This short notice of some of the more important Romanesque and Byzantine

remains enables me to make a few general deductions: (1.) These

buildings were always of two stages in height. (2.) They had the

entrance in the centre, and had generally a distinction between the

centre and the wings. (3.) The capitals were generally Byzantine in

character, but often copied from Corinthian. (4.) They were of brick,

but generally veneered with thin slabs of marble. (5.) They were

enriched with circular, square, and arched medallions inclosing carving

of foliage and animals, and frequently of coupled birds or animals

regarding each other,--a device always indicative of an early date and

an Eastern origin; and (6.) The string-courses were generally carved

either with continuous running foliage, or with leaves arranged in

threes; the centre turning over, the side leaves extended flatwise, and

upward. This last string-course is exactly copied from Sta. Fosca,

Torcello, and is carved all round S. Mark’s inside; whilst the former,

though it is Byzantine in origin, is carried round the wall of the Ducal

Palace between the south-east angle and the Bridge of Sighs. The

illustration of a Byzantine cistern from the centre of a courtyard which

I give, is useful as shewing very clearly the character of the carved

foliage which adorns the string-courses and panels of these Byzantine

buildings. This is always effectively carved with deep cuttings, which

produce bright and sparkling effects of light and shade.

One especial fault of the Venetians seems to have been their proneness

to repeat the same architectural idea an infinite number of times; and

there is something in this so characteristic of the place and the

people, that the reason for it is worthy of some consideration. Venice,

surrounded by water, and cut off from that kind of emulation which in

other places always has the effect of producing life and change very

rapidly in the phases of art, seems to have contented herself, when once

she had well done, with the conviction that improvement was either

impossible or unnecessary, and so, whilst changes were going on in the

mainland, to have rested satisfied with a slight alteration only, and

that one of detail always, for centuries; and it is thus that I account

for the singular sameness which characterized all the efforts of her

Gothic artists. The façade of the Ducal Palace is really precisely the

same in its idea as that of the Fondaco de’ Turchi or the Ca’ Loredan,

altered only in detail--its very beautiful traceries taking the place

of, but doing the same work as, the simple encrusted arcades of its

predecessors. And again, in the fronts of other and much smaller

palaces--indeed, in all the fronts of the Gothic period--it is singular

how exactly the same idea in the general arrangement is always

preserved. Let me describe an ordinary palace. It is divided into three

or four stories in height, the several stages being generally separated

by string-courses. The lower story opens, by an arched doorway in the

centre, to the water; and on either side of this doorway a few small

windows serve to light the basement. The second stage has a grand window

of some five or six lights, divided by shafts of marble, and rich with

tracery, in the centre; and on either side, one or two single lights,

with tracery corresponding with--and often, as it were, cut out in a

slice from--the traceries of the central window. The third stage is

nearly a reproduction of the second, though sometimes slightly less

important; and the upper stage is either again a repetition of the

others, or else consists of a few small windows placed over the others,

and very unimportant and unpretending. The whole is crowned by a

slightly projecting eaves-cornice, generally very meagre in its

character, and with a line of genuine dog-tooth ornament on its lower

edge. Above this, probably--for only one or two examples remain at all

in their original state--was a parapet like those which still in part

remain on the Ca’ d’Oro, at the back of the Ca’ Foscari, and on the

Ducal Palace, light and fantastic to a degree, and almost masking the

flat roof behind.

Such, as will be seen by the views with which, I doubt not, almost all

my readers must be familiar, is the general idea of the Gothic palaces

in Venice, and it admits of very slight modification. Occasionally, as

in the Ca’ d’Oro, the windows are inclosed within a square line of

delicate moulding, the space within which is encrusted with marble, and

entirely distinct from the string-courses, so as to give very much the

impression of a plain wall veneered here and there with a window; or,

again, sometimes the whole central division of the first and second

stories is veneered on to a façade in which the other windows are

treated constructionally but in all cases from first to last (except, as

we shall see, in the Ducal Palace, and for this exception there is some

explanation in its vast size and other reasons), the distinction between

the centre and the wings was never lost sight of, and never forgotten.

This was the great idea of all these buildings, and most perseveringly

was it reproduced down to the last, when, gradually losing even the life

which beautiful detail had once lent, it sank through successive stages,

until at last, easily and well-nigh imperceptibly, it succumbed, without

a struggle, to the rise of the Renaissance feeling, giving only in

revenge to its successor, the curse of an obligation still to go on

building to the last, for whatever want or on whatever occasion, with

the conviction that a centre and two wings must ever be necessary to a

grand façade. It so happens that, in addition to the large and purely

Byzantine palaces in which this arrangement is preserved,--in a delicate

manner, it is true,--there still remains one remarkable example of the

period of transition from Byzantine to Gothic, in a house which forms

one side of the Corte del Remer (facing the Grand Canal just above the

spot where it is spanned by the Rialto), which serves to shew clearly

the first attempt at translation of this Byzantine idea into Gothic.

In the principal story of this house the central feature is the entrance

doorway, whose finely ornamented arch of markedly horseshoe outline is

very conspicuous. On either side of this, and connected with it in one

group, are two windows divided by shafts and with arches of very

singular shape; it is as though a stilted semicircular arch had been

suddenly turned up in the centre, not with the graceful ogee curve of

later days, but with simple, hard, straight lines. Beyond these windows,

one of later date, but probably inserted in the place of the original

window, completes the similarity which the arrangement of the openings

in this house bears to that common in all the later Gothic palaces. The

arches which support the staircase in front of this house are entirely

executed in brick, and are probably later in date than the house itself,

though it is noticeable that they are of a very early and pure type, and

that here, as generally throughout the North of Italy, the pointed arch

was first used in construction, and then, some time after its first

introduction, and very generally in some modified form, for

ornamentation also.

And now, having so far cleared the way, let me ask my readers to go with

me to the Ducal Palace, and there undertake a somewhat careful

examination of its very famous design.

I shall not enter into a general description of the entire building,

because, as this has undergone prodigious alterations since its first

erection, it is unnecessary to do much more than refer to the two

fronts, which still retain, nearly without alteration, their mediæval

design, and to those portions only of the interior and courtyard which

have not been altered.

[Illustration: 27.--CORTE DEL REMER, VENICE. Page 196.]

The whole building forms three sides of a hollow square: one side rises

out of the deep recesses of the Rio del Palazzo, spanned near its outlet

by the famous Bridge of Sighs, and is entirely of Renaissance work; the

next side, rising from the Riva dei Schiavoni, faces the Giudecca, and

is of the purest Venetian Gothic; and the third, facing the Piazzetta di

San Marco--the small square which connects S. Mark’s with the water--is

also Gothic, and of the same type. The back or north side of the palace

abuts upon S. Mark’s.

I cannot pretend to decide at all absolutely upon the vexed question of

the dates of the mediæval portions, because, as the reader will find in

an interesting discussion on the subject in the second volume of Mr.

Ruskin’s ‘Stones of Venice,’ it is a source of hot disputes. But the

following appear to me to be the main points.

The Ducal Palace was burnt in 1105, restored in 1116, and rebuilt in

1173-1177. The two columns on the Piazzetta were brought to Venice in

1172, about which time the two Piazze were formed. Between this date and

1301, nothing is recorded to have been done to the palace. But even at

this date it was a grand building, and is described in 1275 by Maestro

Martino da Canale as “Grande e bellissimo a maraviglia.”[44] He was

equally enthusiastic about the church of “Monsignore San Marco,” and of

his campanile, “so great and so high that one cannot find its equal.”

Sivos in his chronicle (A.D. 1621) says that the Sala Grande was

commenced in 1301, and completed in 1310, at which date the Grand

Council consisted of nine hundred members; and one Pietro Baseggio is

said to have been the architect between 1309 and 1361; he was succeeded

or assisted by Filippo Calandario, and both of them, according to

Zanotto, were described as being architects, sculptors, and

navigators![45] Calandario had raised himself from the humble post of

shipbuilder at Murano, to that of Capo Maestro of the Ducal Palace, a

man of great weight in the city, but finally finished his career only

too much in accordance with custom, being convicted as one of Marino

Falieri’s fellow-conspirators, and hung from the balcony of the Ducal

Palace in A.D. 1355.

On the 28th of December, 1340, a decree was issued ordering the

construction of a staircase on the east side of the palace to lead to

the new rooms, which seems to establish the fact that at this date a

considerable portion at any rate of the second stage was built. The

plague visited Venice in 1359 and 1361, and stopped all work. In 1362,

because the unfinished work was going to ruin, the Council determined to

complete the new hall; and in 1365, this being done, Guariento of Padua

began to paint it, in the time of the Doge Mario Cornaro.[46]

The capital next the south-west angle of the lower stage bears a date

which appears to some[47] to be 1344 (as to which I have never been able

to satisfy myself), and long afterwards we find the date, 1404, on the

large window of the highest story of the sea-front. Finally, in 1419,

there was a great fire which damaged the old portion of the building, so

much that a decree was passed to rebuild it in conformity with the rest,

and this work was completed in 1423, when the council sat in their great

council chamber for the first time; and in 1439-41 the last Gothic work

was added to the palace by the Doge Foscari, viz. the Porta della Carta,

built (as appears by their contract) by Giovanni and Bartolomeo Bons,

between the years 1438 and 1443, in the small space which intervenes

between the north-west angle of the Ducal Palace and the south side of

S. Mark’s. All these dates are important, and I believe undisputed, the

only question being as to which parts of the building they refer to.

And now, before I say more about dates, let me describe these two Gothic

fronts--the sea-front and the Piazzetta-front--and then we may perhaps

see our way to some sort of comprehension of the relative ages of the

various portions of the fabric.

The whole design is divided into three stages in height, the upper

nearly equal to the united height of the two lower stages, and faced

entirely with a delicate diaper of marble cut in small oblong pieces,

which look, save in their texture and colour, only too much like bricks.

In this marble-faced wall are pierced a number of windows with pointed

arches--the tracery of which has been taken out--and in or near the

centre of each façade a much larger window and balcony, which look as

though they had been subsequently inserted. The lowest stage consists of

a long and uniform arcade of very simple pointed arches resting upon

circular columns with elaborately carved caps; these have been shortened

by some twenty inches of their old height, by the rise of the water, and

the consequent elevation of the pavement of the Riva, to the great

damage of their effect. The intermediate stage is a magnificent arcade,

supporting very vigorous tracery, too well known to everybody to require

much description, and divided from the stages above and below it by

large and pronounced lines of carved and moulded string-courses.

It is important to observe that up to the top of the second

string-course the whole of the architecture is of the very best kind of

Venetian pointed; the arches of the lowest stage are well proportioned,

and, though very simply, still well moulded; and the detail of the

whole of the second stage is, to say the least, not at all inferior.

They form together, without exception, I believe, from all I have either

seen myself or heard, the very best and truest specimen of Gothic

architecture south of the Alps.

Above this noble work the third stage comes, and I confess, to my eye,

with patent marks in every stone of which it is composed, that it was

designed by some other hand than that which had been so successful

below. There is something quite chilling in the great waste of plain

unbroken wall coming above the extreme richness of the arcades which

support it; and moreover, this placing of the richer work below and the

plainer above is so contrary not only to all ordinary canons of

architecture, but just as much to the ordinary practice of the

Venetians, that I feel sure that the impression which I have had from my

first acquaintance with drawings of it is substantially correct, viz.

that the line at which alterations and additions have been made is to be

looked for rather in a horizontal than in a vertical direction; that in

all probability, consequently, the builder of A.D. 1301 commenced with

some portion of the sea-façade and gradually carried on the greater part

of the building to the height of the two stages as we now see them,

leaving his building finished in precisely the same way as the

corresponding halls at Padua and Vicenza--two stories in height, with

arcades covering the outer walls of the upper as well as of the lower

stage; and that when the Council Chamber was found to be too small, and

larger rooms were required, another architect suggested the advantage of

obtaining them by raising an immense story above the others, and,

without destroying much of his predecessor’s work, providing rooms on

the most magnificent scale for the Doge and his Council.

The assumption that the Piazzetta-front has been copied from the

sea-front involves a belief in a veneration for and exact imitation of

older work which is (to say the least) extraordinarily rare, if not

unique, in mediæval works. It involves a belief also in the possibility

of a spirited and successful copy being made of an old capital by a

mediæval sculptor without fresh thought or any fresh invention of any

kind. This will be seen if we examine the capitals of the lower stage of

the palace. Here at first sight one is struck by what appears to be the

astonishing variety of the capitals. They are nearly all adorned with

figures or subjects as well as with foliage, and are certainly in both

fronts of various degrees of merit; but on closer acquaintance it is

perceived that the variety of capitals is not so great as it seems, for

that several of those in each front are merely replicas of those in the

other. If any portion of the two lower stages had been built before the

rest, it would have been the whole of the sea-front and six arches of

the Piazzetta-front, for at the end of these there is a column equal in

size to those at the angles, and which might therefore by possibility

itself have been an angle column for a time. But its larger size may

also fairly be accounted for by the fact that it comes under the side

wall of the large building above, and was in any case therefore a

convenient arrangement if not quite a necessity; but the real difficulty

seems to me to be, that if there were any considerable difference in the

date of these works, all experience would lead one to expect that the

earlier works would be the most uniform and the best, whereas in point

of fact this is far from being the case. For instance, in the sea-front

there are various capitals which are of poor execution. These are,

counting from the south-east angle, the third (large and coarse heads),

the eighth (also coarse heads), the thirteenth (lions’ heads), the

fourteenth (beasts), and the fifteenth, which is certainly not so fine

as the replica in the Piazzetta-front (the twenty-sixth capital,

counting as before).[48]

The case for the contemporaneous erection of these two fronts becomes

even stronger if we ascend to the open gallery on the first floor and

examine the capitals there. They are all similar in general character;

and though they become gradually better as one goes from the south-east

to the north-west, they give the impression of all being of nearly one

date, and moreover they all appear to be later in date than the whole of

those in the lower stage.

On the other hand, there seem to be at least two points which make

strongly in favour of the later date which has been given to the twelve

northern arches of the Piazzetta-front. These are, first, that all the

eight capitals which are replicas are in this northern part of the

front, and none of them in the first six arches from the south-west

angle; and, secondly, that the plate armour in the sculpture above the

capital of the north-east angle (Judgment of Solomon) is later in date

than the period which I assume for this work, and later than the chain

mail shown in the third and eighth capitals of the sea-front. To the

first objection a sufficient answer is that some of the best of the

capitals to these twelve arches are of original design--not replicas;

and in reply to the last objection (which is of much force) the only,

but at the same time obvious reply is, that the Trajan capital, just

under this late armour, is one of the most beautiful of the entire

series, and that on the whole it is much more likely that some of the

sculpture was left in block and finished later, than that no difference

should be made in any of the mouldings or details of the work of two

periods. There is indeed some, though not very strong, evidence that the

sculpture of this capital is not earlier than about 1423. There is,

according to Zanotto, an inscription on it, “╋ Duo Soci

Florentini incise,” and he argues from the use of this last word, that

the two men were the same who made the monument to the Doge Tommaso

Mocenigo in 1423, in which, according to Sansovino, they used the same

unusual term “inciserunt;” this interpretation of the inscription is the

more allowable in that, as I have said, the details of armour in

themselves suggest a date not much earlier than this for the sculpture

connected with it on the angle just above the cap. This date of course

brings this work to very nearly the same period as that of the execution

of the Porta della Carta, and it has been assumed by some that these

capitals were the work of the Bons who built it. Such an assertion is as

wild as that of M. Didron, who says something as to their belonging to

the thirteenth century, for the very shortest inspection of the Porta

della Carta would convince the most sceptical that no part of the

capitals could have been executed by any of the men who wrought at it.

In comparing the merits of the carvers of the earliest and the latest

capitals, it is due to the latter to say that one of the finest of the

whole series is this Trajan capital at the north-west angle, and there

is no internal evidence in it which could lead one to suppose it to be

the work of a man who would ever condescend to copy another’s work.

No one can examine the building without seeing that there is not only in

the detail, but equally in the general design, a marked difference

between the two lower stages and the upper stage. In place of the

extreme boldness which marks every part of the former, we see mouldings

reduced in the latter to the smallest and meanest section possible; the

windows of the upper stage are badly designed, whilst the traceries of

the second stage are as fine as they can possibly be; the angle-shafts

of the upper stage are of the latest type, elaborately twisted and

violently defined, instead of being merely delicate roundings off of the

hard line of wall, as all the early Venetian angle-shafts are; the

parapet, too, is not equal in its design to any of the lower work, and

crowns with an insignificant grotesqueness the noble symmetry of the two

lower arcades; and finally, the chequer-work of marble which forms the

whole of the upper wall is a mode of construction which I have not seen

in any early work, though it is seen in the Porta della Carta (A.D.

1429), and in one other late work, the Palazzo in the Campo Sta. Maria

Mater Domini.[49]

Looking at all the circumstances of the case, I think the fairest

explanation of them is, that the whole sea-front and the six arches of

the Piazzetta (columns 1 to 24 on the plan) were first built, that the

extension to the north (columns 25 to 36 on plan) was then immediately

undertaken by the same artists, and finally that the whole upper story

was built and the sculpture of its capitals completed before 1423. The

capitals of the lower arcade were probably sculptured by degrees, and

certainly not by one hand, between the years 1310 and 1361.

There is a confirmation to some extent of this view in a MS. in the

Bodleian Library of the fourteenth century (the Romance of Alexander),

which contains a curious contemporary view of Venice. This drawing has

been engraved at p. 26 of the second volume of the ‘Domestic

Architecture of the Middle Ages;’[50] here it will be seen, with the

usual amount of licence which characterizes most mediæval

[Illustration: 28--VENICE IN THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY.

From the Romance of Alexander.

Page 204.]

representations of places or towns, that it has nevertheless been

intended as an absolute representation of what its draughtsman had seen.

The columns with S. Theodore and the lion of S. Mark on their capitals,

the bronze horses and the domes of S. Mark’s, the position by the

waterside, and the representation of the Ponte di Paglia, are all proofs

of this; but the important point for my present purpose is, that he drew

the Ducal Palace as _a building of two stories in height_--the first a

simple arcade, the second an arcade with tracery. In the distance behind

this, his drawing shews a picturesque assemblage of buildings, whilst

figures are represented behind the upper arcade as though it were only a

kind of immense balcony. There can be no doubt whatever that this old

drawing tells in favour of the view that the upper stage was not built

until after a considerable interval; for it is almost impossible--looking

at the way in which the rest of the drawing is made--to believe that all

reference to it would have been omitted, had it been in existence at the

time the artist saw it.

It will be seen that my supposition that the original design of the

Ducal Palace was of considerably less elevation than the present

building, would tend to make it very much more like the Byzantine type

than it is; but even now no one can dispute the family likeness. The

amount of constructive art is as nearly as possible the same. The weight

is supported by a succession of shafts placed at very short intervals

from each other, and in neither is there any approach to the system of

pier, arch, and buttress, so distinctive of Gothic art in the North of

Europe. The pointed arch is used, it is true, in the palace; but, after

all, the mere use of the pointed arch does not make thorough pointed

architecture, and therefore, interesting as it is as a variety of the

style, the Ducal Palace is, I think, not properly to be placed in the

first class of Gothic buildings. Indeed, the second stage, whose

exquisite beauty is the charm of the whole building, does not exhibit

the pointed arch at all in a properly developed form, and is strong

enough to support the great weight of wall above, only by reason of the

massy character of its tracery, and not by the proper application of

constructional arches. I have already said that there is no approach to

buttressing; but the angles require some help, and this is given partly

by increasing considerably the size of the shafts, and partly by iron

ties at the springing of the arches running for some distance in each

direction from the angles.

All the mouldings are very simple; they are generally composed of

three-quarter beads, small fillets, and large flat hollows, constantly

arranged in the same order. The label of the main arcade is a plain

bead. In the string-courses boldly-carved flowers are repeated with a

slight interval between each, and the upper string-course has a row of

nail-heads in one of its members. The cusping of the tracery is quite

square in its section, and the cusps finish with a square end, to which

is attached--and with good effect--a small circular ball of red marble.

The parapet is of the somewhat peculiar kind I have already mentioned,

and I confess I have never been long enough in Venice to accustom myself

to, or to admire, its extreme peculiarity of both outline and design.

And now before we leave this subject let me offer a remark, as every one

who writes on it must, on the admirable story of these sculptures. I

have never sat in front of one of them for any space of time without

seeing some wayfarer stop to study the story of some one of the

capitals. They are a book at which more thousands have looked with

pleasure for some five hundred years than at any other single book in

the world, with the one exception of the Bible. And the lesson to

architects is obvious. Concentrate your labour and your story on some

one part of your building where all men may read it; tell some simple

story and you will interest your readers, if you will but tell it so

simply that by good chance they may be able to read it. Lay out a scheme

so well that if you die your successor may carry it on. Here, as I

believe, the architect completed his two stages of arcades, whilst the

sculptor was changed, but kept generally to the scheme of subjects first

of all laid down. At the three exposed angles are the three archangels,

below them the moral lesson--as much wanted now as then--of the

Drunkenness of Noah, and the Story of Tobit (with S. Raphael); at

another angle The Fall (under S. Michael); and at the last the Judgment

of Solomon (under S. Gabriel). In the lower range of capitals the

stories and catalogues of virtues and vices; the illustrations of

fruits, animals, every-day life; the labours of the months, trades,

sciences, and arts--are all illustrated, and complete a cycle of

subjects which, ill-treated, would always have a certain value, and

which, well treated as most of them are here, have the very highest

charm.

For a building which owes its general impressiveness entirely to the

uniform character of its architecture, it is especially fortunate that

there should be so much also in the detail to attract and reward

constant and minute examination. It is for this reason that the range of

great capitals to the columns of the lower arcade is of so much

importance. They are so large, so close to the eye, so interesting in

their story, and on the whole so carefully and artistically executed, as

to afford the greater pleasure the more the building is known. The

key-plan to these capitals which I give[51] will be useful to shew what

the general arrangement of the subjects is. I have already shewn that

there are repetitions of many of the subjects, but it is equally worth

notice that the foliage which forms the framework for the subjects is

also repeated. There are, I think, only four varieties in its

arrangement. In the first the capitals are arranged very simply--in some

cases rudely--with tufts of foliage or heads. The capitals numbered 2,

3, 6, 13, 16, 20, 23, 27, and 34, are examples of this. In the next the

foliage of the lower part grows up vertically, bending slightly out to

support the sculptured subjects. These are generally the most graceful

of all, and infinitely richer in effect than the first class. The

capitals numbered 1, 7, 9, 12, 18, 24, 26, 28, 33, and 36, are examples

of these. In the third class the foliage is generally marked by the same

feeling, but it rises vertically to the angles, and curls over under the

subject; the 19th and 25th capitals are examples of this class. In the

fourth class the foliage curves over downwards, both at the angles and

under the subject. The neckings below the capitals are wrought on the

shaft itself. They are sometimes moulded, sometimes corded, and

sometimes delicately carved with foliage; these last are by very much

the more beautiful, and generally accompany the best wrought of the

capitals, whilst the inferior capitals have, in all cases, the plainer

necking.

The capitals in the upper arcade have not so much story as those below.

They have generally a head on each side in the midst of foliage, and are

square in plan, though the lower caps are octagonal--a few only have

their names written over them; but on the ground-story most of the

capitals have, or have had, explanatory inscriptions. Some of the upper

capitals close to the north-west angle are among the best. The curves of

the foliage in the angles of the capitals are admirably wrought, and may

be compared, to the damage of the latter, with some of the lower

capitals in the sea-front. The upper range of capitals gradually

deteriorates from the north-west angle as you go to the south-east.

These last are really very bad, having rude gross carving of the human

figure, and foliage feebly massed and treated; but the upper capital of

the south-west angle with the figures of the four winds, and the two or

three capitals near it, must be excepted from this remark, being superb

in design and execution.

The remains of original work in the quadrangle are much less important.

The arcade on the first floor remains, but none of its details are good,

and on the east side it is a poor Renaissance copy of the other sides.

The whole of the lower arcade has been destroyed or altered. But in the

upper walls, which are faced with brick, some of the original windows

remain; they are small, but of the same sort of detail and character as

the larger windows in the outer walls.

The building has lost much by the gradual raising of the pavement. This

is now about twenty inches above the old base of the columns, and their

proportions are so far altered for the worse. And it has lost immensely

also by the destruction of the inlaid marble which once filled all the

spandrels of the main arcade. Two panels only of these remain, and both

in the sea-front. They are charmingly designed, inclosing circles which

exactly touch the labels and strings.

Of the modern additions to this grand building I shall not say anything.

They are not beautiful in themselves nor interesting by reason of their

decorations, if I except those walls on which Tintoretto has lavished so

much of his skill. The architects of the fourteenth and fifteenth

centuries were artists in very deed, and it is with their work only that

I can feel any real sympathy.

Such, then, is the Ducal Palace: a building certainly in some respects

of almost unequalled beauty, but at the same time of unequal merit; its

first and second stages quite perfect in their bold nervous character,

and in the almost interminable succession of the same beautiful features

in shaft and arch and tracery, forming perhaps one of the grandest

proofs in the world of the exceeding value of perfect regularity and of

a repetition of good features in architecture, when it is possible to

obtain it on a very large scale.

Leaving the Piazzetta, and stepping into the gondola which has been

waiting for us hard by, let us now go in search of other palaces; but

let us not imagine that we are to see anything equal to the Ducal

Palace. There is, it appears to me, a great gap between it and all other

Venetian buildings; and yet all others seem to have been founded on it,

or on the buildings out of which it grew. Their traceries, seldom

absolutely alike, have still so much general similarity that at first

one may well fancy that there is no variety at all; and, as I have

before said, the general arrangement of their windows and doors is so

nearly identical, that this impression is the more likely to grow upon

the mind.

We will not attempt to take the buildings as they come; but rather as we

think of them, and to some extent in the order of their merit, let us

note down a few of the glories of the domestic work of Venice. And first

let us stop in this narrow canal, for we have by our side one of the

most exquisite little pieces of detail in the whole city. It is an

archway, simple and delicate in its proportions, lovely as it is simple,

and appropriately placed hard by the bridge called “del Paradiso.” I

trust that my sketch is clear enough to shew how pure and good the work

is. The main points to be noted are the characteristic flatness of the

details, and the line of dentil-moulding, which defines all the leading

architectural features, originally invented for borders of incrustations

at S. Mark’s, and here, as everywhere in Venice, used for decoration

afterwards. The incrusted circles of marble on each side of the figure

give great life to the spandrel beneath the arch, and the windows seen

behind shew us a late example of the not unfrequent

[Illustration: 29--ARCHWAY, PONTE DEL PARADISO, VENICE. Page 210]

use of the semicircular and ogee arches together in the same window.

Another precious fragment--the Palazzo San Giorgio, I believe--is

reached from the land side by passing under an arch somewhat similar to

that on the Ponte del Paradiso. This arch is turned between the upper

stories of two houses at the end of a _calle_ properly yclept “dell’

arco detto bon,” and is finished with a steep gable. Beyond it is seen a

fragment of wall veneered with marble, with the upper part of an early

two-light window, and two circular medallions; and above this a piece of

wall veneered in diamonds of red and white marble--so far as I know, a

unique example of such a treatment. The window-head is of that earliest

form of ogee, a circle just turned up to a point in the centre, which

has so manifestly an Eastern origin, and which must not be confounded in

date with our English ogee arches.

In another, and rather desolate, canal in the outskirts of the city,

wider than usual, and with a footpath at the side of the water, instead

of having the walls of the houses running down into it, and forming its

boundary, is the Palazzo Cicogna, which I remember gratefully because it

is one of the few exceptions to the general rule of regularity. The

whole design of this building is very irregular: a detached shaft at one

angle supports a portion of the house which overhangs and forms a sort

of open passage-way; to the right of this opening is a four-light

shafted window, and then a plain wall pierced with two windows, each of

a single ogee trefoiled light. The upper story has two single windows

over the others, whilst over the larger windows and the passage-way is a

large window conspicuous from its size and the peculiarity of its

tracery. It is of six lights divided by very good shafts, and properly

arched with pure and good trefoiled arches; above these, and inclosed

within the perpetual indented or billeted string-course, is a

complicated system of intersecting circles pierced at regular intervals

with quatrefoils. The section of this upper part is very much thinner

than that of the arches beneath. This window is in a most shaken and

decayed state, and not likely, I fear, to be long preserved. The whole

elevation is finished with a shallow cornice supported on corbels.

A doorway on the Ponte San Tomà is quite worthy of a visit. It has the

usual square opening of reddish marble, and above this is a pointed arch

of moulded brick; the tympanum is filled in with a square carved centre

panel, and the ground beyond this with quatrefoils of brick or tile very

prettily disposed, and quite deserving of illustration.

And now let us go back to the Grand Canal; we shall enter it by the side

of the Palazzo Foscari, which, with two other contiguous palaces,

occupies quite the post of honour at the bottom of the principal reach

of the canal, and commands the whole view of its noble and ever-busy way

to where the arch of the Rialto and another bend in the canal close in

the view. We will go a few strokes only towards the Rialto, and then

turn round to look at the palaces we have just passed. They certainly

form a most magnificent group, and are in every way worthy of their

conspicuous position. The palace at the junction of the two waters is

that of the Foscari; the others belonged, I believe, to two of the

Giustiniani family; and but a few yards up the canal, which runs by the

side of the former, is one of the smaller remnants of Byzantine work

already referred to. This group is so well known as scarcely to need any

description--suffice it to say, therefore, that throughout these palaces

the windows are shafted, and the glass is fixed in wooden frames behind

the stonework. This is beyond all doubt what we ought to do; it is the

only sensible and rational mode of adapting the system of traceried and

shafted windows for domestic purposes, and

[Illustration: 30. DOORWAY. PONTE S.TOMA. VENICE. p. 212.]

has here, as elsewhere, the prestige of ancient authority to recommend

it to the consideration of those amongst us who will do nothing without

it. I have enlarged on this point elsewhere, and will, therefore, say no

more upon it now, save that in Venice such a thing as an English monial

ordinarily is, was never known. Windows were invariably shafted from the

earliest period to the latest, and so far invariably of the highest

order, inasmuch as they admitted of the definite expression of the point

at which the monial terminated and the arch commenced, and inasmuch,

too, as the coloured surface of the detached marble shaft must ever be

far more lovely than the lines of tracery mouldings carried down even to

the sill.

The angle-shafts of the Palazzo Foscari have caps and bases in each

stage of the building; those of the other palaces continue up without

interruption.

The date of the smaller palaces, and probably of the large one also, is

very early in the fifteenth century; and the latter had, in 1574, the

honour of being the grandest palace that the Venetians could find in

which to lodge Henry III. of France. They are all three very similar in

their design. Their water-gates are pointed, and the windows in the

water-stage small and unimportant. The second stage is more important,

and has cusped ogee window-heads and balconies. The third stage is,

however, the _piano nobile_, all the windows having deep traceried heads

and large balconies. The fourth stage is very nearly like the first,

save that instead of balconies there is a delicate balustrading between

the shafts of the windows, which is very frequent in good Venetian work,

and always very pretty in its effect. All the windows in these three

palaces have ogee-heads generally finished with carved finials, and

inclosed within a square outline formed by the small dentilled moulding,

and giving what I have before had to refer to--to some extent the

effect of a panel with a window pierced in it, veneered on the front.

The Foscari Palace is the only one of these three that has any

string-courses. The arrangement of the windows--large in the centre and

smaller at the sides--is so nearly regular and of a sort of two-and-two

kind of uniformity, that one scarcely notices that nevertheless, when

internal arrangements make it necessary, a departure from this strict

rule is allowed.

The back entrance to the Foscari Palace is on the side canal. It is of

some interest as retaining, in a very perfect state, an example of a

very picturesque treatment in brick of the Venetian battlement. This

consists of a series of piers finished with a steep gabled outline, and

pierced with trefoiled openings. A good example of this sort of

battlement remained near the Fondaco de’ Turchi, and deserves

illustration. It is quite a Venetian invention, and errs on the side of

quaintness.

[Illustration: BRICK BATTLEMENT--VENICE.]

In a small courtyard, desolate and dreary, reached after crossing the

Ponte di Paglia and one or two other bridges on the Riva dei Schiavoni,

is the Palazzo Badoer, a fourteenth-century palace, the ogeed arches of

the windows in which are more than usually good; whilst the beauty of

the central window, inclosed within a square line of moulding, within

which the wall is incrusted with marble relieved by medallions, is very

great. The structure of this, as of most Venetian palaces, is brick

which has been frescoed; but it is now in a very lamentable state of

decay. The balconies of the lower windows are clearly modern, but there

is a trace of the original balustrade between the shafts of the windows

in the second stage; and in front of the side-lights to the upper window

is a grille of iron-work taking the place of a balcony, and composed of

a combination of quatrefoils. The arrangement of the windows in this

front is not absolutely regular, but still the centre is very marked;

and though it is of early date, the true use of the arch nowhere

appears. The usual[52] dog-tooth cornice finishes the walls under the

eaves. In the courtyard of this house are two of the wells which give so

much character to all the courts in Venice. They appear generally to be

of early date, and look, frequently, like the capitals of large columns,

taken down and placed upon the ground. Those in front of the Palazzo

Badoer are perhaps more like fonts.

Another palace, also said to belong to one of the Badoer family, placed

at the junction of two canals very near the Scuola di San Giorgio and

the Greek Church, is remarkable as being now one of the very few houses

in which the red brick walls are still in their original state, and not

defiled by compo, paint, or whitewash. This house has three fronts, with

one old doorway on the canal, and two on the land. The back facing the

Campo San Severo has an unusually fine and lofty entrance, a square

doorway with a pointed arch above (which I suppose once held tracery),

and a group of five windows with circles or disks of marble in their

spandrels above. Amongst other things it is remarkable as an instance

of the way in which windows were sometimes placed absolutely at the very

angles of the building. Judging by the similarity of its tracery to that

above the Porta della Carta in the Ducal Palace, this angle window must

date from about 1400 to 1430. It has a very bold shaft at the angle,

whilst the jambs have pilasters ornamented at their angles by a twisted

cord-like moulding, which is frequently met with in the later work.

There is a small angle-shaft elaborately twisted just above this window,

and very much like the angle-shafts of the Ducal Palace.

The composition of the main window in the front of this house is, I

think, very striking. The lower window of four lights (one of which is

larger and loftier than the others--a curious instance of the junction

of regularity with irregularity), and whose arches are ogee trefoils, is

surmounted by another window of four lights, with delicate balustrading

between the shafts; and on each side of this upper window, and forming

part of the composition, is a single light, with projecting balcony. The

effect of the whole arrangement is pleasing, and is frequently repeated

in other palaces. The marble incrustation over this window is very much

like that in the other Palazzo Badoer; and from the centre of the

medallions of marble small balls of marble project, fixed with metal,

and giving great life and beauty to the medallions, and I think without

any sacrifice of truth. The main fabric of this building must be of the

latter part of the fourteenth century--the arches of the principal

window being of a very excellent though simple type. Venetian balconies,

of which this palace affords such good examples, are very beautiful and

very characteristic. Nowhere else are they seen in such perfection;

nowhere else, perhaps, were they ever so absolutely necessary. The

palaces rose out of the dark water which washed against their

foundations, and no ground

[Illustration: 31.--ANGLE WINDOW, VENICE. Page 216.]

[Illustration: BALCONY--VENICE.]

could be given up for shady arcades as in other Italian cities, nor were

there any paths to be strolled along; the only resource was, therefore,

to gain from the air that which the land could not afford, and by

projections in front of the windows to obtain that power of enjoying the

delicious evening atmosphere, so cool and pleasant after the fatigues of

the too sultry day. These balconies are almost always very similar,

consisting of a number of delicate shafts with carved capitals,

supporting a piece of stone whose under side is notched up in a series

of trefoils (generally ogee), resting upon the capitals of the shafts.

These are divided occasionally by pilasters, under which are corbels

jutting out boldly to support their weight; and above which sit,

generally, quietly and placidly eyeing the gondolas as they shoot

silently by, small lions, dogs, or other animals--a quaint finish which

one soon learns to like; their angles are often marked by corded

mouldings, and the edges of their floors and copings are almost always

moulded and specked with the perpetual notchings of the nail-head, and

their under sides or soffeits are frequently carved or panelled.

There was great variety in the planning of these balconies. In the

Palazzo Persico, for instance, in which the central windows of the

second and third stages form one great panel, the lower balcony is

continuous across all four lights of the window, whilst the outer lights

only of the upper window have balconies, the two middle lights having

instead a balustrade between their shafts. In other cases the balconies

extend to four lights only of a six-light window, whilst in most they

are confined to the central windows, to which they give much additional

dignity. The Ca’ Fasan affords an almost solitary example[53] of tracery

in a balcony; and the effect of this is so vastly inferior to the usual

shafted balconies, that it seems scarcely necessary to pause to consider

why it should be so. Obviously, however, it is not very convenient to

have the fretful points of cusps and traceries set, as it were, to catch

every projection or point of your dress whenever you lean over the edge

of the balcony to inhale the fresh air or scan the busy scene below.

In the Casa Persico, to which reference has already been made, the

central window is an elaborate composition of the same kind; but the

lower one is of more importance, and has a continuous balcony; and here

I may notice the finials with which the ogee arches of Venetian windows

are so often finished. They appeared to me to be invariably tasteless

and poor in execution, and very mean in their outline. I did not see one

finial in Venice which was satisfying, even when found in conjunction

with otherwise fine work; and I used to wish heartily, when I reached

some palace not before seen, that I might find its arches finished

without them. There was some reason for the wish, too, in the fact that

it is in the later work that these tasteless ornaments are commonest. I

saw them first at Verona, and lamented over them there, but at Venice I

was positively annoyed by the persevering and endless thrusting of their

poverty and badness upon my wearied eyes.

And now let us go again into the Grand Canal, and we shall not have gone

very far up the broad water above the Rialto before we shall find, on

our right hand, one of the most striking groups of mediæval palaces and

houses which can be seen anywhere, even in Venice; this is where the

famous Ca’ d’Oro unites with some three or four other houses, of rather

earlier date, and gives a very fair idea of what the water-scenery of

the ancient city once was. There is some difficulty in criticizing the

Ca’ d’Oro, because, in the first place, it has been restored to render

it fit for the occupation of Mdlle. Taglioni; and, in the next place,

much of the elaborate decoration from which it derived its name, has

perished or been destroyed. As it is, however, it is still a very

sumptuous example of the later fourteenth-century Gothic. Its whole face

is inlaid with squares of red and white marble, and a great amount of

carving is spread over the entire surface, round and between the

windows. This is very flat, but good in its effect. The arcade on the

water-story, and the traceried arcades above, all open into recessed

courts--an arrangement peculiar, I think, among Gothic houses, and

similar in its purpose to the arcades in the Byzantine palaces. Some of

the balconies are good, and the carving of the capitals and moulding of

the window-traceries are very characteristic of Venetian pointed. The

whole design is one-sided, and gives the impression of a house to which

an additional wing has been added. The water-stage consists of an open

arcade of five arches, the central arch round, the remainder pointed,

and on one side of these are two windows with a continuous balcony. The

second and third stages have, above the five open arches, elaborately

traceried windows, of no less than eight lights in width, filling almost

the entire front, the outside lights having balconies, whilst the others

have balustrading. Over the two windows of the water-stage are

single-light windows in each stage. There are throughout this front many

medallions of dark marble, which, let into a field of light marble, are

most brilliant in their effect.

The most remarkable features in the Ca’ d’Oro are, however, the triple

and elaborately carved and chevroned angle-shafts, which I have nowhere

else seen,[54] and the very singular parapet. The height of this is

greater about the centre and at the two ends than elsewhere; but this

appears to have been done rather with the intention of carrying up to

the very top the noticeable division in the building itself than for any

other reason. A very small portion only of the parapet is perfect, and

this it is rather difficult to get at. The small balls of marble affixed

to the outer edge of the trefoils are like those in the tracery of the

Ducal Palace, and in the centre of the medallions of marble everywhere

throughout the city. Their effect is certainly very piquant.

[Illustration: CAPITAL OF WINDOW-SHAFT--VENICE.]

By the side of the Ca’ d’Oro there are three ancient houses of

considerable interest, and the second from the Ca’ d’Oro,

[Illustration: 32. PALAZZZO SEGREDO. VENICE. p. 221.]

the Palazzo Segredo, was a very good example indeed; it has unhappily, I

believe, all been restored and painted, so that now few would believe

that it could ever have been (as it was) one of the very best works in

Venice of its age. It quite deserves illustration, on account of the

extreme vigour and beauty of its great window, which has more of the

flavour of the arcade in the Doge’s Palace, than anything else in

Venice. These three houses are all more than usually irregular in the

arrangement of their windows.

Lower down the Grand Canal, and nearly opposite the Post-office, is the

Palazzo Pisani-Moretta--a very late building, in which all the balconies

are Renaissance, with ordinary balustrading; but this occurs so often in

connection with the latest examples of Gothic work, that I am disposed

to believe that they were possibly, after all, contemporary in their

erection. This palace, too, is remarkable for its double entrance-doors,

with ogee arches, and for the manner in which the central window is

carried up in an uninterrupted way to the very cornice; the lower

traceries being very fair, those in the upper story very weak and bad.

The Palazzo Falcanon (alla Riva Tonda) is another fine house. It has two

water-gates; is four stories in height, the third being the principal

floor; the angle shafts are all spiral, and the string-courses all

ornamented with cable mouldings, which, as is usual, are twisted in

reverse ways from the centre of the front.

The Palazzo Celsi, near the Frari, is, like the Badoer Palace, an

example of a fine regularly designed house with its brickwork left in

its natural state; and the Palazzo Orfei is an instance of the finest

(and a very fine) front being turned towards a _campo_ and not towards a

canal. The long group of mediæval houses which formed one side of the

Campo Sta. Maria Formosa was equally worthy of admiration, but has

lately been modernized--a fate which is only too rapidly overtaking

most of what one used to admire in this once fortunately neglected city!

The window of which I give an illustration, on the Ponte del Fornaro, is

a rare but extremely good example of the combination of sculpture and

tracery. Here the carvings are good examples of the emblems of the four

Evangelists very ingeniously treated, and the whole window has more

force than most of the traceried windows.

With notices of two more buildings, the Palazzi Cavalli and Barbaro, I

shall conclude my remarks upon the existing examples of Venetian

domestic work. Neither of them calls for much remark. The traceries of

the Cavalli Palace are heavy and unsatisfactory, and contrast

unfavourably with the greater simplicity of the windows in the Palazzo

Barbaro. The two palaces stand, however, in a very fine position on the

Grand Canal, commanding the view from the Foscari Palace in one

direction to the church of the Salute and the mouth of the canal in the

other. Nearly opposite them is a very striking house, the Ca’ Dario,

built, I imagine, about the commencement of the sixteenth century,

before the revived Classic feeling had fully possessed the Venetians,

and displaying some effective and beautiful arrangements of

constructional decoration with coloured marbles. It is, in fact, an

attempt to revive, to some extent, the art of incrustation, as practised

at S. Mark’s; and so successful is it, that I wonder much that more

examples are not met with.

In the Grand Canal, and near this spot, are many other buildings, all

worthy of illustration, but adding, I think, nothing to what we already

know. The Ca’ Fasan is the most unlike the other mediæval houses of any;

but it pleased me so little that I could not bring myself to waste time

by sketching it. It is only fair to say that in its traceried balconies

it approaches more nearly to the latest

[Illustration: 33. WINDOW. PONTE DEL FORNARO. VENICE. p. 222.]

[Illustration: 34. CASA GOLDONI. VENICE. p. 223.]

northern pointed than any other building in Venice, and that it has

perhaps at the same time less breadth and dignity than any.

Two fine palaces[55] are now turned into hotels, and that at which I

stopped was full of remains of pointed windows; indeed traces of pointed

work are singularly plentiful, and I might go on to an interminable

length were I to attempt to describe them all. The Arsenal is old, I

believe, but has been modernized. It may be visited now for the sake of

the grand and quaint old lions which sit before its entrance.

Of the interiors of these houses I cannot say very much. They usually

have a great hall in the centre of each floor, into which the various

rooms open; and the windows of these halls are generally the most

important in the elevation. The frames of the windows were of wood,

placed behind the traceries, and the original ceilings were the moulded

beams of the floors. I have only seen one good Gothic staircase in

Venice. This is in the Casa Goldoni, and has for its balustrade a series

of shafts with piers at intervals. Its detail in short is that of the

balcony, but sloped up to suit the rise of the steps. Pointed arches of

brick carry the steps. This house may well be visited by other than

architectural pilgrims, and will be found near the Ponte San Tomà. A

fine early Renaissance staircase remains in the Palazzo Minelli, near

San Paterniano. This is circular, with continuous open arcades following

the rise of the steps, the usual shafted balustrade filling the lower

part of the openings between the columns. The chimneys of these palaces

are very singular. Not many old examples remain, but they are still

copied, and that some of them are really old is proved by the extent to

which they are shown in early Venetian paintings, as e.g. in the works

of Gentile Bellini and Carpaccio. In my illustration the examples Figs.

2 and 3 are copied from paintings, and Fig. 1 is from a palace near the

Ponte Bernardo.

[Illustration: CHIMNEYS--VENICE.

_fig. 1_ _fig. 2_ _fig. 3_]

And now that we have so far passed in review a series of the finest

remains of mediæval architecture in Venice, it is time to inquire how

much is to be learnt by what we have seen, and in what degree it differs

from the developments of pointed architecture with which we are familiar

in Northern Europe.

I think the very first point to be observed is that in Venice

architecture was never essentially constructional in the sense in which

it was in our own land. The pointed arch is rarely used except in

churches, and in its place traceries, increased in size and scale to do

their work, are made to carry the entire weight of walling above them,

as is the case, to take the foremost example, in the second stage of the

Ducal Palace. And it is remarkable that, when the arch was used, from a

very early date it was the ogee arch, and not the arch formed by two

simple curves; indeed it may almost be said that the pure pointed arch

was never used, save where it would have been quite impossible with any

other contrivance to bridge the necessary gap, or provide sufficiently

for the weight to be supported. How striking a contrast this is to the

way in which in England men worked with and exhibited the pointed arch,

evidently as if, and because, they loved it!--using it not only as a

sturdy servant to do heavy work, but as the friend of whose friendship

they were ever the most anxious to boast. I do not complain of the

flatness and lack of breaks or recesses in the masses of the great

Venetian buildings, because this no doubt arose in part from the value

of every foot of ground so hardly gathered from the sea, and the

difficulty of throwing out buttresses into the narrow depths of the

canals out of which they rise. And the same conditions which enforced

this flatness are grateful because they involved the charming balconies

which are so peculiarly Venetian, and gave a breadth and simplicity to

the outline which has its own artistic charm.

In the science of moulding I cannot but think that it is quite useless

to compare works executed for the sunny skies of Venice with those

fitted for the gloomy sunlessness of a northern climate. The one kind

are as properly soft, gentle in their alternations of light and shade,

and delicate, as the other are piquant and sharp, rejoicing in the dark

shade of deep hollows and endless intricacy of outline and arrangement.

But I feel no doubt whatever that, unfair as it may be to compare one

school with the other, seeing that each worked for its own wants, it is

yet most clear that the Northern architects were developing a much

deeper art, and working with much more consummate skill, than were the

Venetian. The endless variety of the arrangement of; capitals, and the

necessary grouping of mouldings to fit, their varying outlines, was

carried to the extreme point of perfection by the one school, whilst in

the other not only was there much less depth and relief, but also very

much less variety. The abacus of the Italian capital was almost always

square in plan, and, as an almost necessary consequence of this,

mouldings retained very much the same arrangement and shape for the

whole period of the prevalence of the pointed style, and generally

rather leaned to the side of heaviness than of delicacy. Venetian

mouldings are composed of the constant combination of a three-quarter

bead and a shallow hollow, divided by small fillets, and so invariably

arranged in almost exactly the same order, that it requires very great

care to decide upon the date of buildings by their mouldings with any

sort of approach to certainty.

In addition to simple mouldings, there are also the ever-recurring

ornamented mouldings which are so peculiarly characteristic of Venetian

works of all dates. These consist generally of sections which in England

we should consider Romanesque, but which in Venice appear to be much

more common in the latest works than in the earliest; chevrons,

cable-mouldings, billets, and the like, are seen everywhere, and suggest

the question whether this class of ornamented mouldings, so largely used

in the early days of architecture in England and so little afterwards,

might not with some advantage be rescued from the contempt into which it

has fallen with modern builders. They have the advantage of being within

the power of any ordinary workman to execute, and do not, therefore,

require the handiwork, which is so rare and so precious, of thoroughly

good carvers. Add to this, that some features originally invented for

use in the way of holding together marble incrustations, were afterwards

used universally for their own sakes as ornamental mouldings, for which

office they were in no way fitted, and I think nearly as much has been

said as can be of Venetian mouldings in stone. Those in brick are even

less satisfactory; but they occur mainly about the churches, and, as I

do not recognize anything at all distinctively Venetian in their design

or arrangement, it will be better to say more about them after we have

seen the brickwork in other cities in the North of Italy, compared with

which that at Venice is not of the first order.

In the practice of carving, as in that of moulding, I see no reason for

yielding the palm to the Venetian. It is true indeed, that the Byzantine

capitals--of which such magnificent examples exist at S. Mark’s--are

some of the most exquisite I have ever seen, true and precise in their

sculpture, revelling in the utmost delicacy of intricate work, and

always refined and elaborated with great evidence of care and

thoughtfulness; but after the earliest school, and those later examples

in which they were copied and regarded as models, there appears to me to

be much less to admire. There is a confusion and want of fixed purpose

about many of those which are commonly referred to as the best types of

Gothic sculpture, which is at best not satisfactory; and I confess that

I came away much more pleased with some of the Byzantine capitals than

with any others. They have some notable points of difference from those

to which we are used. They are generally much larger in proportion to

the shaft than ours; and instead of having a regular neck-moulding, they

rise out of the shaft with a kind of swell, which, as being less

definite, is to me less satisfactory than our neck-moulding. The

capitals of all dates are very generally similar in their outlines--this

in part arising from the constant occurrence of circular columns with

capitals whose abaci are square, and in part from the imitation, more or

less closely, of Byzantine models. Indeed, it is impossible not to see

how great an influence the earliest remaining work--that of the eleventh

century--had in Venice until the end of the fourteenth and far into the

fifteenth century; the most beautiful and striking arrangements of the

former age are reproduced and only slightly modified in the finest work

of the latter to a very remarkable extent: and so much more decidedly

and frequently than are the traces, in northern pointed, of any

hankering after the features of Romanesque buildings, that I think but

one conclusion can fairly be drawn from the sculpture of Venice as well

as from its architecture, viz. that pointed architecture was never

developed as purely and thoroughly in Venice as in the North of Europe;

and that, though it retained its sway there nearly as long as it did

elsewhere, it never thoroughly understood or felt its own strength, and

worked and toiled tied down and encumbered by Byzantine fetters and

Classic sympathies. There is much, notwithstanding this, to admire--and,

above all else, the greatest beauty of the style, wherein it so far left

us behind, the thorough appreciation and unsparing use of the shaft. It

is quite astonishing how very little this was ever used in England.

Occasionally, indeed, it was freely used in grand buildings, and in some

individual features it was frequently seen in thirteenth-century

buildings; but at the very period when, if ever, architecture was in its

perfection--in the early part of the fourteenth century--it was almost

entirely forgotten and thrown aside. All honour, therefore, to the men

who so perseveringly and determinedly used it as did the builders at

Venice for three centuries! And all shame to us if we do not attempt for

the future so far at any rate to follow in their steps! So rare are any

but shafted windows in Venice, that at present I hardly remember a

single instance of a window with monials formed by the continuous

mouldings of the tracery; and it is obvious that this gave occasion, not

only to the use of beautiful marbles--never so well used as in

shafts--but also to the constant use of carved capitals. In domestic

buildings, as I have before remarked, this arrangement of shafted

windows is very valuable, because it suggests one obvious way in which

we may unite traceried windows with the very newest arrangement of

window-frames or sashes in the most comfortable nineteenth-century

houses; for in these Venetian palaces the glass was always contained in

a separate wooden frame set within the marble shafts and tracery.[56]

Besides the use of the shaft in the ordinary way, I must not forget to

say that parapets frequently (or perhaps it were better to say

balustrades)--as, e.g., at S. Mark’s--and balconies everywhere, are

composed of a vast number of very delicate shafts, set very close to

each other, and surmounted by long pieces of stone cut out in imitation

of arching, and not really to be regarded as a succession of

arch-stones, but rather as coping-stones to hold the shafts together.

And, again, they are used very beautifully for the support of open

pinnacles, one at each angle, inclosing a figure, just as in the

monuments of the Scaligers at Verona. Examples of this are to be seen in

the pinnacles which have been added between the gables of S. Mark’s,

which are exceedingly good in their effect; and again in the pinnacles

which terminate the church of the Madonna dell’ Orto.

One more point is worthy of remark--the treatment, namely, of the angles

of buildings. These were almost always marked either by a roll-moulding

or by a succession of nook-shafts, sometimes extravagantly chevroned or

otherwise ornamented. This, when done simply, was always satisfactory,

but, in its later and more elaborate form, was, I think, as

unsatisfactory. The delicate rounding off of the angles of walls was a

point not unthought of in England. In the thirteenth century a

nook-shaft was the common contrivance; in the fourteenth, a chamfer; and

in the fifteenth men reverted entirely to the square form. Here,

however, there is a great and very interesting variety in this

apparently simple feature. The most satisfactory plan of all is where a

quarter-circle forms the angle, and is finished with a small incision in

the form of a V on either side, as it unites simplicity with strength of

construction and softness of contour, and does not force itself too

prominently upon our observation; and, next to this, the most

satisfactory form is where, instead of the moulding being round, it is

pointed at the angle. The twisted shafts of the upper stage of the Ducal

Palace, and the triple and chevroned shafts of the Ca’ d’Oro, are not

improvements upon the refinement of the earlier mode.

I have already spoken of the exquisite beauty of the inlaid marbles in

S. Mark’s; nothing can be better than their effect, and nothing seems

more wonderful than that they should not have been used more frequently

in later buildings. I was, perhaps, a little disappointed in not

finding, as I had expected, the marble arranged generally in geometrical

patterns; but this is quite the exception; and one sees only, in a

medallion here and there, the exquisite beauty which their arrangement

in this way may produce. As a rule the walls are faced with thin slabs

of marble, each of the size in which it came to hand, sawn into as many

slices as its substance would allow, and then riveted to the walls and

held in place securely by projecting thin lines of stonework built into

the wall, and cut with indented or billet ornaments along their edges.

There is, however, a degree of real as well as apparent weakness which

is not at all satisfactory in this system of incrustation, and I thought

how much more noble such work might well become, were it to be inlaid

only where no strong work was required to be done--as, e.g., in

spandrels of arches,[57] or within arches--and not as here to the

concealment of every one of the necessary constructional features. It is

to be observed, however, that the slabs of marble are generally higher

than they are wide, so as at once to destroy any thought of their being

really constructional.

The south side of S. Mark’s is, perhaps, the place above all others in

Venice where this inlaid work may be seen to the greatest advantage.

Some of the great arches which stand in place of gables are divided into

four or five square-headed lights by shafts supporting semicircular

arches, the tympana of which are filled in with delicate and perpetually

varied filigree-work in marble, whilst above them a succession of panels

or medallions shews all the resources of the rich materials which were

to be exhibited. In another case, just over the entrance from the

Piazzetta to the church, the tympanum of the arch is filled in with

large medallions, one exquisitely carved, the others plain; whilst the

arch of the window below the tympanum has its beautiful marble spandrels

adorned on either side with medallions which, for exquisite arrangement

of vari-coloured marbles in geometrical patterns, are perfectly

admirable. There is enough, therefore, in the Venetian system of

incrustation, though much unhappily be lost, to give ample food for our

study and admiration; and its only weak point is, as I have said, its

too frequent neglect or concealment of the constructional features of

the buildings it adorns.

It is easy, however, to cavil at particular details, and scan with a

critical eye the architectural beauties of Venice; but let it not be

thought for an instant that all the wonderful pictures which every new

turn or new point of view brings before the eyes are unappreciated. A

few days spent there suffice almost to fill a lifetime with

reminiscences of all that is novel, beautiful, and strange; and days

such as I have spent, year after year, rejoicing in the daytime in the

full brilliancy of a September sun, and at night in the calm loveliness

of a Venetian night, have been just the most delightful in every way

that could be passed.

We were at Venice on the festival of the Nativity of the Blessed

Virgin--a great feast-day, which it had been my fortune to spend some

two or three times before in Roman Catholic countries. I confess that

here we were not edified. We came in, as we went from church to church,

for rather more than the usual number of the _désagrémens_ which always

seem to attend the decoration of the churches, and especially the

altars, for such festivities abroad. The strongest impression left on my

mind was one of wonder at the paltry character of the long array of what

by courtesy are called, I suppose, wreaths of flowers, manufactured of

pink gauze, or some equally unnatural material. These, with vulgar

draperies hung outside the church doors, and in additional quantity

about the altars, with the most noisy and gladsome ringing of bells,

completed the external demonstrations; all the shops were most

studiously closed, and the churches and open places were thronged with

people. At S. Mark’s we heard[58] some abominably light opera-music,

which sounded, as may be imagined, very discordant within its solemn

walls.

One morning we devoted partly to the ascent of the campanile in the

Piazza. The ascent is entirely by inclined planes; the outer walls of

the tower are in fact double, and in the space between them these

inclined planes are formed; and it is worth notice that to this day, in

all buildings which we have seen in progress in this part of the world,

inclined boards are used instead of ladders for obtaining access to

scaffolding; and in one of the mosaics in the entrance-porch of S.

Mark’s, where the building of the Tower of Babel is depicted, precisely

the same kind of arrangement is shewn. This is interesting, as shewing

the tenacity with which old customs are adhered to. The view, when the

top is reached, quite repays the labour of the ascent, as it gives the

best possible idea of what Venice really is. We get an impression of a

very densely populated town, hemmed in on all sides by water, and

looking very flat and low; in the distance small islands pave the way to

the mainland, or shelter us from the sea; these, where they are more

distant, look like mere black spots on the smooth, unrippled expanse of

water: and in the far horizon we see to the west the purple outline of

the mountains about Vicenza; and to the north of these, and rising

grandly into the sky, the snowy peaks of the southern range of the

Friulan Alps. Below and around are countless churches, all placed

confusedly without respect to orientation--a neglect, if anywhere

excusable, surely so here, where land is the exception and water the

rule.

The last day we spent in Venice was most enjoyable. We had been all day

in our gondola, now stopping to sketch some Gothic palace, anon shooting

into some narrow canal to escape the bright heat of the sun, winding our

way now here, now there, just as the fancy of the moment seized us, and

realizing more than ever that “the longest summer’s day was all too

short” for a last day in so fair a place. In the evening, just before

sunset, we went out into the Lagoon, and, rowing round the small island

of Giudecca, watched the gradually waning light reflected on the smooth,

calm water, which seemed too silent and too soft to be disturbed by a

word from any of us; and then at last, turning back and coming suddenly

through a short canal into the main stream just opposite the Dogana, we

moved on gently till we came abreast of the Ducal Palace. It was just

dark; the moon was rising behind us in all her beauty, and in front,

lamp after lamp was suddenly lit along the Piazzetta, then along the

palace-front, all along the Riva dei Schiavoni, until at last, before we

landed, as far as we could see, the bright lights, reflected in a

hundred gleaming, flashing lines, were fitfully dancing in long streams

of light upon the bosom of the waters.

We stepped on shore to find ourselves led on by the sound of military

music, and to be tempted by the luxury of ices eaten _al fresco_ in the

Piazza; and then, when the crowd gradually dispersed, we too, among the

last, found our way to our hotel, charmed so much with our last night in

Venice that it is impossible not to recollect that evening with the

deepest pleasure.

It is not without purpose that I have held silence with regard to the

churches and buildings generally of the Renaissance school in Venice.

These have had in their time many more admirers than have the examples

of architecture which it was alike my business and my delight

particularly to examine; and to the present day I doubt not that nine

people out of ten, led by their valets-de-place, go to see what is worst

in point of taste, and so reap the reward of allowing themselves to be

made to see with another’s eyes, instead of enjoying the intense

pleasure of working out and exploring for themselves all the treasures

of this mine and storehouse of ancient art. It is partly because I feel

the greatest repugnance to the buildings themselves, and partly because

I fear to make my notes, already lengthy, far too long for the patience

of my readers, that I do not venture upon this additional field of

study; but not in the least degree because I doubt the result, for I

believe firmly that, tried by the fair rules which must regulate merit

in a constructive art, the Renaissance buildings of Venice would be no

nearer perfection than those of any other city. Something perhaps there

is in the gloomy grandeur of their vast masses rearing their rusticated

walls and deeply recessed windows darkly above the comparatively

cheerful and bright-looking walls of the neighbouring Gothic palaces,

which may impress the minds of some, but they must be of a sombre

temperament who really love them. Still more must they be of a tasteless

temperament who can endure with patience the succession of

eccentricities with which Palladio and his disciples have loaded their

churches. I pretend not, however, to discuss the point. I had not time

for everything, and preferred giving up the attempt to like what from my

heart I have ever disliked, and what nothing that I saw in Venice would

make me dislike at all less heartily.

Neither do I pretend to say anything about Venetian pictures; guides

without number may be found of more service and more knowledge, and to

their hands I leave their proper charge. A word only upon one

point--their adaptation, namely, to the sacred edifices of which they

are the most notable ornaments.

Now I must at once say that there is no church, so far as I saw, in

Venice, with the single exception of S. Mark’s, which is to be compared

in this respect (in its effect, that is, as heightened by colour) with

such buildings as the Arena Chapel at Padua or the church of Sta.

Anastasia at Verona--the one an example of the very noblest art working

under strict architectural limitations; the other, of simple decorative

painting. The fact is, that the Venetian pictures give the impression

that they might do elsewhere as well as in a church, and therefore

entirely fail in identifying themselves with the walls on which they

hang; whilst no one can ever think of the noble works of Giotto at

Padua, without recalling to mind the religious order of his works and

their identification with the building which contains them; and at

Verona the result of the system adopted in the painting is marvellously

to enhance the effect of the architecture without in any way concealing

or damaging it. In Venice the case is quite different. The church of San

Sebastiano, in which Paul Veronese is buried, and which internally is

almost entirely covered with his paintings, is an example of what I

suppose I must call the best Venetian treatment. This consists, however,

of immense oil-paintings covering entire walls, and absolutely

requiring, in order that they may be at all properly appreciated, that

the spectator should stand in a particular spot--in some cases by the

side of the altar--and that the windows should first have blinds drawn

down, and then, when he goes to look at another painting, have them

drawn up again. This is all very unpleasant. But besides this, there is

no very sensible advantage to the colour of the buildings from these

decorations; certainly they are far behind mere decorative paintings as

vehicles for bringing out the architectural features; and so they are

visited very much as pictures in a gallery, and without in any case

being identified with the churches in which they are preserved. The

mosaics at S. Mark’s are, on the other hand, some of the very grandest

examples of the proper mode of decorating interiors with representations

of religious subjects, all conceived and arranged with some order and

relation to each other. But of the other Venetian churches there does

not seem to me to be any one whose artists at all succeeded in equalling

the example so early set them.

I do not pretend in these pages to speak at all of paintings

irrespective of architecture, or I might find much to say upon the store

of works, of a very noble school, in which this great city is so rich.

The immense rooms of the Ducal Palace, covered as their walls and

ceilings are with the works of Tintoretto, Titian, and Paul Veronese,

cannot be forgotten; still less can the many works of Giovanni Bellini,

and of other painters in the churches, and in the collection in the

Accademia--rich among others in the works of that great and interesting

painter Carpaccio--be passed over; whilst the decorated walls of the

various Scuole are in many cases of hardly inferior interest. I am sorry

that I was obliged to take the great merits of some of the grandest

works somewhat on faith; it was in vain to think of actually studying

them in a short time, and, educated as I have been to love the works of

an earlier date and another school more heartily than these, I must

confess, barbarous as the confession may appear to be, that I was not

thoroughly pleased with what I saw. The magnificence of the chiaroscuro

and colouring of these great pictures scarcely atoned to me for the

degree to which--owing generally to the immense array of figures and

confusion of subject--I failed to carry away distinct conceptions of the

story intended to be told. It may be said that this is the result of

want of taste or education, but still the feeling is so different when

for the first time pictures by Fra Angelico, Giotto, Raffaelle,

Perugino, or Francia are looked at, that it is hard to avoid believing

that, though their power over colour may have been somewhat less, their

power of attaining to the highest point of the true painter’s art--that

of leaving indelible impressions on the minds of all beholders--was

immeasurably higher. Thus much only by way of excuse for not saying more

about what the world in general rightly conceives to be one of the great

glories of Venice.

And now I must say farewell, and, doubtful though I may be as to the

claims of Venetian art in the Middle Ages to be considered as at all

equal to that of the same period in Northern Europe, I am very grateful

for many new ideas gathered and much intense pleasure enjoyed in the

examination of its treasures; and so, rather sadly laying myself down to

sleep for the last time in Venice, I began to deem that my journey

henceforward must be rather less interesting than it had been; with

Venice a thing of the past, instead of, as it was on my outward course,

full of all the beauties with which the liveliest fancy could crowd its

walls and palaces by anticipation.