israel: “Behold the day; behold, it is come. The rod hath +blossomed, pride hath budded, violence is risen up into a rod +of wickedness. None of them shall remain, nor of their multitude; +let not the buyer rejoice, nor the seller mourn, for +wrath is upon all the multitude thereof.”</p> + + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_8" href="#FnAnchor_8"><span class="fn">8</span></a> Or, more briefly, science has to do with facts, art with phenomena. +To science, phenomena are of use only as they lead to facts; and to art +facts are of use only as they lead to phenomena. I use the word “art” here +with reference to the fine arts only, for the lower arts of mechanical production +I should reserve the word “manufacture.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_9" href="#FnAnchor_9"><span class="fn">9</span></a> Tintoret.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_10" href="#FnAnchor_10"><span class="fn">10</span></a> St. Bernard.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_11" href="#FnAnchor_11"><span class="fn">11</span></a> Society always has a destructive influence upon an artist: first by its +sympathy with his meanest powers; secondly, by its chilling want of understanding +of his greatest; and, thirdly, by its vain occupation of his time +and thoughts. Of course a painter of men must be <i>among</i> men; but it +ought to be as a watcher, not as a companion.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_12" href="#FnAnchor_12"><span class="fn">12</span></a> I intended in this place to have introduced some special consideration +of the science of anatomy, which I believe to have been in great part the +cause of the decline of modern art; but I have been anticipated by a writer +better able to treat the subject. I have only glanced at his book; and there +is something in the spirit of it which I do not like, and some parts of it are +assuredly wrong; but, respecting anatomy, it seems to me to settle the question +indisputably, more especially as being written by a master of the science. +I quote two passages, and must refer the reader to the sequel.</p> + +<p>“<i>The scientific men of forty centuries</i> have failed to describe so accurately, +so beautifully, so artistically, as Homer did, the organic elements constituting +the emblems of youth and beauty, and the waste and decay which these +sustain by time and age. All these Homer understood better, and has described +more truthfully than the scientific men of forty centuries....</p> + +<p>“Before I approach this question, permit me to make a few remarks on +the pre-historic period of Greece; that era which seems to have produced +nearly all the great men.</p> + +<p>“On looking attentively at the statues within my observation, I cannot +find the slightest foundation for the assertion that their sculptors must have +dissected the human frame and been well acquainted with the human anatomy. +They, like Homer, had discovered Nature’s secret, and bestowed +their whole attention on the exterior. The exterior they read profoundly, +and studied deeply—the <i>living exterior</i> and the <i>dead</i>. Above all, they avoided +displaying the dead and dissected interior, through the exterior. They had +discovered that the interior presents hideous shapes, but not forms. Men +during the philosophic era of Greece saw all this, each reading the antique +to the best of his abilities. The man of genius rediscovered the canon of +the ancient masters, and wrought on its principles. The greater number, +as now, unequal to this step, merely imitated and copied those who preceded +them.”—<i>Great Artists and Great Anatomists</i>. By R. Knox, M.D. +London, Van Voorst, 1852.</p> + +<p>Respecting the value of literary knowledge in general as regards art, the +reader will also do well to meditate on the following sentences from +Hallam’s “Literature of Europe;” remembering at the same time what I +have above said, that “the root of all great art in Europe is struck in the +thirteenth century,” and that the great time is from 1250 to 1350:</p> + +<p>“In Germany the tenth century, Leibnitz declares, was a golden age of +learning compared with the thirteenth.”</p> + +<p>“The writers of the thirteenth century display an incredible ignorance, +not only of pure idiom, but of common grammatical rules.”</p> + +<p>The fourteenth century was “not superior to the thirteenth in learning.... +We may justly praise Richard of Bury for his zeal in collecting +books. But his erudition appears crude, his style indifferent, and his +thoughts superficial.”</p> + +<p>I doubt the superficialness of the <i>thoughts</i>: at all events, this is not a +character of the time, though it may be of the writer; for this would affect +art more even than literature.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_13" href="#FnAnchor_13"><span class="fn">13</span></a> Churton’s “Early English Church.” London, 1840.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_14" href="#FnAnchor_14"><span class="fn">14</span></a> “Quibus nulla macula inest quæ non cernatur. Ita viri nobilitate +præditi eam vitam peragant cui nulla nota possit inviri.” The first sentence +is literally, “in which there is no spot that may not be seen.” But I imagine +the writer meant it as I have put it in the text, else his comparison +does not hold.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_15" href="#FnAnchor_15"><span class="fn">15</span></a> Observe, however, that the magnitude spoken of here and in the following +passages, is the finished and polished magnitude sought for the sake +of pomp: not the rough magnitude sought for the sake of sublimity: +respecting which see the “Seven Lamps,” chap. iii. § 5, 6, and 8.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_16" href="#FnAnchor_16"><span class="fn">16</span></a> Can Grande died in 1329: we can hardly allow more than five years for +the erection of his tomb.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_17" href="#FnAnchor_17"><span class="fn">17</span></a> Vol. I. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#chap_1">Chap. I</a>.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_18" href="#FnAnchor_18"><span class="fn">18</span></a> Sansovino, lib. xiii.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_19" href="#FnAnchor_19"><span class="fn">19</span></a> Tentori, vi. 142, i. 157.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_20" href="#FnAnchor_20"><span class="fn">20</span></a> “Jacobus Pisaurius Paphi Episcopus qui Turcos bello, se ipsum pace +vincebat, ex nobili inter Venetas, ad nobiliorem inter Angelos familiam +delatus, nobilissimam in illa die Coronam justo Judice reddente, hic situs +expectat Vixit annos Platonicos. Obijt MDXLVII. IX. Kal. Aprilis.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_21" href="#FnAnchor_21"><span class="fn">21</span></a> Isaiah xlvii. 7, 10, 11, 15.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_22" href="#FnAnchor_22"><span class="fn">22</span></a> Compare “Seven Lamps,” chap. vii. § 3.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_23" href="#FnAnchor_23"><span class="fn">23</span></a> See the farther remarks on Inspiration, in the fourth chapter.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_24" href="#FnAnchor_24"><span class="fn">24</span></a> That is to say, orders separated by such distinctions as the old Greek +ones: considered with reference to the bearing power of the capital, all +orders may be referred to two, as long ago stated; just as trees may be referred +to the two great classes, monocotyledonous and dicotyledonous.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_25" href="#FnAnchor_25"><span class="fn">25</span></a> Job xxi: 26-28; Psalm lxxxix. 37.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_26" href="#FnAnchor_26"><span class="fn">26</span></a> I shall not forget the impression made upon me at Oxford, when, going +up for my degree, and mentioning to one of the authorities that I had not +had time enough to read the Epistles properly, I was told, that “the Epistles +were separate sciences, and I need not trouble myself about them.”</p> + +<p>The reader will find some farther notes on this subject in <a href="#app_7">Appendix 7</a>, +“Modern Education.”</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page112"></a>112</span></p> + +<h3><a name="chap_3" id="chap_3"></a>CHAPTER III.</h3> + +<h5>GROTESQUE RENAISSANCE.</h5> + + +<p>§ <span class="scs">I</span>. In the close of the last chapter it was noted that the +phases of transition in the moral temper of the falling Venetians, +during their fall, were from pride to infidelity, and from +infidelity to the unscrupulous <i>pursuit of pleasure</i>. During +the last years of the existence of the state, the minds both of +the nobility and the people seem to have been set simply upon +the attainment of the means of self-indulgence. There was +not strength enough in them to be proud, nor forethought +enough to be ambitious. One by one the possessions of the +state were abandoned to its enemies; one by one the channels +of its trade were forsaken by its own languor, or occupied and +closed against it by its more energetic rivals; and the time, +the resources, and the thoughts of the nation were exclusively +occupied in the invention of such fantastic and costly pleasures +as might best amuse their apathy, lull their remorse, or disguise +their ruin.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">II</span>. The architecture raised at Venice during this period is +amongst the worst and basest ever built by the hands of men, +being especially distinguished by a spirit of brutal mockery +and insolent jest, which, exhausting itself in deformed and +monstrous sculpture, can sometimes be hardly otherwise defined +than as the perpetuation in stone of the ribaldries of drunkenness. +On such a period, and on such work, it is painful to +dwell, and I had not originally intended to do so; but I found +that the entire spirit of the Renaissance could not be comprehended +unless it was followed to its consummation; and that +there were many most interesting questions arising out of the +study of this particular spirit of jesting, with reference to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page113"></a>113</span> +which I have called it the <i>Grotesque</i> Renaissance. For it is +not this period alone which is distinguished by such a spirit. +There is jest—perpetual, careless, and not unfrequently obscene—in +the most noble work of the Gothic periods; and it +becomes, therefore, of the greatest possible importance to +examine into the nature and essence of the Grotesque itself, +and to ascertain in what respect it is that the jesting of art in +its highest flight, differs from its jesting in its utmost degradation.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">III</span>. The place where we may best commence our inquiry +is one renowned in the history of Venice, the space of ground +before the Church of Santa Maria Formosa; a spot which, +after the Rialto and St. Mark’s Place, ought to possess a peculiar +interest in the mind of the traveller, in consequence of its +connexion with the most touching and true legend of the +Brides of Venice. That legend is related at length in every +Venetian history, and, finally, has been told by the poet +Rogers, in a way which renders it impossible for any one to +tell it after him. I have only, therefore, to remind the reader +that the capture of the brides took place in the cathedral +church, St. Pietro di Castello; and that this of Santa Maria +Formosa is connected with the tale, only because it was yearly +visited with prayers by the Venetian maidens, on the anniversary +of their ancestors’ deliverance. For that deliverance, +their thanks were to be rendered to the Virgin; and there was +no church then dedicated to the Virgin, in Venice, except +this.<a name="FnAnchor_27" href="#Footnote_27"><span class="sp">27</span></a></p> + +<p>Neither of the cathedral church, nor of this dedicated to +St. Mary the Beautiful, is one stone left upon another. But, +from that which has been raised on the site of the latter, we +may receive a most important lesson, introductory to our immediate +subject, if first we glance back to the traditional history +of the church which has been destroyed.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">IV</span>. No more honorable epithet than “traditional” can +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page114"></a>114</span> +be attached to what is recorded concerning it, yet I should +grieve to lose the legend of its first erection. The Bishop of +Uderzo, driven by the Lombards from his Bishopric, as he +was praying, beheld in a vision the Virgin Mother, who +ordered him to found a church in her honor, in the place +where he should see a white cloud rest. And when he went +out, the white cloud went before him; and on the place +where it rested he built a church, and it was called the Church +of St. Mary the Beautiful, from the loveliness of the form in +which she had appeared in the vision.<a name="FnAnchor_28" href="#Footnote_28"><span class="sp">28</span></a></p> + +<p>The first church stood only for about two centuries. It was +rebuilt in 864, and enriched with various relics some fifty +years later; relics belonging principally to St. Nicodemus, +and much lamented when they and the church were together +destroyed by fire in 1105.</p> + +<p>It was then rebuilt in “magnifica forma,” much resembling, +according to Corner, the architecture of the chancel of St. +Mark;<a name="FnAnchor_29" href="#Footnote_29"><span class="sp">29</span></a> but the information which I find in various writers, +as to the period at which it was reduced to its present condition, +is both sparing and contradictory.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">V</span>. Thus, by Corner, we are told that this church, resembling +St. Mark’s, “remained untouched for more than four +centuries,” until, in 1689, it was thrown down by an earthquake, +and restored by the piety of a rich merchant, Turrin +Toroni, “in ornatissima forma;” and that, for the greater +beauty of the renewed church, it had added to it two façades +of marble. With this information that of the Padre dell’ +Oratoria agrees, only he gives the date of the earlier rebuilding +of the church in 1175, and ascribes it to an architect of the +name of Barbetta. But Quadri, in his usually accurate little +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page115"></a>115</span> +guide, tells us that this Barbetta rebuilt the church in +the fourteenth century; and that of the two façades, so much +admired by Corner, one is of the sixteenth century, and its +architect unknown; and the rest of the church is of the seventeenth, +“in the style of Sansovino.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VI</span>. There is no occasion to examine, or endeavor to reconcile, +these conflicting accounts. All that is necessary for the +reader to know is, that every vestige of the church in which +the ceremony took place was destroyed <i>at least</i> as early as +1689; and that the ceremony itself, having been abolished in +the close of the fourteenth century, is only to be conceived as +taking place in that more ancient church, resembling St. +Mark’s, which, even according to Quadri, existed until that +period. I would, therefore, endeavor to fix the reader’s +mind, for a moment, on the contrast between the former and +latter aspect of this plot of ground; the former, when it had +its Byzantine church, and its yearly procession of the Doge +and the Brides; and the latter, when it has its Renaissance +church “in the style of Sansovino,” and its yearly honoring is +done away.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VII</span>. And, first, let us consider for a little the significance +and nobleness of that early custom of the Venetians, which +brought about the attack and the rescue of the year 943: that +there should be but one marriage day for the nobles of the +whole nation,<a name="FnAnchor_30" href="#Footnote_30"><span class="sp">30</span></a> so that all might rejoice together; and that +the sympathy might be full, not only of the families who that +year beheld the alliance of their children, and prayed for +them in one crowd, weeping before the altar, but of all the +families of the state, who saw, in the day which brought happiness +to others, the anniversary of their own. Imagine the +strong bond of brotherhood thus sanctified among them, and +consider also the effect on the minds of the youth of the state; +the greater deliberation and openness necessarily given to the +contemplation of marriage, to which all the people were +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page116"></a>116</span> +solemnly to bear testimony; the more lofty and unselfish tone +which it would give to all their thoughts. It was the exact +contrary of stolen marriage. It was marriage to which God +and man were taken for witnesses, and every eye was invoked +for its glance, and every tongue for its prayers.<a name="FnAnchor_31" href="#Footnote_31"><span class="sp">31</span></a></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VIII</span>. Later historians have delighted themselves in dwelling +on the pageantry of the marriage day itself, but I do not +find that they have authority for the splendor of their descriptions. +I cannot find a word in the older Chronicles about the +jewels or dress of the brides, and I believe the ceremony to +have been more quiet and homely than is usually supposed. +The only sentence which gives color to the usual accounts of +it is one of Sansovino’s, in which he says that the magnificent +dress of the brides in his day was founded “on ancient custom.”<a name="FnAnchor_32" href="#Footnote_32"><span class="sp">32</span></a> +However this may have been, the circumstances of +the rite were otherwise very simple. Each maiden brought +her dowry with her in a small “cassetta,” or chest; they +went first to the cathedral, and waited for the youths, who +having come, they heard mass together, and the bishop +preached to them and blessed them: and so each bridegroom +took his bride and her dowry and bore her home.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">IX</span>. It seems that the alarm given by the attack of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page117"></a>117</span> +pirates put an end to the custom of fixing one day for all +marriages: but the main objects of the institution were still +attained by the perfect publicity given to the marriages of all +the noble families; the bridegroom standing in the Court of +the Ducal Palace to receive congratulations on his betrothal, +and the whole body of the nobility attending the nuptials, and +rejoicing, “as at some personal good fortune; since, by the +constitution of the state, they are for ever incorporated together, +as if of one and the same family.”<a name="FnAnchor_33" href="#Footnote_33"><span class="sp">33</span></a> But the festival +of the 2nd of February, after the year 943, seems to have been +observed only in memory of the deliverance of the brides, and +no longer set apart for public nuptials.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">X.</span> There is much difficulty in reconciling the various +accounts, or distinguishing the inaccurate ones, of the manner +of keeping this memorable festival. I shall first give Sansovino’s, +which is the popular one, and then note the points of +importance in the counter-statements. Sansovino says that +the success of the pursuit of the pirates was owing to the ready +help and hard fighting of the men of the district of Sta. Maria +Formosa, for the most part trunkmakers; and that they, +having been presented after the victory to the Doge and the +Senate, were told to ask some favor for their reward. “The +good men then said that they desired the Prince, with his +wife and the Signory, to visit every year the church of their +district, on the day of its feast. And the Prince asking them, +‘Suppose it should rain?’ they answered, ‘We will give you +hats to cover you; and if you are thirsty, we will give you to +drink.’ Whence is it that the Vicar, in the name of the people, +presents to the Doge, on his visit, two flasks of malvoisie<a name="FnAnchor_34" href="#Footnote_34"><span class="sp">34</span></a> and +two oranges; and presents to him two gilded hats, bearing the +arms of the Pope, of the Prince, and of the Vicar. And thus +was instituted the Feast of the Maries, which was called noble +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page118"></a>118</span> +and famous because the people from all round came together +to behold it. And it was celebrated in this manner:....” The +account which follows is somewhat prolix; but its substance +is, briefly, that twelve maidens were elected, two for each division +of the city; and that it was decided by lot which contrade, +or quarters of the town, should provide them with dresses. +This was done at enormous expense, one contrada contending +with another, and even the jewels of the treasury of St. Mark +being lent for the occasion to the “Maries,” as the twelve +damsels were called. They, being thus dressed with gold, and +silver, and jewels, went in their galley to St. Mark’s for the +Doge, who joined them with the Signory, and went first to +San Pietro di Castello to hear mass on St. Mark’s day, the +31st of January, and to Santa Maria Formosa on the 2nd of +February, the intermediate day being spent in passing in +procession through the streets of the city; “and sometimes +there arose quarrels about the places they should pass through, +for every one wanted them to pass by his house.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XI.</span> Nearly the same account is given by Corner, who, +however, does not say anything about the hats or the malvoisie. +These, however, we find again in the Matricola de’ Casseleri, +which, of course, sets the services of the trunkmakers and the +privileges obtained by them in the most brilliant light. The +quaintness of the old Venetian is hardly to be rendered into +English. “And you must know that the said trunkmakers +were the men who were the cause of such victory, and of +taking the galley, and of cutting all the Triestines to pieces, +because, at that time, they were valiant men and well in order. +The which victory was on the 2nd February, on the day of the +Madonna of candles. And at the request and entreaties of the +said trunkmakers, it was decreed that the Doge, every year, +as long as Venice shall endure, should go on the eve of the +said feast to vespers in the said church, with the Signory. +And be it noted, that the vicar is obliged to give to the Doge +two flasks of malvoisie, with two oranges besides. And so +it is observed, and will be observed always.” The reader +must observe the continual confusion between St. Mark’s day +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page119"></a>119</span> +the 31st of January, and Candlemas the 2nd of February. +The fact appears to be, that the marriage day in the old +republic was St. Mark’s day, and the recovery of the brides +was the same day at evening; so that, as we are told by +Sansovino, the commemorative festival began on that day, but +it was continued to the day of the Purification, that especial +thanks might be rendered to the Virgin; and, the visit to +Sta. Maria Formosa being the most important ceremony of the +whole festival, the old chroniclers, and even Sansovino, got +confused, and asserted the victory itself to have taken place +on the day appointed for that pilgrimage.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XII.</span> I doubt not that the reader who is acquainted with +the beautiful lines of Rogers is as much grieved as I am at the +interference of the “casket-makers” with the achievement +which the poet ascribes to the bridegrooms alone; an interference +quite as inopportune as that of old Le Balafré with +the victory of his nephew, in the unsatisfactory conclusion of +“Quentin Durward.” I am afraid I cannot get the casket-makers +quite out of the way; but it may gratify some of my +readers to know that a chronicle of the year 1378, quoted by +Galliciolli, denies the agency of the people of Sta. Maria +Formosa altogether, in these terms: “Some say that the people +of Sta. M. Formosa were those who recovered the <i>spoil</i> +(“predra;” I may notice, in passing, that most of the old +chroniclers appear to consider the recovery of the <i>caskets</i> +rather more a subject of congratulation than that of the +brides), and that, for their reward, they asked the Doge and +Signory to visit Sta. M. Formosa; but <i>this is false</i>. The +going to Sta. M. Formosa was because the thing had succeeded +on that day, and because this was then the only church in +Venice in honor of the Virgin.” But here is again the mistake +about the day itself; and besides if we get rid altogether +of the trunkmakers, how are we to account for the ceremony +of the oranges and hats, of which the accounts seem authentic? +If, however, the reader likes to substitute “carpenters” or +“house-builders” for casket-makers, he may do so with great +reason (vide Galliciolli, lib. ii. § 1758); but I fear that one or +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page120"></a>120</span> +the other body of tradesmen must be allowed to have had no +small share in the honor of the victory.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIII</span>. But whatever doubt attaches to the particular circumstances +of its origin, there is none respecting the splendor +of the festival itself, as it was celebrated for four centuries +afterwards. We find that each contrada spent from 800 to +1000 zecchins in the dress of the “Maries” entrusted to it; +but I cannot find among how many contrade the twelve Maries +were divided; it is also to be supposed that most of the +accounts given refer to the later periods of the celebration of +the festival. In the beginning of the eleventh century, the +good Doge Pietro Orseolo II. left in his will the third of his +entire fortune “per la Festa della Marie;” and, in the fourteenth +century, so many people came from the rest of Italy to +see it, that special police regulations were made for it, and the +Council of Ten were twice summoned before it took place.<a name="FnAnchor_35" href="#Footnote_35"><span class="sp">35</span></a> +The expense lavished upon it seems to have increased till the +year 1379, when all the resources of the republic were required +for the terrible war of Chiozza, and all festivity was for +that time put an end to. The issue of the war left the Venetians +with neither the power nor the disposition to restore the +festival on its ancient scale, and they seem to have been +ashamed to exhibit it in reduced splendor. It was entirely +abolished.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIV</span>. As if to do away even with its memory, every feature +of the surrounding scene which was associated with that +festival has been in succeeding ages destroyed. With one solitary +exception,<a name="FnAnchor_36" href="#Footnote_36"><span class="sp">36</span></a> there is not a house left in the whole Piazza +of Santa Maria Formosa from whose windows the festa of the +Maries has ever been seen: of the church in which they worshipped, +not a stone is left, even the form of the ground and +direction of the neighboring canals are changed; and there is +now but one landmark to guide the steps of the traveller to +the place where the white cloud rested, and the shrine was +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page121"></a>121</span> +built to St. Mary the Beautiful. Yet the spot is still worth +his pilgrimage, for he may receive a lesson upon it, though a +painful one. Let him first fill his mind with the fair images +of the ancient festival, and then seek that landmark the tower +of the modern church, built upon the place where the daughters +of Venice knelt yearly with her noblest lords; and let him +look at the head that is carved on the base of the tower,<a name="FnAnchor_37" href="#Footnote_37"><span class="sp">37</span></a> still +dedicated to St. Mary the Beautiful.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XV</span>. A head,—huge, inhuman, and monstrous,—leering in +bestial degradation, too foul to be either pictured or described, +or to be beheld for more than an instant: yet let it be endured +for that instant; for in that head is embodied the type of the +evil spirit to which Venice was abandoned in the fourth period +of her decline; and it is well that we should see and feel the +full horror of it on this spot, and know what pestilence it was +that came and breathed upon her <span class="correction" title="changed from beaaty">beauty</span>, until it melted away +like the white cloud from the ancient fields of Santa Maria +Formosa.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVI</span>. This head is one of many hundreds which disgrace +the latest buildings of the city, all more or less agreeing in +their expression of sneering mockery, in most cases enhanced +by thrusting out the tongue. Most of them occur upon the +bridges, which were among the very last works undertaken by +the republic, several, for instance, upon the Bridge of Sighs; +and they are evidences of a delight in the contemplation of +bestial vice, and the expression of low sarcasm, which is, I believe, +the most hopeless state into which the human mind can +fall. This spirit of idiotic mockery is, as I have said, the most +striking characteristic of the last period of the Renaissance, +which, in consequence of the character thus imparted to its +sculpture, I have called grotesque; but it must be our immediate +task, and it will be a most interesting one, to distinguish +between this base grotesqueness, and that magnificent condition +of fantastic imagination, which was above noticed as one of the +chief elements of the Northern Gothic mind. Nor is this a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page122"></a>122</span> +question of interesting speculation merely: for the distinction +between the true and false grotesque is one which the present +tendencies of the English mind have rendered it practically +important to ascertain; and that in a degree which, until he +has made some progress in the consideration of the subject, the +reader will hardly anticipate.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVII</span>. But, first, I have to note one peculiarity in the late +architecture of Venice, which will materially assist us in understanding +the true nature of the spirit which is to be the subject +of our inquiry; and this peculiarity, singularly enough, is +first exemplified in the very façade of Santa Maria Formosa +which is flanked by the grotesque head to which our attention +has just been directed. This façade, whose architect is unknown, +consists of a pediment, sustained on four Corinthian +pilasters, and is, I believe, the earliest in Venice which appears +<i>entirely destitute of every religious symbol, sculpture, or inscription</i>; +unless the Cardinal’s hat upon the shield in the +centre of the impediment be considered a religious symbol. +The entire façade is nothing else than a monument to the Admiral +Vincenzo Cappello. Two tablets, one between each pair +of flanking pillars, record his acts and honors; and, on the corresponding +spaces upon the base of the church, are two circular +trophies, composed of halberts, arrows, flags, tridents, helmets, +and lances: sculptures which are just as valueless in a military +as in an ecclesiastical point of view; for, being all copied from +the forms of Roman arms and armor, they cannot even be referred +to for information respecting the costume of the period. +Over the door, as the chief ornament of the façade, exactly in +the spot which in the “barbarous” St. Mark’s is occupied by +the figure of Christ, is the statue of Vincenzo Cappello, in +Roman armor. He died in 1542; and we have, therefore, the +latter part of the sixteenth century fixed as the period when, in +Venice, churches were first built to the glory of man, instead +of the glory of God.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVIII</span>. Throughout the whole of Scripture history, nothing +is more remarkable than the close connection of punishment +with the sin of vain-glory. Every other sin is occasionally permitted +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page123"></a>123</span> +to remain, for lengthened periods, without definite +chastisement; but the forgetfulness of God, and the claim of +honor by man, as belonging to himself, are visited at once, +whether in Hezekiah, Nebuchadnezzar, or Herod, with the +most tremendous punishment. We have already seen, that the +first reason for the fall of Venice was the manifestation of such +a spirit; and it is most singular to observe the definiteness with +which it is here marked,—as if so appointed, that it might be +impossible for future ages to miss the lesson. For, in the long +inscriptions<a name="FnAnchor_38" href="#Footnote_38"><span class="sp">38</span></a> which record the acts of Vincenzo Cappello, it +might, at least, have been anticipated that some expressions +would occur indicative of remaining pretence to religious feeling, +or formal acknowledgement of Divine power. But there +are none whatever. The name of God does not once occur; +that of St. Mark is found only in the statement that Cappello +was a procurator of the church: there is no word touching +either on the faith or hope of the deceased; and the only sentence +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page124"></a>124</span> +which alludes to supernatural powers at all, alludes to +them under the heathen name of <i>fates</i>, in its explanation of +what the Admiral Cappello <i>would</i> have accomplished, “nisi +fata Christianis adversa vetuissent.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIX</span>. Having taken sufficient note of all the baseness of +mind which these facts indicate in the people, we shall not be +surprised to find immediate signs of dotage in the conception +of their architecture. The churches raised throughout this +period are so grossly debased, that even the Italian critics of +the present day, who are partially awakened to the true state +of art in Italy, though blind, as yet, to its true cause, exhaust +their terms of reproach upon these last efforts of the Renaissance +builders. The two churches of San Moisè and Santa +Maria Zobenigo, which are among the most remarkable in Venice +for their manifestation of insolent atheism, are characterized by +Lazari, the one as “culmine d’ogni follia architettonica,” the +other as “orrido ammasso di pietra d’Istria,” with added expressions +of contempt, as just as it is unmitigated.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XX</span>. Now both these churches, which I should like the +reader to visit in succession, if possible, after that of Sta. +Maria Formosa, agree with that church, and with each other, +in being totally destitute of religious symbols, and entirely +dedicated to the honor of two Venetian families. In San +Moisè, a bust of Vincenzo Fini is set on a tall narrow pyramid, +above the central door, with this marvellous inscription:</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr scs"> +<p class="ind03">“OMNE FASTIGIVM</p> +<p>VIRTVTE IMPLET</p> +<p>VINCENTIVS FINI.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>It is very difficult to translate this; for fastigium, besides +its general sense, has a particular one in architecture, and refers +to the part of the building occupied by the bust; but the main +meaning of it is that “Vincenzo Fini fills all height with his +virtue.” The inscription goes on into farther praise, but this example +is enough. Over the two lateral doors are two other +laudatory inscriptions of younger members of the Fini family, +the dates of death of the three heroes being 1660, 1685, and +1726, marking thus the period of consummate degradation.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page125"></a>125</span></p> + +<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/img125.jpg" width="650" height="396" alt="NOBLE AND IGNOBLE GROTESQUE." title="NOBLE AND IGNOBLE GROTESQUE." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">NOBLE AND IGNOBLE GROTESQUE.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXI</span>. In like manner, the Church of Santa Maria Zobenigo +is entirely dedicated to the Barbaro family; the only religious +symbols with which it is invested being statues of angels blowing +brazen trumpets, intended to express the spreading of the +fame of the Barbaro family in heaven. At the top of the +church is Venice crowned, between Justice and Temperance, +Justice holding a pair of grocer’s scales, of iron, swinging in +the wind. There is a two-necked stone eagle (the Barbaro +crest), with a copper crown, in the centre of the pediment. +A huge statue of a Barbaro in armor, with a fantastic head-dress, +over the central door; and four Barbaros in niches, two +on each side of it, strutting statues, in the common stage +postures of the period,—Jo. Maria Barbaro, sapiens ordinum; +Marinus Barbaro, Senator (reading a speech in a Ciceronian +attitude); Franc. Barbaro, legatus in classe (in armor, with +high-heeled boots, and looking resolutely fierce); and Carolus +Barbaro, sapiens ordinum: the decorations of the façade being +completed by two trophies, consisting of drums, trumpets, flags +and cannon; and six plans, sculptured in relief, of the towns +of Zara, Candia, Padua, Rome, Corfu, and Spalatro.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXII</span>. When the traveller has sufficiently considered the +meaning of this façade, he ought to visit the Church of St. +Eustachio, remarkable for the dramatic effect of the group of +sculpture on its façade, and then the Church of the Ospedaletto +(see Index, under head Ospedaletto); noticing, on his +way, the heads on the foundations of the Palazzo Corner della +Regina, and the Palazzo Pesaro, and any other heads carved +on the modern bridges, closing with those on the Bridge of +Sighs.</p> + +<p>He will then have obtained a perfect idea of the style and +feeling of the Grotesque Renaissance. I cannot pollute this +volume by any illustration of its worst forms, but the head +turned to the front, on the right-hand in the opposite Plate, +will give the general reader an idea of its most graceful and +refined developments. The figure set beside it, on the left, is +a piece of noble grotesque, from fourteenth century Gothic; +and it must be our present task to ascertain the nature of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page126"></a>126</span> +difference which exists between the two, by an accurate inquiry +into the true essence of the grotesque spirit itself.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIII</span>. First, then, it seems to me that the grotesque is, in +almost all cases, composed of two elements, one ludicrous, the +other fearful; that, as one or other of these elements prevails, +the grotesque falls into two branches, sportive grotesque and +terrible grotesque; but that we cannot legitimately consider it +under these two aspects, because there are hardly any examples +which do not in some degree combine both elements; +there are few grotesques so utterly playful as to be overcast +with no shade of fearfulness, and few so fearful as absolutely +to exclude all ideas of jest. But although we cannot +separate the grotesque itself into two branches, we may easily +examine separately the two conditions of mind which it seems +to combine; and consider successively what are the kinds of +jest, and what the kinds of fearfulness, which may be legitimately +expressed in the various walks of art, and how their +expressions actually occur in the Gothic and Renaissance +schools.</p> + +<p>First, then, what are the conditions of playfulness which +we may fitly express in noble art, or which (for this is the +same thing) are consistent with nobleness in humanity? In +other words, what is the proper function of play, with respect +not to youth merely, but to all mankind?</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIV</span>. It is a much more serious question than may be at +first supposed; for a healthy manner of play is necessary in +order to a healthy manner of work: and because the choice +of our recreation is, in most cases, left to ourselves, while the +nature of our work is generally fixed by necessity or authority, +it may be well doubted whether more distressful consequences +may not have resulted from mistaken choice in play than from +mistaken direction in labor.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXV</span>. Observe, however, that we are only concerned, +here, with that kind of play which causes laughter or implies +recreation, not with that which consists in the excitement of +the energies whether of body or mind. Muscular exertion is, +indeed, in youth, one of the conditions of recreation; “but +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page127"></a>127</span> +neither the violent bodily labor which children of all ages +agree to call play,” nor the grave excitement of the mental +faculties in games of skill or chance, are in anywise connected +with the state of feeling we have here to investigate, namely, +that sportiveness which man possesses in common with many +inferior creatures, but to which his higher faculties give nobler +expression in the various manifestations of wit, humor, and +fancy.</p> + +<p>With respect to the manner in which this instinct of playfulness +is indulged or repressed, mankind are broadly distinguishable +into four classes: the men who play wisely; who +play necessarily; who play inordinately; and who play not at +all.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVI</span>. First: Those who play wisely. It is evident that +the idea of any kind of play can only be associated with the +idea of an imperfect, childish, and fatigable nature. As far +as men can raise that nature, so that it shall no longer be interested +by trifles or exhausted by toils, they raise it above +play; he whose heart is at once fixed upon heaven, and open +to the earth, so as to apprehend the importance of heavenly +doctrines, and the compass of human sorrow, will have little +disposition for jest; and exactly in proportion to the breadth +and depth of his character and intellect, will be, in general, +the incapability of surprise, or exuberant and sudden emotion, +which must render play impossible. It is, however, evidently +not intended that many men should even reach, far less pass +their lives in, that solemn state of thoughtfulness, which +brings them into the nearest brotherhood with their Divine +Master; and the highest and healthiest state which is competent +to ordinary humanity appears to be that which, accepting +the necessity of recreation, and yielding to the impulses of +natural delight springing out of health and innocence, does, +indeed, condescend often to playfulness, but never without +such deep love of God, of truth, and of humanity, as shall +make even its slightest words reverent, its idlest fancies profitable, +and its keenest satire indulgent. Wordsworth and +Plato furnish us with, perhaps, the finest and highest examples +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page128"></a>128</span> +of this playfulness: in the one case, unmixed with satire, +the perfectly simple effusion of that spirit—in</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“Which gives to all the self-same bent,</p> +<p>Whose life is wise, and innocent;”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>Plato, and, by the by, in a very wise book of our own +times, not unworthy of being named in such companionship, +“Friends in Council,” mingled with an exquisitely tender and +loving satire.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVII</span>. Secondly: The men who play necessarily. That +highest species of playfulness, which we have just been considering, +is evidently the condition of a mind, not only highly +cultivated, but so habitually trained to intellectual labor that +it can bring a considerable force of accurate thought into its +moments even of recreation. This is not possible, unless so +much repose of mind and heart are enjoyed, even at the +periods of greatest exertion, that the rest required by the system +is diffused over the whole life. To the majority of mankind, +such a state is evidently unattainable. They must, perforce, +pass a large part of their lives in employments both irksome +and toilsome, demanding an expenditure of energy which exhausts +the system, and yet consuming that energy upon subjects +incapable of interesting the nobler faculties. When such +employments are intermitted, those noble instincts, fancy, +imagination, and curiosity, are all hungry for the food which +the labor of the day has denied to them, while yet the weariness +of the body, in a great degree, forbids their application +to any serious subject. They therefore exert themselves without +any determined purpose, and under no vigorous restraint, +but gather, as best they may, such various nourishment, and +put themselves to such fantastic exercise, as may soonest indemnify +them for their past imprisonment, and prepare them +to endure their recurrence. This sketching of the mental +limbs as their fetters fall away,—this leaping and dancing of +the heart and intellect, when they are restored to the fresh air +of heaven, yet half paralyzed by their captivity, and unable to +turn themselves to any earnest purpose,—I call necessary play. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page129"></a>129</span> +It is impossible to exaggerate its importance, whether in polity, +or in art.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVIII</span>. Thirdly: The men who play inordinately. The +most perfect state of society which, consistently with due understanding +of man’s nature, it may be permitted us to conceive, +would be one in which the whole human race were +divided, more or less distinctly, into workers and thinkers; that +is to say, into the two classes, who only play wisely, or play +necessarily. But the number and the toil of the working class +are enormously increased, probably more than doubled, by the +vices of the men who neither play wisely nor necessarily, but +are enabled by circumstances, and permitted by their want of +principle, to make amusement the object of their existence. +There is not any moment of the lives of such men which is +not injurious to others; both because they leave the work undone +which was appointed for them, and because they necessarily +think wrongly, whenever it becomes compulsory upon +them to think at all. The greater portion of the misery of +this world arises from the false opinions of men whose idleness +has physically incapacitated them from forming true ones. +Every duty which we omit obscures some truth which we +should have known; and the guilt of a life spent in the pursuit +of pleasure is twofold, partly consisting in the perversion +of action, and partly in the dissemination of falsehood.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIX</span>. There is, however, a less criminal, though hardly +less dangerous condition of mind; which, though not failing +in its more urgent duties, fails in the finer conscientiousness +which regulates the degree, and directs the choice, of amusement, +at those times when amusement is allowable. The most +frequent error in this respect is the want of reverence in approaching +subjects of importance or sacredness, and of caution +in the expression of thoughts which may encourage like irreverence +in others: and these faults are apt to gain upon the +mind until it becomes habitually more sensible to what is ludicrous +and accidental, than to what is grave and essential, in +any subject that is brought before it; or even, at last, desires +to perceive or to know nothing but what may end in jest. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page130"></a>130</span> +Very generally minds of this character are active and able; +and many of them are so far conscientious, that they believe +their jesting forwards their work. But it is difficult to calculate +the harm they do, by destroying the reverence which is +our best guide into all truth; for weakness and evil are easily +visible, but greatness and goodness are often latent; and we do +infinite mischief by exposing weakness to eyes which cannot +comprehend greatness. This error, however, is more connected +with abuses of the satirical than of the playful instinct; and I +shall have more to say of it presently.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXX</span>. Lastly: The men who do not play at all: those +who are so dull or so morose as to be incapable of inventing or +enjoying jest, and in whom care, guilt, or pride represses all +healthy exhilaration of the fancy; or else men utterly oppressed +with labor, and driven too hard by the necessities of +the world to be capable of any species of happy relaxation.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXI</span>. We have now to consider the way in which the presence +or absence of joyfulness, in these several classes, is expressed +in art.</p> + +<p>1. Wise play. The first and noblest class hardly ever +speak through art, except seriously; they feel its nobleness +too profoundly, and value the time necessary for its production +too highly, to employ it in the rendering of trivial +thoughts. The playful fancy of a moment may innocently be +expressed by the passing word; but he can hardly have +learned the preciousness of life, who passes days in the elaboration +of a jest. And, as to what regards the delineation of +human character, the nature of all noble art is to epitomize and +embrace so much at once, that its subject can never be altogether +ludicrous; it must possess all the solemnities of the +whole, not the brightness of the partial, truth. For all truth +that makes us smile is partial. The novelist amuses us by his +relation of a particular incident; but the painter cannot set +any one of his characters before us without giving some glimpse +of its whole career. That of which the historian informs us +in successive pages, it is the task of the painter to inform us of +at once, writing upon the countenance not merely the expression +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page131"></a>131</span> +of the moment, but the history of the life: and the history of +a life can never be a jest.</p> + +<p>Whatever part, therefore, of the sportive energy of these +men of the highest class would be expressed in verbal wit or +humor finds small utterance through their art, and will assuredly +be confined, if it occur there at all, to scattered and +trivial incidents. But so far as their minds can recreate +themselves by the imagination of strange, yet not laughable, +forms, which, either in costume, in landscape, or in any other +accessaries, may be combined with those necessary for their +more earnest purposes, we find them delighting in such inventions; +and a species of grotesqueness thence arising in all their +work, which is indeed one of its most valuable characteristics, +but which is so intimately connected with the sublime or terrible +form of the grotesque, that it will be better to notice it +under that head.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXII</span>. 2. Necessary play. I have dwelt much in a +former portion of this work, on the justice and desirableness +of employing the minds of inferior workmen, and of the lower +orders in general, in the production of objects of art of one +kind or another. So far as men of this class are compelled to +hard manual labor for their daily bread, so far forth their +artistical efforts must be rough and ignorant, and their artistical +perceptions comparatively dull. Now it is not possible, +with blunt perceptions and rude hands, to produce works +which shall be pleasing by their beauty; but it is perfectly +possible to produce such as shall be interesting by their character +or amusing by their satire. For one hard-working man +who possesses the finer instincts which decide on perfection of +lines and harmonies of color, twenty possess dry humor or +quaint fancy; not because these faculties were originally given +to the human race, or to any section of it, in greater degree +than the sense of beauty, but because these are exercised in +our daily intercourse with each other, and developed by the +interest which we take in the affairs of life, while the others +are not. And because, therefore, a certain degree of success will +probably attend the effort to express this humor or fancy, while +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page132"></a>132</span> +comparative failure will assuredly result from an ignorant +struggle to reach the forms of solemn beauty, the working-man, +who turns his attention partially to art, will probably, +and wisely, choose to do that which he can do best, and indulge +the pride of an effective satire rather than subject himself to +assured mortification in the pursuit of beauty; and this the +more, because we have seen that his application to art is to be +playful and recreative, and it is not in recreation that the conditions +of perfection can be fulfilled.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIII</span>. Now all the forms of art which result from the +comparatively recreative exertion of minds more or less blunted +or encumbered by other cares and toils, the art which we may +call generally art of the wayside, as opposed to that which is +the business of men’s lives, is, in the best sense of the word, +Grotesque. And it is noble or inferior, first, according to the +tone of the minds which have produced it, and in proportion +to their knowledge, wit, love of truth, and kindness; secondly, +according to the degree of strength they have been able to +give forth; but yet, however much we may find in it needing +to be forgiven, always delightful so long as it is the work of +good and ordinarily intelligent men. And its delightfulness +ought mainly to consist <i>in those very imperfections</i> which +mark it for work done in times of rest. It is not its own +merit so much as the enjoyment of him who produced it, +which is to be the source of the spectator’s pleasure; it is to +the strength of his sympathy, not to the accuracy of his criticism, +that it makes appeal; and no man can indeed be a lover +of what is best in the higher walks of art, who has not feeling +and charity enough to rejoice with the rude sportiveness of +hearts that have escaped out of prison, and to be thankful for +the flowers which men have laid their burdens down to sow by +the wayside.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIV</span>. And consider what a vast amount of human work +this right understanding of its meaning will make fruitful and +admirable to us, which otherwise we could only have passed +by with contempt. There is very little architecture in the +world which is, in the full sense of the words, good and noble. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page133"></a>133</span> +A few pieces of Italian Gothic and Romanesque, a few scattered +fragments of Gothic cathedrals, and perhaps two or +three of Greek temples, are all that we possess approaching +to an ideal of perfection. All the rest—Egyptian, Norman, +Arabian, and most Gothic, and, which is very noticeable, for +the most part all the strongest and mightiest—depend for their +power on some developement of the grotesque spirit; but +much more the inferior domestic architecture of the middle +ages, and what similar conditions remain to this day in countries +from which the life of art has not yet been banished by +its laws. The fantastic gables, built up in scroll-work and +steps, of the Flemish street; the pinnacled roofs set with +their small humorist double windows, as if with so many ears +and eyes, of Northern France; the blackened timbers, crossed +and carved into every conceivable waywardness of imagination, +of Normandy and old England; the rude hewing of the +pine timbers of the Swiss cottage; the projecting turrets and +bracketed oriels of the German street; these, and a thousand +other forms, not in themselves reaching any high degree of +excellence, are yet admirable, and most precious, as the fruits +of a rejoicing energy in uncultivated minds. It is easier to +take away the energy, than to add the cultivation; and the +only effect of the better knowledge which civilized nations +now possess, has been, as we have seen in a former chapter, +to forbid their being happy, without enabling them to be +great.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXV</span>. It is very necessary, however, with respect to this +provincial or rustic architecture, that we should carefully distinguish +its truly grotesque from its picturesque elements. In +the “Seven Lamps” I defined the picturesque to be “parasitical +sublimity,” or sublimity belonging to the external or accidental +characters of a thing, not to the thing itself. For +instance, when a highland cottage roof is covered with fragments +of shale instead of slates, it becomes picturesque, because +the irregularity and rude fractures of the rocks, and +their grey and gloomy color, give to it something of the +savageness, and much of the general aspect, of the slope of a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page134"></a>134</span> +mountain side. But as a mere cottage roof, it cannot be sublime, +and whatever sublimity it derives from the wildness or +sternness which the mountains have given it in its covering, +is, so far forth, parasitical. The mountain itself would have +been grand, which is much more than picturesque; but the +cottage cannot be grand as such, and the parasitical grandeur +which it may possess by accidental qualities, is the character +for which men have long agreed to use the inaccurate word +“Picturesque.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVI</span>. On the other hand, beauty cannot be parasitical. +There is nothing so small or so contemptible, but it may be +beautiful in its own right. The cottage may be beautiful, and +the smallest moss that grows on its roof, and the minutest +fibre of that moss which the microscope can raise into visible +form, and all of them in their own right, not less than the +mountains and the sky; so that we use no peculiar term to +express their beauty, however diminutive, but only when the +sublime element enters, without sufficient worthiness in the +nature of the thing to which it is attached.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVII</span>. Now this picturesque element, which is always +given, if by nothing else, merely by ruggedness, adds usually +very largely to the pleasurableness of grotesque work, especially +to that of its inferior kinds; but it is not for this reason +to be confounded with the grotesqueness itself. The knots +and rents of the timbers, the irregular lying of the shingles on +the roofs, the vigorous light and shadow, the fractures and +weather-stains of the old stones, which were so deeply loved +and so admirably rendered by our lost Prout, are the picturesque +elements of the architecture: the grotesque ones are +those which are not produced by the working of nature and +of time, but exclusively by the fancy of man; and, as also for +the most part by his indolent and uncultivated fancy, they are +always, in some degree, wanting in grandeur, unless the picturesque +element be united with them.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVIII</span>. 3. Inordinate play. The reader will have some +difficulty, I fear, in keeping clearly in his mind the various +divisions of our subject; but, when he has once read the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page135"></a>135</span> +chapter through, he will see their places and coherence. We +have next to consider the expression throughout of the minds +of men who indulge themselves in unnecessary play. It is +evident that a large number of these men will be more refined +and more highly educated than those who only play necessarily; +the power of pleasure-seeking implies, in general, fortunate +circumstances of life. It is evident also that their play +will not be so hearty, so simple, or so joyful; and this +deficiency of brightness will affect it in proportion to its +unnecessary and unlawful continuance, until at last it becomes +a restless and dissatisfied indulgence in excitement, or a painful +delving after exhausted springs of pleasure.</p> + +<p>The art through which this temper is expressed will, in all +probability, be refined and sensual,—therefore, also, assuredly +feeble; and because, in the failure of the joyful energy of the +mind, there will fail, also, its perceptions and its sympathies, +it will be entirely deficient in expression of character, and +acuteness of thought, but will be peculiarly restless, manifesting +its desire for excitement in idle changes of subject and +purpose. Incapable of true imagination, it will seek to supply +its place by exaggerations, incoherencies, and monstrosities; +and the form of the grotesque to which it gives rise +will be an incongruous chain of hackneyed graces, idly thrown +together,—prettinesses or sublimities, not of its own invention, +associated in forms which will be absurd without being +fantastic, and monstrous without being terrible. And because, +in the continual pursuit of pleasure, men lose both cheerfulness +and charity, there will be small hilarity, but much malice, +in this grotesque; yet a weak malice, incapable of expressing +its own bitterness, not having grasp enough of truth to +become forcible, and exhausting itself in impotent or disgusting +caricature.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIX</span>. Of course, there are infinite ranks and kinds of +this grotesque, according to the natural power of the minds +which originate it, and to the degree in which they have lost +themselves. Its highest condition is that which first developed +itself among the enervated Romans, and which was brought +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page136"></a>136</span> +to the highest perfection of which it was capable, by Raphael, +in the arabesques of the Vatican. It may be generally described +as an elaborate and luscious form of nonsense. Its +lower conditions are found in the common upholstery and +decorations which, over the whole of civilized Europe, have +sprung from this poisonous root; an artistical pottage, composed +of nymphs, cupids, and satyrs, with shreddings of heads +and paws of meek wild beasts, and nondescript vegetables. +And the lowest of all are those which have not even graceful +models to recommend them, but arise out of the corruption +of the higher schools, mingled with clownish or bestial satire, +as is the case in the latter Renaissance of Venice, which we +were above examining. It is almost impossible to believe the +depth to which the human mind can be debased in following +this species of grotesque. In a recent Italian garden, the +favorite ornaments frequently consist of stucco images, representing, +in dwarfish caricature, the most disgusting types of +manhood and womanhood which can be found amidst the +dissipation of the modern drawingroom; yet without either +veracity or humor, and dependent, for whatever interest they +possess, upon simple grossness of expression and absurdity of +costume. Grossness, of one kind or another, is, indeed, an +unfailing characteristic of the style; either latent, as in the +refined sensuality of the more graceful arabesques, or, in the +worst examples, manifested in every species of obscene conception +and abominable detail. In the head, described in the +opening of this chapter, at Santa Maria Formosa, the <i>teeth</i> are +represented as <i>decayed</i>.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XL</span>. 4. The minds of the fourth class of men who do not +play at all, are little likely to find expression in any trivial +form of art, except in bitterness of mockery; and this character +at once stamps the work in which it appears, as belonging +to the class of terrible, rather than of playful, grotesque. We +have, therefore, now to examine the state of mind which gave +rise to this second and more interesting branch of imaginative +work.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLI</span>. Two great and principal passions are evidently appointed +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page137"></a>137</span> +by the Deity to rule the life of man; namely, the love +of God, and the fear of sin, and of its companion—Death. +How many motives we have for Love, how much there is in +the universe to kindle our admiration and to claim our gratitude, +there are, happily, multitudes among us who both feel +and teach. But it has not, I think, been sufficiently considered +how evident, throughout the system of creation, is the purpose +of God that we should often be affected by Fear; not the sudden, +selfish, and contemptible fear of immediate danger, but +the fear which arises out of the contemplation of great powers +in destructive operation, and generally from the perception of +the presence of death. Nothing appears to me more remarkable +than the array of scenic magnificence by which the imagination +is appalled, in myriads of instances, when the actual +danger is comparatively small; so that the utmost possible +impression of awe shall be produced upon the minds of all, +though direct suffering is inflicted upon few. Consider, for +instance, the moral effect of a single thunder-storm. Perhaps +two or three persons may be struck dead within the space of a +hundred square miles; and their deaths, unaccompanied by +the scenery of the storm, would produce little more than a +momentary sadness in the busy hearts of living men. But +the preparation for the Judgment by all that mighty gathering +of clouds; by the questioning of the forest leaves, in their +terrified stillness, which way the winds shall go forth; by the +murmuring to each other, deep in the distance, of the destroying +angels before they draw forth their swords of fire; by the +march of the funeral darkness in the midst of the noon-day, +and the rattling of the dome of heaven beneath the chariot-wheels +of death;—on how many minds do not these produce +an impression almost as great as the actual witnessing of the +fatal issue! and how strangely are the expressions of the +threatening elements fitted to the apprehension of the human +soul! The lurid color, the long, irregular, convulsive sound, +the ghastly shapes of flaming and heaving cloud, are all as +true and faithful in their appeal to our instinct of danger, as +the moaning or wailing of the human voice itself is to our +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page138"></a>138</span> +instinct of pity. It is not a reasonable calculating terror which +they awake in us; it is no matter that we count distance by +seconds, and measure probability by averages. That shadow of +the thunder-cloud will still do its work upon our hearts, and +we shall watch its passing away as if we stood upon the +threshing-floor of Araunah.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLII</span>. And this is equally the case with respect to all the +other destructive phenomena of the universe. From the +mightiest of them to the gentlest, from the earthquake to the +summer shower, it will be found that they are attended by +certain aspects of threatening, which strike terror into the +hearts of multitudes more numerous a thousandfold than those +who actually suffer from the ministries of judgment; and +that, besides the fearfulness of these immediately dangerous +phenomena, there is an occult and subtle horror belonging to +many aspects of the creation around us, calculated often to fill +us with serious thought, even in our times of quietness and +peace. I understand not the most dangerous, because most +attractive form of modern infidelity, which, pretending to +exalt the beneficence of the Deity, degrades it into a reckless +infinitude of mercy, and blind obliteration of the work of sin; +and which does this chiefly by dwelling on the manifold appearances +of God’s kindness on the face of creation. Such +kindness is indeed everywhere and always visible; but not +alone. Wrath and threatening are invariably mingled with +the love; and in the utmost solitudes of nature, the existence +of Hell seems to me as legibly declared by a thousand spiritual +utterances, as that of Heaven. It is well for us to dwell with +thankfulness on the unfolding of the flower, and the falling of +the dew, and the sleep of the green fields in the sunshine; but +the blasted trunk, the barren rock, the moaning of the bleak +winds, the roar of the black, perilous, merciless whirlpools of +the mountain streams, the solemn solitudes of moors and seas, +the continual fading of all beauty into darkness, and of all +strength into dust, have these no language for us? We may +seek to escape their teaching by reasonings touching the good +which is wrought out of all evil; but it is vain sophistry. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page139"></a>139</span> +The good succeeds to the evil as day succeeds the night, but +so also the evil to the good. Gerizim and Ebal, birth and +death, light and darkness, heaven and hell, divide the existence +of man, and his Futurity.<a name="FnAnchor_39" href="#Footnote_39"><span class="sp">39</span></a></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLIII</span>. And because the thoughts of the choice we have +to make between these two, ought to rule us continually, not +so much in our own actions (for these should, for the most +part, be governed by settled habit and principle) as in our +manner of regarding the lives of other men, and our own +responsibilities with respect to them; therefore, it seems to +me that the healthiest state into which the human mind can +be brought is that which is capable of the greatest love, and +the greatest awe: and this we are taught even in our times +of rest; for when our minds are rightly in tone, the merely +pleasurable excitement which they seek with most avidity is +that which rises out of the contemplation of beauty or of terribleness. +We thirst for both, and, according to the height +and tone of our feeling, desire to see them in noble or inferior +forms. Thus there is a Divine beauty, and a terribleness or +sublimity coequal with it in rank, which are the subjects of +the highest art; and there is an inferior or ornamental beauty, +and an inferior terribleness coequal with it in rank, which are +the subjects of grotesque art. And the state of mind in which +the terrible form of the grotesque is developed, is that which +in some irregular manner, dwells upon certain conditions of +terribleness, into the complete depth of which it does not +enter for the time.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLIV</span>. Now the things which are the proper subjects of +human fear are twofold; those which have the power of +Death, and those which have the nature of Sin. Of which +there are many ranks, greater or less in power and vice, from +the evil angels themselves down to the serpent which is their +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page140"></a>140</span> +type, and which though of a low and contemptible class, +appears to unite the deathful and sinful natures in the most +clearly visible and intelligible form; for there is nothing else +which we know, of so small strength and occupying so unimportant +a place in the economy of creation, which yet is so +mortal and so malignant. It is, then, on these two classes of +objects that the mind fixes for its excitement, in that mood +which gives rise to the terrible grotesque; and its subject will +be found always to unite some expression of vice and danger, +but regarded in a peculiar temper; sometimes (<span class="scs">A</span>) of predetermined +or involuntary apathy, sometimes (<span class="scs">B</span>) of mockery, sometimes +(<span class="scs">C</span>) of diseased and ungoverned imaginativeness.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLV</span>. For observe, the difficulty which, as I above stated, +exists in distinguishing the playful from the terrible grotesque +arises out of this cause; that the mind, under certain phases +of excitement, <i>plays</i> with <i>terror</i>, and summons images which, +if it were in another temper, would be awful, but of which, +either in weariness or in irony, it refrains for the time to +acknowledge the true terribleness. And the mode in which +this refusal takes place distinguishes the noble from the ignoble +grotesque. For the master of the noble grotesque knows +the depth of all at which he seems to mock, and would feel +it at another time, or feels it in a certain undercurrent of +thought even while he jests with it; but the workman of the +ignoble grotesque can feel and understand nothing, and mocks +at all things with the laughter of the idiot and the cretin.</p> + +<p>To work out this distinction completely is the chief difficulty +in our present inquiry; and, in order to do so, let us +consider the above-named three conditions of mind in succession, +with relation to objects of terror.</p> + +<p>§ <i>XLVI</i>. (<span class="scs">A</span>). Involuntary or predetermined apathy. We +saw above that the grotesque was produced, chiefly in subordinate +or ornamental art, by rude, and in some degree uneducated +men, and in their times of rest. At such times, and in +such subordinate work, it is impossible that they should represent +any solemn or terrible subject with a full and serious +entrance into its feeling. It is not in the languor of a leisure +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page141"></a>141</span> +hour that a man will set his whole soul to conceive the means +of representing some important truth, nor to the projecting +angle of a timber bracket that he would trust its representation, +if conceived. And yet, in this languor, and in this +trivial work, he must find some expression of the serious part +of his soul, of what there is within him capable of awe, as well +as of love. The more noble the man is, the more impossible +it will be for him to confine his thoughts to mere loveliness, +and that of a low order. Were his powers and his time unlimited, +so that, like Frà Angelico, he could paint the Seraphim, +in that order of beauty he could find contentment, bringing +down heaven to earth. But by the conditions of his being, by +his hard-worked life, by his feeble powers of execution, by the +meanness of his employment and the languor of his heart, he +is bound down to earth. It is the world’s work that he is +doing, and world’s work is not to be done without fear. And +whatever there is of deep and eternal consciousness within +him, thrilling his mind with the sense of the presence of sin +and death around him, must be expressed in that slight work, +and feeble way, come of it what will. He cannot forget it, +among all that he sees of beautiful in nature; he may not +bury himself among the leaves of the violet on the rocks, and +of the lily in the glen, and twine out of them garlands of perpetual +gladness. He sees more in the earth than these,—misery +and wrath, and discordance, and danger, and all the work +of the dragon and his angels; this he sees with too deep feeling +ever to forget. And though when he returns to his idle +work,—it may be to gild the letters upon the page, or to carve +the timbers of the chamber, or the stones of the pinnacle,—he +cannot give his strength of thought any more to the woe or to +the danger, there is a shadow of them still present with him: +and as the bright colors mingle beneath his touch, and the fair +leaves and flowers grow at his bidding, strange horrors and +phantasms rise by their side; grisly beasts and venomous serpents, +and spectral fiends and nameless inconsistencies of ghastly +life, rising out of things most beautiful, and fading back into +them again, as the harm and the horror of life do out of its +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page142"></a>142</span> +happiness. He has seen these things; he wars with them +daily; he cannot but give them their part in his work, though +in a state of comparative apathy to them at the time. He is +but carving and gilding, and must not turn aside to weep; but +he knows that hell is burning on, for all that, and the smoke +of it withers his oak-leaves.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLVII</span>. Now, the feelings which give rise to the false or +ignoble grotesque, are exactly the reverse of these. In the +true grotesque, a man of naturally strong feeling is accidentally +or resolutely apathetic; in the false grotesque, a man naturally +apathetic is forcing himself into temporary excitement. The +horror which is expressed by the one, comes upon him whether +he will or not; that which is expressed by the other, is sought +out by him, and elaborated by his art. And therefore, also, +because the fear of the one is true, and of true things, however +fantastic its expression may be, there will be reality in it, and +force. It is not a manufactured terribleness, whose author, +when he had finished it, knew not if it would terrify any one +else or not: but it is a terribleness taken from the life; a +spectre which the workman indeed saw, and which, as it appalled +him, will appal us also. But the other workman never +felt any Divine fear; he never shuddered when he heard the +cry from the burning towers of the earth,</p> + +<p class="poemss">“Venga Medusa; sì lo farem di smalto.”</p> + +<p>He is stone already, and needs no gentle hand laid upon his +eyes to save him.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLVIII</span>. I do not mean what I say in this place to apply to +the creations of the imagination. It is not as the creating but +as the <i>seeing</i> man, that we are here contemplating the master +of the true grotesque. It is because the dreadfulness of the +universe around him weighs upon his heart, that his work is +wild; and therefore through the whole of it we shall find the +evidence of deep insight into nature. His beasts and birds, +however monstrous, will have profound relations with the true. +He may be an ignorant man, and little acquainted with the +laws of nature; he is certainly a busy man, and has not much +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page143"></a>143</span> +time to watch nature; but he never saw a serpent cross his +path, nor a bird flit across the sky, nor a lizard bask upon a +stone, without learning so much of the sublimity and inner +nature of each as will not suffer him thenceforth to conceive +them coldly. He may not be able to carve plumes or scales +well; but his creatures will bite and fly, for all that. The ignoble +workman is the very reverse of this. He never felt, +never looked at nature; and if he endeavor to imitate the +work of the other, all his touches will be made at random, and +all his extravagances will be ineffective; he may knit brows, +and twist lips, and lengthen beaks, and sharpen teeth, but it +will be all in vain. He may make his creatures disgusting, but +never fearful.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XLIX</span>. There is, however, often another cause of difference +than this. The true grotesque being the expression of the <i>repose</i> +or play of a <i>serious</i> mind, there is a false grotesque opposed +to it, which is the result of the <i>full exertion</i> of a <i>frivolous</i> +one. There is much grotesque which is wrought out with +exquisite care and pains, and as much labor given to it as if it +were of the noblest subject; so that the workman is evidently +no longer apathetic, and has no excuse for unconnectedness of +thought, or sudden unreasonable fear. If he awakens horror +now, it ought to be in some truly sublime form. His strength +is in his work; and he must not give way to sudden humor, +and fits of erratic fancy. If he does so, it must be because his +mind is naturally frivolous, or is for the time degraded into the +deliberate pursuit of frivolity. And herein lies the real distinction +between the base grotesque of Raphael and the Renaissance, +above alluded to, and the true Gothic grotesque. +Those grotesques or arabesques of the Vatican, and other such +work, which have become the patterns of ornamentation in +modern times, are the fruit of great minds degraded to base +objects. The care, skill, and science, applied to the distribution +of the leaves, and the drawing of the figures, are intense, +admirable, and accurate; therefore, they ought to have produced +a grand and serious work, not a tissue of nonsense. If +we can draw the human head perfectly, and are masters of its +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page144"></a>144</span> +expression and its beauty, we have no business to cut it off, and +hang it up by the hair at the end of a garland. If we can draw +the human body in the perfection of its grace and movement, +we have no business to take away its limbs, and terminate it +with a bunch of leaves. Or rather our doing so will imply +that there is something wrong with us; that, if we can consent +to use our best powers for such base and vain trifling, there +must be something wanting in the powers themselves; and +that, however skilful we may be, or however learned, we are +wanting both in the earnestness which can apprehend a noble +truth, and in the thoughtfulness which can feel a noble fear. +No Divine terror will ever be found in the work of the man +who wastes a colossal strength in elaborating toys; for the first +lesson which that terror is sent to teach us, is the value of the +human soul, and the shortness of mortal time.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">L</span>. And are we never, then, it will be asked, to possess a +refined or perfect ornamentation? Must all decoration be +the work of the ignorant and the rude? Not so; but exactly +in proportion as the ignorance and rudeness diminish, must the +ornamentation become rational, and the grotesqueness disappear. +The noblest lessons may be taught in ornamentation, +the most solemn truths compressed into it. The Book of +Genesis, in all the fulness of its incidents, in all the depth of +its meaning, is bound within the leaf-borders of the gates of +Ghiberti. But Raphael’s arabesque is mere elaborate idleness. +It has neither meaning nor heart in it; it is an unnatural and +monstrous abortion.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LI</span>. Now, this passing of the grotesque into higher art, as +the mind of the workman becomes informed with better knowledge, +and capable of more earnest exertion, takes place in two +ways. Either, as his power increases, he devotes himself more +and more to the beauty which he now feels himself able to express, +and so the grotesqueness expands, and softens into the +beautiful, as in the above-named instance of the gates of Ghiberti; +or else, if the mind of the workman be naturally inclined +to gloomy contemplation, the imperfection or apathy of his +work rises into nobler terribleness, until we reach the point of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page145"></a>145</span> +the grotesque of Albert Durer, where, every now and then, +the playfulness or apathy of the painter passes into perfect +sublime. Take the Adam and Eve, for instance. When he +gave Adam a bough to hold, with a parrot on it, and a tablet +hung to it, with “Albertus Durer Noricus faciebat, 1504,” +thereupon, his mind was not in Paradise. He was half in play, +half apathetic with respect to his subject, thinking how to do +his work well, as a wise master-graver, and how to receive his +just reward of fame. But he rose into the true sublime in the +head of Adam, and in the profound truthfulness of every creature +that fills the forest. So again in that magnificent coat of +arms, with the lady and the satyr, as he cast the fluttering +drapery hither and thither around the helmet, and wove the +delicate crown upon the woman’s forehead, he was in a kind of +play; but there is none in the dreadful skull upon the shield. +And in the “Knight and Death,” and in the dragons of the +illustrations to the Apocalypse, there is neither play nor +apathy; but their grotesque is of the ghastly kind which best +illustrates the nature of death and sin. And this leads us to +the consideration of the second state of mind out of which the +noble grotesque is developed; that is to say, the temper of +mockery.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LII.</span> (<span class="scs">B</span>). Mockery, or Satire. In the former part of this +chapter, when I spoke of the kinds of art which were produced +in the recreation of the lower orders, I only spoke of forms of +ornament, not of the expression of satire or humor. But it +seems probable, that nothing is so refreshing to the vulgar +mind as some exercise of this faculty, more especially on the +failings of their superiors; and that, wherever the lower orders +are allowed to express themselves freely, we shall find humor, +more or less caustic, becoming a principal feature in their work. +The classical and Renaissance manufacturers of modern times +having silenced the independent language of the operative, his +humor and satire pass away in the word-wit which has of late +become the especial study of the group of authors headed by +Charles Dickens; all this power was formerly thrown into noble +art, and became permanently expressed in the sculptures of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page146"></a>146</span> +the cathedral. It was never thought that there was anything +discordant or improper in such a position: for the builders +evidently felt very deeply a truth of which, in modern times, +we are less cognizant; that folly and sin are, to a certain extent, +synonymous, and that it would be well for mankind in +general, if all could be made to feel that wickedness is as contemptible +as it is hateful. So that the vices were permitted to +be represented under the most ridiculous forms, and all the +coarsest wit of the workman to be exhausted in completing +the degradation of the creatures supposed to be subjected to +them.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LIII</span>. Nor were even the supernatural powers of evil exempt +from this species of satire. For with whatever hatred or horror +the evil angels were regarded, it was one of the conditions of +Christianity that they should also be looked upon as vanquished; +and this not merely in their great combat with the King of +Saints, but in daily and hourly combats with the weakest of +His servants. In proportion to the narrowness of the powers +of abstract conception in the workman, the nobleness of the +idea of spiritual nature diminished, and the traditions of the +encounters of men with fiends in daily temptations were imagined +with less terrific circumstances, until the agencies which +in such warfare were almost always represented as vanquished +with disgrace, became, at last, as much the objects of contempt +as of terror.</p> + +<p>The superstitions which represented the devil as assuming +various contemptible forms of disguises in order to accomplish +his purposes aided this gradual degradation of conception, and +directed the study of the workman to the most strange and +ugly conditions of animal form, until at last, even in the most +serious subjects, the fiends are oftener ludicrous than terrible. +Nor, indeed, is this altogether avoidable, for it is not possible +to express intense wickedness without some condition of degradation. +Malice, subtlety, and pride, in their extreme, cannot +be written upon noble forms; and I am aware of no effort +to represent the Satanic mind in the angelic form, which has +succeeded in painting. Milton succeeds only because he separately +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page147"></a>147</span> +describes the movements of the mind, and therefore +leaves himself at liberty to make the form heroic; but that +form is never distinct enough to be painted. Dante, who will +not leave even external forms obscure, degrades them before +he can feel them to be demoniacal; so also John Bunyan: both +of them, I think, having firmer faith than Milton’s in their +own creations, and deeper insight into the nature of sin. Milton +makes his fiends too noble, and misses the foulness, inconstancy, +and fury of wickedness. His Satan possesses some virtues, +not the less virtues for being applied to evil purpose. +Courage, resolution, patience, deliberation in council, this latter +being eminently a wise and holy character, as opposed to +the “Insania” of excessive sin: and all this, if not a shallow +and false, is a smooth and artistical, conception. On the other +hand, I have always felt that there was a peculiar grandeur in +the indescribable, ungovernable fury of Dante’s fiends, ever +shortening its own powers, and disappointing its own purposes; +the deaf, blind, speechless, unspeakable rage, fierce as the lightning, +but erring from its mark or turning senselessly against +itself, and still further debased by foulness of form and action. +Something is indeed to be allowed for the rude feelings of the +time, but I believe all such men as Dante are sent into the +world at the time when they can do their work best; and that, +it being appointed for him to give to mankind the most vigorous +realization possible both of Hell and Heaven, he was born +both in the country and at the time which furnished the most +stern opposition of Horror and Beauty, and permitted it to be +written in the clearest terms. And, therefore, though there +are passages in the “Inferno” which it would be impossible for +any poet now to write, I look upon it as all the more perfect +for them. For there can be no question but that one characteristic +of excessive vice is indecency, a general baseness in +its thoughts and acts concerning the body,<a name="FnAnchor_40" href="#Footnote_40"><span class="sp">40</span></a> and that the full +portraiture of it cannot be given without marking, and that in +the strongest lines, this tendency to corporeal degradation; +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page148"></a>148</span> +which, in the time of Dante, could be done frankly, but cannot +now. And, therefore, I think the twenty-first and twenty-second +books of the “Inferno” the most perfect portraitures +of fiendish nature which we possess; and at the same time, in +their mingling of the extreme of horror (for it seems to me +that the silent swiftness of the first demon, “con l’ali aperte e +sovra i pie leggiero,” cannot be surpassed in dreadfulness) with +ludicrous actions and images, they present the most perfect instances +with which I am acquainted of the terrible grotesque. +But the whole of the “Inferno” is full of this grotesque, as +well as the “Faërie Queen;” and these two poems, together +with the works of Albert Durer, will enable the reader to study +it in its noblest forms, without reference to Gothic cathedrals.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LIV.</span> Now, just as there are base and noble conditions of +the apathetic grotesque, so also are there of this satirical grotesque. +The condition which might be mistaken for it is that +above described as resulting from the malice of men given to +pleasure, and in which the grossness and foulness are in the +workman as much as in his subject, so that he chooses to represent +vice and disease rather than virtue and beauty, having his +chief delight in contemplating them; though he still mocks at +them with such dull wit as may be in him, because, as Young +has said most truly,</p> + +<p class="poemss">“’Tis not in folly not to scorn a fool.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LV.</span> Now it is easy to distinguish this grotesque from its +noble counterpart, by merely observing whether any forms of +beauty or dignity are mingled with it or not; for, of course, +the noble grotesque is only employed by its master for good +purposes, and to contrast with beauty: but the base workman +cannot conceive anything but what is base; and there will be +no loveliness in any part of his work, or, at the best, a loveliness +measured by line and rule, and dependent on legal shapes +of feature. But, without resorting to this test, and merely by +examining the ugly grotesque itself, it will be found that, if it +belongs to the base school, there will be, first, no Horror in it; +secondly, no Nature in it; and, thirdly, no Mercy in it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page149"></a>149</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LVI.</span> I say, first, no Horror. For the base soul has no +fear of sin, and no hatred of it: and, however it may strive to +make its work terrible, there will be no genuineness in the +fear; the utmost it can do will be to make its work disgusting.</p> + +<p>Secondly, there will be no Nature in it. It appears to be +one of the ends proposed by Providence in the appointment +of the forms of the brute creation, that the various vices to +which mankind are liable should be severally expressed in +them so distinctly and clearly as that men could not but understand +the lesson; while yet these conditions of vice might, in +the inferior animal, be observed without the disgust and hatred +which the same vices would excite, if seen in men, and might +be associated with features of interest which would otherwise +attract and reward contemplation. Thus, ferocity, cunning, +sloth, discontent, gluttony, uncleanness, and cruelty are seen, +each in its extreme, in various animals; and are so vigorously +expressed, that when men desire to indicate the same vices in +connexion with human forms, they can do it no better than +by borrowing here and there the features of animals. And +when the workman is thus led to the contemplation of the +animal kingdom, finding therein the expressions of vice which +he needs, associated with power, and nobleness, and freedom +from disease, if his mind be of right tone he becomes interested +in this new study; and all noble grotesque is, therefore, +full of the most admirable rendering of animal character. But +the ignoble workman is capable of no interest of this kind; +and, being too dull to appreciate, and too idle to execute, the +subtle and wonderful lines on which the expression of the +lower animal depends, he contents himself with vulgar exaggeration, +and leaves his work as false as it is monstrous, a mass +of blunt malice and obscene ignorance.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LVII.</span> Lastly, there will be no Mercy in it. Wherever +the satire of the noble grotesque fixes upon human nature, it +does so with much sorrow mingled amidst its indignation: in +its highest forms there is an infinite tenderness, like that of +the fool in Lear; and even in its more heedless or bitter sarcasm, +it never loses sight altogether of the better nature of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page150"></a>150</span> +what it attacks, nor refuses to acknowledge its redeeming or +pardonable features. But the ignoble grotesque has no pity: +it rejoices in iniquity, and exists only to slander.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LVIII</span>. I have not space to follow out the various forms of +transition which exist between the two extremes of great +and base in the satirical grotesque. The reader must always +remember, that, although there is an infinite distance between +the best and worst, in this kind the interval is filled by endless +conditions more or less inclining to the evil or the good; impurity +and malice stealing gradually into the nobler forms, +and invention and wit elevating the lower, according to the +countless minglings of the elements of the human soul.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LIX</span>. (<span class="scs">C</span>). Ungovernableness of the imagination. The +reader is always to keep in mind that if the objects of horror, +in which the terrible grotesque finds its materials, were contemplated +in their true light, and with the entire energy of +the soul, they would cease to be grotesque, and become altogether +sublime; and that therefore it is some shortening of +the power, or the will, of contemplation, and some consequent +distortion of the terrible image in which the grotesqueness +consists. Now this distortion takes place, it was above +asserted, in three ways: either through apathy, satire, or +ungovernableness of imagination. It is this last cause of the +grotesque which we have finally to consider; namely, the +error and wildness of the mental impressions, caused by fear +operating upon strong powers of imagination, or by the failure +of the human faculties in the endeavor to grasp the highest +truths.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LX</span>. The grotesque which comes to all men in a disturbed +dream is the most intelligible example of this kind, but also +the most ignoble; the imagination, in this instance, being +entirely deprived of all aid from reason, and incapable of self-government. +I believe, however, that the noblest forms of +imaginative power are also in some sort ungovernable, and +have in them something of the character of dreams; so that +the vision, of whatever kind, comes uncalled, and will not +submit itself to the seer, but conquers him, and forces him to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page151"></a>151</span> +speak as a prophet, having no power over his words or +thoughts.<a name="FnAnchor_41" href="#Footnote_41"><span class="sp">41</span></a> Only, if the whole man be trained perfectly, and +his mind calm, consistent and powerful, the vision which +comes to him is seen as in a perfect mirror, serenely, and in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page152"></a>152</span> +consistence with the rational powers; but if the mind be +imperfect and ill trained, the vision is seen as in a broken +mirror, with strange distortions and discrepancies, all the passions +of the heart breathing upon it in cross ripples, till hardly +a trace of it remains unbroken. So that, strictly speaking, +the imagination is never governed; it is always the ruling +and Divine power: and the rest of the man is to it only as an +instrument which it sounds, or a tablet on which it writes; +clearly and sublimely if the wax be smooth and the strings +true, grotesquely and wildly if they are stained and broken. +And thus the “Iliad,” the “Inferno,” the “Pilgrim’s Progress,” +the “Faërie Queen,” are all of them true dreams; +only the sleep of the men to whom they came was the deep, +living sleep which God sends, with a sacredness in it, as of +death, the revealer of secrets.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXI</span>. Now, observe in this matter, carefully, the difference +between a dim mirror and a distorted one; and do not blame +me for pressing the analogy too far, for it will enable me to +explain my meaning every way more clearly. Most men’s +minds are dim mirrors, in which all truth is seen, as St. Paul +tells us, darkly: this is the fault most common and most fatal; +dulness of the heart and mistiness of sight, increasing to utter +hardness and blindness; Satan breathing upon the glass, so +that if we do not sweep the mist laboriously away, it will take +no image. But, even so far as we are able to do this, we have +still the distortion to fear, yet not to the same extent, for we +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page153"></a>153</span> +can in some sort allow for the distortion of an image, if only +we can see it clearly. And the fallen human soul, at its best, +must be as a diminishing glass, and that a broken one, to the +mighty truths of the universe round it; and the wider the +scope of its glance, and the vaster the truths into which it +obtains an insight, the more fantastic their distortion is likely +to be, as the winds and vapors trouble the field of the telescope +most when it reaches farthest.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXII</span>. Now, so far as the truth is seen by the imagination<a name="FnAnchor_42" href="#Footnote_42"><span class="sp">42</span></a> +in its wholeness and quietness, the vision is sublime; but so +far as it is narrowed and broken by the inconsistencies of the +human capacity, it becomes grotesque; and it would seem to +be rare that any very exalted truth should be impressed on the +imagination without some grotesqueness in its aspect, proportioned +to the degree of <i>diminution of breadth</i> in the grasp +which is given of it. Nearly all the dreams recorded in the +Bible,—Jacob’s, Joseph’s, Pharaoh’s, Nebuchadnezzar’s,—are +grotesques; and nearly the whole of the accessary scenery in +the books of Ezekiel and the Apocalypse. Thus, Jacob’s +dream revealed to him the ministry of angels; but because +this ministry could not be seen or understood by him in its +fulness, it was narrowed to him into a ladder between heaven +and earth, which was a grotesque. Joseph’s two dreams were +evidently intended to be signs of the steadfastness of the +Divine purpose towards him, by possessing the clearness of +special prophecy; yet were couched in such imagery, as not +to inform him prematurely of his destiny, and only to be +understood after their fulfilment. The sun, and moon, and +stars were at the period, and are indeed throughout the Bible, +the symbols of high authority. It was not revealed to Joseph +that he should be lord over all Egypt; but the representation +of his family by symbols of the most magnificent dominion, +and yet as subject to him, must have been afterwards felt by +him as a distinctly prophetic indication of his own supreme +power. It was not revealed to him that the occasion of his +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page154"></a>154</span> +brethren’s special humiliation before him should be their coming +to buy corn; but when the event took place, must he not +have felt that there was prophetic purpose in the form of the +sheaves of wheat which first imaged forth their subjection to +him? And these two images of the sun doing obeisance, and +the sheaves bowing down,—narrowed and imperfect intimations +of great truth which yet could not be otherwise conveyed,—are +both grotesque. The kine of Pharaoh eating +each other, the gold and clay of Nebuchadnezzar’s image, the +four beasts full of eyes, and other imagery of Ezekiel and the +Apocalypse, are grotesques of the same kind, on which I need +not further insist.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXIII</span>. Such forms, however, ought perhaps to have been +arranged under a separate head, as Symbolical Grotesque; but +the element of awe enters into them so strongly, as to justify, +for all our present purposes, their being classed with the other +varieties of terrible grotesque. For even if the symbolic +vision itself be not terrible, the sense of what may be veiled +behind it becomes all the more awful in proportion to the +insignificance or strangeness of the sign itself; and, I believe, +this thrill of mingled doubt, fear, and curiosity lies at the very +root of the delight which mankind take in symbolism. It was +not an accidental necessity for the conveyance of truth by +pictures instead of words, which led to its universal adoption +wherever art was on the advance; but the Divine fear which +necessarily follows on the understanding that a thing is other +and greater than it seems; and which, it appears probable, +has been rendered peculiarly attractive to the human heart, +because God would have us understand that this is true not +of invented symbols merely, but of all things amidst which +we live; that there is a deeper meaning within them than eye +hath seen, or ear hath heard; and that the whole visible creation +is a mere perishable symbol of things eternal and true. +It cannot but have been sometimes a subject of wonder with +thoughtful men, how fondly, age after age, the Church has +cherished the belief that the four living creatures which surrounded +the Apocalyptic throne were symbols of the four +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page155"></a>155</span> +Evangelists, and rejoiced to use those forms in its picture-teaching; +that a calf, a lion, an eagle, and a beast with a +man’s face, should in all ages have been preferred by the +Christian world, as expressive of Evangelistic power and inspiration, +to the majesty of human forms; and that quaint +grotesques, awkward and often ludicrous caricatures even of +the animals represented, should have been regarded by all men, +not only with contentment, but with awe, and have superseded +all endeavors to represent the characters and persons of the +Evangelistic writers themselves (except in a few instances, +confined principally to works undertaken without a definite +religious purpose);—this, I say, might appear more than +strange to us, were it not that we ourselves share the awe, +and are still satisfied with the symbol, and that justly. For, +whether we are conscious of it or not, there is in our hearts, +as we gaze upon the brutal forms that have so holy a signification, +an acknowledgment that it was not Matthew, nor +Mark, nor Luke, nor John, in whom the Gospel of Christ +was unsealed: but that the invisible things of Him from the +beginning of the creation are clearly seen, being understood +by the things that are made; that the whole world, and all +that is therein, be it low or high, great or small, is a continual +Gospel; and that as the heathen, in their alienation from God, +changed His glory into an image made like unto corruptible +man, and to birds, and four-footed beasts, the Christian, in his +approach to God, is to undo this work, and to change the corruptible +things into the image of His glory; believing that +there is nothing so base in creation, but that our faith may +give it wings which shall raise us into companionship with +heaven; and that, on the other hand, there is nothing so great +or so goodly in creation, but that it is a mean symbol of the +Gospel of Christ, and of the things He has prepared for them +that love Him.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXIV</span>. And it is easy to understand, if we follow out this +thought, how, when once the symbolic language was familiarized +to the mind, and its solemnity felt in all its fulness, there +was no likelihood of offence being taken at any repulsive or +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page156"></a>156</span> +feeble characters in execution or conception. There was no +form so mean, no incident so commonplace, but, if regarded +in this light, it might become sublime; the more vigorous the +fancy and the more faithful the enthusiasm, the greater would +be the likelihood of their delighting in the contemplation of +symbols whose mystery was enhanced by apparent insignificance, +or in which the sanctity and majesty of meaning were +contrasted with the utmost uncouthness of external form: nor +with uncouthness merely, but even with every appearance of +malignity or baseness; the beholder not being revolted even +by this, but comprehending that, as the seeming evil in the +framework of creation did not invalidate its Divine authorship, +so neither did the evil or imperfection in the symbol +invalidate its Divine message. And thus, sometimes, the +designer at last became wanton in his appeal to the piety of +his interpreter, and recklessly poured out the impurity and +the savageness of his own heart, for the mere pleasure of seeing +them overlaid with the fine gold of the sanctuary, by the religion +of their beholder.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXV</span>. It is not, however, in every symbolical subject that +the fearful grotesque becomes embodied to the full. The +element of distortion which affects the intellect when dealing +with subjects above its proper capacity, is as nothing compared +with that which it sustains from the direct impressions of +terror. It is the trembling of the human soul in the presence +of death which most of all disturbs the images on the intellectual +mirror, and invests them with the fitfulness and ghastliness +of dreams. And from the contemplation of death, and +of the pangs which follow his footsteps, arise in men’s hearts +the troop of strange and irresistible superstitions which, more +or less melancholy or majestic according to the dignity of the +mind they impress, are yet never without a certain grotesqueness, +following on the paralysis of the reason and over-excitement +of the fancy. I do not mean to deny the actual existence +of spiritual manifestations; I have never weighed the +evidence upon the subject; but with these, if such exist, we +are not here concerned. The grotesque which we are examining +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page157"></a>157</span> +arises out of that condition of mind which appears to follow +naturally upon the contemplation of death, and in which +the fancy is brought into morbid action by terror, <span class="correction" title="changed from accompained">accompanied</span> +by the belief in spiritual presence, and in the possibility +of spiritual apparition. Hence are developed its most sublime, +because its least voluntary, creations, aided by the fearfulness of +the phenomena of nature which are in any wise the ministers +of death, and primarily directed by the peculiar ghastliness of +expression in the skeleton, itself a species of terrible grotesque +in its relation to the perfect human frame.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXVI</span>. Thus, first born from the dusty and dreadful whiteness +of the charnel house, but softened in their forms by the +holiest of human affections, went forth the troop of wild and +wonderful images, seen through tears, that had the mastery +over our Northern hearts for so many ages. The powers of +sudden destruction lurking in the woods and waters, in the +rocks and clouds;—kelpie and gnome, Lurlei and Hartz +spirits; the wraith and foreboding phantom; the spectra of +second sight; the various conceptions of avenging or tormented +ghost, haunting the perpetrator of crime, or expiating +its commission; and the half fictitious and contemplative, half +visionary and believed images of the presence of death itself, +doing its daily work in the chambers of sickness and sin, and +waiting for its hour in the fortalices of strength and the high +places of pleasure;—these, partly degrading us by the instinctive +and paralyzing terror with which they are attended, and +partly ennobling us by leading our thoughts to dwell in the +eternal world, fill the last and the most important circle in +that great kingdom of dark and distorted power, of which we all +must be in some sort the subjects until mortality shall be swallowed +up of life; until the waters of the last fordless river +cease to roll their untransparent volume between us and the +light of heaven, and neither death stand between us and our +brethren, nor symbols between us and our God.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXVII</span>. We have now, I believe, obtained a view approaching +to completeness of the various branches of human +feeling which are concerned in the developement of this peculiar +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page158"></a>158</span> +form of art. It remains for us only to note, as briefly as +possible, what facts in the actual history of the grotesque bear +upon our immediate subject.</p> + +<p>From what we have seen to be its nature, we must, I think, +be led to one most important conclusion; that wherever the +human mind is healthy and vigorous in all its proportions, +great in imagination and emotion no less than in intellect, and +not overborne by an undue or hardened preëminence of the +mere reasoning faculties, there the grotesque will exist in full +energy. And, accordingly, I believe that there is no test of +greatness in periods, nations, or men, more sure than the +developement, among them or in them, of a noble grotesque, +and no test of comparative smallness or limitation, of one kind +or another, more sure than the absence of grotesque invention, +or incapability of understanding it. I think that the central +man of all the world, as representing in perfect balance the +imaginative, moral, and intellectual faculties, all at their +highest, is Dante; and in him the grotesque reaches at once +the most distinct and the most noble developement to which it +was ever brought in the human mind. The two other greatest +men whom Italy has produced, Michael Angelo and Tintoret, +show the same element in no less original strength, but oppressed +in the one by his science, and in both by the spirit of +the age in which they lived; never, however, absent even in +Michael Angelo, but stealing forth continually in a strange +and spectral way, lurking in folds of raiment and knots of +wild hair, and mountainous confusions of craggy limb and +cloudy drapery; and, in Tintoret, ruling the entire conceptions +of his greatest works to such a degree that they are an +enigma or an offence, even to this day, to all the petty disciples +of a formal criticism. Of the grotesque in our own +Shakspeare I need hardly speak, nor of its intolerableness to +his French critics; nor of that of Æschylus and Homer, as +opposed to the lower Greek writers; and so I believe it will +be found, at all periods, in all minds of the first order.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXVIII</span>. As an index of the greatness of nations, it is a less +certain test, or, rather, we are not so well agreed on the meaning +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page159"></a>159</span> +of the term “greatness” respecting them. A nation may +produce a great effect, and take up a high place in the world’s +history, by the temporary enthusiasm or fury of its multitudes, +without being truly great; or, on the other hand, the discipline +of morality and common sense may extend its physical +power or exalt its well-being, while yet its creative and +imaginative powers are continually diminishing. And again: +a people may take so definite a lead over all the rest of the +world in one direction, as to obtain a respect which is not +justly due to them if judged on universal grounds. Thus the +Greeks perfected the sculpture of the human body; threw +their literature into a disciplined form, which has given it a +peculiar power over certain conditions of modern mind; and +were the most carefully educated race that the world has seen; +but a few years hence, I believe, we shall no longer think +them a greater people than either the Egyptians or Assyrians.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXIX</span>. If, then, ridding ourselves as far as possible of prejudices +owing merely to the school-teaching which remains +from the system of the Renaissance, we set ourselves to discover +in what races the human soul, taken all in all, reached +its highest magnificence, we shall find, I believe, two great +families of men, one of the East and South, the other of the +West and North: the one including the Egyptians, Jews, +Arabians, Assyrians, and Persians; the other, I know not +whence derived, but seeming to flow forth from Scandinavia, +and filling the whole of Europe with its Norman and Gothic +energy. And in both these families, wherever they are seen +in their utmost nobleness, there the grotesque is developed in +its utmost energy; and I hardly know whether most to admire +the winged bulls of Nineveh, or the winged dragons of +Verona.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXX</span>. The reader who has not before turned his attention +to this subject may, however, at first have some difficulty in +distinguishing between the noble grotesque of these great +nations, and the barbarous grotesque of mere savages, as seen +in the work of the Hindoo and other Indian nations; or, more +grossly still, in that of the complete savage of the Pacific +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page160"></a>160</span> +islands; or if, as is to be hoped, he instinctively feels the difference, +he may yet find difficulty in determining wherein +that difference consists. But he will discover, on consideration, +that the noble grotesque <i>involves the true appreciation +of beauty</i>, though the mind may wilfully turn to other images +or the hand resolutely stop short of the perfection which it +must fail, if it endeavored, to reach; while the grotesque of +the Sandwich islander involves no perception or imagination +of anything above itself. He will find that in the exact proportion +in which the grotesque results from an incapability of +perceiving beauty, it becomes savage or barbarous; and that +there are many stages of progress to be found in it even in its +best times, much truly savage grotesque occurring in the fine +Gothic periods, mingled with the other forms of the ignoble +grotesque resulting from vicious inclinations or base sportiveness. +Nothing is more mysterious in the history of the human +mind, than the manner in which gross and ludicrous images +are mingled with the most solemn subjects in the work of +the middle ages, whether of sculpture or illumination; and +although, in great part, such incongruities are to be accounted +for on the various principles which I have above endeavored +to define, in many instances they are clearly the result of vice +and sensuality. The general greatness of seriousness of an +age does not effect the restoration of human nature; and it +would be strange, if, in the midst of the art even of the best +periods, when that art was entrusted to myriads of workmen, +we found no manifestations of impiety, folly, or impurity.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXI</span>. It needs only to be added that in the noble grotesque, +as it is partly the result of a morbid state of the imaginative +power, that power itself will be always seen in a high degree; +and that therefore our power of judging of the rank of a +grotesque work will depend on the degree in which we are +in general sensible of the presence of invention. The reader +may partly test this power in himself by referring to the +Plate given in the opening of this chapter, in which, on the +left, is a piece of noble and inventive grotesque, a head of the +lion-symbol of St. Mark, from the Veronese Gothic; the other +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page161"></a>161</span> +is a head introduced as a boss on the foundation of the Palazzo +Corner della Regina at Venice, utterly devoid of invention, +made merely monstrous by exaggerations of the eyeballs and +cheeks, and generally characteristic of that late Renaissance +grotesque of Venice, with which we are at present more immediately +concerned.<a name="FnAnchor_43" href="#Footnote_43"><span class="sp">43</span></a></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXII</span>. The developement of that grotesque took place +under different laws from those which regulate it in any other +European city. For, great as we have seen the Byzantine +mind show itself to be in other directions, it was marked as +that of a declining nation by the absence of the grotesque element; +and, owing to its influence, the early Venetian Gothic +remained inferior to all other schools in this particular character. +Nothing can well be more wonderful than its instant +failure in any attempt at the representation of ludicrous or +fearful images, more especially when it is compared with the +magnificent grotesque of the neighboring city of Verona, in +which the Lombard influence had full sway. Nor was it until +the last links of connexion with Constantinople had been dissolved, +that the strength of the Venetian mind could manifest +itself in this direction. But it had then a new enemy to +encounter. The Renaissance laws altogether checked its imagination +in architecture; and it could only obtain permission +to express itself by starting forth in the work of the Venetian +painters, filling them with monkeys and dwarfs, even amidst +the most serious subjects, and leading Veronese and Tintoret +to the most unexpected and wild fantasies of form and color.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXIII</span>. We may be deeply thankful for this peculiar reserve +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page162"></a>162</span> +of the Gothic grotesque character to the last days of +Venice. All over the rest of Europe it had been strongest in +the days of imperfect art; magnificently powerful throughout +the whole of the thirteenth century, tamed gradually in the +fourteenth and fifteenth, and expiring in the sixteenth amidst +anatomy and laws of art. But at Venice, it had not been received +when it was elsewhere in triumph, and it fled to the +lagoons for shelter when elsewhere it was oppressed. And it +was arrayed by the Venetian painters in robes of state, and +advanced by them to such honor as it had never received in its +days of widest dominion; while, in return, it bestowed upon +their pictures that fulness, piquancy, decision of parts, and +mosaic-like intermingling of fancies, alternately brilliant and +sublime, which were exactly what was most needed for the developement +of their unapproachable color-power.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXIV</span>. Yet, observe, it by no means follows that because +the grotesque does not appear in the art of a nation, the sense +of it does not exist in the national mind. Except in the form +of caricature, it is hardly traceable in the English work of the +present day; but the minds of our workmen are full of it, if +we would only allow them to give it shape. They express it +daily in gesture and gibe, but are not allowed to do so where +it would be useful. In like manner, though the Byzantine +influence repressed it in the early Venetian architecture, it was +always present in the Venetian mind, and showed itself in +various forms of national custom and festival; <i>acted</i> grotesques, +full of wit, feeling, and good-humor. The ceremony of the +hat and the orange, described in the beginning of this chapter, +is one instance out of multitudes. Another, more rude, and +exceedingly characteristic, was that instituted in the twelfth +century in memorial of the submission of Woldaric, the patriarch +of Aquileia, who, having taken up arms against the +patriarch of Grado, and being defeated and taken prisoner by the +Venetians, was sentenced, not to death, but to send every year +on “Fat Thursday” sixty-two large loaves, twelve fat pigs, and +a bull, to the Doge; the bull being understood to represent the +patriarch, and the twelve pigs his clergy: and the ceremonies +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page163"></a>163</span> +of the day consisting in the decapitation of these representatives, +and a distribution of their joints among the senators; +together with a symbolic record of the attack upon Aquileia, +by the erection of a wooden castle in the rooms of the Ducal +Palace, which the <i>Doge and the Senate</i> attacked and demolished +with clubs. As long as the Doge and the Senate were +truly kingly and noble, they were content to let this ceremony +be continued; but when they became proud and selfish, and +were destroying both themselves and the state by their luxury, +they found it inconsistent with their dignity, and it was abolished, +as far as the Senate was concerned, in 1549.<a name="FnAnchor_44" href="#Footnote_44"><span class="sp">44</span></a></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXV</span>. By these and other similar manifestations, the grotesque +spirit is traceable through all the strength of the Venetian +people. But again: it is necessary that we should carefully +distinguish between it and the spirit of mere levity. I said, +in the fifth chapter, that the Venetians were distinctively a +serious people, serious, that is to say, in the sense in which the +English are a more serious people than the French; though +the habitual intercourse of our lower classes in London has a +tone of humor in it which I believe is untraceable in that of +the Parisian populace. It is one thing to indulge in playful +rest, and another to be devoted to the pursuit of pleasure: and +gaiety of heart during the reaction after hard labor, and quickened +by satisfaction in the accomplished duty or perfected +result, is altogether compatible with, nay, even in some sort +arises naturally out of, a deep internal seriousness of disposition; +this latter being exactly the condition of mind which, +as we have seen, leads to the richest developements of the playful +grotesque; while, on the contrary, the continual pursuit of +pleasure deprives the soul of all alacrity and elasticity, and +leaves it incapable of happy jesting, capable only of that which +is bitter, base, and foolish. Thus, throughout the whole of the +early career of the Venetians, though there is much jesting, +there is no levity; on the contrary there is an intense earnestness +both in their pursuit of commercial and political successes, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page164"></a>164</span> +and in their devotion to religion,<a name="FnAnchor_45" href="#Footnote_45"><span class="sp">45</span></a> which led gradually to the +formation of that highly wrought mingling of immovable resolution +with secret thoughtfulness, which so strangely, sometimes +so darkly, distinguishes the Venetian character at the +time of their highest power, when the seriousness was left, but +the conscientiousness destroyed. And if there be any one sign +by which the Venetian countenance, as it is recorded for us, to +the very life, by a school of portraiture which has never been +equalled (chiefly because no portraiture ever had subjects so +noble),—I say, if there be one thing more notable than another +in the Venetian features, it is this deep pensiveness and solemnity. +In other districts of Italy, the dignity of the heads +which occur in the most celebrated compositions is clearly +owing to the feeling of the painter. He has visibly raised or +idealized his models, and appears always to be veiling the faults +or failings of the human nature around him, so that the best +of his work is that which has most perfectly taken the color of +his own mind; and the least impressive, if not the least valuable, +that which appears to have been unaffected and unmodified +portraiture. But at Venice, all is exactly the reverse of this. +The tone of mind in the painter appears often in some degree +frivolous or sensual; delighting in costume, in domestic and +grotesque incident, and in studies of the naked form. But +the moment he gives himself definitely to portraiture, all is +noble and grave; the more literally true his work, the more +majestic; and the same artist who will produce little beyond +what is commonplace in painting a Madonna or an apostle, will +rise into unapproachable sublimity when his subject is a member +of the Forty, or a Master of the Mint.</p> + +<p>Such, then, were the general tone and progress of the +Venetian mind, up to the close of the seventeenth century. +First, serious, religious, and sincere; then, though serious still, +comparatively deprived of conscientiousness, and apt to decline +into stern and subtle policy: in the first case, the spirit of the +noble grotesque not showing itself in art at all, but only in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page165"></a>165</span> +speech and action; in the second case, developing itself in +painting, through accessories and vivacities of composition, +while perfect dignity was always preserved in portraiture. A +third phase rapidly developed itself.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">LXXVI</span>. Once more, and for the last time, let me refer the +reader to the important epoch of the death of the Doge +Tomaso Mocenigo in 1423, long ago indicated as the commencement +of the decline of the Venetian power. That commencement +is marked, not merely by the words of the dying Prince, +but by a great and clearly legible sign. It is recorded, that +on the accession of his successor, Foscari, to the throne, “<span class="sc">Si +festeggio dalla citta uno anno intero</span>:” “The city kept +festival for a whole year.” Venice had in her childhood sown, +in tears, the harvest she was to reap in rejoicing. She now +sowed in laughter the seeds of death.</p> + +<p>Thenceforward, year after year, the nation drank with +deeper thirst from the fountains of forbidden pleasure, and +dug for springs, hitherto unknown, in the dark places of the +earth. In the ingenuity of indulgence, in the varieties of +vanity, Venice surpassed the cities of Christendom, as of old +she surpassed them in fortitude and devotion; and as once the +powers of Europe stood before her judgment-seat, to receive +the decisions of her justice, so now the youth of Europe assembled +in the halls of her luxury, to learn from her the arts of +delight.</p> + +<p>It is as needless, as it is painful, to trace the steps of her +final ruin. That ancient curse was upon her, the curse of the +cities of the plain, “Pride, fulness of bread, and abundance of +idleness.” By the inner burning of her own passions, as fatal +as the fiery reign of Gomorrah, she was consumed from her +place among the nations; and her ashes are choking the channels +of the dead salt sea.</p> + + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_27" href="#FnAnchor_27"><span class="fn">27</span></a> Mutinelli, Annali Urbani, lib. i. p. 24; and the Chronicle of 1738, +quoted by Galliciolli: “attrovandosi allora la giesia de Sta. Maria Formosa +sola giesia del nome della gloriosa Vergine Maria.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_28" href="#FnAnchor_28"><span class="fn">28</span></a> Or from the brightness of the cloud, according to the Padre who +arranged the “Memorie delle Chiese di Venezia,” vol. iii. p. 7. Compare +Corner, p. 42. This first church was built in 639.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_29" href="#FnAnchor_29"><span class="fn">29</span></a> Perhaps both Corner and the Padre founded their diluted information +on the short sentence of Sansovino: “Finalmente, l’anno 1075, fu ridotta +a perfezione da Paolo Barbetta, sul modello del corpo di mezzo della chiesa +di S. Marco.” Sansovino, however, gives 842, instead of 864, as the date +of the first rebuilding.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_30" href="#FnAnchor_30"><span class="fn">30</span></a> Or at least for its principal families. Vide <a href="#app_8">Appendix 8</a>, “Early Venetian +Marriages.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_31" href="#FnAnchor_31"><span class="fn">31</span></a> “Nazionale quasi la ceremonia, perciocche per essa nuovi difensori ad +acquistar andava la patria, sostegni nuovi le leggi, la Liberta.”—<i>Mutinelli.</i></p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_32" href="#FnAnchor_32"><span class="fn">32</span></a> “Vestita, <i>per antico uso</i>, di bianco, e con chiome sparse giù per le +spalle, conteste con fila d’oro.” “Dressed according to ancient usage in +white, and with her hair thrown down upon her shoulders, interwoven with +threads of gold.” This was when she was first brought out of her chamber +to be seen by the guests invited to the espousals. “And when the form of +the espousal has been gone through, she is led, to the sound of pipes and +trumpets, and other musical instruments, round the room, <i>dancing serenely +all the time, and bowing herself before the guests</i> (ballando placidamente, e +facendo inchini ai convitati); and so she returns to her chamber: and when +other guests have arrived, she again comes forth, and makes the circuit of +the chamber. And this is repeated for an hour or somewhat more; and +then, accompanied by many ladies who wait for her, she enters a gondola +without its felze (canopy), and, seated on a somewhat raised seat covered +with carpets, with a great number of gondolas following her, she goes to +visit the monasteries and convents, wheresoever she has any relations.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_33" href="#FnAnchor_33"><span class="fn">33</span></a> Sansovino.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_34" href="#FnAnchor_34"><span class="fn">34</span></a> English, “Malmsey.” The reader will find a most amusing account +of the negotiations between the English and Venetians, touching the supply +of London with this wine, in Mr. Brown’s translation of the Giustiniani +papers. See <a href="#app_9">Appendix IX</a>.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_35" href="#FnAnchor_35"><span class="fn">35</span></a> “XV. diebus et octo diebus ante festum Mariarum omni anno.”—<i>Galliciolli.</i> +The same precautions were taken before the feast of the Ascension.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_36" href="#FnAnchor_36"><span class="fn">36</span></a> Casa Vittura.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_37" href="#FnAnchor_37"><span class="fn">37</span></a> The keystone of the arch on its western side, facing the canal.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_38" href="#FnAnchor_38"><span class="fn">38</span></a> The inscriptions are as follows:</p> + +<p>To the left of the reader.</p> + +<p class="poems">“VINCENTIUS CAPELLUS MARITIMARUM</p> +<p class="poem">RERUM PERITISSIMUS ET ANTIQUORUM</p> +<p class="poem">LAUDIBUS PAR, TRIREMIUM ONERARIA</p> +<p class="poem">RUM PRÆFECTUS, AB HENRICO VII. BRI</p> +<p class="poem">TANNIÆ REGE INSIGNE DONATUS CLAS</p> +<p class="poem">SIS LEGATUS V. IMP. DESIG. TER CLAS</p> +<p class="poem">SEM DEDUXIT, COLLAPSAM NAVALEM DIS</p> +<p class="poem">CIPLINAM RESTITUIT, AD ZACXINTHUM</p> +<p class="poem">AURIÆ CÆSARIS LEGATO PRISCAM</p> +<p class="poem">VENETAM VIRTUTEM OSTENDIT.”</p> + +<p>To the right of the reader.</p> + +<p class="poems">“IN AMBRACIO SINU BARBARUSSUM OTTHO</p> +<p class="poem">MANICÆ CLASSIS DUCEM INCLUSIT</p> +<p class="poem">POSTRIDIE AD INTERNITIONEM DELETU</p> +<p class="poem">RUS NISI FATA CHRISTIANIS ADVERSA</p> +<p class="poem">VETUISSENT. IN RYZONICO SINU CASTRO NOVO</p> +<p class="poem">EXPUGNATO DIVI MARCI PROCUR</p> +<p class="poem">UNIVERSO REIP CONSENSU CREATUS</p> +<p class="poem">IN PATRIA MORITUR TOTIUS CIVITATIS</p> +<p class="poem">MŒRORE, ANNO ÆTATIS LXXIV. MDCXLII. XIV. KAL SEPT.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_39" href="#FnAnchor_39"><span class="fn">39</span></a> The Love of God is, however, always shown by the predominance, or +greater sum, of good, in the end; but never by the annihilation of evil. +The modern doubts of eternal punishment are not so much the consequence +of benevolence as of feeble powers of reasoning. Every one admits that +God brings finite good out of finite evil. Why not, therefore, infinite good +out of infinite evil?</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_40" href="#FnAnchor_40"><span class="fn">40</span></a> Let the reader examine, with special reference to this subject, the general +character of the language of Iago.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_41" href="#FnAnchor_41"><span class="fn">41</span></a> This opposition of art to inspiration is long and gracefully dwelt upon +by Plato, in his “Phædrus,” using, in the course of his argument, almost +the words of St Paul: <span class="grk" title="kallion marturousin oi palaioi manian sôphrosynês +tên ek Theou tês par anthrôpôn gignomenês"> +καλλιον μαρτυροῦσιν +οἱ παλαιοὶ μανίαν +σωφροσυνης τὴν +ἐκ Θεοῦ τῆς παῤ ἀνθρώπων +γιγνομένης</span>: “It is the +testimony of the ancients, that <i>the madness which is of God is a nobler thing +than the wisdom which is of men</i>;” and again, “He who sets himself to any +work with which the Muses have to do,” (i. e. to any of the fine arts,) “without +madness, thinking that by art alone he can do his work sufficiently, will +be found vain and incapable, and the work of temperance and rationalism +will be thrust aside and obscured by that of inspiration.” The passages to +the same effect, relating especially to poetry, are innumerable in nearly all +ancient writers; but in this of Plato, the entire compass of the fine arts is +intended to be embraced.</p> + +<p>No one acquainted with other parts of my writings will suppose me to +be an advocate of idle trust in the imagination. But it is in these days just +as necessary to allege the supremacy of genius as the necessity of labor; for +there never was, perhaps, a period in which the peculiar gift of the painter +was so little discerned, in which so many and so vain efforts have been +made to replace it by study and toil. This has been peculiarly the case +with the German school, and there are few exhibitions of human error +more pitiable than the manner in which the inferior members of it, men +originally and for ever destitute of the painting faculty, force themselves +into an unnatural, encumbered, learned fructification of tasteless fruit, and +pass laborious lives in setting obscurely and weakly upon canvas the +philosophy, if such it be, which ten minutes’ work of a strong man would +have put into healthy practice, or plain words. I know not anything more +melancholy than the sight of the huge German cartoon, with its objective +side, and subjective side; and mythological division, and symbolical division, +and human and Divine division; its allegorical sense, and literal +sense; and ideal point of view, and intellectual point of view; its heroism +of well-made armor and knitted brows; its heroinism of graceful attitude +and braided hair; its inwoven web of sentiment, and piety, and philosophy, +and anatomy, and history, all profound: and twenty innocent +dashes of the hand of one God-made painter, poor old Bassan or Bonifazio, +were worth it all, and worth it ten thousand times over.</p> + +<p>Not that the sentiment or the philosophy is base in itself. They will +make a good man, but they will not make a good painter,—no, nor the millionth +part of a painter. They would have been good in the work and +words of daily life; but they are good for nothing in the cartoon, if they +are there alone. And the worst result of the system is the intense conceit +into which it cultivates a weak mind. Nothing is so hopeless, so intolerable, +as the pride of a foolish man who has passed through a process of +thinking, so as actually to have found something out. He believes there is +nothing else to be found out in the universe. Whereas the truly great man, +on whom the Revelations rain till they bear him to the earth with their +weight, lays his head in the dust, and speaks thence—often in broken +syllables. Vanity is indeed a very equally divided inheritance among +mankind; but I think that among the first persons, no emphasis is altogether +so strong as that on the German <i>Ich</i>. I was once introduced to a +German philosopher-painter before Tintoret’s “Massacre of the Innocents.” +He looked at it superciliously, and said it “wanted to be restored.” He +had been himself several years employed in painting a “Faust” in a red +jerkin and blue fire; which made Tintoret appear somewhat dull to him.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_42" href="#FnAnchor_42"><span class="fn">42</span></a> I have before stated (“Modern Painters” vol. ii.) that the first function +of the imagination is the apprehension of ultimate truth.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_43" href="#FnAnchor_43"><span class="fn">43</span></a> Note especially, in connexion with what was advanced in Vol. II. +respecting our English neatness of execution, how the base workman has +cut the lines of the architecture neatly and precisely round the abominable +head: but the noble workman has used his chisel like a painter’s pencil, +and sketched the glory with a few irregular lines, anything rather than +circular; and struck out the whole head in the same frank and fearless way, +leaving the sharp edges of the stone as they first broke, and flinging back +the crest of hair from the forehead with half a dozen hammer-strokes, +while the poor wretch who did the other was half a day in smoothing its +vapid and vermicular curls.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_44" href="#FnAnchor_44"><span class="fn">44</span></a> The decree is quoted by Mutinelli, lib. i. p. 46.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_45" href="#FnAnchor_45"><span class="fn">45</span></a> See <a href="#app_9">Appendix 9</a>.</p> +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page166"></a>166</span></p> + +<h3><a name="chap_4" id="chap_4"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h3> + +<h5>CONCLUSION.</h5> + + +<p>§ <span class="scs">I</span>. I fear this chapter will be a rambling one, for it must +be a kind of supplement to the preceding pages, and a general +recapitulation of the things I have too imperfectly and feebly +said.</p> + +<p>The grotesques of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, +the nature of which we examined in the last chapter, close +the career of the architecture of Europe. They were the last +evidences of any feeling consistent with itself, and capable of +directing the efforts of the builder to the formation of anything +worthy the name of a style or school. From that time to this, +no resuscitation of energy has taken place, nor does any for the +present appear possible. How long this impossibility may last, +and in what direction with regard to art in general, as well as +to our lifeless architecture, our immediate efforts may most +profitably be directed, are the questions I would endeavor +briefly to consider in the present chapter.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">II</span>. That modern science, with all its additions to the comforts +of life, and to the fields of rational contemplation, has +placed the existing races of mankind on a higher platform than +any that preceded them, none can doubt for an instant; and I +believe the position in which we find ourselves is somewhat +analogous to that of thoughtful and laborious youth succeeding +a restless and heedless infancy. Not long ago, it was said to +me by one of the masters of modern science: “When men invented +the locomotive, the child was learning to go; when +they invented the telegraph, it was learning to speak.” He +looked forward to the manhood of mankind, as assuredly the +nobler in proportion to the slowness of its developement. What +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page167"></a>167</span> +might not be expected from the prime and middle strength of +the order of existence whose infancy had lasted six thousand +years? And, indeed, I think this the truest, as well as the +most cheering, view that we can take of the world’s history. +Little progress has been made as yet. Base war, lying policy, +thoughtless cruelty, senseless improvidence,—all things which, +in nations, are analogous to the petulance, cunning, impatience, +and carelessness of infancy,—have been, up to this hour, as +characteristic of mankind as they were in the earliest periods; +so that we must either be driven to doubt of human progress +at all, or look upon it as in its very earliest stage. Whether +the opportunity is to be permitted us to redeem the hours that +we have lost; whether He, in whose sight a thousand years +are as one day, has appointed us to be tried by the continued +possession of the strange powers with which He has lately endowed +us; or whether the periods of childhood and of probation +are to cease together, and the youth of mankind is to be +one which shall prevail over death, and bloom for ever in the +midst of a new heaven and a new earth, are questions with +which we have no concern. It is indeed right that we should +look for, and hasten, so far as in us lies, the coming of the Day +of God; but not that we should check any human efforts by +anticipations of its approach. We shall hasten it best by endeavoring +to work out the tasks that are appointed for us here; +and, therefore, reasoning as if the world were to continue under +its existing dispensation, and the powers which have just +been granted to us were to be continued through myriads of +future ages.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">III</span>. It seems to me, then, that the whole human race, so +far as their own reason can be trusted, may at present be regarded +as just emergent from childhood; and beginning for +the first time to feel their strength, to stretch their limbs, and +explore the creation around them. If we consider that, till +within the last fifty years, the nature of the ground we tread +on, of the air we breathe, and of the light by which we see, +were not so much as conjecturally conceived by us; that the +duration of the globe, and the races of animal life by which it +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page168"></a>168</span> +was inhabited, are just beginning to be apprehended; and that +the scope of the magnificent science which has revealed them, +is as yet so little received by the public mind, that presumption +and ignorance are still permitted to raise their voices against it +unrebuked; that perfect veracity in the representation of general +nature by art has never been attempted until the present +day, and has in the present day been resisted with all the energy +of the popular voice;<a name="FnAnchor_46" href="#Footnote_46"><span class="sp">46</span></a> that the simplest problems of social +science are yet so little understood, as that doctrines of +liberty and equality can be openly preached, and so successfully +as to affect the whole body of the civilized world with apparently +incurable disease; that the first principles of commerce +were acknowledged by the English Parliament only a few +months ago, in its free trade measures, and are still so little +understood by the million, that no nation dares to abolish its +custom-houses;<a name="FnAnchor_47" href="#Footnote_47"><span class="sp">47</span></a> that the simplest principles of policy are still +not so much as stated, far less received, and that civilized nations +persist in the belief that the subtlety and dishonesty which +they know to be ruinous in dealings between man and man, are +serviceable in dealings between multitude and multitude; finally, +that the scope of the Christian religion, which we have +been taught for two thousand years, is still so little conceived +by us, that we suppose the laws of charity and of self-sacrifice +bear upon individuals in all their social relations, and yet do +not bear upon nations in any of their political relations;—when, +I say, we thus review the depth of simplicity in which the human +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page169"></a>169</span> +race are still plunged with respect to all that it most profoundly +concerns them to know, and which might, by them, +with most ease have been ascertained, we can hardly determine +how far back on the narrow path of human progress we ought +to place the generation to which we belong, how far the swaddling +clothes are unwound from us, and childish things beginning +to be put away.</p> + +<p>On the other hand, a power of obtaining veracity in the +representation of material and tangible things, which, within +certain limits and conditions, is unimpeachable, has now been +placed in the hands of all men,<a name="FnAnchor_48" href="#Footnote_48"><span class="sp">48</span></a> almost without labor. The +foundation of every natural science is now at last firmly laid, +not a day passing without some addition of buttress and pinnacle +to their already magnificent fabric. Social theorems, if +fiercely agitated, are therefore the more likely to be at last determined, +so that they never can be matters of question more. +Human life has been in some sense prolonged by the increased +powers of locomotion, and an almost limitless power of converse. +Finally, there is hardly any serious mind in Europe but +is occupied, more or less, in the investigation of the questions +which have so long paralyzed the strength of religious feeling, +and shortened the dominion of religious faith. And we may +therefore at least look upon ourselves as so far in a definite +state of progress, as to justify our caution in guarding against +the dangers incident to every period of change, and especially +to that from childhood into youth.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">IV</span>. Those dangers appear, in the main, to be twofold; +consisting partly in the pride of vain knowledge, partly in the +pursuit of vain pleasure. A few points are still to be noticed +with respect to each of these heads.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page170"></a>170</span></p> + +<p>Enough, it might be thought, had been said already, touching +the pride of knowledge; but I have not yet applied the +principles, at which we arrived in the third chapter, to the +practical questions of modern art. And I think those principles, +together with what were deduced from the consideration +of the nature of Gothic in the second volume, so necessary and +vital, not only with respect to the progress of art, but even to +the happiness of society, that I will rather run the risk of +tediousness than of deficiency, in their illustration and enforcement.</p> + +<p>In examining the nature of Gothic, we concluded that one +of the chief elements of power in that, and in <i>all good</i> architecture, +was the acceptance of uncultivated and rude energy in +the workman. In examining the nature of Renaissance, we +concluded that its chief element of weakness was that pride of +knowledge which not only prevented all rudeness in expression, +but gradually quenched all energy which could only be rudely +expressed; nor only so, but, for the motive and matter of the +work itself, preferred science to emotion, and experience to +perception.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">V</span>. The modern mind differs from the Renaissance mind +in that its learning is more substantial and extended, and its +temper more humble; but its errors, with respect to the cultivation +of art, are precisely the same,—nay, as far as regards +execution, even more aggravated. We require, at present, +from our general workmen, more perfect finish than was demanded +in the most skilful Renaissance periods, except in their +very finest productions; and our leading principles in teaching, +and in the patronage which necessarily gives tone to teaching, +are, that the goodness of work consists primarily in firmness of +handling and accuracy of science, that is to say, in hand-work +and head-work; whereas heart-work, which is the <i>one</i> work we +want, is not only independent of both, but often, in great degree, +inconsistent with either.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VI</span>. Here, therefore, let me finally and firmly enunciate +the great principle to which all that has hitherto been stated is +subservient:—that art is valuable or otherwise, only as it expresses +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page171"></a>171</span> +the personality, activity, and living perception of a good +and great human soul; that it may express and contain this +with little help from execution, and less from science; and that +if it have not this, if it show not the vigor, perception, and invention +of a mighty human spirit, it is worthless. Worthless, +I mean, as <i>art</i>; it may be precious in some other way, but, as +art, it is nugatory. Once let this be well understood among us, +and magnificent consequences will soon follow. Let me repeat +it in other terms, so that I may not be misunderstood. All art +is great, and good, and true, only so far as it is distinctively the +work of <i>manhood</i> in its entire and highest sense; that is to say, +not the work of limbs and fingers, but of the soul, aided, according +to her necessities, by the inferior powers; and therefore +distinguished in essence from all products of those inferior +powers unhelped by the soul. For as a photograph is not a +work of art, though it requires certain delicate manipulations +of paper and acid, and subtle calculations of time, in order to +bring out a good result; so, neither would a drawing <i>like</i> a +photograph, made directly from nature, be a work of art, although +it would imply many delicate manipulations of the pencil +and subtle calculations of effects of color and shade. It is +no more art<a name="FnAnchor_49" href="#Footnote_49"><span class="sp">49</span></a> to manipulate a camel’s hair pencil, than to manipulate +a china tray and a glass vial. It is no more art to lay +on color delicately, than to lay on acid delicately. It is no +more art to use the cornea and retina for the reception of an +image, than to use a lens and a piece of silvered paper. But +the moment that inner part of the man, or rather that entire +and only being of the man, of which cornea and retina, fingers +and hands, pencils and colors, are all the mere servants and instruments;<a name="FnAnchor_50" href="#Footnote_50"><span class="sp">50</span></a> +that manhood which has light in itself, though the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page172"></a>172</span> +eyeball be sightless, and can gain in strength when the hand +and the foot are hewn off and cast into the fire; the moment +this part of the man stands forth with its solemn “Behold, it is +I,” then the work becomes art indeed, perfect in honor, priceless +in value, boundless in power.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VII</span>. Yet observe, I do not mean to speak of the body and +soul as separable. The man is made up of both: they are to +be raised and glorified together, and all art is an expression of +the one, by and through the other. All that I would insist +upon is, the necessity of the whole man being in his work; the +body <i>must</i> be in it. Hands and habits must be in it, whether +we will or not; but the nobler part of the man may often not +be in it. And that nobler part acts principally in love, reverence, +and admiration, together with those conditions of thought +which arise out of them. For we usually fall into much error +by considering the intellectual powers as having dignity in +themselves, and separable from the heart; whereas the truth +is, that the intellect becomes noble and ignoble according to the +food we give it, and the kind of subjects with which it is conversant. +It is not the reasoning power which, of itself, is noble, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page173"></a>173</span> +but the reasoning power occupied with its proper objects. +Half of the mistakes of metaphysicians have arisen from their +not observing this; namely, that the intellect, going through +the same processes, is yet mean or noble according to the matter +it deals with, and wastes itself away in mere rotatory motion, +if it be set to grind straws and dust. If we reason only +respecting words, or lines, or any trifling and finite things, the +reason becomes a contemptible faculty; but reason employed on +holy and infinite things, becomes herself holy and infinite. So +that, by work of the soul, I mean the reader always to understand +the work of the entire immortal creature, proceeding from +a quick, perceptive, and eager heart, perfected by the intellect, +and finally dealt with by the hands, under the direct guidance +of these higher powers.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">VIII</span>. And now observe, the first important consequence of +our fully understanding this preëminence of the soul, will be +the due understanding of that subordination of knowledge respecting +which so much has already been said. For it must +be felt at once, that the increase of knowledge, merely as such, +does not make the soul larger or smaller; that, in the sight of +God, all the knowledge man can gain is as nothing: but that +the soul, for which the great scheme of redemption was laid, be +it ignorant or be it wise, is all in all; and in the activity, +strength, health, and well-being of this soul, lies the main difference, +in His sight, between one man and another. And +that which is all in all in God’s estimate is also, be assured, all +in all in man’s labor; and to have the heart open, and the eyes +clear, and the emotions and thoughts warm and quick, and not +the knowing of this or the other fact, is the state needed for +all mighty doing in this world. And therefore finally, for this, +the weightiest of all reasons, let us take no pride in our knowledge. +We may, in a certain sense, be proud of being immortal; +we may be proud of being God’s children; we may be proud of +loving, thinking, seeing, and of all that we are by no human +teaching: but not of what we have been taught by rote; not of +the ballast and freight of the ship of the spirit, but only of its +pilotage, without which all the freight will only sink it faster, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page174"></a>174</span> +and strew the sea more richly with its ruin. There is not +at this moment a youth of twenty, having received what we +moderns ridiculously call education, but he knows more of +everything, except the soul, than Plato or St. Paul did; but +he is not for that reason a greater man, or fitter for his work, +or more fit to be heard by others, than Plato or St. Paul. +There is not at this moment a junior student in our schools of +painting, who does not know fifty times as much about the +art as Giotto did; but he is not for that reason greater than +Giotto; no, nor his work better, nor fitter for our beholding. +Let him go on to know all that the human intellect can discover +and contain in the term of a long life, and he will not +be one inch, one line, nearer to Giotto’s feet. But let him +leave his academy benches, and, innocently, as one knowing +nothing, go out into the highways and hedges, and there rejoice +with them that rejoice, and weep with them that weep; +and in the next world, among the companies of the great and +good, Giotto will give his hand to him, and lead him into their +white circle, and say, “This is our brother.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">IX</span>. And the second important consequence of our feeling +the soul’s preëminence will be our understanding the soul’s +language, however broken, or low, or feeble, or obscure in its +words; and chiefly that great symbolic language of past ages, +which has now so long been unspoken. It is strange that the +same cold and formal spirit which the Renaissance teaching +has raised amongst us, should be equally dead to the languages +of imitation and of symbolism; and should at once disdain the +faithful rendering of real nature by the modern school of the +Pre-Raphaelites, and the symbolic rendering of imagined nature +in the work of the thirteenth century. But so it is; and we +find the same body of modern artists rejecting Pre-Raphaelitism +because it is not ideal! and thirteenth century work, because +it is not real!—their own practice being at once false +and un-ideal, and therefore equally opposed to both.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">X</span>. It is therefore, at this juncture, of much importance +to mark for the reader the exact relation of healthy symbolism +and of healthy imitation; and, in order to do so, let us +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page175"></a>175</span> +return to one of our Venetian examples of symbolic art, to the +central cupola of St. Mark’s. On that cupola, as has been +already stated, there is a mosaic representing the Apostles on +the Mount of Olives, with an olive-tree separating each from +the other; and we shall easily arrive at our purpose, by comparing +the means which would have been adopted by a modern +artist bred in the Renaissance schools,—that is to say, under +the influence of Claude and Poussin, and of the common teaching +of the present day,—with those adopted by the Byzantine +mosaicist to express the nature of these trees.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XI</span>. The reader is doubtless aware that the olive is one of +the most characteristic and beautiful features of all Southern +scenery. On the slopes of the northern Apennines, olives are +the usual forest timber; the whole of the Val d’Arno is wooded +with them, every one of its gardens is filled with them, and +they grow in orchard-like ranks out of its fields of maize, or +corn, or vine; so that it is physically impossible, in most parts +of the neighborhood of Florence, Pistoja, Lucca, or Pisa, to +choose any site of landscape which shall not owe its leading +character to the foliage of these trees. What the elm and oak +are to England, the olive is to Italy; nay, more than this, its +presence is so constant, that, in the case of at least four fifths +of the drawings made by any artist in North Italy, he must +have been somewhat impeded by branches of olive coming between +him and the landscape. Its classical associations double +its importance in Greece; and in the Holy Land the remembrances +connected with it are of course more touching than +can ever belong to any other tree of the field. Now, for many +years back, at least one third out of all the landscapes painted +by English artists have been chosen from Italian scenery; +sketches in Greece and in the Holy Land have become as common +as sketches on Hampstead Heath; our galleries also are +full of sacred subjects, in which, if any background be introduced +at all, the foliage of the olive ought to have been a +prominent feature.</p> + +<p>And here I challenge the untravelled English reader to tell +me what an olive-tree is like?</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page176"></a>176</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XII</span>. I know he cannot answer my challenge. He has no +more idea of an olive-tree than if olives grew only in the fixed +stars. Let him meditate a little on this one fact, and consider +its strangeness, and what a wilful and constant closing of the +eyes to the most important truths it indicates on the part of +the modern artist. Observe, a want of perception, not of science. +I do not want painters to tell me any scientific facts +about olive-trees. But it had been well for them to have felt +and seen the olive-tree; to have loved it for Christ’s sake, +partly also for the helmed Wisdom’s sake which was to the +heathen in some sort as that nobler Wisdom which stood at +God’s right hand, when He founded the earth and established +the heavens. To have loved it, even to the hoary dimness of +its delicate foliage, subdued and faint of hue, as if the ashes of +the Gethsemane agony had been cast upon it for ever; and to +have traced, line by line, the gnarled writhing of its intricate +branches, and the pointed fretwork of its light and narrow +leaves, inlaid on the blue field of the sky, and the small rosy-white +stars of its spring blossoming, and the beads of sable +fruit scattered by autumn along its topmost boughs—the right, +in Israel, of the stranger, the fatherless, and the widow,—and, +more than all, the softness of the mantle, silver grey, and tender +like the down on a bird’s breast, with which, far away, it veils +the undulation of the mountains;—these it had been well for +them to have seen and drawn, whatever they had left unstudied +in the gallery.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIII</span>. And if the reader would know the reason why this +has not been done (it is one instance only out of the myriads +which might be given of sightlessness in modern art), and will +ask the artists themselves, he will be informed of another of +the marvellous contradictions and inconsistencies in the base +Renaissance art; for it will be answered him, that it is not +right, nor according to law, to draw trees so that one should be +known from another, but that trees ought to be generalized +into a universal idea of a tree: that is to say, that the very +school which carries its science in the representation of man +down to the dissection of the most minute muscle, refuses so +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page177"></a>177</span> +much science to the drawing of a tree as shall distinguish one +species from another; and also, while it attends to logic, and +rhetoric, and perspective, and atmosphere, and every other circumstance +which is trivial, verbal, external, or accidental, in +what it either says or sees, it will <i>not</i> attend to what is essential +and substantial,—being intensely solicitous, for instance, if +it draws two trees, one behind the other, that the farthest off +shall be as much smaller as mathematics show that it should +be, but totally unsolicitous to show, what to the spectator is a +far more important matter, whether it is an apple or an orange +tree.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIV</span>. This, however, is not to our immediate purpose. Let +it be granted that an idea of an olive-tree is indeed to be given +us in a special manner; how, and by what language, this idea +is to be conveyed, are questions on which we shall find the +world of artists again divided; and it was this division which +I wished especially to illustrate by reference to the mosaics of +St. Mark’s.</p> + +<p>Now the main characteristics of an olive-tree are these. It +has sharp and slender leaves of a greyish green, nearly grey +on the under surface, and resembling, but somewhat smaller +than, those of our common willow. Its fruit, when ripe, is +black and lustrous; but of course so small, that, unless in great +quantity, it is not conspicuous upon the tree. Its trunk and +branches are peculiarly fantastic in their twisting, showing +their fibres at every turn; and the trunk is often hollow, and +even rent into many divisions like separate stems, but the extremities +are exquisitely graceful, especially in the setting on +of the leaves; and the notable and characteristic effect of the +tree in the distance is of a rounded and soft mass or ball of +downy foliage.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XV</span>. Supposing a modern artist to address himself to the +rendering of this tree with his best skill: he will probably +draw accurately the twisting of the branches, but yet this will +hardly distinguish the tree from an oak: he will also render +the color and intricacy of the foliage, but this will only confuse +the idea of an oak with that of a willow. The fruit, and the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page178"></a>178</span> +peculiar grace of the leaves at the extremities, and the fibrous +structure of the stems, will all be too minute to be rendered +consistently with his artistical feeling of breadth, or with the +amount of labor which he considers it dexterous and legitimate +to bestow upon the work: but, above all, the rounded and monotonous +form of the head of the tree will be at variance with +his ideas of “composition;” he will assuredly disguise or break +it, and the main points of the olive-tree will all at last remain +untold.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVI</span>. Now observe, the old Byzantine mosaicist begins +his work at enormous disadvantage. It is to be some one +hundred and fifty feet above the eye, in a dark cupola; executed +not with free touches of the pencil, but with square pieces +of glass; not by his own hand, but by various workmen under +his superintendence; finally, not with a principal purpose of +drawing olive-trees, but mainly as a decoration of the cupola. +There is to be an olive-tree beside each apostle, and their stems +are to be the chief lines which divide the dome. He therefore +at once gives up the irregular twisting of the boughs hither +and thither, but he will not give up their fibres. Other trees +have irregular and fantastic branches, but the knitted cordage +of fibres is the olive’s own. Again, were he to draw the leaves +of their natural size, they would be so small that their forms +would be invisible in the darkness; and were he to draw them +so large as that their shape might be seen, they would look like +laurel instead of olive. So he arranges them in small clusters +of five each, nearly of the shape which the Byzantines give to +the petals of the lily, but elongated so as to give the idea of leafage +upon a spray; and these clusters,—his object always, be it +remembered, being <i>decoration</i> not less than <i>representation</i>,—he +arranges symmetrically on each side of his branches, laying +the whole on a dark ground most truly suggestive of the heavy +rounded mass of the tree, which, in its turn, is relieved against +the gold of the cupola. Lastly, comes the question respecting +the fruit. The whole power and honor of the olive is in its +fruit; and, unless that be represented, nothing is represented. +But if the berries were colored black or green, they would be +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page179"></a>179</span> +totally invisible; if of any other color, utterly unnatural, and +violence would be done to the whole conception. There is but +one conceivable means of showing them, namely to represent +them as golden. For the idea of golden fruit of various kinds +was already familiar to the mind, as in the apples of the Hesperides, +without any violence to the distinctive conception of +the fruit itself.<a name="FnAnchor_51" href="#Footnote_51"><span class="sp">51</span></a> So the mosaicist introduced small round +golden berries into the dark ground between each leaf, and his +work was done.</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/img179.jpg" width="402" height="650" alt="Mosaics of Olive-tree and Flowers." title="Mosaics of Olive-tree and Flowers." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">Mosaics of Olive-tree and Flowers.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVII.</span> On the opposite plate, the uppermost figure on the +left is a tolerably faithful representation of the general effect +of one of these decorative olive-trees; the figure on the right +is the head of the tree alone, showing the leaf clusters, berries, +and <i>interlacing</i> of the boughs as they leave the stem. Each +bough is connected with a separate line of fibre in the trunk, +and the junctions of the arms and stem are indicated, down to +the very root of the tree, with a truth in structure which may +well put to shame the tree anatomy of modern times.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XVIII.</span> The white branching figures upon the serpentine +band below are two of the clusters of flowers which form the +foreground of a mosaic in the atrium. I have printed the +whole plate in blue, because that color approaches more nearly +than black to the distant effect of the mosaics, of which the +darker portions are generally composed of blue, in greater +quantity than any other color. But the waved background in +this instance, is of various shades of blue and green alternately, +with one narrow black band to give it force; the whole being +intended to represent the distant effect and color of deep grass, +and the wavy line to <i>express its bending motion</i>, just as the +same symbol is used to represent the waves of water. Then +the two white clusters are representative of the distinctly visible +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page180"></a>180</span> +herbage close to the spectator, having buds and flowers of +two kinds, springing in one case out of the midst of twisted +grass, and in the other out of their own proper leaves; the +clusters being kept each so distinctly symmetrical, as to form, +when set side by side, an ornamental border of perfect architectural +severity; and yet each cluster different from the next, +and every flower, and bud, and knot of grass, varied in form +and thought. The way the mosaic tesseræ are arranged, so as +to give the writhing of the grass blades round the stalks of the +flowers, is exceedingly fine.</p> + +<p>The tree circles below are examples of still more severely +conventional forms, adopted, on principle, when the decoration +is to be in white and gold, instead of color; these ornaments +being cut in white marble on the outside of the church, and +the ground laid in with gold, though necessarily here represented, +like the rest of the plate, in blue. And it is exceedingly +interesting to see how the noble workman, the moment +he is restricted to more conventional materials, retires into more +conventional forms, and reduces his various leafage into symmetry, +now nearly perfect; yet observe, in the central figure, +where the symbolic meaning of the vegetation beside the cross +required it to be more distinctly indicated, he has given it life +and growth by throwing it into unequal curves on the opposite +sides.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XIX.</span> I believe the reader will now see, that in these +mosaics, which the careless traveller is in the habit of passing +by with contempt, there is a depth of feeling and of meaning +greater than in most of the best sketches from nature of modern +times; and, without entering into any question whether +these conventional representations are as good as, under the required +limitations, it was possible to render them, they are at +all events good enough completely to illustrate that mode of +symbolical expression which appeals altogether to thought, and +in no wise trusts to realization. And little as, in the present +state of our schools, such an assertion is likely to be believed, +the fact is that this kind of expression is the <i>only one allowable +in noble art</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page181"></a>181</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XX.</span> I pray the reader to have patience with me for a few +moments. I do not mean that no art is noble but Byzantine +mosaic; but no art is noble which in any wise depends upon +direct imitation for its effect upon the mind. This was asserted +in the opening chapters of “Modern Painters,” but not upon +the highest grounds; the results at which we have now arrived +in our investigation of early art, will enable me to place it on +a loftier and firmer foundation.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXI.</span> We have just seen that all great art is the work of +the whole living creature, body and soul, and chiefly of the +soul. But it is not only <i>the work</i> of the whole creature, it likewise +<i>addresses</i> the whole creature. That in which the perfect +being speaks, must also have the perfect being to listen. I am +not to spend my utmost spirit, and give all my strength and +life to my work, while you, spectator or hearer, will give me only +the attention of half your soul. You must be all mine, as I +am all yours; it is the only condition on which we can meet +each other. All your faculties, all that is in you of greatest +and best, must be awake in you, or I have no reward. The +painter is not to cast the entire treasure of his human nature +into his labor, merely to please a part of the beholder: not +merely to delight his senses, not merely to amuse his fancy, +not merely to beguile him into emotion, not merely to lead +him into thought, but to do <i>all</i> this. Senses, fancy, feeling, +reason, the whole of the beholding spirit, must be stilled in attention +or stirred with delight; else the laboring spirit has not +done its work well. For observe, it is not merely its <i>right</i> to +be thus met, face to face, heart to heart; but it is its <i>duty</i> to +evoke its answering of the other soul; its trumpet call must be +so clear, that though the challenge may by dulness or indolence +be unanswered, there shall be no error as to the meaning +of the appeal; there must be a summons in the work, which +it shall be our own fault if we do not obey. We require this +of it, we beseech this of it. Most men do not know what is +in them, till they receive this summons from their fellows: +their hearts die within them, sleep settles upon them, the lethargy +of the world’s miasmata; there is nothing for which they +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page182"></a>182</span> +are so thankful as for that cry, “Awake, thou that sleepest.” +And this cry must be most loudly uttered to their noblest faculties; +first of all to the imagination, for that is the most tender, +and the soonest struck into numbness by the poisoned air; +so that one of the main functions of art in its service to man, +is to arouse the imagination from its palsy, like the angel troubling +the Bethesda pool; and the art which does not do this is +false to its duty, and degraded in its nature. It is not enough +that it be well imagined, it must task the beholder also to imagine +well; and this so imperatively, that if he does not choose +to rouse himself to meet the work, he shall not taste it, nor enjoy +it in any wise. Once that he is well awake, the guidance +which the artist gives him should be full and authoritative: +the beholder’s imagination must not be suffered to take its own +way, or wander hither and thither; but neither must it be left +at rest; and the right point of realization, for any given work +of art, is that which will enable the spectator to complete it +for himself, in the exact way the artist would have him, but +not that which will save him the trouble of effecting the completion. +So soon as the idea is entirely conveyed, the artist’s +labor should cease; and every touch which he adds beyond the +point when, with the help of the beholder’s imagination, the +story ought to have been told, is a degradation to his work. +So that the art is wrong, which either realizes its subject completely, +or fails in giving such definite aid as shall enable it to +be realized by the beholding imagination.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXII.</span> It follows, therefore, that the quantity of finish or +detail which may rightly be bestowed upon any work, depends +on the number and kind of ideas which the artist wishes to +convey, much more than on the amount of realization necessary +to enable the imagination to grasp them. It is true that the +differences of judgment formed by one or another observer are +in great degree dependent on their unequal imaginative powers, +as well as their unequal efforts in following the artist’s intention; +and it constantly happens that the drawing which appears +clear to the painter in whose mind the thought is formed, is +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page183"></a>183</span> +slightly inadequate to suggest it to the spectator. These causes +of false judgment, or imperfect achievement, must always exist, +but they are of no importance. For, in nearly every mind, +the imaginative power, however unable to act independently, +is so easily helped and so brightly animated by the most obscure +suggestion, that there is no form of artistical language +which will not readily be seized by it, if once it set itself intelligently +to the task; and even without such effort there are +few hieroglyphics of which, once understanding that it is to +take them as hieroglyphics, it cannot make itself a pleasant +picture.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIII.</span> Thus, in the case of all sketches, etchings, unfinished +engravings, &c., no one ever supposes them to be imitations. +Black outlines on white paper cannot produce a deceptive resemblance +of anything; and the mind, understanding at once +that it is to depend on its own powers for great part of its +pleasure, sets itself so actively to the task that it can completely +enjoy the rudest outline in which meaning exists. Now, when +it is once in this temper, the artist is infinitely to be blamed +who insults it by putting anything into his work which is not +suggestive: having summoned the imaginative power, he must +turn it to account and keep it employed, or it will run against +him in indignation. Whatever he does merely to realize and +substantiate an idea is impertinent; he is like a dull story-teller, +dwelling on points which the hearer anticipates or disregards. +The imagination will say to him: “I knew all that before; I +don’t want to be told that. Go on; or be silent, and let +me go on in my own way. I can tell the story better than +you.”</p> + +<p>Observe, then, whenever finish is given for the sake of realization, +it is wrong; whenever it is given for the sake of adding +ideas it is right. All true finish consists in the addition of +ideas, that is to say, in giving the imagination more food; for +once well awaked, it is ravenous for food: but the painter who +finishes in order to substantiate takes the food out of its mouth, +and it will turn and rend him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page184"></a>184</span></p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIV.</span> Let us go back, for instance, to our olive grove,—or, +lest the reader should be tired of olives, let it be an oak +copse,—and consider the difference between the substantiating +and the imaginative methods of finish in such a subject. A +few strokes of the pencil, or dashes of color, will be enough to +enable the imagination to conceive a tree; and in those dashes +of color Sir Joshua Reynolds would have rested, and would +have suffered the imagination to paint what more it liked for +itself, and grow oaks, or olives, or apples, out of the few dashes +of color at its leisure. On the other hand, Hobbima, one of +the worst of the realists, smites the imagination on the mouth, +and bids it be silent, while he sets to work to paint his oak of +the right green, and fill up its foliage laboriously with jagged +touches, and furrow the bark all over its branches, so as, if possible, +to deceive us into supposing that we are looking at a real +oak; which, indeed, we had much better do at once, without +giving any one the trouble to deceive us in the matter.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXV.</span> Now, the truly great artist neither leaves the imagination +to itself, like Sir Joshua, nor insults it by realization, +like Hobbima, but finds it continual employment of the happiest +kind. Having summoned it by his vigorous first touches, +he says to it: “Here is a tree for you, and it is to be an oak. +Now I know that you can make it green and intricate for yourself, +but that is not enough: an oak is not only green and intricate, +but its leaves have most beautiful and fantastic forms +which I am very sure you are not quite able to complete without +help; so I will draw a cluster or two perfectly for you, +and then you can go on and do all the other clusters. So far +so good: but the leaves are not enough; the oak is to be full +of acorns, and you may not be quite able to imagine the way +they grow, nor the pretty contrast of their glossy almond-shaped +nuts with the chasing of their cups; so I will draw a +bunch or two of acorns for you, and you can fill up the oak +with others like them. Good: but that is not enough; it is to +be a bright day in summer, and all the outside leaves are to be +glittering in the sunshine as if their edges were of gold: I cannot +paint this, but you can; so I will really gild some of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page185"></a>185</span> +edges nearest you,<a name="FnAnchor_52" href="#Footnote_52"><span class="sp">52</span></a> and you can turn the gold into sunshine, +and cover the tree with it. Well done: but still this is not +enough; the tree is so full foliaged and so old that the wood +birds come in crowds to build there; they are singing, two or +three under the shadow of every bough. I cannot show you +them all; but here is a large one on the outside spray, and you +can fancy the others inside.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVI.</span> In this way the calls upon the imagination are multiplied +as a great painter finishes; and from these larger incidents +he may proceed into the most minute particulars, and +lead the companion imagination to the veins in the leaves and +the mosses on the trunk, and the shadows of the dead leaves +upon the grass, but always multiplying thoughts, or subjects of +thought, never working for the sake of realization; the amount +of realization actually reached depending on his space, his +materials, and the nature of the thoughts he wishes to suggest. +In the sculpture of an oak-tree, introduced above an Adoration +of the Magi on the tomb of the Doge Marco Dolfino (fourteenth +century), the sculptor has been content with a few +leaves, a single acorn, and a bird; while, on the other hand, +Millais’ willow-tree with the robin, in the background of his +“Ophelia,” or the foreground of Hunt’s “Two Gentlemen of +Verona,” carries the appeal to the imagination into particulars +so multiplied and minute, that the work nearly reaches realization. +But it does not matter how near realization the work +may approach in its fulness, or how far off it may remain in +its slightness, so long as realization is not the end proposed, +but the informing one spirit of the thoughts of another. And +in this greatness and simplicity of purpose all noble art is alike, +however slight its means, or however perfect, from the rudest +mosaics of St. Mark’s to the most tender finishing of the +“Huguenot” or the “Ophelia.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVII.</span> Only observe, in this matter, that a greater degree +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page186"></a>186</span> +of realization is often allowed, for the sake of color, than would +be right without it. For there is not any distinction between +the artists of the inferior and the nobler schools more definite +than this; that the first <i>color for the sake of realization</i>, and +the second <i>realize for the sake of color</i>. I hope that, in the +fifth chapter, enough has been said to show the nobility of +color, though it is a subject on which I would fain enlarge +whenever I approach it: for there is none that needs more to +be insisted upon, chiefly on account of the opposition of the +persons who have no eye for color, and who, being therefore +unable to understand that it is just as divine and distinct in its +power as music (only infinitely more varied in its harmonies), +talk of it as if it were inferior and servile with respect to the +other powers of art;<a name="FnAnchor_53" href="#Footnote_53"><span class="sp">53</span></a> whereas it is so far from being this, that +wherever it enters it must take the mastery, and, whatever else +is sacrificed for its sake, <i>it</i>, at least, must be right. This is +partly the case even with music: it is at our choice, whether +we will accompany a poem with music, or not; but, if we do, +the music <i>must</i> be right, and neither discordant nor inexpressive. +The goodness and sweetness of the poem cannot save it, +if the music be harsh or false; but, if the music be right, the +poem may be insipid or inharmonious, and still saved by the +notes to which it is wedded. But this is far more true of color. +If that be wrong, all is wrong. No amount of expression or +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page187"></a>187</span> +invention can redeem an ill-colored picture; while, on the +other hand, if the color be right, there is nothing it will not +raise or redeem; and, therefore, wherever color enters at all, +anything <i>may</i> be sacrificed to it, and, rather than it should be +false or feeble, everything <i>must</i> be sacrificed to it: so that, +when an artist touches color, it is the same thing as when a +poet takes up a musical instrument; he implies, in so doing, +that he is a master, up to a certain point, of that instrument, +and can produce sweet sound from it, and is able to fit the +course and measure of his words to its tones, which, if he be +not able to do, he had better not have touched it. In like +manner, to add color to a drawing is to undertake for the perfection +of a visible music, which, if it be false, will utterly and +assuredly mar the whole work; if true, proportionately elevate +it, according to its power and sweetness. But, in no case ought +the color to be added in order to increase the realization. The +drawing or engraving is all that the imagination needs. To +“paint” the subject merely to make it more real, is only to insult +the imaginative power and to vulgarize the whole. Hence +the common, though little understood feeling, among men of +ordinary cultivation, that an inferior sketch is always better +than a bad painting; although, in the latter, there may verily +be more skill than in the former. For the painter who has +presumed to touch color without perfectly understanding it, +not for the color’s sake, nor because he loves it, but for the +sake of completion merely, has committed two sins against us; +he has dulled the imagination by not trusting it far enough, +and then, in this languid state, he oppresses it with base and +false color; for all color that is not lovely, is discordant; there +is no mediate condition. So, therefore, when it is permitted +to enter at all, it must be with the predetermination that, cost +what it will, the color shall be right and lovely: and I only +wish that, in general, it were better understood that a <i>painter’s</i> +business is <i>to paint</i>, primarily; and that all expression, and +grouping, and conceiving, and what else goes to constitute +design, <i>are of less importance than color, in a colored work</i>. +And so they were always considered in the noble periods; and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page188"></a>188</span> +sometimes all resemblance to nature whatever (as in painted +windows, illuminated manuscripts, and such other work) is +sacrificed to the brilliancy of color; sometimes distinctness of +form to its richness, as by Titian, Turner, and Reynolds; and, +which is the point on which we are at present insisting, sometimes, +in the pursuit of its utmost refinements on the surfaces +of objects, an amount of realization becomes consistent with +noble art, which would otherwise be altogether inadmissible, +that is to say, which no great mind could otherwise have either +produced or enjoyed. The extreme finish given by the Pre-Raphaelites +is rendered noble chiefly by their love of color.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXVIII.</span> So then, whatever may be the means, or whatever +the more immediate end of any kind of art, all of it that is +good agrees in this, that it is the expression of one soul talking +to another, and is precious according to the greatness of the +soul that utters it. And consider what mighty consequences +follow from our acceptance of this truth! what a key we have +herein given us for the interpretation of the art of all time! +For, as long as we held art to consist in any high manual skill, +or successful imitation of natural objects, or any scientific and +legalized manner of performance whatever, it was necessary for +us to limit our admiration to narrow periods and to few men. +According to our own knowledge and sympathies, the period +chosen might be different, and our rest might be in Greek statues, +or Dutch landscapes, or Italian Madonnas; but, whatever +our choice, we were therein captive, barred from all reverence +but of our favorite masters, and habitually using the language of +contempt towards the whole of the human race to whom it had +not pleased Heaven to reveal the arcana of the particular craftsmanship +we admired, and who, it might be, had lived their +term of seventy years upon the earth, and fitted themselves +therein for the eternal world, without any clear understanding, +sometimes even with an insolent disregard, of the laws of perspective +and chiaroscuro.</p> + +<p>But let us once comprehend the holier nature of the art of +man, and begin to look for the meaning of the spirit, however +syllabled, and the scene is changed; and we are changed also. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page189"></a>189</span> +Those small and dexterous creatures whom once we worshipped, +those fur-capped divinities with sceptres of camel’s +hair, peering and poring in their one-windowed chambers over +the minute preciousness of the labored canvas; how are they +swept away and crushed into unnoticeable darkness! And in +their stead, as the walls of the dismal rooms that enclosed them, +and us, are struck by the four winds of Heaven, and rent away, +and as the world opens to our sight, lo! far back into all the +depths of time, and forth from all the fields that have been +sown with human life, how the harvest of the dragon’s teeth +is springing! how the companies of the gods are ascending out +of the earth! The dark stones that have so long been the +sepulchres of the thoughts of nations, and the forgotten ruins +wherein their faith lay charnelled, give up the dead that were +in them; and beneath the Egyptian ranks of sultry and silent +rock, and amidst the dim golden lights of the Byzantine dome, +and out of the confused and cold shadows of the Northern +cloister, behold, the multitudinous souls come forth with singing, +gazing on us with the soft eyes of newly comprehended +sympathy, and stretching their white arms to us across the +grave, in the solemn gladness of everlasting brotherhood.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXIX.</span> The other danger to which, it was above said, we +were primarily exposed under our present circumstances of +life, is the pursuit of vain pleasure, that is to say, false pleasure; +delight, which is not indeed delight; as knowledge vainly accumulated, +is not indeed knowledge. And this we are exposed +to chiefly in the fact of our ceasing to be children. For the +child does not seek false pleasure; its pleasures are true, simple, +and instinctive: but the youth is apt to abandon his early and +true delight for vanities,—seeking to be like men, and sacrificing +his natural and pure enjoyments to his pride. In like +manner, it seems to me that modern civilization sacrifices much +pure and true pleasure to various forms of ostentation from +which it can receive no fruit. Consider, for a moment, what +kind of pleasures are open to human nature, undiseased. Passing +by the consideration of the pleasures of the higher affections, +which lie at the root of everything, and considering the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page190"></a>190</span> +definite and practical pleasures of daily life, there is, first, the +pleasure of doing good; the greatest of all, only apt to be despised +from not being often enough tasted: and then, I know +not in what order to put them, nor does it matter,—the pleasure +of gaining knowledge; the pleasure of the excitement of +imagination and emotion (or poetry and passion); and, lastly, +the gratification of the senses, first of the eye, then of the ear, +and then of the others in their order.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXX.</span> All these we are apt to make subservient to the +desire of praise; nor unwisely, when the praise sought is God’s +and the conscience’s: but if the sacrifice is made for man’s +admiration, and knowledge is only sought for praise, passion +repressed or affected for praise, and the arts practised for praise, +we are feeding on the bitterest apples of Sodom, suffering +always ten mortifications for one delight. And it seems to me, +that in the modern civilized world we make such sacrifice +doubly: first, by laboring for merely ambitious purposes; and +secondly, which is the main point in question, by being ashamed +of simple pleasures, more especially of the pleasure in sweet +color and form, a pleasure evidently so necessary to man’s perfectness +and virtue, that the beauty of color and form has been +given lavishly throughout the whole of creation, so that it may +become the food of all, and with such intricacy and subtlety +that it may deeply employ the thoughts of all. If we refuse +to accept the natural delight which the Deity has thus provided +for us, we must either become ascetics, or we must seek +for some base and guilty pleasures to replace those of Paradise, +which we have denied ourselves.</p> + +<p>Some years ago, in passing through some of the cells of the +Grand Chartreuse, noticing that the window of each apartment +looked across the little garden of its inhabitant to the wall of +the cell opposite, and commanded no other view, I asked the +monk beside me, why the window was not rather made on the +side of the cell whence it would open to the solemn fields of +the Alpine valley. “We do not come here,” he replied, “to +look at the mountains.”</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXI.</span> The same answer is given, practically, by the men +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page191"></a>191</span> +of this century, to every such question; only the walls with +which they enclose themselves are those of pride, not of prayer. +But in the middle ages it was otherwise. Not, indeed, in +landscape itself, but in the art which can take the place of it, +in the noble color and form with which they illumined, and +into which they wrought, every object around them that was +in any wise subjected to their power, they obeyed the laws of +their inner nature, and found its proper food. The splendor +and fantasy even of dress, which in these days we pretend to +despise, or in which, if we even indulge, it is only for the sake +of vanity, and therefore to our infinite harm, were in those +early days studied for love of their true beauty and honorableness, +and became one of the main helps to dignity of character, +and courtesy of bearing. Look back to what we have been +told of the dress of the early Venetians, that it was so invented +“that in clothing themselves with it, they might clothe themselves +also with modesty and honor;”<a name="FnAnchor_54" href="#Footnote_54"><span class="sp">54</span></a> consider what nobleness +of expression there is in the dress of any of the portrait +figures of the great times, nay, what perfect beauty, and more +than beauty, there is in the folding of the robe round the imagined +form even of the saint or of the angel; and then consider +whether the grace of vesture be indeed a thing to be despised. +We cannot despise it if we would; and in all our highest poetry +and happiest thought we cling to the magnificence which in +daily life we disregard. The essence of modern romance is +simply the return of the heart and fancy to the things in which +they naturally take pleasure; and half the influence of the best +romances, of Ivanhoe, or Marmion, or the Crusaders, or the +Lady of the Lake, is completely dependent upon the accessaries +of armor and costume. Nay, more than this, deprive the Iliad +itself of its costume, and consider how much of its power would +be lost. And that delight and reverence which we feel in, and +by means of, the mere imagination of these accessaries, the +middle ages had in the vision of them; the nobleness of dress +exercising, as I have said, a perpetual influence upon character, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page192"></a>192</span> +tending in a thousand ways to increase dignity and self-respect, +and together with grace of gesture, to induce serenity of thought.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXII.</span> I do not mean merely in its magnificence; the +most splendid time was not the best time. It was still in the +thirteenth century,—when, as we have seen, simplicity and gorgeousness +were justly mingled, and the “leathern girdle and +clasp of bone” were worn, as well as the embroidered mantle,—that +the manner of dress seems to have been noblest. +The chain mail of the knight, flowing and falling over his +form in lapping waves of gloomy strength, was worn under full +robes of one color in the ground, his crest quartered on them, +and their borders enriched with subtle illumination. The +women wore first a dress close to the form in like manner, and +then long and flowing robes, veiling them up to the neck, and +delicately embroidered around the hem, the sleeves, and the +girdle. The use of plate armor gradually introduced more +fantastic types; the nobleness of the form was lost beneath the +steel; the gradually increasing luxury and vanity of the age +strove for continual excitement in more quaint and extravagant +devices; and in the fifteenth century, dress reached its point of +utmost splendor and fancy, being in many cases still exquisitely +graceful, but now, in its morbid magnificence, devoid of all +wholesome influence on manners. From this point, like architecture, +it was rapidly degraded; and sank through the buff +coat, and lace collar, and jack-boot, to the bag-wig, tailed coat, +and high-heeled shoes; and so to what it is now.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIII.</span> Precisely analogous to this destruction of beauty +in dress, has been that of beauty in architecture; its color, and +grace, and fancy, being gradually sacrificed to the base forms of +the Renaissance, exactly as the splendor of chivalry has faded +into the paltriness of fashion. And observe the form in which +the necessary reaction has taken place; necessary, for it was +not possible that one of the strongest instincts of the human +race could be deprived altogether of its natural food. Exactly +in the degree that the architect withdrew from his buildings +the sources of delight which in early days they had so richly +possessed, demanding, in accordance with the new principles of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page193"></a>193</span> +taste, the banishment of all happy color and healthy invention, +in that degree the minds of men began to turn to landscape as +their only resource. The picturesque school of art rose up to +address those capacities of enjoyment for which, in sculpture, +architecture, or the higher walks of painting, there was employment +no more; and the shadows of Rembrandt, and savageness +of Salvator, arrested the admiration which was no longer permitted +to be rendered to the gloom or the grotesqueness of +the Gothic aisle. And thus the English school of landscape, +culminating in Turner, is in reality nothing else than a healthy +effort to fill the void which the destruction of Gothic architecture +has left.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXIV.</span> But the void cannot thus be completely filled; no, +nor filled in any considerable degree. The art of landscape-painting +will never become thoroughly interesting or sufficing +to the minds of men engaged in active life, or concerned principally +with practical subjects. The sentiment and imagination +necessary to enter fully into the romantic forms of art are +chiefly the characteristics of youth; so that nearly all men as +they advance in years, and some even from their childhood +upwards, must be appealed to, if at all, by a direct and substantial +art, brought before their daily observation and connected +with their daily interests. No form of art answers +these conditions so well as architecture, which, as it can receive +help from every character of mind in the workman, can address +every character of mind in the spectator; forcing itself into +notice even in his most languid moments, and possessing this +chief and peculiar advantage, that it is the property of all men. +Pictures and statues may be jealously withdrawn by their possessors +from the public gaze, and to a certain degree their +safety requires them to be so withdrawn; but the outsides of +our houses belong not so much to us as to the passer-by, and +whatever cost and pains we bestow upon them, though too +often arising out of ostentation, have at least the effect of benevolence.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXV.</span> If, then, considering these things, any of my readers +should determine, according to their means, to set themselves to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page194"></a>194</span> +the revival of a healthy school of architecture in England, and +wish to know in few words how this may be done, the answer +is clear and simple. First, let us cast out utterly whatever is +connected with the Greek, Roman, or Renaissance architecture, +in principle or in form. We have seen above, that the whole +mass of the architecture, founded on Greek and Roman models, +which we have been in the habit of building for the last three +centuries, is utterly devoid of all life, virtue, honorableness, or +power of doing good. It is base, unnatural, unfruitful, unenjoyable, +and impious. Pagan in its origin, proud and unholy in +its revival, paralyzed in its old age, yet making prey in its +dotage of all the good and living things that were springing +around it in their youth, as the dying and desperate king, who +had long fenced himself so strongly with the towers of it, is +said to have filled his failing veins with the blood of children;<a name="FnAnchor_55" href="#Footnote_55"><span class="sp">55</span></a> +an architecture invented, as it seems, to make plagiarists of its +architects, slaves of its workmen, and Sybarites of its inhabitants; +an architecture in which intellect is idle, invention impossible, +but in which all luxury is gratified, and all insolence fortified;—the +first thing we have to do is to cast it out, and shake +the dust of it from our feet for ever. Whatever has any connexion +with the five orders, or with any one of the orders,—whatever +is Doric, or Ionic, or Tuscan, or Corinthian, or Composite, +or in any way Grecized or Romanized; whatever betrays the +smallest respect for Vitruvian laws, or conformity with Palladian +work,—that we are to endure no more. To cleanse ourselves +of these “cast clouts and rotten rags” is the first thing +to be done in the court of our prison.</p> + +<p>§ <span class="scs">XXXVI.</span> Then, to turn our prison into a palace is an easy +thing. We have seen above, that exactly in the degree in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page195"></a>195</span> +which Greek and Roman architecture is lifeless, unprofitable, +and unchristian, in that same degree our own ancient Gothic +is animated, serviceable, and faithful. We have seen that it is +flexible to all duty, enduring to all time, instructive to all +hearts, honorable and holy in all offices. It is capable alike of +all lowliness and all dignity, fit alike for cottage porch or castle +gateway; in domestic service familiar, in religious, sublime; +simple, and playful, so that childhood may read it, yet clothed +with a power that can awe the mightiest, and exalt the loftiest +of human spirits: an architecture that kindles every faculty +in its workman, and addresses every emotion in its beholder; +which, with every stone that is laid on its solemn walls, raises +some human heart a step nearer heaven, and which from its +birth has been incorporated with the existence, and in all its +form is symbolical of the faith, of Christianity. In this architecture +let us henceforward build, alike the church, the palace, +and the cottage; but chiefly let us use it for our civil and +domestic buildings. These once ennobled, our ecclesiastical +work will be exalted together with them: but churches are +not the proper scenes for experiments in untried architecture, +nor for exhibitions of unaccustomed beauty. It is certain that +we must often fail before we can again build a natural and +noble Gothic: let not our temples be the scenes of our failures. +It is certain that we must offend many deep-rooted prejudices, +before ancient Christian architecture<a name="FnAnchor_56" href="#Footnote_56"><span class="sp">56</span></a> can be again received +by all of us: let not religion be the first source of such offence. +We shall meet with difficulties in applying Gothic architecture +to churches, which would in no wise affect the designs of civil +buildings, for the most beautiful forms of Gothic chapels are +not those which are best fitted for Protestant worship. As it +was noticed in the second volume, when speaking of the +Cathedral of Torcello it seems not unlikely, that as we study +either the science of sound, or the practice of the early +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page196"></a>196</span> +Christians, we may see reason to place the pulpit generally at +the extremity of the apse or chancel; an arrangement entirely +destructive of the beauty of a Gothic church, as seen in existing +examples, and requiring modifications of its design in other +parts with which we should be unwise at present to embarrass +ourselves; besides, that the effort to introduce the style +exclusively for ecclesiastical purposes, excites against it the +strong prejudices of many persons who might otherwise be +easily enlisted among its most ardent advocates. I am quite +sure, for instance, that if such noble architecture as has been +employed for the interior of the church just built in Margaret +Street<a name="FnAnchor_57" href="#Footnote_57"><span class="sp">57</span></a> had been seen in a civil building, it would have +decided the question with many men at once; whereas, at +present, it will be looked upon with fear and suspicion, as the +expression of the ecclesiastical principles of a particular party. +But, whether thus regarded or not, this church assuredly +decides one question conclusively, that of our present capability +of Gothic design. It is the first piece of architecture I +have seen, built in modern days, which is free from all signs +of timidity or incapacity. In general proportion of parts, in +refinement and piquancy of mouldings, above all, in force, +vitality, and grace of floral ornament, worked in a broad and +masculine manner, it challenges fearless comparison with the +noblest work of any time. Having done this, we may do anything; +there need be no limits to our hope or our confidence; +and I believe it to be possible for us, not only to equal, but +far to surpass, in some respects, any Gothic yet seen in +Northern countries. In the introduction of figure-sculpture, +we must, indeed, for the present, remain utterly inferior, for +we have no figures to study from. No architectural sculpture +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page197"></a>197</span> +was ever good for anything which did not represent the dress +and persons of the people living at the time; and our modern +dress will <i>not</i> form decorations for spandrils and niches. But +in floral sculpture we may go far beyond what has yet been +done, as well as in refinement of inlaid work and general execution. +For, although the glory of Gothic architecture is to +receive the rudest work, it refuses not the best; and, when +once we have been content to admit the handling of the simplest +workman, we shall soon be rewarded by finding many +of our simple workmen become cunning ones: and, with the +help of modern wealth and science, we may do things like +Giotto’s campanile, instead of like our own rude cathedrals; +but better than Giotto’s campanile, insomuch as we may +adopt the pure and perfect forms of the Northern Gothic, +and work them out with the Italian refinement. It is hardly +possible at present to imagine what may be the splendor of +buildings designed in the forms of English and French thirteenth +century <i>surface</i> Gothic, and wrought out with the +refinement of Italian art in the details, and with a deliberate +resolution, since we cannot have figure sculpture, to display +in them the beauty of every flower and herb of the English +fields, each by each; doing as much for every tree that roots +itself in our rocks, and every blossom that drinks our summer +rains, as our ancestors did for the oak, the ivy, and the rose. +Let this be the object of our ambition, and let us begin +to approach it, not ambitiously, but in all humility, accepting +help from the feeblest hands; and the London of the nineteenth +century may yet become as Venice without her despotism, +and as Florence without her dispeace.</p> + + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_46" href="#FnAnchor_46"><span class="fn">46</span></a> In the works of Turner and the Pre-Raphaelites.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_47" href="#FnAnchor_47"><span class="fn">47</span></a> Observe, I speak of these various principles as self-evident, only under +the present circumstances of the world, not as if they had always been so; +and I call them now self-evident, not merely because they seem so to myself, +but because they are felt to be so likewise by all the men in whom I +place most trust. But granting that they are not so, then their very disputability +proves the state of infancy above alleged, as characteristic of the +world. For I do not suppose that any Christian reader will doubt the first +great truth, that whatever facts or laws are important to mankind, God has +made ascertainable by mankind; and that as the decision of all these questions +is of vital importance to the race, that decision must have been long +ago arrived at, unless they were still in a state of childhood.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_48" href="#FnAnchor_48"><span class="fn">48</span></a> I intended to have given a sketch in this place (above referred to) of +the probable results of the daguerreotype and calotype within the next few +years, in modifying the application of the engraver’s art, but I have not +had time to complete the experiments necessary to enable me to speak with +certainty. Of one thing, however, I have little doubt, that an infinite service +will soon be done to a large body of our engravers; namely, the making +them draughtsmen (in black and white) on paper instead of steel.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_49" href="#FnAnchor_49"><span class="fn">49</span></a> I mean art in its highest sense. All that men do ingeniously is art, in +one sense. In fact, we want a definition of the word “art” much more +accurate than any in our minds at present. For, strictly speaking, there is +no such thing as “fine” or “high” art. All <i>art</i> is a low and common thing, +and what we indeed respect is not art at all, but <i>instinct</i> or <i>inspiration</i> expressed +by the help of art.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_50" href="#FnAnchor_50"><span class="fn">50</span></a></p> + +<p>“<i>Socrates</i>. This, then, was what I asked you; whether that which +puts anything else to service, and the thing which is put to service by it, are +always two different things?</p> + +<p><i>Alcibiades.</i> I think so.</p> + +<p><i>Socrates.</i> What shall we then say of the leather-cutter? Does he cut his +leather with his instruments only, or with his hands also?</p> + +<p><i>Alcibiades.</i> With his hands also.</p> + +<p><i>Socrates.</i> Does he not use his eyes as well as his hands?</p> + +<p><i>Alcibiades.</i> Yes.</p> + +<p><i>Socrates.</i> And we agreed that the thing which uses and the thing which +is used, were different things?</p> + +<p><i>Alcibiades.</i> Yes.</p> + +<p><i>Socrates.</i> Then the leather-cutter is not the same thing as his eyes or +hands?</p> + +<p><i>Alcibiades.</i> So it appears.</p> + +<p><i>Socrates.</i> Does not, then, man make use of his whole body?</p> + +<p><i>Alcibiades.</i> Assuredly.</p> + +<p><i>Socrates.</i> Then the man is not the same thing as his body?</p> + +<p><i>Alcibiades.</i> It seems so.</p> + +<p><i>Socrates.</i> What, then, <i>is</i> the man?</p> + +<p><i>Alcibiades.</i> I know not.”</p> + +<p style="text-align: right; "><i>Plato</i>, Alcibiades I.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_51" href="#FnAnchor_51"><span class="fn">51</span></a> Thus the grapes pressed by Excesse are partly golden (Spenser, book +ii. cant. 12.):</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="ind05">“Which did themselves amongst the leaves enfold,</p> +<p>As lurking from the view of covetous guest,</p> +<p>That the weake boughes, with so rich load opprest</p> +<p>Did bow adowne as overburdened.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p><a name="Footnote_52" href="#FnAnchor_52"><span class="fn">52</span></a> The reader must not suppose that the use of gold, in this manner, is +confined to early art. Tintoret, the greatest master of pictorial effect that +ever existed, has gilded the ribs of the fig-leaves in his “Resurrection,” in +the Scuola di San Rocco.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_53" href="#FnAnchor_53"><span class="fn">53</span></a> Nothing is more wonderful to me than to hear the pleasure of the eye, +in color, spoken of with disdain as “sensual,” while people exalt that of +the ear in music. Do they really suppose the eye is a less noble bodily +organ than the ear,—that the organ by which nearly all our knowledge of +the external universe is communicated to us, and through which we learn +the wonder and the love, can be less exalted in its own peculiar delight than +the ear, which is only for the communication of the ideas which owe to the +eye their very existence? I do not mean to depreciate music: let it be loved +and reverenced as is just; only let the delight of the eye be reverenced +more. The great power of music over the multitude is owing, not to its +being less but <i>more</i> sensual than color; it is so distinctly and so richly +sensual, that it can be idly enjoyed; it is exactly at the point where the +lower and higher pleasures of the senses and imagination are balanced; so +that pure and great minds love it for its invention and emotion, and lower +minds for its sensual power.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_54" href="#FnAnchor_54"><span class="fn">54</span></a> Vol. II. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#app_7">Appendix 7</a>.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_55" href="#FnAnchor_55"><span class="fn">55</span></a> Louis the Eleventh. “In the month of March, 1481, Louis was seized +with a fit of apoplexy at <i>St. Bénoit-du-lac-mort</i>, near Chinon. He remained +speechless and bereft of reason three days; and then but very imperfectly +restored, he languished in a miserable state.... To cure him,” says a contemporary +historian, “wonderful and terrible medicines were compounded. +It was reported among the people that his physicians opened the veins of +little children, and made him drink their blood, to correct the poorness of +his own.”—<i>Bussey’s History of France.</i> London, 1850.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_56" href="#FnAnchor_56"><span class="fn">56</span></a> Observe, I call Gothic “Christian” architecture, not “ecclesiastical.” +There is a wide difference. I believe it is the only architecture which Christian +men should build, but not at all an architecture necessarily connected +with the services of their church.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_57" href="#FnAnchor_57"><span class="fn">57</span></a> Mr. Hope’s Church, in Margaret Street, Portland Place. I do not altogether +like the arrangements of color in the brickwork; but these will +hardly attract the eye, where so much has been already done with precious +and beautiful marble, and is yet to be done in fresco. Much will depend, +however, upon the coloring of this latter portion. I wish that either +Holman Hunt or Millais could be prevailed upon to do at least some of these +smaller frescoes.</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page198"></a>198</span></p> + + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page199"></a>199</span></p> + +<h3>APPENDIX.</h3> + + +<p class="center scs bmarg"><a name="app_1" id="app_1"></a>1. ARCHITECT OF THE DUCAL PALACE.</p> + +<p>Popular tradition and a large number of the chroniclers +ascribe the building of the Ducal Palace to that Filippo Calendario +who suffered death for his share in the conspiracy of +Faliero. He was certainly one of the leading architects of the +time, and had for several years the superintendence of the works +of the Palace; but it appears, from the documents collected by +the Abbé Cadorin, that the first designer of the Palace, the man +to whom we owe the adaptation of the Frari traceries to civil +architecture, was Pietro Baseggio, who is spoken of expressly as +“formerly the Chief Master of our New Palace,”<a name="FnAnchor_58" href="#Footnote_58"><span class="sp">58</span></a> in the decree +of 1361, quoted by Cadorin, and who, at his death, left Calendario +his executor. Other documents collected by Zanotto, in +his work on “Venezia e le sue Lagune,” show that Calendario +was for a long time at sea, under the commands of the Signory, +returning to Venice only three or four years before his death; +and that therefore the entire management of the works of the +Palace, in the most important period, must have been entrusted +to Baseggio.</p> + +<p>It is quite impossible, however, in the present state of the +Palace, to distinguish one architect’s work from another in the +older parts; and I have not in the text embarrassed the reader +by any attempt at close definition of epochs before the great +junction of the Piazzetta Façade with the older palace in the +fifteenth century. Here, however, it is necessary that I should +briefly state the observations I was able to make on the relative +dates of the earlier portions.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page200"></a>200</span></p> + +<p>In the description of the Fig-tree angle, given in the eighth +chapter of Vol. II., I said that it seemed to me somewhat earlier +than that of the Vine, and the reader might be surprised at the +apparent opposition of this statement to my supposition that the +Palace was built gradually round from the Rio Façade to the +Piazzetta. But in the two great open arcades there is no succession +of work traceable; from the Vine angle to the junction +with the fifteenth century work, above and below, all seems +nearly of the same date, the only question being of the accidental +precedence of workmanship of one capital or another; and I +think, from its style, that the Fig-tree angle must have been +first completed. But in the upper stories of the Palace there +are enormous differences of style. On the Rio Façade, in the +upper story, are several series of massive windows of the third +order, corresponding exactly in mouldings and manner of workmanship +to those of the chapter-house of the Frari, and consequently +carrying us back to a very early date in the fourteenth +century: several of the capitals of these windows, and two +richly sculptured string-courses in the wall below, are of Byzantine +workmanship, and in all probability fragments of the Ziani +Palace. The traceried windows on the Rio Façade, and the two +eastern windows on the Sea Façade, are all of the finest early +fourteenth century work, masculine and noble in their capitals +and bases to the highest degree, and evidently contemporary +with the very earliest portions of the lower arcades. But the +moment we come to the windows of the Great Council Chamber +the style is debased. The mouldings are the same, but they are +coarsely worked, and the heads set amidst the leafage of the +capitals quite valueless and vile.</p> + +<p>I have not the least doubt that these window-jambs and +traceries were restored after the great fire;<a name="FnAnchor_59" href="#Footnote_59"><span class="sp">59</span></a> and various other +restorations have taken place since, beginning with the removal +of the traceries from all the windows except the northern one +of the Sala del Scrutinio, behind the Porta della Carta, where +they are still left. I made out four periods of restoration among +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page201"></a>201</span> +these windows, each baser than the preceding. It is not worth +troubling the reader about them, but the traveller who is interested +in the subject may compare two of them in the same window; +the one nearer the sea of the two belonging to the little +room at the top of the Palace on the Piazzetta Façade, between +the Sala del Gran Consiglio and that of the Scrutinio. The seaward +jamb of that window is of the first, and the opposite jamb +of the second, period of these restorations. These are all the +points of separation in date which I could discover by internal +evidence. But much more might be made out by any Venetian +antiquary whose time permitted him thoroughly to examine any +existing documents which allude to or describe the parts of the +Palace spoken of in the important decrees of 1340, 1342, and +1344; for the first of these decrees speaks of certain “columns +looking towards the Canal”<a name="FnAnchor_60" href="#Footnote_60"><span class="sp">60</span></a> or sea, as then existing, and I +presume these columns to have been part of the Ziani Palace, +corresponding to the part of that palace on the Piazzetta where +were the “red columns” between which Calendario was executed; +and a great deal more might be determined by any one who +would thoroughly unravel the obscure language of those decrees.</p> + +<p>Meantime, in order to complete the evidence respecting the +main dates stated in the text, I have collected here such notices +of the building of the Ducal Palace as appeared to me of +most importance in the various chronicles I examined. I could +not give them all in the text, as they repeat each other, and +would have been tedious; but they will be interesting to the +antiquary, and it is to be especially noted in all of them how the +Palazzo <i>Vecchio</i> is invariably distinguished, either directly or by +implication, from the Palazzo Nuovo. I shall first translate the +piece of the Zancarol Chronicle given by Cadorin, which has +chiefly misled the Venetian antiquaries. I wish I could put the +rich old Italian into old English, but must be content to lose its +raciness, as it is necessary that the reader should be fully acquainted +with its facts.</p> + +<p>“It was decreed that none should dare to propose to the +Signory of Venice to ruin the <i>old</i> palace and rebuild it new and +more richly, and there was a penalty of one thousand ducats +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page202"></a>202</span> +against any one who should break it. Then the Doge, wishing +to set forward the public good, said to the Signory, ... +that they ought to rebuild the façades of the <i>old</i> palace, and +that it ought to be restored, to do honor to the nation: and so +soon as he had done speaking, the Avogadori demanded the +penalty from the Doge, for having disobeyed the law; and the +Doge with ready mind paid it, remaining in his opinion that +the said fabric ought to be built. And so, in the year 1422, on +the 20th day of September, it was passed in the Council of the +Pregadi that the said new palace should be begun, and the expense +should be borne by the Signori del Sal; and so, on the +24th day of March, 1424, it was begun to throw down the <i>old</i> +palace, and to build it anew.”—<i>Cadorin</i>, p. 129.</p> + +<p>The day of the month, and the council in which the decree +was passed, are erroneously given by this Chronicle. Cadorin +has printed the words of the decree itself, which passed in the +Great Council on the 27th September: and these words are, +fortunately, much to our present purpose. For as more than +one façade is spoken of in the above extract, the Marchese Selvatico +was induced to believe that both the front to the sea and +that to the Piazzetta had been destroyed; whereas, the “façades” +spoken of are evidently those of the Ziani Palace. For the +words of the decree (which are much more trustworthy than +those of the Chronicle, even if there were any inconsistency between +them) run thus: “Palatium nostrum fabricetur et fiat in +forma decora et convenienti, quod respondeat <i>solemnissimo principio +palatii nostri novi</i>.” Thus the new council chamber and +façade to the sea are called the “most venerable beginning of +our <i>New</i> Palace;” and the rest was ordered to be designed in +accordance with these, as was actually the case as far as the +Porta della Carta. But the Renaissance architects who thenceforward +proceeded with the fabric, broke through the design, +and built everything else according to their own humors.</p> + +<p>The question may be considered as set at rest by these words +of the decree, even without any internal or any farther documentary +evidence. But rather for the sake of impressing the +facts thoroughly on the reader’s mind, than of any additional +proof, I shall quote a few more of the best accredited Chronicles.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page203"></a>203</span></p> + +<p>The passage given by Bettio, from the Sivos Chronicle, is a +very important parallel with that from the Zancarol above:</p> + +<p>“Essendo molto vecchio, e quasi rovinoso el Palazzo sopra la +piazza, fo deliberato di far quella parte tutta da novo, et continuarla +com’ è quella della Sala grande, et cosi il Lunedi 27 Marzo +1424 fu dato principio a ruinare detto Palazzo vecchio dalla +parte, ch’ è verso panateria cioè della Giustizia, ch’ è nelli occhi +di sopra le colonne fino alla Chiesa et fo fatto anco la porta +grande, com’ è al presente, con la sala che si addimanda la +Libraria.”<a name="FnAnchor_61" href="#Footnote_61"><span class="sp">61</span></a></p> + +<p>We have here all the facts told us in so many words: the +“old palace” is definitely stated to have been “on the piazza,” +and it is to be rebuilt “like the part of the great saloon.” The +very point from which the newer buildings commenced is told +us; but here the chronicler has carried his attempt at accuracy +too far. The point of junction is, as stated above, at the third +pillar beyond the medallion of Venice; and I am much at a loss +to understand what could have been the disposition of these +three pillars where they joined the Ziani Palace, and how they +were connected with the arcade of the inner cortile. But with +these difficulties, as they do not bear on the immediate question, +it is of no use to trouble the reader.</p> + +<p>The next passage I shall give is from a Chronicle in the Marcian +Library, bearing title, “Supposta di Zancaruol;” but in +which I could not find the passage given by Cadorin from, I believe, +a manuscript of this Chronicle at Vienna. There occurs +instead of it the following thus headed:—</p> + +<p>“Come <i>la parte nova</i> del Palazzo fuo hedificata <i>novamente</i>.</p> + +<p>“El Palazzo novo de Venesia quella parte che xe verso la +Chiesia de S. Marcho fuo prexo chel se fesse del 1422 e fosse +pagado la spexa per li officiali del sal. E fuo fatto per sovrastante +G. Nicolo Barberigo cum provision de ducati X doro al +mexe e fuo fabricado e fatto nobelissimo. Come fin ancho di el +sta e fuo grande honor a la Signoria de Venesia e a la sua Citta.”</p> + +<p>This entry, which itself bears no date, but comes between +others dated 22nd July and 27th December, is interesting, because +it shows the first transition of the idea of <i>newness</i>, from +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page204"></a>204</span> +the Grand Council Chamber to the part built under Foscari. +For when Mocenigo’s wishes had been fulfilled, and the old +palace of Ziani had been destroyed, and another built in its +stead, the Great Council Chamber, which was “the new palace” +compared with Ziani’s, became “the old palace” compared with +Foscari’s; and thus we have, in the body of the above extract, +the whole building called “the new palace of Venice;” but in +the heading of it, we have “the new <i>part</i> of the palace” applied +to the part built by Foscari, in contradistinction to the Council +Chamber.</p> + +<p>The next entry I give is important, because the writing of +the MS. in which it occurs, No. 53 in the Correr Museum, +shows it to be probably not later than the end of the fifteenth +century:</p> + +<p>“El palazo nuovo de Venixia zoe quella parte che se sora la +piazza verso la giesia di Miss. San Marcho del 1422 fo principiado, +el qual fo fato e finito molto belo, chome al presente se +vede nobilissimo, et a la fabricha de quello fo deputado Miss. +Nicolo Barberigo, soprastante con ducati dieci doro al mexe.”</p> + +<p>We have here the part built by Foscari distinctly called the +Palazzo Nuovo, as opposed to the Great Council Chamber, +which had now completely taken the position of the Palazzo +Vecchio, and is actually so called by Sansovino. In the copy of +the Chronicle of Paolo Morosini, and in the MSS. numbered respectively +57, 59, 74, and 76 in the Correr Museum, the passage +above given from No. 53 is variously repeated with slight +modifications and curtailments; the entry in the Morosini +Chronicle being headed, “Come fu principiato il palazo che +guarda sopra la piaza grande di S. Marco,” and proceeding in +the words, “El Palazo Nuovo di Venetia, cioè quella parte che +e sopra la piaza,” &c., the writers being cautious, in all these instances, +to <i>limit their statement</i> to the part facing the Piazza, +that no reader might suppose the Council Chamber to have been +built or begun at the same time; though, as long as to the end +of the sixteenth century, we find the Council Chamber still included +in the expression “Palazzo Nuovo.” Thus, in the MS. +No. 75 in the Correr Museum, which is about that date, we +have “Del 1422, a di 20 Settembre fu preso nel consegio grando +de dover <i>compir</i> el Palazo Novo, e dovesen fare la spessa li +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page205"></a>205</span> +officialli del Sal (61. M. 2. B.).” And, so long as this is the +case, the “Palazzo Vecchio” always means the Ziani Palace. +Thus, in the next page of this same MS. we have “a di 27 +Marzo (1424 by context) fo principia a butar zosso, el <i>Palazzo +Vecchio</i> per refarlo da novo, e poi se he” (and so it is done); +and in the MS. No. 81, “Del 1424, fo gittado zoso el <i>Palazzo +Vecchio</i> per refarlo de nuovo, a di 27 Marzo.” But in the +time of Sansovino the Ziani Palace was quite forgotten; the +Council Chamber was then the <i>old</i> palace, and Foscari’s part +was the new. His account of the “Palazzo Publico” will now +be perfectly intelligible; but, as the work itself is easily accessible, +I shall not burden the reader with any farther extracts, +only noticing that the chequering of the façade with red and +white marbles, which he ascribes to Foscari, may or may not be +of so late a date, as there is nothing in the style of the work +which can be produced as evidence.</p> + + +<p class="center scs bmarg"><a name="app_2" id="app_2"></a>2. THEOLOGY OF SPENSER.</p> + +<p>The following analysis of the first books of the “Faërie +Queen,” may be interesting to readers who have been in the +habit of reading the noble poem too hastily to connect its parts +completely together; and may perhaps induce them to more +careful study of the rest of the poem.</p> + +<p>The Redcrosse Knight is Holiness,—the “Pietas” of St. +Mark’s, the “Devotio” of Orcagna,—meaning, I think, in general, +Reverence and Godly Fear.</p> + +<p>This Virtue, in the opening of the book, has Truth (or Una) +at its side, but presently enters the Wandering Wood, and encounters +the serpent Error; that is to say, Error in her universal +form, the first enemy of Reverence and Holiness; and more +especially Error as founded on learning; for when Holiness +strangles her,</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p class="ind03">“Her vomit <i>full of bookes and papers was</i>,</p> +<p>With loathly frogs and toades, which eyes did lacke.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>Having vanquished this first open and palpable form of +Error, as Reverence and Religion must always vanquish it, the +Knight encounters Hypocrisy, or Archimagus; Holiness cannot +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page206"></a>206</span> +detect Hypocrisy, but believes him, and goes home with him; +whereupon Hypocrisy succeeds in separating Holiness from +Truth; and the Knight (Holiness) and Lady (Truth) go forth +separately from the house of Archimagus.</p> + +<p>Now observe: the moment Godly Fear, or Holiness, is separated +from Truth, he meets Infidelity, or the Knight Sans +Foy; Infidelity having Falsehood, or Duesa, riding behind +him. The instant the Redcrosse Knight is aware of the attack +of Infidelity, he</p> + +<p class="poemss">“Gan fairly couch his speare, and towards ride.”</p> + +<p>He vanquishes and slays Infidelity; but is deceived by his +companion, Falsehood, and takes her for his lady: thus showing +the condition of Religion, when, after being attacked by +Doubt, and remaining victorious, it is nevertheless seduced, by +any form of Falsehood, to pay reverence where it ought not. +This, then, is the first fortune of Godly Fear separated from +Truth. The poet then returns to Truth, separated from +Godly Fear. She is immediately attended by a lion, or Violence, +which makes her dreaded wherever she comes; and +when she enters the mart of Superstition, this Lion tears +Kirkrapine in pieces: showing how Truth, separated from Godliness, +does indeed put an end to the abuses of Superstition, +but does so violently and desperately. She then meets again +with Hypocrisy, whom she mistakes for her own lord, or Godly +Fear, and travels a little way under his guardianship (Hypocrisy +thus not unfrequently appearing to defend the Truth), until +they are both met by Lawlessness, or the Knight Sans Loy, +whom Hypocrisy cannot resist. Lawlessness overthrows Hypocrisy, +and seizes upon Truth, first slaying her lion attendant: +showing that the first aim of licence is to destroy the force and +authority of Truth. Sans Loy then takes Truth captive, and +bears her away. Now this Lawlessness is the “unrighteousness,” +or “adikia,” of St. Paul; and his bearing Truth away +captive, is a type of those “who hold the truth in unrighteousness,”—that +is to say, generally, of men who, knowing what is +true, make the truth give way to their own purposes, or use it +only to forward them, as is the case with so many of the popular +leaders of the present day. Una is then delivered from Sans +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page207"></a>207</span> +Loy by the satyrs, to show that Nature, in the end, must work +out the deliverance of the truth, although, where it has been +captive to Lawlessness, that deliverance can only be obtained +through Savageness, and a return to barbarism. Una is then +taken from among the satyrs by Satyrane, the son of a satyr and +a “lady myld, fair Thyamis,” (typifying the early steps of renewed +civilization, and its rough and hardy character “nousled +up in life and manners wilde,”) who, meeting again with Sans +Loy, enters instantly into rough and prolonged combat with +him: showing how the early organization of a hardy nation +must be wrought out through much discouragement from Lawlessness. +This contest the poet leaving for the time undecided, +returns to trace the adventures of the Redcrosse Knight, or +Godly Fear, who, having vanquished Infidelity, presently is led +by Falsehood to the house of Pride: thus showing how religion, +separated from truth, is first tempted by doubts of God, and +then by the pride of life. The description of this house of +Pride is one of the most elaborate and noble pieces in the poem; +and here we begin to get at the proposed system of Virtues and +Vices. For Pride, as queen, has six other vices yoked in her +chariot; namely, first, Idleness, then Gluttony, Lust, Avarice, +Envy, and Anger, all driven on by “Sathan, with a smarting +whip in hand.” From these lower vices and their company, +Godly Fear, though lodging in the house of Pride, holds aloof; +but he is challenged, and has a hard battle to fight with Sans +Joy, the brother of Sans Foy: showing, that though he has +conquered Infidelity, and does not give himself up to the allurements +of Pride, he is yet exposed, so long as he dwells in her +house, to distress of mind and loss of his accustomed rejoicing +before God. He, however, having partly conquered Despondency, +or Sans Joy, Falsehood goes down to Hades, in order to +obtain drugs to maintain the power or life of Despondency; +but, meantime, the Knight leaves the house of Pride: Falsehood +pursues and overtakes him, and finds him by a <span class="correction" title="originally fountaiu">fountain</span> +side, of which the waters are</p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poemr"> +<p> <span style="padding-left: 12em; ">“Dull and slow,</span></p> +<p>And all that drinke thereof do faint and feeble grow.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>Of which the meaning is, that Godly Fear, after passing through +the house of Pride, is exposed to drowsiness and feebleness of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page208"></a>208</span> +watch; as, after Peter’s boast, came Peter’s sleeping, from +weakness of the flesh, and then, last of all, Peter’s fall. And so +it follows: for the Redcrosse Knight, being overcome with faintness +by drinking of the fountain, is thereupon attacked by the +giant Orgoglio, overcome and thrown by him into a dungeon. +This Orgoglio is Orgueil, or Carnal Pride; not the pride of life, +spiritual and subtle, but the common and vulgar pride in the +power of this world: and his throwing the Redcrosse Knight +into a dungeon, is a type of the captivity of true religion under +the temporal power of corrupt churches, more especially of the +Church of Rome; and of its gradually wasting away in unknown +places, while carnal pride has the preëminence over all +things. That Spenser means, especially, the pride of the +Papacy, is shown by the 16th stanza of the book; for there the +giant Orgoglio is said to have taken Duessa, or Falsehood, for +his “deare,” and to have set upon her head a triple crown, and +endowed her with royal majesty, and made her to ride upon a +seven-headed beast.</p> + +<p>In the meantime, the dwarf, the attendant of the Redcrosse +Knight, takes his arms, and finding Una tells her of the captivity +of her lord. Una, in the midst of her mourning, meets +Prince Arthur, in whom, as Spenser himself tells us, is set forth +generally Magnificence; but who, as is shown by the choice of +the hero’s name, is more especially the magnificence, or literally, +“great doing” of the kingdom of England. This power of +England, going forth with Truth, attacks Orgoglio, or the +Pride of Papacy, slays him; strips Duessa, or Falsehood, naked; +and liberates the Redcrosse Knight. The magnificent and well-known +description of Despair follows, by whom the Redcrosse +Knight is hard bested, on account of his past errors and captivity, +and is only saved by Truth, who, perceiving him to be +still feeble, brings him to the house of Cœlia, called, in the argument +of the canto, Holiness, but properly, Heavenly Grace, +the mother of the Virtues. Her “three daughters, well up-brought,” +are Faith, Hope, and Charity. Her porter is Humility; +because Humility opens the door of Heavenly Grace. +Zeal and Reverence are her chamberlains, introducing the new +comers to her presence; her groom, or servant, is Obedience; +and her physician, Patience. Under the commands of Charity, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page209"></a>209</span> +the matron Mercy rules over her hospital, under whose care the +Knight is healed of his sickness; and it is to be especially +noticed how much importance Spenser, though never ceasing to +chastise all hypocrisies and mere observances of form, attaches +to true and faithful <i>penance</i> in effecting this cure. Having his +strength restored to him, the Knight is trusted to the guidance +of Mercy, who, leading him forth by a narrow and thorny way, +first instructs him in the seven works of Mercy, and then leads +him to the hill of Heavenly Contemplation; whence, having a +sight of the New Jerusalem, as Christian of the Delectable +Mountains, he goes forth to the final victory over Satan, the old +serpent, with which the book closes.</p> + + +<p class="center scs bmarg"><a name="app_3" id="app_3"></a>3. AUSTRIAN GOVERNMENT IN ITALY.</p> + +<p>I cannot close these volumes without expressing my astonishment +and regret at the facility with which the English allow +themselves to be misled by any representations, however openly +groundless or ridiculous, proceeding from the Italian Liberal +party, respecting the present administration of the Austrian +Government. I do not choose here to enter into any political +discussion, or express any political opinion; but it is due to +justice to state the simple facts which came under my notice +during my residence in Italy. I was living at Venice through +two entire winters, and in the habit of familiar association both +with Italians and Austrians, my own antiquarian vocations rendering +such association possible without exciting the distrust of +either party. During this whole period, I never once was able +to ascertain, from any liberal Italian, that he had a single +<i>definite</i> ground of complaint against the Government. There +was much general grumbling and vague discontent; but I never +was able to bring one of them to the point, or to discover what +it was that they wanted, or in what way they felt themselves +injured; nor did I ever myself witness an instance of oppression +on the part of the Government, though several of much kindness +and consideration. The indignation of those of my own +countrymen and countrywomen whom I happened to see during +their sojourn in Venice was always vivid, but by no means large +in its grounds. English ladies on their first arrival invariably +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page210"></a>210</span> +began the conversation with the same remark: “What a dreadful +thing it was to be ground under the iron heel of despotism!” +Upon closer inquiries it always appeared that being “ground +under the heel of despotism” was a poetical expression for being +asked for one’s passport at San Juliano, and required to fetch it +from San Lorenzo, full a mile and a quarter distant. In like +manner, travellers, after two or three days’ residence in the city, +used to return with pitiful lamentations over “the misery of the +Italian people.” Upon inquiring what instances they had met +with of this misery, it invariably turned out that their gondoliers, +after being paid three times their proper fare, had asked +for something to drink, and had attributed the fact of their +being thirsty to the Austrian Government. The misery of the +Italians consists in having three festa days a week, and doing +in their days of exertion about one fourth as much work as an +English laborer.</p> + +<p>There is, indeed, much true distress occasioned by the measures +which the Government is sometimes compelled to take in +order to repress sedition; but the blame of this lies with those +whose occupation is the excitement of sedition. So also there is +much grievous harm done to works of art by the occupation of +the country by so large an army; but for the mode in which +that army is quartered, the Italian municipalities are answerable, +not the Austrians. Whenever I was shocked by finding, as +above-mentioned at Milan, a cloister, or a palace, occupied by +soldiery, I always discovered, on investigation, that the place +had been given by the municipality; and that, beyond requiring +that lodging for a certain number of men should be found in +such and such a quarter of the town, the Austrians had nothing +to do with the matter. This does not, however, make the mischief +less: and it is strange, if we think of it, to see Italy, with +all her precious works of art, made a continual battle-field; as +if no other place for settling their disputes could be found by +the European powers, than where every random shot may destroy +what a king’s ransom cannot restore.<a name="FnAnchor_62" href="#Footnote_62"><span class="sp">62</span></a> It is exactly as if +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page211"></a>211</span> +the tumults in Paris could he settled no otherwise than by fighting +them out in the Gallery of the Louvre.</p> + + +<p class="center scs bmarg"><a name="app_4"></a>4. DATE OF THE PALACES OF THE BYZANTINE RENAISSANCE.</p> + +<p>In the sixth article of the Appendix to the first volume, the +question of the date of the Casa Dario and Casa Trevisan was +deferred until I could obtain from my friend Mr. Rawdon +Brown, to whom the former palace once belonged, some more +distinct data respecting this subject than I possessed myself.</p> + +<p>Speaking first of the Casa Dario, he says: “Fontana dates +it from about the year 1450, and considers it the earliest specimen +of the architecture founded by Pietro Lombardo, and followed +by his sons, Tullio and Antonio. In a Sanuto autograph +miscellany, purchased by me long ago, and which I gave to St. +Mark’s Library, are two letters from Giovanni Dario, dated 10th +and 11th July, 1485, in the neighborhood of Adrianople; where +the Turkish camp found itself, and Bajazet II. received presents +from the Soldan of Egypt, from the Schah of the Indies (query +Grand Mogul), and from the King of Hungary: of these matters, +Dario’s letters give many curious details. Then, in the +<i>printed</i> Malipiero Annals, page 136 (which err, I think, by a +year), the Secretary Dario’s negotiations at the Porte are alluded +to; and in date of 1484 he is stated to have returned to Venice, +having quarrelled with the Venetian bailiff at Constantinople: +the annalist adds, that ‘Giovanni Dario was a native of Candia, +and that the Republic was so well satisfied with him for having +concluded peace with Bajazet, that he received, as a gift from his +country, an estate at Noventa, in the Paduan territory, worth +1500 ducats, and 600 ducats in cash for the dower of one of his +daughters.’ These largesses probably enabled him to build his +house about the year 1486, and are doubtless hinted at in the +inscription, which I restored <span class="scs">A.D.</span> 1837; <i>it had no date</i>, and +ran thus, <span class="scs">URBIS . GENIO . JOANNES . DARIVS.</span> In the Venetian +history of Paolo Morosini, page 594, it is also mentioned, that +Giovanni Dario was, moreover, the Secretary who concluded the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page212"></a>212</span> +peace between Mahomet, the conqueror of Constantinople, and +Venice, <span class="scs">A.D.</span> 1478; but, unless he build his house by proxy, +that date has nothing to do with it; and in my mind, the fact +of the present, and the inscription, warrant one’s dating it 1486, +and not 1450.</p> + +<p>“The Trevisan-Cappello House, in Canonica, was once the +property (<span class="scs">A.D.</span> 1578) of a Venetian dame, fond of cray-fish, according +to a letter of hers in the archives, whereby she thanks +one of her lovers for some which he had sent her from Treviso +to Florence, of which she was then Grand Duchess. Her name +has perhaps found its way into the English annuals. Did you +ever hear of Bianca Cappello? She bought that house of the +Trevisana family, by whom Selva (in Cicognara) and Fontana +(following Selva) say it was ordered of the Lombardi, at the +commencement of the sixteenth century: but the inscription on +its façade, thus,</p> + +<table class="nobctr" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td class="scs" style="padding-right: 1em; ">SOLI</td> + <td style="border-left: 2px solid black; border-right: 2px solid black; + padding-left:1em; " rowspan="2"> </td> + <td class="scs" style="padding-left: 1em; ">HONOR. ET</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="scs">DEO</td> + <td class="scs" style="padding-left: 1em; ">GLORIA.</td></tr> +</table> + +<p>reminding one both of the Dario House, and of the words <span class="scs">NON +NOBIS DOMINE</span> inscribed on the façade of the Loredano Vendramin +Palace at S. Marcuola (now the property of the Duchess +of Berri), of which Selva found proof in the Vendramin Archives +that it was commenced by Sante Lombardo, <span class="scs">A.D.</span> 1481, is in +favor of its being classed among the works of the fifteenth +century.”</p> + + +<p class="center scs bmarg"><a name="app_5"></a>5. RENAISSANCE SIDE OF DUCAL PALACE.</p> + +<p>In passing along the Rio del Palazzo the traveller ought +especially to observe the base of the Renaissance building, formed +by alternately depressed and raised pyramids, the depressed portions +being <i>casts</i> of the projecting ones, which are truncated on +the summits. The work cannot be called rustication, for it is +cut as sharply and delicately as a piece of ivory, but it thoroughly +answers the end which rustication proposes, and misses: +it gives the base of the building a look of crystalline hardness, +actually resembling, and that very closely, the appearance presented +by the fracture of a piece of cap quartz; while yet the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page213"></a>213</span> +light and shade of its alternate recesses and projections are so +varied as to produce the utmost possible degree of delight to +the eye, attainable by a geometrical pattern so simple. Yet, +with all this high merit, it is not a base which could be brought +into general use. Its brilliancy and piquancy are here set off +with exquisite skill by its opposition to mouldings, in the upper +part of the building, of an almost effeminate delicacy, and its +complexity is rendered delightful by its contrast with the ruder +bases of the other buildings of the city; but it would look +meagre if it were employed to sustain bolder masses above, and +would become wearisome if the eye were once thoroughly familiarized +with it by repetition.</p> + + +<p class="center scs bmarg"><a name="app_6"></a>6. CHARACTER OF THE DOGE MICHELE MOROSINI.</p> + +<p>The following extracts from the letter of Count Charles +Morosini, above mentioned, appear to set the question at rest.</p> + +<p>“It is our unhappy destiny that, during the glory of the +Venetian republic, no one took the care to leave us a faithful +and conscientious history: but I hardly know whether this misfortune +should be laid to the charge of the historians themselves, +or of those commentators who have destroyed their trustworthiness +by new accounts of things, invented by themselves. As for +the poor Morosini, we may perhaps save his honor by assembling +a conclave of our historians, in order to receive their united +sentence; for, in this case, he would have the absolute majority +on his side, nearly all the authors bearing testimony to his love +for his country and to the magnanimity of his heart. I must +tell you that the history of Daru is not looked upon with esteem +by well-informed men; and it is said that he seems to have no +other object in view than to obscure the glory of all actions. I +know not on what authority the English writer depends; but +he has, perhaps, merely copied the statement of Daru.... +I have consulted an ancient and authentic MS. belonging to the +Venieri family, a MS. well known, and certainly better worthy +of confidence than Daru’s history, and it says nothing of M. +Morosini but that he was elected Doge to the delight and joy of +all men. Neither do the Savina or Dolfin Chronicles say a word +of the shameful speculation; and our best informed men say +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page214"></a>214</span> +that the reproach cast by some historians against the Doge perhaps +arose from a mistaken interpretation of the words pronounced +by him, and reported by Marin Sanuto, that ‘the speculation +would sooner or later have been advantageous to the +country.’ But this single consideration is enough to induce us +to form a favorable conclusion respecting the honor of this man, +namely, that he was not elected Doge until after he had been +entrusted with many honorable embassies to the Genoese and +Carrarese, as well as to the King of Hungary and Amadeus of +Savoy; and if in these embassies he had not shown himself a +true lover of his country, the republic not only would not again +have entrusted him with offices so honorable, but would never +have rewarded him with the dignity of Doge, therein to succeed +such a man as Andrea Contarini; and the war of Chioggia, +during which it is said that he tripled his fortune by speculations, +took place during the reign of Contarini, 1379, 1380, +while Morosini was absent on foreign embassies.”</p> + + +<p class="center scs bmarg"><a name="app_7"></a>7. MODERN EDUCATION.</p> + +<p>The following fragmentary notes on this subject have been +set down at different times. I have been accidentally prevented +from arranging them properly for publication, but there are one +or two truths in them which it is better to express insufficiently +than not at all.</p> + +<div style="padding-top: 2em; "> </div> + +<p>By a large body of the people of England and of Europe a +man is called educated if he can write Latin verses and construe +a Greek chorus. By some few more enlightened persons it is +confessed that the construction of hexameters is not in itself an +important end of human existence; but they say, that the general +discipline which a course of classical reading gives to the +intellectual powers, is the final object of our scholastical institutions.</p> + +<p>But it seems to me, there is no small error even in this last +and more philosophical theory. I believe, that what it is most +honorable to know, it is also most profitable to learn; and that +the science which it is the highest power to possess, it is also the +best exercise to acquire.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page215"></a>215</span></p> + +<p>And if this be so, the question as to what should be the materiel +of education, becomes singularly simplified. It might be +matter of dispute what processes have the greatest effect in developing +the intellect; but it can hardly be disputed what facts +it is most advisable that a man entering into life should accurately +know.</p> + +<p>I believe, in brief, that he ought to know three things:</p> + +<p class="nomarg" style="padding-left: 1em; ">First. Where he is.</p> +<p class="nomarg" style="padding-left: 1em; ">Secondly. Where he is going.</p> +<p class="nomarg" style="padding-left: 1em; ">Thirdly. What he had best do, under those circumstances.</p> + +<p>First. Where he is.—That is to say, what sort of a world he +has got into; how large it is; what kind of creatures live in it, +and how; what it is made of, and what may be made of it.</p> + +<p>Secondly. Where he is going.—That is to say, what chances +or reports there are of any other world besides this; what seems +to be the nature of that other world; and whether, for information +respecting it, he had better consult the Bible, Koran, or +Council of Trent.</p> + +<p>Thirdly. What he had best do under those circumstances.—That +is to say, what kind of faculties he possesses; what are the +present state and wants of mankind; what is his place in +society; and what are the readiest means in his power of attaining +happiness and diffusing it. The man who knows these +things, and who has had his will so subdued in the learning +them, that he is ready to do what he knows he ought, I should +call educated; and the man who knows them not,—uneducated, +though he could talk all the tongues of Babel.</p> + +<p>Our present European system of so-called education ignores, +or despises, not one, nor the other, but all the three, of these +great branches of human knowledge.</p> + +<p>First: It despises Natural History.—Until within the last +year or two, the instruction in the physical sciences given at +Oxford consisted of a course of twelve or fourteen lectures on +the Elements of Mechanics or Pneumatics, and permission to +ride out to Shotover with the Professor of Geology. I do not +know the specialties of the system pursued in the academies of +the Continent; but their practical result is, that unless a man’s +natural instincts urge him to the pursuit of the physical sciences +too strongly to be resisted, he enters into life utterly ignorant of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page216"></a>216</span> +them. I cannot, within my present limits, even so much as +count the various directions in which this ignorance does evil. +But the main mischief of it is, that it leaves the greater number +of men without the natural food which God intended for their +intellects. For one man who is fitted for the study of words, +fifty are fitted for the study of things, and were intended to +have a perpetual, simple, and religious delight in watching the +processes, or admiring the creatures, of the natural universe. +Deprived of this source of pleasure, nothing is left to them but +ambition or dissipation; and the vices of the upper classes of +Europe are, I believe, chiefly to be attributed to this single +cause.</p> + +<p>Secondly: It despises Religion.—I do not say it despises +“Theology,” that is to say, <i>Talk</i> about God. But it despises +“Religion;” that is to say, the “binding” or training to God’s +service. There is much talk and much teaching in all our +academies, of which the effect is not to bind, but to loosen, the +elements of religious faith. Of the ten or twelve young men +who, at Oxford, were my especial friends, who sat with me +under the same lectures on Divinity, or were punished with me +for missing lecture by being sent to evening prayers,<a name="FnAnchor_63" href="#Footnote_63"><span class="sp">63</span></a> four are +now zealous Romanists,—a large average out of twelve; and +while thus our own universities profess to teach Protestantism, +and do not, the universities on the Continent profess to teach +Romanism, and do not,—sending forth only rebels and infidels. +During long residence on the Continent, I do not remember +meeting with above two or three young men, who either believed +in revelation, or had the grace to hesitate in the assertion of +their infidelity.</p> + +<p>Whence, it seems to me, we may gather one of two things; +either that there is nothing in any European form of religion so +reasonable or ascertained, as that it can be taught securely to +our youth, or fastened in their minds by any rivets of proof +which they shall not be able to loosen the moment they begin to +think; or else, that no means are taken to train them in such +demonstrable creeds.</p> + +<p>It seems to me the duty of a rational nation to ascertain (and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page217"></a>217</span> +to be at some pains in the matter) which of these suppositions is +true; and, if indeed no proof can be given of any supernatural +fact, or Divine doctrine, stronger than a youth just out of his +teens can overthrow in the first stirrings of serious thought, to +confess this boldly; to get rid of the expense of an Establishment, +and the hypocrisy of a Liturgy; to exhibit its cathedrals +as curious memorials of a by-gone superstition, and, abandoning +all thoughts of the next world, to set itself to make the best it +can of this.</p> + +<p>But if, on the other hand, there <i>does</i> exist any evidence by +which the probability of certain religious facts may be shown, as +clearly, even, as the probabilities of things not absolutely ascertained +in astronomical or geological science, let this evidence be +set before all our youth so distinctly, and the facts for which it +appears inculcated upon them so steadily, that although it may +be possible for the evil conduct of after life to efface, or for its +earnest and protracted meditation to modify, the impressions of +early years, it may not be possible for our young men, the instant +they emerge from their academies, to scatter themselves +like a flock of wild fowl risen out of a marsh, and drift away on +every irregular wind of heresy and apostasy.</p> + +<p>Lastly: Our system of European education despises Politics.—That +is to say, the science of the relations and duties of men +to each other. One would imagine, indeed, by a glance at the +state of the world, that there was no such science. And, indeed, +it is one still in its infancy.</p> + +<p>It implies, in its full sense, the knowledge of the operations +of the virtues and vices of men upon themselves and society; +the understanding of the ranks and offices of their intellectual +and bodily powers in their various adaptations to art, science, +and industry; the understanding of the proper offices of art, +science, and labor themselves, as well as of the foundations of +jurisprudence, and broad principles of commerce; all this being +coupled with practical knowledge of the present state and wants +of mankind.</p> + +<p>What, it will be said, and is all this to be taught to schoolboys? +No; but the first elements of it, all that are necessary +to be known by an individual in order to his acting wisely in +any station of life, might be taught, not only to every schoolboy, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page218"></a>218</span> +but to every peasant. The impossibility of equality among +men; the good which arises from their inequality; the compensating +circumstances in different states and fortunes; the honorableness +of every man who is worthily filling his appointed place +in society, however humble; the proper relations of poor and +rich, governor and governed; the nature of wealth, and mode +of its circulation; the difference between productive and unproductive +labor; the relation of the products of the mind and +hand; the true value of works of the higher arts, and the possible +amount of their production; the meaning of “Civilization,” +its advantages and dangers; the meaning of the term “Refinement;” +the possibilities of possessing refinement in a low station, +and of losing it in a high one; and, above all, the significance +of almost every act of a man’s daily life, in its ultimate operation +upon himself and others;—all this might be, and ought +to be, taught to every boy in the kingdom, so completely, that +it should be just as impossible to introduce an absurd or licentious +doctrine among our adult population, as a new version of +the multiplication table. Nor am I altogether without hope +that some day it may enter into the heads of the tutors of our +schools to try whether it is not as easy to make an Eton boy’s +mind as sensitive to falseness in policy, as his ear is at present +to falseness in prosody.</p> + +<p>I know that this is much to hope. That English ministers +of religion should ever come to desire rather to make a youth +acquainted with the powers of nature and of God, than with +the powers of Greek particles; that they should ever think it +more useful to show him how the great universe rolls upon its +course in heaven, than how the syllables are fitted in a tragic +metre; that they should hold it more advisable for him to be +fixed in the principles of religion than in those of syntax; or, +finally, that they should ever come to apprehend that a youth +likely to go straight out of college into parliament, might not +unadvisably know as much of the Peninsular as of the Peloponnesian +War, and be as well acquainted with the state of Modern +Italy as of old Etruria;—all this however unreasonably, I <i>do</i> +hope, and mean to work for. For though I have not yet abandoned +all expectation of a better world than this, I believe this +in which we live is not so good as it might be. I know there are +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page219"></a>219</span> +many people who suppose French revolutions, Italian insurrections, +Caffre wars, and such other scenic effects of modern +policy, to be among the normal conditions of humanity. I +know there are many who think the atmosphere of rapine, rebellion, +and misery which wraps the lower orders of Europe +more closely every day, is as natural a phenomenon as a hot +summer. But God forbid! There are ills which flesh is heir +to, and troubles to which man is born; but the troubles which +he is born to are as sparks which fly <i>upward</i>, not as flames burning +to the nethermost Hell. The Poor we must have with us +always, and sorrow is inseparable from any hour of life; but we +may make their poverty such as shall inherit the earth, and the +sorrow, such as shall be hallowed by the hand of the Comforter, +with everlasting comfort. We <i>can</i>, if we will but shake off this +lethargy and dreaming that is upon us, and take the pains to +think and act like men, we can, I say, make kingdoms to be +like well-governed households, in which, indeed, while no care +or kindness can prevent occasional heart-burnings, nor any foresight +or piety anticipate all the vicissitudes of fortune, or avert +every stroke of calamity, yet the unity of their affection and +fellowship remains unbroken, and their distress is neither embittered +by division, prolonged by imprudence, nor darkened by +dishonor.</p> + +<p class="center" style="letter-spacing: 3.5em"> *******</p> + +<p>The great leading error of modern times is the mistaking +erudition for education. I call it the leading error, for I believe +that, with little difficulty, nearly every other might be shown to +have root in it; and, most assuredly, the worst that are fallen +into on the subject of art.</p> + +<p>Education then, briefly, is the leading human souls to what +is best, and making what is best out of them; and these two +objects are always attainable together, and by the same means; +the training which makes men happiest in themselves, also +makes them most serviceable to others. True education, then, +has respect, first to the ends which are proposable to the man, +or attainable by him; and, secondly, to the material of which +the man is made. So far as it is able, it chooses the end according +to the material: but it cannot always choose the end, for +the position of many persons in life is fixed by necessity; still +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page220"></a>220</span> +less can it choose the material; and, therefore, all it can do, is +to fit the one to the other as wisely as may be.</p> + +<p>But the first point to be understood, is that the material is +as various as the ends; that not only one man is unlike another, +but <i>every</i> man is essentially different from <i>every</i> other, so that +no training, no forming, nor informing, will ever make two +persons alike in thought or in power. Among all men, whether +of the upper or lower orders, the differences are eternal and irreconcilable, +between one individual and another, born under +absolutely the same circumstances. One man is made of agate, +another of oak; one of slate, another of clay. The education of +the first is polishing; of the second, seasoning; of the third, +rending; of the fourth, moulding. It is of no use to season +the agate; it is vain to try to polish the slate; but both are +fitted, by the qualities they possess, for services in which they +may be honored.</p> + +<p>Now the cry for the education of the lower classes, which is +heard every day more widely and loudly, is a wise and a sacred +cry, provided it be extended into one for the education of <i>all</i> +classes, with definite respect to the work each man has to do, +and the substance of which he is made. But it is a foolish and +vain cry, if it be understood, as in the plurality of cases it is +meant to be, for the expression of mere craving after knowledge, +irrespective of the simple purposes of the life that now is, and +blessings of that which is to come.</p> + +<p>One great fallacy into which men are apt to fall when they +are reasoning on this subject is: that light, as such, is always +good; and darkness, as such, always evil. Far from it. Light +untempered would be annihilation. It is good to them that sit +in darkness and in the shadow of death; but, to those that faint +in the wilderness, so also is the shadow of the great rock in a +weary land. If the sunshine is good, so also the cloud of the +latter rain. Light is only beautiful, only available for life, +when it is tempered with shadow; pure light is fearful, and unendurable +by humanity. And it is not less ridiculous to say +that the light, as such, is good in itself, than to say that the +darkness is good in itself. Both are rendered safe, healthy, +and useful by the other; the night by the day, the day by +the night; and we could just as easily live without the dawn +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page221"></a>221</span> +as without the sunset, so long as we are human. Of the celestial +city we are told there shall be “no night there,” and then +we shall know even as also we are known: but the night and +the mystery have both their service here; and our business is +not to strive to turn the night into day, but to be sure that we +are as they that watch for the morning.</p> + +<p>Therefore, in the education either of lower or upper classes, +it matters not the least how much or how little they know, provided +they know just what will fit them to do their work, and +to be happy in it. What the sum or the nature of their knowledge +ought to be at a given time or in a given case, is a totally +different question: the main thing to be understood is, that a +man is not educated, in any sense whatsoever, because he can +read Latin, or write English, or can behave well in a drawingroom; +but that he is only educated if he is happy, busy, beneficent, +and effective in the world; that millions of peasants are +therefore at this moment better educated than most of those +who call themselves gentlemen; and that the means taken to +“educate” the lower classes in any other sense may very often +be productive of a precisely opposite result.</p> + +<p>Observe: I do not say, nor do I believe, that the lower classes +ought not to be better educated, in millions of ways, than they +are. I believe <i>every man in a Christian kingdom ought to be +equally well educated</i>. But I would have it education to purpose; +stern, practical, irresistible, in moral habits, in bodily strength +and beauty, in all faculties of mind capable of being developed +under the circumstances of the individual, and especially in the +technical knowledge of his own business; but yet, infinitely various +in its effort, directed to make one youth humble, and another +confident; to tranquillize this mind, to put some spark of ambition +into that; now to urge, and now to restrain: and in the +doing of all this, considering knowledge as one only out of myriads +of means in its hands, or myriads of gifts at its disposal; and +giving it or withholding it as a good husbandman waters his +garden, giving the full shower only to the thirsty plants, and at +times when they are thirsty, whereas at present we pour it upon +the heads of our youth as the snow falls on the Alps, on one and +another alike, till they can bear no more, and then take honor to +ourselves because here and there a river descends from their +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page222"></a>222</span> +crests into the valleys, not observing that we have made the +loaded hills themselves barren for ever.</p> + +<p>Finally: I hold it for indisputable, that the first duty of a +state is to see that every child born therein shall be well housed, +clothed, fed, and educated, till it attain years of discretion. But +in order to the effecting this, the government must have an +authority over the people of which we now do not so much as +dream; and I cannot in this place pursue the subject farther.</p> + + +<p class="center scs bmarg"><a name="app_8"></a>8. EARLY VENETIAN MARRIAGES.</p> + +<p>Galliciolli, lib. ii. § 1757, insinuates a doubt of the general +custom, saying “it would be more reasonable to suppose that +only twelve maidens were married in public on St. Mark’s day;” +and Sandi also speaks of twelve only. All evidence, however, +is clearly in favor of the popular tradition; the most curious fact +connected with the subject being the mention, by Herodotus, of +the mode of marriage practised among the Illyrian “Veneti” of +his time, who presented their maidens for marriage on one day +in each year; and, with the price paid for those who were beautiful, +gave dowries to those who had no personal attractions.</p> + +<p>It is very curious to find the traces of this custom existing, +though in a softened form, in Christian times. Still, I admit +that there is little confidence to be placed in the mere concurrence +of the Venetian Chroniclers, who, for the most part, copied +from each other: but the best and most complete account I have +read, is that quoted by Galliciolli from the “Matricola de’ Casseleri,” +written in 1449; and, in that account, the words are +quite unmistakable. “It was anciently the custom of Venice, +that <i>all the brides</i> (novizze) of Venice, when they married, should +be married by the bishop, in the Church of S. Pietro di Castello, +on St. Mark’s day, which is the 31st of January.” Rogers quotes +Navagiero to the same effect; and Sansovino is more explicit +still. “It was the custom to contract marriages openly; and +when the deliberations were completed, the damsels assembled +themselves in St. Pietro di Castello, for the feast of St. <span class="correction" title="originally Mary">Mark</span>, in +February.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page223"></a>223</span></p> + +<p class="center scs bmarg"><a name="app_9"></a>9. CHARACTER OF THE VENETIAN ARISTOCRACY.</p> + +<p>The following noble answer of a Venetian ambassador, Giustiniani, +on the occasion of an insult offered him at the court of +Henry the Eighth, is as illustrative of the dignity which there +yet remained in the character and thoughts of the Venetian +noble, as descriptive, in few words, of the early faith and deeds +of his nation. He writes thus to the Doge, from London, on the +15th of April, 1516:</p> + +<p>“By my last, in date of the 30th ult., I informed you that +the countenances of some of these lords evinced neither friendship +nor goodwill, and that much language had been used to me +of a nature bordering not merely on arrogance, but even on +outrage; and not having specified this in the foregoing letters, +I think fit now to mention it in detail. Finding myself at the +court, and talking familiarly about other matters, two lay lords, +great personages in this kingdom, inquired of me ‘whence it +came that your Excellency was of such slippery faith, now favoring +one party and then the other?’ Although these words +ought to have irritated me, I answered them with all discretion, +‘that you did keep, and ever had kept your faith; the maintenance +of which has placed you in great trouble, and subjected +you to wars of longer duration than you would otherwise have +experienced; descending to particulars in justification of your +Sublimity.’ Whereupon one of them replied, ‘<i>Isti Veneti sunt +piscatores.</i>’<a name="FnAnchor_64" href="#Footnote_64"><span class="sp">64</span></a> Marvellous was the command I then had over +myself in not giving vent to expressions which might have +proved injurious to your Signory; and with extreme moderation +I rejoined, ‘that had he been at Venice, and seen our Senate, +and the Venetian nobility, he perhaps would not speak thus; +and moreover, were he well read in our history, both concerning +the origin of our city and the grandeur of your Excellency’s +feats, neither the one nor the other would seem to him those +of fishermen; yet,’ said I, ‘did fishermen found the Christian +faith, and we have been those fishermen who defended it against +the forces of the Infidel, our fishing-boats being galleys and +ships, our hooks the treasure of St. Mark, and our bait the +life-blood of our citizens, who died for the Christian faith.’”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page224"></a>224</span></p> + +<p>I take this most interesting passage from a volume of despatches +addressed from London to the Signory of Venice, by the +ambassador Giustiniani, during the years 1516-1519; despatches +not only full of matters of historical interest, but of the most +delightful every-day description of all that went on at the English +court. They were translated by Mr. Brown from the original +letters, and will, I believe, soon be published, and I hope +also, read and enjoyed: for I cannot close these volumes without +expressing a conviction, which has long been forcing itself upon +my mind, that <i>restored</i> history is of little more value than restored +painting or architecture; that the only history worth reading is +that written at the time of which it treats, the history of what +was done and seen, heard out of the mouths of the men who did +and saw. One fresh draught of such history is worth more than +a thousand volumes of abstracts, and reasonings, and suppositions, +and theories; and I believe that, as we get wiser, we shall take +little trouble about the history of nations who have left no distinct +records of themselves, but spend our time only in the +examination of the faithful documents which, in any period of +the world, have been left, either in the form of art or literature, +portraying the scenes, or recording the events, which in those +days were actually passing before the eyes of men.</p> + + +<p class="center scs bmarg"><a name="app_10"></a>10. FINAL APPENDIX.</p> + +<p>The statements respecting the dates of Venetian buildings +made throughout the preceding pages, are founded, as above +stated, on careful and personal examination of all the mouldings, +or other features available as evidence, of every palace of importance +in the city. Three parts, at least, of the time occupied in +the completion of the work have been necessarily devoted to the +collection of these evidences, of which it would be quite useless +to lay the mass before the reader; but of which the leading points +must be succinctly stated, in order to show the nature of my +authority for any of the conclusions expressed in the text.</p> + +<p>I have therefore collected in the plates which illustrate this +article of the Appendix, for the examination of any reader who +may be interested by them, as many examples of the evidence-bearing +details as are sufficient for the proof required, especially +including all the exceptional forms; so that the reader may rest +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page225"></a>225</span> +assured that if I had been able to lay before him all the evidence +in my possession, it would have been still more conclusive than +the portion now submitted to him.</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/img225.jpg" width="650" height="404" alt="BYZANTINE BASES." title="BYZANTINE BASES." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">BYZANTINE BASES.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>We must examine in succession the Bases, Doorways and +Jambs, Capitals, Archivolts, Cornices, and Tracery Bars, of +Venetian architecture.</p> + + +<p class="center bmarg"><i>I. Bases.</i></p> + +<p>The principal points we have to notice are the similarity and +simplicity of the Byzantine bases in general, and the distinction +between those of Torcello and Murano, and of St. Mark’s, as +tending to prove the early dates attributed in the text to the +island churches. I have sufficiently illustrated the forms of the +Gothic bases in Plates <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#plate_10">X.</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#plate_11">XI.</a>, and <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#plate_13">XIII.</a> of the first volume, so +that I here note chiefly the Byzantine or Romanesque ones, +adding two Gothic forms for the sake of comparison.</p> + +<p>The most characteristic examples, then, are collected in <a href="#plate_5">Plate +V.</a> opposite; namely:</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="margin-left: 1em; " summary="Contents"> + +<tr><td> +<p class="sc"><a href="#plate_5">Plate V.</a></p> +<p>Vol. III.</p></td> + +<td> +<p> 1, 2, 3, 4. In the upper gallery of apse of Murano.</p> +<p> 5. Lower shafts of apse. Murano.</p> +<p> 6. Casa Falier.</p> +<p> 7. Small shafts of panels. Casa Farsetti.</p> +<p> 8. Great shafts and plinth. Casa Farsetti.</p> +<p> 9. Great lower shafts. Fondaco de’ Turchi.</p> +<p>10. Ducal Palace, upper arcade.</p> +<p>11. General late Gothic form.</p> +<p>12. Tomb of Dogaressa Vital Michele, in St. Mark’s atrium.</p> +<p>13. Upper arcade of Madonnetta House.</p> +<p>14. Rio-Foscari House.</p> +<p>15. Upper arcade. Terraced House.</p> +<p>16, 17, 18. Nave. Torcello.</p> +<p>19, 20. Transepts. St. Mark’s.</p> +<p>21. Nave. St. Mark’s.</p> +<p>22. External pillars of northern portico. St. Mark’s.</p> +<p>23, 24. Clustered pillars of northern portico. St. Mark’s.</p> +<p>25, 26. Clustered pillars of southern portico. St. Mark’s.</p> +</td></tr> +</table> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page226"></a>226</span></p> + +<p>Now, observe, first, the enormous difference in style between +the bases 1 to 5, and the rest in the upper row, that is to say, +between the bases of Murano and the twelfth and thirteenth +century bases of Venice; and, secondly, the difference between +the bases 16 to 20 and the rest in the lower row, that is to say, +between the bases of Torcello (with those of St. Mark’s which +belong to the nave, and which may therefore be supposed to be +part of the earlier church), and the later ones of the St. Mark’s +Façade.</p> + +<p>Secondly: Note the fellowship between 5 and 6, one of the +evidences of the early date of the Casa Falier.</p> + +<p>Thirdly: Observe the slurring of the upper roll into the +cavetto, in 13, 14, and 15, and the consequent relationship +established between three most important buildings, the Rio-Foscari +House, Terraced House, and Madonnetta House.</p> + +<p>Fourthly: Byzantine bases, if they have an incision between +the upper roll and cavetto, are very apt to approach the form of +fig. 23, in which the upper roll is cut out of the flat block, and +the ledge beneath it is sloping. Compare Nos. 7, 8, 9, 21, 22, +23, 24, 25, 26. On the other hand, the later Gothic base, 11, +has always its upper roll well developed, and, generally, the fillet +between it and the cavetto vertical. The sloping fillet is indeed +found down to late periods; and the vertical fillet, as in No. 12, +in Byzantine ones; but still, when a base has such a sloping fillet +and peculiarly graceful sweeping cavetto, as those of No. 10, +looking as if they would run into one line with each other, it is +strong presumptive evidence of its belonging to an early, rather +than a late period.</p> + +<p>The base 12 is the boldest example I could find of the exceptional +form in early times; but observe, in this, that the upper +roll is larger than the lower. This is <i>never</i> the case in late +Gothic, where the proportion is always as in fig. 11. Observe +that in Nos. 8 and 9 the upper rolls are at least as large as the +lower, an important evidence of the dates of the Casa Farsetti +and Fondaco de’ Turchi.</p> + +<p>Lastly: Note the peculiarly steep profile of No. 22, with +reference to what is said of this base in Vol. II. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#app_9">Appendix 9</a>.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page227"></a>227</span></p> + +<p class="center bmarg"><i>II. Doorways and Jambs.</i></p> + +<p>The entrances to St. Mark’s consist, as above mentioned, of +great circular or ogee porches; underneath which the real open +entrances, in which the valves of the bronze doors play, are +square headed.</p> + +<div style="position: absolute; left: 12%; right: 55%; text-align: left"> +<p>The mouldings of the jambs +of these doors are highly curious, +and the most characteristic are +therefore represented in one +view. The outsides of the +jambs are lowest.</p> + +<p class="nomarg"><i>a</i>. Northern lateral door.</p> +<p class="nomarg"><i>b</i>. First northern door of the façade.</p> +<p class="nomarg"><i>c</i>. Second door of the façade.</p> +<p class="nomarg"><i>d</i>. Fourth door of the façade.</p> +<p class="nomarg"><i>e</i>. Central door of the façade.</p> +</div> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. 1</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter2"> + <a name="fig_1"><img src="images/img227.jpg" width="450" height="666" alt="Fig. 1" title="Fig. 1" /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page228"></a>228</span></p> + +<p>I wish the reader especially to note the arbitrary character of +the curves and incisions; all evidently being drawn by hand, +none being segments of circles, none like another, none influenced +by any visible law. I do not give these mouldings as beautiful; +they are, for the most part, very poor in effect, but they are +singularly characteristic of the free work of the time.</p> + +<p>The kind of door to which these mouldings belong, is shown, +with the other groups of doors, in <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_14">Plate XIV.</a> Vol. II. fig. 6 <i>a</i>. +Then 6 <i>b</i>, 6 <i>c</i>, 6 <i>d</i> represent the groups of doors in which the +Byzantine influence remained energetic, admitting slowly the +forms of the pointed Gothic; 7 <i>a</i>, with the gable above, is the +intermediate group between the Byzantine and Gothic schools; +7 <i>b</i>, 7 <i>c</i>, 7 <i>d</i>, 7 <i>e</i> are the advanced guards of the Gothic and Lombardic +invasions, representative of a large number of thirteenth +century arcades and doors. Observe that 6 <i>d</i> is shown to be of a +late school by its finial, and 6 <i>e</i> of the latest school by its finial, +complete ogee arch (instead of round or pointed), and abandonment +of the lintel.</p> + +<p>These examples, with the exception of 6 <i>a</i>, which is a general +form, are all actually existing doors; namely:</p> + +<p class="nomargi">6 <i>b.</i> In the Fondamenta Venier, near St. Maria della Salute.</p> +<p class="nomargi">6 <i>c.</i> In the Calle delle Botteri, between the Rialto and San Cassan.</p> +<p class="nomargi">6 <i>d.</i> Main door of San Gregorio.</p> +<p class="nomargi">6 <i>e.</i> Door of a palace in Rio San Paternian.</p> +<p class="nomargi">7 <i>a.</i> Door of a small courtyard near house of Marco Polo.</p> +<p class="nomargi">7 <i>b.</i> Arcade in narrow canal, at the side of Casa Barbaro.</p> +<p class="nomargi">7 <i>c.</i> At the turn of the canal, close to the Ponte dell’ Angelo.</p> +<p class="nomargi">7 <i>d.</i> In Rio San Paternian (a ruinous house).</p> +<p class="nomargi">7 <i>e.</i> At the turn of the canal on which the Sotto Portico della Stua opens, near San Zaccaria.</p> + +<p>If the reader will take a magnifying glass to the figure 6 <i>d</i>, he +will see that its square ornaments, of which, in the real door, +each contains a rose, diminish to the apex of the arch; a very +interesting and characteristic circumstance, showing the subtle +feeling of the Gothic builders. They must needs diminish the +ornamentation, in order to sympathize with the delicacy of the +point of the arch. The magnifying glass will also show the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page229"></a>229</span> +Bondumieri shield in No. 7 <i>d</i>, and the Leze shield in No. 7 <i>e</i>, +both introduced on the keystones in the grand early manner. +The mouldings of these various doors will be noticed under the +head Archivolt.</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/img229.jpg" width="395" height="650" alt="" title="" /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">BYZANTINE JAMBS.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>Now, throughout the city we find a number of doors resembling +the square doors of St. Mark, and occurring with rare exceptions +either in buildings of the Byzantine period, or imbedded +in restored houses; never, in a single instance, forming a connected +portion of any late building; and they therefore furnish +a most important piece of evidence, wherever they are part of +the original structure of a <i>Gothic</i> building, that such building is +one of the advanced guards of the Gothic school, and belongs to +its earliest period.</p> + +<p>On <a href="#plate_6">Plate VI.</a>, opposite, are assembled all the important examples +I could find in Venice of these mouldings. The reader +will see at a glance their peculiar character, and unmistakable +likeness to each other. The following are the references:</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="margin-left: 1em; " summary="data"> + +<tr><td> +<p class="sc"><a href="#plate_6">Plate VI.</a></p> +<p>Vol. III.</p></td> + +<td> +<p> 1. Door in Calle Mocenigo.</p> +<p> 2. Angle of tomb of Dogaressa Vital Michele.</p> +<p> 3. Door in Sotto Portico, St. Apollonia (near Ponte di Canonica).</p> +<p> 4. Door in Calle della Verona (another like it is close by).</p> +<p> 5. Angle of tomb of Doge Marino Morosini.</p> +<p> 6, 7. Door in Calle Mocenigo.</p> +<p> 8. Door in Campo S. Margherita.</p> +<p> 9. Door at Traghetto San Samuele, on south side of Grand Canal.</p> +<p>10. Door at Ponte St. Toma.</p> +<p>11. Great door of Church of Servi.</p> +<p>12. In Calle della Chiesa, Campo San Filippo e Giacomo.</p> +<p>13. Door of house in Calle di Rimedio (Vol. II.).</p> +<p>14. Door in Fondaco de’ Turchi.</p> +<p>15. Door in Fondamenta Malcanton, near Campo S. Margherita.</p> +<p>16. Door in south side of Canna Reggio.</p> +<p>17, 18. Doors in Sotto Portico dei Squellini.</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page230"></a>230</span></p> + +<p>The principal points to be noted in these mouldings are +their curious differences of level, as marked by the dotted lines, +more especially in 14, 15, 16, and the systematic projection of +the outer or lower mouldings in 16, 17, 18. Then, as points of +evidence, observe that 1 is the jamb and 6 the archivolt (7 the +angle on a larger scale) of the brick door given in my folio work +from Ramo di rimpetto Mocenigo, one of the evidences of the +early date of that door; 8 is the jamb of the door in Campo +Santa Margherita (also given in my folio work), fixing the early +date of that also; 10 is from a Gothic door opening off the Ponte +St. Toma; and 11 is also from a Gothic building. All the rest +are from Byzantine work, or from ruins. The angle of the tomb +of Marino Morosini (5) is given for comparison only.</p> + +<p>The doors with the mouldings 17, 18, are from the two ends +of a small dark passage, called the Sotto Portico dei Squellini, +opening near Ponte Cappello, on the Rio-Marin: 14 is the outside +one, arranged as usual, and at <i>a</i>, in the rough stone, are places +for the staples of the door valve; 15, at the other end of the passage, +opening into the little Corte dei Squellini, is set with the +part <i>a</i> outwards, it also having places for hinges; but it is curious +that the rich moulding should be set in towards the dark +passage, though natural that the doors should both open one way.</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/img230.jpg" width="402" height="650" alt="GOTHIC JAMBS." title="GOTHIC JAMBS." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">GOTHIC JAMBS.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>The next Plate, <a href="#plate_7">VII.</a>, will show the principal characters of +the Gothic jambs, and the total difference between them and the +Byzantine ones. Two more Byzantine forms, 1 and 2, are given +here for the sake of comparison; then 3, 4, and 5 are the common +profiles of simple jambs of doors in the Gothic period; 6 is +one of the jambs of the Frari windows, continuous into the +archivolt, and meeting the traceries, where the line is set upon +it at the extremity of its main slope; 7 and 8 are jambs of the +Ducal Palace windows, in which the great semicircle is the half +shaft which sustains the traceries, and the rest of the profile is +continuous in the archivolt; 17, 18, and 19 are the principal piers +of the Ducal Palace; and 20, from St. Fermo of Verona, is put +with them in order to show the step of transition from the Byzantine +form 2 to the Gothic chamfer, which is hardly represented +at Venice. The other profiles on the plate are all late Gothic, +given to show the gradual increase of complexity without any +gain of power. The open lines in 12, 14, 16, etc., are the parts +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page231"></a>231</span> +of the profile cut into flowers or cable mouldings; and so much +incised as to show the constant outline of the cavetto or curve +beneath them. The following are the references:</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="margin-left: 1em; " summary="data"> + +<tr><td> +<p class="sc"><a href="#plate_7">Plate VII.</a></p> +<p>Vol. III.</p></td> + +<td> +<p> 1. Door in house of Marco Polo.</p> +<p> 2. Old door in a restored church of St. Cassan.</p> +<p> 3, 4, 5. Common jambs of Gothic doors.</p> +<p> 6. Frari windows.</p> +<p> 7, 8. Ducal Palace windows.</p> +<p> 9. Casa Priuli, great entrance.</p> +<p>10. San Stefano, great door.</p> +<p>11. San Gregorio, door opening to the water.</p> +<p>12. Lateral door, Frari.</p> +<p>13. Door of Campo San Zaccaria.</p> +<p>14. Madonna dell’Orto.</p> +<p>15. San Gregorio, door in the façade.</p> +<p>16. Great lateral door, Frari.</p> +<p>17. Pilaster at Vine angle, Ducal Palace.</p> +<p>18. Pier, inner cortile, Ducal Palace.</p> +<p>19. Pier, under the medallion of Venice, on the Piazetta façade of the Ducal Palace.</p> +</td></tr></table> + + +<p class="center bmarg"><i>III. Capitals.</i></p> + +<p>I shall here notice the various facts I have omitted in the text +of the work.</p> + +<p>First, with respect to the Byzantine Capitals represented in +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_7">Plate VII.</a> Vol. II., I omitted to notice that figs. 6 and 7 represent +two sides of the same capital at Murano (though one is +necessarily drawn on a smaller scale than the other). Fig. 7 is +the side turned to the light, and fig. 6 to the shade, the inner +part, which is quite concealed, not being touched at all.</p> + +<p>We have here a conclusive proof that these capitals were cut +for their place in the apse; therefore I have always considered +them as tests of Venetian workmanship, and, on the strength of +that proof, have occasionally spoken of capitals as of true Venetian +work, which M. Lazari supposes to be of the Lower Empire. +No. 11, from St. Mark’s, was not above noticed. The way in +which the cross is gradually left in deeper relief as the sides slope +inwards and away from it, is highly picturesque and curious.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page232"></a>232</span></p> + +<p>No. 9 has been reduced from a larger drawing, and some of +the life and character of the curves lost in consequence. It is +chiefly given to show the irregular and fearless freedom of the +Byzantine designers, no two parts of the foliage being correspondent; +in the original it is of white marble, the ground being +colored blue.</p> + +<p><a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_10">Plate X.</a> Vol. II. represents the four principal orders of +Venetian capitals in their greatest simplicity, and the profiles of +the most interesting examples of each. The figures 1 and 4 +are the two great concave and convex groups, and 2 and 3 the +transitional. Above each type of form I have put also an example +of the group of flowers which represent it in nature: fig. 1 +has a lily; fig. 2 a variety of the Tulipa sylvestris; figs. 3 and +4 forms of the magnolia. I prepared this plate in the early +spring, when I could not get any other examples,<a name="FnAnchor_65" href="#Footnote_65"><span class="sp">65</span></a> or I would +rather have had two different species for figs. 3 and 4; but the +half-open magnolia will answer the purpose, showing the beauty +of the triple curvature in the sides.</p> + +<p>I do not say that the forms of the capitals are actually taken +from flowers, though assuredly so in some instances, and partially +so in the decoration of nearly all. But they were designed +by men of pure and natural feeling for beauty, who therefore +instinctively adopted the forms represented, which are afterwards +proved to be beautiful by their frequent occurrence in +common flowers.</p> + +<p>The convex forms, 3 and 4, are put lowest in the plate only +because they are heaviest; they are the earliest in date, and have +already been enough examined.</p> + +<p>I have added a plate to this volume (<a href="#plate_12">Plate XII.</a>), which +should have appeared in illustration of the fifth chapter of Vol. +II., but was not finished in time. It represents the central capital +and two of the lateral ones of the Fondaco de’ Turchi, the +central one drawn very large, in order to show the excessive +simplicity of its chiselling, together with the care and sharpness +of it, each leaf being expressed by a series of sharp furrows and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page233"></a>233</span> +ridges. Some slight errors in the large tracings from which the +engraving was made have, however, occasioned a loss of spring +in the curves, and the little fig. 4 of <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_10">Plate X.</a> Vol. II. gives a +truer idea of the distant effect of the capital.</p> + +<p>The profiles given in <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_10">Plate X.</a> Vol. II. are the following:</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="margin-left: 1em; " summary="data"> + +<tr><td> </td> +<td style="vertical-align: top;">1.</td> +<td> +<p><i>a.</i> Main capitals, upper arcade, Madonnetta House.</p> +<p><i>b.</i> Main capitals, upper arcade, Casa Falier.</p> +<p><i>c.</i> Lateral capitals, upper arcade, Fondaco de’ Turchi.</p> +<p><i>d.</i> Small pillars of St. Mark’s Pulpit.</p> +<p><i>e.</i> Casa Farsetti.</p> +<p><i>f.</i> Inner capitals of arcade of Ducal Palace.</p> +<p><i>g.</i> Plinth of the house<a name="FnAnchor_66" href="#Footnote_66"><span class="sp">66</span></a> at Apostoli.</p> +<p><i>h.</i> Main capitals of house at Apostoli.</p> +<p><i>i.</i> Main capitals, upper arcade, Fondaco de’ Turchi.</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td> +<p><span class="sc"><a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_10">Plate X.</a></span></p> +<p>vol. II.</p></td> + +<td style="vertical-align: top;"><span class="correction" title="Number 2. misplaced.">2.</span></td> + +<td><p><i>a.</i> Lower arcade, Fondaco de’ Turchi.</p> +<p><i>b, c.</i> Lower pillars, house at Apostoli.</p> +<p><i>d.</i> San Simeon Grande.</p> +<p><i>e.</i> Restored house on Grand Canal. Three of the old arches left.</p> +<p><i>f.</i> Upper arcade, Ducal Palace.</p> +<p><i>g.</i> Windows of third order, central shaft, Ducal Palace.</p> +<p><i>h.</i> Windows of third order, lateral shaft, Ducal Palace.</p> +<p><i>i.</i> Ducal Palace, main shafts.</p> +<p><i>k.</i> Piazzetta shafts.</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td> </td> +<td style="vertical-align: top;">3.</td> + +<td><p><i>a.</i> St. Mark’s Nave.</p> +<p><i>b, c.</i> Lily capitals, St. Mark’s.</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td> </td> +<td style="vertical-align: top;"><span class="correction" title="Missing number 4.">4.</span></td> + +<td><p><i>a.</i> Fondaco de’ Turchi, central shaft, upper arcade.</p> +<p><i>b.</i> Murano, upper arcade.</p> +<p><i>c.</i> Murano, lower arcade.</p> +<p><i>d.</i> Tomb of St. Isidore.</p> +<p><i>e.</i> General late Gothic profile.</p></td></tr></table> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page234"></a>234</span></p> + +<p>The last two sections are convex in effect, though not in reality; +the bulging lines being carved into bold flower-work.</p> + +<p>The capitals belonging to the groups 1 and 2, in the Byzantine +times, have already been illustrated in <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_8">Plate VIII.</a> Vol. II.; +we have yet to trace their succession in the Gothic times. This +is done in <a href="#plate_2">Plate II.</a> of this volume, which we will now examine +carefully. The following are the capitals represented in that +plate:</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="margin-left: 1em; " summary="data"> + +<tr><td> +<p class="sc"><a href="#plate_2">Plate II.</a></p> +<p>Vol. III.</p></td> + +<td> +<p> 1. Small shafts of St. Mark’s Pulpit.</p> +<p> 2. From the transitional house in the Calle di Rimedio (conf. Vol. II.).</p> +<p> 3. General simplest form of the middle Gothic capital.</p> +<p> 4. Nave of San Giacomo de Lorio.</p> +<p> 5. Casa Falier.</p> +<p> 6. Early Gothic house in Campo Sta. M<span class="sp">a.</span> Mater Domini.</p> +<p> 7. House at the Apostoli.</p> +<p> 8. Piazzetta shafts.</p> +<p> 9. Ducal Palace, upper arcade.</p> +<p>10. Palace of Marco Querini.</p> +<p>11. Fondaco de’ Turchi.</p> +<p>12. Gothic palaces in Campo San Polo.</p> +<p>13. Windows of fourth order, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_16">Plate XVI.</a> Vol. II.</p> +<p>14. Nave of Church of San Stefano.</p> +<p>15. Late Gothic Palace at the Miracoli.</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>The two lateral columns form a consecutive series: the central +column is a group of exceptional character, running parallel +with both. We will take the lateral ones first. 1. Capital of +pulpit of St. Mark’s (representative of the simplest concave forms +of the Byzantine period). Look back to <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_8">Plate VIII.</a> Vol. II., +and observe that while all the forms in that plate are contemporaneous, +we are now going to follow a series <i>consecutive</i> in time, +which begins from fig. 1, either in that plate or in this; that is +to say, with the simplest possible condition to be found at the +time; and which proceeds to develope itself into gradually +increasing richness, while the <i>already rich</i> capitals of the old +school die at its side. In the forms 14 and 15 (<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_8">Plate VIII.</a>) the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page235"></a>235</span> +Byzantine school expired; but from the Byzantine simple capital +(1, <a href="#plate_2">Plate II.</a> above) which was coexistent with them, sprang +another hardy race of capitals, whose succession we have now to +trace.</p> + +<p>The form 1, <a href="#plate_2">Plate II.</a> is evidently the simplest conceivable +condition of the truncated capital, long ago represented generally +in Vol. I., being only rounded a little on its side to fit it to +the shaft. The next step was to place a leaf beneath each of the +truncations (fig. 4, <a href="#plate_2">Plate II.</a>, San Giacomo de Lorio), the end of +the leaf curling over at the top in a somewhat formal spiral, +partly connected with the traditional volute of the Corinthian +capital. The sides are then enriched by the addition of some +ornament, as a shield (fig. 7) or rose (fig. 10), and we have the +formed capital of the early Gothic. Fig. 10, being from the +palace of Marco Querini, is certainly not later than the middle +of the thirteenth century (see Vol. II.), and fig. 7, is, I believe, +of the same date; it is one of the bearing capitals of the lower +story of the palace at the Apostoli, and is remarkably fine in the +treatment of its angle leaves, which are not deeply under-cut, +but show their magnificent sweeping under surface all the way +down, not as a leaf surface, but treated like the gorget of a helmet, +with a curved line across it like that where the gorget +meets the mail. I never saw anything finer in simple design. +Fig. 10 is given chiefly as a certification of date, and to show the +treatment of the capitals of this school on a small scale. Observe +the more expansive head in proportion to the diameter of +the shaft, the leaves being drawn from the angles, as if gathered +in the hand, till their edges meet; and compare the rule given +in Vol. I. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#chap_9">Chap. IX.</a> § <span class="scs">XIV.</span> The capitals of the remarkable +house, of which a portion is represented in Fig. XXXI. Vol. II., +are most curious and pure examples of this condition; with +experimental trefoils, roses, and leaves introduced between their +volutes. When compared with those of the Querini Palace, +they form one of the most important evidences of the date of the +building.</p> + +<p>Fig. 13. One of the bearing capitals, already drawn on a +small scale in the windows represented in <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_16">Plate XVI.</a> Vol. II.</p> + +<p>Now, observe. The capital of the form of fig. 10 appeared +sufficient to the Venetians for all ordinary purposes; and they +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page236"></a>236</span> +used it in common windows to the latest Gothic periods, but yet +with certain differences which at once show the lateness of the +work. In the first place, the rose, which at first was flat and +quatrefoiled, becomes, after some experiments, a round ball dividing +into three leaves, closely resembling our English ball flower, +and probably derived from it; and, in other cases, forming a bold +projecting bud in various degrees of contraction or expansion. +In the second place, the extremities of the angle leaves are +wrought into rich flowing lobes, and bent back so as to lap +against their own breasts; showing lateness of date in exact proportion +to the looseness of curvature. <a href="#fig_3">Fig. 3</a> represents the general +aspect of these later capitals, which may be conveniently +called the rose capitals of Venice; two are seen on service, in +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#plate_8">Plate VIII.</a> Vol. I., showing comparatively early date by the +experimental form of the six-foiled rose. But for elaborate edifices +this form was not sufficiently rich; and there was felt to be +something awkward in the junction of the leaves at the bottom. +Therefore, four other shorter leaves were added at the sides, as +in fig. 13, <a href="#plate_2">Plate II.</a>, and as generally represented in <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_10">Plate X.</a> +Vol. II. fig. 1. This was a good and noble step, taken very +early in the thirteenth century; and all the best Venetian capitals +were thenceforth of this form. Those which followed, and +rested in the common rose type, were languid and unfortunate: +I do not know a single good example of them after the first half +of the thirteenth century.</p> + +<p>But the form reached in fig. 13 was quickly felt to be of +great value and power. One would have thought it might have +been taken straight from the Corinthian type; but it is clearly +the work of men who were making experiments for themselves. +For instance, in the central capital of Fig. XXXI. Vol. II., there +is a trial condition of it, with the intermediate leaf set behind +those at the angles (the reader had better take a magnifying +glass to this woodcut; it will show the character of the capitals +better). Two other experimental forms occur in the Casa +Cicogna (Vol. II.), and supply one of the evidences which fix +the date of that palace. But the form soon was determined as +in fig. 13, and then means were sought of recommending it by +farther decoration.</p> + +<p>The leaves which are used in fig. 13, it will be observed, have +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page237"></a>237</span> +lost the Corinthian volute, and are now pure and plain leaves, +such as were used in the Lombardic Gothic of the early +thirteenth century all over Italy. Now in a round-arched gateway +at Verona, certainly not later than 1300; the pointed leaves +of this pure form are used in one portion of the mouldings, and +in another are enriched by having their surfaces carved each +into a beautiful ribbed and pointed leaf. The capital, fig. 6, +<a href="#plate_2">Plate II.</a>, is nothing more than fig. 13 so enriched; and the +two conditions are quite contemporary, fig. 13 being from a +beautiful series of fourth order windows in Campo Sta. <span class="correction" title="changed from Ma">M^{a.}</span> Mater +Domini, already drawn in my folio work.</p> + +<p>Fig. 13 is representative of the richest conditions of Gothic +capital which existed at the close of the thirteenth century. +The builder of the Ducal Palace amplified them into the form of +fig. 9, but varying the leafage in disposition and division of +lobes in every capital; and the workmen trained under him +executed many noble capitals for the Gothic palaces of the early +fourteenth century, of which fig. 12, from a palace in the +Campo St. Polo, is one of the most beautiful examples. In figs. 9 +and 12 the reader sees the Venetian Gothic capital in its noblest +developement. The next step was to such forms as fig. 15, +which is generally characteristic of the late fourteenth and early +fifteenth century Gothic, and of which I hope the reader will at +once perceive the exaggeration and corruption.</p> + +<p>This capital is from a palace near the Miracoli, and it is remarkable +for the delicate, though corrupt, ornament on its +abacus, which is precisely the same as that on the pillars of the +screen of St. Mark’s. That screen is a monument of very great +value, for it shows the entire corruption of the Gothic power, +and the style of the later palaces accurately and completely +defined in all its parts, and is dated 1380; thus at once furnishing +us with a limiting date, which throws all the noble work of +the early Ducal Palace, and all that is like it in Venice, +thoroughly back into the middle of the fourteenth century at the +latest.</p> + +<p><a href="#fig_2">Fig. 2</a> is the simplest condition of the capital universally +employed in the windows of the second order, noticed above, +Vol. II., as belonging to a style of great importance in the +transitional architecture of Venice. Observe, that in all the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page238"></a>238</span> +capitals given in the lateral columns in <a href="#plate_2">Plate II.</a>, the points of +the leaves <i>turn over</i>. But in this central group they lie <i>flat</i> +against the angle of the capital, and form a peculiarly light and +lovely succession of forms, occurring only in their purity in the +windows of the second order, and in some important monuments +connected with them.</p> + +<p>In fig. 2 the leaf at the angle is cut, exactly in the manner of +an Egyptian bas-relief, <i>into</i> the stone, with a raised edge round +it, and a raised rib up the centre; and this mode of execution, +seen also in figs. 4 and 7, is one of the collateral evidences of +early date. But in figs. 5 and 8, where more elaborate effect +was required, the leaf is thrown out boldly with an even edge +from the surface of the capital, and enriched on its own surface: +and as the treatment of fig. 2 corresponds with that of fig. 4, +so that of fig. 5 corresponds with that of fig. 6; 2 and 5 having +the upright leaf, 4 and 6 the bending leaves; but all contemporary.</p> + +<p>Fig. 5 is the central capital of the windows of Casa Falier, +drawn in <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_15">Plate XV.</a> Vol. II.; and one of the leaves set on its +angles is drawn larger at fig. 7, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_20">Plate XX.</a> Vol. II. It has no +rib, but a sharp raised ridge down its centre; and its lobes, of +which the reader will observe the curious form,—round in the +middle one, truncated in the sides,—are wrought with a precision +and care which I have hardly ever seen equalled: but of +this more presently.</p> + +<p>The next figure (8, <a href="#plate_2">Plate II.</a>) is the most important capital of +the whole transitional period, that employed on the two columns +of the Piazzetta. These pillars are said to have been <i>raised</i> in +the close of the twelfth century, but I cannot find even the most +meagre account of their bases, capitals, or, which seems to me +most wonderful, of that noble winged lion, one of the grandest +things produced by mediæval art, which all men admire, and +none can draw. I have never yet seen a faithful representation +of his firm, fierce, and fiery strength. I believe that both he +and the capital which bears him are late thirteenth century work. +I have not been up to the lion, and cannot answer for it; but if +it be not thirteenth century work, it is as good; and respecting +the capitals, there can be small question. They are of exactly +the date of the oldest tombs, bearing crosses, outside of St. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page239"></a>239</span> +John and Paul; and are associated with all the other work of +the transitional period, from 1250 to 1300 (the bases of these +pillars, representing the trades of Venice, ought, by the by, to +have been mentioned as among the best early efforts of Venetian +grotesque); and, besides, their abaci are formed by four +reduplications of the dentilled mouldings of St. Mark’s, which +never occur after the year 1300.</p> + +<p>Nothing can be more beautiful or original than the adaptation +of these broad bearing abaci; but as they have nothing to do +with the capital itself, and could not easily be brought into the +space, they are omitted in <a href="#plate_2">Plate II.</a>, where fig. 8 shows the bell +of the capital only. Its profile is curiously subtle,—apparently +concave everywhere, but in reality concave (all the way down) +only on the angles, and slightly convex at the sides (the profile +through the side being 2 <i>k</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_10">Plate X.</a> Vol. II.); in this subtlety +of curvature, as well as in the simple cross, showing the influence +of early times.</p> + +<p>The leaf on the angle, of which more presently, is fig. 5, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_20">Plate +XX.</a> Vol. II.</p> + +<p>Connected with this school of transitional capitals we find a +form in the later Gothic, such as fig. 14, from the Church of +San Stefano; but which appears in part derived from an old and +rich Byzantine type, of which fig. 11, from the Fondaco de’ +Turchi, is a characteristic example.</p> + +<p>I must now take the reader one step farther, and ask him to +examine, finally, the treatment of the leaves, down to the cutting +of their most minute lobes, in the series of capitals of which we +have hitherto only sketched the general forms.</p> + +<p>In all capitals with nodding leaves, such as 6 and 9 in <a href="#plate_2">Plate +II.</a>, the real form of the leaf is not to be seen, except in perspective; +but, in order to render the comparison more easy, I have in +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_20">Plate XX.</a> Vol. II. opened all the leaves out, as if they were to +be dried in a herbarium, only leaving the furrows and sinuosities +of surface, but laying the outside contour nearly flat upon +the page, except for a particular reason in figs. 2, 10, 11, +and 15.</p> + +<p>I shall first, as usual, give the references, and then note the +points of interest.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page240"></a>240</span></p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="margin-left: 1em; " summary="data"> + +<tr><td> +<p class="sc"><a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_20">Plate XX.</a></p> +<p>Vol. II.</p></td> + +<td> +<p> 1, 2, 3. Fondaco de’ Turchi, upper arcade.</p> +<p> 4. Greek pillars brought from St. Jean d’Acre.</p> +<p> 5. Piazzetta shafts.</p> +<p> 6. Madonnetta House.</p> +<p> 7. Casa Falier.</p> +<p> 8. Palace near St. Eustachio.</p> +<p> 9. Tombs, outside of St. John and Paul.</p> +<p>10. Tomb of Giovanni Soranzo.</p> +<p>11. Tomb of Andrea Dandolo.</p> +<p>12, 13, 14. Ducal Palace.</p></td></tr></table> + + +<p>N.B. The upper row, 1 to 4, is Byzantine, the next transitional, +the last two Gothic.</p> + +<p>Fig. 1. The leaf of the capital No. 6, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_8">Plate VIII.</a> Vol. II. +Each lobe of the leaf has a sharp furrow up to its point, from its +root.</p> + +<p>Fig. 2. The leaf of the capital on the right hand, at the top +of <a href="#plate_12">Plate XII.</a> in this volume. The lobes worked in the same +manner, with deep black drill holes between their points.</p> + +<p>Fig. 3. One of the leaves of fig. 14, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_8">Plate VIII.</a> Vol. II. fully +unfolded. The lobes worked in the same manner, but left shallow, +so as not to destroy the breadth of light; the central line +being drawn by drill holes, and the interstices between lobes cut +black and deep.</p> + +<p>Fig. 4. Leaf with flower; pure Byzantine work, showing +whence the treatment of all the other leaves has been derived.</p> + +<p>Fig. 6. For the sake of symmetry, this is put in the centre: +it is the earliest of the three in this row; taken from the Madonnetta +House, where the capitals have leaves both at their +sides and angles. The tall angle leaf, with its two lateral ones, +is given in the plate; and there is a remarkable distinction in +the mode of workmanship of these leaves, which, though found +in a palace of the Byzantine period, is indicative of a tendency +to transition; namely, that the sharp furrow is now drawn <i>only +to the central lobe</i> of each division of the leaf, and the rest of +the surface of the leaf is left nearly flat, a slight concavity only +marking the division of the extremities. At the base of these +leaves they are perfectly flat, only cut by the sharp and narrow +furrow, as an elevated table-land is by ravines.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page241"></a>241</span></p> + +<p>Fig. 5. A more advanced condition; the fold at the recess, +between each division of the leaf, carefully expressed, and the +concave or depressed portions of the extremities marked more +deeply, as well as the central furrow, and a rib added in the +centre.</p> + +<p>Fig. 7. A contemporary, but more finished form; the +sharp furrows becoming softer, and the whole leaf more +flexible.</p> + +<p>Fig. 8. An exquisite form of the same period, but showing +still more advanced naturalism, from a very early group of +third order windows, near the Church of St. Eustachio on the +Grand Canal.</p> + +<p>Fig. 9. Of the same time, from a small capital of an angle +shaft of the sarcophagi at the <i>side</i> of St. John and Paul, in the +little square which is adorned by the Colleone statue. This +leaf is very quaint and pretty in giving its midmost lateral +divisions only two lobes each, instead of the usual three or +four.</p> + +<p>Fig. 10. Leaf employed in the cornice of the tomb of the +Doge Giovanni Soranzo, who died in 1312. It nods over, and +has three ribs on its upper surface; thus giving us the completed +ideal form of the leaf, but its execution is still very +archaic and severe.</p> + +<p>Now the next example, fig. 11, is from the tomb of the Doge +Andrea Dandolo, and therefore executed between 1354 and 1360; +and this leaf shows the Gothic naturalism and refinement of +curvature fully developed. In this forty years’ interval, then, +the principal advance of Gothic sculpture is to be placed.</p> + +<p>I had prepared a complete series of examples, showing this +advance, and the various ways in which the separations of the +ribs, a most characteristic feature, are more and more delicately +and scientifically treated, from the beginning to the middle of +the fourteenth century, but I feared that no general reader +would care to follow me into these minutiæ, and have cancelled +this portion of the work, at least for the present, the main point +being, that the reader should feel the full extent of the change, +which he can hardly fail to do in looking from fig. 10 to figs. 11 +and 12. I believe that fig. 12 is the earlier of the two; and it +is assuredly the finer, having all the elasticity and simplicity of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page242"></a>242</span> +the earliest forms, with perfect flexibility added. In fig. 11 +there is a perilous element beginning to develope itself into one +feature, namely, the extremities of the leaves, which, instead of +merely nodding over, now curl completely round into a kind of +ball. This occurs early, and in the finest Gothic work, especially +in cornices and other running mouldings: but it is a fatal +symptom, a beginning of the intemperance of the later Gothic, +and it was followed out with singular avidity; the ball of coiled +leafage increasing in size and complexity, and at last becoming +the principal feature of the work; the light striking on its +vigorous projection, as in fig. 14. Nearly all the Renaissance +Gothic of Venice depends upon these balls for effect, a late capital +being generally composed merely of an upper and lower range +of leaves terminating in this manner.</p> + +<p>It is very singular and notable how, in this loss of <i>temperance</i>, +there is loss of <i>life</i>. For truly healthy and living leaves do not +bind themselves into knots at the extremities. They bend, and +wave, and nod, but never curl. It is in disease, or in death, by +blight, or frost, or poison only, that leaves in general assume +this ingathered form. It is the flame of autumn that has +shrivelled them, or the web of the caterpillar that has bound +them: and thus the last forms of the Venetian leafage set forth +the fate of Venetian pride; and, in their utmost luxuriance and +abandonment, perish as if eaten of worms.</p> + +<p>And now, by glancing back to <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_10">Plate X.</a> Vol. II, the reader +will see in a moment the kind of evidence which is found of the +date of capitals in their profiles merely. Observe: we have seen +that the treatment of the leaves in the Madonnetta House seemed +“indicative of a tendency to transition.” Note their profile, 1<i>a</i>, +and its close correspondence with 1 <i>h</i>, which is actually of a +transitional capital from the upper arcade of second order +windows in the Apostoli Palace; yet both shown to be very +close to the Byzantine period, if not belonging to it, by their +fellowship with the profile <i>i</i>, from the Fondaco de’ Turchi. +Then note the close correspondence of all the other profiles in +that line, which belong to the concave capitals or plinths of the +Byzantine palaces, and note their composition, the abacus being, +in idea, merely an echo or reduplication of the capital itself; as +seen in perfect simplicity in the profile <i>f</i>, which is a roll under +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page243"></a>243</span> +a <i>tall</i> concave curve forming the bell of the capital, with a roll +and <i>short</i> concave curve for its abacus. This peculiar abacus is +an unfailing test of early date; and our finding this simple profile +used for the Ducal Palace (<i>f</i>), is strongly confirmatory of all +our former conclusions.</p> + +<p>Then the next row, 2, are the Byzantine and early Gothic +semi-convex curves, in their pure forms, having no roll below; +but often with a roll added, as at <i>f</i>, and in certain early Gothic +conditions curiously fused into it, with a cavetto between, as <i>b</i>, +<i>c</i>, <i>d</i>. But the more archaic form is as at <i>f</i> and <i>k</i>; and as these +two profiles are from the Ducal Palace and Piazzetta shafts, they +join again with the rest of the evidence of their early date. The +profiles <i>i</i> and <i>k</i> are both most beautiful; <i>i</i> is that of the great +capitals of the Ducal Palace, and the small profiles between it +and <i>k</i> are the varieties used on the fillet at its base. The profile +<i>i</i> should have had leaves springing from it, as 1 <i>h</i> has, only more +boldly, but there was no room for them.</p> + +<p>The reader cannot fail to discern at a glance the fellowship +of the whole series of profiles, 2 <i>a</i> to <i>k</i>, nor can he but with equal +ease observe a marked difference in 4 <i>d</i> and 4 <i>e</i> from any others +in the plate; the bulging outlines of leafage being indicative of +the luxuriant and flowing masses, no longer expressible with a +simple line, but to be considered only as confined within it, of +the later Gothic. Now <i>d</i> is a dated profile from the tomb of +St. Isidore, 1355, which by its dog-tooth abacus and heavy leafage +distinguishes itself from all the other profiles, and therefore +throws them back into the first half of the century. But, observe, +it still retains the noble swelling root. This character +soon after vanishes; and, in 1380, the profile <i>e</i>, at once heavy, +feeble, and ungraceful, with a meagre and valueless abacus +hardly discernible, is characteristic of all the capitals of Venice.</p> + +<p>Note, finally, this contraction of the abacus. Compare 4 <i>c</i>, +which is the earliest form in the plate, from Murano, with 4 <i>e</i>, +which is the latest. The other profiles show the gradual process +of change; only observe, in 3<i>a</i> the abacus is not drawn; it +is so bold that it would not come into the plate without reducing +the bell curve to too small a scale.</p> + +<p>So much for the evidence derivable from the capitals; we +have next to examine that of the archivolts or arch mouldings.</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page244"></a>244</span></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/img244.jpg" width="650" height="402" alt="BYZANTINE ARCHIVOLTS." title="BYZANTINE ARCHIVOLTS." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">BYZANTINE ARCHIVOLTS.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p class="bmarg center"><i>IV. Archivolts.</i></p> + +<p>In <a href="#plate_8">Plate VIII.</a>, opposite, are arranged in one view all the +conditions of Byzantine archivolt employed in Venice, on a large +scale. It will be seen in an instant that there can be no mistaking +the manner of their masonry. The soffit of the arch is +the horizontal line at the bottom of all these profiles, and each of +them (except 13, 14) is composed of two slabs of marble, one +for the soffit, another for the face of the arch; the one on the +soffit is worked on the edge into a roll (fig. 10) or dentil (fig. 9), +and the one on the face is bordered on the other side by another +piece let edgeways into the wall, and also worked into a roll or +dentil: in the richer archivolts a cornice is added to this roll, as +in figs. 1 and 4, or takes its place, as in figs. 1, 3, 5, and 6; and +in such richer examples the facestone, and often the soffit, are +sculptured, the sculpture being cut into their surfaces, as indicated +in fig. 11. The concavities cut in the facestones of 1, 2, 4, +5, 6 are all indicative of sculpture in effect like that of Fig. +XXVI. Vol. II., of which archivolt fig. 5, here, is the actual +profile. The following are the references to the whole:</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="margin-left: 1em; " summary="data"> + +<tr><td> +<p class="sc"><a href="#plate_8">Plate VIII.</a></p> +<p>Vol. III.</p></td> + +<td> +<p> 1. Rio-Foscari House.</p> +<p> 2. Terraced House, entrance door.</p> +<p> 3. Small Porticos of St. Mark’s, external arches.</p> +<p> 4. Arch on the canal at Ponte St. Toma.</p> +<p> 5. Arch of Corte del Remer.</p> +<p> 6. Great outermost archivolt of central door, St. Mark’s.</p> +<p> 7. Inner archivolt of southern porch, St. Mark’s Façade.</p> +<p> 8. Inner archivolt of central entrance, St. Mark’s.</p> +<p> 9. Fondaco de’ Turchi, main arcade.</p> +<p>10. Byzantine restored house on Grand Canal, lower arcade.</p> +<p>11. Terraced House, upper arcade.</p> +<p>12. Inner archivolt of northern porch of façade, St. Mark’s.</p> +<p>13 and 14. Transitional forms.</p></td></tr></table> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page245"></a>245</span></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/img245.jpg" width="402" height="650" alt="GOTHIC ARCHIVOLTS." title="GOTHIC ARCHIVOLTS." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">GOTHIC ARCHIVOLTS.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>There is little to be noted respecting these forms, except that, +in fig. 1, the two lower rolls, with the angular projections between, +represent the fall of the mouldings of two proximate +arches on the abacus of the bearing shaft; their two cornices +meeting each other, and being gradually narrowed into the little +angular intermediate piece, their sculptures being slurred into +the contracted space, a curious proof of the earliness of the +work. The real archivolt moulding is the same as fig. 4 <i>c c</i>, +including only the midmost of the three rolls in fig. 1.</p> + +<p>It will be noticed that 2, 5, 6, and 8 are sculptured on the +soffits as well as the faces; 9 is the common profile of arches +decorated only with colored marble, the facestone being colored, +the soffit white. The effect of such a moulding is seen in the +small windows at the right hand of Fig. XXVI. Vol. II.</p> + +<p>The reader will now see that there is but little difficulty in +identifying Byzantine work, the archivolt mouldings being so +similar among themselves, and so unlike any others. We have +next to examine the Gothic forms.</p> + +<p>Figs. 13 and 14 in <a href="#plate_8">Plate VIII.</a> represent the first brick +mouldings of the transitional period, occurring in such instances +as Fig. XXIII. or Fig. XXXIII. Vol. II. (the soffit stone of the +Byzantine mouldings being taken away), and this profile, translated +into solid stone, forms the almost universal moulding of +the windows of the second order. These two brick mouldings +are repeated, for the sake of comparison, at the top of <a href="#plate_9">Plate IX.</a> +opposite; and the upper range of mouldings which they commence, +in that plate, are the brick mouldings of Venice in the +early Gothic period. All the forms below are in stone; and the +moulding 2, translated into stone, forms the universal archivolt +of the early pointed arches of Venice, and windows of second +and third orders. The moulding 1 is much rarer, and used for +the most part in doors only.</p> + +<p>The reader will see at once the resemblance of character in +the various flat brick mouldings, 3 to 11. They belong to such +arches as 1 and 2 in <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_17">Plate XVII.</a> Vol. II.; or 6 <i>b</i>, 6 <i>c</i>, in <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_14">Plate +XIV.</a> Vol. II., 7 and 8 being actually the mouldings of those +two doors; the whole group being perfectly defined, and separate +from all the other Gothic work in Venice, and clearly the +result of an effort to imitate, in brickwork, the effect of the flat +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page246"></a>246</span> +sculptured archivolts of the Byzantine times. (See Vol. II. +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#chap_7">Chap. VII.</a> § <span class="scs">XXXVII.</span>)</p> + +<p>Then comes the group 14 to 18 in stone, derived from the +mouldings 1 and 2; first by truncation, 14; then by beading +the truncated angle, 15, 16. The occurrence of the profile 16 +in the three beautiful windows represented in the uppermost +figure of <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#plate_18">Plate XVIII.</a> Vol. I. renders that group of peculiar +interest, and is strong evidence of its antiquity. Then a cavetto +is added, 17; first shallow and then deeper, 18, which is the +common archivolt moulding of the central Gothic door and window: +but, in the windows of the early fourth order, this moulding +is complicated by various additions of dog-tooth mouldings +under the dentil, as in 20; or the <i>gabled</i> dentil (see fig. 20, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#plate_9">Plate +IX.</a> Vol. I), as fig. 21; or both, as figs 23, 24. All these varieties +expire in the advanced period, and the established moulding +for windows is 29. The intermediate group, 25 to 28, I +found only in the high windows of the third order in the Ducal +Palace, or in the Chapter-house of the Frari, or in the arcades of +the Ducal Palace; the great outside lower arcade of the Ducal +Palace has the profile 31, the left-hand side being the innermost.</p> + +<p>Now observe, all these archivolts, without exception, assume +that the spectator looks from the outside only: none are complete +on both sides; they are essentially <i>window</i> mouldings, and have +no resemblance to those of our perfect Gothic arches prepared for +traceries. If they were all completely drawn in the plate, they +should be as fig. 25, having a great depth of wall behind the +mouldings, but it was useless to represent this in every case. +The Ducal Palace begins to show mouldings on both sides, 28, 31; +and 35 is a <i>complete</i> arch moulding from the apse of the Frari. +That moulding, though so perfectly developed, is earlier than the +Ducal Palace, and with other features of the building, indicates +the completeness of the Gothic system, which made the architect +of the Ducal Palace found his work principally upon that +church.</p> + +<p>The other examples in this plate show the various modes of +combination employed in richer archivolts. The triple change +of slope in 38 is very curious. The references are as follows:</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page247"></a>247</span></p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="margin-left: 1em; " summary="data"> + +<tr><td> +<p class="sc"><a href="#plate_9">Plate IX.</a></p> +<p>Vol. III.</p></td> + +<td> +<p> 1. Transitional to the second order.</p> +<p> 2. Common second order.</p> +<p> 3. Brick, at Corte del Forno, Round arch.</p> +<p> 4. Door at San Giovanni Grisostomo.</p> +<p> 5. Door at Sotto Portico della Stua.</p> +<p> 6. Door in Campo St. Luca, of rich brickwork.</p> +<p> 7. Round door at Fondamenta Venier.</p> +<p> 8. Pointed door. Fig. 6<i>c</i>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_14">Plate XIV.</a> Vol. II.</p> +<p> 9. Great pointed arch, Salizzada San Lio.</p> +<p>10. Round door near Fondaco de’ Turchi.</p> +<p>11. Door with Lion, at Ponte della Corona.</p> +<p>12. San Gregorio, Façade.</p> +<p>13. St. John and Paul, Nave.</p> +<p>14. Rare early fourth order, at San Cassan.</p> +<p>15. General early Gothic archivolt.</p> +<p>16. Same, from door in Rio San G. Grisostomo.</p> +<p>17. Casa Vittura.</p> +<p>18. Casa Sagredo, Unique thirds. Vol. II.</p> +<p>19. Murano Palace, Unique fourths.<a name="FnAnchor_67" href="#Footnote_67"><span class="sp">67</span></a></p> +<p>20. Pointed door of Four-Evangelist House.<a name="FnAnchor_68" href="#Footnote_68"><span class="sp">68</span></a></p> +<p>21. Keystone door in Campo St. M. Formosa.</p> +<p>22. Rare fourths, at St. Pantaleon.</p> +<p>23. Rare fourths, Casa Papadopoli.</p> +<p>24. Rare fourths, Chess house.<a name="FnAnchor_69" href="#Footnote_69"><span class="sp">69</span></a></p> +<p>25. Thirds of Frari Cloister</p> +<p>26. Great pointed arch of Frari Cloister.</p> +<p>27. Unique thirds, Ducal Palace.</p> +<p>28. Inner Cortile, pointed arches, Ducal Palace.</p> +<p>29. Common fourth and fifth order Archivolt.</p> +<p>30. Unique thirds, Ducal Palace.</p> +<p>31. Ducal Palace, lower arcade.</p> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page248"></a>248</span></div> +<p>32. Casa Priuli, arches in the inner court.</p> +<p>33. Circle above the central window, Ducal Palace.</p> +<p>34. Murano apse.</p> +<p>35. Acute-pointed arch, Frari.</p> +<p>36. Door of Accademia delle belle Arti.</p> +<p>37. Door in Calle Tiossi, near Four-Evangelist House.</p> +<p>38. Door in Campo San Polo.</p> +<p>39. Door of palace at Ponte Marcello.</p> +<p>40. Door of a palace close to the Church of the Miracoli.</p></td></tr></table> + + + +<p class="bmarg center"><i>V. Cornices.</i></p> + +<p><a href="#plate_10">Plate X.</a> represents, in one view, the cornices or string-courses +of Venice, and the abaci of its capitals, early and late; +these two features being inseparably connected, as explained in +Vol. I.</p> + +<p>The evidence given by these mouldings is exceedingly clear. +The two upper lines in the Plate, 1-11, 12-24, are all plinths +from Byzantine buildings. The reader will at once observe +their unmistakable resemblances. The row 41 to 50 are contemporary +abaci of capitals; 52, 53, 54, 56, are examples of late +Gothic abaci; and observe, especially, these are all rounded at +the <i>top</i> of the cavetto, but the Byzantine abaci are rounded, if +at all, at the <i>bottom</i> of the cavetto (see 7, 8, 9, 10, 20, 28, 46). +Consider what a valuable test of date this is, in any disputable +building.</p> + +<p>Again, compare 28, 29, one from St. Mark’s, the other from +the Ducal Palace, and observe the close resemblance, giving farther +evidence of early date in the palace.</p> + +<p>25 and 50 are drawn to the same scale. The former is the +wall-cornice, the latter the abacus of the great shafts, in the +Casa Loredan; the one passing into the other, as seen in Fig. +XXVIII. Vol. I. It is curious to watch the change in proportion, +while the moulding, all but the lower roll, remains the +same.</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/img248.jpg" width="404" height="650" alt="CORNICES AND ABACI." title="CORNICES AND ABACI." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">CORNICES AND ABACI.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>The following are the references:</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 7em;" summary="data"> + +<tr><td> +<p class="sc"><a href="#plate_10">Plate X.</a></p> +<p>Vol. III.</p></td> + +<td> +<p> 1. Common plinth of St. Mark’s.</p> +<p> 2. Plinth above lily capitals, St. Mark’s.</p> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page249"></a>249</span></div> +<p> 3, 4. Plinths in early surface Gothic.</p> +<p> 5. Plinth of door in Campo St. Luca.</p> +<p> 6. Plinth of treasury door, St. Mark’s.</p> +<p> 7. Archivolts of nave, St. Mark’s.</p> +<p> 8. Archivolts of treasury door, St. Mark’s.</p> +<p> 9. Moulding of circular window in St. John and Paul.</p> +<p>10. Chief decorated narrow plinth, St. Mark’s.</p> +<p>11. Plinth of door, Campo St. Margherita.</p> +<p>12. Plinth of tomb of Doge Vital Falier.</p> +<p>13. Lower plinth, Fondaco de’ Turchi, and Terraced House.</p> +<p>14. Running plinth of Corte del Remer.</p> +<p>15. Highest plinth at top of Fondaco de’ Turchi.</p> +<p>16. Common Byzantine plinth.</p> +<p>17. Running plinth of Casa Falier.</p> +<p>18. Plinth of arch at Ponte St. Toma.</p> +<p>19, 20, 21. Plinths of tomb of Doge Vital Falier.</p> +<p>22. Plinth of window in Calle del Pistor.</p> +<p>23. Plinth of tomb of Dogaressa Vital Michele.</p> +<p>24. Archivolt in the Frari.</p> +<p>25. Running plinth, Casa Loredan.</p> +<p>26. Running plinth, under pointed arch, in Salizzada San Lio.</p> +<p>27. Running plinth, Casa Erizzo.</p> +<p>28. Circles in portico of St. Mark’s.</p> +<p>29. Ducal Palace cornice, lower arcade.</p> +<p>30. Ducal Palace cornice, upper arcade.</p> +<p>31. Central Gothic plinth.</p> +<p>32. Late Gothic plinth.</p> +<p>33. Late Gothic plinth, Casa degli Ambasciatori.</p> +<p>34. Late Gothic plinth, Palace near the Jesuiti.</p> +<p>35, 36. Central balcony cornice.</p> +<p>37. Plinth of St. Mark’s balustrade.</p> +<p>38. Cornice of the Frari, in brick, cabled.</p> +<p>39. Central balcony plinth.</p> +<p>40. Uppermost cornice, Ducal Palace.</p> +<p>41. Abacus of lily capitals, St. Mark’s.</p> +<p>42. Abacus, Fondaco de’ Turchi.</p> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page250"></a>250</span></div> +<p>43. Abacus, large capital of Terraced House.</p> +<p>44. Abacus, Fondaco de’ Turchi.</p> +<p>45. Abacus, Ducal Palace, upper arcade.</p> +<p>46. Abacus, Corte del Remer.</p> +<p>47. Abacus, small pillars, St. Mark’s pulpit.</p> +<p>48. Abacus, Murano and Torcello.</p> +<p>49. Abacus, Casa Farsetti.</p> +<p>50. Abacus, Casa Loredan, lower story.</p> +<p>51. Abacus, capitals of Frari.</p> +<p>52. Abacus, Casa Cavalli (plain).</p> +<p>53. Abacus, Casa Priuli (flowered).</p> +<p>54. Abacus, Casa Foscari (plain).</p> +<p>55. Abacus, Casa Priuli (flowered).</p> +<p>56. Abacus, <a href="#plate_2">Plate II.</a> fig. 15.</p> +<p>57. Abacus, St. John and Paul.</p> +<p>58. Abacus, St. Stefano.</p></td></tr></table> + + +<p>It is only farther to be noted, that these mouldings are used +in various proportions, for all kinds of purposes: sometimes for +true cornices; sometimes for window-sills; sometimes, 3 and 4 +(in the Gothic time) especially, for dripstones of gables: 11 and +such others form little plinths or abaci at the spring of arches, +such as those shown at <i>a</i>, Fig. XXIII. Vol. II. Finally, a large +number of superb Byzantine cornices occur, of the form shown +at the top of the arch in <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_5">Plate V.</a> Vol. II., having a profile like +16 or 19 here; with nodding leaves of acanthus thrown out +from it, being, in fact, merely one range of the leaves of a Byzantine +capital unwrapped, and formed into a continuous line. +I had prepared a large mass of materials for the illustration of +these cornices, and the Gothic ones connected with them; but +found the subject would take up another volume, and was forced, +for the present, to abandon it. The lower series of profiles, 7 +to 12 in <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#plate_15">Plate XV.</a> Vol. I, shows how the leaf-ornament is laid +on the simple early cornices.</p> + + +<p class="bmarg center"><i>VI. Traceries.</i></p> + +<p>We have only one subject more to examine, the character of +the early and late Tracery Bars.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page251"></a>251</span></p> + +<p>The reader may perhaps have been surprised at the small attention +given to traceries in the course of the preceding volumes: +but the reason is, that there are no <i>complicated</i> traceries at Venice +belonging to the good Gothic time, with the single exception +of those of the Casa Cicogna; and the magnificent arcades of the +Ducal Palace Gothic are so simple as to require little explanation.</p> + +<p>There are, however, two curious circumstances in the later +traceries; the first, that they are universally considered by the +builder (as the old Byzantines considered sculptured surfaces of +stone) as material out of which a certain portion is <i>to be cut</i>, to +fill his window. A fine Northern Gothic tracery is a complete +and systematic arrangement of arches and foliation, <i>adjusted</i> to +the form of the window; but a Venetian tracery is a piece of a +larger composition, cut to the shape of the window. In the +Porta della Carta, in the Church of the Madonna dell’Orto, in +the Casa Bernardo on the Grand Canal, in the old Church of the +Misericordia, and wherever else there are rich traceries in Venice, +it will always be found that a certain arrangement of quatrefoils +and other figures has been planned as if it were to extend indefinitely +into miles of arcade; and out of this colossal piece of marble +lace, a piece in the shape of a window is cut, mercilessly and +fearlessly: whatever fragments and odd shapes of interstice, +remnants of this or that figure of the divided foliation, may occur +at the edge of the window, it matters not; all are cut across, +and shut in by the great outer archivolt.</p> + +<p>It is very curious to find the Venetians treating what in other +countries became of so great individual importance, merely as a +kind of diaper ground, like that of their chequered colors on the +walls. There is great grandeur in the idea, though the system +of their traceries was spoilt by it: but they always treated their +buildings as masses of color rather than of line; and the great +traceries of the Ducal Palace itself are not spared any more than +those of the minor palaces. They are cut off at the flanks in the +middle of the quatrefoils, and the terminal mouldings take up +part of the breadth of the poor half of a quatrefoil at the extremity.</p> + +<p>One other circumstance is notable also. In good Northern +Gothic the tracery bars are of a constant profile, the same on +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page252"></a>252</span> +both sides; and if the plan of the tracery leaves any interstices +so small that there is not room for the full profile of the tracery +bar all round them, those interstices are entirely closed, the +tracery bars being supposed to have met each other. But in +Venice, if an interstice becomes anywhere inconveniently small, +the tracery bar is sacrificed; cut away, or in some way altered in +profile, in order to afford more room for the light, especially in +the early traceries, so that one side of a tracery bar is often +quite different from the other. For instance, in the bars 1 and +2, <a href="#plate_11">Plate XI.</a>, from the Frari and St. John and Paul, the uppermost +side is towards a great opening, and there was room for the +bevel or slope to the cusp; but in the other side the opening was +too small, and the bar falls vertically to the cusp. In 5 the uppermost +side is to the narrow aperture, and the lower to the small +one; and in fig. 9, from the Casa Cicogna, the uppermost side +is to the apertures of the tracery, the lowermost to the arches +beneath, the great roll following the design of the tracery; while +13 and 14 are left without the roll at the base of their cavettos +on the uppermost sides, which are turned to narrow apertures. +The earliness of the Casa Cicogna tracery is seen in a moment +by its being moulded on the face only. It is in fact nothing +more than a series of quatrefoiled apertures in the solid wall of +the house, with mouldings on their faces, and magnificent arches +of pure pointed fifth order sustaining them below.</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/img252.jpg" width="404" height="650" alt="TRACERY BARS." title="TRACERY BARS." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">TRACERY BARS.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>The following are the references to the figures in the plate:</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 7em;" summary="data"> + +<tr><td> +<p class="sc"><a href="#plate_11">Plate XI.</a></p> +<p>Vol. III.</p></td> + +<td> +<p> 1. Frari.</p> +<p> 2. Apse, St. John and Paul.</p> +<p> 3. Frari.</p> +<p> 4. Ducal Palace, inner court, upper window.</p> +<p> 5. Madonna dell’Orto.</p> +<p> 6. St. John and Paul.</p> +<p> 7. Casa Bernardo.</p> +<p> 8. Casa Contarini Fasan.</p> +<p> 9. Casa Cicogna.</p> +<p>10. 11. Frari.</p> +<p>12. Murano Palace (see note, p. 265).</p> +<p>13. Misericordia.</p> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page253"></a>253</span></div> +<p>14. Palace of the younger Foscari.<a name="FnAnchor_70" href="#Footnote_70"><span class="sp">70</span></a></p> +<p>15. Casa d’Oro; great single windows.</p> +<p>16. Hotel Danieli.</p> +<p>17. Ducal Palace.</p> +<p>18. Casa Erizzo, on Grand Canal.</p> +<p>19. Main story, Casa Cavalli.</p> +<p>20. Younger Foscari.</p> +<p>21. Ducal Palace, traceried windows.</p> +<p>22. Porta della Carta.</p> +<p>23. Casa d’Oro.</p> +<p>24. Casa d’Oro, upper story.</p> +<p>25. Casa Facanon.</p> +<p>26. Casa Cavalli, near Post-Office.</p></td></tr></table> + +<p>It will be seen at a glance that, except in the very early fillet +traceries of the Frari and St. John and Paul, Venetian work +consists of roll traceries of one general pattern. It will be seen +also, that 10 and 11 from the Frari, furnish the first examples of +the form afterwards completely developed in 17, the tracery bar +of the Ducal Palace; but that this bar differs from them in +greater strength and squareness, and in adding a recess between +its smaller roll and the cusp. Observe, that this is done for +strength chiefly; as, in the contemporary tracery (21) of the +upper windows, no such additional thickness is used.</p> + +<p>Figure 17 is slightly inaccurate. The little curved recesses +behind the smaller roll are not equal on each side; that next the +cusp is smallest, being about <b><span class="above">5</span>⁄<span class="below">8</span></b> of an inch, while that next the +cavetto is about <b><span class="above">7</span>⁄<span class="below">8</span></b>; to such an extent of subtlety did the old +builders carry their love of change.</p> + +<p>The return of the cavetto in 21, 23, and 26, is comparatively +rare, and is generally a sign of later date.</p> + +<table style="float: left; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">II.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figleft2"> + <a name="fig_2"><img src="images/img254a.jpg" width="220" height="492" alt="II." title="II." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">III.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figleft2"> + <a name="fig_3"><img src="images/img254b.jpg" width="320" height="151" alt="III." title="III." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>The reader must observe that the great sturdiness of the form +of the bars, 5, 9, 17, 24, 25, is a consequence of the peculiar +office of Venetian traceries in supporting the mass of the building +above, already noticed in Vol. II.; and indeed the forms of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page254"></a>254</span> +the Venetian Gothic are, in many other ways, influenced by +the difficulty of obtaining stability on sandy foundations. One +thing is especially noticeable in all their arrangements of +traceries; namely, the endeavor to obtain +equal and horizontal pressure +along the whole breadth of the building, +not the divided and local pressures +of Northern Gothic. This object +is considerably aided by the +structure of the balconies, which are +of great service in knitting the shafts +together, forming complete tie-beams +of marble, as well as a kind of rivets, +at their bases. For instance, at <i>b</i>, +<a href="#fig_2">Fig. II.</a>, is represented the masonry +of the base of the upper arcade of the +Ducal Palace, showing the root of +one of its main shafts, with the binding +balconies. The solid stones +which form the foundation are much +broader than the balcony shafts, so +that the socketed arrangement is not +seen: it is shown as it would appear +in a longitudinal section. The balconies +are not let into the circular +shafts, but fitted to their circular +curves, so as to grasp them, and riveted with metal; and the +bars of stone which form the tops of the balconies are of great +strength and depth, the +small trefoiled arches being +cut out of them as in +<a href="#fig_3">Fig. III.</a>, so as hardly to +diminish their binding +power. In the lighter independent +balconies they +are often cut deeper; but +in all cases the bar of stone +is nearly independent of the small shafts placed beneath it, and +would stand firm though these were removed, as at <i>a</i>, <a href="#fig_2">Fig. II.</a>, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page255"></a>255</span> +supported either by the main shafts of the traceries, or by its +own small pilasters with semi-shafts at their sides, of the plan +<i>d</i>, <a href="#fig_2">Fig. II.</a>, in a continuous balcony, and <i>e</i> at the angle of one.</p> + +<p>There is one more very curious circumstance illustrative of +the Venetian desire to obtain horizontal pressure. In all the +Gothic staircases with which I am acquainted, out of Venice, in +which vertical shafts are used to support an inclined line, those +shafts are connected by arches rising each above the other, with +a little bracket above the capitals, on the side where it is necessary +to raise the arch; or else, though less gracefully, with a +longer curve to the lowest side of the arch.</p> + +<p>But the Venetians seem to have had a morbid horror of +arches which were not <i>on a level</i>. They could not endure the +appearance of the roof of one arch bearing against the side of +another; and rather than introduce the idea of obliquity into +bearing curves, they abandoned the arch principle altogether; so +that even in their richest Gothic staircases, where trefoiled +arches, exquisitely decorated, are used on the landings, they ran +the shafts on the sloping stair simply into the bar of stone above +them, and used the excessively ugly and valueless arrangement +of <a href="#fig_2">Fig. II.</a>, rather than sacrifice the sacred horizontality of their +arch system.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. IV.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter2"> + <a name="fig_4"><img src="images/img255.jpg" width="600" height="201" alt="Fig. IV." title="Fig. IV." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>It will be noted, in <a href="#plate_11">Plate XI.</a>, that the form and character of +the tracery bars themselves are independent of the position or +projection of the cusps on their flat sides. In this respect, also, +Venetian traceries are peculiar, the example 22 of the Porta della +Carta being the only one in the plate which is subordinated according +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page256"></a>256</span> +to the Northern system. In every other case the form +of the aperture is determined, either by a flat and solid cusp as +in 6, or by a pierced cusp as in 4. The effect of the pierced +cusp is seen in the uppermost figure, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_18">Plate XVIII.</a> Vol. II.; and +its derivation from the solid cusp will be understood, at once, +from the woodcut <a href="#fig_4">Fig. IV.</a>, which represents a series of the +flanking stones of any arch of the fifth order, such as <i>f</i> in <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#plate_3">Plate +III.</a> Vol. I.</p> + +<table style="float: right; width: auto;" summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="caption1">Fig. V.</td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="figright2"> + <a name="fig_5"><img src="images/img256.jpg" width="220" height="272" alt="Fig. V." title="Fig. V." /></a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<p>The first on the left shows the condition of cusp in a perfectly +simple and early Gothic arch, 2 and 3 are those of common +arches of the fifth order, 4 is the condition in more studied examples +of the Gothic advanced guard, and 5 connects them all +with the system of traceries. Introducing the common archivolt +mouldings on the projecting edge of 2 and 3, we obtain the bold +and deep fifth order window, used down to the close of the fourteenth +century or even later, and always grand in its depth of +cusp, and consequently of shadow; but +the narrow cusp 4 occurs also in very +early work, and is piquant when set beneath +a bold flat archivolt, as in <a href="#fig_5">Fig. +V.</a>, from the Corte del Forno at Santa +Marina. The pierced cusp gives a peculiar +lightness and brilliancy to the +window, but is not so sublime. In the +richer buildings the surface of the flat +and solid cusp is decorated with a shallow +trefoil (see <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#plate_8">Plate VIII.</a> Vol. I.), or, +when the cusp is small, with a triangular +incision only, as seen in figs. 7 and 8, <a href="#plate_11">Plate XI.</a> The recesses +on the sides of the other cusps indicate their single or double +lines of foliation. The cusp of the Ducal Palace has a fillet only +round its edge, and a ball of red marble on its truncated point, +and is perfect in its grand simplicity; but in general the cusps +of Venice are far inferior to those of Verona and of the other +cities of Italy, chiefly because there was always some confusion +in the mind of the designer between true cusps and the mere +bending inwards of the arch of the fourth order. The two series, +4 <i>a</i> to 4 <i>e</i>, and 5 <i>a</i> to 5 <i>e</i>, in <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_14">Plate XIV.</a> Vol. II., are +arranged so as to show this connexion, as well as the varieties of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page257"></a>257</span> +curvature in the trefoiled arches of the fourth and fifth orders, +which, though apparently slight on so small a scale, are of enormous +importance in distant effect; a house in which the joints +of the cusps project as much as in 5 <i>c</i>, being quite piquant and +grotesque when compared with one in which the cusps are subdued +to the form 5 <i>b</i>. 4 <i>d</i> and 4 <i>e</i> are Veronese forms, wonderfully +effective and spirited; the latter occurs at Verona only, but +the former at Venice also. 5 <i>d</i> occurs in Venice, but is very +rare; and 5 <i>e</i> I found only once, on the narrow canal close to +the entrance door of the Hotel Danieli. It was partly walled up, +but I obtained leave to take down the brickwork and lay open +one side of the arch, which may still be seen.</p> + +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The above particulars are enough to enable the reader to +judge of the distinctness of evidence which the details of Venetian +architecture bear to its dates. Farther explanation of the +plates would be vainly tedious: but the architect who uses these +volumes in Venice will find them of value, in enabling him +instantly to class the mouldings which may interest him; and +for this reason I have given a larger number of examples than +would otherwise have been sufficient for my purpose.</p> + + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_58" href="#FnAnchor_58"><span class="fn">58</span></a> “Olim <i>magistri</i> prothi palatii nostri novi.”—<i>Cadorin</i>, p. 127.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_59" href="#FnAnchor_59"><span class="fn">59</span></a> A print, dated 1585, barbarously inaccurate, as all prints were at that +time, but still in some respects to be depended upon, represents all the windows +on the façade full of traceries; and the circles above, between them, +occupied by quatrefoils.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_60" href="#FnAnchor_60"><span class="fn">60</span></a> “Lata tanto, quantum est ambulum existens super columnis versus +canale respicientibus.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_61" href="#FnAnchor_61"><span class="fn">61</span></a> Bettio, p. 28.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_62" href="#FnAnchor_62"><span class="fn">62</span></a> In the bombardment of Venice in 1848, hardly a single palace escaped +without three or four balls through its roof: three came into the Scuola di +San Rocco, tearing their way through the pictures of Tintoret, of which +the ragged fragments were still hanging from the ceiling in 1851; and the +shells had reached to within a hundred yards of St. Mark’s Church itself, +at the time of the capitulation.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_63" href="#FnAnchor_63"><span class="fn">63</span></a> A <i>Mohammedan</i> youth is punished, I believe, for such misdemeanors, +by being <i>kept away</i> from prayers.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_64" href="#FnAnchor_64"><span class="fn">64</span></a> “Those Venetians are fishermen.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_65" href="#FnAnchor_65"><span class="fn">65</span></a> I am afraid that the kind friend, Lady Trevelyan, who helped me to +finish this plate, will not like to be thanked here; but I cannot let her send +into Devonshire for magnolias, and draw them for me, <i>without</i> thanking +her.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_66" href="#FnAnchor_66"><span class="fn">66</span></a> That is, the house in the parish of the Apostoli, on the Grand Canal, +noticed in Vol. II.; and see also the Venetian Index, under head “Apostoli.”</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_67" href="#FnAnchor_67"><span class="fn">67</span></a> Close to the bridge over the main channel through Murano is a massive +foursquare Gothic palace, containing some curious traceries, and many +<i>unique</i> transitional forms of window, among which these windows of the +fourth order occur, with a roll within their dentil band.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_68" href="#FnAnchor_68"><span class="fn">68</span></a> Thus, for the sake of convenience, we may generally call the palace +with the emblems of the Evangelists on its spandrils, Vol. II.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_69" href="#FnAnchor_69"><span class="fn">69</span></a> The house with chequers like a chess-board on its spandrils, given in +my folio work.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_70" href="#FnAnchor_70"><span class="fn">70</span></a> The palace next the Casa Foscari, on the Grand Canal, sometimes said +to have belonged to the son of the Doge.</p> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page258"></a>258</span></p> + + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page259"></a>259</span></p> + +<h3>INDICES.</h3> + +<table class="nobctr" summary="title"> +<tr><td> +<p class="scs"><b> I. PERSONAL INDEX.</b></p> +<p class="scs"><b>II. LOCAL INDEX.</b></p></td> + +<td style="border-left: 1px solid black; padding-left: 1em;"><p class="scs"><b>III. TOPICAL INDEX.</b></p> +<p class="scs"><b>IV. VENETIAN INDEX.</b></p></td></tr></table> +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>The first of the following Indices contains the names of +persons; the second those of places (not in Venice) alluded to in +the body of the work. The third Index consists of references to +the subjects touched upon. In the fourth, called the Venetian +Index, I have named every building of importance in the city of +Venice itself, or near it; supplying, for the convenience of the +traveller, short notices of those to which I had no occasion to +allude in the text of the work; and making the whole as complete +a guide as I could, with such added directions as I should +have given to any private friend visiting the city. As, however, +in many cases, the opinions I have expressed differ widely from +those usually received; and, in other instances, subjects which +may be of much interest to the traveller have not come within +the scope of my inquiry; the reader had better take Lazari’s +small Guide in his hand also, as he will find in it both the information +I have been unable to furnish, and the expression of most +of the received opinions upon any subject of art.</p> + +<p>Various inconsistencies will be noticed in the manner of indicating +the buildings, some being named in Italian, some in +English, and some half in one, and half in the other. But these +inconsistencies are permitted in order to save trouble, and make +the Index more practically useful. For instance, I believe the +traveller will generally look for “Mark,” rather than for “Marco,” +when he wishes to find the reference to St. Mark’s Church; but +I think he will look for Rocco, rather than for Roch, when he is +seeking for the account of the Scuola di San Rocco. So also I +have altered the character in which the titles of the plates are +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page260"></a>260</span> +printed, from the black letter in the first volume, to the plain +Roman in the second and third; finding experimentally that the +former character was not easily legible, and conceiving that the +book would be none the worse for this practical illustration of its +own principles, in a daring sacrifice of symmetry to convenience.</p> + +<p>These alphabetical Indices will, however, be of little use, unless +another, and a very different kind of Index, be arranged in the +mind of the reader; an Index explanatory of the principal purposes +and contents of the various parts of this essay. It is difficult +to analyze the nature of the reluctance with which either a +writer or painter takes it upon him to explain the meaning of his +own work, even in cases where, without such explanation, it +must in a measure remain always disputable: but I am persuaded +that this reluctance is, in most instances, carried too far; and +that, wherever there really is a serious purpose in a book or a +picture, the author does wrong who, either in modesty or vanity +(both feelings have their share in producing the dislike of personal +interpretation), trusts entirely to the patience and intelligence +of the readers or spectators to penetrate into their significance. +At all events, I will, as far as possible, spare such trouble +with respect to these volumes, by stating here, finally and clearly, +both what they intend and what they contain; and this the +rather because I have lately noticed, with some surprise, certain +reviewers announcing as a discovery, what I thought had lain +palpably on the surface of the book, namely, that “if Mr. Ruskin +be right, all the architects, and all the architectural teaching +of the last three hundred years, must have been wrong.” That +is indeed precisely the fact; and the very thing I meant to say, +which indeed I thought I had said over and over again. I believe +the architects of the last three centuries to have been wrong; +wrong without exception; wrong totally, and from the foundation. +This is exactly the point I have been endeavoring to prove, +from the beginning of this work to the end of it. But as it +seems not yet to have been stated clearly enough, I will here try +to put my entire theorem into an unmistakable form.</p> + +<p>The various nations who attained eminence in the arts before +the time of Christ, each of them, produced forms of architecture +which in their various degrees of merit were almost exactly indicative +of the degrees of intellectual and moral energy of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page261"></a>261</span> +nations which originated them; and each reached its greatest +perfection at the time when the true energy and prosperity of the +people who had invented it were at their culminating point. +Many of these various styles of architecture were good, considered +in relation to the times and races which gave birth to them; +but none were absolutely good or perfect, or fitted for the practice +of all future time.</p> + +<p>The advent of Christianity for the first time rendered possible +the full development of the soul of man, and therefore the full +development of the arts of man.</p> + +<p>Christianity gave birth to a new architecture, not only immeasurably +superior to all that had preceded it, but demonstrably +the best architecture that <i>can</i> exist; perfect in construction and +decoration, and fit for the practice of all time.</p> + +<p>This architecture, commonly called “Gothic,” though in +conception perfect, like the theory of a Christian character, +never reached an actual perfection, having been retarded and +corrupted by various adverse influences; but it reached its highest +perfection, hitherto manifested, about the close of the thirteenth +century, being then indicative of a peculiar energy in the +Christian mind of Europe.</p> + +<p>In the course of the fifteenth century, owing to various causes +which I have endeavored to trace in the preceding pages, the +Christianity of Europe was undermined; and a Pagan architecture +was introduced, in imitation of that of the Greeks and +Romans.</p> + +<p>The architecture of the Greeks and Romans themselves was +not good, but it was natural; and, as I said before, good in some +respects, and for a particular time.</p> + +<p>But the imitative architecture introduced first in the fifteenth +century, and practised ever since, was neither good nor natural. +It was good in no respect, and for no time. All the architects +who have built in that style have built what was worthless; and +therefore the greater part of the architecture which has been +built for the last three hundred years, and which we are now +building, is worthless. We must give up this style totally, despise +it and forget it, and build henceforward only in that perfect and +Christian style hitherto called Gothic, which is everlastingly the +best.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page262"></a>262</span></p> + +<p>This is the theorem of these volumes.</p> + +<p>In support of this theorem, the first volume contains, in its +first chapter, a sketch of the actual history of Christian architecture, +up to the period of the Reformation; and, in the subsequent +chapters, an analysis of the entire system of the laws of +architectural construction and decoration, deducing from those +laws positive conclusions as to the best forms and manners of +building for all time.</p> + +<p>The second volume contains, in its first five chapters, an account +of one of the most important and least known forms of +Christian architecture, as exhibited in Venice, together with an +analysis of its nature in the fourth chapter; and, which is a peculiarly +important part of this section, an account of the power of +color over the human mind.</p> + +<p>The sixth chapter of the second volume contains an analysis +of the nature of Gothic architecture, properly so called, and +shows that in its external form it complies precisely with the +abstract laws of structure and beauty, investigated in the first +volume. The seventh and eighth chapters of the second volume +illustrate the nature of Gothic architecture by various Venetian +examples. The third volume investigates, in its first chapter, +the causes and manner of the corruption of Gothic architecture; +in its second chapter, defines the nature of the Pagan architecture +which superseded it; in the third chapter, shows the connexion +of that Pagan architecture with the various characters of +mind which brought about the destruction of the Venetian +nation; and, in the fourth chapter, points out the dangerous +tendencies in the modern mind which the practice of such an +architecture indicates.</p> + +<p>Such is the intention of the preceding pages, which I hope +will no more be doubted or mistaken. As far as regards the +manner of its fulfilment, though I hope, in the course of other +inquiries, to add much to the elucidation of the points in dispute, +I cannot feel it necessary to apologize for the imperfect handling +of a subject which the labor of a long life, had I been able to +bestow it, must still have left imperfectly treated.</p> + + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page263"></a>263</span></p> + +<h3>I.</h3> + +<h3>PERSONAL INDEX.</h3> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="nomargi"> +<h5>A</h5> + +<p>Alberti, Duccio degli, his tomb, <a href="#page074">iii. 74</a>, <a href="#page080">80</a>.</p> + +<p>Alexander III., his defence by Venetians, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page007">i. 7</a>.</p> + +<p>Ambrose, St., his verbal subtleties, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page320">ii. 320</a>.</p> + +<p>Angelico, Frà, artistical power of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page400">i. 400</a>; + his influence on Protestants, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page105">ii. 105</a>; + his coloring, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page145">ii. 145</a>.</p> + +<p>Aristotle, his evil influence on the modern mind, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page319">ii. 319</a>.</p> + +<p>Averulinus, his book on architecture, <a href="#page063">iii. 63</a>.</p> + + + +<h5>B</h5> + + +<p>Barbaro, monuments of the family, <a href="#page125">iii. 125.</a></p> + +<p>Barbarossa, Emperor, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page007">i. 7</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page009">9</a>.</p> + +<p>Baseggio, Pietro, <a href="#page199">iii. 199.</a></p> + +<p>Bellini, John, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page011">i. 11</a>; + his kindness to Albert Durer, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page383">i. 383</a>; + general power of, see Venetian Index, under head “Giovanni Grisostomo;” + Gentile, his brother, <a href="#page021">iii. 21</a>.</p> + +<p>Berti, Bellincion, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page263">ii. 263</a>.</p> + +<p>Browning, Elizabeth B., her poetry, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page206">ii. 206</a>.</p> + +<p>Bunsen, Chevalier, his work on Romanesque Churches, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page381">ii. 381</a>.</p> + +<p>Bunyan, John, his portraiture of constancy, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page333">ii. 333</a>; + of patience, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page334">ii. 334</a>; + of vanity, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page346">ii. 346</a>; + of sin, <a href="#page147">iii. 147</a>.</p> + + +<h5>C</h5> + +<p>Calendario, Filippo, <a href="#page199">iii. 199</a>.</p> + +<p>Canaletto, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page024">i. 24</a>; + and see Venetian Index under head “Carità.”</p> + +<p>Canova, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page217">i. 217</a>; + and see Venetian Index under head “Frari.”</p> + +<p>Cappello, Vincenzo, his tomb, <a href="#page122">iii. 122</a>.</p> + +<p>Caracci, school of the, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page024">i. 24</a>.</p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page264"></a>264</span></div> + +<p>Cary, his translation of Dante, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page264">ii. 264</a>.</p> + +<p>Cavalli, Jacopo, his tomb, <a href="#page082">iii. 82</a>.</p> + +<p>Cicero, influence of his philosophy, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page317">ii. 317</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page318">318</a>.</p> + +<p>Claude Lorraine, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page024">i. 24.</a></p> + +<p>Comnenus, Manuel, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page263">ii. 263</a>.</p> + +<p>Cornaro, Marco, his tomb, <a href="#page079">iii. 79</a>.</p> + +<p>Correggio, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page192">ii. 192</a>.</p> + +<p>Crabbe, naturalism in his poetry, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page195">ii. 195</a>.</p> + + +<h5>D</h5> + +<p>Dandolo, Andrea, tomb of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page070">ii. 70</a>; + Francesco, tomb of, <a href="#page074">iii. 74</a>; + character of, <a href="#page076">iii. 76</a>; + Simon, tomb of, <a href="#page079">iii. 79</a>.</p> + +<p>Dante, his central position, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page340">ii. 340</a>, <a href="#page158">iii. 158</a>; + his system of virtue, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page323">ii. 323</a>; + his portraiture of sin, <a href="#page147">iii. 147</a>.</p> + +<p>Daru, his character as a historian, <a href="#page213">iii. 213</a>.</p> + +<p>Dolci, Carlo, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page105">ii. 105</a>.</p> + +<p>Dolfino, Giovanni, tomb of, <a href="#page078">iii. 78</a>.</p> + +<p>Durer, Albert, his rank as a landscape painter, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page383">i. 383</a>; + his power in grotesque, <a href="#page145">iii. 145</a>.</p> + + +<h5>E</h5> + +<p>Edwin, King, his conversion, <a href="#page062">iii. 62</a>.</p> + + +<h5>F</h5> + +<p>Faliero, Bertuccio, his tomb, <a href="#page094">iii. 94</a>; + Marino, his house, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page254">ii. 254</a>; + Vitale, miracle in his time, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page061">ii. 61</a>.</p> + +<p>Fergusson, James, his system of beauty, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page388">i. 388</a>.</p> + +<p>Foscari, Francesco, his reign, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page004">i. 4</a>, <a href="#page165">iii. 165</a>; + his tomb, <a href="#page084">iii. 84</a>; + his countenance, <a href="#page086">iii. 86</a>.</p> + + +<h5>G</h5> + +<p>Garbett, answer to Mr., <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page403">i. 403</a>.</p> + +<p>Ghiberti, his sculpture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page217">i. 217</a>.</p> + +<p>Giotto, his system of the virtues, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page323">ii. 323</a>, + <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page329">329</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page341">341</a>; + his rank as a painter, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page188">ii. 188</a>, <a href="#page172">iii. 172</a>.</p> + +<p>Giulio Romano, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page023">i. 23</a>.</p> + +<p>Giustiniani, Marco, his tomb, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page315">i. 315</a>; + Sebastian, ambassador to England, <a href="#page224">iii. 224</a>.</p> + +<p>Godfrey of Bouillon, his piety, <a href="#page062">iii. 62</a>.</p> + +<p>Gozzoli, Benozzo, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page195">ii. 195</a>.</p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page265"></a>265</span></div> + +<p>Gradenigo, Pietro, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page290">ii. 290</a>.</p> + +<p>Grande, Can, della Scala, his tomb, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page268">i. 268</a> + (the cornice <i>g</i> in <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#plate_16">Plate XVI.</a> is taken from it), <a href="#page071">iii. 71</a>.</p> + +<p>Guariento, his Paradise, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page296">ii. 296</a>.</p> + +<p>Guercino, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page105">ii. 105</a>.</p> + + +<h5>H</h5> + +<p>Hamilton, Colonel, his paper on the Serapeum, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page220">ii. 220</a>.</p> + +<p>Hobbima, <a href="#page184">iii. 184</a>.</p> + +<p>Hunt, William, his painting of peasant boys, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page192">ii. 192</a>; + of still life, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page394">ii. 394</a>.</p> + +<p>Hunt, William Holman, relation of his works to modern and ancient art, <a href="#page185">iii. 185</a>.</p> + + +<h5>K</h5> + +<p>Knight, Gally, his work on Architecture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page378">i. 378</a>.</p> + + +<h5>L</h5> + +<p>Leonardo da Vinci, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page171">ii. 171</a>.</p> + +<p>Louis XI., <a href="#page194">iii. 194</a>.</p> + + +<h5>M</h5> + +<p>Martin, John, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page104">ii. 104</a>.</p> + +<p>Mastino, Can, della Scala, his tomb, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page224">ii. 224</a>, <a href="#page072">iii. 72</a>.</p> + +<p>Maynard, Miss, her poems, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page397">ii. 397</a>.</p> + +<p>Michael Angelo, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page134">ii. 134</a>, + <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page188">188</a>, <a href="#page056">iii. 56</a>, <a href="#page090">90</a>, <a href="#page099">99</a>, <a href="#page158">158</a>.</p> + +<p>Millais, John E., relation of his works to older art, <a href="#page185">iii. 185</a>; + aerial perspective in his “Huguenot,” <a href="#page047">iii. 47</a>.</p> + +<p>Milton, how inferior to Dante, <a href="#page147">iii. 147</a>.</p> + +<p>Mocenigo, Tomaso, his character, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page004">i. 4</a>; + his speech on rebuilding the Ducal Palace, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page299">ii. 299</a>; + his tomb, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page026">i. 26</a>, <a href="#page084">iii. 84</a>.</p> + +<p>Morosini, Carlo, Count, note on Daru’s History by, <a href="#page213">iii. 213</a>.</p> + +<p>Morosini, Marino, his tomb, <a href="#page093">iii. 93</a>.</p> + +<p>Morosini, Michael, his character, <a href="#page213">iii. 213</a>; + his tomb, <a href="#page080">iii. 80</a>.</p> + +<p>Murillo, his sensualism, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page192">ii. 192</a>.</p> + + +<h5>N</h5> + +<p>Napoleon, his genius in civil administration, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page399">i. 399</a>.</p> + +<p>Niccolo Pisano, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page215">i. 215</a>.</p> + + +<h5>O</h5> + +<p>Orcagna, his system of the virtues, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page329">ii. 329</a>.</p> + +<p>Orseolo, Pietro (Doge), <a href="#page120">iii. 120</a>.</p> + +<p>Otho the Great, his vow at Murano, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page032">ii. 32</a>.</p> + + + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page266"></a>266</span></div> + +<h5>P</h5> + + +<p>Palladio, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page024">i. 24</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page146">146</a>; + and see Venetian Index, under head “Giorgio Maggiore.”</p> + +<p>Participazio, Angelo, founds the Ducal Palace, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page287">ii. 287</a>.</p> + +<p>Pesaro, Giovanni, tomb of, <a href="#page092">iii. 92</a>; + Jacopo, tomb of, <a href="#page091">iii. 91</a>.</p> + +<p>Philippe de Commynes, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page012">i. 12</a>.</p> + +<p>Plato, influence of his philosophy, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page317">ii. 317</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page338">338</a>; + his playfulness, <a href="#page127">iii. 127</a>.</p> + +<p>Poussin, Nicolo and Gaspar, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page023">i. 23</a>.</p> + +<p>Procaccini, Camillo, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page188">ii. 188</a>.</p> + +<p>Prout, Samuel, his style, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page250">i. 250</a>, <a href="#page019">iii. 19</a>, <a href="#page134">134</a>.</p> + +<p>Pugin, Welby, his rank as an architect, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page385">i. 385</a>.</p> + + +<h5>Q</h5> + +<p>Querini, Marco, his palace, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page255">ii. 255</a>.</p> + + +<h5>R</h5> + +<p>Raffaelle, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page188">ii. 188</a>, <a href="#page056">iii. 56</a>, <a href="#page108">108</a>, <a href="#page136">136</a>.</p> + +<p>Reynolds, Sir J., his painting at New College, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page323">ii. 323</a>; + his general manner, <a href="#page184">iii. 184</a>.</p> + +<p>Rogers, Samuel, his works, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page195">ii. 195</a>, <a href="#page113">iii. 113</a>.</p> + +<p>Rubens, intellectual rank of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page400">i. 400</a>; + coarseness of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page145">ii. 145</a>.</p> + + +<h5>S</h5> + +<p>Salvator Rosa, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page024">i. 24</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page105">ii. 105</a>, + <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page145">145</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page188">188</a>.</p> + +<p>Scaligeri, tombs of, at Verona; + see “Grande,” “Mastino,” “Signorio;” palace of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page257">ii. 257</a>.</p> + +<p>Scott, Sir W., his feelings of romance, <a href="#page191">iii. 191</a>.</p> + +<p>Shakspeare, his “Seven Ages,” whence derived, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page361">ii. 361</a>.</p> + +<p>Sharpe, Edmund, his works, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page342">i. 342</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page408">408</a>.</p> + +<p>Signorio, Can, della Scala, his tomb, character, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page268">i. 268</a>, <a href="#page073">iii. 73</a>.</p> + +<p>Simplicius, St., <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page356">ii. 356</a>.</p> + +<p>Spenser, value of his philosophy, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page327">ii. 327</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page341">341</a>; + his personifications of the months, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page272">ii. 272</a>; + his system of the virtues, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page326">ii. 326</a>; + scheme of the first book of the Faërie Queen, <a href="#page205">iii. 205</a>.</p> + +<p>Steno, Michael, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page306">ii. 306</a>; his tomb, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page296">ii. 296</a>.</p> + +<p>Stothard (the painter), his works, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page187">ii. 187</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page195">195</a>.</p> + +<p>Symmachus, St., <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page357">ii. 357</a>.</p> + + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page267"></a>267</span></div> + +<h5>T</h5> + +<p>Teniers, David, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page188">ii. 188</a>.</p> + +<p>Tiepolo, Jacopo and Lorenzo, their tombs, <a href="#page069">iii. 69</a>; + Bajamonte, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page255">ii. 255</a>.</p> + +<p>Tintoret, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page012">i. 12</a>; + his genius and function, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page149">ii. 149</a>; + his Paradise, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page304">ii. 304</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page372">372</a>; + his rank among the men of Italy, <a href="#page158">iii. 158</a>.</p> + +<p>Titian, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page012">i. 12</a>; + his function and fall, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page149">ii. 149</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page187">187</a>.</p> + +<p>Turner, his rank as a landscape painter, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page382">i. 382</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page187">ii. 187</a>.</p> + + +<h5>U</h5> + +<p>Uguccione, Benedetto, destroys Giotto’s façade at Florence, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page197">i. 197</a>.</p> + + +<h5>V</h5> + +<p>Vendramin, Andrea (Doge), his tomb, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page027">i. 27</a>, <a href="#page088">iii. 88</a>.</p> + +<p>Verocchio, Andrea, <a href="#page011">iii. 11</a>, <a href="#page013">13</a>.</p> + +<p>Veronese, Paul, artistical rank of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page400">i. 400</a>; + his designs of balustrades, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page247">ii. 247</a>; + and see in Venetian Index, “Ducal Palace,” “Pisani,” “Sebastian,” “Redentore,” “Accademia.”</p> + + +<h5>W</h5> + +<p>West, Benjamin, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page104">ii. 104</a>.</p> + +<p>Wordsworth, his observation of nature, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page247">i. 247</a> (note).</p> + + +<h5>Z</h5> + +<p>Zeno, Carlo, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page004">i. 4</a>, <a href="#page080">iii. 80</a>.</p> + +<p>Ziani, Sebastian (Doge), builds Ducal Palace, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page289">ii. 289</a>.</p> + +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page268"></a>268</span></div> + +<h3>II.</h3> + +<h3>LOCAL INDEX.</h3> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="nomargi"> +<h5>A</h5> + + +<p>Abbeville, door of church at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page225">ii. 225</a>; + parapet at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page245">ii. 245</a>.</p> + +<p>Alexandria, Church at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page381">i. 381</a>.</p> + +<p>Alhambra, ornamentation of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page429">i. 429</a>.</p> + +<p>Alps, how formed for distant effect, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page247">i. 247</a>; + how seen from Venice, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page002">ii. 2</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page028">28</a>.</p> + +<p>Amiens, pillars of Cathedral at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page102">i. 102</a>.</p> + +<p>Arqua, hills of, how seen from Venice, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page002">ii. 2</a>.</p> + +<p>Assisi, Giotto’s paintings at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page323">ii. 323</a>.</p> + + + +<h5>B</h5> + + +<p>Beauvais, piers of Cathedral at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page093">i. 93</a>; + grandeur of its buttress structure, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page170">i. 170</a>.</p> + +<p>Bergamo, Duomo at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page275">i. 275</a>.</p> + +<p>Bologna, Palazzo Pepoli at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page275">i. 275</a>.</p> + +<p>Bourges, Cathedral at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page043">i. 43</a>, + <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page102">102</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page228">228</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page271">271</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page299">299</a>; <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page092">ii. 92</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page186">186</a>; + house of Jacques Cœur at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page346">i. 346</a>.</p> + + + +<h5>C</h5> + + +<p>Chamouni, glacier forms at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page222">i. 222</a>.</p> + +<p>Como, Broletto of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page141">i. 141</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page339">339</a>.</p> + + + +<h5>D</h5> + + +<p>Dijon, pillars in Church of Notre Dame at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page102">i. 102</a>; + tombs of Dukes of Burgundy, <a href="#page068">iii. 68</a>.</p> + + + +<h5>E</h5> + + +<p>Edinburgh, college at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page207">i. 207</a>.</p> + + + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page269"></a>269</span></div> + +<h5>F</h5> + + +<p>Falaise (St. Gervaise at), piers of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page103">i. 103</a>.</p> + +<p>Florence, Cathedral of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page197">i. 197</a>, <a href="#page013">iii. 13</a>.</p> + + + +<h5>G</h5> + + +<p>Gloucester, Cathedral of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page192">i. 192</a>.</p> + + +<h5>L</h5> + + +<p>Lombardy, geology of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page005">ii. 5</a>.</p> + +<p>London, Church in Margaret Street, Portland Place, <a href="#page196">iii. 196</a>; + Temple Church, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page412">i. 412</a>; + capitals in Belgrave and Grosvenor Squares, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page330">i. 330</a>; + Bank of England, base of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page283">i. 283</a>; + wall of, typical of accounts, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page295">i. 295</a>; + statue in King William Street, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page210">i. 210</a>; + shops in Oxford Street, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page202">i. 202</a>; + Arthur Club-house, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page295">i. 295</a>; + Athenæum Club-house, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page157">i. 157</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page283">283</a>; + Duke of York’s Pillar, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page283">i. 283</a>; + Treasury, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page205">i. 205</a>; + Whitehall, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page205">i. 205</a>; + Westminster, fall of houses at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page268">ii. 268</a>; + Monument, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page082">i. 82</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page283">283</a>; + Nelson Pillar, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page216">i. 216</a>; + Wellington Statue, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page257">i. 257</a>.</p> + +<p>Lucca, Cathedral of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page275">ii. 275</a>; + San Michele at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page375">i. 375</a>.</p> + +<p>Lyons, porch of cathedral at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page379">i. 379</a>.</p> + + +<h5>M</h5> + + +<p>Matterhorn (Mont Cervin), structure of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page058">i. 58</a>; + lines of, applied to architecture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page308">i. 308</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page310">310</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page332">332</a>.</p> + +<p>Mestre, scene in street of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page355">i. 355</a>.</p> + +<p>Milan, St. Ambrogio, piers of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page102">i. 102</a>; + capital of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page324">i. 324</a>; + St. Eustachio, tomb of St. Peter Martyr, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page218">i. 218</a>.</p> + +<p>Moulins, brickwork at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page296">i. 296</a>.</p> + +<p>Murano, general aspect of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page029">ii. 29</a>; + Duomo of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page032">ii. 32</a>; + balustrades of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page247">ii. 247</a>; + inscriptions at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page384">ii. 384</a>.</p> + + +<h5>N</h5> + + +<p>Nineveh, style of its decorations, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page234">i. 234</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page239">239</a>; <a href="#page159">iii. 159</a>.</p> + + +<h5>O</h5> + + +<p>Orange (South France), arch at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page250">i. 250</a>.</p> + +<p>Orleans, Cathedral of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page095">i. 95</a>.</p> + + +<h5>P</h5> + + +<p>Padua, Arena chapel at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page324">ii. 324</a>; + St. Antonio at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page135">i. 135</a>; + St. Sofia at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page327">i. 327</a>; + Eremitani, Church of, at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page135">i. 135</a>.</p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page270"></a>270</span></div> + +<p>Paris, Hotel des Invalides, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page214">i. 214</a>; + Arc de l’Etoile, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page291">i. 291</a>; + Colonne Vendome, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page212">i. 212</a>.</p> + +<p>Pavia, St. Michele at, piers of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page102">i. 102</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page337">337</a>; + ornaments of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page376">i. 376</a>.</p> + +<p>Pisa, Baptistery of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page275">ii. 275</a>.</p> + +<p>Pistoja, San Pietro at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page295">i. 295</a>.</p> + + +<h5>R</h5> + + +<p>Ravenna, situation of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page006">ii. 6</a>.</p> + +<p>Rouen, Cathedral, piers of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page103">i. 103</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page153">153</a>; + pinnacles of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page213">ii. 213</a>; + St. Maclou at, sculptures of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page197">ii. 197</a>.</p> + + +<h5>S</h5> + + +<p>Salisbury Cathedral, piers of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page102">i. 102</a>; + windows at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page224">ii. 224</a>.</p> + +<p>Sens, Cathedral of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page135">i. 135</a>.</p> + +<p>Switzerland, cottage architecture of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page156">i. 156</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page203">203</a>, <a href="#page133">iii. 133</a>.</p> + + +<h5>V</h5> + + +<p>Verona, San Fermo at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page136">i. 136</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page259">ii. 259</a>; + Sta. Anastasia at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page142">i. 142</a>; + Duomo of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page373">i. 373</a>; + St. Zeno at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page373">i. 373</a>; + balconies at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page247">ii. 247</a>; + archivolt at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page335">i. 335</a>; + tombs at, see in Personal Index, “Grande,” “Mastino,” “Signorio.”</p> + +<p>Vevay, architecture of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page136">i. 136</a>.</p> + +<p>Vienne (South France), Cathedral of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page274">i. 274</a>.</p> + + +<h5>W</h5> + + +<p>Warwick, Guy’s tower at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page168">i. 168</a>.</p> + +<p>Wenlock (Shropshire), Abbey of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page270">i. 270</a>.</p> + +<p>Winchester, Cathedral of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page192">i. 192</a>.</p> + + +<h5>Y</h5> + + +<p>York, Minster of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page205">i. 205</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page313">313</a>.</p> + +</div> + + + +<hr class="art" /> +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page271"></a>271</span></div> + +<h3>III.</h3> + +<h3>TOPICAL INDEX.</h3> +<hr class="short" /> + +<div class="nomargi"> +<h5>A</h5> + +<p>Abacus, defined, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page107">i. 107</a>; + law of its proportion, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page111">i. 111-115</a>; + its connection with cornices, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page116">i. 116</a>; + its various profiles, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page319">i. 319-323</a>; <a href="#page243">iii. 243-248</a>.</p> + +<p>Acanthus, leaf of, its use in architecture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page233">i. 233</a>; + how treated at Torcello, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page015">ii. 15</a>.</p> + +<p>Alabaster, use of, in incrustation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page086">ii. 86</a>.</p> + +<p>Anachronism, necessity of, in the best art, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page198">ii. 198</a>.</p> + +<p>Anatomy, a disadvantageous study for artists, <a href="#page047">iii. 47</a>.</p> + +<p>Angels, use of their images in Venetian heraldry, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page278">ii. 278</a>; + statues of, on the Ducal Palace, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page311">ii. 311</a>.</p> + +<p>Anger, how symbolically represented, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page344">ii. 344</a>.</p> + +<p>Angles, decoration of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page260">i. 260</a>; <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page305">ii. 305</a>; + of Gothic Palaces, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page238">ii. 238</a>; + of Ducal Palace, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page307">ii. 307</a>.</p> + +<p>Animal character in northern and southern climates, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page156">ii. 156</a>; + in grotesque art, <a href="#page149">iii. 149</a>.</p> + +<p>Apertures, analysis of their structure, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page050">i. 50</a>; + general forms of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page174">i. 174</a>.</p> + +<p>Apse, forms of, in southern and northern churches compared, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page170">i. 170</a>.</p> + +<p>Arabesques of Raffaelle, their baseness, <a href="#page136">iii. 136</a>.</p> + +<p>Arabian architecture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page018">i. 18</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page234">234</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page235">235</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page429">429</a>; <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page135">ii. 135</a>.</p> + +<p>Arches, general structure of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page122">i. 122</a>; + moral characters of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page126">i. 126</a>; + lancet, round, and depressed, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page129">i. 129</a>; + four-centred, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page130">i. 130</a>; + ogee, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page131">i. 131</a>; + non-concentric, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page133">i. 133</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page341">341</a>; + masonry of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page133">i. 133</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page218">ii. 218</a>; + load of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page144">i. 144</a>; + are not derived from vegetation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page201">ii. 201</a>.</p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page272"></a>272</span></div> + +<p>Architects, modern, their unfortunate position, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page404">i. 404</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page407">407</a>.</p> + +<p>Architecture, general view of its divisions, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page047">i. 47-51</a>; + how to judge of it, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page173">ii. 173</a>; + adaptation of, to requirements of human mind, <a href="#page192">iii. 192</a>; + richness of early domestic, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page100">ii. 100</a>, <a href="#page002">iii. 2</a>; + manner of its debasement in general, <a href="#page003">iii. 3</a>.</p> + +<p>Archivolts, decoration of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page334">i. 334</a>; + general families of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page335">i. 335</a>; + of Murano, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page049">ii. 49</a>; + of St. Mark’s, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page095">ii. 95</a>; + in London, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page097">ii. 97</a>; + Byzantine, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page138">ii. 138</a>; + profiles of, <a href="#page244">iii. 244</a>.</p> + +<p>Arts, relative dignity of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page395">i. 395</a>; + how represented in Venetian sculpture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page355">ii. 355</a>; + what relation exists between them and their materials, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page394">ii. 394</a>; + art divided into the art of facts, of design, and of both, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page183">ii. 183</a>; + into purist, naturalist, and sensualist, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page187">ii. 187</a>; + art opposed to inspiration, <a href="#page151">iii. 151</a>; + defined, <a href="#page170">iii. 170</a>; + distinguished from science, <a href="#page035">iii. 35</a>; + how to enjoy that of the ancients, <a href="#page188">iii. 188</a>.</p> + +<p>Aspiration, not the primal motive of Gothic work, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page151">i. 151</a>.</p> + +<p>Astrology, judicial, representation of its doctrines in Venetian sculpture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page352">ii. 352</a>.</p> + +<p>Austrian government in Italy, <a href="#page209">iii. 209</a>.</p> + +<p>Avarice, how represented figuratively, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page344">ii. 344</a>.</p> + + +<h5>B</h5> + +<p>Backgrounds, diapered, <a href="#page020">iii. 20</a>.</p> + +<p>Balconies, of Venice, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page243">ii. 243</a>; + general treatment of, <a href="#page254">iii. 254</a>; + of iron, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page247">ii. 247</a>.</p> + +<p>Ballflower, its use in ornamentation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page279">i. 279</a>.</p> + +<p>Balustrades. See “Balconies.”</p> + +<p>Bases, general account of, <a href="#page225">iii. 225</a>; + of walls, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page055">i. 55</a>; + of piers, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page073">i. 73</a>; + of shafts, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page084">i. 84</a>; + decoration of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page281">i. 281</a>; + faults of Gothic profiles of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page285">i. 285</a>; + spurs of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page286">i. 286</a>; + beauty of, in St. Mark’s, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page290">i. 290</a>; + Lombardie, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page292">i. 292</a>; + ought not to be richly decorated, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page292">i. 292</a>; + general effect of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page387">ii. 387</a>.</p> + +<p>Battlements, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page162">i. 162</a>; + abuse of, in ornamentation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page219">i. 219</a>.</p> + +<p>Beauty and ornament, relation of the terms, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page404">i. 404</a>.</p> + +<p>Bellstones of capitals defined, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page108">i. 108</a>.</p> + +<p>Birds, use of in ornamentation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page234">i. 234</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page140">ii. 140</a>.</p> + +<p>Bishops, their ancient authority, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page025">ii. 25</a>.</p> + +<p>Body, its relation to the soul, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page041">i. 41</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page395">395</a>.</p> + +<p>Brackets, division of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page161">i. 161</a>; + ridiculous forms of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page161">i. 161</a>.</p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page273"></a>273</span></div> + +<p>Breadth in Byzantine design, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page133">ii. 133</a>.</p> + +<p>Brickwork, ornamental, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page296">i. 296</a>; + in general, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page241">ii. 241</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page260">260</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page261">261</a>.</p> + +<p>Brides of Venice, legend of the, <a href="#page113">iii. 113</a>, <a href="#page116">116</a>.</p> + +<p>Buttresses, general structure of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page166">i. 166</a>; + flying, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page192">i. 192</a>; + supposed sanctity of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page173">i. 173</a>.</p> + +<p>Bull, symbolical use of, in representing rivers, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page418">i. 418</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page421">421</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page424">424</a>.</p> + +<p>Byzantine style, analysis of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page075">ii. 75</a>; + ecclesiastical fitness of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page097">ii. 97</a>; + centralization in, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page236">ii. 236</a>; + palaces built in, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page118">ii. 118</a>; + sculptures in, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page137">ii. 137</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page140">140</a>.</p> + + +<h5>C</h5> + +<p>Candlemas, ancient symbols of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page272">ii. 272</a>.</p> + +<p>Capitals, general structure of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page105">i. 105</a>; + bells of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page107">i. 107</a>; + just proportions of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page114">i. 114</a>; + various families of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page013">i. 13</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page065">65</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page324">324</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page129">ii. 129</a>, <a href="#page231">iii. 231</a>; + are necessary to shafts in good architecture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page119">i. 119</a>; + Byzantine, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page131">ii. 131</a>, <a href="#page231">iii. 231</a>; + Lily, of St. Mark’s, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page137">ii. 137</a>; + of Solomon’s temple, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page137">ii. 137</a>.</p> + +<p>Care, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page348">ii. 348</a>. See “Sorrow.”</p> + +<p>Caryatides, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page302">i. 302</a>.</p> + +<p>Castles, English, entrances of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page177">i. 177</a>.</p> + +<p>Cathedrals, English, effect of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page063">ii. 63</a>.</p> + +<p>Ceilings, old Venetian, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page280">ii. 280</a>.</p> + +<p>Centralization in design, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page237">ii. 237</a>.</p> + +<p>Chalet of Switzerland, its character, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page203">i. 203</a>.</p> + +<p>Chamfer defined, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page263">i. 263</a>; + varieties of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page262">i. 262</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page429">429</a>.</p> + +<p>Changefulness, an element of Gothic, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page172">ii. 172</a>.</p> + +<p>Charity, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page327">ii. 327</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page339">339</a>.</p> + +<p>Chartreuse, Grande, morbid life in, <a href="#page190">iii. 190</a>.</p> + +<p>Chastity, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page328">ii. 328</a>.</p> + +<p>Cheerfulness, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page326">ii. 326</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page348">348</a>; + virtue of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page326">ii. 326</a>.</p> + +<p>Cherries, cultivation of, at Venice, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page361">ii. 361</a>.</p> + +<p>Christianity, how mingled with worldliness, <a href="#page109">iii. 109</a>; + how imperfectly understood, <a href="#page168">iii. 168</a>; + influence of, in liberating workmen, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page159">ii. 159</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page243">i. 243</a>; + influence of, on forms, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page099">i. 99</a>.</p> + +<p>Churches, wooden, of the North, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page381">i. 381</a>; + considered as ships, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page025">ii. 25</a>; + decoration of, how far allowable, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page102">ii. 102</a>.</p> + +<p>Civilization, progress of, <a href="#page168">iii. 168</a>; + twofold danger of, <a href="#page169">iii. 169</a>.</p> + +<p>Classical literature, its effect on the modern mind, <a href="#page012">iii. 12</a>.</p> + +<p>Climate, its influence on architecture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page151">i. 151</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page155">ii. 155</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page203">203</a>.</p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page274"></a>274</span></div> + +<p>Color, its importance in early work, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page038">ii. 38</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page040">40</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page078">78</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page091">91</a>; + its spirituality, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page145">ii. 145</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page396">396</a>; + its relation to music, <a href="#page186">iii. 186</a>; + quartering of, <a href="#page020">iii. 20</a>; + how excusing realization, <a href="#page186">iii. 186</a>.</p> + +<p>Commerce, how regarded by Venetians, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page006">i. 6</a>.</p> + +<p>Composition, definition of the term, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page182">ii. 182</a>.</p> + +<p>Constancy, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page333">ii. 333</a>.</p> + +<p>Construction, architectural, how admirable, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page036">i. 36</a>.</p> + +<p>Convenience, how consulted by Gothic architecture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page179">ii. 179</a>.</p> + +<p>Cornices, general divisions of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page063">i. 63</a>, <a href="#page248">iii. 248</a>; + of walls, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page060">i. 60</a>; + of roofs, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page149">i. 149</a>; + ornamentation of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page305">i. 305</a>; + curvatures of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page310">i. 310</a>; + military, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page160">i. 160</a>; + Greek, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page157">i. 157</a>.</p> + +<p>Courses in walls, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page060">i. 60</a>.</p> + +<p>Crockets, their use in ornamentation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page346">i. 346</a>; + their abuse at Venice, <a href="#page109">iii. 109</a>.</p> + +<p>Crosses, Byzantine, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page139">ii. 139</a>.</p> + +<p>Crusaders, character of the, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page263">ii. 263</a>.</p> + +<p>Crystals, architectural appliance of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page225">i. 225</a>.</p> + +<p>Cupid, representation of, in early and later art, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page342">ii. 342</a>.</p> + +<p>Curvature, on what its beauty depends, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page222">i. 222</a>, <a href="#page005">iii. 5</a>.</p> + +<p>Cusps, definition of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page135">i. 135</a>; + groups of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page138">i. 138</a>; + relation of, to vegetation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page219">ii. 219</a>; + general treatment of, <a href="#page255">iii. 255</a>; + earliest occurrence of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page220">ii. 220</a>.</p> + + +<h5>D</h5> + +<p>Daguerreotype, probable results of, <a href="#page169">iii. 169</a>.</p> + +<p>Darkness, a character of early churches, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page018">ii. 18</a>; + not an abstract evil, <a href="#page220">iii. 220</a>.</p> + +<p>Death, fear of, in Renaissance times, <a href="#page065">iii. 65</a>, <a href="#page090">90</a>, <a href="#page092">92</a>; + how anciently regarded, <a href="#page139">iii. 139</a>, <a href="#page156">156</a>.</p> + +<p>Decoration, true nature of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page405">i. 405</a>; + how to judge of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page044">i. 44</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page045">45</a>. + See “Ornament.”</p> + +<p>Demons, nature of, how illustrated by Milton and Dante, <a href="#page147">iii. 147</a>.</p> + +<p>Dentil, Venetian, defined, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page273">i. 273</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page275">275</a>.</p> + +<p>Design, definition of the term, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page183">ii. 183</a>; + its relations to naturalism, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page184">ii. 184</a>.</p> + +<p>Despair, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page334">ii. 334</a>.</p> + +<p>Diaper patterns in brick, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page296">i. 296</a>; + in color, <a href="#page021">iii. 21</a>, <a href="#page022">22</a>.</p> + +<p>Discord, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page333">ii. 333</a>.</p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page275"></a>275</span></div> + +<p>Discs, decoration by means of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page240">i. 240</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page416">416</a>; <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page147">ii. 147</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page264">264</a>.</p> + +<p>Division of labor, evils of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page165">ii. 165</a>.</p> + +<p>Doge of Venice, his power, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page003">i. 3</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page360">360</a>.</p> + +<p>Dogtooth moulding defined, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page269">i. 269</a>.</p> + +<p>Dolphins, moral disposition of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page230">i. 230</a>; + use of, in symbolic representation of sea, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page422">i. 422</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page423">423</a>.</p> + +<p>Domestic architecture, richness of, in middle ages, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page099">ii. 99</a>.</p> + +<p>Doors, general structure of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page174">i. 174</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page176">176</a>; + smallness of in English cathedrals, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page176">i. 176</a>; + ancient Venetian, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page277">ii. 277</a>, <a href="#page227">iii. 227</a>.</p> + +<p>Doric architecture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page157">i. 157</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page301">301</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page307">307</a>; + Christian Doric, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page308">i. 308</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page315">315</a>.</p> + +<p>Dragon, conquered by St. Donatus, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page033">ii. 33</a>; + use of, in ornamentation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page219">ii. 219</a>.</p> + +<p>Dreams, how resembled by the highest arts, <a href="#page153">iii. 153</a>; + prophetic, in relation to the Grotesque, <a href="#page156">iii. 156</a>.</p> + +<p>Dress, its use in ornamentation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page212">i. 212</a>; + early Venetian, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page383">ii. 383</a>; + dignity of, <a href="#page191">iii. 191</a>; + changes in modern dress, <a href="#page192">iii. 192</a>.</p> + +<p>Duties of buildings, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page047">i. 47</a>.</p> + + +<h5>E</h5> + +<p>Earthquake of 1511, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page242">ii. 242</a>.</p> + +<p>Eastern races, their power over color, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page147">ii. 147</a>.</p> + +<p>Eaves, construction of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page156">i. 156</a>.</p> + +<p>Ecclesiastical architecture in Venice, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page020">i. 20</a>; + no architecture exclusively ecclesiastical, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page099">ii. 99</a>.</p> + +<p>Edge decoration, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page268">i. 268</a>.</p> + +<p>Education, University, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page391">i. 391</a>; <a href="#page110">iii. 110</a>; + evils of, with respect to architectural workmen, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page107">ii. 107</a>; + how to be successfully undertaken, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page165">ii. 165</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page214">214</a>; + modern education in general, how mistaken, <a href="#page110">iii. 110</a>, <a href="#page234">234</a>; + system of, in Plato, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page318">ii. 318</a>; + of Persian kings, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page318">ii. 318</a>; + not to be mistaken for erudition, <a href="#page219">iii. 219</a>; + ought to be universal, <a href="#page220">iii. 220</a>.</p> + +<p>Egg and arrow mouldings, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page314">i. 314</a>.</p> + +<p>Egyptian architecture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page099">i. 99</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page239">239</a>; <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page203">ii. 203</a>.</p> + +<p>Elgin marbles, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page171">ii. 171</a>.</p> + +<p>Encrusted architecture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page271">i. 271</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page272">272</a>; + general analysis of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page076">ii. 76</a>.</p> + +<p>Energy of Northern Gothic, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page371">i. 371</a>; <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page016">ii. 16</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page204">204</a>.</p> + +<p>English (early) capitals, faults of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page100">i. 100</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page411">411</a>; + English mind, its mistaken demands of perfection, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page160">ii. 160</a>.</p> + +<p>Envy, how set forth, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page346">ii. 346</a>.</p> + +<p>Evangelists, types of, how explicable, <a href="#page155">iii. 155</a>.</p> + + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page276"></a>276</span></div> + +<h5>F</h5> + +<p>Faërie Queen, Spenser’s, value of, theologically, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page328">ii. 328</a>.</p> + +<p>Faith, influence of on art, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page104">ii. 104</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page105">105</a>; + Titian’s picture of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page011">i. 11</a>; + how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page337">ii. 337</a>.</p> + +<p>Falsehood, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page349">ii. 349</a>.</p> + +<p>Fatalism, how expressed in Eastern architecture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page205">ii. 205</a>.</p> + +<p>Fear, effect of, on human life, <a href="#page137">iii. 137</a>; + on Grotesque art, <a href="#page142">iii. 142</a>.</p> + +<p>Feudalism, healthy effects of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page184">i. 184</a>.</p> + +<p>Fig-tree, sculpture of, on Ducal Palace, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page307">ii. 307</a>.</p> + +<p>Fillet, use of, in ornamentation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page267">i. 267</a>.</p> + +<p>Finials, their use in ornamentation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page346">i. 346</a>; + a sign of decline in Venetian architecture, <a href="#page109">iii. 109</a>.</p> + +<p>Finish in workmanship, when to be required, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page165">ii. 165</a>; + dangers of, <a href="#page170">iii. 170</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page162">ii. 162</a>.</p> + +<p>Fir, spruce, influence of, on architecture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page152">i. 152</a>.</p> + +<p>Fire, forms of, in ornamentation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page228">i. 228</a>.</p> + +<p>Fish, use of, in ornamentation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page229">i. 229</a>.</p> + +<p>Flamboyant Gothic, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page278">i. 278</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page225">ii. 225</a>.</p> + +<p>Flattery, common in Renaissance times, <a href="#page064">iii. 64</a>.</p> + +<p>Flowers, representation of, how desirable, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page340">i. 340</a>; + how represented in mosaic, <a href="#page179">iii. 179</a>.</p> + +<p>Fluting of columns, a mistake, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page301">i. 301</a>.</p> + +<p>Foils, definition of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page221">ii. 221</a>.</p> + +<p>Foliage, how carved in declining periods, <a href="#page008">iii. 8</a>, <a href="#page017">17</a>. See “Vegetation.”</p> + +<p>Foliation defined, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page219">ii. 219</a>; + essential to Gothic architecture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page222">ii. 222</a>.</p> + +<p>Folly, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page325">ii. 325</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page348">348</a>.</p> + +<p>Form of Gothic, defined, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page209">ii. 209</a>.</p> + +<p>Fortitude, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page337">ii. 337</a>.</p> + +<p>Fountains, symbolic representations of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page427">i. 427</a>.</p> + +<p>French architecture, compared with Italian, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page226">ii. 226</a>.</p> + +<p>Frivolity, how exhibited in Grotesque art, <a href="#page143">iii. 143</a>.</p> + +<p>Fruit, its use in ornamentation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page232">i. 232</a>.</p> + + +<h5>G</h5> + +<p>Gable, general structure of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page124">i. 124</a>; + essential to Gothic, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page210">ii. 210</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page217">217</a>.</p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page277"></a>277</span></div> + +<p>Gardens, Italian, <a href="#page136">iii. 136</a>.</p> + +<p>Generalization, abuses of, <a href="#page176">iii. 176</a>.</p> + +<p>Geology of Lombardy, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page005">ii. 5</a>.</p> + +<p>Glass, its capacities in architecture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page409">i. 409</a>; + manufacture of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page166">ii. 166</a>; + true principles of working in, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page168">ii. 168</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page395">395</a>.</p> + +<p>Gluttony, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page343">ii. 343</a>.</p> + +<p>Goldsmiths’ work, a high form of art, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page166">ii. 166</a>.</p> + +<p>Gondola, management of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page375">ii. 375</a>.</p> + +<p>Gothic architecture, analysis of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page151">ii. 151</a>; + not derived from vegetable structure, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page121">i. 121</a>; + convenience of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page178">ii. 178</a>; + divisions of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page215">ii. 215</a>; + surface and linear, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page226">ii. 226</a>; + Italian and French, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page226">ii. 226</a>; + flamboyant, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page278">i. 278</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page225">ii. 225</a>; + perpendicular, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page192">i. 192</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page223">ii. 223</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page227">227</a>; + early English, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page109">i. 109</a>; + how to judge of it, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page228">ii. 228</a>; + how fitted for domestic purposes, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page269">ii. 269</a>, <a href="#page195">iii. 195</a>; + how first corrupted, <a href="#page003">iii. 3</a>; + how to be at present built, <a href="#page196">iii. 196</a>; + early Venetian, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page248">ii. 248</a>; + ecclesiastical Venetian, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page021">i. 21</a>; + central Venetian, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page231">ii. 231</a>; + how adorned by color in Venice, <a href="#page023">iii. 23</a>.</p> + +<p>Government of Venice, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page002">i. 2</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page366">ii. 366</a>.</p> + +<p>Grammar, results of too great study of it, <a href="#page055">iii. 55</a>, <a href="#page106">106</a>.</p> + +<p>Greek architecture, general character of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page240">i. 240</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page215">ii. 215</a>, <a href="#page159">iii. 159</a>.</p> + +<p>Grief. See “Sorrow.”</p> + +<p>Griffins, Lombardic, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page292">i. 292</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page387">387</a>.</p> + +<p>Grotesque, analysis of, <a href="#page132">iii. 132</a>; + in changes of form, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page317">i. 317</a>; + in Venetian painting, <a href="#page162">iii. 162</a>; + symbolical, <a href="#page155">iii. 155</a>; + its character in Renaissance work, <a href="#page113">iii. 113</a>, <a href="#page121">121</a>, <a href="#page136">136</a>, <a href="#page143">143</a>.</p> + +<p>Gutters of roofs, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page151">i. 151</a>.</p> + + +<h5>H</h5> + + +<p>Heathenism, typified in ornament, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page317">i. 317</a>. See “Paganism.”</p> + +<p>Heaven and Hell, proofs of their existence in natural phenomena, <a href="#page138">iii. 138</a>.</p> + +<p>History, how to be written and read, <a href="#page224">iii. 224</a>.</p> + +<p>Hobbima, <a href="#page184">iii. 184</a>.</p> + +<p>Honesty, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page349">ii. 349</a>.</p> + +<p>Hope, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page341">ii. 341</a>.</p> + +<p>Horseshoe arches, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page129">i. 129</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page249">ii. 249</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page250">250</a>.</p> + +<p>Humanity, spiritual nature of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page041">i. 41</a>; + divisions of, with respect to art, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page394">i. 394</a>.</p> + +<p>Humility, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page339">ii. 339</a>.</p> + + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page278"></a>278</span></div> + +<h5>I</h5> + + +<p>Idleness, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page345">ii. 345</a>.</p> + +<p>Idolatry, proper sense of the term, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page388">ii. 388</a>; + is no encourager of art, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page110">ii. 110</a>. See “Popery.”</p> + +<p>Imagination, its relation to art, <a href="#page182">iii. 182</a>.</p> + +<p>Imitation of precious stones, &c., how reprehensible, <a href="#page026">iii. 26</a>, <a href="#page030">30</a>.</p> + +<p>Imposts, continuous, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page120">i. 120</a>.</p> + +<p>Infidelity, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page335">ii. 335</a>; + an element of the Renaissance spirit, <a href="#page100">iii. 100</a>.</p> + +<p>Injustice, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page349">ii. 349</a>.</p> + +<p>Inlaid ornamentation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page369">i. 369</a>; + perfection of, in early Renaissance, <a href="#page026">iii. 26</a>.</p> + +<p>Inscriptions at Murano, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page047">ii. 47</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page054">54</a>; + use of, in early times, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page111">ii. 111</a>.</p> + +<p>Insects, use of, in ornamentation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page230">i. 230</a>.</p> + +<p>Inspiration, how opposed to art, <a href="#page151">iii. 151</a>, <a href="#page171">171</a>.</p> + +<p>Instinct, its dignity, <a href="#page171">iii. 171</a>.</p> + +<p>Intellect, how variable in dignity, <a href="#page173">iii. 173</a>.</p> + +<p>Involution, delightfulness of, in ornament, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page136">ii. 136</a>.</p> + +<p>Iron, its use in architecture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page184">i. 184</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page410">410</a>.</p> + +<p>Italians, modern character of, <a href="#page209">iii. 209</a>.</p> + +<p>Italy, how ravaged by recent war, <a href="#page209">iii. 209</a>.</p> + + +<h5>J</h5> + + +<p>Jambs, Gothic, <a href="#page137">iii. 137</a>.</p> + +<p>Jesting, evils of, <a href="#page129">iii. 129</a>.</p> + +<p>Jesuits, their restricted power in Venice, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page366">i. 366</a>.</p> + +<p>Jewels, their cutting, a bad employment, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page166">ii. 166</a>.</p> + +<p>Judgments, instinctive, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page399">i. 399</a>.</p> + +<p>Job, book of, its purpose, <a href="#page053">iii. 53</a>.</p> + + +<h5>K</h5> + +<p>Keystones, how mismanaged in Renaissance work. See Venetian Index, under head “Libreria.”</p> + +<p>Knowledge, its evil consequences, <a href="#page040">iii. 40</a>; + how to be received, <a href="#page050">iii. 50</a>, &c. See “Education.”</p> + + +<h5>L</h5> + + +<p>Labor, manual, ornamental value of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page407">i. 407</a>; + evils of its division, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page165">ii. 165</a>; + is not a degradation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page168">ii. 168</a>.</p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page279"></a>279</span></div> + +<p>Labyrinth, in Venetian streets, its clue, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page254">ii. 254</a>.</p> + +<p>Lagoons, Venetian, nature of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page007">ii. 7</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page008">8</a>.</p> + +<p>Landscape, lower schools of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page024">i. 24</a>; + Venetian, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page149">ii. 149</a>; + modern love of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page175">ii. 175</a>, <a href="#page123">iii. 123</a>.</p> + +<p>Laws of right in architecture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page032">i. 32</a>; + laws in general, how permissibly violated, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page255">i. 255</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page210">ii. 210</a>; + their position with respect to art, <a href="#page096">iii. 96</a>; + and to religion, <a href="#page205">iii. 205</a>.</p> + +<p>Leaves, use of, in ornamentation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page232">i. 232</a> (see “Vegetation”); + proportion of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page128">ii. 128</a>.</p> + +<p>Liberality, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page333">ii. 333</a>.</p> + +<p>Life in Byzantine architecture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page133">ii. 133</a>.</p> + +<p>Lilies, beautiful proportions of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page128">ii. 128</a>; + used for parapet ornaments, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page242">ii. 242</a>; + lily capitals, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page137">ii. 137</a>.</p> + +<p>Limitation of ornament, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page254">i. 254</a>.</p> + +<p>Lines, abstract use of, in ornament, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page221">i. 221</a>.</p> + +<p>Lintel, its structure, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page124">i. 124</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page126">126</a>.</p> + +<p>Lion, on piazzetta shafts, <a href="#page238">iii. 238</a>.</p> + +<p>Load, of arches, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page133">i. 133</a>.</p> + +<p>Logic, a contemptible science, <a href="#page105">iii. 105</a>.</p> + +<p>Lombardic architecture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page017">i. 17</a>.</p> + +<p>Lotus leaf, its use in architecture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page233">i. 233</a>.</p> + +<p>Love, its power over human life, <a href="#page137">iii. 137</a>.</p> + +<p>Lusts, their power over human nature, how symbolized by Spenser, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page328">ii. 328</a>.</p> + +<p>Luxury, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page342">ii. 342</a>; + how traceable in ornament, <a href="#page004">iii. 4</a>; + of Renaissance schools, <a href="#page061">iii. 61</a>.</p> + + +<h5>M</h5> + + +<p>Madonna, Byzantine representations of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page053">ii. 53</a>.</p> + +<p>Magnitude, vulgar admiration of, <a href="#page064">iii. 64</a>.</p> + +<p>Malmsey, use of, in Feast of the Maries, <a href="#page117">iii. 117</a>.</p> + +<p>Marble, its uses, <a href="#page027">iii. 27</a>.</p> + +<p>Maries, Feast of the, <a href="#page117">iii. 117</a>.</p> + +<p>Mariolatry, ancient and modern, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page055">ii. 55</a>.</p> + +<p>Marriages of Venetians, <a href="#page116">iii. 116</a>.</p> + +<p>Masonry, Mont-Cenisian, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page132">i. 132</a>; + of walls, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page061">i. 61</a>; + of arches, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page133">i. 133</a>.</p> + +<p>Materials, invention of new, how injurious to art, <a href="#page042">iii. 42</a>.</p> + +<p>Misery, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page347">ii. 347</a>.</p> + +<p>Modesty, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page335">ii. 335</a>.</p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page280"></a>280</span></div> + +<p>Monotony, its place in art, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page176">ii. 176</a>.</p> + +<p>Months, personifications of, in ancient art, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page272">ii. 272</a>.</p> + +<p>Moroseness, its guilt, <a href="#page130">iii. 130</a>.</p> + +<p>Mosaics at Torcello, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page018">ii. 18</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page019">19</a>; + at St. Mark’s, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page170">ii. 70</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page112">112</a>; + early character of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page110">ii. 110</a>, <a href="#page175">iii. 175</a>, <a href="#page178">178</a>.</p> + +<p>Music, its relation to color, <a href="#page186">iii. 186</a>.</p> + +<p>Mythology of Venetian painters, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page150">ii. 150</a>; + ancient, how injurious to the Christian mind, <a href="#page107">iii. 107</a>.</p> + + +<h5>N</h5> + + +<p>Natural history, how necessary a study, <a href="#page054">iii. 54</a>.</p> + +<p>Naturalism, general analysis of it with respect to art, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page181">ii. 181</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page190">190</a>; + its advance in Gothic art, <a href="#page006">iii. 6</a>; + not to be found in the encrusted style, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page089">ii. 89</a>; + its presence in the noble Grotesque, <a href="#page144">iii. 144</a>.</p> + +<p>Nature (in the sense of material universe) not improvable by art, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page350">i. 350</a>; + its relation to architecture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page351">i. 351</a>.</p> + +<p>Niches, use of, in Northern Gothic, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page278">i. 278</a>; + in Venetian, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page240">ii. 240</a>; + in French and Veronese, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page227">ii. 227</a>.</p> + +<p>Norman hatchet-work, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page297">i. 297</a>; + zigzag, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page339">i. 339</a>.</p> + +<p>Novelty, its necessity to the human mind, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page176">ii. 176</a>.</p> + + +<h5>O</h5> + + +<p>Oak-tree, how represented in symbolical art, <a href="#page185">iii. 185</a>.</p> + +<p>Obedience, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page334">ii. 334</a>.</p> + +<p>Oligarchical government, its effect on the Venetians, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page005">i. 5</a>.</p> + +<p>Olive-tree, neglect of, by artists, <a href="#page175">iii. 175</a>; + general expression of, <a href="#page176">iii. 176</a>, <a href="#page177">177</a>; + representations of, in mosaic, <a href="#page178">iii. 178</a>.</p> + +<p>Order, uses and disadvantages of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page172">ii. 172</a>.</p> + +<p>Orders, Doric and Corinthian, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page013">i. 13</a>; + ridiculous divisions of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page157">i. 157</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page370">370</a>; <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page173">ii. 173</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page249">249</a>; <a href="#page099">iii. 99</a>.</p> + +<p>Ornament, material of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page211">i. 211</a>; + the best, expresses man’s delight in God’s work, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page220">i. 220</a>; + not in his own, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page211">i. 211</a>; + general treatment of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page236">i. 236</a>; + is necessarily imperfect, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page237">i. 237</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page240">240</a>; + divided into servile, subordinate, and insubordinate, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page242">i. 242</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page158">ii. 158</a>; + distant effect of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page248">i. 248</a>; + arborescent, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page252">i. 252</a>; + restrained within limits, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page255">i. 255</a>; + cannot be overcharged if good, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page406">i. 406</a>.</p> + +<p>Oxford, system of education at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page391">i. 391</a>.</p> + + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page281"></a>281</span></div> + +<h5>P</h5> + + +<p>Paganism, revival of its power in modern times, <a href="#page105">iii. 105</a>, <a href="#page107">107</a>, <a href="#page122">122</a>.</p> + +<p>Painters, their power of perception, <a href="#page037">iii. 37</a>; + influence of society on, <a href="#page041">iii. 41</a>; + what they should know, <a href="#page041">iii. 41</a>; + what is their business, <a href="#page187">iii. 187</a>.</p> + +<p>Palace, the Crystal, merits of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page409">i. 409</a>.</p> + +<p>Palaces, Byzantine, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page118">ii. 118</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page391">391</a>; + Gothic, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page231">ii. 231</a>.</p> + +<p>Papacy. See “Popery.”</p> + +<p>Parapets, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page162">i. 162</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page240">ii. 240</a>.</p> + +<p>Parthenon, curves of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page127">ii. 127</a>.</p> + +<p>Patience, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page334">ii. 334</a>.</p> + +<p>Pavements, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page052">ii. 52</a>.</p> + +<p>Peacocks, sculpture of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page240">i. 240</a>.</p> + +<p>Pedestals of shafts, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page082">i. 82</a>; + and see Venetian Index under head “Giorgio Maggiore.”</p> + +<p>Perception opposed to knowledge, <a href="#page037">iii. 37</a>.</p> + +<p>Perfection, inordinate desire of, destructive of art, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page237">i. 237</a>; <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page133">ii. 133</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page158">158</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page169">169</a>.</p> + +<p>Perpendicular style, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page190">i. 190</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page253">253</a>; <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page223">ii. 223</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page227">227</a>.</p> + +<p>Personification, evils of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page322">ii. 322</a>.</p> + +<p>Perspective, aerial, ridiculous exaggerations of, <a href="#page045">iii. 45</a>; + ancient pride in, <a href="#page057">iii. 57</a>; + absence of, in many great works, see in Venetian Index the notice of Tintoret’s picture of the Pool of Bethesda, under head “Rocco.”</p> + +<p>Phariseeism and Liberalism, how opposed, <a href="#page097">iii. 97</a>.</p> + +<p>Philology, a base science, <a href="#page054">iii. 54</a>.</p> + +<p>Piazzetta at Venice, plan of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page283">ii. 283</a>; + shafts of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page233">ii. 233</a>.</p> + +<p>Pictures, judgment of, how formed, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page371">ii. 371</a>; + neglect of, in Venice, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page372">ii. 372</a>; + how far an aid to religion, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page104">ii. 104</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page110">110</a>.</p> + +<p>Picturesque, definition of term, <a href="#page134">iii. 134</a>.</p> + +<p>Piers, general structure of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page071">i. 71</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page098">98</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page118">118</a>.</p> + +<p>Pilgrim’s Progress. See “Bunyan.”</p> + +<p>Pine of Italy, its effect on architecture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page152">i. 152</a>; + of Alps, effect in distance, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page245">i. 245</a>. See “Fir.”</p> + +<p>Pinnacles are of little practical service, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page170">i. 170</a>; + their effect on common roofs, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page347">i. 347</a>.</p> + +<p>Play, its relation to Grotesque art, <a href="#page126">iii. 126</a>.</p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page282"></a>282</span></div> + +<p>Pleasure, its kinds and true uses, <a href="#page189">iii. 189</a>.</p> + +<p>Popery, how degraded in contest with Protestantism, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page034">i. 34</a>, <a href="#page103">iii. 103</a>; + its influence on art, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page023">i. 23</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page034">34</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page035">35</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page384">384</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page432">432</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page051">ii. 51</a>; + typified in ornament, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page316">i. 316</a>; + power of Pope in Venice, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page362">i. 362</a>; + arts used in support of Popery, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page074">ii. 74</a>.</p> + +<p>Porches, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page195">i. 195</a>.</p> + +<p>Portraiture, power of, in Venice, <a href="#page164">iii. 164</a>.</p> + +<p>Posture-making in Renaissance art, <a href="#page090">iii. 90</a>.</p> + +<p>Prayers, ancient and modern, difference between, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page315">ii. 315</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page390">390</a>.</p> + +<p>Pre-Raphaelitism, <a href="#page090">iii. 90</a>; present position of, <a href="#page168">iii. 168</a>, <a href="#page174">174</a>, <a href="#page188">188</a>.</p> + +<p>Pride, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page343">ii. 343</a>, <a href="#page207">iii. 207</a>; + of knowledge, <a href="#page035">iii. 35</a>; + of state, <a href="#page059">iii. 59</a>; + of system, <a href="#page095">iii. 95</a>.</p> + +<p>Priests, restricted power of, in Venice, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page366">i. 366</a>.</p> + +<p>Proportions, subtlety of, in early work, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page038">ii. 38</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page121">121</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page127">127</a>.</p> + +<p>Protestantism, its influence on art, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page023">i. 23</a>; + typified in ornament, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page316">i. 316</a>; + influence of, on prosperity of nations, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page368">i. 368</a>; + expenditure in favor of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page434">i. 434</a>; + is incapable of judging of art, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page105">ii. 105</a>; + how expressed in art, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page205">ii. 205</a>; + its errors in opposing Romanism, <a href="#page102">iii, 102</a>, <a href="#page103">103</a>, <a href="#page104">104</a>; + its shame of religious confession, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page278">ii. 278</a>.</p> + +<p>Prudence, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page340">ii. 340</a>.</p> + +<p>Pulpits, proper structure of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page022">ii. 22</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page380">380</a>.</p> + +<p>Purism in art, its nature and definition, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page189">ii. 189</a>.</p> + +<p>Purity, how symbolized, <a href="#page020">iii. 20</a>.</p> + + +<h5>Q</h5> + + +<p>Quadrupeds, use of in ornamentation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page234">i. 234</a>.</p> + +<p>Quantity of ornament, its regulation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page023">i. 23</a>.</p> + + +<h5>R</h5> + + +<p>Rationalism, its influence on art, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page023">i. 23</a>.</p> + +<p>Realization, how far allowable in noble art, <a href="#page182">iii. 182</a>, <a href="#page186">186</a>.</p> + +<p>Recesses, decoration of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page278">i. 278</a>.</p> + +<p>Recumbent statues, <a href="#page072">iii. 72</a>.</p> + +<p>Redundance, an element of Gothic, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page206">ii. 206</a>.</p> + +<p>Religion, its influence on Venetian policy, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page006">i. 6</a>; + how far aided by pictorial art, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page104">ii. 104</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page109">109</a>; + contempt of, in Renaissance times, <a href="#page122">iii. 122</a>.</p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page283"></a>283</span></div> + +<p>Renaissance architecture, nature of, <a href="#page033">iii. 33</a>; + early, <a href="#page001">iii. 1</a>; + Byzantine, <a href="#page015">iii. 15</a>; + Roman, <a href="#page032">iii. 32</a>; + Grotesque, <a href="#page112">iii. 112</a>; + inconsistencies of, <a href="#page042">iii. 42</a>, etc.</p> + +<p>Reptiles, how used in ornamentation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page230">i. 230</a>.</p> + +<p>Resistance, line of, in arches, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page126">i. 126</a>.</p> + +<p>Restraint, ornamental, value of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page255">i. 255</a>.</p> + +<p>Reverence, how ennobling to humanity, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page163">ii. 163</a>.</p> + +<p>Rhetoric, a base study, <a href="#page106">iii. 106</a>.</p> + +<p>Rigidity, an element of Gothic, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page203">ii. 203</a>.</p> + +<p>Rivers, symbolical representation of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page419">i. 419</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page420">420</a>.</p> + +<p>Rocks, use of, in ornamentation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page224">i. 224</a>; + organization of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page246">i. 246</a>; + curvatures of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page058">i. 58</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page224">224</a>.</p> + +<p>Roll-mouldings, decoration of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page276">i. 276</a>.</p> + +<p>Romance, modern errors of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page004">ii. 4</a>; + how connected with dress, <a href="#page192">iii. 192</a>.</p> + +<p>Romanesque style, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page015">i. 15</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page019">19</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page145">145</a>; <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page215">ii. 215</a>. See “Byzantine,” and “Renaissance.”</p> + +<p>Romanism. See “Popery.”</p> + +<p>Roofs, analysis of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page046">i. 46</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page148">148</a>; <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page212">ii. 212</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page216">216</a>; + domed, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page149">i. 149</a>; + Swiss, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page149">i. 149</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page345">345</a>; + steepness of, conducive to Gothic character, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page151">i. 151</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page209">ii. 209</a>; + decoration of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page343">i. 343</a>.</p> + +<p>Rustication, is ugly and foolish, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page065">i. 65</a>; + natural objects of which it produces a resemblance, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page296">i. 296</a>.</p> + + +<h5>S</h5> + + +<p>Salvia, its leaf applied to architecture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page287">i. 287</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page306">306</a>.</p> + +<p>Sarcophagi, Renaissance treatment of, <a href="#page090">iii. 90</a>; + ancient, <a href="#page069">iii. 69</a>, <a href="#page093">93</a>.</p> + +<p>Satellitic shafts, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page095">i. 95</a>.</p> + +<p>Satire in Grotesque art, <a href="#page126">iii. 126</a>, <a href="#page145">145</a>.</p> + +<p>Savageness, the first element of Gothic, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page155">ii. 155</a>; + in Grotesque art, <a href="#page159">iii. 159</a>.</p> + +<p>Science opposed to art, <a href="#page036">iii. 36</a>.</p> + +<p>Sculpture, proper treatment of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page216">i. 216</a>, &c.</p> + +<p>Sea, symbolical representations of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page352">i. 352</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page421">421</a>; + natural waves of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page351">i. 351</a>.</p> + +<p>Sensualism in art, its nature and definition, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page189">ii. 189</a>; + how redeemed by color, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page145">ii. 145</a>.</p> + +<p>Serapeum at Memphis, cusps of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page220">ii. 220</a>.</p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page284"></a>284</span></div> + +<p>Sermons, proper manner of regarding them, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page022">ii. 22</a>; + mode of their delivery in Scotch church, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page381">ii. 381</a>.</p> + +<p>Serrar del Consiglio, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page291">ii. 291</a>.</p> + +<p>Shafts, analysis of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page084">i. 84</a>; + vaulting shafts, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page145">i. 145</a>; + ornamentation of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page300">i. 300</a>; + twisted, by what laws regulated, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page303">i. 303</a>; + strength of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page402">i. 402</a>; + laws by which they are regulated in encrusted style, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page082">ii. 82</a>.</p> + +<p>Shields, use of, on tombs, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page224">ii. 224</a>, <a href="#page087">iii. 87</a>.</p> + +<p>Shipping, use of, in ornamentation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page215">i. 215</a>.</p> + +<p>Shops in Venice, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page065">ii. 65</a>.</p> + +<p>Sight, how opposed to thought, <a href="#page039">iii. 39</a>.</p> + +<p>Simplicity of life in thirteenth century, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page263">ii. 263</a>.</p> + +<p>Sin, how symbolized in Grotesque art, <a href="#page141">iii. 141</a>.</p> + +<p>Slavery of Greeks and Egyptians, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page158">ii. 158</a>; + of English workmen, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page162">ii. 162</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page163">163</a>.</p> + +<p>Society, unhealthy state of, in modern times, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page163">ii. 163</a>.</p> + +<p>Sorrow, how sinful, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page325">ii. 325</a>; + how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page347">ii. 347</a>.</p> + +<p>Soul, its development in art, <a href="#page173">iii. 173</a>, <a href="#page188">188</a>; + its connection with the body, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page041">i. 41</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page395">395</a>.</p> + +<p>Spandrils, structure of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page146">i. 146</a>; + decoration of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page297">i. 297</a>.</p> + +<p>Spirals, architectural value of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page222">i. 222</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page016">ii. 16</a>.</p> + +<p>Spurs of bases, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page079">i. 79</a>.</p> + +<p>Staircases, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page208">i. 208</a>; + of Gothic palaces, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page280">ii. 280</a>.</p> + +<p>Stucco, when admissible, <a href="#page021">iii. 21</a>.</p> + +<p>Subordination of ornament, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page240">i. 240</a>.</p> + +<p>Superimposition of buildings, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page200">i. 200</a>; <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page386">ii. 386</a>.</p> + +<p>Surface-Gothic, explanation of term, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page225">ii. 225</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page227">227</a>.</p> + +<p>Symbolism, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page417">i. 417</a>; + how opposed to personification, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page322">ii. 322</a>.</p> + +<p>System, pride of, how hurtful, <a href="#page095">iii. 95</a>, <a href="#page099">99</a>.</p> + + +<h5>T</h5> + + +<p>Temperance, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page338">ii. 338</a>; + temperance in color and curvature, <span class="correction" title="No such page!">iii. 420</span>.</p> + +<p>Theology, opposed to religion, <a href="#page216">iii. 216</a>; + of Spencer, <a href="#page205">iii. 205</a>.</p> + +<p>Thirteenth century, its high position with respect to art, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page263">ii. 263</a>.</p> + +<p>Thought, opposed to sight, <a href="#page039">iii. 39</a>.</p> + +<p>Tombs at Verona, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page142">i. 142</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page412">412</a>; + at Venice, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page069">ii. 69</a>; + early Christian, <a href="#page067">iii. 67</a>; + Gothic, <a href="#page071">iii. 71</a>; + Renaissance treatment of, <a href="#page084">iii. 84</a>.</p> + +<p>Towers, proper character of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page204">i. 204</a>; + of St. Mark’s, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page207">i. 207</a>.</p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page285"></a>285</span></div> + +<p>Traceries, structure of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page184">i. 184</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page185">185</a>; + flamboyant, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page189">i. 189</a>; + stump, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page189">i. 189</a>; + English perpendicular, i 190, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page222">ii. 222</a>; + general character of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page220">ii. 220</a>; + strength of, in Venetian Gothic, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page234">ii. 234</a>, <a href="#page253">iii. 253</a>; + general forms of tracery bars, <a href="#page250">iii. 250</a>.</p> + +<p>Treason, how detested by Dante, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page327">ii. 327</a>.</p> + +<p>Trees, use of, in ornamentation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page231">i. 231</a>.</p> + +<p>Trefoil, use of, in ornamentation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page042">ii. 42</a>.</p> + +<p>Triangles, used for ornaments at Murano, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page043">ii. 43</a>.</p> + +<p>Tribune at Torcello, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page024">ii. 24</a>.</p> + +<p>Triglyphs, ugliness of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page043">i, 43</a>.</p> + +<p>Trunkmakers, their share in recovery of Brides of Venice, <a href="#page117">iii. 117</a>, <a href="#page118">118</a>.</p> + +<p>Truth, relation of, to religion, in Spenser’s “Faërie Queen,” <a href="#page205">iii, 205</a>; + typified by stones, <a href="#page031">iii. 31</a>.</p> + +<p>Tympanum, decoration of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page299">i. 299</a>.</p> + + +<h5>U</h5> + + +<p>Unity of Venetian nobility, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page010">i. 10</a>.</p> + + + +<h5>V</h5> + +<p>Vain glory, speedy punishment of, <a href="#page122">iii. 122</a>.</p> + +<p>Vanity, how symbolized, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page346">ii. 346</a>.</p> + +<p>Variety in ornamental design, importance of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page043">ii. 43</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page133">133</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page142">142</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page172">172</a>.</p> + +<p>Vegetation, use of, in ornamentation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page232">i. 232</a>; + peculiar meaning of, in Gothic, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page199">ii. 199</a>; + how connected with cusps, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page219">ii. 219</a>.</p> + +<p>Veil (wall veil), construction of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page058">i. 58</a>; + decoration of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page294">i. 294</a>.</p> + +<p>Vine, Lombardic sculpture of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page375">i. 375</a>; + at Torcello, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page015">ii. 15</a>; + use of, in ornamentation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page141">ii. 141</a>; + in symbolism, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page143">ii. 143</a>; + sculpture of, on Ducal Palace, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page308">ii. 308</a>.</p> + +<p>Virtues, how symbolized in sepulchral monuments, <a href="#page082">iii. 82</a>, <a href="#page086">86</a>; + systems of, in Pagan and Christian philosophy, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page312">ii. 312</a>; + cardinal, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page317">ii. 317</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page318">318</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page320">320</a>; + of architecture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page036">i. 36</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page044">44</a>.</p> + +<p>Voussoirs defined, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page125">i. 125</a>; + contest between them and architraves, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page336">i. 336</a>.</p> + + +<h5>W</h5> + + +<p>Walls, general analysis of their structure, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page048">i. 48</a>; + bases of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page052">i. 52</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page053">53</a>; + cornices of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page063">i. 63</a>; + rustication of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page061">i. 61</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page338">338</a>; + decoration of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page294">i. 294</a>; + courses in, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page061">i. 61</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page295">295</a>.</p> + +<div><span class="pagenum"><a name="page286"></a>286</span></div> + +<p>Water, its use in ornamentation, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page226">i. 226</a>; + ancient representations of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page417">i. 417</a>.</p> + +<p>Weaving, importance of associations connected with, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page136">ii. 136</a>.</p> + +<p>Wells, old Venetian, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page279">ii. 279</a>.</p> + +<p>Windows, general forms of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page179">i. 179</a>; + Arabian, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page180">i. 180</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page135">ii. 135</a>; + square-headed, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page211">ii. 211</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page269">269</a>; + development of, in Venice, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page235">ii. 235</a>; + orders of, in Venice, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page248">ii. 248</a>; + advisable form of, in modern buildings, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page269">ii. 269</a>.</p> + +<p>Winds, how symbolized at Venice, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page367">ii. 367</a>.</p> + +<p>Wooden architecture, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page381">i. 381</a>.</p> + +<p>Womanhood, virtues of, as given by Spenser, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page326">ii. 326</a>.</p> + + +<h5>Z</h5> + + +<p>Zigzag, Norman, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page339">i. 339</a>.</p> + +</div> + + +<hr class="art" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page287"></a>287</span></p> + +<h3>IV.</h3> + +<h3>VENETIAN INDEX.</h3> +<hr class="short" /> + +<p>I have endeavored to make the following index as useful as +possible to the traveller, by indicating only the objects which are +really worth his study. A traveller’s interest, stimulated as it +is into strange vigor by the freshness of every impression, and +deepened by the sacredness of the charm of association which +long familiarity with any scene too fatally wears away,<a name="FnAnchor_71" href="#Footnote_71"><span class="sp">71</span></a> is too +precious a thing to be heedlessly wasted; and as it is physically +impossible to see and to understand more than a certain quantity +of art in a given time, the attention bestowed on second-rate +works, in such a city as Venice, is not merely lost, but actually +harmful,—deadening the interest and confusing the memory +with respect to those which it is a duty to enjoy, and a disgrace +to forget. The reader need not fear being misled by any omissions; +for I have conscientiously pointed out every characteristic +example, even of the styles which I dislike, and have referred to +Lazari in all instances in which my own information failed: but +if he is in any wise willing to trust me, I should recommend +him to devote his principal attention, if he is fond of paintings, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page288"></a>288</span> +to the works of Tintoret, Paul Veronese, and John Bellini; not +of course neglecting Titian, yet remembering that Titian can be +well and thoroughly studied in almost any great European +gallery, while Tintoret and Bellini can be judged of <i>only</i> in +Venice, and Paul Veronese, though gloriously represented by +the two great pictures in the Louvre, and many others throughout +Europe, is yet not to be fully estimated until he is seen at +play among the fantastic chequers of the Venetian ceilings.</p> + +<p>I have supplied somewhat copious notices of the pictures of +Tintoret, because they are much injured, difficult to read, and +entirely neglected by other writers on art. I cannot express the +astonishment and indignation I felt on finding, in Kugler’s +handbook, a paltry cenacolo, painted probably in a couple of +hours for a couple of zecchins, for the monks of St. Trovaso, +quoted as characteristic of this master; just as foolish readers +quote separate stanzas of Peter Bell or the Idiot Boy, as characteristic +of Wordsworth. Finally, the reader is requested to +observe, that the dates assigned to the various buildings named +in the following index, are almost without exception conjectural; +that is to say, founded exclusively on the internal evidence of +which a portion has been given in the Final Appendix. It is +likely, therefore, that here and there, in particular instances, +further inquiry may prove me to have been deceived; but such +occasional errors are not of the smallest importance with respect +to the general conclusions of the preceding pages, which will be +found to rest on too broad a basis to be disturbed.</p> + + +<h5>A</h5> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Accademia delle Belle Arti.</span> Notice above the door the +two bas-reliefs of St. Leonard and St. Christopher, chiefly +remarkable for their rude cutting at so late a date as 1377; +but the niches under which they stand are unusual in their +bent gables, and in little crosses within circles which fill their +cusps. The traveller is generally too much struck by Titian’s +great picture of the “Assumption,” to be able to pay proper +attention to the other works in this gallery. Let him, however, +ask himself candidly, how much of his admiration is +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page289"></a>289</span> +dependent merely upon the picture being larger than any other +in the room, and having bright masses of red and blue in it: +let him be assured that the picture is in reality not one whit +the better for being either large, or gaudy in color; and he +will then be better disposed to give the pains necessary to discover +the merit of the more profound and solemn works of +Bellini and Tintoret. One of the most wonderful works in +the whole gallery is Tintoret’s “Death of Abel,” on the left of +the “Assumption;” the “Adam and Eve,” on the right of it, +is hardly inferior; and both are more characteristic examples +of the master, and in many respects better pictures, than the +much vaunted “Miracle of St. Mark.” All the works of +Bellini in this room are of great beauty and interest. In the +great room, that which contains Titian’s “Presentation of the +Virgin,” the traveller should examine carefully all the pictures +by Vittor Carpaccio and Gentile Bellini, which represent +scenes in ancient Venice; they are full of interesting architecture +and costume. Marco Basaiti’s “Agony in the Garden” +is a lovely example of the religious school. The Tintorets +in this room are all second rate, but most of the +Veronese are good, and the large ones are magnificent.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Aliga</span>. See <span class="sc">Giorgio</span>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Alvise, Church of St</span>. I have never been in this church, but +Lazari dates its interior, with decision, as of the year 1388, +and it may be worth a glance, if the traveller has time.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Andrea, Church of St</span>. Well worth visiting for the sake of +the peculiarly sweet and melancholy effect of its little grass-grown +campo, opening to the lagoon and the Alps. The +sculpture over the door, “St. Peter walking on the Water,” +is a quaint piece of Renaissance work. Note the distant +rocky landscape, and the oar of the existing gondola floating +by St. Andrew’s boat. The church is of the later Gothic +period, much defaced, but still picturesque. The lateral windows +are bluntly trefoiled, and good of their time.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Angeli, Church Delgli</span>, at Murano. The sculpture of the +“Annunciation” over the entrance-gate is graceful. In exploring +Murano, it is worth while to row up the great canal +thus far for the sake of the opening to the lagoon.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Antonino, Church of St</span>. Of no importance.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page290"></a>290</span></p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Apollinare, Church of St</span>. Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Apostoli, Church of the</span>. The exterior is nothing. There +is said to be a picture by Veronese in the interior, “The +Fall of the Manna.” I have not seen it; but, if it be +of importance, the traveller should compare it carefully with +Tintoret’s, in the Scuola di San Rocco, and San Giorgio Maggiore.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Apostoli, Palace at</span>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page253">II. 253</a>, on the Grand Canal, near the +Rialto, opposite the fruit-market. A most important transitional +palace. Its sculpture in the first story is peculiarly rich +and curious; I think Venetian, in imitation of Byzantine. +The sea story and first floor are of the first half of the thirteenth +century, the rest modern. Observe that only one wing +of the sea story is left, the other half having been modernized. +The traveller should land to look at the capital drawn +in <a href="#plate_2">Plate II.</a> of Vol. III. fig. 7.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Arsenal</span>. Its gateway is a curiously picturesque example of +Renaissance workmanship, admirably sharp and expressive in +its ornamental sculpture; it is in many parts like some of +the best Byzantine work. The Greek lions in front of it +appear to me to deserve more praise than they have received; +though they are awkwardly balanced between conventional and +imitative representation, having neither the severity proper to +the one, nor the veracity necessary for the other.</p> + + +<h5>B</h5> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Badoer, Palazzo</span>, in the Campo San Giovanni in Bragola. A +magnificent example of the fourteenth century Gothic, circa +1310-1320, anterior to the Ducal Palace, and showing beautiful +ranges of the fifth order window, with fragments of the original +balconies, and the usual lateral window larger than any of +the rest. In the centre of its arcade on the first floor is the +inlaid ornament drawn in <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#plate_8">Plate VIII.</a> Vol. I. The fresco +painting on the walls is of later date; and I believe the heads +which form the finials have been inserted afterwards also, the +original windows having been pure fifth order.</p> + +<p class="i1">The building is now a ruin, inhabited by the lowest orders; +the first floor, when I was last in Venice, by a laundress.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Baffo, Palazzo</span>, in the Campo St. Maurizio. The commonest +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page291"></a>291</span> +late Renaissance. A few olive leaves and vestiges of two +figures still remain upon it, of the frescoes by Paul Veronese, +with which it was once adorned.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Balbi, Palazzo</span>, in Volta di Canal. Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Barbarigo, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal, next the Casa Pisani. +Late Renaissance; noticeable only as a house in which some of +the best pictures of Titian were allowed to be ruined by damp, +and out of which they were then sold to the Emperor of Russia.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Barbaro, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal, next the Palazzo +Cavalli. These two buildings form the principal objects in +the foreground of the view which almost every artist seizes +on his first traverse of the Grand Canal, the Church of the +Salute forming a most graceful distance. Neither is, however, +of much value, except in general effect; but the Barbaro +is the best, and the pointed arcade in its side wall, seen from +the narrow canal between it and the Cavalli, is good Gothic, +of the earliest fourteenth century type.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Barnaba, Church of St</span>. Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Bartolomeo, Church of St</span>. I did not go to look at the +works of Sebastian del Piombo which it contains, fully crediting +M. Lazari’s statement, that they have been “Barbaramente +sfigurati da mani imperite, che pretendevano ristaurarli.” Otherwise +the church is of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Basso, Church of St</span>. Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Battagia, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal. Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Beccherie</span>. See <span class="sc">Querini</span>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Bembo, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal, next the Casa Manin. A +noble Gothic pile, circa 1350-1380, which, before it was painted +by the modern Venetians with the two most valuable colors of +Tintoret, Bianco e Nero, by being whitewashed above, and +turned into a coal warehouse below, must have been among the +most noble in effect on the whole Grand Canal. It still forms +a beautiful group with the Rialto, some large shipping being +generally anchored at its quay. Its sea story and entresol are +of earlier date, I believe, than the rest; the doors of the former +are Byzantine (see above, Final Appendix, under head +“Jambs”); and above the entresol is a beautiful Byzantine +cornice, built into the wall, and harmonizing well with the +Gothic work.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page292"></a>292</span></p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Bembo, Palazzo</span>, in the Calle Magno, at the Campo de’ due Pozzi, +close to the Arsenal. Noticed by Lazari and Selvatico as having +a very interesting staircase. It is early Gothic, circa 1330, +but not a whit more interesting than many others of similar +date and design. See “Contarini Porta de Ferro,” “Morosini,” +“Sanudo,” and “Minelli.”</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Benedetto, Campo of St.</span> Do not fail to see the superb, +though partially ruinous, Gothic palace fronting this little +square. It is very late Gothic, just passing into Renaissance; +unique in Venice, in masculine character, united with the delicacy +of the incipient style. Observe especially the brackets +of the balconies, the flower-work on the cornices, and the arabesques +on the angles of the balconies themselves.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Benedetto, Church of St.</span> Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Bernardo, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal. A very noble pile of +early fifteenth century Gothic, founded on the Ducal Palace. +The traceries in its lateral windows are both rich and unusual.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Bernardo, Palazzo</span>, at St. Polo. A glorious palace, on a narrow +canal, in a part of Venice now inhabited by the lower +orders only. It is rather late Central Gothic, circa 1380-1400, +but of the finest kind, and superb in its effect of color when +seen from the side. A capital in the interior court is much +praised by Selvatico and Lazari, because its “foglie d’acanto” +(anything by the by, <i>but</i> acanthus), “quasi agitate de vento si +attorcigliano d’intorno alla campana, <i>concetto non indegno +della bell’epoca greca</i>!” Does this mean “epoca Bisantina?” +The capital is simply a translation into Gothic sculpture of the +Byzantine ones of St. Mark’s and the Fondaco de’ Turchi +(see <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#plate_8">Plate VIII.</a> Vol. I. fig. 14), and is far inferior to either. +But, taken as a whole, I think that, after the Ducal Palace, this +is the noblest in effect of all in Venice.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Brenta</span>, Banks of the, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page354">I. 354</a>. Villas on the, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page354">I. 354</a>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Businello, Casa</span>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page391">II. 391</a>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Byzantine Palaces</span> generally, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page118">II. 118</a>.</p> + + +<h5>C</h5> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Camerlenghi, Palace of the</span>, beside the Rialto. A graceful +work of the early Renaissance (1525) passing into Roman +Renaissance. Its details are inferior to most of the work of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page293"></a>293</span> +the school. The “Camerlenghi,” properly “Camerlenghi di +Comune,” were the three officers or ministers who had care of +the administration of public expenses.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Cancellaria</span>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page293">II. 293</a>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Canciano, Church of St.</span> Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Cappello, Palazzo</span>, at St. Aponal. Of no interest. Some say +that Bianca Cappello fled from it; but the tradition seems to +fluctuate between the various houses belonging to her family.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Carità, Church of the</span>. Once an interesting Gothic church of +the fourteenth century, lately defaced, and applied to some of +the usual <span class="correction" title="changed from inportant">important</span> purposes of the modern Italians. The +effect of its ancient façade may partly be guessed at from the +pictures of Canaletto, but only guessed at; Canaletto being less +to be trusted for renderings of details, than the rudest and +most ignorant painter of the thirteenth century.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Carmini, Church of the.</span> A most interesting church of late +thirteenth century work, but much altered and defaced. Its +nave, in which the early shafts and capitals of the pure truncate +form are unaltered, is very fine in effect; its lateral porch +is quaint and beautiful, decorated with Byzantine circular +sculptures (of which the central one is given in Vol. II. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_11">Plate +XI.</a> fig. 5), and supported on two shafts whose capitals are +the most archaic examples of the pure Rose form that I know +in Venice.</p> + +<p class="i1">There is a glorious Tintoret over the first altar on the right +in entering; the “Circumcision of Christ.” I do not know +an aged head either more beautiful or more picturesque than +that of the high priest. The cloister is full of notable tombs, +nearly all dated; one, of the fifteenth century, to the left on +entering, is interesting from the color still left on the leaves +and flowers of its sculptured roses.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Cassano, Church of St.</span> This church must on no account be +missed, as it contains three Tintorets, of which one, the +“Crucifixion,” is among the finest in Europe. There is nothing +worth notice in the building itself, except the jamb of an +ancient door (left in the Renaissance buildings, facing the +canal), which has been given among the examples of Byzantine +jambs; and the traveller may, therefore, devote his entire +attention to the three pictures in the chancel.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page294"></a>294</span></p> + +<p class="i1">1. <i>The Crucifixion.</i> (On the left of the high altar.) It is +refreshing to find a picture taken care of, and in a bright +though not a good light, so that such parts of it as are seen at +all are seen well. It is also in a better state than most pictures +in galleries, and most remarkable for its new and strange +treatment of the subject. It seems to have been painted more +for the artist’s own delight, than with any labored attempt at +composition; the horizon is so low that the spectator must +fancy himself lying at full length on the grass, or rather among +the brambles and luxuriant weeds, of which the foreground is +entirely composed. Among these, the seamless robe of Christ +has fallen at the foot of the cross; the rambling briars and wild +grasses thrown here and there over its folds of rich, but pale, +crimson. Behind them, and seen through them, the heads of +a troop of Roman soldiers are raised against the sky; and, +above them, their spears and halberds form a thin forest +against the horizontal clouds. The three crosses are put on +the extreme right of the picture, and its centre is occupied +by the executioners, one of whom, standing on a ladder, receives +from the other at once the sponge and the tablet with +the letters INRI. The Madonna and St. John are on the extreme +left, superbly painted, like all the rest, but quite subordinate. +In fact, the whole mind of the painter seems to +have been set upon making the principals accessary, and the +accessaries principal. We look first at the grass, and then at +the scarlet robe; and then at the clump of distant spears, and +then at the sky, and last of all at the cross. As a piece of +color, the picture is notable for its extreme modesty. There +is not a single very full or bright tint in any part, and yet the +color is delighted in throughout; not the slightest touch <span class="correction" title="corrected from os">of</span> it +but is delicious. It is worth notice also, and especially, because +this picture being in a fresh state we are sure of one fact, that, +like nearly all other great colorists, Tintoret was afraid of +light greens in his vegetation. He often uses dark blue greens +in his shadowed trees, but here where the grass is in full light, +it is all painted with various hues of sober brown, more especially +where it crosses the crimson robe. The handling of the +whole is in his noblest manner; and I consider the picture +generally quite beyond all price. It was cleaned, I believe, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page295"></a>295</span> +some years ago, but not injured, or at least as little injured as +it is possible for a picture to be which has undergone any +cleaning process whatsoever.</p> + +<p class="i1">2. <i>The Resurrection.</i> (Over the high altar.) The lower +part of this picture is entirely concealed by a miniature temple, +about five feet high, on the top of the altar; certainly an insult +little expected by Tintoret, as, by getting on steps, and +looking over the said temple, one may see that the lower figures +of the picture are the most labored. It is strange that the +painter never seemed able to conceive this subject with any +power, and in the present work he is marvellously hampered +by various types and conventionalities. It is not a painting of +the Resurrection, but of Roman Catholic saints, <i>thinking</i> +about the Resurrection. On one side of the tomb is a bishop +in full robes, on the other a female saint, I know not who; +beneath it, an angel playing on an organ, and a cherub blowing +it; and other cherubs flying about the sky, with flowers; the +whole conception being a mass of Renaissance absurdities. It +is, moreover, heavily painted, over-done, and over-finished; +and the forms of the cherubs utterly heavy and vulgar. I +cannot help fancying the picture has been restored in some +way or another, but there is still great power in parts of it. +If it be a really untouched Tintoret, it is a highly curious example +of failure from over-labor on a subject into which his +mind was not thrown: the color is hot and harsh, and felt to +be so more painfully, from its opposition to the grand coolness +and chastity of the “Crucifixion.” The face of the angel +playing the organ is highly elaborated; so, also, the flying +cherubs.</p> + +<p class="i1">3. <i>The Descent into Hades.</i> (On the right-hand side of the +high altar.) Much injured and little to be regretted. I never +was more puzzled by any picture, the painting being throughout +careless, and in some places utterly bad, and yet not like +modern work; the principal figure, however, of Eve, has either +been redone, or is scholar’s work altogether, as, I suspect, most +of the rest of the picture. It looks as if Tintoret had sketched +it when he was ill, left it to a bad scholar to work on with, and +then finished it in a hurry; but he has assuredly had something +to do with it; it is not likely that anybody else would have refused +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page296"></a>296</span> +all aid from the usual spectral company with which common +painters fill the scene. Bronzino, for instance, covers his +canvas with every form of monster that his sluggish imagination +could coin. Tintoret admits only a somewhat haggard Adam, +a graceful Eve, two or three Venetians in court dress, seen +amongst the smoke, and a Satan represented as a handsome +youth, recognizable only by the claws on his feet. The picture +is dark and spoiled, but I am pretty sure there are no demons +or spectres in it. This is quite in accordance with the master’s +caprice, but it considerably diminishes the interest of a work +in other ways unsatisfactory. There may once have been +something impressive in the shooting in of the rays at the top +of the cavern, as well as in the strange grass that grows in the +bottom, whose infernal character is indicated by its all being +knotted together; but so little of these parts can be seen, that +it is not worth spending time on a work certainly unworthy of +the master, and in great part probably never seen by him.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Cattarina, Church of St.</span>, said to contain a <i>chef-d’œuvre</i> of +Paul Veronese, the “Marriage of St. Catherine.” I have not +seen it.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Cavalli, Palazzo</span>, opposite the Academy of Arts. An imposing +pile, on the Grand Canal, of Renaissance Gothic, but of +little merit in the details; and the effect of its traceries has +been of late destroyed by the fittings of modern external blinds. +Its balconies are good, of the later Gothic type. See “<span class="sc">Barbaro.</span>”</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Cavalli, Palazzo</span>, next the Casa Grimani (or Post-Office), but +on the other side of the narrow canal. Good Gothic, founded +on the Ducal Palace, circa 1380. The capitals of the first +story are remarkably rich in the deep fillets at the necks. The +crests, heads of sea-horses, inserted between the windows, appear +to be later, but are very fine of their kind.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Cicogna, Palazzo</span>, at San Sebastiano, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page265">II. 265</a>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Clemente, Church of St.</span> On an island to the south of +Venice, from which the view of the city is peculiarly beautiful. +See “<span class="sc">Scalzi.</span>”</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Contarini Porta di Ferro, Palazzo</span>, near the Church of St. +John and Paul, so called from the beautiful ironwork on a +door, which was some time ago taken down by the proprietor +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page297"></a>297</span> +and sold. Mr. Rawdon Brown rescued some of the ornaments +from the hands of the blacksmith, who had bought them for +old iron. The head of the door is a very interesting stone +arch of the early thirteenth century, already drawn in my +folio work. In the interior court is a beautiful remnant of +staircase, with a piece of balcony at the top, circa 1350, and +one of the most richly and carefully wrought in Venice. The +palace, judging by these remnants (all that are now left of it, +except a single traceried window of the same date at the turn +of the stair), must once have been among the most magnificent +in Venice.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Contarini (delle Figure), Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal, +III. 17.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Contarini dai Scrigni, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal. A +Gothic building, founded on the Ducal Palace. Two Renaissance +statues in niches at the sides give it its name.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Contarini Fasan, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page244">II. 244</a>. +The richest work of the fifteenth century domestic Gothic in +Venice, but notable more for richness than excellence of design. +In one respect, however, it deserves to be regarded with attention, +as showing how much beauty and dignity may be +bestowed on a very small and unimportant dwelling-house by +Gothic sculpture. Foolish criticisms upon it have appeared +in English accounts of foreign buildings, objecting to it on the +ground of its being “ill-proportioned;” the simple fact being, +that there was no room in this part of the canal for a wider +house, and that its builder made its rooms as comfortable as +he could, and its windows and balconies of a convenient size +for those who were to see through them, and stand on them, +and left the “proportions” outside to take care of themselves; +which, indeed, they have very sufficiently done; for though +the house thus honestly confesses its diminutiveness, it is +nevertheless one of the principal ornaments of the very noblest +reach of the Grand Canal, and would be nearly as great a loss, +if it were destroyed, as the Church of La Salute itself.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Contarini, Palazzo</span>, at St. Luca. Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Corner della Ca’ grande, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal. +One of the worst and coldest buildings of the central Renaissance, +It is on a grand scale, and is a conspicuous object, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page298"></a>298</span> +rising over the roofs of the neighboring houses in the various +aspects of the entrance of the Grand Canal, and in the general +view of Venice from San Clemente.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Corner della Regina, Palazzo.</span> A late Renaissance building +of no merit or interest.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Corner Mocenigo, Palazzo</span>, at St. Polo. Of no interest.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Corner Spinelli, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal. A graceful +and interesting example of the early Renaissance, remarkable +for its pretty circular balconies.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Corner, Raccolta.</span> I must refer the reader to M. Lazari’s +Guide for an account of this collection, which, however, ought +only to be visited if the traveller is not pressed for time.</p> + + +<h5>D</h5> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Dandolo, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal. Between the Casa +Loredan and Casa Bembo is a range of modern buildings, +some of which occupy, I believe, the site of the palace once +inhabited by the Doge Henry Dandolo. Fragments of early +architecture of the Byzantine school may still be traced in +many places among their foundations, and two doors in the +foundation of the Casa Bembo itself belong to the same group. +There is only one existing palace, however, of any value, on +this spot, a very small but rich Gothic one of about 1300, with +two groups of fourth order windows in its second and third +stories, and some Byzantine circular mouldings built into it +above. This is still reported to have belonged to the family +of Dandolo, and ought to be carefully preserved, as it is one +of the most interesting and ancient Gothic palaces which yet +remain.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Danieli, Albergo.</span> See <span class="sc">Nani</span>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Da Ponte, Palazzo.</span> Of no interest.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Dario, Palazzo</span>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page370">I. 370</a>; <a href="#page211">III. 211</a>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Dogana di Mare</span>, at the separation of the Grand Canal from +the Giudecca. A barbarous building of the time of the Grotesque +Renaissance (1676), rendered interesting only by its +position. The statue of Fortune, forming the weathercock, +standing on the world, is alike characteristic of the conceits of +the time, and of the hopes and principles of the last days of +Venice.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page299"></a>299</span></p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Donato, Church of St.</span>, at Murano, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page031">II. 31</a>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Dona’, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal. I believe the palace +described under this name as of the twelfth century, by M. +Lazari, is that which I have called the Braided House, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page132">II. 132</a>, +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page392">392</a>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">D’Oro Casa.</span> A noble pile of very quaint Gothic, once superb +in general effect, but now destroyed by restorations. I saw the +beautiful slabs of red marble, which formed the bases of its +balconies, and were carved into noble spiral mouldings of +strange sections, half a foot deep, dashed to pieces when I was +last in Venice; its glorious interior staircase, by far the most +interesting Gothic monument of the kind in Venice, had been +carried away, piece by piece, and sold for waste marble, two +years before. Of what remains, the most beautiful portions +are, or were, when I last saw them, the capitals of the windows +in the upper story, most glorious sculpture of the fourteenth +century. The fantastic window traceries are, I think, later; +but the rest of the architecture of this palace is anomalous, and +I cannot venture to give any decided opinion respecting it. +Parts of its mouldings are quite Byzantine in character, but +look somewhat like imitations.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Ducal Palace</span>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page029">I. 29</a>; history of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page282">II. 282</a>, etc.; <a href="#page199">III. 199</a>; plan +and section of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page282">II. 282</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page283">283</a>; description of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page304">II. 304</a>, etc.; series +of its capitals, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page332">II. 332</a>, etc.; spandrils of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page299">I. 299</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page415">415</a>; shafts +of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page413">I. 413</a>; traceries of, derived from those of the Frari, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page234">II. +234</a>; angles of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page239">II. 239</a>; main balcony of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page245">II. 245</a>; base of, III. +212; Rio Façade of, <a href="#page025">III. 25</a>; paintings in, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page372">II. 372</a>. The multitude +of works by various masters, which cover the walls of +this palace is so great, that the traveller is in general merely +wearied and confused by them. He had better refuse all attention +except to the following works:</p> + +<p class="i1">1. <i>Paradise</i>, by Tintoret; at the extremity of the Great +Council chamber. I found it impossible to count the number +of figures in this picture, of which the grouping is so intricate, +that at the upper part it is not easy to distinguish one figure +from another; but I counted 150 important figures in one half +of it alone; so that, as there are nearly as many in subordinate +position, the total number cannot be under 500. I believe this +is, on the whole, Tintoret’s <i>chef-d’œuvre</i>; though it is so vast +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page300"></a>300</span> +that no one takes the trouble to read it, and therefore less +wonderful pictures are preferred to it. I have not myself been +able to study except a few fragments of it, all executed in his +finest manner; but it may assist a hurried observer to point +out to him that the whole composition is divided into concentric +zones, represented one above another like the stories of a +cupola, round the figures of Christ and the Madonna, at the +central and highest point: both these figures are exceedingly +dignified and beautiful. Between each zone or belt of the +nearer figures, the white distances of heaven are seen filled +with floating spirits. The picture is, on the whole, wonderfully +preserved, and the most precious thing that Venice possesses. +She will not possess it long; for the Venetian academicians, +finding it exceedingly unlike their own works, declare +it to want harmony, and are going to retouch it to their own +ideas of perfection.</p> + +<p class="i1">2. <i>Siege of Zara</i>; the first picture on the right on entering +the Sala del Scrutinio. It is a mere battle piece, in which the +figures, like the arrows, are put in by the score. There are +high merits in the thing, and so much invention that it is +possible Tintoret may have made the sketch for it; but, if executed +by him at all, he has done it merely in the temper in +which a sign-painter meets the wishes of an ambitious landlord. +He seems to have been ordered to represent all the +events of the battle at once; and to have felt that, provided +he gave men, arrows, and ships enough, his employers would +be perfectly satisfied. The picture is a vast one, some thirty +feet by fifteen.</p> + +<p class="i1">Various other pictures will be pointed out by the custode, +in these two rooms, as worthy of attention, but they are only +historically, not artistically, interesting. The works of Paul +Veronese on the ceiling have been repainted; and the rest of +the pictures on the walls are by second-rate men. The traveller +must, once for all, be warned against mistaking the works +of Domenico Robusti (Domenico Tintoretto), a very miserable +painter, for those of his illustrious father, Jacopo.</p> + +<p class="i1">3. <i>The Doge Grimani kneeling before Faith</i>, by Titian; in +the Sala delle quattro Porte. To be observed with care, as +one of the most striking examples of Titian’s want of feeling +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page301"></a>301</span> +and coarseness of conception. (See above, Vol. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page012">I. p. 12</a>.) As +a work of mere art, it is, however, of great value. The traveller +who has been accustomed to deride Turner’s indistinctness +of touch, ought to examine carefully the mode of painting +the Venice in the distance at the bottom of this picture.</p> + +<p class="i1">4. <i>Frescoes on the Roof of the Sala delle quattro Porte</i>, by +Tintoret. Once magnificent beyond description, now mere +wrecks (the plaster crumbling away in large flakes), but yet +deserving of the most earnest study.</p> + +<p class="i1">5. <i>Christ taken down from the Cross</i>, by Tintoret; at the +upper end of the Sala dei Pregadi. One of the most interesting +mythic pictures of Venice, two doges being represented beside +the body of Christ, and a most noble painting; executed, +however, for distant effect, and seen best from the end of the +room.</p> + +<p class="i1">6. <i>Venice, Queen of the Sea</i>, by Tintoret. Central compartment +of the ceiling, in the Sala dei Pregadi. Notable for the +sweep of its vast green surges, and for the daring character of +its entire conception, though it is wild and careless, and in +many respects unworthy of the master. Note the way in which +he has used the fantastic forms of the sea weeds, with respect +to what was above stated (III. 158), as to his love of the grotesque.</p> + +<p class="i1">7. <i>The Doge Loredano in Prayer to the Virgin</i>, by Tintoret; +in the same room. Sickly and pale in color, yet a grand work; +to be studied, however, more for the sake of seeing what a +great man does “to order,” when he is wearied of what is required +from him, than for its own merit.</p> + +<p class="i1">8. <i>St. George and the Princess.</i> There are, besides the +“Paradise,” only six pictures in the Ducal Palace, as far as I +know, which Tintoret painted carefully, and those are all exceedingly +fine: the most finished of these are in the Anti-Collegio; +but those that are most majestic and characteristic of +the master are two oblong ones, made to fill the panels of the +walls in the Anti-Chiesetta; these two, each, I suppose, about +eight feet by six, are in his most quiet and noble manner. +There is excessively little color in them, their prevalent tone +being a greyish brown opposed with grey, black, and a very warm +russet. They are thinly painted, perfect in tone, and quite +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page302"></a>302</span> +untouched. The first of them is “St. George and the Dragon,” +the subject being treated in a new and curious way. The principal +figure is the princess, who sits astride on the dragon’s +neck, holding him by a bridle of silken riband; St. George +stands above and behind her, holding his hands over her head +as if to bless her, or to keep the dragon quiet by heavenly +power; and a monk stands by on the right, looking gravely +on. There is no expression or life in the dragon, though the +white flashes in its eye are very ghastly: but the whole thing +is entirely typical; and the princess is not so much represented +riding on the dragon, as supposed to be placed by St. George +in an attitude of perfect victory over her chief enemy. She +has a full rich dress of dull red, but her figure is somewhat +ungraceful. St. George is in grey armor and grey drapery, +and has a beautiful face; his figure entirely dark against the +distant sky. There is a study for this picture in the Manfrini +Palace.</p> + +<p class="i1">9. <i>St. Andrew and St. Jerome.</i> This, the companion picture, +has even less color than its opposite. It is nearly all +brown and grey; the fig-leaves and olive-leaves brown, the +faces brown, the dresses brown, and St. Andrew holding a +great brown cross. There is nothing that can be called color, +except the grey of the sky, which approaches in some places a +little to blue, and a single piece of dirty brick-red in St. +Jerome’s dress; and yet Tintoret’s greatness hardly ever shows +more than in the management of such sober tints. I would +rather have these two small brown pictures, and two others in +the Academy perfectly brown also in their general tone—the +“Cain and Abel” and the “Adam and Eve,”—than all the +other small pictures in Venice put together, which he painted +in bright colors, for altar pieces; but I never saw two pictures +which so nearly approached grisailles as these, and yet were +delicious pieces of color. I do not know if I am right in calling +one of the saints St. Andrew. He stands holding a great +upright wooden cross against the sky. St. Jerome reclines at +his feet, against a rock, over which some glorious fig leaves and +olive branches are shooting; every line of them studied with +the most exquisite care, and yet cast with perfect freedom.</p> + +<p class="i1">10. <i>Bacchus and Ariadne.</i> The most beautiful of the four +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page303"></a>303</span> +careful pictures by Tintoret, which occupy the angles of the +Anti-Collegio. Once one of the noblest pictures in the world, +but now miserably faded, the sun being allowed to fall on it +all day long. The design of the forms of the leafage round +the head of the Bacchus, and the floating grace of the female +figure above, will, however, always give interest to this picture, +unless it be repainted.</p> + +<p class="i1">The other three Tintorets in this room are careful and fine, +but far inferior to the “Bacchus;” and the “Vulcan and the +Cyclops” is a singularly meagre and vulgar study of common +models.</p> + +<p class="i1">11. <i>Europa</i>, by Paul Veronese: in the same room. One of +the very few pictures which both possess and deserve a high +reputation.</p> + +<p class="i1">12. <i>Venice enthroned</i>, by Paul Veronese; on the roof of the +same room. One of the grandest pieces of frank color in the +Ducal Palace.</p> + +<p class="i1">13. <i>Venice, and the Doge Sebastian Venier</i>; at the upper +end of the Sala del Collegio. An unrivalled Paul Veronese, +far finer even than the “Europa.”</p> + +<p class="i1">14. <i>Marriage of St. Catherine</i>, by Tintoret; in the same +room. An inferior picture, but the figure of St. Catherine is +quite exquisite. Note how her veil falls over her form, showing +the sky through it, as an alpine cascade falls over a marble +rock.</p> + +<p class="i1">There are three other Tintorets on the walls of this room, +but all inferior, though full of power. Note especially the +painting of the lion’s wings, and of the colored carpet, in the +one nearest the throne, the Doge Alvise Mocenigo adoring the +Redeemer.</p> + +<p class="i1">The roof is entirely by Paul Veronese, and the traveller who +really loves painting, ought to get leave to come to this room +whenever he chooses; and should pass the sunny summer +mornings there again and again, wandering now and then into +the Anti-Collegio and Sala dei Pregadi, and coming back to +rest under the wings of the couched lion at the feet of the +“Mocenigo.” He will no otherwise enter so deeply into the +heart of Venice.</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page304"></a>304</span></p> + +<h5>E</h5> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Emo, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal. Of no interest.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Erizzo, Palazzo</span>, near the Arsenal, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page262">II. 262</a>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Erizzo, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal, nearly opposite the Fondaco +de’ Turchi. A Gothic palace, with a single range of +windows founded on the Ducal traceries, and bold capitals. +It has been above referred to in the notice of tracery bars.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Eufemia, Church of St.</span> A small and defaced, but very curious, +early Gothic church on the Giudecca. Not worth visiting, +unless the traveller is seriously interested in architecture.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Europa, Albergo, all’.</span> Once a Giustiniani Palace. Good +Gothic, circa 1400, but much altered.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Evangelisti, Casa degli</span>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page265">II. 265</a>.</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/img304.jpg" width="422" height="650" alt="CAPITALS OF FONDACO DE' TURCHI." title="CAPITALS OF FONDACO DE' TURCHI." /></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td class="caption">CAPITALS OF FONDACO DE’ TURCHI.</td> +</tr> +</table> + +<h5>F</h5> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Facanon, Palazzo (alla Fava).</span> A fair example of the fifteenth +century Gothic, founded on Ducal Palace.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Falier, Palazzo</span>, at the Apostoli. Above, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page253">II. 253</a>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Fantino, Church of St.</span> Said to contain a John Bellini, +otherwise of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Farsetti, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page124">II. 124</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page393">393</a>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Fava, Church of St.</span> Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Felice, Church of St.</span> Said to contain a Tintoret, which, if +untouched, I should conjecture, from Lazari’s statement of its +subject, St. Demetrius armed, with one of the Ghisi family in +prayer, must be very fine. Otherwise the church is of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Ferro, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal. Fifteenth century +Gothic, very hard and bad.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Flangini, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal. Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Fondaco de’ Turchi</span>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page328">I. 328</a>; <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page120">II. 120</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page121">121</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page236">236</a>. The opposite +plate, representing three of its capitals, has been several times +referred to.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Fondaco de’ Tedeschi.</span> A huge and ugly building near the +Rialto, rendered, however, peculiarly interesting by remnants +of the frescoes by Giorgione with which it was once covered. +See Vol. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page080">II. 80</a>, and <a href="#page023">III. 23</a>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Formosa, Church of Santa Maria</span>, <a href="#page113">III. 113</a>, <a href="#page122">122</a>,</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page305"></a>305</span></p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Fosca, Church of St.</span> Notable for its exceedingly picturesque +campanile, of late Gothic, but uninjured by restorations, and +peculiarly Venetian in being crowned by the cupola instead of +the pyramid, which would have been employed at the same +period in any other Italian city.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Foscari, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal. The noblest example +in Venice of the fifteenth century Gothic, founded on the +Ducal Palace, but lately restored and spoiled, all but the stone-work +of the main windows. The restoration was necessary, +however: for, when I was in Venice in 1845, this palace was a +foul ruin; its great hall a mass of mud, used as a back receptacle +of a stone-mason’s yard; and its rooms whitewashed, and +scribbled over with indecent caricatures. It has since been +partially strengthened and put in order; but as the Venetian +municipality have now given it to the Austrians to be used as +barracks, it will probably soon be reduced to its former condition. +The lower palaces at the side of this building are said +by some to have belonged to the younger Foscari. See +“<span class="sc">Giustiniani.</span>”</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Francesco della Vigna, Church of St.</span> Base Renaissance, +but must be visited in order to see the John Bellini in the +Cappella Santa. The late sculpture, in the Cappella Giustiniani, +appears from Lazari’s statement to be deserving of careful +study. This church is said also to contain two pictures by +Paul Veronese.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Frari, Church of the.</span> Founded in 1250, and continued at +various subsequent periods. The apse and adjoining chapels +are the earliest portions, and their traceries have been above +noticed (II. 234) as the origin of those of the Ducal Palace. +The best view of the apse, which is a very noble example of +Italian Gothic, is from the door of the Scuola di San Rocco. +The doors of the church are all later than any other portion of +it, very elaborate Renaissance Gothic. The interior is good +Gothic, but not interesting, except in its monuments. Of +these, the following are noticed in the text of this volume:</p> + +<p class="i1">That of Duccio degli Alberti, at pages 74, 80; of the +unknown Knight, opposite that of Duccio, <a href="#page074">III. 74</a>; of Francesco +Foscari, <a href="#page084">III. 84</a>; of Giovanni Pesaro, 91; of Jacopo +Pesaro, 92.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page306"></a>306</span></p> + +<p class="i1">Besides these tombs, the traveller ought to notice carefully +that of Pietro Bernardo, a first-rate example of Renaissance +work; nothing can be more detestable or mindless in general +design, or more beautiful in execution. Examine especially +the griffins, fixed in admiration of bouquets, at the bottom. +The fruit and flowers which arrest the attention of the griffins +may well arrest the traveller’s also; nothing can be finer of +their kind. The tomb of Canova, <i>by</i> Canova, cannot be +missed; consummate in science, intolerable in affectation, ridiculous +in conception, null and void to the uttermost in invention +and feeling. The equestrian statue of Paolo Savelli is +spirited; the monument of the Beato Pacifico, a curious example +of Renaissance Gothic with wild crockets (all in terra +cotta). There are several good Vivarini’s in the church, but +its chief pictorial treasure is the John Bellini in the sacristy, +the most finished and delicate example of the master in Venice.</p> + + +<h5>G</h5> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Geremia, Church of St.</span> Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Gesuati, Church of The.</span> Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Giacomo de Lorio, Church of St.</span>, a most interesting church, +of the early thirteenth century, but grievously restored. Its +capitals have been already noticed as characteristic of the +earliest Gothic; and it is said to contain four works of Paul +Veronese, but I have not examined them. The pulpit is admired +by the Italians, but is utterly worthless. The verdantique +pillar, in the south transept, is a very noble example +of the “Jewel Shaft.” See the note at p. 83, Vol. II.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Giacomo di Rialto, Church of St.</span> A picturesque little +church, on the Piazza di Rialto. It has been grievously restored, +but the pillars and capitals of its nave are certainly of +the eleventh century; those of its portico are of good central +Gothic; and it will surely not be left unvisited, on this ground, +if on no other, that it stands on the site, and still retains the +name, of the first church ever built on that Rialto which +formed the nucleus of future Venice, and became afterwards +the mart of her merchants.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Giobbe, Church of St.</span>, near the Cana Reggio. Its principal +entrance is a very fine example of early Renaissance sculpture. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page307"></a>307</span> +Note in it, especially, its beautiful use of the flower of +the convolvulus. There are said to be still more beautiful +examples of the same period, in the interior. The cloister, +though much defaced, is of the Gothic period, and worth a +glance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Giorgio de’ Greci, Church of St.</span> The Greek Church. It +contains no valuable objects of art, but its service is worth +attending by those who have never seen the Greek ritual.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Giorgio de’ Schiavoni, Church of St.</span> Said to contain a +very precious series of paintings by Victor Carpaccio. Otherwise +of no interest.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Giorgio in Aliga</span> (St. George in the seaweed), <span class="sc">Church of St.</span> +Unimportant in itself, but the most beautiful view of Venice +at sunset is from a point at about two thirds of the distance +from the city to the island.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Giorgio Maggiore, Church of St.</span> A building which owes +its interesting effect chiefly to its isolated position, being seen +over a great space of lagoon. The traveller should especially +notice in its façade the manner in which the central Renaissance +architects (of whose style this church is a renowned +example) endeavored to fit the laws they had established to +the requirements of their age. Churches were required with +aisles and clerestories, that is to say, with a high central nave +and lower wings; and the question was, how to face this form +with pillars of one proportion. The noble Romanesque architects +built story above story, as at Pisa and Lucca; but the +base Palladian architects dared not do this. They must needs +retain some image of the Greek temple; but the Greek temple +was all of one height, a low gable roof being borne on ranges +of equal pillars. So the Palladian builders raised first a Greek +temple with pilasters for shafts; and, <i>through the middle of +its roof, or horizontal beam</i>, that is to say, of the cornice +which externally represented this beam, they lifted another +temple on pedestals, adding these barbarous appendages to the +shafts, which otherwise would not have been high enough; +fragments of the divided cornice or tie-beam being left between +the shafts, and the great door of the church thrust in +between the pedestals. It is impossible to conceive a design +more gross, more barbarous, more childish in conception, more +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page308"></a>308</span> +servile in plagiarism, more insipid in result, more contemptible +under every point of rational regard.</p> + +<p class="i1">Observe, also, that when Palladio had got his pediment at +the top of the church, he did not know what to do with it; +he had no idea of decorating it except by a round hole in the +middle. (The traveller should compare, both in construction +and decoration, the Church of the Redentore with this of San +Giorgio.) Now, a dark penetration is often a most precious +assistance to a building dependent upon color for its effect; +for a cavity is the only means in the architect’s power of obtaining +certain and vigorous shadow; and for this purpose, a +circular penetration, surrounded by a deep russet marble +moulding, is beautifully used in the centre of the white field +on the side of the portico of St. Mark’s. But Palladio had +given up color, and pierced his pediment with a circular cavity, +merely because he had not wit enough to fill it with sculpture. +The interior of the church is like a large assembly room, and +would have been undeserving of a moment’s attention, but +that it contains some most precious pictures, namely:</p> + +<p class="i1">1. <i>Gathering the Manna.</i> (On the left hand of the high +altar.) One of Tintoret’s most remarkable landscapes. A +brook flowing through a mountainous country, studded with +thickets and palm trees; the congregation have been long in +the Wilderness, and are employed in various manufactures +much more than in gathering the manna. One group is +forging, another grinding manna in a mill, another making +shoes, one woman making a piece of dress, some washing; the +main purpose of Tintoret being evidently to indicate the <i>continuity</i> +of the supply of heavenly food. Another painter +would have made the congregation hurrying to gather it, and +wondering at it; Tintoret at once makes us remember that +they have been fed with it “by the space of forty years.” It +is a large picture, full of interest and power, but scattered in +effect, and not striking except from its elaborate landscape.</p> + +<p class="i1">2. <i>The Last Supper.</i> (Opposite the former.) These two +pictures have been painted for their places, the subjects being +illustrative of the sacrifice of the mass. This latter is remarkable +for its entire homeliness in the general treatment of the +subject; the entertainment being represented like any large +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page309"></a>309</span> +supper in a second-rate Italian inn, the figures being all comparatively +uninteresting; but we are reminded that the subject +is a sacred one, not only by the strong light shining from +the head of Christ, but because the smoke of the lamp which +hangs over the table turns, as it rises, into a multitude of +angels, all painted in grey, the color of the smoke; and so +writhed and twisted together that the eye hardly at first distinguishes +them from the vapor out of which they are formed, +ghosts of countenances and filmy wings filling up the intervals +between the completed heads. The idea is highly characteristic +of the master. The picture has been grievously +injured, but still shows miracles of skill in the expression +of candle-light mixed with twilight; variously reflected +rays, and half tones of the dimly lighted chamber, mingled +with the beams of the lantern and those from the head of +Christ, flashing along the metal and glass upon the table, and +under it along the floor, and dying away into the recesses of +the room.</p> + +<p class="i1">3. <i>Martyrdom of various Saints.</i> (Altar piece of the third +altar in the South aisle.) A moderately sized picture, and +now a very disagreeable one, owing to the violent red into +which the color that formed the glory of the angel at the top +is changed. It has been hastily painted, and only shows the +artist’s power in the energy of the figure of an executioner +drawing a bow, and in the magnificent ease with which the +other figures are thrown together in all manner of wild groups +and defiances of probability. Stones and arrows are flying +about in the air at random.</p> + +<p class="i1">4. <i>Coronation of the Virgin.</i> (Fourth altar in the same +aisle.) Painted more for the sake of the portraits at the +bottom, than of the Virgin at the top. A good picture, but +somewhat tame for Tintoret, and much injured. The principal +figure, in black, is still, however, very fine.</p> + +<p class="i1">5. <i>Resurrection of Christ.</i> (At the end of the north aisle, +in the chapel beside the choir.) Another picture painted +chiefly for the sake of the included portraits, and remarkably +cold in general conception; its color has, however, been gay +and delicate, lilac, yellow, and blue being largely used in it. +The flag which our Saviour bears in his hand, has been once +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page310"></a>310</span> +as bright as the sail of a Venetian fishing-boat, but the colors +are now all chilled, and the picture is rather crude than brilliant; +a mere wreck of what it was, and all covered with +droppings of wax at the bottom.</p> + +<p class="i1">6. <i>Martyrdom of St. Stephen.</i> (Altar piece in the north +transept.) The Saint is in a rich prelate’s dress, looking as if +he had just been saying mass, kneeling in the foreground, and +perfectly serene. The stones are flying about him like hail, +and the ground is covered with them as thickly as if it were a +river bed. But in the midst of them, at the saint’s right +hand, there is a book lying, crushed but open, two or three +stones which have torn one of its leaves lying upon it. The +freedom and ease with which the leaf is crumpled is just as +characteristic of the master as any of the grander features; +no one but Tintoret could have so crushed a leaf; but the +idea is still more characteristic of him, for the book is evidently +meant for the Mosaic History which Stephen had just +been expounding, and its being crushed by the stones shows +how the blind rage of the Jews was violating their own law in +the murder of Stephen. In the upper part of the picture are +three figures,—Christ, the Father, and St. Michael. Christ +of course at the right hand of the Father, as Stephen saw him +standing; but there is little dignity in this part of the conception. +In the middle of the picture, which is also the middle +distance, are three or four men throwing stones, with Tintoret’s +usual vigor of gesture, and behind them an immense +and confused crowd; so that, at first, we wonder where St. +Paul is; but presently we observe that, in the front of this +crowd, and <i>almost exactly in the centre of the picture</i>, there +is a figure seated on the ground, very noble and quiet, and with +some loose garments thrown across its knees. It is dressed +in vigorous black and red. The figure of the Father in the +sky above is dressed in black and red also, and these two +figures are the centres of color to the whole design. It is +almost impossible to praise too highly the refinement of conception +which withdrew the unconverted St. Paul into the +distance, so as entirely to separate him from the immediate +interest of the scene, and yet marked the dignity to which he +was afterward to be raised, by investing him with the colors +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page311"></a>311</span> +which occurred nowhere else in the picture except in the +dress which veils the form of the Godhead. It is also to be +noted as an interesting example of the value which the painter +put upon color only; another composer would have thought it +necessary to exalt the future apostle by some peculiar dignity +of action or expression. The posture of the figure is indeed +grand, but inconspicuous; Tintoret does not depend upon it, +and thinks that the figure is quite ennobled enough by being +made a key-note of color.</p> + +<p class="i1">It is also worth observing how boldly imaginative is the +treatment which covers the ground with piles of stones, and +yet leaves the martyr apparently unwounded. Another +painter would have covered him with blood, and elaborated +the expression of pain upon his countenance. Tintoret leaves +us under no doubt as to what manner of death he is dying; he +makes the air hurtle with the stones, but he does not choose +to make his picture disgusting, or even painful. The face of +the martyr is serene, and exulting; and we leave the picture, +remembering only how “he fell asleep.”</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Giovanelli, Palazzo</span>, at the Ponte di Noale. A fine example +of fifteenth century Gothic, founded on the Ducal Palace.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Giovanni e Paolo, Church of St.</span><a name="FnAnchor_72" href="#Footnote_72"><span class="sp">72</span></a> Foundation of, <a href="#page069">III. 69</a>. +An impressive church, though none of its Gothic is comparable +with that of the North, or with that of Verona. The +Western door is interesting as one of the last conditions of +Gothic design passing into Renaissance, very rich and beautiful +of its kind, especially the wreath of fruit and flowers +which forms its principal molding. The statue of Bartolomeo +Colleone, in the little square beside the church, is certainly +one of the noblest works in Italy. I have never seen anything +approaching it in animation, in vigor of portraiture, or nobleness +of line. The reader will need Lazari’s Guide in making +the circuit of the church, which is full of interesting monuments: +but I wish especially to direct his attention to two +pictures, besides the celebrated Peter Martyr: namely,</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page312"></a>312</span></p> + +<p class="i1">1. <i>The Crucifixion</i>, by Tintoret; on the wall of the left-hand +aisle, just before turning into the transept. A picture +fifteen feet long by eleven or twelve high. I do not believe +that either the “Miracle of St. Mark,” or the great +“Crucifixion” in the Scuola di San Rocco, cost Tintoret more +pains than this comparatively small work, which is now utterly +neglected, covered with filth and cobwebs, and fearfully injured. +As a piece of color, and light and shade, it is altogether +marvellous. Of all the fifty figures which the picture +contains, there is not one which in any way injures or contends +with another; nay, there is not a single fold of garment +or touch of the pencil which could be spared; every virtue of +Tintoret, as a painter, is there in its highest degree,—color at +once the most intense and the most delicate, the utmost +decision in the arrangement of masses of light, and yet half +tones and modulations of endless variety; and all executed +with a magnificence of handling which no words are energetic +enough to describe. I have hardly ever seen a picture +in which there was so much decision, and so little impetuosity, +and in which so little was conceded to haste, to accident, or +to weakness. It is too infinite a work to be describable; but +among its minor passages of extreme beauty, should especially +be noticed the manner in which the accumulated forms of the +human body, which fill the picture from end to end, are prevented +from being felt heavy, by the grace and elasticity of +two or three sprays of leafage which spring from a broken +root in the foreground, and rise conspicuous in shadow against +an interstice filled by the pale blue, grey, and golden light in +which the distant crowd is invested, the office of this foliage +being, in an artistical point of view, correspondent to that of +the trees set by the sculptors of the Ducal Palace on its +angles. But they have a far more important meaning in the +picture than any artistical one. If the spectator will look +carefully at the root which I have called broken, he will find that +in reality, it is not broken, but cut; the other branches of the +young tree having <i>lately been cut away</i>. When we remember +that one of the principal incidents in great San Rocco Crucifixion +is the ass feeding on withered palm leaves, we shall be +at no loss to understand the great painter’s purpose in lifting +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page313"></a>313</span> +the branch of this mutilated olive against the dim light of the +distant sky; while, close beside it, St. Joseph of Arimathea +drags along the dust a white garment—observe, the principal +light of the picture,—stained with the blood of that King +before whom, five days before, his crucifiers had strewn their +own garments in the way.</p> + +<p class="i1">2. <i>Our Lady with the Camerlenghi.</i> (In the centre chapel +of the three on the right of the choir.) A remarkable instance +of the theoretical manner of representing Scriptural facts, +which, at this time, as noted in the second chapter of this +volume, was undermining the belief of the facts themselves. +Three Venetian chamberlains desired to have their portraits +painted, and at the same time to express their devotion to the +Madonna; to that end they are painted kneeling before her, +and in order to account for their all three being together, and +to give a thread or clue to the story of the picture, they are +represented as the Three Magi; but lest the spectator should +think it strange that the Magi should be in the dress of Venetian +chamberlains, the scene is marked as a mere ideality, by +surrounding the person of the Virgin with saints who lived +five hundred years after her. She has for attendants St. +Theodore, St. Sebastian, and St. Carlo (query St. Joseph). +One hardly knows whether most to regret the spirit which +was losing sight of the verities of religious history in imaginative +abstractions, or to praise the modesty and piety which +desired rather to be represented as kneeling before the Virgin +than in the discharge or among the insignia of important +offices of state.</p> + +<p class="i1">As an “Adoration of the Magi,” the picture is, of course, +sufficiently absurd: the St. Sebastian leans back in the corner +to be out of the way; the three Magi kneel, without the +slightest appearance of emotion, to a Madonna seated in a +Venetian loggia of the fifteenth century, and three Venetian +servants behind bear their offerings in a very homely sack, +tied up at the mouth. As a piece of portraiture and artistical +composition, the work is altogether perfect, perhaps the best +piece of Tintoret’s portrait-painting in existence. It is very +carefully and steadily wrought, and arranged with consummate +skill on a difficult plan. The canvas is a long oblong, I +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page314"></a>314</span> +think about eighteen or twenty feet long, by about seven high; +one might almost fancy the painter had been puzzled to bring +the piece into use, the figures being all thrown into positions +which a little diminish their height. The nearest chamberlain +is kneeling, the two behind him bowing themselves +slightly, the attendants behind bowing lower, the Madonna +sitting, the St. Theodore sitting still lower on the steps at her +feet, and the St. Sebastian leaning back, so that all the lines +of the picture incline more or less from right to left as they +ascend. This slope, which gives unity to the detached groups, +is carefully exhibited by what a mathematician would call coordinates,—the +upright pillars of the loggia and the horizontal +clouds of the beautiful sky. The color is very quiet, but rich +and deep, the local tones being brought out with intense force, +and the cast shadows subdued, the manner being much more +that of Titian than of Tintoret. The sky appears full of light, +though it is as dark as the flesh of the faces; and the forms of +its floating clouds, as well as of the hills over which they rise, +are drawn with a deep remembrance of reality. There are +hundreds of pictures of Tintoret’s more amazing than this, +but I hardly know one that I more love.</p> + +<p class="i1">The reader ought especially to study the sculpture round +the altar of the Capella del Rosario, as an example of the +abuse of the sculptor’s art; every accessory being labored out +with as much ingenuity and intense effort to turn sculpture +into painting, the grass, trees, and landscape being as far +realized as possible, and in alto-relievo. These bas-reliefs are +by various artists, and therefore exhibit the folly of the age, +not the error of an individual.</p> + +<p class="i1">The following alphabetical list of the tombs in this church +which are alluded to as described in the text, with references +to the pages where they are mentioned, will save some trouble:</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="margin-left: 1em;" summary="data"> +<tr><td> +<p>Cavalli, Jacopo, <a href="#page082">III. 82</a>.</p> +<p>Cornaro, Marco, <a href="#page011">III. 11</a>.</p> +<p>Dolfin, Giovanni, <a href="#page078">III. 78</a>.</p> +<p>Giustiniani, Marco, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page315">I. 315</a>.</p> +<p>Mocenigo, Giovanni, <a href="#page089">III. 89</a>.</p></td> + +<td style="border-left: 1px solid black; padding-left: 1em;"> +<p>Mocenigo, Pietro, <a href="#page089">III. 89</a>.</p> +<p>Mocenigo, Tomaso, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page008">I. 8</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page026">26</a>, <a href="#page084">III. 84</a>.</p> +<p>Morosini, Michele, <a href="#page080">III. 80</a>.</p> +<p>Steno, Michele, <a href="#page083">III. 83</a>.</p> +<p>Vendramin, Andrea, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page027">I. 27</a>, <a href="#page088">III. 88</a>.</p></td></tr></table> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page315"></a>315</span></p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Giovanni Grisostomo, Church of St.</span> One of the most +important in Venice. It is early Renaissance, containing some +good sculpture, but chiefly notable as containing a noble +Sebastian del Piombo, and a John Bellini, which a few years +hence, unless it be “restored,” will be esteemed one of the +most precious pictures in Italy, and among the most perfect +in the world. John Bellini is the only artist who appears to +me to have united, in equal and magnificent measures, justness +of drawing, nobleness of coloring, and perfect manliness of +treatment, with the purest religious feeling. He did, as far as +it is possible to do it, instinctively and unaffectedly, what the +Caracci only pretended to do. Titian colors better, but has +not his piety. Leonardo draws better, but has not his color. +Angelico is more heavenly, but has not his manliness, far less +his powers of art.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Giovanni Elemosinario, Church of St.</span> Said to contain a +Titian and a Bonifazio. Of no other interest.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Giovanni in Bragola, Church of St.</span> A Gothic church of +the fourteenth century, small, but interesting, and said to +contain some precious works by Cima da Conegliano, and one +by John Bellini.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Giovanni Novo, Church of St.</span> Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Giovanni, S., Scuola di</span>. A fine example of the Byzantine +Renaissance, mixed with remnants of good late Gothic. The +little exterior cortile is sweet in feeling, and Lazari praises +highly the work of the interior staircase.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Giudecca</span>. The crescent-shaped island (or series of islands), +which forms the most northern extremity of the city of +Venice, though separated by a broad channel from the main +city. Commonly said to derive its name from the number of +Jews who lived upon it; but Lazari derives it from the word +“Judicato,” in Venetian dialect “Zudegà,” it having been in +old time “adjudged” as a kind of prison territory to the more +dangerous and turbulent citizens. It is now inhabited only by +the poor, and covered by desolate groups of miserable dwellings, +divided by stagnant canals.</p> + +<p class="i1">Its two principal churches, the Redentore and St. Eufemia, +are named in their alphabetical order.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Giuliano, Church of St.</span> Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page316"></a>316</span></p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Giuseppe di Castello, Church of St.</span> Said to contain a +Paul Veronese: otherwise of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Giustina, Church of St.</span> Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Giustiniani Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal, now Albergo all’ +Europa. Good late fourteenth century Gothic, but much +altered.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Giustiniani, Palazzo</span>, next the Casa Foscari, on the Grand +Canal. Lazari, I know not on what authority, says that this +palace was built by the Giustiniani family before 1428. It is +one of those founded directly on the Ducal Palace, together +with the Casa Foscari at its side: and there could have been +no doubt of their date on this ground; but it would be interesting, +after what we have seen of the progress of the Ducal +Palace, to ascertain the exact year of the erection of any of +these imitations.</p> + +<p class="i1">full of tracery, of which the profiles are given in the Appendix, +under the title of the Palace of the Younger Foscari, it +being popularly reported to have belonged to the son of the +Doge.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Giustinian Lolin, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal. Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Grassi Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal, now Albergo all’ Imperator +d’ Austria. Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Gregorio, Church of St.</span>, on the Grand Canal. An important +church of the fourteenth century, now desecrated, but +still interesting. Its apse is on the little canal crossing from +the Grand Canal to the Giudecca, beside the Church of the +Salute, and is very characteristic of the rude ecclesiastical +Gothic contemporary with the Ducal Palace. The entrance to +its cloisters, from the Grand Canal, is somewhat later; a noble +square door, with two windows on each side of it, the grandest +examples in Venice of the late window of the fourth order.</p> + +<p class="i1">The cloister, to which this door gives entrance, is exactly +contemporary with the finest work of the Ducal Palace, circa +1350. It is the loveliest cortile I know in Venice; its capitals +consummate in design and execution; and the low wall on +which they stand showing remnants of sculpture unique, as +far as I know, in such application.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page317"></a>317</span></p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Grimani, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal, <a href="#page032">III. 32</a>.</p> + +<p class="i1">There are several other palaces in Venice belonging to this +family, but none of any architectural interest.</p> + + +<h5>J</h5> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Jesuiti, Church of the</span>. The basest Renaissance; but worth +a visit in order to examine the imitations of curtains in white +marble inlaid with green.</p> + +<p class="i1">It contains a Tintoret, “The Assumption,” which I have +not examined; and a Titian, “The Martyrdom of St. Lawrence,” +originally, it seems to me, of little value, and now, +having been restored, of none.</p> + + +<h5>L</h5> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Labia Palazzo</span>, on the Canna Reggio. Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Lazzaro de’ Mendicanti, Church of St.</span> Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Libreria Vecchia</span>. A graceful building of the central Renaissance, +designed by Sansovino, 1536, and much admired by all +architects of the school. It was continued by Scamozzi, down +the whole side of St. Mark’s Place, adding another story above +it, which modern critics blame as destroying the “eurithmia;” +never considering that had the two low stories of the Library +been continued along the entire length of the Piazza, they +would have looked so low that the entire dignity of the square +would have been lost. As it is, the Library is left in its +originally good proportions, and the larger mass of the Procuratie +Nuove forms a more majestic, though less graceful, +side for the great square.</p> + +<p class="i1">But the real faults of the building are not in its number of +stories, but in the design of the parts. It is one of the grossest +examples of the base Renaissance habit of turning <i>keystones</i> +into <i>brackets</i>, throwing them out in bold projection (not less +than a foot and a half) beyond the mouldings of the arch; a +practice utterly barbarous, inasmuch as it evidently tends to +dislocate the entire arch, if any real weight were laid on the +extremity of the keystone; and it is also a very characteristic +example of the vulgar and painful mode of filling spandrils +by naked figures in alto-relievo, leaning against the arch on +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page318"></a>318</span> +each side, and appearing as if they were continually in danger +of slipping off. Many of these figures have, however, some +merit in themselves; and the whole building is graceful and +effective of its kind. The continuation of the Procuratie +Nuove, at the western extremity of St. Mark’s Place (together +with various apartments in the great line of the Procuratie +Nuove) forms the “Royal Palace,” the residence of the +Emperor when at Venice. This building is entirely modern, +built in 1810, in imitation of the Procuratie Nuove, and on +the site of Sansovino’s Church of San Geminiano.</p> + +<p class="i1">In this range of buildings, including the Royal Palace, the +Procuratie Nuove, the old Library, and the “Zecca” which is +connected with them (the latter being an ugly building of very +modern date, not worth notice architecturally), there are many +most valuable pictures, among which I would especially direct +attention, first to those in the Zecca, namely, a beautiful and +strange Madonna, by Benedetto Diana; two noble Bonifazios; +and two groups, by Tintoret, of the Provveditori della Zecca, +by no means to be missed, whatever may be sacrificed to see +them, on account of the quietness and veracity of their unaffected +portraiture, and the absolute freedom from all vanity +either in the painter or in his subjects.</p> + +<p class="i1">Next, in the “Antisala” of the old Library, observe the +“Sapienza” of Titian, in the centre of the ceiling; a most +interesting work in the light brilliancy of its color, and the +resemblance to Paul Veronese. Then, in the great hall of the +old Library, examine the two large <span class="correction" title="corrected from tintorets">Tintorets</span>, “St. Mark saving +a Saracen from Drowning,” and the “Stealing of his +Body from Constantinople,” both rude, but great (note in the +latter the dashing of the rain on the pavement, and running +of the water about the feet of the figures): then in the narrow +spaces between the windows, there are some magnificent single +figures by Tintoret, among the finest things of the kind in +Italy, or in Europe. Finally, in the gallery of pictures in +the Palazzo Reale, among other good works of various kinds, +are two of the most interesting Bonifazios in Venice, the +“Children of Israel in their journeyings,” in one of which, if +I recollect right, the quails are coming in flight across a sunset +sky, forming one of the earliest instances I know of a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page319"></a>319</span> +thoroughly natural and Turneresque effect being felt and rendered +by the old masters. The picture struck me chiefly from +this circumstance; but, the note-book in which I had described +it and its companion having been lost on my way home, I cannot +now give a more special account of them, except that they +are long, full of crowded figures, and peculiarly light in color +and handling as compared with Bonifazio’s work in general.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Lio, Church of St.</span> Of no importance, but said to contain a +spoiled Titian.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Lio, Salizzada di St.</span>, windows in, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page252">II. 252</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page257">257</a>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Loredan, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal, near the Rialto, II. +123, 393. Another palace of this name, on the Campo St. +Stefano, is of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Lorenzo, Church of St.</span> Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Luca, Church of St.</span> Its campanile is of very interesting +and quaint early Gothic, and it is said to contain a Paul +Veronese, “St Luke and the Virgin.” In the little Campiello +St. Luca, close by, is a very precious Gothic door, rich in +brickwork, of the thirteenth century; and in the foundations +of the houses on the same side of the square, but at the other +end of it, are traceable some shafts and arches closely resembling +the work of the Cathedral of Murano, and evidently having +once belonged to some most interesting building.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Lucia, Church of St.</span> Of no importance.</p> + + +<h5>M</h5> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Maddalena, Church of Sta. Maria</span>. Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc"><span class="correction" title="corrected from Mlaipiero">Malipiero</span>, Palazzo</span>, on the Campo St. M. Formosa, facing +the canal at its extremity. A very beautiful example of the +Byzantine Renaissance. Note the management of color in its +inlaid balconies.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Manfrini, Palazzo</span>. The architecture is of no interest; and +as it is in contemplation to allow the collection of pictures to +be sold, I shall take no note of them. But even if they should +remain, there are few of the churches in Venice where the +traveller had not better spend his time than in this gallery; as, +with the exception of Titian’s “Entombment,” one or two +Giorgiones, and the little John Bellini (St. Jerome), the pictures +are all of a kind which may be seen elsewhere.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page320"></a>320</span></p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Mangili Valmarana, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal. Of no +importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Manin, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal. Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Manzoni, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal, near the Church of +the Carità. A perfect and very rich example of Byzantine +Renaissance: its warm yellow marbles are magnificent.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Marcilian, Church of St.</span> Said to contain a Titian, “Tobit +and the Angel:” otherwise of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Maria, Churches of Sta.</span> See <span class="sc">Formosa, Mater Domini, +Miracoli, Orto, Salute</span>, and <span class="sc">Zobenigo</span>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Marco, Scuola di San</span>, <a href="#page016">III. 16</a>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Mark, Church of St.</span>, history of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page057">II. 57</a>; approach to, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page071">II. 71</a>; +general teaching of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page112">II. 112</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page116">116</a>; measures of façade of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page126">II. +126</a>; balustrades <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page244">II. 244</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page247">247</a>; cornices of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page311">I. 311</a>; horseshoe +arches of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page249">II. 249</a>; entrances of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page271">II. 271</a>, <a href="#page245">III. 245</a>; shafts of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page384">II. +384</a>; base in baptistery of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page290">I. 290</a>; mosaics in atrium of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page112">II. 112</a>; +mosaics in cupola of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page114">II. 114</a>, <a href="#page192">III. 192</a>; lily capitals of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page137">II. 137</a>; +Plates illustrative of (Vol. II.), <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_6">VI.</a> <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_7">VII.</a> figs. 9, 10, 11, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_8">VIII.</a> +figs. 8, 9, 12, 13, 15, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_9">IX.</a> <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_11">XI.</a> fig. 1, and <a href="#plate_3">Plate III.</a> Vol. III.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Mark, Square of St.</span> (Piazza di San Marco), anciently a +garden, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page058">II. 58</a>; general effect of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page066">II. 66</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page116">116</a>; plan of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page282">II. +282</a>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Martino, Church of St.</span> Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Mater Domini, Church of St. Maria</span>. It contains two important +pictures: one over the second altar on the right, “St. +Christina,” by Vincenzo Catena, a very lovely example of the +Venetian religious school; and, over the north transept door, +the “Finding of the Cross,” by Tintoret, a carefully painted +and attractive picture, but by no means a good specimen of +the master, as far as regards power of conception. He does +not seem to have entered into his subject. There is no wonder, +no rapture, no entire devotion in any of the figures. They +are only interested and pleased in a mild way; and the kneeling +woman who hands the nails to a man stooping forward to +receive them on the right hand, does so with the air of a person +saying, “You had better take care of them; they may be +wanted another time.” This general coldness in expression is +much increased by the presence of several figures on the right +and left, introduced for the sake of portraiture merely; and +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page321"></a>321</span> +the reality, as well as the feeling, of the scene is destroyed by +our seeing one of the youngest and weakest of the women with +a huge cross lying across her knees, the whole weight of it +resting upon her. As might have been expected, where the +conception is so languid, the execution is little delighted in; +it is throughout steady and powerful, but in no place affectionate, +and in no place impetuous. If Tintoret had always +painted in this way, he would have sunk into a mere mechanist. +It is, however, a genuine and tolerably well preserved +specimen, and its female figures are exceedingly graceful; +that of St. Helena very queenly, though by no means +agreeable in feature. Among the male portraits on the left +there is one different from the usual types which occur either +in Venetian paintings or Venetian populace; it is carefully +painted, and more like a Scotch Presbyterian minister, than a +Greek. The background is chiefly composed of architecture, +white, remarkably uninteresting in color, and still more so in +form. This is to be noticed as one of the unfortunate results +of the Renaissance teaching at this period. Had Tintoret +backed his Empress Helena with Byzantine architecture, the +picture might have been one of the most gorgeous he ever +painted.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Mater Domini, Campo di Sta. Maria</span>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page261">II. 261</a>. A most interesting +little piazza, surrounded by early Gothic houses, once +of singular beauty; the arcade at its extremity, of fourth order +windows, drawn in my folio work, is one of the earliest and +loveliest of its kind in Venice; and in the houses at the side is +a group of second order windows with their intermediate +crosses, all complete, and well worth careful examination.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Michele in Isola, Church of St.</span> On the island between +Venice and Murano. The little Cappella Emiliana at the side +of it has been much admired, but it would be difficult to find +a building more feelingless or ridiculous. It is more like a +German summer-house, or angle turret, than a chapel, and +may be briefly described as a bee-hive set on a low hexagonal +tower, with dashes of stone-work about its windows like the +flourishes of an idle penman.</p> + +<p class="i">The cloister of this church is pretty; and the attached +cemetery is worth entering, for the sake of feeling the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page322"></a>322</span> +strangeness of the quiet sleeping ground in the midst of +the sea.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Michiel dalle Colonne, Palazzo</span>. Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Minelli, Palazzo</span>. In the Corte del Maltese, at St. Paternian. +It has a spiral external staircase, very picturesque, but of the +fifteenth century and without merit.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Miracoli, Church of Sta. Maria dei</span>. The most interesting +and finished example in Venice of the Byzantine Renaissance, +and one of the most important in Italy of the cinque-cento +style. All its sculptures should be examined with great care, +as the best possible examples of a bad style. Observe, for +instance, that in spite of the beautiful work on the square +pillars which support the gallery at the west end, they have +no more architectural effect than two wooden posts. The +same kind of failure in boldness of purpose exists throughout; +and the building is, in fact, rather a small museum of +unmeaning, though refined sculpture, than a piece of architecture.</p> + +<p class="i1">Its grotesques are admirable examples of the base Raphaelesque +design examined above, <a href="#page136">III. 136</a>. Note especially the +children’s heads tied up by the hair, in the lateral sculptures +at the top of the altar steps. A rude workman, who could +hardly have carved the head at all, might have allowed this or +any other mode of expressing discontent with his own doings; +but the man who could carve a child’s head so perfectly must +have been wanting in all human feeling, to cut it off, and tie +it by the hair to a vine leaf. Observe, in the Ducal Palace, +though far ruder in skill, the heads always <i>emerge</i> from the +leaves, they are never <i>tied</i> to them.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Misericordia, Church of</span>. The church itself is nothing, and +contains nothing worth the traveller’s time; but the Albergo +de’ Confratelli della Misericordia at its side is a very interesting +and beautiful relic of the Gothic Renaissance. Lazari says, +“del secolo xiv.;” but I believe it to be later. Its traceries +are very curious and rich, and the sculpture of its capitals very +fine for the late time. Close to it, on the right-hand side of +the canal which is crossed by the wooden bridge, is one of the +richest Gothic doors in Venice, remarkable for the appearance +of antiquity in the general design and stiffness of its figures, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page323"></a>323</span> +though it bears its date 1505. Its extravagant crockets are +almost the only features which, but for this written date, +would at first have confessed its lateness; but, on examination, +the figures will be found as bad and spiritless as they are apparently +archaic, and completely exhibiting the Renaissance +palsy of imagination.</p> + +<p class="i1">The general effect is, however, excellent, the whole arrangement +having been borrowed from earlier work.</p> + +<p class="i1">The action of the statue of the Madonna, who extends her +robe to shelter a group of diminutive figures, representative of +the Society for whose house the sculpture was executed, may +be also seen in most of the later Venetian figures of the Virgin +which occupy similar situations. The image of Christ is +placed in a medallion on her breast, thus fully, though conventionally, +expressing the idea of self-support which is so +often partially indicated by the great religious painters in their +representations of the infant Jesus.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Moisè, Church of St.</span>, <a href="#page124">III. 124</a>. Notable as one of the basest +examples of the basest school of the Renaissance. It contains +one important picture, namely “Christ washing the Disciples’ +Feet,” by Tintoret; on the left side of the chapel, north of the +choir. This picture has been originally dark, is now much +faded—in parts, I believe, altogether destroyed—and is hung +in the worst light of a chapel, where, on a sunny day at noon, +one could not easily read without a candle. I cannot, therefore, +give much information respecting it; but it is certainly +one of the least successful of the painter’s works, and both +careless and unsatisfactory in its composition as well as its +color. One circumstance is noticeable, as in a considerable +degree detracting from the interest of most of Tintoret’s representations +of our Saviour with his disciples. He never +loses sight of the fact that all were poor, and the latter ignorant; +and while he never paints a senator, or a saint once +thoroughly canonized, except as a gentleman, he is very careful +to paint the Apostles, in their living intercourse with the +Saviour, in such a manner that the spectator may see in an +instant, as the Pharisee did of old, that they were unlearned +and ignorant men; and, whenever we find them in a room, it +is always such a one as would be inhabited by the lower classes. +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page324"></a>324</span> +There seems some violation of this practice in the dais, or +flight of steps, at the top of which the Saviour is placed in the +present picture; but we are quickly reminded that the guests’ +chamber or upper room ready prepared was not likely to have +been in a palace, by the humble furniture upon the floor, consisting +of a tub with a copper saucepan in it, a coffee-pot, and +a pair of bellows, curiously associated with a symbolic cup with +a wafer, which, however, is in an injured part of the canvas, +and may have been added by the priests. I am totally unable +to state what the background of the picture is or has been; +and the only point farther to be noted about it is the solemnity, +which, in spite of the familiar and homely circumstances above +noticed, the painter has given to the scene, by placing the +Saviour, in the act of washing the feet of Peter, at the top of +a circle of steps, on which the other Apostles kneel in adoration +and astonishment.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Moro, Palazzo</span>. See <span class="sc">Othello</span>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Morosini, Palazzo</span>, near the Ponte dell’ Ospedaletto, at San +Giovannie Paolo. Outside it is not interesting, though the +gateway shows remains of brickwork of the thirteenth century. +Its interior court is singularly beautiful; the staircase of early +fourteenth century Gothic has originally been superb, and the +window in the angle above is the most perfect that I know in +Venice of the kind; the lightly sculptured coronet is exquisitely +introduced at the top of its spiral shaft.</p> + +<p class="i1">This palace still belongs to the Morosini family, to whose +present representative, the Count Carlo Morosini, the reader +is indebted for the note on the character of his ancestors, +above, <a href="#page213">III. 213</a>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Morosini, Palazzo</span>, at St. Stefano. Of no importance.</p> + + +<h5>N</h5> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Nani-Mocenigo, palazzo</span>. (Now Hotel Danieli.) A glorious +example of the central Gothic, nearly contemporary with the +finest part of the Ducal Palace. Though less impressive in +effect than the Casa Foscari or Casa Bernardo, it is of purer +architecture than either: and quite unique in the delicacy of +the form of the cusps in the central group of windows, which +are shaped like broad scimitars, the upper foil of the windows +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page325"></a>325</span> +being very small. If the traveller will compare these windows +with the neighboring traceries of the Ducal Palace, he will +easily perceive the peculiarity.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Nicolo del Lido, Church of St.</span> Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Nome di Gesu, Church of the.</span> Of no importance.</p> + + +<h5>O</h5> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Orfani, Church of the.</span> Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Orto, Church of Sta. Maria, dell’.</span> An interesting example +of Renaissance Gothic, the traceries of the windows being very +rich and quaint.</p> + +<p class="i1">It contains four most important Tintorets: “The Last +Judgment,” “The Worship of the Golden Calf,” “The Presentation +of the Virgin,” and “Martyrdom of St. Agnes.” +The first two are among his largest and mightiest works, but +grievously injured by damp and neglect; and unless the traveller +is accustomed to decipher the thoughts in a picture patiently, +he need not hope to derive any pleasure from them. But +no pictures will better reward a resolute study. The following +account of the “Last Judgment,” given in the second volume +of “Modern Painters,” will be useful in enabling the traveller +to enter into the meaning of the picture, but its real power is +only to be felt by patient examination of it.</p> + +<p class="i1">“By Tintoret only has this unimaginable event (the Last +Judgment) been grappled with in its Verity; not typically nor +symbolically, but as they may see it who shall not sleep, but be +changed. Only one traditional circumstance he has received, +with Dante and Michael Angelo, the Boat of the Condemned; +but the impetuosity of his mind bursts out even in the adoption +of this image; he has not stopped at the scowling ferryman +of the one, nor at the sweeping blow and demon dragging +of the other, but, seized Hylas like by the limbs, and tearing +up the earth in his agony, the victim is dashed into his +destruction; nor is it the sluggish Lethe, nor the fiery lake, +that bears the cursed vessel, but the oceans of the earth and +the waters of the firmament gathered into one white, ghastly +cataract; the river of the wrath of God, roaring down into the +gulf where the world has melted with its fervent heat, choked +with the ruins of nations, and the limbs of its corpses tossed +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page326"></a>326</span> +out of its whirling, like water-wheels. Bat-like, out of the +holes and caverns and shadows of the earth, the bones gather, +and the clay heaps heave, rattling and adhering into half-kneaded +anatomies, that crawl, and startle, and struggle up +among the putrid weeds, with the clay clinging to their clotted +hair, and their heavy eyes sealed by the earth darkness yet, +like his of old who went his way unseeing to the Siloam Pool; +shaking off one by one the dreams of the prison-house, hardly +hearing the clangor of the trumpets of the armies of God, +blinded yet more, as they awake, by the white light of the new +Heaven, until the great vortex of the four winds bears up their +bodies to the judgment seat; the Firmament is all full of them, +a very dust of human souls, that drifts, and floats, and falls +into the interminable, inevitable light; the bright clouds are +darkened with them as with thick snow, currents of atom life +in the arteries of heaven, now soaring up slowly, and higher +and higher still, till the eye and the thought can follow no +farther, borne up, wingless, by their inward faith and by the +angel powers invisible, now hurled in countless drifts of horror +before the breath of their condemnation.”</p> + +<p class="i1">Note in the opposite picture the way the clouds are wrapped +about in the distant Sinai.</p> + +<p class="i1">The figure of the little Madonna in the “Presentation” +should be compared with Titian’s in his picture of the same +subject in the Academy. I prefer Tintoret’s infinitely: and +note how much finer is the feeling with which Tintoret has +relieved the glory round her head against the pure sky, than +that which influenced Titian in encumbering his distance with +architecture.</p> + +<p class="i1">The “Martyrdom of St. Agnes” <i>was</i> a lovely picture. It +has been “restored” since I saw it.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Ospedaletto, Church of the</span>. The most monstrous example +of the Grotesque Renaissance which there is in Venice; the +sculptures on its façade representing masses of diseased figures +and swollen fruit.</p> + +<p class="i1">It is almost worth devoting an hour to the successive examination +of five buildings, as illustrative of the last degradation +of the Renaissance. San Moisè is the most clumsy, Santa +Maria Zobenigo the most impious, St. Eustachio the most +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page327"></a>327</span> +ridiculous, the Ospedaletto the most monstrous, and the head +at Santa Maria Formosa the most foul.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Othello, House of,</span> at the Carmini. The researches of Mr. +Brown into the origin of the play of “Othello” have, I think, +determined that Shakspeare wrote on definite historical +grounds; and that Othello may be in many points identified +with Christopher Moro, the lieutenant of the republic at +Cyprus, in 1508. See “Ragguagli su Maria Sanuto,” i. +252.</p> + +<p class="i1">His palace was standing till very lately, a Gothic building +of the fourteenth century, of which Mr. Brown possesses a +drawing. It is now destroyed, and a modern square-windowed +house built on its site. A statue, said to be a portrait of Moro, +but a most paltry work, is set in a niche in the modern wall.</p> + + +<h5>P</h5> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Pantaleone, Church of St.</span> Said to contain a Paul Veronese; +otherwise of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Paternian, Church of St.</span> Its little leaning tower forms an +interesting object as the traveller sees it from the narrow canal +which passes beneath the Porte San Paternian. The two +arched lights of the belfry appear of very early workmanship, +probably of the beginning of the thirteenth century.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Pesaro Palazzo,</span> on the Grand Canal. The most powerful and +impressive in effect of all the palaces of the Grotesque Renaissance. +The heads upon its foundation are very characteristic +of the period, but there is more genius in them than usual. +Some of the mingled expressions of faces and grinning casques +are very clever.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Piazzetta,</span> pillars of, see Final Appendix under head “Capital.” +The two magnificent blocks of marble brought from St. Jean +d’Acre, which form one of the principal ornaments of the +Piazzetta, are Greek sculpture of the sixth century, and will +be described in my folio work.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Pieta, Church of the.</span> Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Pietro, Church of St.,</span> at Murano. Its pictures, once valuable, +are now hardly worth examination, having been spoiled +by neglect.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Pietro, Di Castello, Church of St.,</span> <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page007">I. 7</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page361">361</a>. It is said to +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page328"></a>328</span> +contain a Paul Veronese, and I suppose the so-called “Chair +of St. Peter” must be worth examining.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Pisani, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal. The latest Venetian +Gothic, just passing into Renaissance. The capitals of the +first floor windows are, however, singularly spirited and graceful, +very daringly under-cut, and worth careful examination. +The Paul Veronese, once the glory of this palace, is, I believe, +not likely to remain in Venice. The other picture in the same +room, the “Death of Darius,” is of no value.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Pisani, Palazzo</span>, at St. Stefano. Late Renaissance, and of no +merit, but grand in its colossal proportions, especially when +seen from the narrow canal at its side, which terminated by +the apse of the Church of San Stefano, is one of the most +picturesque and impressive little pieces of water scenery in +Venice.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Polo, Church of St</span>. Of no importance, except as an example +of the advantages accruing from restoration. M. Lazari says +of it, “Before this church was modernized, its principal +chapel was adorned with Mosaics, and possessed a pala of +silver gilt, of Byzantine workmanship, which is now lost.”</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Polo, Square of St</span>. (Campo San Polo.) A large and important +square, rendered interesting chiefly by three palaces +on the side of it opposite the church, of central Gothic (1360), +and fine of their time, though small. One of their capitals +has been given in <a href="#plate_2">Plate II.</a> of this volume, fig. 12. They are +remarkable as being decorated with sculptures of the Gothic +time, in imitation of Byzantine ones; the period being marked +by the dog-tooth and cable being used instead of the dentil +round the circles.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Polo, Palazzo</span>, at San G. Grisostomo (the house of Marco Polo), +II. 139. Its interior court is full of interest, showing fragments +of the old building in every direction, cornices, windows, and +doors, of almost every period, mingled among modern rebuilding +and restoration of all degrees of dignity.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Porta Della Carta</span>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page302">II. 302</a>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Priuli, Palazzo</span>. A most important and beautiful early Gothic +Palace, at San Severo; the main entrance is from the Fundamento +San Severo, but the principal façade is on the other +side, towards the canal. The entrance has been grievously +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page329"></a>329</span> +defaced, having had winged lions filling the spandrils of its +pointed arch, of which only feeble traces are now left, the +façade has very early fourth order windows in the lower story, +and above, the beautiful range of fifth order windows drawn +at the bottom of <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#plate_18">Plate XVIII.</a> Vol. II., where the heads of the +fourth order range are also seen (note their inequality, the +larger one at the flank). This Palace has two most interesting +traceried angle windows also, which, however, I believe are +later than those on the façade; and finally, a rich and bold +interior staircase.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Procuratie Nuove</span>, see “<span class="sc">Libreria</span>” <span class="sc">Vecchia</span>: A graceful +series buildings, of late fifteenth century design, forming the +northern side of St. Mark’s Place, but of no particular interest.</p> + + +<h5>Q</h5> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Querini, Palazzo</span>, now the Beccherie, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page255">II. 255</a>, <a href="#page234">III. 234</a>.</p> + + +<h5>R</h5> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Raffaelle, Chiesa dell’Angelo</span>. Said to contain a Bonifazio, +otherwise of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Redentore, Church of the</span>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page378">II. 378</a>. It contains three interesting +John Bellinis, and also, in the sacristy, a most beautiful +Paul Veronese.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Remer, Corte del</span>, house in. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page251">II. 251</a>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Rezzonico, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal. Of the Grotesque +Renaissance time, but less extravagant than usual.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Rialto, Bridge of the</span>. The best building raised in the time +of the Grotesque Renaissance; very noble in its simplicity, in +its proportions, and in its masonry. Note especially the +grand way in which the oblique archstones rest on the butments +of the bridge, safe, palpably both to the sense and eye: +note also the sculpture of the Annunciation on the southern +side of it; how beautifully arranged, so as to give more lightness +and a grace to the arch—<i>the dove, flying towards the +Madonna, forming the keystone</i>,—and thus the whole action +of the figures being parallel to the curve of the arch, while all +the masonry is at right angles to it. Note, finally, one circumstance +which gives peculiar firmness to the figure of the angel, +and associates itself with the general expression of strength in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page330"></a>330</span> +the whole building; namely that the sole of the advanced foot +is set perfectly level, as if placed on the ground, instead of +being thrown back behind like a heron’s, as in most modern +figures of this kind.</p> + +<p class="i1">The sculptures themselves are not good; but these pieces of +feeling in them are very admirable. The two figures on the +other side, St. Mark and St. Theodore, are inferior, though all +by the same sculptor, Girolamo Campagna.</p> + +<p class="i1">The bridge was built by Antonio da Ponte, in 1588. It was +anciently of wood, with a drawbridge in the centre, a representation +of which may be seen in one of Carpaccio’s pictures +at the Accademia delle Belle Arti: and the traveller should +observe that the interesting effect, both of this and the Bridge +of Sighs, depends in great part on their both being <i>more</i> than +bridges; the one a covered passage, the other a row of shops, +sustained on an arch. No such effect can be produced merely +by the masonry of the roadway itself.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Rio del Palazzo</span>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page282">II. 282</a>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Rocco, Campiello di San</span>, windows in, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page258">II. 258</a>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Rocco, Church of St.</span> Notable only for the most interesting +pictures by Tintoret which it contains, namely:</p> + +<p class="i1">1. <i>San Rocco before the Pope.</i> (On the left of the door as +we enter.) A delightful picture in his best manner, but not +much labored; and, like several other pictures in this church, +it seems to me to have been executed at some period of the +painter’s life when he was either in ill health, or else had got +into a mechanical way of painting, from having made too little +reference to nature for a long time. There is something stiff +and forced in the white draperies on both sides, and a general +character about the whole which I can feel better than I can +describe; but which, if I had been the painter’s physician, +would have immediately caused me to order him to shut up +his painting-room, and take a voyage to the Levant, and back +again. The figure of the Pope is, however, extremely beautiful, +and is not unworthy, in its jewelled magnificence, here +dark against the sky, of comparison with the figure of the high +priest in the “Presentation,” in the Scuola di San Rocco.</p> + +<p class="i1">2. <i>Annunciation.</i> (On the other side of the door, on entering.) +A most disagreeable and dead picture, having all the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page331"></a>331</span> +faults of the age, and none of the merits of the painter. It +must be a matter of future investigation to me, what could +cause the fall of his mind from a conception so great and so +fiery as that of the “Annunciation” in the Scuola di San +Rocco, to this miserable reprint of an idea worn out centuries +before. One of the most inconceivable things in it, considered +as the work of Tintoret, is that where the angel’s robe drifts +away behind his limb, one cannot tell by the character of the +outline, or by the tones of the color, whether the cloud comes +in before the robe, or whether the robe cuts upon the cloud. +The Virgin is uglier than that of the Scuola, and not half so +real; and the draperies are crumpled in the most commonplace +and ignoble folds. It is a picture well worth study, as an example +of the extent to which the greatest mind may be betrayed +by the abuse of its powers, and the neglect of its proper +food in the study of nature.</p> + +<p class="i1">3. <i>Pool of Bethesda.</i> (On the right side of the church, in its +centre, the lowest of the two pictures which occupy the wall.) +A noble work, but eminently disagreeable, as must be all +pictures of this subject; and with the same character in it of +undefinable want, which I have noticed in the two preceding +works. The main figure in it is the cripple, who has taken +up his bed; but the whole effect of this action is lost by his +not turning to Christ, but flinging it on his shoulder like a +triumphant porter with a huge load; and the corrupt Renaissance +architecture, among which the figures are crowded, is +both ugly in itself, and much too small for them. It is worth +noticing, for the benefit of persons who find fault with the +perspective of the Pre-Raphaelites, that the perspective of the +brackets beneath these pillars is utterly absurd; and that, in +fine, the presence or absence of perspective has nothing to do +with the merits of a great picture: not that the perspective of +the Pre-Raphaelites <i>is</i> false in any case that I have examined, +the objection being just as untenable as it is ridiculous.</p> + +<p class="i1">4. <i>San Rocco in the Desert.</i> (Above the last-named picture.) +A single recumbent figure in a not very interesting landscape, +deserving less attention than a picture of St. Martin just opposite +to it,—a noble and knightly figure on horseback by +Pordenone, to which I cannot pay a greater compliment than +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page332"></a>332</span> +by saying that I was a considerable time in doubt whether or +not it was another Tintoret.</p> + +<p class="i1">5. <i>San Rocco in the Hospital.</i> (On the right-hand side of +the altar.) There are four vast pictures by Tintoret in the +dark choir of this church, not only important by their size +(each being some twenty-five feet long by ten feet high), but +also elaborate compositions; and remarkable, one for its extraordinary +landscape, and the other as the most studied picture +in which the painter has introduced horses in violent action. +In order to show what waste of human mind there is in these +dark churches of Venice, it is worth recording that, as I was +examining these pictures, there came in a party of eighteen +German tourists, not hurried, nor jesting among themselves +as large parties often do, but patiently submitting to their +cicerone, and evidently desirous of doing their duty as intelligent +travellers. They sat down for a long time on the benches +of the nave, looked a little at the “Pool of Bethesda,” walked +up into the choir and there heard a lecture of considerable +length from their <i>valet-de-place</i> upon some subject connected +with the altar itself, which, being in German, I did not understand; +they then turned and went slowly out of the church, +not one of the whole eighteen ever giving a single glance to +any of the four Tintorets, and only one of them, as far as I +saw, even raising his eyes to the walls on which they hung, +and immediately withdrawing them, with a jaded and <i>nonchalant</i> +expression easily interpretable into “Nothing but old +black pictures.” The two Tintorets above noticed, at the end +of the church, were passed also without a glance; and this +neglect is not because the pictures have nothing in them capable +of arresting the popular mind, but simply because they +are totally in the dark, or confused among easier and more +prominent objects of attention. This picture, which I have +called “St. Rocco in the Hospital,” shows him, I suppose, in +his general ministrations at such places, and is one of the +usual representations of a disgusting subject from which +neither Orcagna nor Tintoret seems ever to have shrunk. It +is a very noble picture, carefully composed and highly wrought; +but to me gives no pleasure, first, on account of its subject, +secondly, on account of its dull brown tone all over,—it being +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page333"></a>333</span> +impossible, or nearly so, in such a scene, and at all events inconsistent +with its feeling, to introduce vivid color of any kind. +So it is a brown study of diseased limbs in a close room.</p> + +<p class="i1">6. <i>Cattle Piece.</i> (Above the picture last described.) I can +give no other name to this picture, whose subject I can neither +guess nor discover, the picture being in the dark, and the +guide-books leaving me in the same position. All I can make +out of it is, that there is a noble landscape with cattle and +figures. It seems to me the best landscape of Tintoret’s in +Venice, except the “Flight into Egypt;” and is even still more +interesting from its savage character, the principal trees being +pines, something like Titian’s in his “St. Francis receiving +the Stigmata,” and chestnuts on the slopes and in the hollows +of the hills; the animals also seem first-rate. But it is too +high, too much faded, and too much in the dark to be made +out. It seems never to have been rich in color, rather cool +and grey, and very full of light.</p> + +<p class="i1">7. <i>Finding of Body of San Rocco.</i> (On the left-hand side +of the altar.) An elaborate, but somewhat confused picture, +with a flying angel in a blue drapery; but it seemed to me altogether +uninteresting, or perhaps requiring more study than I +was able to give it.</p> + +<p class="i1">8. <i>San Rocco in Campo d’ Armata.</i> So this picture is called +by the sacristan. I could see no San Rocco in it; nothing +but a wild group of horses and warriors in the most magnificent +confusion of fall and flight ever painted by man. They +seem all dashed different ways as if by a whirlwind; and a +whirlwind there must be, or a thunderbolt, behind them, for a +huge tree is torn up and hurled into the air beyond the central +figure, as if it were a shivered lance. Two of the horses meet +in the midst, as if in a tournament; but in madness of fear, +not in hostility; on the horse to the right is a standard-bearer, +who stoops as from some foe behind him, with the lance +laid across his saddle-bow, level, and the flag stretched out behind +him as he flies, like the sail of a ship drifting from its +mast; the central horseman, who meets the shock, of storm, or +enemy, whatever it be, is hurled backwards from his seat, like +a stone from a sling; and this figure with the shattered tree +trunk behind it, is the most noble part of the picture. There +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page334"></a>334</span> +is another grand horse on the right, however, also in full action. +Two gigantic figures on foot, on the left, meant to be +nearer than the others, would, it seems to me, have injured the +picture, had they been clearly visible; but time has reduced +them to perfect subordination.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Rocco, Scuola di San</span>, bases of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page291">I. 291</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page431">431</a>; soffit ornaments of, +I. 337. An interesting building of the early Renaissance +(1517), passing into Roman Renaissance. The wreaths of leafage +about its shafts are wonderfully delicate and fine, though +misplaced.</p> + +<p class="i1">As regards the pictures which it contains, it is one of the three +most precious buildings in Italy; buildings, I mean, consistently +decorated with a series of paintings at the time of their +erection, and still exhibiting that series in its original order. I +suppose there can be little question, but that the three most +important edifices of this kind in Italy are the Sistine Chapel, +the Campo Santo of Pisa, and the Scuola di San Rocco at +Venice: the first is painted by Michael Angelo; the second by +Orcagna, Benozzo Gozzoli, Pietro Laurati, and several other +men whose works are as rare as they are precious; and the +third by Tintoret.</p> + +<p class="i1">Whatever the traveller may miss in Venice, he should therefore +give unembarrassed attention and unbroken time to the +Scuola di San Rocco; and I shall, accordingly, number the pictures, +and note in them, one by one, what seemed to me most +worthy of observation.</p> + +<p class="i1">There are sixty-two in all, but eight of these are merely of +children or children’s heads, and two of unimportant figures. +The number of valuable pictures is fifty-two; arranged on the +walls and ceilings of three rooms, so badly lighted, in consequence +of the admirable arrangements of the Renaissance architect, +that it is only in the early morning that some of the pictures +can be seen at all, nor can they ever be seen but imperfectly. +They were all painted, however, for their places in the dark, and, +as compared with Tintoret’s other works, are therefore, for the +most part, nothing more than vast sketches, made to produce, +under a certain degree of shadow, the effect of finished pictures. +Their treatment is thus to be considered as a kind of +scene-painting; differing from ordinary scene-painting only in +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page335"></a>335</span> +this, that the effect aimed at is not <i>that of a natural scene</i> but +<i>a perfect picture</i>. They differ in this respect from all other +existing works; for there is not, as far as I know, any other +instance in which a great master has consented to work for +a room plunged into almost total obscurity. It is probable +that none but Tintoret would have undertaken the task, and +most fortunate that he was forced to it. For in this magnificent +scene-painting we have, of course, more wonderful examples, +both of his handling, and knowledge of effect, than could +ever have been exhibited in finished pictures; while the necessity +of doing much with few strokes keeps his mind so completely +on the stretch throughout the work (while yet the +velocity of production prevented his being wearied), that no +other series of his works exhibits powers so exalted. On the +other hand, owing to the velocity and coarseness of the painting, +it is more liable to injury through drought or damp; and, +as the walls have been for years continually running down with +rain, and what little sun gets into the place contrives to fall all +day right on one or other of the pictures, they are nothing but +wrecks of what they were; and the ruins of paintings originally +coarse are not likely ever to be attractive to the public mind. +Twenty or thirty years ago they were taken down to be retouched; +but the man to whom the task was committed providentially +died, and only one of them was spoiled. I have +found traces of his work upon another, but not to an extent +very seriously destructive. The rest of the sixty-two, or, at +any rate, all that are in the upper room, appear entirely intact.</p> + +<p class="i1">Although, as compared with his other works, they are all +very scenic in execution, there are great differences in their degrees +of finish; and, curiously enough, some on the ceilings and +others in the darkest places in the lower room are very nearly +finished pictures, while the “Agony in the Garden,” which is in +one of the best lights in the upper room, appears to have been +painted in a couple of hours with a broom for a brush.</p> + +<p class="i1">For the traveller’s greater convenience, I shall give a rude +plan of the arrangement, and list of the subjects, of each group +of pictures before examining them in detail.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page336"></a>336</span></p> + +<p class="center">First Group. On the walls of the room on the ground floor.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img336.jpg" width="600" height="328" alt="Walls of the room." title="Walls of the room." /></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<table class="nobctr" summary="data"> +<tr><td> +<p>1. Annunciation.</p> +<p>2. Adoration of Magi.</p> +<p>3. Flight into Egypt.</p> +<p>4. Massacre of Innocents.</p></td> + +<td><p>5. The Magdalen.</p> +<p>6. St. Mary of Egypt.</p> +<p>7. Circumcision.</p> +<p>8. Assumption of Virgin.</p></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="center" colspan="2">At the turn of the stairs leading to the upper room:</td></tr> + +<tr><td class="center" colspan="2">9. Visitation.</td></tr></table> + +<p class="i1">1. <i>The Annunciation.</i> This, which first strikes the eye, is a +very just representative of the whole group, the execution being +carried to the utmost limits of boldness consistent with completion. +It is a well-known picture, and need not therefore be +specially described, but one or two points in it require notice. +The face of the Virgin is very disagreeable to the spectator from +below, giving the idea of a woman about thirty, who had never +been handsome. If the face is untouched, it is the only instance +I have ever seen of Tintoret’s failing in an intended +effect, for, when seen near, the face is comely and youthful, and +expresses only surprise, instead of the pain and fear of which +it bears the aspect in the distance. I could not get near enough +to see whether it had been retouched. It looks like Tintoret’s +work, though rather hard; but, as there are unquestionable +marks in the retouching of this picture, it is possible that some +slight restoration of lines supposed to be faded, entirely alter +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page337"></a>337</span> +the distant expression of the face. One of the evident pieces +of repainting is the scarlet of the Madonna’s lap, which is +heavy and lifeless. A far more injurious one is the strip of sky +seen through the doorway by which the angel enters, which has +originally been of the deep golden color of the distance on the +left, and which the blundering restorer has daubed over with +whitish blue, so that it looks like a bit of the wall; luckily +he has not touched the outlines of the angel’s black wings, on +which the whole expression of the picture depends. This +angel and the group of small cherubs above form a great swinging +chain, of which the dove representing the Holy Spirit +forms the bend. The angels in their flight seem to be attached +to this as the train of fire is to a rocket; all of them appearing +to have swooped down with the swiftness of a falling star.</p> + +<p class="i1">2. <i>Adoration of the Magi.</i> The most finished picture in the +Scuola, except the “Crucifixion,” and perhaps the most delightful +of the whole. It unites every source of pleasure that a +picture can possess: the highest elevation of principal subject, +mixed with the lowest detail of picturesque incident; the dignity +of the highest ranks of men, opposed to the simplicity of +the lowest; the quietness and serenity of an incident in cottage +life, contrasted with the turbulence of troops of horsemen +and the spiritual power of angels. The placing of the two +doves as principal points of light in the front of the picture, +in order to remind the spectator of the poverty of the mother +whose child is receiving the offerings and adoration of three +monarchs, is one of Tintoret’s master touches; the whole +scene, indeed, is conceived in his happiest manner. Nothing +can be at once more humble or more dignified than the bearing +of the kings; and there is a sweet reality given to the whole +incident by the Madonna’s stooping forward and lifting her +hand in admiration of the vase of gold which has been set +before the Christ, though she does so with such gentleness and +quietness that her dignity is not in the least injured by the +simplicity of the action. As if to illustrate the means by which +the Wise men were brought from the East, the whole picture +is nothing but a large star, of which Christ is the centre; all +the figures, even the timbers of the roof, radiate from the small +bright figure on which the countenances of the flying angels +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page338"></a>338</span> +are bent, the star itself, gleaming through the timbers above, +being quite subordinate. The composition would almost be +too artificial were it not broken by the luminous distance where +the troop of horsemen are waiting for the kings. These, with +a dog running at full speed, at once interrupt the symmetry of +the lines, and form a point of relief from the over concentration +of all the rest of the action.</p> + +<p class="i1">3. <i>Flight into Egypt.</i> One of the principal figures here is +the donkey. I have never seen any of the nobler animals—lion, +or leopard, or horse, or dragon—made so sublime as this +quiet head of the domestic ass, chiefly owing to the grand +motion in the nostril and writhing in the ears. The space of +the picture is chiefly occupied by lovely landscape, and the +Madonna and St. Joseph are pacing their way along a shady +path upon the banks of a river at the side of the picture. I +had not any conception, until I got near, how much pains had +been taken with the Virgin’s head; its expression is as sweet +and as intense as that of any of Raffaelle’s, its reality far +greater. The painter seems to have intended that everything +should be subordinate to the beauty of this single head; and +the work is a wonderful proof of the way in which a vast field +of canvas may be made conducive to the interest of a single +figure. This is partly accomplished by slightness of painting, +so that on close examination, while there is everything to astonish +in the masterly handling and purpose, there is not much +perfect or very delightful painting; in fact, the two figures are +treated like the living figures in a scene at the theatre, and +finished to perfection, while the landscape is painted as hastily +as the scenes, and with the same kind of opaque size color. It +has, however, suffered as much as any of the series, and it is +hardly fair to judge of its tones and colors in its present state.</p> + +<p class="i1">4. <i>Massacre of the Innocents.</i> The following account of this +picture, given in “Modern Painters,” may be useful to the +traveller, and is therefore here repeated. “I have before +alluded to the painfulness of Raffaelle’s treatment of the Massacre +of the Innocents. Fuseli affirms of it, that, ‘in dramatic +gradation he disclosed all the mother through every image of +pity and terror.’ If this be so, I think the philosophical spirit +has prevailed over the imaginative. The imagination never +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page339"></a>339</span> +errs; it sees all that is, and all the relations and bearings of it; +but it would not have confused the mortal frenzy of maternal +terror, with various development of maternal character. Fear, +rage, and agony, at their utmost pitch, sweep away all character: +humanity itself would be lost in maternity, the woman +would become the mere personification of animal fury or fear. +For this reason all the ordinary representations of this subject +are, I think, false and cold: the artist has not heard the +shrieks, nor mingled with the fugitives; he has sat down in his +study to convulse features methodically, and philosophize over +insanity. Not so Tintoret. Knowing, or feeling, that the +expression of the human face was, in such circumstances, not +to be rendered, and that the effort could only end in an +ugly falsehood, he denies himself all aid from the features, he +feels that if he is to place himself or us in the midst of that +maddened multitude, there can be no time allowed for watching +expression. Still less does he depend on details of murder +or ghastliness of death; there is no blood, no stabbing or cutting, +but there is an awful substitute for these in the chiaroscuro. +The scene is the outer vestibule of a palace, the slippery +marble floor is fearfully barred across by sanguine shadows, +so that our eyes seem to become bloodshot and strained with +strange horror and deadly vision; a lake of life before them, +like the burning seen of the doomed Moabite on the water +that came by the way of Edom: a huge flight of stairs, without +parapet, descends on the left; down this rush a crowd of +women mixed with the murderers; the child in the arms of +one has been seized by the limbs, <i>she hurls herself over the +edge, and falls head downmost, dragging the child out of the +grasp by her weight</i>;—she will be dashed dead in a second:—close +to us is the great struggle; a heap of the mothers, entangled +in one mortal writhe with each other and the swords; +one of the murderers dashed down and crushed beneath them, +the sword of another caught by the blade and dragged at by a +woman’s naked hand; the youngest and fairest of the women, +her child just torn away from a death grasp, and clasped to +her breast with the grip of a steel vice, falls backwards, helpless +over the heap, right on the sword points; all knit together +and hurled down in one hopeless, frenzied, furious abandonment +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page340"></a>340</span> +of body and soul in the effort to save. Far back, at the +bottom of the stairs, there is something in the shadow like a +heap of clothes. It is a woman, sitting quiet,—quite quiet,—still +as any stone; she looks down steadfastly on her dead +child, laid along on the floor before her, and her hand is +pressed softly upon her brow.”</p> + +<p class="i1">I have nothing to add to the above description of this picture, +except that I believe there may have been some change +in the color of the shadow that crosses the pavement. The +chequers of the pavements are, in the light, golden white and +pale grey; in the shadow, red and dark grey, the white in the +sunshine becoming red in the shadow. I formerly supposed +that this was meant to give greater horror to the scene, and it +is very like Tintoret if it be so; but there is a strangeness and +discordance in it which makes me suspect the colors may have +changed.</p> + +<p class="i1">5. <i>The Magdalen.</i> This and the picture opposite to it, “St. +Mary of Egypt,” have been painted to fill up narrow spaces between +the windows which were not large enough to receive +compositions, and yet in which single figures would have looked +awkwardly thrust into the corner. Tintoret has made these +spaces as large as possible by filling them with landscapes, +which are rendered interesting by the introduction of single +figures of very small size. He has not, however, considered +his task, of making a small piece of wainscot look like a large +one, worth the stretch of his powers, and has painted these two +landscapes just as carelessly and as fast as an upholsterer’s journeyman +finishing a room at a railroad hotel. The color is for +the most part opaque, and dashed or scrawled on in the manner +of a scene-painter; and as during the whole morning the +sun shines upon the one picture, and during the afternoon +upon the other, hues, which were originally thin and imperfect, +are now dried in many places into mere dirt upon the +canvas. With all these drawbacks the pictures are of very +high interest, for although, as I said, hastily and carelessly, +they are not languidly painted; on the contrary, he has been +in his hottest and grandest temper; and in this first one +(“Magdalen”) the laurel tree, with its leaves driven hither +and thither among flakes of fiery cloud, has been probably one +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page341"></a>341</span> +of the greatest achievements that his hand performed in landscape: +its roots are entangled in underwood; of which every +leaf seems to be articulated, yet all is as wild as if it had grown +there instead of having been painted; there has been a mountain +distance, too, and a sky of stormy light, of which I infinitely +regret the loss, for though its masses of light are still +discernible, its variety of hue is all sunk into a withered brown. +There is a curious piece of execution in the striking of the +light upon a brook which runs under the roots of the laurel in +the foreground: these roots are traced in shadow against the +bright surface of the water; another painter would have drawn +the light first, and drawn the dark roots over it. Tintoret has +laid in a brown ground which he has left for the roots, and +painted the water through their interstices with a few mighty +rolls of his brush laden with white.</p> + +<p class="i1">6. <i>St. Mary of Egypt.</i> This picture differs but little in the +plan, from the one opposite, except that St. Mary has her back +towards us, and the Magdalen her face, and that the tree on +the other side of the brook is a palm instead of a laurel. The +brook (Jordan?) is, however, here much more important; and +the water painting is exceedingly fine. Of all painters that I +know, in old times, Tintoret is the fondest of running water; +there was a sort of sympathy between it and his own impetuous +spirit. The rest of the landscape is not of much interest, +except so far as it is pleasant to see trunks of trees drawn by +single strokes of the brush.</p> + +<p class="i1">7. <i>The Circumcision of Christ.</i> The custode has some story +about this picture having been painted in imitation of Paul +Veronese. I much doubt if Tintoret ever imitated any body; +but this picture is the expression of his perception of what +Veronese delighted in, the nobility that there may be in mere +golden tissue and colored drapery. It is, in fact, a picture of +the moral power of gold and color; and the chief use of the +attendant priest is to support upon his shoulders the crimson +robe, with its square tablets of black and gold; and yet nothing +is withdrawn from the interest or dignity of the scene. +Tintoret has taken immense pains with the head of the high-priest. +I know not any existing old man’s head so exquisitely +tender, or so noble in its lines. He receives the Infant Christ +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page342"></a>342</span> +in his arms kneeling, and looking down upon the Child with +infinite veneration and love; and the flashing of golden rays +from its head is made the centre of light, and all interest. +The whole picture is like a golden charger to receive the +Child; the priest’s dress is held up behind him, that it may +occupy larger space; the tables and floor are covered with +chequer-work; the shadows of the temple are filled with brazen +lamps; and above all are hung masses of curtains, whose crimson +folds are strewn over with golden flakes. Next to the +“Adoration of the Magi” this picture is the most laboriously +finished of the Scuola di San Rocco, and it is unquestionably +the highest existing type of the sublimity which may be thrown +into the treatment of accessaries of dress and decoration.</p> + +<p class="i1">8. <i>Assumption of the Virgin.</i> On the tablet or panel of +stone which forms the side of the tomb out of which the Madonna +rises, is this inscription, in large letters, REST. ANTONIUS +FLORIAN, 1834. Exactly in proportion to a +man’s idiocy, is always the size of the letters in which he +writes his name on the picture that he spoils. The old mosaicists +in St. Mark’s have not, in a single instance, as far as I +know, signed their names; but the spectator who wishes to +know who destroyed the effect of the nave, may see his name +inscribed, twice over, in letters half a foot high, <span class="sc">Bartolomeo +Bozza</span>. I have never seen Tintoret’s name signed, except in +the great “Crucifixion;” but this Antony Florian, I have no +doubt, repainted the whole side of the tomb that he might put +his name on it. The picture is, of course, ruined wherever he +touched it; that is to say, half over; the circle of cherubs in +the sky is still pure; and the design of the great painter is +palpable enough yet in the grand flight of the horizontal angel, +on whom the Madonna half leans as she ascends. It has been +a noble picture, and is a grievous loss; but, happily, there are +so many pure ones, that we need not spend time in gleaning +treasures out of the ruins of this.</p> + +<p class="i1">9. <i>Visitation.</i> A small picture, painted in his very best +manner; exquisite in its simplicity, unrivalled in vigor, well +preserved, and, as a piece of painting, certainly one of the +most precious in Venice. Of course it does not show any of +his high inventive powers; nor can a picture of four middle-sized +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page343"></a>343</span> +figures be made a proper subject of comparison with large +canvases containing forty or fifty; but it is, for this very +reason, painted with such perfect ease, and yet with no slackness +either of affection or power, that there is no picture that +I covet so much. It is, besides, altogether free from the +Renaissance taint of dramatic effect. The gestures are as simple +and natural as Giotto’s, only expressed by grander lines, +such as none but Tintoret ever reached. The draperies are +dark, relieved against a light sky, the horizon being excessively +low, and the outlines of the drapery so severe, that the +intervals between the figures look like ravines between great +rocks, and have all the sublimity of an Alpine valley at twilight. +This precious picture is hung about thirty feet above +the eye, but by looking at it in a strong light, it is discoverable +that the Saint Elizabeth is dressed in green and crimson, +the Virgin in the peculiar red which all great colorists delight +in—a sort of glowing brick-color or brownish scarlet, opposed +to rich golden brownish black; and both have white +kerchiefs, or drapery, thrown over their shoulders. Zacharias +leans on his staff behind them in a black dress with white +sleeves. The stroke of brilliant white light, which outlines +the knee of Saint Elizabeth, is a curious instance of the habit +of the painter to relieve his dark forms by a sort of halo of +more vivid light, which, until lately, one would have been apt +to suppose a somewhat artificial and unjustifiable means of +effect. The daguerreotype has shown, what the naked eye +never could, that the instinct of the great painter was true, +and that there is actually such a sudden and sharp line of light +round the edges of dark objects relieved by luminous space.</p> + +<p class="i1">Opposite this picture is a most precious Titian, the “Annunciation,” +full of grace and beauty. I think the Madonna +one of the sweetest figures he ever painted. But if the traveller +has entered at all into the spirit of Tintoret, he will immediately +feel the comparative feebleness and conventionality of +the Titian. Note especially the mean and petty folds of the +angel’s drapery, and compare them with the draperies of the +opposite picture. The larger pictures at the sides of the stairs +by Zanchi and Negri, are utterly worthless.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page344"></a>344</span></p> + +<p class="center">Second Group. On the walls of the upper room.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img344.jpg" width="600" height="273" alt="The walls of the upper room." title="The walls of the upper room." /></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<table class="nobctr" summary="data"> +<tr><td> +<p>10. Adoration of Shepherds.</p> +<p>11. Baptism.</p> +<p>12. Resurrection.</p> +<p>13. Agony in Garden.</p> +<p>14. Last Supper.</p> +<p>15. Altar Piece: St. Rocco.</p> +<p>16. Miracle of Loaves.</p></td> + +<td style="vertical-align: top;"><p>17. Resurrection of Lazarus.</p> +<p>18. Ascension.</p> +<p>19. Pool of Bethesda.</p> +<p>20. Temptation.</p> +<p>21. St. Rocco.</p> +<p>22. St. Sebastian.</p></td></tr></table> + + +<p class="i1">10. <i>The Adoration of the Shepherds.</i> This picture commences +the series of the upper room, which, as already noticed, +is painted with far less care than that of the lower. It +is one of the painter’s inconceivable caprices that the only +canvases that are in good light should be covered in this hasty +manner, while those in the dungeon below, and on the ceiling +above, are all highly labored. It is, however, just possible that +the covering of these walls may have been an after-thought, +when he had got tired of his work. They are also, for the most +part, illustrative of a principle of which I am more and more +convinced every day, that historical and figure pieces ought +not to be made vehicles for effects of light. The light which +is fit for a historical picture is that tempered semi-sunshine +of which, in general, the works of Titian are the best examples, +and of which the picture we have just passed, “The Visitation,” +is a perfect example from the hand of one greater +than Titian; so also the three “Crucifixions” of San Rocco, +San Cassano, and St. John and Paul; the “Adoration of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page345"></a>345</span> +Magi” here; and, in general, the finest works of the master; +but Tintoret was not a man to work in any formal or systematic +manner; and, exactly like Turner, we find him recording +every effect which Nature herself displays. Still he seems to +regard the pictures which deviate from the great general principle +of colorists rather as “tours de force” than as sources +of pleasure; and I do not think there is any instance of his +having worked out one of these tricky pictures with thorough +affection, except only in the case of the “Marriage of Cana.” +By tricky pictures, I mean those which display light entering +in different directions, and attract the eye to the effects rather +than to the figure which displays them. Of this treatment, +we have already had a marvellous instance in the candle-light +picture of the “Last Supper” in San Giorgio Maggiore. +This “Adoration of the Shepherds” has probably been nearly +as wonderful when first painted: the Madonna is seated on a +kind of hammock floor made of rope netting, covered with +straw; it divides the picture into two stories, of which the +uppermost contains the Virgin, with two women who are +adoring Christ, and shows light entering from above through +the loose timbers of the roof of the stable, as well as through +the bars of a square window; the lower division shows this +light falling behind the netting upon the stable floor, occupied +by a cock and a cow, and against this light are relieved +the figures of the shepherds, for the most part in +demi-tint, but with flakes of more vigorous sunshine falling +here and there upon them from above. The optical illusion +has originally been as perfect as one of Hunt’s best interiors; +but it is most curious that no part of the work seems to have +been taken any pleasure in by the painter; it is all by his hand, +but it looks as if he had been bent only on getting over the +ground. It is literally a piece of scene-painting, and is exactly +what we might fancy Tintoret to have done, had he been +forced to paint scenes at a small theatre at a shilling a day. +I cannot think that the whole canvas, though fourteen feet +high and ten wide, or thereabouts, could have taken him more +than a couple of days to finish: and it is very noticeable that +exactly in proportion to the brilliant effects of light is the +coarseness of the execution, for the figures of the Madonna +and of the women above, which are not in any strong effect, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page346"></a>346</span> +are painted with some care, while the shepherds and the cow +are alike slovenly; and the latter, which is in full sunshine, is +recognizable for a cow more by its size and that of its horns, +than by any care given to its form. It is interesting to contrast +this slovenly and mean sketch with the ass’s head in the +“Flight into Egypt,” on which the painter exerted his full +power; as an effect of light, however, the work is, of course, +most interesting. One point in the treatment is especially +noticeable: there is a peacock in the rack beyond the cow; and +under other circumstances, one cannot doubt that Tintoret +would have liked a peacock in full color, and would have +painted it green and blue with great satisfaction. It is sacrificed +to the light, however, and is painted in warm grey, with +a dim eye or two in the tail: this process is exactly analogous +to Turner’s taking the colors out of the flags of his ships in +the “Gosport.” Another striking point is the litter with +which the whole picture is filled in order more to confuse the +eye: there is straw sticking from the roof, straw all over the +hammock floor, and straw struggling hither and thither all +over the floor itself; and, to add to the confusion, the glory +around the head of the infant, instead of being united and +serene, is broken into little bits, and is like a glory of chopped +straw. But the most curious thing, after all, is the want of +delight in any of the principal figures, and the comparative +meanness and commonplaceness of even the folds of the drapery. +It seems as if Tintoret had determined to make the +shepherds as uninteresting as possible; but one does not see +why their very clothes should be ill painted, and their disposition +unpicturesque. I believe, however, though it never struck +me until I had examined this picture, that this is one of the +painter’s fixed principles: he does not, with German sentimentality, +make shepherds and peasants graceful or sublime, but +he purposely vulgarizes them, not by making their actions or +their faces boorish or disagreeable, but rather by painting them +ill, and composing their draperies tamely. As far as I recollect +at present, the principle is universal with him; exactly in +proportion to the dignity of character is the beauty of the +painting. He will not put out his strength upon any man +belonging to the lower classes; and, in order to know what the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page347"></a>347</span> +painter is, one must see him at work on a king, a senator, or a +saint. The curious connexion of this with the aristocratic +tendencies of the Venetian nation, when we remember that +Tintoret was the greatest man whom that nation produced, may +become very interesting, if followed out. I forgot to note that, +though the peacock is painted with great regardlessness of +color, there is a feature in it which no common painter would +have observed,—the peculiar flatness of the back, and undulation +of the shoulders: the bird’s body is all there, though its +feathers are a good deal neglected; and the same thing is +noticeable in a cock who is pecking among the straw near the +spectator, though in other respects a shabby cock enough. +The fact is, I believe, he had made his shepherds so commonplace +that he dare not paint his animals well, otherwise one +would have looked at nothing in the picture but the peacock, +cock, and cow. I cannot tell what the shepherds are offering; +they look like milk bowls, but they are awkwardly held up, +with such twistings of body as would have certainly spilt the +milk. A woman in front has a basket of eggs; but this I +imagine to be merely to keep up the rustic character of the +scene, and not part of the shepherd’s offerings.</p> + +<p class="i1">11. <i>Baptism.</i> There is more of the true picture quality in +this work than in the former one, but still very little appearance +of enjoyment or care. The color is for the most part +grey and uninteresting, and the figures are thin and meagre +in form, and slightly painted; so much so, that of the nineteen +figures in the distance, about a dozen are hardly worth +calling figures, and the rest are so sketched and flourished in +that one can hardly tell which is which. There is one point +about it very interesting to a landscape painter: the river is +seen far into the distance, with a piece of copse bordering it; +the sky beyond is dark, but the water nevertheless receives a +brilliant reflection from some unseen rent in the clouds, so +brilliant, that when I was first at Venice, not being accustomed +to Tintoret’s slight execution, or to see pictures so much +injured, I took this piece of water for a piece of sky. The +effect as Tintoret has arranged it, is indeed somewhat unnatural, +but it is valuable as showing his recognition of a +principle unknown to half the historical painters of the present +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page348"></a>348</span> +day,—that the reflection seen in the water is totally different +from the object seen above it, and that it is very possible to +have a bright light in reflection where there appears nothing +but darkness to be reflected. The clouds in the sky itself are +round, heavy, and lightless, and in a great degree spoil what +would otherwise be a fine landscape distance. Behind the +rocks on the right, a single head is seen, with a collar on the +shoulders: it seems to be intended for a portrait of some person +connected with the picture.</p> + +<p class="i1">12. <i>Resurrection.</i> Another of the “effect of light” pictures, +and not a very striking one, the best part of it being the two +distant figures of the Maries seen in the dawn of the morning. +The conception of the Resurrection itself is characteristic of +the worst points of Tintoret. His impetuosity is here in +the wrong place; Christ bursts out of the rock like a thunderbolt, +and the angels themselves seem likely to be crushed +under the rent stones of the tomb. Had the figure of Christ +been sublime, this conception might have been accepted; but, +on the contrary, it is weak, mean, and painful; and the whole +picture is languidly or roughly painted, except only the fig-tree +at the top of the rock, which, by a curious caprice, is not +only drawn in the painter’s best manner, but has golden ribs +to all its leaves, making it look like one of the beautiful +crossed or chequered patterns, of which he is so fond in his +dresses; the leaves themselves being a dark olive brown.</p> + +<p class="i1">13. <i>The Agony in the Garden.</i> I cannot at present understand +the order of these subjects; but they may have been misplaced. +This, of all the San Rocco pictures, is the most +hastily painted, but it is not, like those we have been passing, +<i>clodly</i> painted; it seems to have been executed altogether with +a hearth-broom, and in a few hours. It is another of the +“effects,” and a very curious one; the Angel who bears the +cup to Christ is surrounded by a red halo; yet the light which +falls upon the shoulders of the sleeping disciples, and upon the +leaves of the olive-trees, is cool and silvery, while the troop +coming up to seize Christ are seen by torch-light. Judas, who +is the second figure, points to Christ, but turns his head away +as he does so, as unable to look at him. This is a noble touch; +the foliage is also exceedingly fine, though what kind of olive-tree +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page349"></a>349</span> +bears such leaves I know not, each of them being about +the size of a man’s hand. If there be any which bear such +foliage, their olives must be the size of cocoa-nuts. This, +however, is true only of the underwood, which is, perhaps, +not meant for olive. There are some taller trees at the top of +the picture, whose leaves are of a more natural size. On +closely examining the figures of the troops on the left, I find +that the distant ones are concealed, all but the limbs, by a sort +of arch of dark color, which is now so injured, that I cannot +tell whether it was foliage or ground: I suppose it to have +been a mass of close foliage, through which the troop is breaking +its way; Judas rather showing them the path, than actually +pointing to Christ, as it is written, “Judas, who betrayed +him, knew the place.” St. Peter, as the most zealous of the +three disciples, the only one who was to endeavor to defend +his Master, is represented as awakening and turning his head +toward the troop, while James and John are buried in profound +slumber, laid in magnificent languor among the leaves. +The picture is singularly impressive, when seen far enough off, +as an image of thick forest gloom amidst the rich and tender +foliage of the South; the leaves, however, tossing as in disturbed +night air, and the flickering of the torches, and of the +branches, contrasted with the steady flame which from the +Angel’s presence is spread over the robes of the disciples. +The strangest feature in the whole is that the Christ also is +represented as sleeping. The angel seems to appear to him +in a dream.</p> + +<p class="i1">14. <i>The Last Supper.</i> A most unsatisfactory picture; I +think about the worst I know of Tintoret’s, where there is no +appearance of retouching. He always makes the disciples in +this scene too vulgar; they are here not only vulgar, but +diminutive, and Christ is at the end of the table, the smallest +figure of them all. The principal figures are two mendicants +sitting on steps in front; a kind of supporters, but I suppose +intended to be waiting for the fragments; a dog, in still more +earnest expectation, is watching the movements of the disciples, +who are talking together, Judas having just gone out. +Christ is represented as giving what one at first supposes is the +sop to Judas, but as the disciple who received it has a glory, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page350"></a>350</span> +and there are only eleven at table, it is evidently the Sacramental +bread. The room in which they are assembled is a +sort of large kitchen, and the host is seen employed at a +dresser in the background. This picture has not only been +originally poor, but is one of those exposed all day to the sun, +and is dried into mere dusty canvas: where there was once +blue, there is now nothing.</p> + +<p class="i1">15. <i>Saint Rocco in Glory.</i> One of the worst order of Tintorets, +with apparent smoothness and finish, yet languidly +painted, as if in illness or fatigue; very dark and heavy in +tone also; its figures, for the most part, of an awkward middle +size, about five feet high, and very uninteresting. St. Rocco +ascends to heaven, looking down upon a crowd of poor and +sick persons who are blessing and adoring him. One of these, +kneeling at the bottom, is very nearly a repetition, though a +careless and indolent one, of that of St. Stephen, in St. +Giorgio Maggiore, and of the central figure in the “Paradise” +of the Ducal Palace. It is a kind of lay figure, of which he +seems to have been fond; its clasped hands are here shockingly +painted—I should think unfinished. It forms the only important +light at the bottom, relieved on a dark ground; at the +top of the picture, the figure of St. Rocco is seen in shadow +against the light of the sky, and all the rest is in confused +shadow. The commonplaceness of this composition is curiously +connected with the languor of thought and touch throughout +the work.</p> + +<p class="i1">16. <i>Miracle of the Loaves.</i> Hardly anything but a fine +piece of landscape is here left; it is more exposed to the sun +than any other picture in the room, and its draperies having +been, in great part, painted in blue, are now mere patches of +the color of starch; the scene is also very imperfectly conceived. +The twenty-one figures, including Christ and his +Disciples, very ill represent a crowd of seven thousand; still +less is the marvel of the miracle expressed by perfect ease and +rest of the reclining figures in the foreground, who do not +so much as look surprised; considered merely as reclining +figures, and as pieces of effect in half light, they have once +been fine. The landscape, which represents the slope of a +woody hill, has a very grand and far-away look. Behind it is a +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page351"></a>351</span> +great space of streaky sky, almost prismatic in color, rosy and +golden clouds covering up its blue, and some fine vigorous +trees thrown against it; painted in about ten minutes each, +however, by curly touches of the brush, and looking rather +more like seaweed than foliage.</p> + +<p class="i1">17. <i>Resurrection of Lazarus.</i> Very strangely, and not impressively +conceived. Christ is half reclining, half sitting, at +the bottom of the picture, while Lazarus is disencumbered of +his grave-clothes at the top of it; the scene being the side of a +rocky hill, and the mouth of the tomb probably once visible +in the shadow on the left; but all that is now discernible is a +man having his limbs unbound, as if Christ were merely ordering +a prisoner to be loosed. There appears neither awe nor +agitation, nor even much astonishment, in any of the figures +of the group; but the picture is more vigorous than any of the +three last mentioned, and the upper part of it is quite worthy +of the master, especially its noble fig-tree and laurel, which he +has painted, in one of his usual fits of caprice, as carefully as +that in the “Resurrection of Christ,” opposite. Perhaps he +has some meaning in this; he may have been thinking of the +verse, “Behold the fig-tree, and all the trees; when they now +shoot forth,” &c. In the present instance, the leaves are dark +only, and have no golden veins. The uppermost figures also +come dark against the sky, and would form a precipitous mass, +like a piece of the rock itself, but that they are broken in upon +by one of the limbs of Lazarus, bandaged and in full light, +which, to my feeling, sadly injures the picture, both as a disagreeable +object, and a light in the wrong place. The grass +and weeds are, throughout, carefully painted, but the lower +figures are of little interest, and the face of the Christ a grievous +failure.</p> + +<p class="i1">18. <i>The Ascension.</i> I have always admired this picture, +though it is very slight and thin in execution, and cold in +color; but it is remarkable for its thorough effect of open air, +and for the sense of motion and clashing in the wings of the +Angels which sustain the Christ: they owe this effect a good +deal to the manner in which they are set, edge on; all seem +like sword-blades cutting the air. It is the most curious in +conception of all the pictures in the Scuola, for it represents, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page352"></a>352</span> +beneath the Ascension, a kind of epitome of what took place +before the Ascension. In the distance are two Apostles walking, +meant, I suppose, for the two going to Emmaus; nearer +are a group round a table, to remind us of Christ appearing to +them as they sat at meat; and in the foreground is a single +reclining figure of, I suppose, St. Peter, because we are told +that “he was seen of Cephas, then of the twelve:” but this interpretation +is doubtful; for why should not the vision by the +Lake of Tiberias be expressed also? And the strange thing +of all is the scene, for Christ ascended from the Mount of +Olives; but the Disciples are walking, and the table is set, in a +little marshy and grassy valley, like some of the bits near +Maison Neuve on the Jura, with a brook running through it, +so capitally expressed, that I believe it is this which makes me +so fond of the picture. The reflections are as scientific in the +diminution, in the image, of large masses of bank above, as +any of Turner’s, and the marshy and reedy ground looks as if +one would sink into it; but what all this has to do with the +Ascension I cannot see. The figure of Christ is not undignified, +but by no means either interesting or sublime.</p> + +<p class="i1">19. <i>Pool of Bethesda.</i> I have no doubt the principal figures +have been repainted; but as the colors are faded, and the subject +disgusting, I have not paid this picture sufficient attention +to say how far the injury extends; nor need any one spend +time upon it, unless after having first examined all the other +Tintorets in Venice. All the great Italian painters appear insensible +to the feeling of disgust at disease; but this study of +the population of an hospital is without any points of contrast, +and I wish Tintoret had not condescended to paint it. This +and the six preceding paintings have all been uninteresting,—I +believe chiefly owing to the observance in them of Sir Joshua’s +rule for the heroic, “that drapery is to be mere drapery, and +not silk, nor satin, nor brocade.” However wise such a rule +may be when applied to works of the purest religious art, it is +anything but wise as respects works of color. Tintoret is never +quite himself unless he has fur or velvet, or rich stuff of one +sort or the other, or jewels, or armor, or something that he can +put play of color into, among his figures, and not dead folds of +linsey-woolsey; and I believe that even the best pictures of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page353"></a>353</span> +Raffaelle and Angelico are not a little helped by their hems +of robes, jewelled crowns, priests’ copes, and so on; and the +pictures that have nothing of this kind in them, as for +instance the “Transfiguration,” are to my mind not a little +dull.</p> + +<p class="i1">20. <i>Temptation.</i> This picture singularly illustrates what +has just been observed; it owes great part of its effect to the lustre +of the jewels in the armlet of the evil angel, and to the beautiful +colors of his wings. These are slight accessaries apparently, +but they enhance the value of all the rest, and they have evidently +been enjoyed by the painter. The armlet is seen by +reflected light, its stones shining by inward lustre; this occult +fire being the only hint given of the real character of the +Tempter, who is otherways represented in the form of a beautiful +angel, though the face is sensual: we can hardly tell how +far it was intended to be therefore expressive of evil; for Tintoret’s +good angels have not always the purest features; but +there is a peculiar subtlety in this telling of the story by so +slight a circumstance as the glare of the jewels in the darkness. +It is curious to compare this imagination with that of the +mosaics in St. Mark’s, in which Satan is a black monster, with +horns, and head, and tail, complete. The whole of the picture +is powerfully and carefully painted, though very broadly; it is +a strong effect of light, and therefore, as usual, subdued in +color. The painting of the stones in the foreground I have +always thought, and still think, the best piece of rock drawing +before Turner, and the most amazing instance of Tintoret’s perceptiveness +afforded by any of his pictures.</p> + +<p class="i1">21. <i>St. Rocco.</i> Three figures occupy the spandrils of the +window above this and the following picture, painted merely in +light and shade, two larger than life, one rather smaller. I +believe these to be by Tintoret; but as they are quite in the +dark, so that the execution cannot be seen, and very good designs +of the kind have been furnished by other masters, I cannot +answer for them. The figure of St. Rocco, as well as its +companion, St. Sebastian, is colored; they occupy the narrow +intervals between the windows, and are of course invisible under +ordinary circumstances. By a great deal of straining of the +eyes, and sheltering them with the hand from the light, some +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page354"></a>354</span> +little idea of the design may be obtained. The “St. Rocco” +is a fine figure, though rather coarse, but, at all events, worth as +much light as would enable us to see it.</p> + +<p class="i1">22. <i>St. Sebastian.</i> This, the companion figure, is one of the +finest things in the whole room, and assuredly the most majestic +Saint Sebastian in existence; as far as mere humanity can +be majestic, for there is no effort at any expression of angelic +or saintly resignation; the effort is simply to realize the fact of +the martyrdom, and it seems to me that this is done to an extent +not even attempted by any other painter. I never saw a +man die a violent death, and therefore cannot say whether this +figure be true or not, but it gives the grandest and most intense +impression of truth. The figure is dead, and well it may be, +for there is one arrow through the forehead and another +through the heart; but the eyes are open, though glazed, and +the body is rigid in the position in which it last stood, the left +arm raised and the left limb advanced, something in the attitude +of a soldier sustaining an attack under his shield, while +the dead eyes are still turned in the direction from which the +arrows came: but the most characteristic feature is the way these +arrows are fixed. In the common martyrdoms of St. Sebastian +they are stuck into him here and there like pins, as if they had +been shot from a great distance and had come faltering down, +entering the flesh but a little way, and rather bleeding the saint +to death than mortally wounding him; but Tintoret had no such +ideas about archery. He must have seen bows drawn in battle, +like that of Jehu when he smote Jehoram between the harness: +all the arrows in the saint’s body lie straight in the same direction, +broad-feathered and strong-shafted, and sent apparently +with the force of thunderbolts; every one of them has gone +through him like a lance, two through the limbs, one through +the arm, one through the heart, and the last has crashed +through the forehead, nailing the head to the tree behind as if +it had been dashed in by a sledge-hammer. The face, in spite +of its ghastliness, is beautiful, and has been serene; and the +light which enters first and glistens on the plumes of the arrows, +dies softly away upon the curling hair, and mixes with the glory +upon the forehead. There is not a more remarkable picture in +Venice, and yet I do not suppose that one in a thousand of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page355"></a>355</span> +travellers who pass through the Scuola so much as perceives +there is a picture in the place which it occupies.</p> + +<p class="center">Third Group. On the roof of the upper room.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img355.jpg" width="600" height="219" alt="On the roof of the upper room." title="On the roof of the upper room." /></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<table class="nobctr" summary="data"> +<tr><td style="vertical-align: top;"> +<p>23. Moses striking the Rock.</p> +<p>24. Plague of Serpents.</p> +<p>25. Fall of Manna.</p> +<p>26. Jacob’s Dream.</p> +<p>27. Ezekiel’s Vision.</p> +<p>28. Fall of Man.</p> +<p>29. Elijah.</p></td> + +<td style="vertical-align: top;"> +<p>30. Jonah.</p> +<p>31. Joshua.</p> +<p>32. Sacrifice of Isaac.</p> +<p>33. Elijah at the Brook.</p> +<p>34. Paschal Feast.</p> +<p>35. Elisha feeding the People.</p></td></tr></table> + +<p class="i1">23. <i>Moses striking the Rock.</i> We now come to the series of +pictures upon which the painter concentrated the strength he +had reserved for the upper room; and in some sort wisely, for, +though it is not pleasant to examine pictures on a ceiling, they +are at least distinctly visible without straining the eyes against +the light. They are carefully conceived and thoroughly well +painted in proportion to their distance from the eye. This +carefulness of thought is apparent at a glance: the “Moses +striking the Rock” embraces the whole of the seventeenth chapter +of Exodus, and even something more, for it is not from that +chapter, but from parallel passages that we gather the facts of +the impatience of Moses and the wrath of God at the waters of +Meribah; both which facts are shown by the leaping of the +stream out of the rock half-a-dozen ways at once, forming a +great arch over the head of Moses, and by the partial veiling +of the countenance of the Supreme Being. This latter is the +most painful part of the whole picture, at least as it is seen from +below; and I believe that in some repairs of the roof this head +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page356"></a>356</span> +must have been destroyed and repainted. It is one of Tintoret’s +usual fine thoughts that the lower part of the figure is +veiled, not merely by clouds, but in a kind of watery sphere, +showing the Deity coming to the Israelites at that particular +moment as the Lord of the Rivers and of the Fountain of the +Waters. The whole figure, as well as that of Moses and the +greater number of those in the foreground, is at once dark and +warm, black and red being the prevailing colors, while the +distance is bright gold touched with blue, and seems to open +into the picture like a break of blue sky after rain. How exquisite +is this expression, by mere color, of the main force of the +fact represented! that is to say, joy and refreshment after sorrow +and scorching heat. But, when we examine of what this distance +consists, we shall find still more cause for admiration. +The blue in it is not the blue of sky, it is obtained by blue +stripes upon white tents glowing in the sunshine; and in front +of these tents is seen that great battle with Amalek of which +the account is given in the remainder of the chapter, and for +which the Israelites received strength in the streams which ran +out of the rock in Horeb. Considered merely as a picture, the +opposition of cool light to warm shadow is one of the most remarkable +pieces of color in the Scuola, and the great mass of +foliage which waves over the rocks on the left appears to have +been elaborated with his highest power and his most sublime +invention. But this noble passage is much injured, and now +hardly visible.</p> + +<p class="i1">24. <i>Plague of Serpents.</i> The figures in the distance are +remarkably important in this picture, Moses himself being +among them; in fact, the whole scene is filled chiefly with +middle-sized figures, in order to increase the impression of +space. It is interesting to observe the difference in the treatment +of this subject by the three great painters, Michael +Angelo, Rubens, and Tintoret. The first two, equal to the +latter in energy, had less love of liberty: they were fond of +binding their compositions into knots, Tintoret of scattering +his far and wide: they all alike preserve the unity of composition, +but the unity in the first two is obtained by binding, +and that of the last by springing from one source; and, +together with this feeling, comes his love of space, which +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page357"></a>357</span> +makes him less regard the rounding and form of objects +themselves, than their relations of light and shade and distance. +Therefore Rubens and Michael Angelo made the fiery +serpents huge boa constrictors, and knotted the sufferers +together with them. Tintoret does not like to be so bound; +so he makes the serpents little flying and fluttering monsters +like lampreys with wings; and the children of Israel, instead +of being thrown into convulsed and writhing groups, are scattered, +fainting in the fields, far away in the distance. As usual, +Tintoret’s conception, while thoroughly characteristic of himself, +is also truer to the words of Scripture. We are told that +“the Lord sent fiery serpents among the people, and they <i>bit</i> +the people;” we are not told that they crushed the people to +death. And while thus the truest, it is also the most terrific +conception. M. Angelo’s would be terrific if one could believe +in it: but our instinct tells us that boa constrictors do +not come in armies; and we look upon the picture with as +little emotion as upon the handle of a vase, or any other form +worked out of serpents, where there is no probability of serpents +actually occurring. But there is a probability in Tintoret’s +conception. We feel that it is not impossible that +there should come up a swarm of these small winged reptiles: +and their horror is not diminished by their smallness: not +that they have any of the grotesque terribleness of German +invention; they might have been made infinitely uglier with +small pains, but it is their <i>veritableness</i> which makes them +awful. They have triangular heads with sharp beaks or +muzzle; and short, rather thick bodies, with bony processes +down the back like those of sturgeons; and small wings +spotted with orange and black; and round glaring eyes, not +very large, but very ghastly, with an intense delight in biting +expressed in them. (It is observable, that the Venetian +painter has got his main idea of them from the sea-horses +and small reptiles of the Lagoons.) These monsters are fluttering +and writhing about everywhere, fixing on whatever +they come near with their sharp venomous heads; and they +are coiling about on the ground, and all the shadows and +thickets are full of them, so that there is no escape anywhere: +and, in order to give the idea of greater extent to the plague, +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page358"></a>358</span> +Tintoret has not been content with one horizon; I have before +mentioned the excessive strangeness of this composition, in +having a cavern open in the right of the foreground, through +which is seen another sky and another horizon. At the top +of the picture, the Divine Being is seen borne by angels, +apparently passing over the congregation in wrath, involved +in masses of dark clouds; while, behind, an Angel of mercy +is descending toward Moses, surrounded by a globe of white +light. This globe is hardly seen from below; it is not a common +glory, but a transparent sphere, like a bubble, which not only +envelopes the angel, but crosses the figure of Moses, throwing +the upper part of it into a subdued pale color, as if it were +crossed by a sunbeam. Tintoret is the only painter who plays +these tricks with transparent light, the only man who seems +to have perceived the effects of sunbeams, mists, and clouds, +in the far away atmosphere; and to have used what he saw on +towers, clouds, or mountains, to enhance the sublimity of his +figures. The whole upper part of this picture is magnificent, +less with respect to individual figures, than for the drift of its +clouds, and <span class="correction" title="changed from originalty">originality</span> and complication of its light and shade; +it is something like Raffaelle’s “Vision of Ezekiel,” but far +finer. It is difficult to understand how any painter, who could +represent floating clouds so nobly as he has done here, could +ever paint the odd, round, pillowy masses which so often occur +in his more carelessly designed sacred subjects. The lower +figures are not so interesting, and the whole is painted with a +view to effect from below, and gains little by close examination.</p> + +<p class="i1">25. <i>Fall of Manna.</i> In none of these three large compositions +has the painter made the slightest effort at expression in +the human countenance; everything is done by gesture, and +the faces of the people who are drinking from the rock, dying +from the serpent-bites, and eating the manna, are all alike as +calm as if nothing was happening; in addition to this, as they +are painted for distant effect, the heads are unsatisfactory +and coarse when seen near, and perhaps in this last picture +the more so, and yet the story is exquisitely told. We have +seen in the Church of San Giorgio Maggiore another example +of his treatment of it, where, however, the gathering of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page359"></a>359</span> +manna is a subordinate employment, but here it is principal. +Now, observe, we are told of the manna, that it was +found in the morning; that then there lay round about the +camp a small round thing like the hoar-frost, and that “when +the sun waxed hot it melted.” Tintoret has endeavored, +therefore, first of all, to give the idea of coolness; the congregation +are reposing in a soft green meadow, surrounded by +blue hills, and there are rich trees above them, to the branches +of one of which is attached a great grey drapery to catch the +manna as it comes down. In any other picture such a mass +of drapery would assuredly have had some vivid color, but here +it is grey; the fields are cool frosty green, the mountains cold +blue, and, to complete the expression and meaning of all this, +there is a most important point to be noted in the form of the +Deity, seen above, through an opening in the clouds. There +are at least ten or twelve other pictures in which the form of +the Supreme Being occurs, to be found in the Scuola di San +Rocco alone; and in every one of these instances it is richly +colored, the garments being generally red and blue, but in +this picture of the manna the figure is <i>snow white</i>. Thus the +painter endeavors to show the Deity as the giver of bread, +just as in the “Striking of the Rock” we saw that he represented +Him as the Lord of the rivers, the fountains, and the +waters. There is one other very sweet incident at the bottom +of the picture; four or five sheep, instead of pasturing, turn +their heads aside to catch the manna as it comes down, +or seem to be licking it off each other’s fleeces. The tree +above, to which the drapery is tied, is the most delicate and +delightful piece of leafage in all the Scuola; it has a large +sharp leaf, something like that of a willow, but five times the +size.</p> + +<p class="i1">26. <i>Jacob’s Dream.</i> A picture which has good effect from +below, but gains little when seen near. It is an embarrassing +one for any painter, because angels always look awkward going +up and down stairs; one does not see the use of their wings. +Tintoret has thrown them into buoyant and various attitudes, +but has evidently not treated the subject with delight; and it +is seen to all the more disadvantage because just above the +painting of the “Ascension,” in which the full fresh power +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page360"></a>360</span> +of the painter is developed. One would think this latter picture +had been done just after a walk among hills, for it is +full of the most delicate effects of transparent cloud, more or +less veiling the faces and forms of the angels, and covering +with white light the silvery sprays of the palms, while the +clouds in the “Jacob’s Dream” are the ordinary rotundities of +the studio.</p> + +<p class="i1">27. <i>Ezekiel’s Vision.</i> I suspect this has been repainted, it +is so heavy and dead in color; a fault, however, observable in +many of the small pictures on the ceiling, and perhaps the +natural result of the fatigue of such a mind as Tintoret’s. A +painter who threw such intense energy into some of his works +can hardly but have been languid in others in a degree never +experienced by the more tranquil minds of less powerful workmen; +and when this languor overtook him whilst he was at +work on pictures where a certain space had to be covered by +mere force of arm, this heaviness of color could hardly but +have been the consequence: it shows itself chiefly in reds and +other hot hues, many of the pictures in the Ducal Palace also +displaying it in a painful degree. This “Ezekiel’s Vision” is, +however, in some measure worthy of the master, in the wild +and horrible energy with which the skeletons are leaping up +about the prophet; but it might have been less horrible and +more sublime, no attempt being made to represent the space +of the Valley of Dry Bones, and the whole canvas being occupied +only by eight figures, of which five are half skeletons. It +it is strange that, in such a subject, the prevailing hues should +be red and brown.</p> + +<p class="i1">28. <i>Fall of Man.</i> The two canvases last named are the +most considerable in size upon the roof, after the centre +pieces. We now come to the smaller subjects which surround +the “Striking the Rock;” of these this “Fall of Man” +is the best, and I should think it very fine anywhere but in +the Scuola di San Rocco; there is a grand light on the body of +Eve, and the vegetation is remarkably rich, but the faces are +coarse, and the composition uninteresting. I could not get +near enough to see what the grey object is upon which Eve +appears to be sitting, nor could I see any serpent. It is +made prominent in the picture of the Academy of this same +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page361"></a>361</span> +subject, so that I suppose it is hidden in the darkness, together +with much detail which it would be necessary to discover in +order to judge the work justly.</p> + +<p class="i1">29. <i>Elijah (?).</i> A prophet holding down his face, which is +covered with his hand. God is talking with him, apparently +in rebuke. The clothes on his breast are rent, and the action +of the figures might suggest the idea of the scene between the +Deity and Elijah at Horeb: but there is no suggestion of the +past magnificent scenery,—of the wind, the earthquake, or +the fire; so that the conjecture is good for very little. The +painting is of small interest; the faces are vulgar, and the +draperies have too much vapid historical dignity to be delightful.</p> + +<p class="i1">30. <i>Jonah.</i> The whale here occupies fully one-half of the +canvas; being correspondent in value with a landscape background. +His mouth is as large as a cavern, and yet, unless +the mass of red color in the foreground be a piece of drapery, +his tongue is too large for it. He seems to have lifted Jonah +out upon it, and not yet drawn it back, so that it forms a kind +of crimson cushion for him to kneel upon in his submission to +the Deity. The head to which this vast tongue belongs is +sketched in somewhat loosely, and there is little remarkable +about it except its size, nor much in the figures, though the +submissiveness of Jonah is well given. The great thought of +Michael Angelo renders one little charitable to any less imaginative +treatment of this subject.</p> + +<p class="i1">31. <i>Joshua (?).</i> This is a most interesting picture, and it +is a shame that its subject is not made out, for it is not a common +one. The figure has a sword in its hand, and looks up to +a sky full of fire, out of which the form of the Deity is stooping, +represented as white and colorless. On the other side of +the picture there is seen among the clouds a pillar apparently +falling, and there is a crowd at the feet of the principal figure, +carrying spears. Unless this be Joshua at the fall of Jericho, +I cannot tell what it means; it is painted with great vigor, +and worthy of a better place.</p> + +<p class="i1">32. <i>Sacrifice of Isaac.</i> In conception, it is one of the least +worthy of the master in the whole room, the three figures being +thrown into violent attitudes, as inexpressive as they are +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page362"></a>362</span> +strained and artificial. It appears to have been vigorously +painted, but vulgarly; that is to say, the light is concentrated +upon the white beard and upturned countenance of +Abraham, as it would have been in one of the dramatic effects +of the French school, the result being that the head is very +bright and very conspicuous, and perhaps, in some of the late +operations upon the roof, recently washed and touched. In +consequence, every one who comes into the room, is first invited +to observe the “bella testa di Abramo.” The only thing +characteristic of Tintoret is the way in which the pieces of +ragged wood are tossed hither and thither in the pile upon +which Isaac is bound, although this scattering of the wood is +inconsistent with the Scriptural account of Abraham’s deliberate +procedure, for we are told of him that “he set the wood +in order.” But Tintoret had probably not noticed this, and +thought the tossing of the timber into the disordered heap +more like the act of the father in his agony.</p> + +<p class="i1">33. <i>Elijah at the Brook Cherith (?).</i> I cannot tell if I have +rightly interpreted the meaning of this picture, which merely +represents a noble figure couched upon the ground, and an +angel appearing to him; but I think that between the dark +tree on the left, and the recumbent figure, there is some appearance +of a running stream, at all events there is of a +mountainous and stony place. The longer I study this master, +the more I feel the strange likeness between him and +Turner, in our never knowing what subject it is that will stir +him to exertion. We have lately had him treating Jacob’s +Dream, Ezekiel’s Vision, Abraham’s Sacrifice, and Jonah’s +Prayer, (all of them subjects on which the greatest painters +have delighted to expend their strength,) with coldness, carelessness, +and evident absence of delight; and here, on a sudden, +in a subject so indistinct that one cannot be sure of its +meaning, and embracing only two figures, a man and an angel, +forth he starts in his full strength. I believe he must somewhere +or another, the day before, have seen a kingfisher; for +this picture seems entirely painted for the sake of the glorious +downy wings of the angel,—white clouded with blue, as the +bird’s head and wings are with green,—the softest and most +elaborate in plumage that I have seen in any of his works: +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page363"></a>363</span> +but observe also the general sublimity obtained by the mountainous +lines of the drapery of the recumbent figure, dependent +for its dignity upon these forms alone, as the face is more than +half hidden, and what is seen of it expressionless.</p> + +<p class="i1">34. <i>The Paschal Feast.</i> I name this picture by the title given +in the guide-books; it represents merely five persons watching +the increase of a small fire lighted on a table or altar in the +midst of them. It is only because they have all staves in their +hands that one may conjecture this fire to be that kindled to +consume the Paschal offering. The effect is of course a fire +light; and, like all mere fire lights that I have ever seen, +totally devoid of interest.</p> + +<p class="i1">35. <i>Elisha feeding the People.</i> I again guess at the subject: +the picture only represents a figure casting down a number of +loaves before a multitude; but, as Elisha has not elsewhere +occurred, I suppose that these must be the barley loaves brought +from Baalshalisha. In conception and manner of painting, +this picture and the last, together with the others above-mentioned, +in comparison with the “Elijah at Cherith,” may +be generally described as “dregs of Tintoret:” they are tired, +dead, dragged out upon the canvas apparently in the heavy-hearted +state which a man falls into when he is both jaded +with toil and sick of the work he is employed upon. They +are not hastily painted; on the contrary, finished with considerably +more care than several of the works upon the walls; +but those, as, for instance, the “Agony in the Garden,” are +hurried sketches with the man’s whole heart in them, while +these pictures are exhausted fulfilments of an appointed task. +Whether they were really amongst the last painted, or whether +the painter had fallen ill at some intermediate time, I cannot +say; but we shall find him again in his utmost strength in the +room which we last enter.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page364"></a>364</span></p> + +<p class="center">Fourth Group. Inner room on the upper floor.</p> + +<table class="nobctr" style="clear: both; " summary="Illustration"> +<tr> + <td class="figcenter"> + <img src="images/img364.jpg" width="550" height="439" alt="Inner room on the upper floor." title="Inner room on the upper floor." /></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<table class="nobctr" summary="data"> +<tr><td class="center" colspan="2">On the Roof.</td></tr> + +<tr><td style="vertical-align: top;"> +<p>36 to 39. Children’s Heads.</p> +<p>40. St. Rocco in Heaven.</p></td> + +<td style="vertical-align: top;"> +<p>41 to 44. Children.</p> +<p>45 to 56. Allegorical Figures.</p></td></tr> + + +<tr><td class="center" colspan="2">On the Walls.</td></tr> + +<tr><td style="vertical-align: top;"> +<p>57. Figure in Niche.</p> +<p>58. Figure in Niche.</p> +<p>59. Christ before Pilate.</p></td> + +<td style="vertical-align: top;"> +<p>60. Ecce Homo.</p> +<p>61. Christ bearing his Cross.</p> +<p>62. <span class="sc">Crucifixion.</span></p></td></tr></table> + + +<p class="i1">36 to 39. <i>Four Children’s Heads</i>, which it is much to be regretted +should be thus lost in filling small vacuities of the ceiling.</p> + +<p class="i1">40. <i>St. Rocco in Heaven.</i> The central picture of the roof, +in the inner room. From the well-known anecdote respecting +the production of this picture, whether in all its details true or +not, we may at least gather that having been painted in competition +with Paul Veronese and other powerful painters of the +day, it was probably Tintoret’s endeavor to make it as popular +and showy as possible. It is quite different from his common +works; bright in all its tints and tones; the faces carefully +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page365"></a>365</span> +drawn, and of an agreeable type; the outlines firm, and the +shadows few; the whole resembling Correggio more than any +Venetian painter. It is, however, an example of the danger, +even to the greatest artist, of leaving his own style; for it lacks +all the great virtues of Tintoret, without obtaining the lusciousness +of Correggio. One thing, at all events, is remarkable in it,—that, +though painted while the competitors were making their +sketches, it shows no sign of haste or inattention.</p> + +<p class="i1">41 to 44. <i>Figures of Children</i>, merely decorative.</p> + +<p class="i1">45 to 56. <i>Allegorical Figures on the Roof.</i> If these were not +in the same room with the “Crucifixion,” they would attract +more public attention than any works in the Scuola, as there are +here no black shadows, nor extravagances of invention, but very +beautiful figures richly and delicately colored, a good deal resembling +some of the best works of Andrea del Sarto. There is +nothing in them, however, requiring detailed examination. The +two figures between the windows are very slovenly, if they are +his at all; and there are bits of marbling and fruit filling the +cornices, which may or may not be his: if they are, they are +tired work, and of small importance.</p> + +<p class="i1">59. <i>Christ before Pilate.</i> A most interesting picture, but, +which is unusual, best seen on a dark day, when the white figure +of Christ alone draws the eye, looking almost like a spirit; the +painting of the rest of the picture being both somewhat thin and +imperfect. There is a certain meagreness about all the minor +figures, less grandeur and largeness in the limbs and draperies, +and less solidity, it seems, even in the color, although its arrangements +are richer than in many of the compositions above +described. I hardly know whether it is owing to this thinness +of color, or on purpose, that the horizontal clouds shine through +the crimson flag in the distance; though I should think the latter, +for the effect is most beautiful. The passionate action of +the Scribe in lifting his hand to dip the pen into the ink-horn +is, however, affected and overstrained, and the Pilate is very +mean; perhaps intentionally, that no reverence might be withdrawn +from the person of Christ. In work of the thirteenth +and fourteenth centuries, the figures of Pilate and Herod are +always intentionally made contemptible.</p> + +<p class="i1"><i>Ecce Homo.</i> As usual, Tintoret’s own peculiar view of the +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page366"></a>366</span> +subject. Christ is laid fainting on the ground, with a soldier +standing on one side of him; while Pilate, on the other, withdraws +the robe from the scourged and wounded body, and points +it out to the Jews. Both this and the picture last mentioned +resemble Titian more than Tintoret in the style of their treatment.</p> + +<p class="i1">61. <i>Christ bearing his Cross.</i> Tintoret is here recognizable +again in undiminished strength. He has represented the troops +and attendants climbing Calvary by a winding path, of which +two turns are seen, the figures on the uppermost ledge, and +Christ in the centre of them, being relieved against the sky; +but, instead of the usual simple expedient of the bright horizon +to relieve the dark masses, there is here introduced, on the left, +the head of a white horse, which blends itself with the sky in +one broad mass of light. The power of the picture is chiefly in +effect, the figure of Christ being too far off to be very interesting, +and only the malefactors being seen on the nearer path; +but for this very reason it seems to me more impressive, as if +one had been truly present at the scene, though not exactly in +the right place for seeing it.</p> + +<p class="i1">62. <i>The Crucifixion.</i> I must leave this picture to work its +will on the spectator; for it is beyond all analysis, and above all +praise.</p> + + +<h5>S</h5> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Sagredo, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page256">II. 256</a>. Much defaced, +but full of interest. Its sea story is restored; its first +floor has a most interesting arcade of the early thirteenth +century third order windows; its upper windows are the finest +fourth and fifth orders of early fourteenth century; the group +of fourth orders in the centre being brought into some resemblance +to the late Gothic traceries by the subsequent introduction +of the quatrefoils above them.</p> + + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Salute, Church of Sta. Maria della</span>, on the Grand Canal, +II. 378. One of the earliest buildings of the Grotesque Renaissance, +rendered impressive by its position, size, and general +proportions. These latter are exceedingly good; the grace +of the whole building being chiefly dependent on the inequality +of size in its cupolas, and pretty grouping of the two +campaniles behind them. It is to be generally observed that +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page367"></a>367</span> +the proportions of buildings have nothing whatever to do with +the style or general merits of their architecture. An architect +trained in the worst schools, and utterly devoid of all meaning +or purpose in his work, may yet have such a natural gift of +massing and grouping as will render all his structures effective +when seen from a distance: such a gift is very general +with the late Italian builders, so that many of the most contemptible +edifices in the country have good stage effect so long +as we do not approach them. The Church of the Salute is +farther assisted by the beautiful flight of steps in front of it +down to the canal; and its façade is rich and beautiful of its +kind, and was chosen by Turner for the principal object in his +well-known view of the Grand Canal. The principal faults of +the building are the meagre windows in the sides of the cupola, +and the ridiculous disguise of the buttresses under the form of +colossal scrolls; the buttresses themselves being originally a +hypocrisy, for the cupola is stated by Lazari to be of timber, and +therefore needs none. The sacristy contains several precious +pictures: the three on its roof by Titian, much vaunted, are +indeed as feeble as they are monstrous; but the small Titian, +“St. Mark, with Sts. Cosmo and Damian,” was, when I first +saw it, to my judgment, by far the first work of Titian’s in +Venice. It has since been restored by the Academy, and it +seemed to me entirely destroyed, but I had not time to examine +it carefully.</p> + +<p class="i1">At the end of the larger sacristy is the lunette which once +decorated the tomb of the Doge Francesco Dandolo (see above, +page 74); and, at the side of it, one of the most highly finished +Tintorets in Venice, namely:</p> + +<p class="i1"><i>The Marriage in Cana.</i> An immense picture, some twenty-five +feet long by fifteen high, and said by Lazari to be one of +the few which Tintoret signed with his name. I am not surprised +at his having done so in this case. Evidently the work +has been a favorite with him, and he has taken as much pains +as it was ever necessary for his colossal strength to take with +anything. The subject is not one which admits of much singularity +or energy in composition. It was always a favorite +one with Veronese, because it gave dramatic interest to figures +in gay costumes and of cheerful countenances; but one is surprised +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page368"></a>368</span> +to find Tintoret, whose tone of mind was always grave, +and who did not like to make a picture out of brocades and +diadems, throwing his whole strength into the conception of a +marriage feast; but so it is, and there are assuredly no female +heads in any of his pictures in Venice elaborated so far as those +which here form the central light. Neither is it often that the +works of this mighty master conform themselves to any of the +rules acted upon by ordinary painters; but in this instance the +popular laws have been observed, and an academy student +would be delighted to see with what severity the principal light +is arranged in a central mass, which is divided and made more +brilliant by a vigorous piece of shadow thrust into the midst of +it, and which dies away in lesser fragments and sparkling towards +the extremities of the picture. This mass of light is as +interesting by its composition as by its intensity. The cicerone +who escorts the stranger round the sacristy in the course +of five minutes, and allows him some forty seconds for the +contemplation of a picture which the study of six months +would not entirely fathom, directs his attention very carefully +to the “bell’ effetto di prospettivo,” the whole merit of the +picture being, in the eyes of the intelligent public, that there +is a long table in it, one end of which looks farther off than +the other; but there is more in the “bell’ effetto di prospettivo” +than the observance of the common laws of optics. The +table is set in a spacious chamber, of which the windows at the +end let in the light from the horizon, and those in the side +wall the intense blue of an Eastern sky. The spectator looks +all along the table, at the farther end of which are seated +Christ and the Madonna, the marriage guests on each side of +it,—on one side men, on the other women; the men are set +with their backs to the light, which passing over their heads +and glancing slightly on the tablecloth, falls in full length +along the line of young Venetian women, who thus fill the +whole centre of the picture with one broad sunbeam, made up +of fair faces and golden hair. Close to the spectator a woman +has risen in amazement, and stretches across the table to show +the wine in her cup to those opposite; her dark red dress intercepts +and enhances the mass of gathered light. It is rather +curious, considering the subject of the picture, that one cannot +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page369"></a>369</span> +distinguish either the bride or the bridegroom; but the +fourth figure from the Madonna in the line of women, who +wears a white head-dress of lace and rich chains of pearls in +her hair, may well be accepted for the former, and I think that +between her and the woman on the Madonna’s left hand the +unity of the line of women is intercepted by a male figure; be +this as it may, this fourth female face is the most beautiful, as +far as I recollect, that occurs in the works of the painter, with +the exception only of the Madonna in the “Flight into Egypt.” +It is an ideal which occurs indeed elsewhere in many of his +works, a face at once dark and delicate, the Italian cast of +feature moulded with the softness and childishness of English +beauty some half a century ago; but I have never seen the +ideal so completely worked out by the master. The face may +best be described as one of the purest and softest of Stothard’s +conceptions, executed with all the strength of Tintoret. The +other women are all made inferior to this one, but there are +beautiful profiles and bendings of breasts and necks along the +whole line. The men are all subordinate, though there are interesting +portraits among them; perhaps the only fault of the +picture being that the faces are a little too conspicuous, seen +like balls of light among the crowd of minor figures which fill +the background of the picture. The tone of the whole is sober +and majestic in the highest degree; the dresses are all broad +masses of color, and the only parts of the picture which lay +claim to the expression of wealth or splendor are the head-dresses +of the women. In this respect the conception of the +scene differs widely from that of Veronese, and approaches +more nearly to the probable truth. Still the marriage is not +an unimportant one; an immense crowd, filling the background, +forming superbly rich mosaic of color against the distant +sky. Taken as a whole, the picture is perhaps the most +perfect example which human art has produced of the utmost +possible force and sharpness of shadow united with richness of +local color. In all the other works of Tintoret, and much +more of other colorists, either the light and shade or the local +color is predominant; in the one case the picture has a tendency +to look as if painted by candle-light, in the other it becomes +daringly conventional, and approaches the conditions of +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page370"></a>370</span> +glass-painting. This picture unites color as rich as Titian’s +with light and shade as forcible as Rembrandt’s, and far more +decisive.</p> + +<p class="i1">There are one or two other interesting pictures of the early +Venetian schools in this sacristy, and several important tombs +in the adjoining cloister; among which that of Francesco +Dandolo, transported here from the Church of the Frari, deserves +especial attention. See above, p. 74.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Salvatore, Church of St.</span> Base Renaissance, occupying the +place of the ancient church, under the porch of which the +Pope Alexander III. is said to have passed the night. M. +Lazari states it to have been richly decorated with mosaics; +now all is gone.</p> + +<p class="i1">In the interior of the church are some of the best examples +of Renaissance sculptural monuments in Venice. (See above, +<a href="#chap_2">Chap. II.</a> § <span class="sc">LXXX.</span>) It is said to possess an important pala of +silver, of the thirteenth century, one of the objects in Venice +which I much regret having forgotten to examine; besides +two Titians, a Bonifazio, and a John Bellini. The latter +(“The Supper at Emmaus”) must, I think, have been entirely +repainted: it is not only unworthy of the master, but unlike +him; as far, at least, as I could see from below, for it is hung +high.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Sanudo Palazzo.</span> At the Miracoli. A noble Gothic palace of +the fourteenth century, with Byzantine fragments and cornices +built into its walls, especially round the interior court, in +which the staircase is very noble. Its door, opening on the +quay, is the only one in Venice entirely uninjured; retaining +its wooden valve richly sculptured, its wicket for examination +of the stranger demanding admittance, and its quaint knocker +in the form of a fish.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Scalzi, Church of the.</span> It possesses a fine John Bellini, and +is renowned through Venice for its precious marbles. I omitted +to notice above, in speaking of the buildings of the Grotesque +Renaissance, that many of them are remarkable for a kind of +dishonesty, even in the use of <i>true</i> marbles, resulting not from +motives of economy, but from mere love of juggling and falsehood +for their own sake. I hardly know which condition of +mind is meanest, that which has pride in plaster made to look +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page371"></a>371</span> +like marble, or that which takes delight in marble made to +look like silk. Several of the later churches in Venice, more +especially those of the Jesuiti, of San Clemente, and this of +the Scalzi, rest their chief claims to admiration on their having +curtains and cushions cut out of rock. The most ridiculous +example is in San Clemente, and the most curious and +costly are in the Scalzi; which latter church is a perfect type +of the vulgar abuse of marble in every possible way, by men +who had no eye for color, and no understanding of any merit +in a work of art but that which arises from costliness of material, +and such powers of imitation as are devoted in England +to the manufacture of peaches and eggs out of Derbyshire +spar.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Sebastian, Church of St.</span> The tomb, and of old the monument, +of Paul Veronese. It is full of his noblest pictures, or +of what once were such; but they seemed to me for the most +part destroyed by repainting. I had not time to examine them +justly, but I would especially direct the traveller’s attention to +the small Madonna over the second altar on the right of the +nave, still a perfect and priceless treasure.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Servi, Church of the.</span> Only two of its gates and some ruined +walls are left, in one of the foulest districts of the city. It was +one of the most interesting monuments of the early fourteenth +century Gothic; and there is much beauty in the fragments +yet remaining. How long they may stand I know not, the +whole building having been offered me for sale, ground and +all, or stone by stone, as I chose, by its present proprietor, +when I was last in Venice. More real good might at present +be effected by any wealthy person who would devote his resources +to the preservation of such monuments wherever +they exist, by freehold purchase of the entire ruin, and afterwards +by taking proper charge of it, and forming a garden +round it, than by any other mode of protecting or encouraging +art. There is no school, no lecturer, like a ruin of the early +ages.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Severo, Fondamenta San</span>, palace at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page264">II. 264</a>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Silvestro, Church of St.</span> Of no importance in itself, but it +contains two very interesting pictures: the first, a “St. +Thomas of Canterbury with the Baptist and St. Francis,” by +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page372"></a>372</span> +Girolamo Santa Croce, a superb example of the Venetian religious +school; the second by Tintoret, namely:</p> + +<p class="i1"><i>The Baptism of Christ.</i> (Over the first altar on the right +of the nave.) An upright picture, some ten feet wide by +fifteen high; the top of it is arched, representing the Father +supported by angels. It requires little knowledge of Tintoret +to see that these figures are not by his hand. By returning +to the opposite side of the nave, the join in the canvas may be +plainly seen, the upper part of the picture having been entirely +added on: whether it had this upper part before it was repainted, +or whether originally square, cannot now be told, but +I believe it had an upper part which has been destroyed. I +am not sure if even the dove and the two angels which are at +the top of the older part of the picture are quite genuine. +The rest of it is magnificent, though both the figures of the +Saviour and the Baptist show some concession on the part of +the painter to the imperative requirement of his age, that +nothing should be done except in an attitude; neither are there +any of his usual fantastic imaginations. There is simply the +Christ in the water and the St. John on the shore, without +attendants, disciples, or witnesses of any kind; but the power +of the light and shade, and the splendor of the landscape, +which on the whole is well preserved, render it a most interesting +example. The Jordan is represented as a mountain brook, +receiving a tributary stream in a cascade from the rocks, in +which St. John stands: there is a rounded stone in the centre +of the current; and the parting of the water at this, as well as +its rippling among the roots of some dark trees on the left, are +among the most accurate remembrances of nature to be found +in any of the works of the great masters. I hardly know +whether most to wonder at the power of the man who thus +broke through the neglect of nature which was universal at +his time; or at the evidences, visible throughout the whole of +the conception, that he was still content to paint from slight +memories of what he had seen in hill countries, instead of following +out to its full depth the fountain which he had opened. +There is not a stream among the hills of Priuli which in any +quarter of a mile of its course would not have suggested to him +finer forms of cascade than those which he has idly painted at +Venice.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page373"></a>373</span></p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Simeone, Profeta, Church of St.</span> Very important, though +small, possessing the precious statue of St. Simeon, above +noticed, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page309">II. 309</a>. The rare early Gothic capitals of the nave +are only interesting to the architect; but in the little passage +by the side of the church, leading out of the Campo, there is +a curious Gothic monument built into the wall, very beautiful +in the placing of the angels in the spandrils, and rich in the +vine-leaf moulding above.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Simeone, Piccolo, Church of St.</span> One of the ugliest churches +in Venice or elsewhere. Its black dome, like an unusual +species of gasometer, is the admiration of modern Italian +architects.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Sospiri, Ponte de’.</span> The well known “Bridge of Sighs,” a +work of no merit, and of a late period (see Vol. II. p. <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page304">304</a>), +owing the interest it possesses chiefly to its pretty name, and +to the ignorant sentimentalism of Byron.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Spirito Santo, Church of the.</span> Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Stefano, Church of St.</span> An interesting building of central +Gothic, the best ecclesiastical example of it in Venice. The +west entrance is much later than any of the rest, and is of the +richest Renaissance Gothic, a little anterior to the Porta della +Carta, and first-rate of its kind. The manner of the introduction +of the figure of the angel at the top of the arch is full +of beauty. Note the extravagant crockets and cusp finials as +signs of decline.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Stefano, Church of St.</span>, at Murano (pugnacity of its abbot), +II. 33. The church no longer exists.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Strope, Campiello della</span>, house in, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page266">II. 266</a>.</p> + + +<h5>T</h5> + + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Tana</span>, windows at the, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page260">II. 260</a>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Tiepolo, Palazzo</span>, on the Grand Canal. Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Tolentini, Church of the.</span> One of the basest and coldest +works of the late Renaissance. It is said to contain two Bonifazios.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Toma, Church of St.</span> Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Toma, Ponte San.</span> There is an interesting ancient doorway +opening on the canal close to this bridge, probably of the +twelfth century, and a good early Gothic door, opening upon +the bridge itself.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page374"></a>374</span></p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Torcello</span>, general aspect of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page012">II. 12</a>; Santa Fosca at, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page117">I. 117</a>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page013">II. +13</a>; duomo, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page014">II. 14</a>; mosaics of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page196">II. 196</a>; measures of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page378">II. 378</a>; +date of, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30755/30755-h/30755-h.htm#page380">II. 380</a>.</p> +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Trevisan, Palazzo</span>, <a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30754/30754-h/30754-h.htm#page369">I. 369</a>, <a href="#page212">III. 212</a>.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Tron, Palazzo.</span> Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Trovaso, Church of St.</span> Itself of no importance, but containing +two pictures by Tintoret, namely:</p> + +<p class="i1">1. <i>The Temptation of St. Anthony.</i> (Altar piece in the +chapel on the left of the choir.) A small and very carefully +finished picture, but marvellously temperate and quiet in +treatment, especially considering the subject, which one would +have imagined likely to inspire the painter with one of his +most fantastic visions. As if on purpose to disappoint us, both +the effect, and the conception of the figures, are perfectly +quiet, and appear the result much more of careful study than +of vigorous imagination. The effect is one of plain daylight; +there are a few clouds drifting in the distance, but with no +wildness in them, nor is there any energy or heat in the flames +which mantle about the waist of one of the figures. But for +the noble workmanship, we might almost fancy it the production +of a modern academy; yet as we begin to read the picture, +the painter’s mind becomes felt. St. Anthony is surrounded +by four figures, one of which only has the form of a demon, +and he is in the background, engaged in no more terrific act +of violence toward St. Anthony, than endeavoring to pull off +his mantle; he has, however, a scourge over his shoulder, but +this is probably intended for St. Anthony’s weapon of self-discipline, +which the fiend, with a very Protestant turn of +mind, is carrying off. A broken staff, with a bell hanging to +it, at the saint’s feet, also expresses his interrupted devotion. +The three other figures beside him are bent on more cunning +mischief: the woman on the left is one of Tintoret’s best portraits +of a young and bright-eyed Venetian beauty. It is +curious that he has given so attractive a countenance to a type +apparently of the temptation to violate the power of poverty, +for this woman places one hand in a vase full of coins, and +shakes golden chains with the other. On the opposite side of +the saint, another woman, admirably painted, but of a far less +attractive countenance, is a type of the lusts of the flesh, yet +<span class="pagenum"><a name="page375"></a>375</span> +there is nothing gross or immodest in her dress or gesture. +She appears to have been baffled, and for the present to have +given up addressing the saint: she lays one hand upon her +breast, and might be taken for a very respectable person, but +that there are flames playing about her loins. A recumbent +figure on the ground is of less intelligible character, but may +perhaps be meant for Indolence; at all events, he has torn the +saint’s book to pieces. I forgot to note, that under the figure +representing Avarice, there is a creature like a pig; whether +actual pig or not is unascertainable, for the church is dark, +the little light that comes on the picture falls on it the wrong +way, and one third of the lower part of it is hidden by a white +case, containing a modern daub, lately painted by way of an +altar piece; the meaning, as well as the merit, of the grand +old picture being now far beyond the comprehension both of +priests and people.</p> + +<p class="i1">2. <i>The Last Supper.</i> (On the left-hand side of the Chapel +of the Sacrament.) A picture which has been through the +hands of the Academy, and is therefore now hardly worth +notice. Its conception seems always to have been vulgar, and +far below Tintoret’s usual standard; there is singular baseness +in the circumstance, that one of the near Apostles, while all +the others are, as usual, intent upon Christ’s words, “One of +you shall betray me,” is going to help himself to wine out of +a bottle which stands behind him. In so doing he stoops towards +the table, the flask being on the floor. If intended for +the action of Judas at this moment, there is the painter’s +usual originality in the thought; but it seems to me rather +done to obtain variation of posture, in bringing the red dress +into strong contrast with the tablecloth. The color has once +been fine, and there are fragments of good painting still left; +but the light does not permit these to be seen, and there is too +much perfect work of the master’s in Venice, to permit us to +spend time on retouched remnants. The picture is only +worth mentioning, because it is ignorantly and ridiculously +referred to by Kugler as characteristic of Tintoret.</p> + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page376"></a>376</span></p> + +<h5>V</h5> + + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Vitali, Church of St.</span> Said to contain a picture by Vittor +Carpaccio, over the high altar: otherwise of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Volto Santo, Church of the.</span> An interesting but desecrated +ruin of the fourteenth century; fine in style. Its roof retains +some fresco coloring, but, as far as I recollect, of later date +than the architecture.</p> + + +<h5>Z</h5> + + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Zaccaria, Church of St.</span> Early Renaissance, and fine of its +kind; a Gothic chapel attached to it is of great beauty. It +contains the best John Bellini in Venice, after that of San +G. Grisostomo, “The Virgin, with Four Saints;” and is said +to contain another John Bellini and a Tintoret, neither of +which I have seen.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Zitelle, Church of the.</span> Of no importance.</p> + +<p class="i"><span class="sc">Zobenigo, Church of Santa Maria</span>, <a href="#page124">III. 124</a>. It contains +one valuable Tintoret, namely:</p> + +<p class="i1"><i>Christ with Sta. Justina and St. Augustin.</i> (Over the +third altar on the south side of the nave.) A picture of small +size, and upright, about ten feet by eight. Christ appears to +be descending out of the clouds between the two saints, who +are both kneeling on the sea shore. It is a Venetian sea, +breaking on a flat beach, like the Lido, with a scarlet galley in +the middle distance, of which the chief use is to unite the two +figures by a point of color. Both the saints are respectable +Venetians of the lower class, in homely dresses and with +homely faces. The whole picture is quietly painted, and +somewhat slightly; free from all extravagance, and displaying +little power except in the general truth or harmony of colors +so easily laid on. It is better preserved than usual, and worth +dwelling upon as an instance of the style of the master when +<i>at rest</i>.</p> + + +<hr class="foot" /> +<div class="note"> + +<p><a name="Footnote_71" href="#FnAnchor_71"><span class="fn">71</span></a></p> + +<table class="reg" summary="poem"><tr><td> +<div class="poem"> +<p class="ind05">“Am I in Italy? Is this the Mincius?</p> +<p>Are those the distant turrets of Verona?</p> +<p>And shall I sup where Juliet at the Masque</p> +<p>Saw her loved Montague, and now sleeps by him?</p> +<p>Such questions hourly do I ask myself;</p> +<p>And not a stone in a crossway inscribed</p> +<p>‘To Mantua,’ ‘To Ferrara,’ but excites</p> +<p>Surprise, and doubt, and self-congratulation.”</p> +</div> +</td></tr></table> + +<p>Alas, after a few short months, spent even in the scenes dearest to history, +we can feel thus no more.</p> + +<p><a name="Footnote_72" href="#FnAnchor_72"><span class="fn">72</span></a> I have always called this church, in the text, simply “St. John and +Paul,” not Sts. John and Paul, just as the Venetians say San Giovanni e +Paolo, and not Santi G., &c.</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 third volume of three.<br /> </p> + +<p>The index is in this volume, 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. Create a directory (folder) named whatever you like (e.g., StonesVenice). +(The name of this directory (folder) is not critical, but the inner +folders <b>must</b> be named as listed below, or the links between +volumes will <i>not</i> work).<br /> </p> + +<p> +2. 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