BYZANTINE PALACES.
§ I. The account of the architecture of St. Mark's given in the previous
chapter has, I trust, acquainted the reader sufficiently with the spirit
of the Byzantine style: but he has probably, as yet, no clear idea of
its generic forms. Nor would it be safe to define these after an
examination of St. Mark's alone, built as it was upon various models,
and at various periods. But if we pass through the city, looking for
buildings which resemble St. Mark's--first, in the most important
feature of incrustation; secondly, in the character of the
mouldings,--we shall find a considerable number, not indeed very
attractive in their first address to the eye, but agreeing perfectly,
both with each other, and with the earliest portions of St. Mark's, in
every important detail; and to be regarded, therefore, with profound
interest, as indeed the remains of an ancient city of Venice, altogether
different in aspect from that which now exists. From these remains we
may with safety deduce general conclusions touching the forms of
Byzantine architecture, as practised in Eastern Italy, during the
eleventh, twelfth, and thirteenth centuries.
§ II. They agree in another respect, as well as in style. All are either
ruins, or fragments disguised by restoration. Not one of them is
uninjured or unaltered; and the impossibility of finding so much as an
angle or a single story in perfect condition is a proof, hardly less
convincing than the method of their architecture, that they were indeed
raised during the earliest phases of the Venetian power. The mere
fragments, dispersed in narrow streets, and recognizable by a single
capital, or the segment of an arch, I shall not enumerate: but, of
important remains, there are six in the immediate neighborhood of the
Rialto, one in the Rio di Ca' Foscari, and one conspicuously placed
opposite the great Renaissance Palace known as the Vendramin Calerghi,
one of the few palaces still inhabited[41] and well maintained; and
noticeable, moreover, as having a garden beside it, rich with
evergreens, and decorated by gilded railings and white statues that cast
long streams of snowy reflection down into the deep water. The vista of
canal beyond is terminated by the Church of St. Geremia, another but
less attractive work of the Renaissance; a mass of barren brickwork,
with a dull leaden dome above, like those of our National Gallery. So
that the spectator has the richest and meanest of the late architecture
of Venice before him at once: the richest, let him observe, a piece of
private luxury; the poorest, that which was given to God. Then, looking
to the left, he will see the fragment of the work of earlier ages,
testifying against both, not less by its utter desolation than by the
nobleness of the traces that are still left of it.
§ III. It is a ghastly ruin; whatever is venerable or sad in its wreck
being disguised by attempts to put it to present uses of the basest
kind. It has been composed of arcades borne by marble shafts, and walls
of brick faced with marble: but the covering stones have been torn away
from it like the shroud from a corpse; and its walls, rent into a
thousand chasms, are filled and refilled with fresh brickwork, and the
seams and hollows are choked with clay and whitewash, oozing and
trickling over the marble,--itself blanched into dusty decay by the
frosts of centuries. Soft grass and wandering leafage have rooted
themselves in the rents, but they are not suffered to grow in their own
wild and gentle way, for the place is in a sort inhabited; rotten
partitions are nailed across its corridors, and miserable rooms
contrived in its western wing; and here and there the weeds are
indolently torn down, leaving their haggard fibres to struggle again
into unwholesome growth when the spring next stirs them: and thus, in
contest between death and life, the unsightly heap is festering to its
fall.
Of its history little is recorded, and that little futile. That it once
belonged to the dukes of Ferrara, and was bought from them in the
sixteenth century, to be made a general receptacle for the goods of the
Turkish merchants, whence it is now generally known as the Fondaco, or
Fontico, de' Turchi, are facts just as important to the antiquary, as
that, in the year 1852, the municipality of Venice allowed its lower
story to be used for a "deposito di Tabacchi." Neither of this, nor of
any other remains of the period, can we know anything but what their own
stones will tell us.
§ IV. The reader will find in Appendix 11, written chiefly for the
traveller's benefit, an account of the situation and present state of
the other seven Byzantine palaces. Here I shall only give a general
account of the most interesting points in their architecture.
They all agree in being round-arched and incrusted with marble, but
there are only six in which the original disposition of the parts is
anywise traceable; namely, those distinguished in the Appendix as the
Fondaco de' Turchi, Casa Loredan, Caso Farsetti, Rio-Foscari House,
Terraced House, and Madonnetta House:[42] and these six agree farther in
having continuous arcades along their entire fronts from one angle to
the other, and in having their arcades divided, in each case, into a
centre and wings; both by greater size in the midmost arches, and by the
alternation of shafts in the centre, with pilasters, or with small
shafts, at the flanks.
§ V. So far as their structure can be traced, they agree also in having
tall and few arches in their lower stories, and shorter and more
numerous arches above: but it happens most unfortunately that in the
only two cases in which the second stories are left the ground floors
are modernized, and in the others where the sea stories are left the
second stories are modernized; so that we never have more than two
tiers of the Byzantine arches, one above the other. These, however, are
quite enough to show the first main point on which I wish to insist,
namely, the subtlety of the feeling for proportion in the Greek
architects; and I hope that even the general reader will not allow
himself to be frightened by the look of a few measurements, for, if he
will only take the little pains necessary to compare them, he will, I am
almost certain, find the result not devoid of interest.
[Illustration: Fig. IV.]
§ VI. I had intended originally to give elevations of all these palaces;
but have not had time to prepare plates requiring so much labor and
care. I must, therefore, explain the position of their parts in the
simplest way in my power.
The Fondaco de' Turchi has sixteen arches in its sea story, and
twenty-six above them in its first story, the whole based on a
magnificent foundation, built of blocks of red marble, some of them
seven feet long by a foot and a half thick, and raised to a height of
about five feet above high-water mark. At this level, the elevation of
one half of the building, from its flank to the central pillars of its
arcades, is rudely given in Fig. IV., in the previous page. It is only
drawn to show the arrangement of the parts, as the sculptures which are
indicated by the circles and upright oblongs between the arches are too
delicate to be shown in a sketch three times the size of this. The
building once was crowned with an Arabian parapet; but it was taken down
some years since, and I am aware of no authentic representation of its
details. The greater part of the sculptures between the arches,
indicated in the woodcut only by blank circles, have also fallen, or
been removed, but enough remain on the two flanks to justify the
representation given in the diagram of their original arrangement.
And now observe the dimensions. The small arches of the wings in the
ground story, _a_, _a_, _a_, measure, in breadth, from
Ft. In.
shaft to shaft 4 5
interval _b_ 7 6½
interval _c_ 7 11
intervals _d_, _e_, _f_, &c. 8 1
The difference between the width of the arches _b_ and _c_ is
necessitated by the small recess of the cornice on the left hand as
compared with that of the great capitals; but this sudden difference of
half a foot between the two extreme arches of the centre offended the
builder's eye, so he diminished the next one, _unnecessarily_, two
inches, and thus obtained the gradual cadence to the flanks, from eight
feet down to four and a half, in a series of continually increasing
steps. Of course the effect cannot be shown in the diagram, as the first
difference is less than the thickness of its lines. In the upper story
the capitals are all nearly of the same height, and there was no
occasion for the difference between the extreme arches. Its twenty-six
arches are placed, four small ones above each lateral three of the lower
arcade, and eighteen larger above the central ten; thus throwing the
shafts into all manner of relative positions, and completely confusing
the eye in any effort to count them: but there is an exquisite symmetry
running through their apparent confusion; for it will be seen that the
four arches in each flank are arranged in two groups, of which one has a
large single shaft in the centre, and the other a pilaster and two small
shafts. The way in which the large shaft is used as an echo of those in
the central arcade, dovetailing them, as it were, into the system of the
pilasters,--just as a great painter, passing from one tone of color to
another, repeats, over a small space, that which he has left,--is highly
characteristic of the Byzantine care in composition. There are other
evidences of it in the arrangement of the capitals, which will be
noticed below in the seventh chapter. The lateral arches of this upper
arcade measure 3 ft. 2 in. across, and the central 3 ft. 11 in., so that
the arches in the building are altogether of six magnitudes.
§ VII. Next let us take the Casa Loredan. The mode of arrangement of its
pillars is precisely like that of the Fondaco de' Turchi, so that I
shall merely indicate them by vertical lines in order to be able to
letter the intervals. It has five arches in the centre of the lower
story, and two in each of its wings.
[Illustration]
Ft. In.
The midmost interval, _a_, of the central five, is 6 1
The two on each side, _b_, _b_ 5 2
The two extremes, _c_, _c_ 4 9
Inner arches of the wings, _d_, _d_ 4 4
Outer arches of the wings, _e_, _e_ 4 6
The gradation of these dimensions is visible at a glance; the boldest
step being here taken nearest the centre, while in the Fondaco it is
farthest from the centre. The first loss here is of eleven inches, the
second of five, the third of five, and then there is a most subtle
increase of two inches in the extreme arches, as if to contradict the
principle of diminution, and stop the falling away of the building by
firm resistance at its flanks.
I could not get the measures of the upper story accurately, the palace
having been closed all the time I was in Venice; but it has seven
central arches above the five below, and three at the flanks above the
two below, the groups being separated by double shafts.
§ VIII. Again, in the Casa Farsetti, the lower story has a centre of
five arches, and wings of two. Referring, therefore, to the last figure,
which will answer for this palace also, the measures of the intervals
are:
Ft. In.
_a_ 8 0
_b_ 5 10
_c_ 5 4
_d_ and _e_ 5 3
It is, however, possible that the interval _c_ and the wing arches may
have been intended to be similar; for one of the wing arches measures 5
ft. 4 in. We have thus a simpler proportion than any we have hitherto
met with; only two losses taking place, the first of 2 ft. 2 in., the
second of 6 inches.
The upper story has a central group of seven arches, whose widths are 4
ft. 1 in.
Ft. In.
The next arch on each side 3 5
The three arches of each wing 3 6
Here again we have a most curious instance of the subtlety of eye which
was not satisfied without a third dimension, but _could_ be satisfied
with a difference of an inch on three feet and a half.
§ IX. In the Terraced House, the ground floor is modernized, but the
first story is composed of a centre of five arches, with wings of two,
measuring as follows:
Ft. In.
Three midmost arches of the central group 4 0
Outermost arch of the central group 4 6
Innermost arch of the wing 4 10
Outermost arch of the wing[43] 5 0
Here the greatest step is towards the centre; but the increase, which is
unusual, is towards the outside, the gain being successively six, four,
and two inches.
I could not obtain the measures of the second story, in which only the
central group is left; but the two outermost arches are visibly larger
than the others, thus beginning a correspondent proportion to the one
below, of which the lateral quantities have been destroyed by
restorations.
§ X. Finally, in the Rio-Foscari House, the central arch is the
principal feature, and the four lateral ones form one magnificent wing;
the dimensions being from the centre to the side:
Ft. In.
Central arch 9 9
Second " 3 8
Third " 3 10
Fourth " 3 10
Fifth " 3 8
The difference of two inches on nearly three feet in the two midmost
arches being all that was necessary to satisfy the builder's eye.
§ XI. I need not point out to the reader that these singular and minute
harmonies of proportion indicate, beyond all dispute, not only that the
buildings in which they are found are of one school, but (so far as
these subtle coincidences of measurement can still be traced in them) in
their original form. No modern builder has any idea of connecting his
arches in this manner, and restorations in Venice are carried on with
too violent hands to admit of the supposition that such refinements
would be even noticed in the progress of demolition, much less imitated
in heedless reproduction. And as if to direct our attention especially
to this character, as indicative of Byzantine workmanship, the most
interesting example of all will be found in the arches of the front of
St. Mark's itself, whose proportions I have not noticed before, in order
that they might here be compared with those of the contemporary palaces.
[Illustration: Fig. V.]
§ XII. The doors actually employed for entrance in the western façade
are as usual five, arranged as at _a_ in the annexed woodcut, Fig. V.;
but the Byzantine builder could not be satisfied with so simple a group,
and he introduced, therefore, two minor arches at the extremities, as at
_b_, by adding two small porticos which are of _no use whatever_ except
to consummate the proportions of the façade, and themselves to exhibit
the most exquisite proportions in arrangements of shaft and archivolt
with which I am acquainted in the entire range of European architecture.
Into these minor particulars I cannot here enter; but observe the
dimensions of the range of arches in the façade, as thus completed by
the flanking porticos:
Ft. In.
The space of its central archivolt is 31 8
" the two on each side, about[44] 19 8
" the two succeeding, about 20 4
" small arches at flanks, about 6 0
[Illustration: Fig. VI.]
I need not make any comment upon the subtle difference of eight inches
on twenty feet between the second and third dimensions. If the reader
will be at the pains to compare the whole evidence now laid before him,
with that deduced above from the apse of Murano, he cannot but confess
that it amounts to an irrefragable proof of an intense perception of
harmony in the relation of quantities, on the part of the Byzantine
architects; a perception which we have at present lost so utterly as
hardly to be able even to conceive it. And let it not be said, as it was
of the late discoveries of subtle curvature in the Parthenon,[45] that
what is not to be demonstrated without laborious measurement, cannot
have influence on the beauty of the design. The eye is continually
influenced by what it cannot detect; nay, it is not going too far to
say, that it is most influenced by what it detects least. Let the
painter define, if he can, the variations of lines on which depend the
changes of expression in the human countenance. The greater he is, the
more he will feel their subtlety, and the intense difficulty of
perceiving all their relations, or answering for the consequences of a
variation of a hair's breadth in a single curve. Indeed, there is
nothing truly noble either in color or in form, but its power depends on
circumstances infinitely too intricate to be explained, and almost too
subtle to be traced. And as for these Byzantine buildings, we only do
not feel them because we do not _watch_ them; otherwise we should as
much enjoy the variety of proportion in their arches, as we do at
present that of the natural architecture of flowers and leaves. Any of
us can feel in an instant the grace of the leaf group, _b_, in the
annexed figure; and yet that grace is simply owing to its being
proportioned like the façade of St. Mark's; each leaflet answering to an
arch,--the smallest at the root, to those of the porticos. I have tried
to give the proportion quite accurately in _b_; but as the difference
between the second and third leaflets is hardly discernible on so small
a scale, it is somewhat exaggerated in _a_.[46] Nature is often far more
subtle in her proportions. In looking at some of the nobler species of
lilies, full in the front of the flower, we may fancy for a moment that
they form a symmetrical six-petaled star; but on examining them more
closely, we shall find that they are thrown into a group of three
magnitudes by the expansion of two of the inner petals above the stamens
to a breadth greater than any of the four others; while the third inner
petal, on which the stamens rest, contracts itself into the narrowest of
the six, and the three under petals remain of one intermediate
magnitude, as seen in the annexed figure.
[Illustration: Fig. VII.]
§ XIII. I must not, however, weary the reader with this subject, which
has always been a favorite one with me, and is apt to lead too far; we
will return to the palaces on the Grand Canal. Admitting, then, that
their fragments are proved, by the minute correspondences of their
arrangement, to be still in their original positions, they indicate to
us a form, whether of palace or dwelling-house, in which there were,
universally, central galleries, or loggias, opening into apartments on
each wing, the amount of light admitted being immense; and the general
proportions of the building, slender, light, and graceful in the utmost
degree, it being in fact little more than an aggregate of shafts and
arches. Of the interior disposition of these palaces there is in no
instance the slightest trace left, nor am I well enough acquainted with
the existing architecture of the East to risk any conjecture on this
subject. I pursue the statement of the facts which still are
ascertainable respecting their external forms.
§ XIV. In every one of the buildings above mentioned, except the
Rio-Foscari House (which has only one great entrance between its wings),
the central arcades are sustained, at least in one story, and generally
in both, on bold detached cylindrical shafts, with rich capitals, while
the arches of the wings are carried on smaller shafts assisted by
portions of wall, which become pilasters of greater or less width.
And now I must remind the reader of what was pointed out above (Vol. I.
Chap. XXVII. §§ III. XXXV. XL.), that there are two great orders of
capitals in the world; that one of these is convex in its contour, the
other concave; and that richness of ornament, with all freedom of fancy,
is for the most part found in the one, and severity of ornament, with
stern discipline of the fancy, in the other.
Of these two families of capitals both occur in the Byzantine period,
but the concave group is the longest-lived, and extends itself into the
Gothic times. In the account which I gave of them in the first volume,
they were illustrated by giving two portions of a simple curve, that of
a salvia leaf. We must now investigate their characters more in detail;
and these may be best generally represented by considering both families
as formed upon the types of flowers,--the one upon that of the
water-lily, the other upon that of the convolvulus. There was no
intention in the Byzantine architects to imitate either one or the other
of these flowers; but, as I have already so often repeated, all
beautiful works of art must either intentionally imitate or accidentally
resemble natural forms; and the direct comparison with the natural forms
which these capitals most resemble, is the likeliest mode of fixing
their distinctions in the reader's mind.
The one then, the convex family, is modelled according to the commonest
shapes of that great group of flowers which form rounded cups, like that
of the water-lily, the leaves springing horizontally from the stalk, and
closing together upwards. The rose is of this family, but her cup is
filled with the luxuriance of her leaves; the crocus, campanula,
ranunculus, anemone, and almost all the loveliest children of the field,
are formed upon the same type.
The other family resembles the convolvulus, trumpet-flower, and such
others, in which the lower part of the bell is slender, and the lip
curves outwards at the top. There are fewer flowers constructed on this
than on the convex model; but in the organization of trees and of
clusters of herbage it is seen continually. Of course, both of these
conditions are modified, when applied to capitals, by the enormously
greater thickness of the stalk or shaft, but in other respects the
parallelism is close and accurate; and the reader had better at once fix
the flower outlines in his mind,[47] and remember them as representing
the only two orders of capitals that the world has ever seen, or can
see.
§ XV. The examples of the concave family in the Byzantine times are
found principally either in large capitals founded on the Greek
Corinthian, used chiefly for the nave pillars of churches, or in the
small lateral shafts of the palaces. It appears somewhat singular that
the pure Corinthian form should have been reserved almost exclusively
for nave pillars, as at Torcello, Murano, and St. Mark's; it occurs,
indeed, together with almost every other form, on the exterior of St.
Mark's also, but never so definitely as in the nave and transept shafts.
Of the conditions assumed by it at Torcello enough has been said; and
one of the most delicate of the varieties occurring in St. Mark's is
given in Plate VIII., fig. 15, remarkable for the cutting of the sharp
thistle-like leaves into open relief, so that the light sometimes shines
through them from behind, and for the beautiful curling of the
extremities of the leaves outwards, joining each other at the top, as in
an undivided flower.
§ XVI. The other characteristic examples of the concave groups in the
Byzantine times are as simple as those resulting from the Corinthian are
rich. They occur on the _small_ shafts at the flanks of the Fondaco de'
Turchi, the Casa Farsetti, Casa Loredan, Terraced House, and upper
story of the Madonnetta House, in forms so exactly similar that the two
figures 1 and 2 in Plate VIII. may sufficiently represent them all. They
consist merely of portions cut out of the plinths or string-courses
which run along all the faces of these palaces, by four truncations in
the form of arrowy leaves (fig. 1, Fondaco de' Turchi), and the whole
rounded a little at the bottom so as to fit the shaft. When they occur
between two arches they assume the form of the group fig. 2 (Terraced
House). Fig. 3 is from the central arches of the Casa Farsetti, and is
only given because either it is a later restoration or a form absolutely
unique in the Byzantine period.
[Illustration: Plate VII.
BYZANTINE CAPITALS. CONVEX GROUP.]
§ XVII. The concave group, however, was not naturally pleasing to the
Byzantine mind. Its own favorite capital was of the bold convex or
cushion shape, so conspicuous in all the buildings of the period that I
have devoted Plate VII., opposite, entirely to its illustration. The
form in which it is first used is practically obtained from a square
block laid on the head of the shaft (fig. 1, Plate VII.), by first
cutting off the lower corners, as in fig. 2, and then rounding the
edges, as in fig. 3; this gives us the bell stone: on this is laid a
simple abacus, as seen in fig. 4, which is the actual form used in the
upper arcade of Murano, and the framework of the capital is complete.
Fig. 5 shows the general manner and effect of its decoration on the same
scale; the other figures, 6 and 7, both from the apse of Murano, 8, from
the Terraced House, and 9, from the Baptistery of St. Mark's, show the
method of chiselling the surfaces in capitals of average richness, such
as occur everywhere, for there is no limit to the fantasy and beauty of
the more elaborate examples.
§ XVIII. In consequence of the peculiar affection entertained for these
massy forms by the Byzantines, they were apt, when they used any
condition of capital founded on the Corinthian, to modify the concave
profile by making it bulge out at the bottom. Fig. 1, _a_, Plate X., is
the profile of a capital of the pure concave family; and observe, it
needs a fillet or cord round the neck of the capital to show where it
separates from the shaft. Fig. 4, _a_, on the other hand, is the
profile of the pure convex group, which not only needs no such
projecting fillet, but would be encumbered by it; while fig. 2, _a_, is
the profile of one of the Byzantine capitals (Fondaco de' Turchi, lower
arcade) founded on Corinthian, of which the main sweep is concave, but
which bends below into the convex bell-shape, where it joins the shaft.
And, lastly, fig. 3, _a_, is the profile of the nave shafts of St.
Mark's, where, though very delicately granted, the concession to the
Byzantine temper is twofold; first at the spring of the curve from the
base, and secondly the top, where it again becomes convex, though the
expression of the Corinthian bell is still given to it by the bold
concave leaves.
§ XIX. These, then, being the general modifications of Byzantine
profiles, I have thrown together in Plate VIII., opposite, some of the
most characteristic examples of the decoration of the concave and
transitional types; their localities are given in the note below,[48]
and the following are the principal points to be observed respecting
them.
The purest concave forms, 1 and 2, were never decorated in the earliest
times, except sometimes by an incision or rib down the centre of their
truncations on the angles.
[Illustration: Plate VIII.
BYZANTINE CAPITALS. CONCAVE GROUP.]
Figures 4, 5, 6, and 7 show some of the modes of application of a
peculiarly broad-lobed acanthus leaf, very characteristic of native
Venetian work; 4 and 5 are from the same building, two out of a group of
four, and show the boldness of the variety admitted in the management
even of the capitals most closely derived from the Corinthian. I never
saw one of these Venetian capitals in all respects like another. The
trefoils into which the leaves fall at the extremities are, however, for
the most part similar, though variously disposed, and generally niche
themselves one under the other, as very characteristically in fig. 7.
The form 8 occurs in St. Mark's only, and there very frequently: 9 at
Venice occurs, I think, in St. Mark's only; but it is a favorite early
Lombardic form. 10, 11, and 12 are all highly characteristic. 10 occurs
with more fantastic interweaving upon its sides in the upper stories of
St. Mark's; 11 is derived, in the Casa Loredan, from the great lily
capitals of St. Mark's, of which more presently. 13 and 15 are peculiar
to St. Mark's. 14 is a lovely condition, occurring both there and in the
Fondaco de' Turchi.
The modes in which the separate portions of the leaves are executed in
these and other Byzantine capitals, will be noticed more at length
hereafter. Here I only wish the reader to observe two things, both with
respect to these and the capitals of the convex family on the former
Plate: first the Life, secondly, the Breadth, of these capitals, as
compared with Greek forms.
§ XX. I say, first, the Life. Not only is every one of these capitals
differently fancied, but there are many of them which _have no two sides
alike_. Fig. 5, for instance, varies on every side in the arrangement of
the pendent leaf in its centre; fig. 6 has a different plant on each of
its four upper angles. The birds are each cut with a different play of
plumage in figs. 9 and 12, and the vine-leaves are every one varied in
their position in fig. 13. But this is not all. The differences in the
character of ornamentation between them and the Greek capitals, all show
a greater love of nature; the leaves are, every one of them, more
founded on realities, sketched, however rudely, more directly from the
truth; and are continually treated in a manner which shows the mind of
the workman to have been among the living herbage, not among Greek
precedents. The hard outlines in which, for the sake of perfect
intelligibility, I have left this Plate, have deprived the examples of
the vitality of their light and shade; but the reader can nevertheless
observe the _ideas_ of life occurring perpetually: at the top of fig.
4, for instance, the small leaves turned sideways; in fig. 5, the formal
volutes of the old Corinthian transformed into a branching tendril; in
fig. 6, the bunch of grapes thrown carelessly in at the right-hand
corner, in defiance of all symmetry; in fig. 7, the volutes knitted into
wreaths of ivy; in fig. 14, the leaves, drifted, as it were, by a
whirlwind round the capital by which they rise; while figs. 13 and 15
are as completely living leaves as any of the Gothic time. These designs
may or may not be graceful; what grace or beauty they have is not to be
rendered in mere outline,--but they are indisputably more _natural_ than
any Greek ones, and therefore healthier, and tending to greatness.
§ XXI. In the second place, note in all these examples, the excessive
breadth of the masses, however afterwards they may be filled with
detail. Whether we examine the contour of the simpler convex bells, or
those of the leaves which bend outwards from the richer and more
Corinthian types, we find they are all outlined by grand and simple
curves, and that the whole of their minute fretwork and thistle-work is
cast into a gigantic mould which subdues all their multitudinous points
and foldings to its own inevitable dominion. And the fact is, that in
the sweeping lines and broad surfaces of these Byzantine sculptures we
obtain, so far as I know, for the first time in the history of art, the
germ of that unity of perfect ease in every separate part, with perfect
subjection to an enclosing form or directing impulse, which was brought
to its most intense expression in the compositions of the two men in
whom the art of Italy consummated itself and expired--Tintoret and
Michael Angelo.
I would not attach too much importance to the mere habit of working on
the rounded surface of the stone, which is often as much the result of
haste or rudeness as of the desire for breadth, though the result
obtained is not the less beautiful. But in the capital from the Fondaco
de' Turchi, fig. 6, it will be seen that while the sculptor had taken
the utmost care to make his leaves free, graceful, and sharp in effect,
he was dissatisfied with their separation, and could not rest until he
had enclosed them with an unbroken line, like that of a pointed arch;
and the same thing is done in many different ways in other capitals of
the same building, and in many of St. Mark's: but one such instance
would have been enough to prove, if the loveliness of the profiles
themselves did not do so, that the sculptor understood and loved the
laws of generalization; and that the feeling which bound his prickly
leaves, as they waved or drifted round the ridges of his capital, into
those broad masses of unbroken flow, was indeed one with that which made
Michael Angelo encompass the principal figure in his Creation of Adam
with the broad curve of its cloudy drapery. It may seem strange to
assert any connexion between so great a conception and these rudely hewn
fragments of ruined marble; but all the highest principles of art are as
universal as they are majestic, and there is nothing too small to
receive their influence. They rule at once the waves of the mountain
outline, and the sinuosities of the minutest lichen that stains its
shattered stones.
§ XXII. We have not yet spoken of the three braided and chequered
capitals, numbered 10, 11, and 12. They are representations of a group,
with which many most interesting associations are connected. It was
noticed in the last chapter, that the method of covering the exterior of
buildings with thin pieces of marble was likely to lead to a system of
lighting the interior by minute perforation. In order to obtain both
light and air, without admitting any unbroken body of sunshine, in warm
countries, it became a constant habit of the Arabian architects to
pierce minute and starlike openings in slabs of stone; and to employ the
stones so pierced where the Gothic architects employ traceries.
Internally, the form of stars assumed by the light as it entered[49]
was, in itself, an exquisite decoration; but, externally, it was felt
necessary to add some slight ornament upon the surface of the perforated
stone; and it was soon found that, as the small perforations had a
tendency to look scattered and spotty, the most effective treatment of
the intermediate surfaces would be one which bound them together, and
gave unity and repose to the pierced and disturbed stone: universally,
therefore, those intermediate spaces were carved into the semblance of
interwoven fillets, which alternately sank beneath and rose above each
other as they met. This system of braided or woven ornament was not
confined to the Arabs; it is universally pleasing to the instinct of
mankind. I believe that nearly all early ornamentation is full of
it,--more especially, perhaps, Scandinavian and Anglo-Saxon; and
illuminated manuscripts depend upon it for their loveliest effects of
intricate color, up to the close of the thirteenth century. There are
several very interesting metaphysical reasons for this strange and
unfailing delight, felt in a thing so simple. It is not often that any
idea of utility has power to enhance the true impressions of beauty; but
it is possible that the enormous importance of the art of weaving to
mankind may give some interest, if not actual attractiveness, to any
type or image of the invention to which we owe, at once, our comfort and
our pride. But the more profound reason lies in the innate love of
mystery and unity; in the joy that the human mind has in contemplating
any kind of maze or entanglement, so long as it can discern, through its
confusion, any guiding clue or connecting plan: a pleasure increased and
solemnized by some dim feeling of the setting forth, by such symbols, of
the intricacy, and alternate rise and fall, subjection and supremacy, of
human fortune; the
"Weave the warp, and weave the woof,"
of Fate and Time.
[Illustration: Plate IX.
LILY CAPITAL OF ST. MARKS.]
§ XXIII. But be this as it may, the fact is that we are never tired of
contemplating this woven involution; and that, in some degree, the
sublime pleasure which we have in watching the branches of trees, the
intertwining of the grass, and the tracery of the higher clouds, is
owing to it, not less than that which we receive from the fine meshes of
the robe, the braiding of the hair, and the various glittering of the
linked net or wreathed chain. Byzantine ornamentation, like that of
almost all nations in a state of progress, is full of this kind of work:
but it occurs most conspicuously, though most simply, in the minute
traceries which surround their most solid capitals; sometimes merely in
a reticulated veil, as in the tenth figure in the Plate, sometimes
resembling a basket, on the edges of which are perched birds and other
animals. The diamonded ornament in the eleventh figure is substituted
for it in the Casa Loredan, and marks a somewhat later time and a
tendency to the ordinary Gothic chequer; but the capitals which show it
most definitely are those already so often spoken of as the lily
capitals of St. Mark's, of which the northern one is carefully drawn in
Plate IX.
[Illustration: Plate X.
THE FOUR VENETIAN FLOWER ORDERS.]
§ XXIV. These capitals, called barbarous by our architects, are without
exception the most subtle pieces of composition in broad contour which I
have ever met with in architecture. Their profile is given in the
opposite Plate X. fig. 3, _b_; the inner line in the figure being that
of the stone behind the lily, the outer that of the external network,
taken through the side of the capital; while fig. 3, _c_ is the outer
profile at its angle; and the reader will easily understand that the
passing of the one of these lines into the other is productive of the
most exquisite and wonderful series of curvatures possible within such
compass, no two views of the capital giving the same contour. Upon these
profoundly studied outlines, as remarkable for their grace and
complexity as the general mass of the capital is for solid strength and
proportion to its necessary service, the braided work is wrought with
more than usual care; perhaps, as suggested by the Marchese Selvatico,
with some idea of imitating those "nets of chequerwork and wreaths of
chainwork" on the chapiters of Solomon's temple, which are, I suppose,
the first instances on record of an ornamentation of this kind thus
applied. The braided work encloses on each of the four sides of the
capital a flower whose form, derived from that of the lily, though as
usual modified, in every instance of its occurrence, in some minor
particulars, is generally seen as represented in fig. 11 of Plate VIII.
It is never without the two square or oblong objects at the extremity of
the tendrils issuing from its root, set like vessels to catch the dew
from the points of its leaves; but I do not understand their meaning.
The abacus of the capital has already been given at _a_, Plate XVI.,
Vol. I.; but no amount of illustrations or eulogium would be enough to
make the reader understand the perfect beauty of the thing itself, as
the sun steals from interstice to interstice of its marble veil, and
touches with the white lustre of its rays at mid-day the pointed leaves
of its thirsty lilies.
In all the capitals hitherto spoken of, the form of the head of the bell
has been square, and its varieties of outline have been obtained in the
transition from the square of the abacus to the circular outline of the
shafts. A far more complex series of forms results from the division of
the bell by recesses into separate lobes or leaves, like those of a rose
or tulip, which are each in their turn covered with flower-work or
hollowed into reticulation. The example (fig. 10, Plate VII.) from St.
Mark's will give some idea of the simplest of these conditions: perhaps
the most exquisite in Venice, on the whole, is the central capital of
the upper arcade of the Fondaco de' Turchi.
Such are the principal generic conditions of the Byzantine capital; but
the reader must always remember that the examples given are single
instances, and those not the most beautiful but the most intelligible,
chosen out of thousands: the designs of the capitals of St. Mark's alone
would form a volume.
[Illustration: Plate XI.
BYZANTINE SCULPTURE.]
§ XXV. Of the archivolts which these capitals generally sustain, details
are given in the Appendix and in the notice of Venetian doors in Chapter
VII. In the private palaces, the ranges of archivolt are for the most
part very simple, with dentilled mouldings; and all the ornamental
effect is entrusted to pieces of sculpture set in the wall above or
between the arches, in the manner shown in Plate XV., below, Chapter
VII. These pieces of sculpture are either crosses, upright oblongs, or
circles: of all the three forms an example is given in Plate XI.
opposite. The cross was apparently an invariable ornament, placed either
in the centre of the archivolt of the doorway, or in the centre of the
first story above the windows; on each side of it the circular and
oblong ornaments were used in various alternation. In too many instances
the wall marbles have been torn away from the earliest Byzantine
palaces, so that the crosses are left on their archivolts only. The best
examples of the cross set above the windows are found in houses of the
transitional period: one in the Campo St^a M. Formosa; another, in which
a cross is placed between every window, is still well preserved in the
Campo St^a Maria Mater Domini; another, on the Grand Canal, in the
parish of the Apostoli, has two crosses, one on each side of the first
story, and a bas-relief of Christ enthroned in the centre; and finally,
that from which the larger cross in the Plate was taken in the house
once belonging to Marco Polo, at San Giovanni Grisostomo.
§ XXVI. This cross, though graceful and rich, and given because it
happens to be one of the best preserved, is uncharacteristic in one
respect; for, instead of the central rose at the meeting of the arms, we
usually find a hand raised in the attitude of blessing, between the sun
and moon, as in the two smaller crosses seen in the Plate. In nearly all
representations of the Crucifixion, over the whole of Europe, at the
period in question, the sun and the moon are introduced, one on each
side of the cross,--the sun generally, in paintings, as a red star; but
I do not think with any purpose of indicating the darkness at the time
of the agony; especially because, had this been the intention, the moon
ought not to have been visible, since it could not have been in the
heavens during the day at the time of passover. I believe rather that
the two luminaries are set there in order to express the entire
dependence of the heavens and the earth upon the work of the Redemption:
and this view is confirmed by our frequently finding the sun and moon
set in the same manner beside the figure of Christ, as in the centre of
the great archivolt of St. Mark's, or beside the hand signifying
benediction, without any cross, in some other early archivolts;[50]
while, again, not unfrequently they are absent from the symbol of the
cross itself, and its saving power over the whole of creation is
indicated only by fresh leaves springing from its foot, or doves feeding
beside it; and so also, in illuminated Bibles, we find the series of
pictures representing the Creation terminate in the Crucifixion, as the
work by which all the families of created beings subsist, no less than
that in sympathy with which "the whole creation groaneth and travaileth
in pain together until now."
§ XXVII. This habit of placing the symbol of the Christian faith in the
centres of their palaces was, as I above said, universal in early
Venice; it does not cease till about the middle of the fourteenth
century. The other sculptures, which were set above or between the
arches, consist almost invariably of groups of birds or beasts; either
standing opposite to each other with a small pillar or spray of leafage
between them, or else tearing and devouring each other. The multitude of
these sculptures, especially of the small ones enclosed in circles, as
figs 5 and 6, Plate XI., which are now scattered through the city of
Venice, is enormous, but they are seldom to be seen in their original
positions. When the Byzantine palaces were destroyed, these fragments
were generally preserved, and inserted again in the walls of the new
buildings, with more or less attempt at symmetry; fragments of friezes
and mouldings being often used in the same manner; so that the mode of
their original employment can only be seen in St. Mark's, the Fondaco
de' Turchi, Braided House, and one or two others. The most remarkable
point about them is, that the groups of beasts or birds on each side of
the small pillars bear the closest possible resemblance to the group of
Lions over the gate of Mycenæ; and the whole of the ornamentation of
that gate, as far as I can judge of it from drawings, is so like
Byzantine sculpture, that I cannot help sometimes suspecting the
original conjecture of the French antiquarians, that it was a work of
the middle ages, to be not altogether indefensible. By far the best
among the sculptures at Venice are those consisting of groups thus
arranged; the first figure in Plate XI. is one of those used on St.
Mark's, and, with its chain of wreathen work round it, is very
characteristic of the finest kind, except that the immediate trunk or
pillar often branches into luxuriant leafage, usually of the vine, so
that the whole ornament seems almost composed from the words of Ezekiel.
"A great eagle with great wings, long-winged, full of feathers, which
had divers colors, came into Lebanon, and took the highest branch of the
cedar: He cropped off the top of his young twigs; and _carried it into a
city of traffic; he set it in a city of merchants_. He took also of the
seed of the land, ... and it grew, and became a spreading vine of low
stature, _whose branches turned towards him, and the roots thereof were
under him_."
§ XXVIII. The groups of contending and devouring animals are always much
ruder in cutting, and take somewhat the place in Byzantine sculpture
which the lower grotesques do in the Gothic; true, though clumsy,
grotesques being sometimes mingled among them, as four bodies joined to
one head in the centre;[51] but never showing any attempt at variety of
invention, except only in the effective disposition of the light and
shade, and in the vigor and thoughtfulness of the touches which indicate
the plumes of the birds or foldings of the leaves. Care, however, is
always taken to secure variety enough to keep the eye entertained, no
two sides of these Byzantine ornaments being in all respects the same:
for instance, in the chainwork round the first figure in Plate XI. there
are two circles enclosing squares on the left-hand side of the arch at
the top, but two smaller circles and a diamond on the other, enclosing
one square, and two small circular spots or bosses; and in the line of
chain at the bottom there is a circle on the right, and a diamond on the
left, and so down to the working of the smallest details. I have
represented this upper sculpture as dark, in order to give some idea of
the general effect of these ornaments when seen in shadow against light;
an effect much calculated upon by the designer, and obtained by the use
of a golden ground formed of glass mosaic inserted in the hollows of the
marble. Each square of glass has the leaf gold upon its surface
protected by another thin film of glass above it, so that no time or
weather can affect its lustre, until the pieces of glass are bodily torn
from their setting. The smooth glazed surface of the golden ground is
washed by every shower of rain, but the marble usually darkens into an
amber color in process of time; and when the whole ornament is cast into
shadow, the golden surface, being perfectly reflective, refuses the
darkness, and shows itself in bright and burnished light behind the dark
traceries of the ornament. Where the marble has retained its perfect
whiteness, on the other hand, and is seen in sunshine, it is shown as a
snowy tracery on a golden ground; and the alternations and intermingling
of these two effects form one of the chief enchantments of Byzantine
ornamentation.
§ XXIX. How far the system of grounding with gold and color, universal
in St. Mark's, was carried out in the sculptures of the private palaces,
it is now impossible to say. The wrecks of them which remain, as above
noticed, show few of their ornamental sculptures in their original
position; and from those marbles which were employed in succeeding
buildings, during the Gothic period, the fragments of their mosaic
grounds would naturally rather have been removed than restored. Mosaic,
while the most secure of all decorations if carefully watched and
refastened when it loosens, may, if neglected and exposed to weather, in
process of time disappear so as to leave no vestige of its existence.
However this may have been, the assured facts are, that both the shafts
of the pillars and the facing of the old building were of veined or
variously colored marble: the capitals and sculptures were either, as
they now appear, of pure white marble, relieved upon the veined ground;
or, which is infinitely the more probable, grounded in the richer
palaces with mosaic of gold, in the inferior ones with blue color; and
only the leaves and edges of the sculpture gilded. These brighter hues
were opposed by bands of deeper color, generally alternate russet and
green, in the archivolts,--bands which still remain in the Casa Loredan
and Fondaco de' Turchi, and in a house in the Corte del Remer, near the
Rialto, as well as in St. Mark's; and by circular disks of green
serpentine and porphyry, which, together with the circular sculptures,
appear to have been an ornament peculiarly grateful to the Eastern mind,
derived probably in the first instance from the suspension of shields
upon the wall, as in the majesty of ancient Tyre. "The men of Arvad with
thine army were upon thy walls round about, and the Gammadins were in
thy towers: they hanged their shields upon thy walls round about; they
have made thy beauty perfect."[52] The sweet and solemn harmony of
purple with various green (the same, by the by, to which the hills of
Scotland owe their best loveliness) remained a favorite chord of color
with the Venetians, and was constantly used even in the later palaces;
but never could have been seen in so great perfection as when opposed to
the pale and delicate sculpture of the Byzantine time.
§ XXX. Such, then, was that first and fairest Venice which rose out of
the barrenness of the lagoon, and the sorrow of her people; a city of
graceful arcades and gleaming walls, veined with azure and warm with
gold, and fretted with white sculpture like frost upon forest branches
turned to marble. And yet, in this beauty of her youth, she was no city
of thoughtless pleasure. There was still a sadness of heart upon her,
and a depth of devotion, in which lay all her strength. I do not insist
upon the probable religious signification of many of the sculptures
which are now difficult of interpretation; but the temper which made the
cross the principal ornament of every building is not to be
misunderstood, nor can we fail to perceive, in many of the minor
sculptural subjects, meanings perfectly familiar to the mind of early
Christianity. The peacock, used in preference to every other bird, is
the well-known symbol of the resurrection; and when drinking from a
fountain (Plate XI. fig. 1) or from a font (Plate XI. fig. 5), is, I
doubt not, also a type of the new life received in faithful baptism. The
vine, used in preference to all other trees, was equally recognized as,
in all cases, a type either of Christ himself[53] or of those who were
in a state of visible or professed union with him. The dove, at its
foot, represents the coming of the Comforter; and even the groups of
contending animals had, probably, a distinct and universally apprehended
reference to the powers of evil. But I lay no stress on these more
occult meanings. The principal circumstance which marks the seriousness
of the early Venetian mind is perhaps the last in which the reader would
suppose it was traceable;--that love of bright and pure color which, in
a modified form, was afterwards the root of all the triumph of the
Venetian schools of painting, but which, in its utmost simplicity, was
characteristic of the Byzantine period only; and of which, therefore, in
the close of our review of that period, it will be well that we should
truly estimate the significance. The fact is, we none of us enough
appreciate the nobleness and sacredness of color. Nothing is more common
than to hear it spoken of as a subordinate beauty,--nay, even as the
mere source of a sensual pleasure; and we might almost believe that we
were daily among men who
"Could strip, for aught the prospect yields
To them, their verdure from the fields;
And take the radiance from the clouds
With which the sun his setting shrouds."
But it is not so. Such expressions are used for the most part in
thoughtlessness; and if the speakers would only take the pains to
imagine what the world and their own existence would become, if the blue
were taken from the sky, and the gold from the sunshine, and the verdure
from the leaves, and the crimson from the blood which is the life of
man, the flush from the cheek, the darkness from the eye, the radiance
from the hair,--if they could but see for an instant, white human
creatures living in a white world,--they would soon feel what they owe
to color. The fact is, that, of all God's gifts to the sight of man,
color is the holiest, the most divine, the most solemn. We speak rashly
of gay color, and sad color, for color cannot at once be good and gay.
All good color is in some degree pensive, the loveliest is melancholy,
and the purest and most thoughtful minds are those which love color the
most.
§ XXXI. I know that this will sound strange in many ears, and will be
especially startling to those who have considered the subject chiefly
with reference to painting; for the great Venetian schools of color are
not usually understood to be either pure or pensive, and the idea of its
pre-eminence is associated in nearly every mind with the coarseness of
Rubens, and the sensualities of Correggio and Titian. But a more
comprehensive view of art will soon correct this impression. It will be
discovered, in the first place, that the more faithful and earnest the
religion of the painter, the more pure and prevalent is the system of
his color. It will be found, in the second place, that where color
becomes a primal intention with a painter otherwise mean or sensual, it
instantly elevates him, and becomes the one sacred and saving element in
his work. The very depth of the stoop to which the Venetian painters and
Rubens sometimes condescend, is a consequence of their feeling
confidence in the power of their color to keep them from falling. They
hold on by it, as by a chain let down from heaven, with one hand, though
they may sometimes seem to gather dust and ashes with the other. And, in
the last place, it will be found that so surely as a painter is
irreligious, thoughtless, or obscene in disposition, so surely is his
coloring cold, gloomy, and valueless. The opposite poles of art in this
respect are Frà Angelico and Salvator Rosa; of whom the one was a man
who smiled seldom, wept often, prayed constantly, and never harbored an
impure thought. His pictures are simply so many pieces of jewellery, the
colors of the draperies being perfectly pure, as various as those of a
painted window, chastened only by paleness, and relieved upon a gold
ground. Salvator was a dissipated jester and satirist, a man who spent
his life in masquing and revelry. But his pictures are full of horror,
and their color is for the most part gloomy grey. Truly it would seem as
if art had so much of eternity in it, that it must take its dye from the
close rather than the course of life:--"In such laughter the heart of
man is sorrowful, and the end of that mirth is heaviness."
§ XXXII. These are no singular instances. I know no law more severely
without exception than this of the connexion of pure color with profound
and noble thought. The late Flemish pictures, shallow in conception and
obscene in subject, are always sober in color. But the early religious
painting of the Flemings is as brilliant in hue as it is holy in
thought. The Bellinis, Francias, Peruginos painted in crimson, and blue,
and gold. The Caraccis, Guidos, and Rembrandts in brown and grey. The
builders of our great cathedrals veiled their casements and wrapped
their pillars with one robe of purple splendor. The builders of the
luxurious Renaissance left their palaces filled only with cold white
light, and in the paleness of their native stone.[54]
§ XXXIII. Nor does it seem difficult to discern a noble reason for this
universal law. In that heavenly circle which binds the statutes of color
upon the front of the sky, when it became the sign of the covenant of
peace, the pure hues of divided light were sanctified to the human heart
for ever; nor this, it would seem, by mere arbitrary appointment, but in
consequence of the fore-ordained and marvellous constitution of those
hues into a sevenfold, or, more strictly still, a threefold order,
typical of the Divine nature itself. Observe also, the name Shem, or
Splendor, given to that son of Noah in whom this covenant with mankind
was to be fulfilled, and see how that name was justified by every one of
the Asiatic races which descended from him. Not without meaning was the
love of Israel to his chosen son expressed by the coat "of many colors;"
not without deep sense of the sacredness of that symbol of purity, did
the lost daughter of David tear it from her breast:--"With such robes
were the king's daughters that were virgins apparelled."[55] We know it
to have been by Divine command that the Israelite, rescued from
servitude, veiled the tabernacle with its rain of purple and scarlet,
while the under sunshine flashed through the fall of the color from its
tenons of gold: but was it less by Divine guidance that the Mede, as he
struggled out of anarchy, encompassed his king with the sevenfold
burning of the battlements of Ecbatana?--of which one circle was golden
like the sun, and another silver like the moon; and then came the great
sacred chord of color, blue, purple, and scarlet; and then a circle
white like the day, and another dark, like night; so that the city rose
like a great mural rainbow, a sign of peace amidst the contending of
lawless races, and guarded, with color and shadow, that seemed to
symbolize the great order which rules over Day, and Night, and Time, the
first organization of the mighty statutes,--the law of the Medes and
Persians, that altereth not.
§ XXXIV. Let us not dream that it is owing to the accidents of tradition
or education that those races possess the supremacy over color which has
always been felt, though but lately acknowledged among men. However
their dominion might be broken, their virtue extinguished, or their
religion defiled, they retained alike the instinct and the power: the
instinct which made even their idolatry more glorious than that of
others, bursting forth in fire-worship from pyramid, cave, and mountain,
taking the stars for the rulers of its fortune, and the sun for the God
of its life; the power which so dazzled and subdued the rough crusader
into forgetfulness of sorrow and of shame, that Europe put on the
splendor which she had learnt of the Saracen, as her sackcloth of
mourning for what she suffered from his sword;--the power which she
confesses to this day, in the utmost thoughtlessness of her pride, or
her beauty, as it treads the costly carpet, or veils itself with the
variegated Cachemire; and in the emulation of the concourse of her
workmen, who, but a few months back, perceived, or at least admitted,
for the first time, the pre-eminence which has been determined from the
birth of mankind, and on whose charter Nature herself has set a
mysterious seal, granting to the Western races, descended from that son
of Noah whose name was Extension, the treasures of the sullen rock, and
stubborn ore, and gnarled forest, which were to accomplish their destiny
across all distance of earth and depth of sea, while she matured the
jewel in the sand, and rounded the pearl in the shell, to adorn the
diadem of him whose name was Splendor.
§ XXXV. And observe, farther, how in the Oriental mind a peculiar
seriousness is associated with this attribute of the love of color; a
seriousness rising out of repose, and out of the depth and breadth of
the imagination, as contrasted with the activity, and consequent
capability of surprise, and of laughter, characteristic of the Western
mind: as a man on a journey must look to his steps always, and view
things narrowly and quickly; while one at rest may command a wider view,
though an unchanging one, from which the pleasure he receives must be
one of contemplation, rather than of amusement or surprise. Wherever the
pure Oriental spirit manifests itself definitely, I believe its work is
serious; and the meeting of the influences of the Eastern and Western
races is perhaps marked in Europe more by the dying away of the
grotesque laughter of the Goth than by any other sign. I shall have more
to say on this head in other places of this volume; but the point I wish
at present to impress upon the reader is, that the bright hues of the
early architecture of Venice were no sign of gaiety of heart, and that
the investiture with the mantle of many colors by which she is known
above all other cities of Italy and of Europe, was not granted to her in
the fever of her festivity, but in the solemnity of her early and
earnest religion. She became in after times the revel of the earth, the
masque of Italy; and _therefore_ is she now desolate: but her glorious
robe of gold and purple was given her when first she rose a vestal from
the sea, not when she became drunk with the wine of her fornication.
§ XXXVI. And we have never yet looked with enough reverence upon the
separate gift which was thus bestowed upon her; we have never enough
considered what an inheritance she has left us, in the works of those
mighty painters who were the chief of her children. That inheritance is
indeed less than it ought to have been, and other than it ought to have
been; for before Titian and Tintoret arose,--the men in whom her work
and her glory should have been together consummated,--she had already
ceased to lead her sons in the way of truth and life, and they erred
much, and fell short of that which was appointed for them. There is no
subject of thought more melancholy, more wonderful, than the way in
which God permits so often His best gifts to be trodden under foot of
men, His richest treasures to be wasted by the moth, and the mightiest
influences of His Spirit, given but once in the world's history, to be
quenched and shortened by miseries of chance and guilt. I do not wonder
at what men Suffer, but I wonder often at what they Lose. We may see how
good rises out of pain and evil; but the dead, naked, eyeless loss, what
good comes of that? The fruit struck to the earth before its ripeness;
the glowing life and goodly purpose dissolved away in sudden death; the
words, half spoken, choked upon the lips with clay for ever; or,
stranger than all, the whole majesty of humanity raised to its fulness,
and every gift and power necessary for a given purpose, at a given
moment, centred in one man, and all this perfected blessing permitted to
be refused, perverted, crushed, cast aside by those who need it
most,--the city which is Not set on a hill, the candle that giveth light
to None that are in the house:--these are the heaviest mysteries of this
strange world, and, it seems to me, those which mark its curse the most.
And it is true that the power with which this Venice had been entrusted,
was perverted, when at its highest, in a thousand miserable ways; still,
it was possessed by her alone; to her all hearts have turned which could
be moved by its manifestation, and none without being made stronger and
nobler by what her hand had wrought. That mighty Landscape, of dark
mountains that guard the horizon with their purple towers, and solemn
forests, that gather their weight of leaves, bronzed with sunshine, not
with age, into those gloomy masses fixed in heaven, which storm and
frost have power no more to shake, or shed;--that mighty Humanity, so
perfect and so proud, that hides no weakness beneath the mantle, and
gains no greatness from the diadem; the majesty of thoughtful form, on
which the dust of gold and flame of jewels are dashed as the sea-spray
upon the rock, and still the great Manhood seems to stand bare against
the blue sky;--that mighty Mythology, which fills the daily walks of men
with spiritual companionship, and beholds the protecting angels break
with their burning presence through the arrow-flights of
battle:--measure the compass of that field of creation, weigh the value
of the inheritance that Venice thus left to the nations of Europe, and
then judge if so vast, so beneficent a power could indeed have been
rooted in dissipation or decay. It was when she wore the ephod of the
priest, not the motley of the masquer, that the fire fell upon her from
heaven; and she saw the first rays of it through the rain of her own
tears, when, as the barbaric deluge ebbed from the hills of Italy, the
circuit of her palaces, and the orb of her fortunes, rose together, like
the Iris, painted upon the Cloud.
FOOTNOTES
[41] In the year 1851, by the Duchesse de Berri.
[42] Of the Braided House and Casa Businello, described in the
Appendix, only the great central arcades remain.
[43] Only one wing of the first story is left. See Appendix 11.
[44] I am obliged to give these measures approximately, because,
this front having been studied by the builder with unusual care, not
one of its measures is the same as another; and the symmetries
between the correspondent arches are obtained by changes in the
depth of their mouldings and variations in their heights, far too
complicated for me to enter into here; so that of the two arches
stated as 19 ft. 8 in. in span, one is in reality 19 ft. 6½ in., the
other 19 ft. 10 in., and of the two stated as 20 ft. 4 in., one is
20 ft. and the other 20 ft. 8 in.
[45] By Mr. Penrose.
[46] I am sometimes obliged, unfortunately, to read my woodcuts
backwards owing to my having forgotten to reverse them on the wood.
[47] Vide Plate X. figs. 1 and 4.
[48]
1. Fondaco de' Turehi, lateral 8. St. Mark's.
pillars. 9. St. Mark's.
2. Terraced House, lateral pillars. 10. Braided House, upper arcade.
3. Casa Farsetti, central pillars, 11. Casa Loredan, upper arcade.
upper arcade. 12. St. Mark's.
4. Casa Loredan, lower arcade. 13. St. Mark's.
5. Casa Loredan, lower arcade. 14. Fondaco de' Turchi, upper
6. Fondaco de' Turchi, upper arcade. arcade.
7. Casa Loredan, upper arcade. 15. St. Mark's.
[49] Compare "Seven Lamps," chap. ii. § 22.
[50] Two of these are represented in the second number of my folio work
upon Venice.
[51] The absence of the true grotesque spirit in Byzantine work will be
examined in the third chapter of the third volume.
[52] Ezekiel, xxvii. 11.
[53] Perhaps this type is in no place of Scripture more touchingly used
than in Lamentations, i. 12, where the word "afflicted" is rendered in
the Vulgate "vindemiavit," "vintaged."
[54] Appendix 12, "Modern Painting on Glass."
[55] 2 Samuel, xiii. 18.
SECOND, OR GOTHIC, PERIOD.