THE DUCAL PALACE.
§ I. It was stated in the commencement of the preceding chapter that the
Gothic art of Venice was separated by the building of the Ducal Palace
into two distinct periods; and that in all the domestic edifices which
were raised for half a century after its completion, their
characteristic and chiefly effective portions were more or less directly
copied from it. The fact is, that the Ducal Palace was the great work of
Venice at this period, itself the principal effort of her imagination,
employing her best architects in its masonry, and her best painters in
its decoration, for a long series of years; and we must receive it as a
remarkable testimony to the influence which it possessed over the minds
of those who saw it in its progress, that, while in the other cities of
Italy every palace and church was rising in some original and daily more
daring form, the majesty of this single building was able to give pause
to the Gothic imagination in its full career; stayed the restlessness of
innovation in an instant, and forbade the powers which had created it
thenceforth to exert themselves in new directions, or endeavor to summon
an image more attractive.
§ II. The reader will hardly believe that while the architectural
invention of the Venetians was thus lost, Narcissus-like, in
self-contemplation, the various accounts of the progress of the building
thus admired and beloved are so confused as frequently to leave it
doubtful to what portion of the palace they refer; and that there is
actually, at the time being, a dispute between the best Venetian
antiquaries, whether the main façade of the palace be of the fourteenth
or fifteenth century. The determination of this question is of course
necessary before we proceed to draw any conclusions from the style of
the work; and it cannot be determined without a careful review of the
entire history of the palace, and of all the documents relating to it. I
trust that this review may not be found tedious,--assuredly it will not
be fruitless,--bringing many facts before us, singularly illustrative of
the Venetian character.
§ III. Before, however, the reader can enter upon any inquiry into the
history of this building, it is necessary that he should be thoroughly
familiar with the arrangement and names of its principal parts, as it at
present stands; otherwise he cannot comprehend so much as a single
sentence of any of the documents referring to it. I must do what I can,
by the help of a rough plan and bird's-eye view, to give him the
necessary topographical knowledge:
Fig. XXXVI. opposite is a rude ground plan of the buildings round St.
Mark's Place; and the following references will clearly explain their
relative positions:
A. St. Mark's Place.
B. Piazzetta.
P. V. Procuratie Vecchie.
P. N. (opposite) Procuratie Nuove.
P. L. Libreria Vecchia.
I. Piazzetta de' Leoni.
T. Tower of St. Mark.
F F. Great Façade of St. Mark's Church.
M. St. Mark's. (It is so united with the Ducal Palace, that the
separation cannot be indicated in the plan, unless all the walls
had been marked, which would have confused the whole.)
D D D. Ducal Palace. g s. Giant's stair.
C. Court of Ducal Palace. J. Judgment angle.
c. Porta della Carta. a. Fig-tree angle.
p p. Ponte della Paglia (Bridge of Straw).
S. Ponte de' Sospiri (Bridge of Sighs).
R R. Riva de' Schiavoni.
The reader will observe that the Ducal Palace is arranged somewhat in
the form of a hollow square, of which one side faces the Piazzetta, B,
and another the quay called the Riva de' Schiavoni, R R; the third is on
the dark canal called the "Rio del Palazzo," and the fourth joins the
Church of St. Mark.
[Illustration: Fig. XXXVI.]
[Illustration: Fig. XXXVII.]
Of this fourth side, therefore, nothing can be seen. Of the other three
sides we shall have to speak constantly; and they will be respectively
called, that towards the Piazzetta, the "Piazzetta Façade;" that towards
the Riva de' Schiavoni, the "Sea Façade;" and that towards the Rio del
Palazzo, the "Rio Façade." This Rio, or canal, is usually looked upon by
the traveller with great respect, or even horror, because it passes
under the Bridge of Sighs. It is, however, one of the principal
thoroughfares of the city; and the bridge and its canal together occupy,
in the mind of a Venetian, very much the position of Fleet Street and
Temple Bar in that of a Londoner,--at least, at the time when Temple Bar
was occasionally decorated with human heads. The two buildings closely
resemble each other in form.
§ IV. We must now proceed to obtain some rough idea of the appearance
and distribution of the palace itself; but its arrangement will be
better understood by supposing ourselves raised some hundred and fifty
feet above the point in the lagoon in front of it, so as to get a
general view of the Sea Façade and Rio Façade (the latter in very steep
perspective), and to look down into its interior court. Fig. XXXVII.
roughly represents such a view, omitting all details on the roofs, in
order to avoid confusion. In this drawing we have merely to notice that,
of the two bridges seen on the right, the uppermost, above the black
canal, is the Bridge of Sighs; the lower one is the Ponte della Paglia,
the regular thoroughfare from quay to quay, and, I believe, called the
Bridge of Straw, because the boats which brought straw from the mainland
used to sell it at this place. The corner of the palace, rising above
this bridge, and formed by the meeting of the Sea Façade and Rio Façade,
will always be called the Vine angle, because it is decorated by a
sculpture of the drunkenness of Noah. The angle opposite will be called
the Fig-tree angle, because it is decorated by a sculpture of the Fall
of Man. The long and narrow range of building, of which the roof is seen
in perspective behind this angle, is the part of the palace fronting the
Piazzetta; and the angle under the pinnacle most to the left of the two
which terminate it will be called, for a reason presently to be stated,
the Judgment angle. Within the square formed by the building is seen its
interior court (with one of its wells), terminated by small and
fantastic buildings of the Renaissance period, which face the Giant's
Stair, of which the extremity is seen sloping down on the left.
§ V. The great façade which fronts the spectator looks southward. Hence
the two traceried windows lower than the rest, and to the right of the
spectator, may be conveniently distinguished as the "Eastern Windows."
There are two others like them, filled with tracery, and at the same
level, which look upon the narrow canal between the Ponte della Paglia
and the Bridge of Sighs: these we may conveniently call the "Canal
Windows." The reader will observe a vertical line in this dark side of
the palace, separating its nearer and plainer wall from a long
four-storied range of rich architecture. This more distant range is
entirely Renaissance: its extremity is not indicated, because I have no
accurate sketch of the small buildings and bridges beyond it, and we
shall have nothing whatever to do with this part of the palace in our
present inquiry. The nearer and undecorated wall is part of the older
palace, though much defaced by modern opening of common windows,
refittings of the brickwork, &c.
[Illustration: Fig. XXXVIII.]
§ VI. It will be observed that the façade is composed of a smooth mass
of wall, sustained on two tiers of pillars, one above the other. The
manner in which these support the whole fabric will be understood at
once by the rough section, fig. XXXVIII., which is supposed to be taken
right through the palace to the interior court, from near the middle of
the Sea Façade. Here _a_ and _d_ are the rows of shafts, both in the
inner court and on the Façade, which carry the main walls; _b_, _c_ are
solid walls variously strengthened with pilasters. A, B, C are the three
stories of the interior of the palace.
The reader sees that it is impossible for any plan to be more simple,
and that if the inner floors and walls of the stories A, B were
removed, there could be left merely the form of a basilica,--two high
walls, carried on ranges of shafts, and roofed by a low gable.
The stories A, B are entirely modernized, and divided into confused
ranges of small apartments, among which what vestiges remain of ancient
masonry are entirely undecipherable, except by investigations such as I
have had neither the time nor, as in most cases they would involve the
removal of modern plastering, the opportunity, to make. With the
subdivisions of this story, therefore, I shall not trouble the reader;
but those of the great upper story, C, are highly important.
§ VII. In the bird's-eye view above, fig. XXXVII., it will be noticed
that the two windows on the right are lower than the other four of the
façade. In this arrangement there is one of the most remarkable
instances I know of the daring sacrifice of symmetry to convenience,
which was noticed in Chap. VII. as one of the chief noblenesses of the
Gothic schools.
The part of the palace in which the two lower windows occur, we shall
find, was first built, and arranged in four stories in order to obtain
the necessary number of apartments. Owing to circumstances, of which we
shall presently give an account, it became necessary, in the beginning
of the fourteenth century, to provide another large and magnificent
chamber for the meeting of the senate. That chamber was added at the
side of the older building; but, as only one room was wanted, there was
no need to divide the added portion into two stories. The entire height
was given to the single chamber, being indeed not too great for just
harmony with its enormous length and breadth. And then came the question
how to place the windows, whether on a line with the two others, or
above them.
The ceiling of the new room was to be adorned by the paintings of the
best masters in Venice, and it became of great importance to raise the
light near that gorgeous roof, as well as to keep the tone of
illumination in the Council Chamber serene; and therefore to introduce
light rather in simple masses than in many broken streams. A modern
architect, terrified at the idea of violating external symmetry, would
have sacrificed both the pictures and the peace of the council. He would
have placed the larger windows at the same level with the other two, and
have introduced above them smaller windows, like those of the upper
story in the older building, as if that upper story had been continued
along the façade. But the old Venetian thought of the honor of the
paintings, and the comfort of the senate, before his own reputation. He
unhesitatingly raised the large windows to their proper position with
reference to the interior of the chamber, and suffered the external
appearance to take care of itself. And I believe the whole pile rather
gains than loses in effect by the variation thus obtained in the spaces
of wall above and below the windows.
§ VIII. On the party wall, between the second and third windows, which
faces the eastern extremity of the Great Council Chamber, is painted the
Paradise of Tintoret; and this wall will therefore be hereafter called
the "Wall of the Paradise."
In nearly the centre of the Sea Façade, and between the first and second
windows of the Great Council Chamber, is a large window to the ground,
opening on a balcony, which is one of the chief ornaments of the palace,
and will be called in future the "Sea Balcony."
The façade which looks on the Piazetta is very nearly like this to the
Sea, but the greater part of it was built in the fifteenth century, when
people had become studious of their symmetries. Its side windows are all
on the same level. Two light the west end of the Great Council Chamber,
one lights a small room anciently called the Quarantia Civil Nuova; the
other three, and the central one, with a balcony like that to the Sea,
light another large chamber, called Sala del Scrutinio, or "Hall of
Enquiry," which extends to the extremity of the palace above the Porta
della Carta.
§ IX. The reader is now well enough acquainted with the topography of
the existing building, to be able to follow the accounts of its history.
We have seen above, that there were three principal styles of Venetian
architecture; Byzantine, Gothic, and Renaissance.
The Ducal Palace, which was the great work of Venice, was built
successively in the three styles. There was a Byzantine Ducal Palace, a
Gothic Ducal Palace, and a Renaissance Ducal Palace. The second
superseded the first totally; a few stones of it (if indeed so much) are
all that is left. But the third superseded the second in part only, and
the existing building is formed by the union of the two.
We shall review the history of each in succession.[99]
1st. The BYZANTINE PALACE.
In the year of the death of Charlemagne, 813,[100] the Venetians
determined to make the island of Rialto the seat of the government and
capital of their state. Their Doge, Angelo or Agnello Participazio,
instantly took vigorous means for the enlargement of the small group of
buildings which were to be the nucleus of the future Venice. He
appointed persons to superintend the raising of the banks of sand, so as
to form more secure foundations, and to build wooden bridges over the
canals. For the offices of religion, he built the Church of St. Mark;
and on, or near, the spot where the Ducal Palace now stands, he built a
palace for the administration of the government.[101]
The history of the Ducal Palace therefore begins with the birth of
Venice, and to what remains of it, at this day, is entrusted the last
representation of her power.
§ X. Of the exact position and form of this palace of Participazio
little is ascertained. Sansovino says that it was "built near the Ponte
della Paglia, and answeringly on the Grand Canal,"[102] towards San
Giorgio; that is to say, in the place now occupied by the Sea Façade;
but this was merely the popular report of his day. We know, however,
positively, that it was somewhere upon the site of the existing palace;
and that it had an important front towards the Piazzetta, with which, as
we shall see hereafter, the present palace at one period was
incorporated. We know, also, that it was a pile of some magnificence,
from the account given by Sagornino of the visit paid by the Emperor
Otho the Great, to the Doge Pietro Orseolo II. The chronicler says that
the Emperor "beheld carefully all the beauty of the palace;"[103] and
the Venetian historians express pride in the building's being worthy of
an emperor's examination. This was after the palace had been much
injured by fire in the revolt against Candiano IV.,[104] and just
repaired, and richly adorned by Orseolo himself, who is spoken of by
Sagornino as having also "adorned the chapel of the Ducal Palace" (St.
Mark's) with ornaments of marble and gold.[105] There can be no doubt
whatever that the palace at this period resembled and impressed the
other Byzantine edifices of the city, such as the Fondaco de Turchi,
&c., whose remains have been already described; and that, like them, it
was covered with sculpture, and richly adorned with gold and color.
§ XI. In the year 1106, it was for the second time injured by fire,[106]
but repaired before 1116, when it received another emperor, Henry V. (of
Germany), and was again honored by imperial praise.[107] Between 1173
and the close of the century, it seems to have been again repaired and
much enlarged by the Doge Sebastian Ziani. Sansovino says that this Doge
not only repaired it, but "enlarged it in every direction;"[108] and,
after this enlargement, the palace seems to have remained untouched for
a hundred years, until, in the commencement of the fourteenth century,
the works of the Gothic Palace were begun. As, therefore, the old
Byzantine building was, at the time when those works first interfered
with it, in the form given to it by Ziani, I shall hereafter always
speak of it as the _Ziani_ Palace; and this the rather, because the only
chronicler whose words are perfectly clear respecting the existence of
part of this palace so late as the year 1422, speaks of it as built by
Ziani. The old "palace, of which half remains to this day, was built, as
we now see it, by Sebastian Ziani."[109]
So far, then, of the Byzantine Palace.
§ XII. 2nd. The GOTHIC PALACE. The reader, doubtless, recollects that
the important change in the Venetian government which gave stability to
the aristocratic power took place about the year 1297,[110] under the
Doge Pietro Gradenigo, a man thus characterized by Sansovino:--"A prompt
and prudent man, of unconquerable determination and great eloquence, who
laid, so to speak, the foundations of the eternity of this republic, by
the admirable regulations which he introduced into the government."
We may now, with some reason, doubt of their admirableness; but their
importance, and the vigorous will and intellect of the Doge, are not to
be disputed. Venice was in the zenith of her strength, and the heroism
of her citizens was displaying itself in every quarter of the
world.[111] The acquiescence in the secure establishment of the
aristocratic power was an expression, by the people, of respect for the
families which had been chiefly instrumental in raising the commonwealth
to such a height of prosperity.
The Serrar del Consiglio fixed the numbers of the Senate within certain
limits, and it conferred upon them a dignity greater than they had ever
before possessed. It was natural that the alteration in the character of
the assembly should be attended by some change in the size, arrangement,
or decoration of the chamber in which they sat.
We accordingly find it recorded by Sansovino, that "in 1301 another
saloon was begun on the Rio del Palazzo, _under the Doge Gradenigo_, and
finished in 1309, _in which year the Grand Council first sat in
it_."[112] In the first year, therefore, of the fourteenth century, the
Gothic Ducal Palace of Venice was begun; and as the Byzantine Palace
was, in its foundation, coeval with that of the state, so the Gothic
Palace was, in its foundation, coeval with that of the aristocratic
power. Considered as the principal representation of the Venetian school
of architecture, the Ducal Palace is the Parthenon of Venice, and
Gradenigo its Pericles.
§ XIII. Sansovino, with a caution very frequent among Venetian
historians, when alluding to events connected with the Serrar del
Consiglio, does not specially mention the cause for the requirement of
the new chamber; but the Sivos Chronicle is a little more distinct in
expression. "In 1301, it was determined to build a great saloon _for the
assembling_ of the Great Council, and the room was built which is _now_
called the Sala del Scrutinio."[113] _Now_, that is to say, at the time
when the Sivos Chronicle was written; the room has long ago been
destroyed, and its name given to another chamber on the opposite side of
the palace: but I wish the reader to remember the date 1301, as marking
the commencement of a great architectural epoch, in which took place the
first appliance of the energy of the aristocratic power, and of the
Gothic style, to the works of the Ducal Palace. The operations then
begun were continued, with hardly an interruption, during the whole
period of the prosperity of Venice. We shall see the new buildings
consume, and take the place of, the Ziani Palace, piece by piece: and
when the Ziani Palace was destroyed, they fed upon themselves; being
continued round the square, until, in the sixteenth century, they
reached the point where they had been begun in the fourteenth, and
pursued the track they had then followed some distance beyond the
junction; destroying or hiding their own commencement, as the serpent,
which is the type of eternity, conceals its tail in its jaws.
§ XIV. We cannot, therefore, _see_ the extremity, wherein lay the sting
and force of the whole creature,--the chamber, namely, built by the Doge
Gradenigo; but the reader must keep that commencement and the date of it
carefully in his mind. The body of the Palace Serpent will soon become
visible to us.
The Gradenigo Chamber was somewhere on the Rio Façade, behind the
present position of the Bridge of Sighs; i.e. about the point marked on
the roof by the dotted lines in the woodcut; it is not known whether low
or high, but probably on a first story. The great façade of the Ziani
Palace being, as above mentioned, on the Piazzetta, this chamber was as
far back and out of the way as possible; secrecy and security being
obviously the points first considered.
§ XV. But the newly constituted Senate had need of other additions to
the ancient palace besides the Council Chamber. A short, but most
significant, sentence is added to Sansovino's account of the
construction of that room. "There were, _near_ _it_," he says, "the
Cancellaria, and the _Gheba_ or _Gabbia_, afterwards called the Little
Tower."[114]
Gabbia means a "cage;" and there can be no question that certain
apartments were at this time added at the top of the palace and on the
Rio Façade, which were to be used as prisons. Whether any portion of the
old Torresella still remains is a doubtful question; but the apartments
at the top of the palace, in its fourth story, were still used for
prisons as late as the beginning of the seventeenth century.[115] I wish
the reader especially to notice that a separate tower or range of
apartments was built for this purpose, in order to clear the government
of the accusations so constantly made against them, by ignorant or
partial historians, of wanton cruelty to prisoners. The stories commonly
told respecting the "piombi" of the Ducal Palace are utterly false.
Instead of being, as usually reported, small furnaces under the leads of
the palace, they were comfortable rooms, with good flat roofs of larch,
and carefully ventilated.[116] The new chamber, then, and the prisons,
being built, the Great Council first sat in their retired chamber on the
Rio in the year 1309.
§ XVI. Now, observe the significant progress of events. They had no
sooner thus established themselves in power than they were disturbed by
the conspiracy of the Tiepolos, in the year 1310. In consequence of that
conspiracy the Council of Ten was created, still under the Doge
Gradenigo; who, having finished his work and left the aristocracy of
Venice armed with this terrible power, died in the year 1312, some say
by poison. He was succeeded by the Doge Marino Giorgio, who reigned
only one year; and then followed the prosperous government of John
Soranzo. There is no mention of any additions to the Ducal Palace during
his reign, but he was succeeded by that Francesco Dandolo, the
sculptures on whose tomb, still existing in the cloisters of the Salute,
may be compared by any traveller with those of the Ducal Palace. Of him
it is recorded in the Savina Chronicle: "This Doge also had the great
gate built which is at the entry of the palace, above which is his
statue kneeling, with the gonfalon in hand, before the feet of the Lion
of St. Mark's."[117]
§ XVII. It appears, then, that after the Senate had completed their
Council Chamber and the prisons, they required a nobler door than that
of the old Ziani Palace for their Magnificences to enter by. This door
is twice spoken of in the government accounts of expenses, which are
fortunately preserved,[118] in the following terms:--
"1335, June 1. We, Andrew Dandolo and Mark Loredano, procurators of
St. Mark's, have paid to Martin the stone-cutter and his
associates[119] ... for a stone of which the lion is made which is
put over the gate of the palace."
"1344, November 4. We have paid thirty-five golden ducats for making
gold leaf, to gild the lion which is over the door of the palace
stairs."
The position of this door is disputed, and is of no consequence to the
reader, the door itself having long ago disappeared, and been replaced
by the Porta della Carta.
§ XVIII. But before it was finished, occasion had been discovered for
farther improvements. The Senate found their new Council Chamber
inconveniently small, and, about thirty years after its completion,
began to consider where a larger and more magnificent one might be
built. The government was now thoroughly established, and it was
probably felt that there was some meanness in the retired position, as
well as insufficiency in the size, of the Council Chamber on the Rio.
The first definite account which I find of their proceedings, under
these circumstances, is in the Caroldo Chronicle:[120]
"1340. On the 28th of December, in the preceding year, Master Marco
Erizzo, Nicolo Soranzo, and Thomas Gradenigo, were chosen to examine
where a new saloon might be built in order to assemble therein the
Greater Council.... On the 3rd of June, 1341, the Great Council elected
two procurators of the work of this saloon, with a salary of eighty
ducats a year."
It appears from the entry still preserved in the Archivio, and quoted by
Cadorin, that it was on the 28th of December, 1340, that the
commissioners appointed to decide on this important matter gave in their
report to the Grand Council, and that the decree passed thereupon for
the commencement of a new Council Chamber on the Grand Canal.[121]
_The room then begun is the one now in existence_, and its building
involved the building of all that is best and most beautiful in the
present Ducal Palace, the rich arcades of the lower stories being all
prepared for sustaining this Sala del Gran Consiglio.
§ XIX. In saying that it is the same now in existence, I do not mean
that it has undergone no alterations; as we shall see hereafter, it has
been refitted again and again, and some portions of its walls rebuilt;
but in the place and form in which it first stood, it still stands; and
by a glance at the position which its windows occupy, as shown in fig.
XXXVII. above, the reader will see at once that whatever can be known
respecting the design of the Sea Façade, must be gleaned out of the
entries which refer to the building of this Great Council Chamber.
Cadorin quotes two of great importance, to which we shall return in due
time, made during the progress of the work in 1342 and 1344; then one of
1349, resolving that the works at the Ducal Palace, which had been
discontinued during the plague, should be resumed; and finally one in
1362, which speaks of the Great Council Chamber as having been neglected
and suffered to fall into "great desolation," and resolves that it shall
be forthwith completed.[122]
The interruption had not been caused by the plague only, but by the
conspiracy of Faliero, and the violent death of the master builder.[123]
The work was resumed in 1362, and completed within the next three years,
at least so far as that Guariento was enabled to paint his Paradise on
the walls;[124] so that the building must, at any rate, have been roofed
by this time. Its decorations and fittings, however, were long in
completion; the paintings on the roof being only executed in 1400.[125]
They represented the heavens covered with stars,[126] this being, says
Sansovino, the bearings of the Doge Steno. Almost all ceilings and
vaults were at this time in Venice covered with stars, without any
reference to armorial bearings; but Steno claims, under his noble title
of Stellifer, an important share in completing the chamber, in an
inscription upon two square tablets, now inlaid in the walls on each
side of the great window towards the sea:
"MILLE QUADRINGENTI CURREBANT QUATUOR ANNI
HOC OPUS ILLUSTRIS MICHAEL DUX STELLIFER AUXIT."
And in fact it is to this Doge that we owe the beautiful balcony of that
window, though the work above it is partly of more recent date; and I
think the tablets bearing this important inscription have been taken out
and reinserted in the newer masonry. The labor of these final
decorations occupied a total period of sixty years. The Grand Council
sat in the finished chamber for the first time in 1423. In that year the
Gothic Ducal Palace of Venice was completed. It had taken, to build it,
the energies of the entire period which I have above described as the
central one of her life.
§ XX. 3rd. The RENAISSANCE PALACE. I must go back a step or two, in
order to be certain that the reader understands clearly the state of the
palace in 1423. The works of addition or renovation had now been
proceeding, at intervals, during a space of a hundred and twenty-three
years. Three generations at least had been accustomed to witness the
gradual advancement of the form of the Ducal Palace into more stately
symmetry, and to contrast the works of sculpture and painting with which
it was decorated,--full of the life, knowledge, and hope of the
fourteenth century,--with the rude Byzantine chiselling of the palace of
the Doge Ziani. The magnificent fabric just completed, of which the new
Council Chamber was the nucleus, was now habitually known in Venice as
the "Palazzo Nuovo;" and the old Byzantine edifice, now ruinous, and
more manifest in its decay by its contrast with the goodly stones of the
building which had been raised at its side, was of course known as the
"Palazzo Vecchio."[127] That fabric, however, still occupied the
principal position in Venice. The new Council Chamber had been erected
by the side of it towards the Sea; but there was not then the wide quay
in front, the Riva dei Schiavoni, which now renders the Sea Façade as
important as that to the Piazzetta. There was only a narrow walk
between the pillars and the water; and the _old_ palace of Ziani still
faced the Piazzetta, and interrupted, by its decrepitude, the
magnificence of the square where the nobles daily met. Every increase of
the beauty of the new palace rendered the discrepancy between it and the
companion building more painful; and then began to arise in the minds of
all men a vague idea of the necessity of destroying the old palace, and
completing the front of the Piazzetta with the same splendor as the Sea
Façade. But no such sweeping measure of renovation had been contemplated
by the Senate when they first formed the plan of their new Council
Chamber. First a single additional room, then a gateway, then a larger
room; but all considered merely as necessary additions to the palace,
not as involving the entire reconstruction of the ancient edifice. The
exhaustion of the treasury, and the shadows upon the political horizon,
rendered it more than imprudent to incur the vast additional expense
which such a project involved; and the Senate, fearful of itself, and
desirous to guard against the weakness of its own enthusiasm, passed a
decree, like the effort of a man fearful of some strong temptation to
keep his thoughts averted from the point of danger. It was a decree, not
merely that the old palace should not be rebuilt, but that no one should
_propose_ rebuilding it. The feeling of the desirableness of doing so
was too strong to permit fair discussion, and the Senate knew that to
bring forward such a motion was to carry it.
§ XXI. The decree, thus passed in order to guard against their own
weakness, forbade any one to speak of rebuilding the old palace under
the penalty of a thousand ducats. But they had rated their own
enthusiasm too low: there was a man among them whom the loss of a
thousand ducats could not deter from proposing what he believed to be
for the good of the state.
Some excuse was given him for bringing forward the motion, by a fire
which occurred in 1419, and which injured both the church of St. Mark's,
and part of the old palace fronting the Piazzetta. What followed, I
shall relate in the words of Sanuto.[128]
§ XXII. "Therefore they set themselves with all diligence and care to
repair and adorn sumptuously, first God's house; but in the Prince's
house things went on more slowly, _for it did not please the Doge[129]
to restore it in the form in which it was before_; and they could not
rebuild it altogether in a better manner, so great was the parsimony of
these old fathers; because it was forbidden by laws, which condemned in
a penalty of a thousand ducats any one who should propose to throw down
the _old_ palace, and to rebuild it more richly and with greater
expense. But the Doge, who was magnanimous, and who desired above all
things what was honorable to the city, had the thousand ducats carried
into the Senate Chamber, and then proposed that the palace should be
rebuilt; saying: that, 'since the late fire had ruined in great part the
Ducal habitation (not only his own private palace, but all the places
used for public business) this occasion was to be taken for an
admonishment sent from God, that they ought to rebuild the palace more
nobly, and in a way more befitting the greatness to which, by God's
grace, their dominions had reached; and that his motive in proposing
this was neither ambition, nor selfish interest: that, as for ambition,
they might have seen in the whole course of his life, through so many
years, that he had never done anything for ambition, either in the city,
or in foreign business; but in all his actions had kept justice first in
his thoughts, and then the advantage of the state, and the honor of the
Venetian name: and that, as far as regarded his private interest, if it
had not been for this accident of the fire, he would never have thought
of changing anything in the palace into either a more sumptuous or a
more honorable form; and that during the many years in which he had
lived in it, he had never endeavored to make any change, but had always
been content with it, as his predecessors had left it; and that he knew
well that, if they took in hand to build it as he exhorted and besought
them, being now very old, and broken down with many toils, God would
call him to another life before the walls were raised a pace from the
ground. And that therefore they might perceive that he did not advise
them to raise this building for his own convenience, but only for the
honor of the city and its Dukedom; and that the good of it would never
be felt by him, but by his successors.' Then he said, that 'in order, as
he had always done, to observe the laws,... he had brought with him the
thousand ducats which had been appointed as the penalty for proposing
such a measure, so that he might prove openly to all men that it was not
his own advantage that he sought, but the dignity of the state.'" There
was no one (Sanuto goes on to tell us) who ventured, or desired, to
oppose the wishes of the Doge; and the thousand ducats were unanimously
devoted to the expenses of the work. "And they set themselves with much
diligence to the work; and the palace was begun in the form and manner
in which it is at present seen; but, as Mocenigo had prophesied, not
long after, he ended his life, and not only did not see the work brought
to a close, but hardly even begun."
§ XXIII. There are one or two expressions in the above extracts which,
if they stood alone, might lead the reader to suppose that the whole
palace had been thrown down and rebuilt. We must however remember, that,
at this time, the new Council Chamber, which had been one hundred years
in building, was actually unfinished, the council had not yet sat in it;
and it was just as likely that the Doge should then propose to destroy
and rebuild it, as in this year, 1853, it is that any one should propose
in our House of Commons to throw down the new Houses of Parliament,
under the title of the "old palace," and rebuild _them_.
§ XXIV. The manner in which Sanuto expresses himself will at once be
seen to be perfectly natural, when it is remembered that although we now
speak of the whole building as the "Ducal Palace," it consisted, in the
minds of the old Venetians, of four distinct buildings. There were in it
the palace, the state prisons, the senate-house, and the offices of
public business; in other words, it was Buckingham Palace, the Tower of
olden days, the Houses of Parliament, and Downing Street, all in one;
and any of these four portions might be spoken of, without involving an
allusion to any other. "Il Palazzo" was the Ducal residence, which, with
most of the public offices, Mocenigo _did_ propose to pull down and
rebuild, and which was actually pulled down and rebuilt. But the new
Council Chamber, of which the whole façade to the Sea consisted, never
entered into either his or Sanuto's mind for an instant, as necessarily
connected with the Ducal residence.
I said that the new Council Chamber, at the time when Mocenigo brought
forward his measure, had never yet been used. It was in the year
1422[130] that the decree passed to rebuild the palace: Mocenigo died in
the following year,[131] and Francesco Foscari was elected in his room.
The Great Council Chamber was used for the first time on the day when
Foscari entered the Senate as Doge,--the 3rd of April, 1423, according
to the Caroldo Chronicle;[132] the 23rd, which is probably correct, by
an anonymous MS., No. 60, in the Correr Museum;[133]--and, the following
year, on the 27th of March, the first hammer was lifted up against the
old palace of Ziani.[134]
§ XXV. That hammer stroke was the first act of the period properly
called the "Renaissance." It was the knell of the architecture of
Venice,--and of Venice herself.
The central epoch of her life was past; the decay had already begun: I
dated its commencement above (Ch. I. Vol. 1.) from the death of
Mocenigo. A year had not yet elapsed since that great Doge had been
called to his account: his patriotism, always sincere, had been in this
instance mistaken; in his zeal for the honor of future Venice, he had
forgotten what was due to the Venice of long ago. A thousand palaces
might be built upon her burdened islands, but none of them could take
the place, or recall the memory, of that which was first built upon her
unfrequented shore. It fell; and, as if it had been the talisman of her
fortunes, the city never flourished again.
§ XXVI. I have no intention of following out, in their intricate
details, the operations which were begun under Foscari and continued
under succeeding Doges till the palace assumed its present form, for I
am not in this work concerned, except by occasional reference, with the
architecture of the fifteenth century: but the main facts are the
following. The palace of Ziani was destroyed; the existing façade to the
Piazzetta built, so as both to continue and to resemble, in most
particulars, the work of the Great Council Chamber. It was carried back
from the Sea as far as the Judgment angle; beyond which is the Porta
della Carta, begun in 1439, and finished in two years, under the Doge
Foscari;[135] the interior buildings connected with it were added by the
Doge Christopher Moro (the Othello of Shakspeare)[136] in 1462.
§ XXVII. By reference to the figure the reader will see that we have now
gone the round of the palace, and that the new work of 1462 was close
upon the first piece of the Gothic palace, the _new_ Council Chamber of
1301. Some remnants of the Ziani Palace were perhaps still left between
the two extremities of the Gothic Palace; or, as is more probable, the
last stones of it may have been swept away after the fire of 1419, and
replaced by new apartments for the Doge. But whatever buildings, old or
new, stood on this spot at the time of the completion of the Porta della
Carta were destroyed by another great fire in 1479, together with so
much of the palace on the Rio that, though the saloon of Gradenigo, then
known as the Sala de' Pregadi, was not destroyed, it became necessary to
reconstruct the entire façades of the portion of the palace behind the
Bridge of Sighs, both towards the court and canal. This work was
entrusted to the best Renaissance architects of the close of the
fifteenth and opening of the sixteenth centuries; Antonio Ricci
executing the Giant's staircase, and on his absconding with a large sum
of the public money, Pietro Lombardo taking his place. The whole work
must have been completed towards the middle of the sixteenth century.
The architects of the palace, advancing round the square and led by
fire, had more than reached the point from which they had set out; and
the work of 1560 was joined to the work of 1301-1340, at the point
marked by the conspicuous vertical line in Figure XXXVII. on the Rio
Façade.
§ XXVIII. But the palace was not long permitted to remain in this
finished form. Another terrific fire, commonly called the great fire,
burst out in 1574, and destroyed the inner fittings and all the precious
pictures of the Great Council Chamber, and of all the upper rooms on the
Sea Façade, and most of those on the Rio Façade, leaving the building a
mere shell, shaken and blasted by the flames. It was debated in the
Great Council whether the ruin should not be thrown down, and an
entirely new palace built in its stead. The opinions of all the leading
architects of Venice were taken, respecting the safety of the walls, or
the possibility of repairing them as they stood. These opinions, given
in writing, have been preserved, and published by the Abbé Cadorin, in
the work already so often referred to; and they form one of the most
important series of documents connected with the Ducal Palace.
I cannot help feeling some childish pleasure in the accidental
resemblance to my own name in that of the architect whose opinion was
first given in favor of the ancient fabric, Giovanni Rusconi. Others,
especially Palladio, wanted to pull down the old palace, and execute
designs of their own; but the best architects in Venice, and to his
immortal honor, chiefly Francesco Sansovino, energetically pleaded for
the Gothic pile, and prevailed. It was successfully repaired, and
Tintoret painted his noblest picture on the wall from which the Paradise
of Guariento had withered before the flames.
§ XXIX. The repairs necessarily undertaken at this time were however
extensive, and interfere in many directions with the earlier work of the
palace: still the only serious alteration in its form was the
transposition of the prisons, formerly at the top of the palace, to the
other side of the Rio del Palazzo; and the building of the Bridge of
Sighs, to connect them with the palace, by Antonio da Ponte. The
completion of this work brought the whole edifice into its present form;
with the exception of alterations in doors, partitions, and staircases
among the inner apartments, not worth noticing, and such barbarisms and
defacements as have been suffered within the last fifty years, by, I
suppose, nearly every building of importance in Italy.
§ XXX. Now, therefore, we are liberty to examine some of the details of
the Ducal Palace, without any doubt about their dates. I shall not,
however, give any elaborate illustrations of them here, because I could
not do them justice on the scale of the page of this volume, or by means
of line engraving. I believe a new era is opening to us in the art of
illustration,[137] and that I shall be able to give large figures of the
details of the Ducal Palace at a price which will enable every person
who is interested in the subject to possess them; so that the cost and
labor of multiplying illustrations here would be altogether wasted. I
shall therefore direct the reader's attention only to points of interest
as can be explained in the text.
§ XXXI. First, then, looking back to the woodcut at the beginning of
this chapter, the reader will observe that, as the building was very
nearly square on the ground plan, a peculiar prominence and importance
were given to its angles, which rendered it necessary that they should
be enriched and softened by sculpture. I do not suppose that the fitness
of this arrangement will be questioned; but if the reader will take the
pains to glance over any series of engravings of church towers or other
four-square buildings in which great refinement of form has been
attained, he will at once observe how their effect depends on some
modification of the sharpness of the angle, either by groups of
buttresses, or by turrets and niches rich in sculpture. It is to be
noted also that this principle of breaking the angle is peculiarly
Gothic, arising partly out of the necessity of strengthening the flanks
of enormous buildings, where composed of imperfect materials, by
buttresses or pinnacles; partly out of the conditions of Gothic warfare,
which generally required a tower at the angle; partly out of the natural
dislike of the meagreness of effect in buildings which admitted large
surfaces of wall, if the angle were entirely unrelieved. The Ducal
Palace, in its acknowledgment of this principle, makes a more definite
concession to the Gothic spirit than any of the previous architecture of
Venice. No angle, up to the time of its erection, had been otherwise
decorated than by a narrow fluted pilaster of red marble, and the
sculpture was reserved always, as in Greek and Roman work, for the plane
surfaces of the building, with, as far as I recollect, two exceptions
only, both in St. Mark's; namely, the bold and grotesque gargoyle on its
north-west angle, and the angels which project from the four inner
angles under the main cupola; both of these arrangements being plainly
made under Lombardic influence. And if any other instances occur, which
I may have at present forgotten, I am very sure the Northern influence
will always be distinctly traceable in them.
§ XXXII. The Ducal Palace, however, accepts the principle in its
completeness, and throws the main decoration upon its angles. The
central window, which looks rich and important in the woodcut, was
entirely restored in the Renaissance time, as we have seen, under the
Doge Steno; so that we have no traces of its early treatment; and the
principal interest of the older palace is concentrated in the angle
sculpture, which is arranged in the following manner. The pillars of the
two bearing arcades are much enlarged in thickness at the angles, and
their capitals increased in depth, breadth, and fulness of subject;
above each capital, on the angle of the wall, a sculptural subject is
introduced, consisting, in the great lower arcade, of two or more
figures of the size of life; in the upper arcade, of a single angel
holding a scroll: above these angels rise the twisted pillars with their
crowning niches, already noticed in the account of parapets in the
seventh chapter; thus forming an unbroken line of decoration from the
ground to the top of the angle.
§ XXXIII. It was before noticed that one of the corners of the palace
joins the irregular outer buildings connected with St. Mark's, and is
not generally seen. There remain, therefore, to be decorated, only the
three angles, above distinguished as the Vine angle, the Fig-tree angle,
and the Judgment angle; and at these we have, according to the
arrangement just explained,--
First, Three great bearing capitals (lower arcade).
Secondly, Three figure subjects of sculpture above them (lower arcade).
Thirdly, Three smaller bearing capitals (upper arcade).
Fourthly, Three angels above them (upper arcade).
Fifthly, Three spiral shafts with niches.
§ XXXIV. I shall describe the bearing capitals hereafter, in their
order, with the others of the arcade; for the first point to which the
reader's attention ought to be directed is the choice of subject in the
great figure sculptures above them. These, observe, are the very corner
stones of the edifice, and in them we may expect to find the most
important evidences of the feeling, as well as of the skill, of the
builder. If he has anything to say to us of the purpose with which he
built the palace, it is sure to be said here; if there was any lesson
which he wished principally to teach to those for whom he built, here
it is sure to be inculcated; if there was any sentiment which they
themselves desired to have expressed in the principal edifice of their
city, this is the place in which we may be secure of finding it legibly
inscribed.
§ XXXV. Now the first two angles, of the Vine and Fig-tree, belong to
the old, or true Gothic, Palace; the third angle belongs to the
Renaissance imitation of it: therefore, at the first two angles, it is
the Gothic spirit which is going to speak to us; and, at the third, the
Renaissance spirit.
The reader remembers, I trust, that the most characteristic sentiment of
all that we traced in the working of the Gothic heart, was the frank
confession of its own weakness; and I must anticipate, for a moment, the
results of our inquiry in subsequent chapters, so far as to state that
the principal element in the Renaissance spirit, is its firm confidence
in its own wisdom.
Hear, then, the two spirits speak for themselves.
The first main sculpture of the Gothic Palace is on what I have called
the angle of the Fig-tree:
Its subject is the FALL OF MAN.
The second sculpture is on the angle of the Vine:
Its subject is the DRUNKENNESS OF NOAH.
The Renaissance sculpture is on the Judgment angle:
Its subject is the JUDGMENT OF SOLOMON.
It is impossible to overstate, or to regard with too much admiration,
the significance of this single fact. It is as if the palace had been
built at various epochs, and preserved uninjured to this day, for the
sole purpose of teaching us the difference in the temper of the two
schools.
§ XXXVI. I have called the sculpture on the Fig-tree angle the principal
one; because it is at the central bend of the palace, where it turns to
the Piazzetta (the façade upon the Piazzetta being, as we saw above, the
more important one in ancient times). The great capital, which sustains
this Fig-tree angle, is also by far more elaborate than the head of the
pilaster under the Vine angle, marking the preëminence of the former in
the architect's mind. It is impossible to say which was first executed,
but that of the Fig-tree angle is somewhat rougher in execution, and
more stiff in the design of the figures, so that I rather suppose it to
have been the earliest completed.
[Illustration: Plate XIX.
LEAFAGE OF THE VINE ANGLE.]
§ XXXVII. In both the subjects, of the Fall and the Drunkenness, the
tree, which forms the chiefly decorative portion of the sculpture,--fig
in the one case, vine in the other,--was a necessary adjunct. Its trunk,
in both sculptures, forms the true outer angle of the palace; boldly cut
separate from the stone-work behind, and branching out above the figures
so as to enwrap each side of the angle, for several feet, with its deep
foliage. Nothing can be more masterly or superb than the sweep of this
foliage on the Fig-tree angle; the broad leaves lapping round the
budding fruit, and sheltering from sight, beneath their shadows, birds
of the most graceful form and delicate plumage. The branches are,
however, so strong, and the masses of stone hewn into leafage so large,
that, notwithstanding the depth of the undercutting, the work remains
nearly uninjured; not so at the Vine angle, where the natural delicacy
of the vine-leaf and tendril having tempted the sculptor to greater
effort, he has passed the proper limits of his art, and cut the upper
stems so delicately that half of them have been broken away by the
casualties to which the situation of the sculpture necessarily exposes
it. What remains is, however, so interesting in its extreme refinement,
that I have chosen it for the subject of the opposite illustration
rather than the nobler masses of the fig-tree, which ought to be
rendered on a larger scale. Although half of the beauty of the
composition is destroyed by the breaking away of its central masses,
there is still enough in the distribution of the variously bending
leaves, and in the placing of the birds on the lighter branches, to
prove to us the power of the designer. I have already referred to this
Plate as a remarkable instance of the Gothic Naturalism; and, indeed, it
is almost impossible for the copying of nature to be carried farther
than in the fibres of the marble branches, and the careful finishing of
the tendrils: note especially the peculiar expression of the knotty
joints of the vine in the light branch which rises highest. Yet only
half the finish of the work can be seen in the Plate: for, in several
cases, the sculptor has shown the under sides of the leaves turned
boldly to the light, and has literally _carved every rib and vein upon
them, in relief_; not merely the main ribs which sustain the lobes of
the leaf, and actually project in nature, but the irregular and sinuous
veins which chequer the membranous tissues between them, and which the
sculptor has represented conventionally as relieved like the others, in
order to give the vine leaf its peculiar tessellated effect upon the
eye.
§ XXXVIII. As must always be the case in early sculpture, the figures
are much inferior to the leafage; yet so skilful in many respects, that
it was a long time before I could persuade myself that they had indeed
been wrought in the first half of the fourteenth century. Fortunately,
the date is inscribed upon a monument in the Church of San Simeon
Grande, bearing a recumbent statue of the saint, of far finer
workmanship, in every respect, than those figures of the Ducal Palace,
yet so like them, that I think there can be no question that the head of
Noah was wrought by the sculptor of the palace in emulation of that of
the statue of St. Simeon. In this latter sculpture, the face is
represented in death; the mouth partly open, the lips thin and sharp,
the teeth carefully sculptured beneath; the face full of quietness and
majesty, though very ghastly; the hair and beard flowing in luxuriant
wreaths, disposed with the most masterly freedom, yet severity, of
design, far down upon the shoulders; the hands crossed upon the body,
carefully studied, and the veins and sinews perfectly and easily
expressed, yet without any attempt at extreme finish or display of
technical skill. This monument bears date 1317,[138] and its sculptor
was justly proud of it; thus recording his name:
"CELAVIT MARCUS OPUS HOC INSIGNE ROMANIS,
LAUDIBUS NON PARCUS EST SUA DIGNA MANUS."
§ XXXIX. The head of the Noah on the Ducal Palace, evidently worked in
emulation of this statue, has the same profusion of flowing hair and
beard, but wrought in smaller and harder curls; and the veins on the
arms and breast are more sharply drawn, the sculptor being evidently
more practised in keen and fine lines of vegetation than in those of the
figure; so that, which is most remarkable in a workman of this early
period, he has failed in telling his story plainly, regret and wonder
being so equally marked on the features of all the three brothers that
it is impossible to say which is intended for Ham. Two of the heads of
the brothers are seen in the Plate; the third figure is not with the
rest of the group, but set at a distance of about twelve feet, on the
other side of the arch which springs from the angle capital.
§ XL. It may be observed, as a farther evidence of the date of the
group, that, in the figures of all the three youths, the feet are
protected simply by a bandage arranged in crossed folds round the ankle
and lower part of the limb; a feature of dress which will be found in
nearly every piece of figure sculpture in Venice, from the year 1300 to
1380, and of which the traveller may see an example within three hundred
yards of this very group, in the bas-reliefs on the tomb of the Doge
Andrea Dandolo (in St. Mark's), who died in 1354.
§ XLI. The figures of Adam and Eve, sculptured on each side of the
Fig-tree angle, are more stiff than those of Noah and his sons, but are
better fitted for their architectural service; and the trunk of the
tree, with the angular body of the serpent writhed around it, is more
nobly treated as a terminal group of lines than that of the vine.
The Renaissance sculptor of the figures of the Judgment of Solomon has
very nearly copied the fig-tree from this angle, placing its trunk
between the executioner and the mother, who leans forward to stay his
hand. But, though the whole group is much more free in design than those
of the earlier palace, and in many ways excellent in itself, so that it
always strikes the eye of a careless observer more than the others, it
is of immeasurably inferior spirit in the workmanship; the leaves of the
tree, though far more studiously varied in flow than those of the
fig-tree from which they are partially copied, have none of its truth to
nature; they are ill set on the stems, bluntly defined on the edges, and
their curves are not those of growing leaves, but of wrinkled drapery.
§ XLII. Above these three sculptures are set, in the upper arcade, the
statues of the archangels Raphael, Michael, and Gabriel: their positions
will be understood by reference to the lowest figure in Plate XVII.,
where that of Raphael above the Vine angle is seen on the right. A
diminutive figure of Tobit follows at his feet, and he bears in his hand
a scroll with this inscription:
EFICE Q
SOFRE
TUR AFA
EL REVE
RENDE
QUIETU
i.e. Effice (quæso?) fretum, Raphael reverende, quietum.[139] I could
not decipher the inscription on the scroll borne by the angel Michael;
and the figure of Gabriel, which is by much the most beautiful feature
of the Renaissance portion of the palace, has only in its hand the
Annunciation lily.
§ XLIII. Such are the subjects of the main sculptures decorating the
angles of the palace; notable, observe, for their simple expression of
two feelings, the consciousness of human frailty, and the dependence
upon Divine guidance and protection: this being, of course, the general
purpose of the introduction of the figures of the angels; and, I
imagine, intended to be more particularly conveyed by the manner in
which the small figure of Tobit follows the steps of Raphael, just
touching the hem of his garment. We have next to examine the course of
divinity and of natural history embodied by the old sculpture in the
great series of capitals which support the lower arcade of the palace;
and which, being at a height of little more than eight feet above the
eye, might be read, like the pages of a book, by those (the noblest men
in Venice) who habitually walked beneath the shadow of this great arcade
at the time of their first meeting each other for morning converse.
§ XLIV. The principal sculptures of the capitals consist of
personifications of the Virtues and Vices, the favorite subjects of
decorative art, at this period, in all the cities of Italy; and there is
so much that is significant in the various modes of their distinction
and general representation, more especially with reference to their
occurrence as expressions of praise to the dead in sepulchral
architecture, hereafter to be examined, that I believe the reader may
both happily and profitably rest for a little while beneath the first
vault of the arcade, to review the manner in which these symbols of the
virtues were first invented by the Christian imagination, and the
evidence they generally furnish of the state of religious feeling in
those by whom they were recognised.
§ XLV. In the early ages of Christianity, there was little care taken to
analyze character. One momentous question was heard over the whole
world,--Dost thou believe in the Lord with all thine heart? There was
but one division among men,--the great unatoneable division between the
disciple and adversary. The love of Christ was all, and in all; and in
proportion to the nearness of their memory of His person and teaching,
men understood the infinity of the requirements of the moral law, and
the manner in which it alone could be fulfilled. The early Christians
felt that virtue, like sin, was a subtle universal thing, entering into
every act and thought, appearing outwardly in ten thousand diverse
ways, diverse according to the separate framework of every heart in
which it dwelt; but one and the same always in its proceeding from the
love of God, as sin is one and the same in proceeding from hatred of
God. And in their pure, early, and practical piety, they saw there was
no need for codes of morality, or systems of metaphysics. Their virtue
comprehended everything, entered into everything; it was too vast and
too spiritual to be defined; but there was no need of its definition.
For through faith, working by love, they knew that all human excellence
would be developed in due order; but that, without faith, neither reason
could define, nor effort reach, the lowest phase of Christian virtue.
And therefore, when any of the Apostles have occasion to describe or
enumerate any forms of vice or virtue by name, there is no attempt at
system in their words. They use them hurriedly and energetically,
heaping the thoughts one upon another, in order as far as possible to
fill the reader's mind with a sense of the infinity both of crime and of
righteousness. Hear St. Paul describe sin: "Being filled with all
unrighteousness, fornication, wickedness, covetousness, maliciousness;
full of envy, murder, debate, deceit, malignity; whisperers, backbiters,
haters of God, despiteful, proud, boasters, inventors of evil things,
disobedient to parents, without understanding, covenant breakers,
without natural affection, implacable, unmerciful." There is evidently
here an intense feeling of the universality of sin; and in order to
express it, the Apostle hurries his words confusedly together, little
caring about their order, as knowing all the vices to be indissolubly
connected one with another. It would be utterly vain to endeavor to
arrange his expressions as if they had been intended for the ground of
any system, or to give any philosophical definition of the vices.[140]
So also hear him speaking of virtue: "Rejoice in the Lord. Let your
moderation be known unto all men. Be careful for nothing, but in
everything let your requests be made known unto God; and whatsoever
things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are
pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good
report, if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on
these things." Observe, he gives up all attempt at definition; he leaves
the definition to every man's heart, though he writes so as to mark the
overflowing fulness of his own vision of virtue. And so it is in all
writings of the Apostles; their manner of exhortation, and the kind of
conduct they press, vary according to the persons they address, and the
feeling of the moment at which they write, and never show any attempt at
logical precision. And, although the words of their Master are not thus
irregularly uttered, but are weighed like fine gold, yet, even in His
teaching, there is no detailed or organized system of morality; but the
command only of that faith and love which were to embrace the whole
being of man: "On these two commandments hang all the law and the
prophets." Here and there an incidental warning against this or that
more dangerous form of vice or error, "Take heed and beware of
covetousness," "Beware of the leaven of the Pharisees;" here and there a
plain example of the meaning of Christian love, as in the parables of
the Samaritan and the Prodigal, and His own perpetual example: these
were the elements of Christ's constant teaching; for the Beatitudes,
which are the only approximation to anything like a systematic
statement, belong to different conditions and characters of individual
men, not to abstract virtues. And all early Christians taught in the
same manner. They never cared to expound the nature of this or that
virtue; for they knew that the believer who had Christ, had all. Did he
need fortitude? Christ was his rock: Equity? Christ was his
righteousness: Holiness? Christ was his sanctification: Liberty? Christ
was his redemption: Temperance? Christ was his ruler: Wisdom? Christ was
his light: Truthfulness? Christ was the truth: Charity? Christ was love.
§ XLVI. Now, exactly in proportion as the Christian religion became less
vital, and as the various corruptions which time and Satan brought into
it were able to manifest themselves, the person and offices of Christ
were less dwelt upon, and the virtues of Christians more. The Life of
the Believer became in some degree separated from the Life of Christ;
and his virtue, instead of being a stream flowing forth from the throne
of God, and descending upon the earth, began to be regarded by him as a
pyramid upon earth, which he had to build up, step by step, that from
the top of it he might reach the Heavens. It was not possible to measure
the waves of the water of life, but it was perfectly possible to measure
the bricks of the Tower of Babel; and gradually, as the thoughts of men
were withdrawn from their Redeemer, and fixed upon themselves, the
virtues began to be squared, and counted, and classified, and put into
separate heaps of firsts and seconds; some things being virtuous
cardinally, and other things virtuous only north-north-west. It is very
curious to put in close juxtaposition the words of the Apostles and of
some of the writers of the fifteenth century touching sanctification.
For instance, hear first St. Paul to the Thessalonians: "The very God of
peace sanctify you wholly; and I pray God your whole spirit and soul and
body be preserved blameless unto the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.
Faithful is he that calleth you, who also will do it." And then the
following part of a prayer which I translate from a MS. of the fifteenth
century: "May He (the Holy Spirit) govern the five Senses of my body;
may He cause me to embrace the Seven Works of Mercy, and firmly to
believe and observe the Twelve Articles of the Faith and the Ten
Commandments of the Law, and defend me from the Seven Mortal Sins, even
to the end."
§ XLVII. I do not mean that this quaint passage is generally
characteristic of the devotion of the fifteenth century: the very prayer
out of which it is taken is in other parts exceedingly beautiful:[141]
but the passage is strikingly illustrative of the tendency of the later
Romish Church, more especially in its most corrupt condition, just
before the Reformation, to throw all religion into forms and ciphers;
which tendency, as it affected Christian ethics, was confirmed by the
Renaissance enthusiasm for the works of Aristotle and Cicero, from whom
the code of the fifteenth century virtues was borrowed, and whose
authority was then infinitely more revered by all the Doctors of the
Church than that either of St. Paul or St. Peter.
§ XLVIII. Although, however, this change in the tone of the Christian
mind was most distinctly manifested when the revival of literature
rendered the works of the heathen philosophers the leading study of all
the greatest scholars of the period, it had been, as I said before,
taking place gradually from the earliest ages. It is, as far as I know,
that root of the Renaissance poison-tree, which, of all others, is
deepest struck; showing itself in various measures through the writings
of all the Fathers, of course exactly in proportion to the respect which
they paid to classical authors, especially to Plato, Aristotle, and
Cicero. The mode in which the pestilent study of that literature
affected them may be well illustrated by the examination of a single
passage from the works of one of the best of them, St. Ambrose, and of
the mode in which that passage was then amplified and formulized by
later writers.
§ XLIX. Plato, indeed, studied alone, would have done no one any harm.
He is profoundly spiritual and capacious in all his views, and embraces
the small systems of Aristotle and Cicero, as the solar system does the
Earth. He seems to me especially remarkable for the sense of the great
Christian virtue of Holiness, or sanctification; and for the sense of
the presence of the Deity in all things, great or small, which always
runs in a solemn undercurrent beneath his exquisite playfulness and
irony; while all the merely moral virtues may be found in his writings
defined in the most noble manner, as a great painter defines his
figures, _without outlines_. But the imperfect scholarship of later ages
seems to have gone to Plato, only to find in him the system of Cicero;
which indeed was very definitely expressed by him. For it having been
quickly felt by all men who strove, unhelped by Christian faith, to
enter at the strait gate into the paths of virtue, that there were four
characters of mind which were protective or preservative of all that was
best in man, namely, Prudence, Justice, Courage, and Temperance,[142]
these were afterwards, with most illogical inaccuracy, called cardinal
_virtues_, Prudence being evidently no virtue, but an intellectual gift:
but this inaccuracy arose partly from the ambiguous sense of the Latin
word "virtutes," which sometimes, in mediæval language, signifies
virtues, sometimes powers (being occasionally used in the Vulgate for
the word "hosts," as in Psalm ciii. 21, cxlviii. 2, &c., while
"fortitudines" and "exercitus" are used for the same word in other
places), so that Prudence might properly be styled a power, though not
properly a virtue; and partly from the confusion of Prudence with
Heavenly Wisdom. The real rank of these four virtues, if so they are to
be called, is however properly expressed by the term "cardinal." They
are virtues of the compass, those by which all others are directed and
strengthened; they are not the greatest virtues, but the restraining or
modifying virtues, thus Prudence restrains zeal, Justice restrains
mercy, Fortitude and Temperance guide the entire system of the passions;
and, thus understood, these virtues properly assumed their peculiar
leading or guiding position in the system of Christian ethics. But in
Pagan ethics, they were not only guiding, but comprehensive. They meant
a great deal more on the lips of the ancients, than they now express to
the Christian mind. Cicero's Justice includes charity, beneficence, and
benignity, truth, and faith in the sense of trustworthiness. His
Fortitude includes courage, self-command, the scorn of fortune and of
all temporary felicities. His Temperance includes courtesy and modesty.
So also, in Plato, these four virtues constitute the sum of education. I
do not remember any more simple or perfect expression of the idea, than
in the account given by Socrates, in the "Alcibiades I.," of the
education of the Persian kings, for whom, in their youth, there are
chosen, he says, four tutors from among the Persian nobles; namely, the
Wisest, the most Just, the most Temperate, and the most Brave of them.
Then each has a distinct duty: "The Wisest teaches the young king the
worship of the gods, and the duties of a king (something more here,
observe, than our 'Prudence!'); the most Just teaches him to speak all
truth, and to act out all truth, through the whole course of his life;
the most Temperate teaches him to allow no pleasure to have the mastery
of him, so that he may be truly free, and indeed a king; and the most
Brave makes him fearless of all things, showing him that the moment he
fears anything, he becomes a slave."
§ L. All this is exceedingly beautiful, so far as it reaches; but the
Christian divines were grievously led astray by their endeavors to
reconcile this system with the nobler law of love. At first, as in the
passage I am just going to quote from St. Ambrose, they tried to graft
the Christian system on the four branches of the Pagan one; but finding
that the tree would not grow, they planted the Pagan and Christian
branches side by side; adding, to the four cardinal virtues, the three
called by the schoolmen theological, namely, Faith, Hope, and Charity:
the one series considered as attainable by the Heathen, but the other by
the Christian only. Thus Virgil to Sordello:
"Loco e laggiù, non tristo da martiri
Ma di tenebre solo, ove i lamenti
Non suonan come guai, ma son sospiri:
* * * * *
Quivi sto io, con quei che le tre sante
Virtù non si vestiro, e senza vizio
Conobbei l' altre, e seguir, tutte quante."
. . . . . "There I with those abide
Who the Three Holy Virtues put not on,
But understood the rest, and without blame
Followed them all."
CARY.
§ LI. This arrangement of the virtues was, however, productive of
infinite confusion and error: in the first place, because Faith is
classed with its own fruits,--the gift of God, which is the root of the
virtues, classed simply as one of them; in the second, because the words
used by the ancients to express the several virtues had always a
different meaning from the same expressions in the Bible, sometimes a
more extended, sometimes a more limited one. Imagine, for instance, the
confusion which must have been introduced into the ideas of a student
who read St. Paul and Aristotle alternately; considering that the word
which the Greek writer uses for Justice, means, with St. Paul,
Righteousness. And lastly, it is impossible to overrate the mischief
produced in former days, as well as in our own, by the mere habit of
reading Aristotle, whose system is so false, so forced, and so
confused, that the study of it at our universities is quite enough to
occasion the utter want of accurate habits of thought which so often
disgraces men otherwise well-educated. In a word, Aristotle mistakes the
Prudence or Temperance which must regulate the operation of the virtues,
for the essence of the virtues themselves; and, striving to show that
all virtues are means between two opposite vices, torments his wit to
discover and distinguish as many pairs of vices as are necessary to the
completion of his system, not disdaining to employ sophistry where
invention fails him.
And, indeed, the study of classical literature, in general, not only
fostered in the Christian writers the unfortunate love of systematizing,
which gradually degenerated into every species of contemptible
formulism, but it accustomed them to work out their systems by the help
of any logical quibble, or verbal subtlety, which could be made
available for their purpose, and this not with any dishonest intention,
but in a sincere desire to arrange their ideas in systematical groups,
while yet their powers of thought were not accurate enough, nor their
common sense stern enough, to detect the fallacy, or disdain the
finesse, by which these arrangements were frequently accomplished.
§ LII. Thus St. Ambrose, in his commentary on Luke vi. 20, is resolved
to transform the four Beatitudes there described into rewards of the
four cardinal Virtues, and sets himself thus ingeniously to the task:
"'Blessed be ye poor.' Here you have Temperance. 'Blessed are ye that
hunger now.' He who hungers, pities those who are an-hungered; in
pitying, he gives to them, and in giving he becomes just (largiendo fit
Justus). 'Blessed are ye that weep now, for ye shall laugh.' Here you
have Prudence, whose part it is to weep, so far as present things are
concerned, and to seek things which are eternal. 'Blessed are ye when
men shall hate you.' Here you have Fortitude."
§ LIII. As a preparation for this profitable exercise of wit, we have
also a reconciliation of the Beatitudes as stated by St. Matthew, with
those of St. Luke, on the ground that "in those eight are these four,
and in these four are those eight;" with sundry remarks on the mystical
value of the number eight, with which I need not trouble the reader.
With St. Ambrose, however, this puerile systematization is quite
subordinate to a very forcible and truthful exposition of the real
nature of the Christian life. But the classification he employs
furnishes ground for farther subtleties to future divines; and in a MS.
of the thirteenth century I find some expressions in this commentary on
St. Luke, and in the treatise on the duties of bishops, amplified into a
treatise on the "Steps of the Virtues: by which every one who perseveres
may, by a straight path, attain to the heavenly country of the Angels."
("Liber de Gradibus Virtutum: quibus ad patriam angelorum supernam
itinere recto ascenditur ab omni perseverante.") These Steps are thirty
in number (one expressly for each day of the month), and the curious
mode of their association renders the list well worth quoting:--
§ LIV. Primus gradus est Fides Recta. Unerring faith.
Secundus " Spes firma. Firm hope.
Tertius " Caritas perfecta. Perfect charity.
4. " Patientia vera. True patience.
5. " Humilitas sancta. Holy humility.
6. " Mansuetudo. Meekness.
7. " Intelligentia. Understanding.
8. " Compunctio cordis. Contrition of heart.
9. " Oratio. Prayer.
10. " Confessio pura. Pure confession.
11. " Penitentia digna. Fitting penance.[143]
12. " Abstinentia. Abstinence (fasting).
13. " Timor Dei. Fear of God.
14. " Virginitas. Virginity.
15. " Justicia. Justice.
16. " Misericordia. Mercy.
17. " Elemosina. Almsgiving.
18. " Hospitalitas. Hospitality.
19. " Honor parentum. Honoring of parents.
20. " Silencium. Silence.
21. " Consilium bonum. Good counsel.
22. " Judicium rectum. Right judgment.
23. " Exemplum bonum. Good example.
24. " Visitatio infirmorum. Visitation of the sick.
25. " Frequentatio Companying with saints.
sanctorum.
26. " Oblatio justa. Just oblations.
27. " Decimas Deo solvere. Paying tithes to God.
28. " Sapientia. Wisdom.
29. " Voluntas bona. Goodwill.
30. " Perseverantia. Perseverance.
§ LV. The reader will note that the general idea of Christian virtue
embodied in this list is true, exalted, and beautiful; the points of
weakness being the confusion of duties with virtues, and the vain
endeavor to enumerate the various offices of charity as so many separate
virtues; more frequently arranged as seven distinct works of mercy. This
general tendency to a morbid accuracy of classification was associated,
in later times, with another very important element of the Renaissance
mind, the love of personification; which appears to have reached its
greatest vigor in the course of the sixteenth century, and is expressed
to all future ages, in a consummate manner, in the poem of Spenser. It
is to be noted that personification is, in some sort, the reverse of
symbolism, and is far less noble. Symbolism is the setting forth of a
great truth by an imperfect and inferior sign (as, for instance, of the
hope of the resurrection by the form of the phoenix); and it is almost
always employed by men in their most serious moods of faith, rarely in
recreation. Men who use symbolism forcibly are almost always true
believers in what they symbolize. But Personification is the bestowing
of a human or living form upon an abstract idea: it is, in most cases, a
mere recreation of the fancy, and is apt to disturb the belief in the
reality of the thing personified. Thus symbolism constituted the entire
system of the Mosaic dispensation: it occurs in every word of Christ's
teaching; it attaches perpetual mystery to the last and most solemn act
of His life. But I do not recollect a single instance of personification
in any of His words. And as we watch, thenceforward, the history of the
Church, we shall find the declension of its faith exactly marked by the
abandonment of symbolism,[144] and the profuse employment of
personification,--even to such an extent that the virtues came, at last,
to be confused with the saints; and we find in the later Litanies, St.
Faith, St. Hope, St. Charity, and St. Chastity, invoked immediately
after St. Clara and St. Bridget.
§ LVI. Nevertheless, in the hands of its early and earnest masters, in
whom fancy could not overthrow the foundations of faith, personification
is, often thoroughly noble and lovely; the earlier conditions of it
being just as much more spiritual and vital than the later ones, as the
still earlier symbolism was more spiritual than they. Compare, for
instance, Dante's burning Charity, running and returning at the wheels
of the chariot of God,--
"So ruddy, that her form had scarce
Been known within a furnace of clear flame,"
with Reynolds's Charity, a nurse in a white dress, climbed upon by three
children.[145] And not only so, but the number and nature of the virtues
differ considerably in the statements of different poets and painters,
according to their own views of religion, or to the manner of life they
had it in mind to illustrate. Giotto, for instance, arranges his system
altogether differently at Assisi, where he is setting forth the monkish
life, and in the Arena Chapel, where he treats of that of mankind in
general, and where, therefore, he gives only the so-called theological
and cardinal virtues; while, at Assisi, the three principal virtues are
those which are reported to have appeared in vision to St. Francis,
Chastity, Obedience, and Poverty: Chastity being attended by Fortitude,
Purity, and Penance; Obedience by Prudence and Humility; Poverty by Hope
and Charity. The systems vary with almost every writer, and in almost
every important work of art which embodies them, being more or less
spiritual according to the power of intellect by which they were
conceived. The most noble in literature are, I suppose, those of Dante
and Spenser: and with these we may compare five of the most interesting
series in the early art of Italy; namely, those of Orcagna, Giotto, and
Simon Memmi, at Florence and Padua, and those of St. Mark's and the
Ducal Palace at Venice. Of course, in the richest of these series, the
vices are personified together with the virtues, as in the Ducal Palace;
and by the form or name of opposed vice, we may often ascertain, with
much greater accuracy than would otherwise be possible, the particular
idea of the contrary virtue in the mind of the writer or painter. Thus,
when opposed to Prudence, or Prudentia, on the one side, we find Folly,
or Stultitia, on the other, it shows that the virtue understood by
Prudence, is not the mere guiding or cardinal virtue, but the Heavenly
Wisdom,[146] opposed to that folly which "hath said in its heart, there
is no God;" and of which it is said, "the thought of foolishness is
sin;" and again, "Such as be foolish shall not stand in thy sight." This
folly is personified, in early painting and illumination, by a
half-naked man, greedily eating an apple or other fruit, and brandishing
a club; showing that sensuality and violence are the two principal
characteristics of Foolishness, and lead into atheism. The figure, in
early Psalters, always forms the letter D, which commences the
fifty-third Psalm, "_Dixit insipiens_."
§ LVII. In reading Dante, this mode of reasoning from contraries is a
great help, for his philosophy of the vices is the only one which admits
of classification; his descriptions of virtue, while they include the
ordinary formal divisions, are far too profound and extended to be
brought under definition. Every line of the "Paradise" is full of the
most exquisite and spiritual expressions of Christian truth; and that
poem is only less read than the "Inferno" because it requires far
greater attention, and, perhaps, for its full enjoyment, a holier heart.
§ LVIII. His system in the "Inferno" is briefly this. The whole nether
world is divided into seven circles, deep within deep, in each of which,
according to its depth, severer punishment is inflicted. These seven
circles, reckoning them downwards, are thus allotted:
1. To those who have lived virtuously, but knew not Christ.
2. To Lust.
3. To Gluttony.
4. To Avarice and Extravagance.
5. To Anger and _Sorrow_.
6. To Heresy.
7. To Violence and Fraud.
This seventh circle is divided into two parts; of which the first,
reserved for those who have been guilty of Violence, is again divided
into three, apportioned severally to those who have committed, or
desired to commit, violence against their neighbors, against themselves,
or against God.
The lowest hell, reserved for the punishment of Fraud, is itself divided
into ten circles, wherein are severally punished the sins of,--
1. Betraying women.
2. Flattery.
3. Simony.
4. False prophecy.
5. Peculation.
6. Hypocrisy.
7. Theft.
8. False counsel.
9. Schism and Imposture.
10. Treachery to those who repose entire trust in the traitor.
§ LIX. There is, perhaps, nothing more notable in this most interesting
system than the profound truth couched under the attachment of so
terrible a penalty to sadness or sorrow. It is true that Idleness does
not elsewhere appear in the scheme, and is evidently intended to be
included in the guilt of sadness by the word "accidioso;" but the main
meaning of the poet is to mark the duty of rejoicing in God, according
both to St. Paul's command, and Isaiah's promise, "Thou meetest him that
rejoiceth and worketh righteousness."[147] I do not know words that
might with more benefit be borne with us, and set in our hearts
momentarily against the minor regrets and rebelliousnesses of life, than
these simple ones:
"Tristi fummo
Nel aer dolce, che del sol s' allegra,
Or ci attristiam, nella belletta negra."
"We once were sad,
In the sweet air, made gladsome by the sun,
Now in these murky settlings are we sad."[148] CARY.
The virtue usually opposed to this vice of sullenness is Alacritas,
uniting the sense of activity and cheerfulness. Spenser has cheerfulness
simply, in his description, never enough to be loved or praised, of the
virtues of Womanhood; first feminineness or womanhood in specialty;
then,--
"Next to her sate goodly Shamefastnesse,
Ne ever durst, her eyes from ground upreare,
Ne ever once did looke up from her desse,[149]
As if some blame of evill she did feare
That in her cheekes made roses oft appeare:
And her against sweet Cherefulnesse was placed,
Whose eyes, like twinkling stars in evening cleare,
Were deckt with smyles that all sad humours chaced.
"And next to her sate sober Modestie,
Holding her hand upon her gentle hart;
And her against, sate comely Curtesie,
_That unto every person knew her part_;
And her before was seated overthwart
Soft Silence, and submisse Obedience,
Both linckt together never to dispart."
§ LX. Another notable point in Dante's system is the intensity of
uttermost punishment given to treason, the peculiar sin of Italy, and
that to which, at this day, she attributes her own misery with her own
lips. An Italian, questioned as to the causes of the failure of the
campaign of 1848, always makes one answer, "We were betrayed;" and the
most melancholy feature of the present state of Italy is principally
this, that she does not see that, of all causes to which failure might
be attributed, this is at once the most disgraceful, and the most
hopeless. In fact, Dante seems to me to have written almost
prophetically, for the instruction of modern Italy, and chiefly so in
the sixth canto of the "Purgatorio."
§ LXI. Hitherto we have been considering the system of the "Inferno"
only. That of the "Purgatorio" is much simpler, it being divided into
seven districts, in which the souls are severally purified from the sins
of Pride, Envy, Wrath, Indifference, Avarice, Gluttony, and Lust; the
poet thus implying in opposition, and describing in various instances,
the seven virtues of Humility, Kindness,[150] Patience, Zeal, Poverty,
Abstinence, and Chastity, as adjuncts of the Christian character, in
which it may occasionally fail, while the essential group of the three
theological and four cardinal virtues are represented as in direct
attendance on the chariot of the Deity; and all the sins of Christians
are in the seventeenth canto traced to the deficiency or aberration of
Affection.